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Johnston. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + table tr td {padding-left: 1em; padding-right: 1em;} + + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + a {text-decoration: none;} + + img {border: none;} + + em {font-style: italic;} + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-style: normal; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + + .bbox {border: solid 2px; padding: 1em;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + .roman {font-variant: normal;} + + .dropcap {float: left; padding-right: 3px; font-size: 350%; line-height: 83%;} + /* Plain dropcaps */ + + .caption {font-weight: bold; text-align: center; padding-bottom: 2em;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1.5em;} + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {vertical-align: .2em; font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem hr {margin-left: 5em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i1 {display: block; margin-left: 1em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i3 {display: block; margin-left: 3em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i5 {display: block; margin-left: 5em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i6 {display: block; margin-left: 6em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i9 {display: block; margin-left: 9em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i17 {display: block; margin-left: 17em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i19 {display: block; margin-left: 19em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i21 {display: block; margin-left: 21em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + + .author {text-indent: 15em; padding-bottom: 1.5em;} + + .tdl {text-align: left; vertical-align: bottom;} /* left align cell */ + .tdr {text-align: right; vertical-align: bottom;} /* right align cell */ + .tdlsc {text-align: left; vertical-align: top; font-variant: small-caps;} /* left align cell small caps font */ + .tddb {border-top: double black; border-left: double black; border-right: double black;} + .tdsb {border-top: 1px black solid; border-left: double black; border-right: double black;} + .tdsbb {border-top: 1px black solid; border-left: double black; border-right: double black; border-bottom: double black;} + + .address {text-align: right; margin-right: 4em;} /* address of letter aligned right */ + .sig {margin-left: 35%; text-indent: -4em;} /* author signature at end of letter, move 2nd line right */ + + .padtop {padding-top: 3em;} + .smlpad {padding-top: 1.5em;} + .padbase {padding-bottom: 3em;} + .lrgfont {font-size: 150%;} + .smlfont {font-size: 90%;} /* for image credits */ + + .border {border: solid 2px; padding: 1em; margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%;} + + .space05 {padding-left: 0.5em; padding-right: 0.5em;} + .space1 {padding-left: 1em; padding-right: 1em;} + + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Famous Privateersmen and Adventurers of the +Sea, by Charles H. L. Johnston + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Famous Privateersmen and Adventurers of the Sea + Their rovings, cruises, escapades, and fierce battling + upon the ocean for patriotism and for treasure + +Author: Charles H. L. Johnston + +Release Date: October 19, 2008 [EBook #26960] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FAMOUS PRIVATEERSMEN *** + + + + +Produced by K Nordquist, Sam W. and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" style="margin-top: 3em; margin-bottom: 3em;" width="60%" summary="Title page"> +<tr> +<td class="tddb"> +<h1>Famous Privateersmen<br /> +<br /> +<small>AND ADVENTURERS OF THE SEA</small></h1> + +<p class="center smlpad lrgfont">Their rovings, cruises, escapades, and<br /> +fierce battling upon the ocean<br /> +for patriotism and for<br /> +treasure</p> +</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdsb"> +<p class="center lrgfont">By</p> + +<h2>CHARLES H. L. JOHNSTON</h2> + +<p class="center">Author of “Famous Cavalry Leaders,” “Famous<br /> +Indian Chiefs,” “Famous Scouts,” etc.</p> +</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdsb"> +<p class="center lrgfont" style="padding-bottom: 2em;">Illustrated</p> + +<p class="center" style="padding-bottom: 2em;"> +<img src="images/fpas01.png" width="100" height="99" alt="Decorative crest" /> +</p> +</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td class="tdsbb"> +<p class="center lrgfont">BOSTON<span class="space1"> </span> +<img src="images/leaf1.png" width="25" height="25" alt="Decoration" /> +<span class="space1"> </span> +THE PAGE<br /> +COMPANY<span class="space05"> </span> +<img src="images/leaf1.png" width="25" height="25" alt="Decoration" /> +<span class="space05"> </span> +PUBLISHERS</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + + + +<div class="border"> +<p class="center"><b>FAMOUS LEADERS SERIES</b></p> + +<p class="center">BY</p> + +<p class="center">CHARLES H. L. JOHNSTON</p> + + +<p class="center">Each one volume, large 12mo, illustrated,<br /> +$1.50</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 35px;"> +<img src="images/leaf2.png" width="35" height="25" alt="Decoration" /> +</div> + +<table border="0" summary="Book titles"> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">FAMOUS CAVALRY LEADERS</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">FAMOUS INDIAN CHIEFS</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">FAMOUS SCOUTS</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">FAMOUS PRIVATEERSMEN</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">FAMOUS FRONTIERSMEN</td> + </tr> +</table> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 35px;"> +<img src="images/leaf2.png" width="35" height="25" alt="Decoration" /> +</div> + +<p class="center lrgfont">THE PAGE COMPANY</p> + +<p class="center">53 Beacon Street, Boston, Mass.</p> +</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 419px;"> +<a name="again_the_cannon" id="again_the_cannon"></a> +<img src="images/fpas02.jpg" width="419" height="600" alt="" /> +<p class="smlfont">From “The Army and Navy of the United States.”</p> +</div> + +<p class="caption">“AGAIN THE CANNON MADE THE SPLINTERS FLY.”<br /> +(<i>See page <a href="#Page_273">273</a>.</i>)</p> + + + + + + +<p class="center padtop"><i>Copyright, 1911,</i><br /> +<span class="smcap">By L. C. Page & Company</span><br /> +(INCORPORATED)</p> + +<p class="center padbase"><i>All rights reserved</i></p> + + +<table border="0" summary="Printings"> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">First Impression, November, 1911</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdl">Second Impression, November, 1914</td> + </tr> +</table> + + +<p class="center padtop padbase">THE COLONIAL PRESS<br /> +C. H. SIMONDS CO., BOSTON, U. S. A.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center">I DEDICATE THIS BOOK TO THE HAPPY MEMORY OF</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 250px;"> +<img src="images/fpas03.png" width="250" height="33" +alt="George Alfred Henty" /> +</div> + +<p class="center">THE MOST STIMULATING AUTHOR OF BOOKS FOR BOYS<br /> +THAT THE PAST HALF CENTURY HAS PRODUCED,<br /> +AND A WRITER WHO HAS KEPT ALIVE THE<br /> +SPIRIT OF MANLY SPORT AND ADVENTURE<br /> +WHICH HAS MADE THE ANGLO-SAXON<br /> +PEOPLE A RACE OF WORLD CONQUERORS.<br /> +MAY THEY NEVER<br /> +RETROGRADE!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="blockquot"> +<p><i>Thanks are due the Librarian of Congress, +and particularly to Mr. Roberts of the Department +of Prints, for numerous courtesies extended +to the author during the compilation of +this volume.</i></p> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span></p> + +<h2>PREFACE</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Boys</span>:—The sea stretches away from the +land,—a vast sheet of unknown possibilities. Now +gray, now blue, now slate colored, whipped into a thousand +windrows by the storm, churned into a seething +mass of frothing spume and careening bubbles, it +pleases, lulls, then terrorizes and dismays. Perpetually +intervening as a barrier between peoples and their +countries, the wild, sobbing ocean rises, falls and roars +in agony. It is a stoppage to progress and contact between +races of men and warring nations.</p> + +<p>In the breasts of all souls slumbers the fire of adventure. +To penetrate the unknown, to there find +excitement, battle, treasure, so that one’s future life +can be one of ease and indolence—for this men have +sacrificed the more stable occupations on land in order +to push recklessly across the death-dealing billows. +They have battled with the elements; they have suffered +dread diseases; they have been tormented with +thirst; with a torrid sun and with strange weather; +they have sorrowed and they have sinned in order to +gain fame, fortune, and renown. On the wide sweep +of the ocean, even as on the rolling plateau of the once +uninhabited prairie, many a harrowing tragedy has +been enacted. These dramas have often had no chronicler,—the +battle was fought out in the silence of the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</a></span> +watery waste, and there has been no tongue to tell of +the solitary conflict and the unseen strife.</p> + +<p>Of sea fighters there have been many: the pirate, the +fillibusterer, the man-of-warsman, and the privateer. +The first was primarily a ruffian and, secondarily, a +brute, although now and again there were pirates who +shone by contrast only. The fillibusterer was also engaged +in lawless fighting on the sea and to this service +were attracted the more daring and adventurous souls +who swarmed about the shipping ports in search of +employment and pelf. The man-of-warsman was the +legitimate defender of his country’s interests and +fought in the open, without fear of death or imprisonment +from his own people. The privateersman—a +combination of all three—was the harpy of the rolling +ocean, a vulture preying upon the merchant marine of +the enemy to his country, attacking only those weaker +than himself, scudding off at the advent of men-of-warsmen, +and hovering where the guileless merchantman +passed by. The privateersman was a gentleman +adventurer, a protected pirate, a social highwayman of +the waters. He throve, grew lusty, and prospered,—a +robber legitimized by the laws of his own people.</p> + +<p>So these hardy men went out upon the water, sailed +forth beneath the white spread of new-made canvas, +and, midst the creaking of spars, the slapping of ropes, +the scream of the hawser, the groan of the windlass, +and the ruck and roar of wave-beaten wood, carved out +their destinies. They fought. They bled. They conquered +and were defeated. In the hot struggle and the +desperate attack they played their parts even as the old +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span> +Vikings of Norway and the sea rovers of the Mediterranean.</p> + +<p>Hark to the stories of those wild sea robbers! +Listen to the tales of the adventurous pillagers of the +rolling ocean! And—as your blood is red and you, +yourself, are fond of adventure—ponder upon these +histories with satisfaction, for these stalwart seamen</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Fought and sailed and took a prize<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even as it was their right,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drank a glass and kissed a maid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Between the volleys of a fight.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><em>Don’t</em> begrudge their lives of danger,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><em>You</em> are better off by far,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, if war again comes,—stranger,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hitch <em>your</em> wagon to their star.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="sig smcap">Charles H. L. Johnston.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x"><!-- unnumbered page --></a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The bugle calls to quarters,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The roar of guns is clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now—ram your charges home, Lads!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cheer, Boys! Cheer!<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + + +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" width="60%" summary="Table of contents"> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc"> </td> + <td class="tdr"><small>PAGE</small></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc">Preface</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_vii">vii</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc">Carlo Zeno: Hero of the Venetian Republic</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc">Sir Francis Drake: Rover and Sea Ranger</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_23">23</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc">Sir Walter Raleigh: Persecutor of the Spaniards</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc">Jean Bart: The Scourge of the Dutch</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_83">83</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc">Du Guay-Trouin: The Great French “Blue”</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_113">113</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc">Edward England: Terror of the South Seas</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_137">137</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc">Woodes Rogers: The Bristol Mariner</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_153">153</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc">Fortunatus Wright: The Most Hated Privateersman of the Mediterranean Sea</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_173">173</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc">George Walker: Winner of the Gamest Sea Fight of the English Channel</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_199">199</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc">John Paul Jones: The Founder of the American Navy</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_239">239</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc">Captain Silas Talbot: Staunch Privateersman of New England</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_283">283</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc">Captain “Josh” Barney: The Irrepressible Yankee</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_299">299</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc">Robert Surcouf: The “Sea Hound” from St. Malo</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_319">319</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc">Lafitte: Privateer, Pirate, and Terror of the Gulf of Mexico</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_341">341</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc">Raphael Semmes: Despoiler of American Commerce</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_373">373</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc">El Capitan</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_393">393</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc">Retrospect</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_397">397</a></td> + </tr> +</table> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii"><!-- blank page --></a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[Pg xiii]</a></span></p> + +<h2>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + + +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" width="60%" summary="List of illustrations"> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc"> </td> + <td class="tdr"><small>PAGE</small></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc">“Again the cannon made the splinters fly” (<span class="roman"><i>See page <a href="#Page_273">273</a></i></span>)</td> + <td class="tdr"><i><a href="#again_the_cannon">Frontispiece</a></i></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc">Zeno’s Fleet</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#zenos_fleet">18</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc">Sir Francis Drake</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#francis_drake">28</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc">Drake’s Greatest Victory on the Spanish Main</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#drakes_greatest_victory">44</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc">Young Raleigh and a companion listening to tales of the Spanish Main</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#young_raleigh">55</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc">Sir Walter Raleigh</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#walter_raleigh">60</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc">Jean Bart</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#jean_bart">86</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc">“Jean Bart led his boarders over the side of the Dutch vessel”</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#bart_led_his_boarders">108</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc">Combat between Du Guay-Trouin and Van Wassenaer</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#combat">135</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc">“‘Left us engaged with barbarous and inhuman enemies’”</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#left_us_engaged">146</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc">“The boarders were repulsed with great slaughter”</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#boarders_repulsed">193</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc">Action between the “Glorioso” and the “King George” and “Prince Frederick” under George Walker</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#action_between_ships">231</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc">American Privateer taking possession of a Prize</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#american_privateer">239</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc">“Began to hull the ‘Drake’ below the water-line”</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#began_to_hull">261</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc">“They swarmed into the forecastle amidst fierce cheers”</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#swarmed_into_forecastle">277</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc">“Talbot, himself, at the head of his entire crew, came leaping across the side”</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#talbot_himself">289</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc">American Privateer capturing two English Ships</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#privateer_capturing_two">298</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc">“Surcouf scanned her carefully through his glass”</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#surcouf_scanned_her">336</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc">Raphael Semmes</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#raphael_semmes">376</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdlsc">“The men were shouting wildly, as each projectile took effect”</td> + <td class="tdr"><a href="#men_shouting_wildly">386</a></td> + </tr> +</table> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv"><!-- blank page --></a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<a name="Page_1" id="Page_1"><!--unnumbered title page --></a> +<p><span class='pagenum'></span></p> + +<h2>CARLO ZENO<br /> +<br /> +HERO OF THE VENETIAN REPUBLIC<br /> +<br /> +(1344-1418)</h2> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>“Paradise is under the shadow of swords.”—<span class="smcap">Mahomet.</span></p> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center padtop">CARLO ZENO<br /> +HERO OF THE VENETIAN REPUBLIC<br /> +(1344-1418)</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Zeno, noble Zeno, with your curious canine name,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You shall never lack for plaudits in the golden hall of fame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For you fought as well with galleys as you did with burly men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And your deeds of daring seamanship are writ by many a pen.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From sodden, gray Chioggia the singing Gondoliers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Repeat in silvery cadence the story of your years,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The valor of your comrades and the courage of your foe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Venice strove with Genoa, full many a year ago.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p><span class="dropcap">T</span>HE torches fluttered from the walls of a burial +vault in ancient Venice. Two shrouded figures +leaned over the body of a dead warrior, and, +as they gazed upon the wax-like features, their eyes +were filled with tears.</p> + +<p>“See,” said the taller fellow. “He has indeed led +the stalwart life. Here are five and thirty wounds upon +the body of our most renowned compatriot. He was +a true hero.”</p> + +<p>“You speak correctly, O Knight,” answered the +other. “Carlo Zeno was the real warrior without fear +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> +and without reproach. He has fared badly at the hands +of the Republic. But then,—is this not life? Those +most worthy seem never to receive their just compensation +during their living hours. It is only when +they are dead that a tardy public gives them some recognition +of the great deeds which they have done, the +battles which they have fought, and the honor which +they have brought to their native land. Alas! poor +Zeno! He—the true patriot—has had but scant +and petty praise.”</p> + +<p>So saying the two noble Venetians covered the prostrate +form of the dead warrior—for they had lifted +the brown robe which enshrouded him—and, with +slow faltering steps, they left the gloomy chamber of +death.</p> + +<p>Who was this Venetian soldier, who, covered with +the marks of battle, lay in his last sleep? Who—this +hero of war’s alarms? This patriotic leader of the +rough-and-ready rovers of the sea?</p> + +<p>It was Carlo Zeno,—a man of the best blood of +Venice,—who, commanding fighting men and fighting +ships, had battled strenuously and well for his +native country.</p> + +<p>The son of Pietro Zeno and Agnese Dandolo, this +famous Venetian had been well bred to the shock of +battle, for his father was for some time Governor of +Padua, and had won a great struggle against the +Turks, when the careening galleys of the Venetian +Squadron grappled blindly with the aggressive men of +the Ottoman Empire. There were ten children in the +family and little Carlo was named after the Emperor +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> +Charles IV, who sent a retainer to the baptism of the +future seaman, saying, “I wish the child well. He +has a brave and noble father and I trust that his future +will be auspicious.”</p> + +<p>Little Carlo was destined for the Church, and, with +a Latin eulogium in his pocket (which his Venetian +school-master had written out for him) was sent to +the court of the Pope at Avignon. The sweet-faced +boy was but seven years of age. He knelt before the +prelate and his retainers, reciting the piece of prose +with such precision, grace, and charm, that all were +moved by his beauty, his memory, his spirit, and his +liveliness of person.</p> + +<p>“You are indeed a noble youth,” cried the Pope. +“You shall come into my household. There you +shall receive an education and shall be a canon of the +cathedral of Patras, with a rich benefice.”</p> + +<p>But little Carlo did not remain. Although dressed +like a mimic priest and taught with great care, the +hot blood of youth welled in his veins and made him +long for a life more active and more dangerous. So +he looked about for adventure so thoroughly that he +was soon able to have his first narrow escape, and a +part in one of those many brawls which were to +come to him during his career of war and adventure.</p> + +<p>Sent by his relations to the University of Padua, +he was returning to Venice from the country, one +day, when a man leaped upon him as he walked down +a narrow road.</p> + +<p>“Who are you?” cried Carlo fearfully.</p> + +<p>But the fellow did not answer. Instead,—he +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> +struck him suddenly with a stout cudgel—knocked +him senseless on the turf, took all the valuables which +he had, and ran silently away into the gloom.</p> + +<p>Little Carlo came to his senses after many hours, +and, staggering forward with weakened steps, reached +Mestre, where kind friends dressed his wounds.</p> + +<p>“I shall catch this assailant,” cried he, when he had +revived. “He shall rue the day that he ever touched +the person of Carlo Zeno.” And forthwith he secured +a number of bloodhounds with which to track the +cowardly ruffian of the highway.</p> + +<p>Luck was with the future commander of the galleons +and fighting men. He ran the scurvy assailant to +earth, like a fox. He captured him, bound him and +handed him over to the justice of Padua,—where—for +the heinousness of the offense—the man was +executed. So ended the first conflict in which the +renowned Carlo Zeno was engaged,—successfully—as +did most of his later battles.</p> + +<p>Not long afterwards young Zeno returned to his +studies at the University, but here—as a lover of +excitement—he fell into bad company. Alas! he +took to gambling, and frittered away all of his ready +money, so that he had to sell his books in order to +play. The profit from these was soon gone. He was +bankrupt at the early age of seventeen.</p> + +<p>Ashamed to go home, the future sea rover disappeared +from Padua and joined a fighting band of +mercenaries (paid soldiers) who were in the employ +of a wealthy Italian Prince. He was not heard of for +full five years. Thus, his relatives gave him up for +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> +dead, and, when—one day—he suddenly stalked +into the house of his parents, his brothers and sisters +set up a great shout of wonder and amazement. +“Hurrah!” cried they, “the dead has returned to his +own. This is no ghost, for he speaks our own native +tongue. Carlo Zeno, you shall be given the best that +we have, for we believed that you had gone to another +world.”</p> + +<p>Pleased and overwhelmed with affection, young +Carlo stayed for a time with his family, and then—thinking +that, as he had been trained for the priesthood, +he had best take charge of his canonry of Patras—he +went to Greece.</p> + +<p>“Hah! my fine fellow,” said the Governor, when +he first saw him, “I hear that you are fond of fighting. +It is well. The Turks are very troublesome, just now, +and they need some stout Venetian blood to hold them +in check. You must assist us.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll do my best,” cried Zeno with spirit, and, he +had not been there a week before the Ottomans +swooped down upon the city, bent upon its demolition. +The young Venetian sallied forth—with numerous +fighting men—to meet them, and, in the first clash of +arms, received such a gaping wound that he was given +up for dead. In fact, when carried to the city, he was +considered to be without life, was stretched upon a +long settee, was clothed in a white sheet, and prepared +for interment. But in the early morning he suddenly +opened his eyes, gazed wonderingly at the white shroud +which covered him, and cried, with no ill humor,</p> + +<p>“Not yet, my friends. Carlo Zeno will disappoint +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> +all your fondest hopes. Once more I am of the +world.”</p> + +<p>And, so saying, he scrambled to his feet, much to +the dismay of the sorrowing Venetians, who had been +carefully spreading a number of flowers upon the +prostrate form of the supposedly dead warrior.</p> + +<p>But so weak was the youthful hero that he had to +be taken to Venice in order to recover. When strong +again he resumed his studies for the ministry and was +sent to Patras, a city that was soon threatened by +an army of twelve thousand Cypriotes and Frenchmen.</p> + +<p>“Here, Zeno,” cried the Bishop of Patras to the +virile young stripling. “We have seven hundred +riders in our city. With this mere handful, you must +defend us against our enemies. The odds are fifteen +to one against you. But you must struggle valiantly +to save our beautiful capital.”</p> + +<p>“Aye! Sire!” cried the youthful student of church +history. “I shall do my best to free your capital from +these invaders. May the God of Hosts be with us! +My men salute you.”</p> + +<p>So saying the valiant youth led his small and ill +drilled company against the besiegers, and, so greatly +did he harass his adversaries, that they abandoned the +enterprise, at the end of six months; made peace; and +retired.</p> + +<p>“Hail to Zeno!” cried many of the soldiers. “He +is a leader well worth our respect. Without him the +great city would have surely fallen. Yea! Hail to +young Zeno.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> +These words of praise reached the ears of a certain +Greek Knight named Simon, and so roused his envy, +that he audaciously accused Carlo of treachery, which +was soon told to the hot-headed young warrior. He +acted as one would well expect of him.</p> + +<p>“I challenge you to single combat,” cried he. “The +duel shall be fought in Naples under the eye of Queen +Johanna.”</p> + +<p>In vain Carlo’s friends besought him to forgive the +loose-tongued Simon—his patron, the Bishop, exhausted +his eloquence in the endeavor to reconcile the +two. The hot blood of youth would out. It was fight +and no compromise. But before the trial, the bold and +unyielding soldier threw up his position with the +Church and married a rich and noble lady of Clarenta, +whose fortune well supplanted the large income which +he had forfeited by his resignation.</p> + +<p>Now honor called for deeds. Almost immediately +he was obliged to leave for Naples in order to meet the +detractor of his valor, and, to his surprise, the Queen +spoke lightly of the quarrel. “It is a question of law,” +said she. “An inquiry shall be had. There must be +no bloodshed.”</p> + +<p>An inquiry was therefore in order, and it was a +thorough one. “Simon is in the wrong,” said the +fellow acting as clerk for those sitting upon the case. +“He must pay all the expenses to which Zeno has +been put, and there shall be no duel.”</p> + +<p>“My honor has been cleared,” cried Zeno. “I must +return to Greece.” There—strange as it might seem—he +was at once named Governor of a province, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> +though not yet twenty-three. Events were going well +with him. But his wife died, he was cheated of his +dowry by her relations, and so he turned once more to +Venice,—saddened, older and nearly penniless. The +wheel of fortune had turned badly for this leader of +fighting men and future general of white-winged +galleons of the sea.</p> + +<p>But now there was a really good fight—such a +fight as all true sailors love—a fight which tested the +grit and courage of Zeno to the full. It was the first +of those heroic deeds of arms which shed undying +lustre on his name, and marked him as a seaman of +the first rank,—a captain of true courage, resources +and ambition.</p> + +<p>The Genoese (or inhabitants of Genoa) and the +Venetians, were continually at war in these days, and +when—in patriotic zeal—Carlo Zeno seized the +island of Tenedos, the Venetian Senate, fearing lest +the Genoese would seek to recover the lost possession, +sent a fleet of fifteen ships to guard it, under one Pietro +Mocenigo. There were also two other vessels, one +commanded by Carlo Zeno himself. The mass of +galleys floated on to Constantinople, for the Greeks +had allied themselves with the Genoese, had seized a +Venetian man-of-war, which had been captured, and +had then retired. Three lumbering hulks were left to +protect the fair isle of Tenedos,—under Zeno, the +war-like Venetian.</p> + +<p>“Aha,” said a Genoese seaman. “There are but +three galleys left to save our isle of Tenedos. We +shall soon take it with our superior force. Forward, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> +O sailors! We’ll have revenge for the attack of the +wild men from Venice.”</p> + +<p>“On! on!” cried the Genoese seamen, and without +further ado, twenty-two galleys careened forward, +their white sails bellying in the wind, their hawsers +groaning, spars creaking, and sailors chattering like +magpies on a May morning.</p> + +<p>Carlo Zeno had only three hundred regular soldiers +and a few archers, but he occupied the suburbs of the +town and waited for the attackers to land. This they +did in goodly numbers, for the sea was calm and motionless, +although it was the month of November.</p> + +<p>“Men!” cried the intrepid Zeno, “you are few. +The enemy are as numerous as blades of grass. Do +your duty! Fight like Trojans, and, if you win, your +grateful countrymen will treat you as heroes should be +respected. Never say die, and let every arrow find an +opening in the armor of the enemy.”</p> + +<p>The Genoese came on with shouts of expectancy, +but they were met with a far warmer reception than +they had anticipated. The air was filled with flying +arrows, as, crouching low behind quickly constructed +redoubts, the followers of the stout-souled Zeno busily +stretched their bowstrings, and shot their feathered +barbs into the mass of crowding seamen. Savage +shouts and hoarse cries of anguish, rose from both +attackers and attacked, while the voice of Zeno, shrilled +high above the battle’s din, crying: “Shoot carefully, +my men, do not let them defeat us, for the eyes of +Venice are upon you.” So they struggled and bled, +until the shadows began to fall, when—realizing that +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> +they were unable to take the courageous Venetians—the +Genoese withdrew to their ships.</p> + +<p>There was laughter and song around the camp fires +of Zeno’s little band, that night, but their leader spoke +critically of the morrow.</p> + +<p>“Sleep well, my men,” said he, “for I know that +our foes are well angered at the beating we have given +them. Next morn we shall again be at war. Let us +keep our courage and have as a battle cry, ‘Venice! +No retreat and no quarter!’”</p> + +<p>When morning dawned the Genoese were seen to +land engines of war, with the apparent intention of +laying siege to the town. Their preparations showed +that they meant to attack upon the side farthest from +the castle, so Carlo Zeno—the quick-witted—placed +a number of his men in ambush, among a collection of +half-ruined and empty houses which stood in that +quarter. “Stay here, my men,” said he, “and when +the enemy has advanced, charge them with fury. We +must win to-day, or we will be disgraced.”</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the rest of the Venetians had retreated +inland, and, crouching low behind a screen of brush, +waited patiently for the Genoese to come up. “Be +cautious,” cried Zeno, “and when the enemy is within +striking distance, charge with all the fury which you +possess.”</p> + +<p>“Aye! Aye! Good master,” cried the stubborn +soldiers. “We mark well what you tell us.”</p> + +<p>Not long afterwards the attacking party came in +view, and, without suspecting what lay in front, advanced +with quick gait towards the supposedly +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> +defenseless town. But suddenly, with a wild yell, the +followers of Zeno leaped from behind the screening +bushes, and dashed towards them. At the same instant, +the soldiers who had been placed in hiding, attacked +suddenly from the rear. Arrows poured into +the ranks of the Genoese, and they fell like wheat before +the scythe of the reaper. Hoarse shouts, groans, +and cries of victory and death, welled above the battle’s +din.</p> + +<p>In the midst of this affair Carlo Zeno gave a cry of +pain. An arrow (poisoned ’tis said) had entered his +leg and struck him to the ground. But, nothing +daunted, he rose to cry shrilly to his men, “On! On! +Drive them to the ocean.” And, so well did his soldiers +follow these commands, that the Genoese fled in +confusion and disorder to their ships. The day was +won.</p> + +<p>As was natural, Zeno paid no attention to his wound, +and, when the enemy hurried to shore the next day +for another attack, they were greeted with such a terrific +discharge of artillery that they gave up their idea +of capturing the island and sailed away amidst cries of +derision from the delighted Venetians.</p> + +<p>“Hurrah!” cried they. “Hurrah for Zeno!” But +so exhausted was the intrepid leader by reason of his +wound that he fell into a spasm as if about to die. His +iron constitution pulled him through, however, and +soon he and the faithful band returned to Venice, +covered with glory, and full satisfied with their hard +won victory.</p> + +<p>The daring Zeno was well deserving of praise, for +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> +he had beaten a fleet and an army by sheer genius, with +three ships and a handful of men. To Venice had +been preserved the valuable island which guards the +entrance to the Dardanelles, and to her it was to remain +for years, although the Genoese tried many times and +oft to wrest it from her grasp.</p> + +<p>Now came another struggle—the war of Chioggia—a +struggle in which Carlo Zeno played a great and +noble part,—a part, in fact, that has made his name +a byword among the grateful Venetians: a part in +which he displayed a leadership quite equal to that of +a Drake, or a Hawkins, and led his fighting galleons +with all the courage of a lion. Hark, then, to the +story of this unfortunate affair! Hark! and let your +sympathy be stirred for Carlo Zeno, the indefatigable +navigator of the clumsy shipping of the Italian peninsula!</p> + +<p>For years the Republics of Genoa and Venice remained +at peace, but, for years the merchants of the +two countries had endeavored to outwit each other in +trade; and, thus, when the Genoese seized several +Venetian ships with rich cargoes, in 1350, and refused +to give them up, war broke out between the rival +Republics. In two engagements at sea, the Venetians +were defeated; but in a third they were victorious, and +forever sullied the banner of St. Mark, which flew +from their Admiral’s mast-head, by causing nearly +five thousand prisoners of war to be drowned. Fired +by a desire for immediate revenge upon their foe, the +Genoese hurried a mighty fleet to sea, and ravaged the +Italian coast up to the very doors of Venice itself. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> +Several other engagements followed, in most of which +the Venetians were defeated; and then there were +twenty years of peace before another conflict.</p> + +<p>Finally war broke out afresh. Angry and vindictive, +the Genoese bore down upon the Venetian coast in +numerous lumbering galleys, determined—this time—to +reach Venice itself, and to sack this rich and populous +city. With little difficulty they captured Chioggia, +a seaport, a populous city and the key to the lagoons +which led to the heart of the capital. They advanced +to the very outskirts of Venice, and their cries of joyous +vindictiveness sounded strangely near to the now +terrified inhabitants, who, rallying around their old +generals and city fathers, were determined to fight to +the last ditch.</p> + +<p>As winter came, the victoriously aggressive Genoese +retreated to Chioggia, withdrawing their fleet into the +safe harbor to await the spring; leaving only two or +three galleys to cruise before the entrance, in case the +now angered Venetians should attack. But they were +to be rudely awakened from their fancied seclusion.</p> + +<p>“Lead us on, O Pisani,” the Venetians had cried in +the broad market space of their beloved city. “We +must and will drive these invaders into their own +country. Never have we received before such insults. +On! On! to Chioggia.”</p> + +<p>So, silent and vengeful, the Venetian fleet stole out +to sea on the evening of December twenty-first. There +were thirty-four galleys, sixty smaller armed vessels, +and hundreds of flat-bottomed boats. Pisani was in +the rear, towing two heavy, old hulks, laden with +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> +stones, to sink in the entrance of the harbor and bottle +up the fleet, even as the Americans were to sink the +<i>Merrimac</i> in the Harbor of Santiago, many years +afterwards.</p> + +<p>The Genoese were unready. The cruisers, on duty as +sentinels, were not where they should have been, and +so the gallant Pisani scuttled the hulks across the harbor +entrance and caught the bold marauders like rats +in a trap. The fleet of the enemy was paralyzed, particularly +as another river’s mouth, some two miles +southward, was also blockaded. Smiles of satisfaction +shone upon the faces of the outraged Venetians.</p> + +<p>Carlo Zeno was hurrying up with a strong fleet +manned by veteran seamen, but the now victorious +followers of Pisani wished to return to Venice.</p> + +<p>“It is the Christmas season,” cried many. “We +have fought like lions. We have shut up our enemy. +We have averted the extreme danger. Let us return +to our wives and our children!”</p> + +<p>“You cannot go,” said Pisani, sternly. “You are +the entire male population of Venice. Without you the +great expedition will come to naught, and all of our +toil will have been thrown away. Only be calm. +Carlo Zeno will soon be here, and we can then take +Chioggia!”</p> + +<p>Alas! Like Columbus, he saw himself upon the +verge of losing the result of all his labor for lack of +confidence in him upon the part of his men. He could +not keep them by force, so wearily and anxiously he +scanned the horizon for signs of an approaching sail.</p> + +<p>The days went slowly by for the lion-hearted Pisani. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> +Carlo Zeno did not come. Day after day the valiant +leader fearfully looked for the white-winged canvas +of a Venetian galleon, but none came to view. On the +thirtieth day of December his men were very mutinous.</p> + +<p>“We will seize the ships and return to-morrow to +Venice,” cried several. “We have had enough of +war. Our wives and daughters cry to us to return.”</p> + +<p>Pisani was desperate.</p> + +<p>“If Carlo Zeno does not come in forty-eight hours, +the fleet may return to Lido,” said he. “Meanwhile, +keep your guns shooting at the enemy. We must +make these Genoese feel that we shall soon attack in +force.”</p> + +<p>But Pisani’s heart was leaden. Where, yes, where +was Zeno? New Year’s Day came, and, by his promise, +he must let the Venetians go. What did this +mean for him? It meant the fall of Venice, the end +of the Republic, the destruction of the population with +all that they possessed. He—their idol, their leader +for ten days—could no longer lead, for the Venetians +could not bear a little cold and hardship for his +sake. Sad—yes, sad, indeed—was the face of the +stout seaman as he gave one last despairing glance at +the horizon.</p> + +<p>Ha! What was that? A thin, white mark against +the distant blue! It grew larger and clearer. It was +the sail of a galley. Another, and another, and another +hove in sight,—eighteen in all, and driving +along swiftly before a heavy wind. But, were they +hostile, or friendly? That was the question. Was +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> +it Zeno, or were these more galleons of the Genoese? +Then, joy shone in the keen eyes of Pisani, for the +banner of St. Mark fluttered from the peak of the +foremost ship, and floated fair upon the morning +breeze. Hurrah! It was Carlo Zeno, the lion-hearted.</p> + +<p>God speed brave Zeno! He had been twice +wounded in fights along the coast, en route, but nothing +could diminish his energy, or dampen his ardor. +He had laid waste the Genoese coast; he had intercepted +convoys of grain; he had harassed the enemy’s +commerce in the East, and he had captured a huge +vessel of theirs with five hundred thousand pieces of +gold. Marvellous Zeno! Brave, courageous Venetian +sea-dog, you are just in the nick of time!</p> + +<p>“Thanks be to Heaven that you have come,” cried +Pisani, tears welling to his eyes. “Now we will go +in and take Chioggia. It means the end of the war +for us. Again, I say, thanks be to Heaven.”</p> + +<p>With renewed hope and confidence the Venetians +now pushed the siege. Seeing that their fleet could +never escape, the Genoese started to dig a canal to the +open sea, by which the boats could be brought off +during the night. The work was begun, but Carlo +Zeno discovered it in time. Volunteers were called +for, a force was soon landed, and, under the leadership +of Zeno, marched to intercept the diggers of this, +the only means of escape.</p> + +<p>“The Venetians are going towards ‘Little +Chioggia,’” cried many of the Genoese. “We must +hasten there to stop them.”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a name="zenos_fleet" id="zenos_fleet"></a> +<img src="images/fpas04.jpg" width="600" height="349" alt="" /> +<p class="smlfont">From an old print.</p> +</div> + +<p class="caption">ZENO’S FLEET.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> +But Zeno had only made a feint in this direction. +Throwing his main force in the rear of the Genoese, +he soon began to cut them up badly. They were +seized with a panic. They fled towards the bridge of +Chioggia, trampling upon each other as they ran, pursued +and slashed to ribbons by Zeno’s men. The +bridge broke beneath the weight of the fugitives and +hundreds were drowned in the canal, while thousands +perished near the head of this fateful causeway. It +was a great and signal victory for Zeno; the intrepid +sea-dog and campaigner on land.</p> + +<p>This was a death blow. That night some of the +garrison hastened to desert, and, as the siege progressed, +the drinking water began to fail, the food +gave out, and starvation stared the holders of Chioggia +in the face. On the twenty-fourth of June the city +surrendered; and four thousand one hundred and +seventy Genoese, with two hundred Paduans—ghastly +and emaciated—more like moving corpses +than living beings—marched out to lay down their +arms. Seventeen galleys, also, were handed over to +the Venetians: the war-worn relics of the once powerful +fleet which had menaced Venice itself.</p> + +<p>As a feat of generalship, Pisani’s blockade of the +Genoese fleet is rivalled by Sampson’s blockade of +Cervera’s squadron at Santiago in 1898, and the military +operation by which Carlo Zeno tempted the garrison +of Brondolo into the trap which he had set for +them, and drove them, like a flock of sheep into +Chioggia, by sunset, is surely a splendid feat of arms. +All honor to this intrepid sea-dog of old Venice!</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> +How fickle is Dame Fortune! Jealous of the reputation +of this noble Venetian, the patricians, whose +advice, during the war, he had consistently declined to +follow; refused to make him a Doge of the City. It +was thought that the election of the bravest captain of +the day might be dangerous to the Republic. Instead +of doing him honor, they imprisoned him; and was +he not the noblest patriot of them all?</p> + +<p>When over seventy years of age,—the greatest and +truest Venetian—loaned a small sum of money to +the Prince Carrara, once a power in Venetian politics. +He had saved his country from destruction. He had +served her with the most perfect integrity. Yet, he +reaped the reward which fell to the share of nearly +every distinguished Venetian; he was feared by the +government; hated by the nobles whom he had out-stripped +in honor, and was condemned to prison by +men who were not worthy to loose the latchet of his +shoes. Although he had often paid the mercenary soldiers +to fight for Venice, in the War of Chioggia, from +his own pocket, he was sent to jail for loaning money +to an unfortunate political refugee.</p> + +<p>When called before the Council of Ten on the night +of the twentieth of January, 1406, the warrant for his +examination authorized the use of torture. But even +the Ten hesitated at this.</p> + +<p>“He is a brave man,” said one. “Pray allow him +to go untouched.”</p> + +<p>The prisoner admitted that he had loaned the money. +His explanation was both honorable and clear. But +the Ten were obdurate that night.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> +“He shall go to the Pozzi prison for a year,” said +they. “Besides this, he shall suffer the perpetual loss +of all offices which he has held.”</p> + +<p>Like a brave man, Carlo Zeno accepted the sentence +without a murmur, and his sturdy frame did not suffer +from the confinement. For twelve years longer he +lived in perfect health; made a pilgrimage to Jerusalem; +commanded the troops of the Republic once +again; defeated the Cypriotes, and died peacefully,—a +warrior with a name of undiminished lustre, most +foully tarnished by his own compatriots. His is a +reputation of undying glory, that of his judges is +that of eternal shame. All honor to Carlo Zeno, the +valorous Venetian, who could fight a ship as well as a +squadron of foot soldiers on land! <i>Salve, Venetia!</i></p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Dip the banner of St. Mark,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dip—and let the lions roar.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Zeno’s soul has gone above,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bow—a warrior’s life is o’er.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p> + +<h2>HARKEE, BOYS!</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Harkee, Boys! I’ll tell you of the torrid, Spanish Main,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the tarpons leap and tumble in the silvery ocean plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the wheeling condors circle; where the long-nosed ant-bears sniff<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At the food the Jackie “caches” in the Aztec warrior’s cliff.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Oh! Hurray for the deck of a galleon stout,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Hurray for the life on the sea,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Hurray! for the cutlass; the dirk; an’ th’ pike;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Wild rovers we will be.</i><br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Harkee, Boys! I’ll tell you of the men of Morgan’s band,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Drake and England—rascals—in the palm-tree, tropic land.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I’ll tell you of bold Hawkins, how he sailed around the Horn.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the Manatees went <em>chuck! chuck! chuck!</em> in the sun-baked, lazy morn.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Oh! Hurray for the deck of a galleon stout,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Hurray for the life on the sea,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Hurray! for the cutlass; the dirk; an’ th’ pike;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Wild rovers we will be.</i><br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Harkee, Boys! You’re English, and you come of roving blood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now, when you’re three years older, you must don a sea-man’s hood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You must turn your good ship westward,—you must plough towards the land<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the mule-train bells go <em>tink! tink! tink!</em> and the bending cocoas stand.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Oh! You will be off on a galleon stout,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Oh! You will be men of the sea,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Hurray! for the cutlass; the dirk; an’ th’ pike;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Wild rovers you will be.</i><br /></span> +</div> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<a name="Page_23" id="Page_23"><!--unnumbered title page --></a> +<p><span class='pagenum'></span></p> + +<h2>SIR FRANCIS DRAKE<br /> +<br /> +ROVER AND SEA RANGER<br /> +<br /> +(1540-1596)</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“The man who frets at worldly strife<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grows sallow, sour, and thin;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Give us the lad whose happy life<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is one perpetual grin:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He, Midas-like, turns all to gold,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He smiles, when others sigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enjoys alike the hot and cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And laughs through wet and dry.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author">—<span class="smcap">Drake.</span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center padtop">SIR FRANCIS DRAKE<br /> +ROVER AND SEA RANGER<br /> +(1540-1596)</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sing a song of stout dubloons,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of gold and jingling brass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A song of Spanish galleons,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Foul-bottomed as they pass.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of roaring blades and stumbling mules,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of casks of malmsey wine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of red, rip-roaring ruffians,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a thin, meandering line.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>They’re with Drake, Drake, Drake,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>He can make the sword hilt’s shake,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>He’s a rattling, battling Captain of the Main.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>You can see the Spaniards shiver,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>As he nears their shelt’ring river,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>While his eyelids never quiver</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>At the slain.</i><br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">So,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Here’s to Drake, Drake, Drake,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Come—make the welkin shake,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And raise your frothing glasses up on high.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">If you love a man and devil,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who can treat you on the level,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then, clink your goblet’s bevel,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To Captain Drake.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p><span class="dropcap">T</span>AKE care, boy, you will fall overboard. +Take care and do not play with your brother +near the edge of our good ship, for the +water here is deep, and I know that you can swim +but ill.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> +The man who spoke was a rough, grizzled sea-dog, +clad in an old jersey and tarpaulins. He stood upon +the deck of an aged, dismantled warship, which—anchored +in the shallow water near Chatham, England,—swung +to and fro in the eddying currents. +Around him, upon the unwashed deck, scampered a +swarm of little children, twelve in all, and all of them +his own.</p> + +<p>“Very good, Father,” spoke the curly-haired +youngster. “I’ll mind what you tell me. You’re +wrong, though, when you say that I cannot swim, for +I can, even to yonder shore. Do you want to see me +do it?”</p> + +<p>“Nay, nay,” chuckled the stout seaman. “You’re +a boy of courage, Francis. That I can well see. But +do not try the water. It is cold and you will have +a cramp and go under. Stick to the quarter-deck.” +And laughing softly to himself, he went below, where +a strong smell of cooking showed that there was something +upon the galley stove to feed his hungry crew +of youthful Englishmen.</p> + +<p>It was surely a strange house to bring up a troop +of merry children in. The sound of wind and waves +was familiar to them at night and they grew to be +strong and fearless. But is not this the proper way +to rear a sea-dog?</p> + +<p>These little ducklings, descended from a Drake, +must have early set their hearts upon adventure and +a seafaring life. In fact, one of them, young Francis, +was to be one of the best known seamen of the centuries +and knighted for his services to the Crown. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> +Reared in a ship, he, by nature, loved the sea as only +a child of the ocean could have done. The brine ran +in his blood.</p> + +<p>Being the son of a poor man, he was apprenticed +to a master of a small vessel which used to coast along +the shore and carry merchandise to France and the +Netherlands. He learned his business well. So well, +indeed, that at the death of the master of the +vessel it was bequeathed “to Francis Drake, because +he was diligent and painstaking and pleased the +old man, his master, by his industry.” But the +gallant, young sea-dog grew weary of the tiny +barque.</p> + +<p>“It only creeps along the shore,” he said. “I want +to get out upon the ocean and see the world. I will +therefore enlist with my stout kinsmen, the Hawkins +brothers, rich merchants both, who build and sail their +own ships.”</p> + +<p>This he did, and thus began the roving life of +Francis Drake: dare-devil and scourge of the West +Indian waters.</p> + +<p>About fifty years before this lusty mariner had been +born, America was discovered by Christopher Columbus—an +Italian sailor in the service of Spain—and +this powerful country had seized a great part of the +new found land. There was no love lost between the +Spaniards and the men from the cold, northern British +Isles and thus Francis Drake spent his entire career +battling with the black-haired, rapacious, and avaricious +adventurers who flew the banner of King Philip +of Arragon. Sometimes he was defeated, more often +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> +he was successful. Hark, then, to the tale of his many +desperate encounters upon the wide waters of the +surging Atlantic.</p> + +<p>Drake had said, “I’m going to sea with the Hawkins +and view the world,” and, as John Hawkins was +just about to sail for the West Indies in six ships, the +youthful and eager mariner was given an opportunity +to command a vessel called the <i>Judith</i>. The fleet at +first had good success. Slaves were captured upon the +African coast and were sold in the West Indies, +though with difficulty, because the Spaniards had been +forbidden by their king to trade with the English. +Laden with treasure and spices, the ships were about +to start for home, when fearful storms beset them. +Their beams were badly shattered.</p> + +<p>“We must seek a haven,” cried Hawkins. “Ready +about and steer for Vera Cruz, the port of the City +of Mexico! There we can buy food and repair our +fleet!”</p> + +<p>“’Tis well,” cried his men, and, aiming for the +sheltering harbor, they soon ploughed into the smooth +water of the bay. But there was consternation among +the Spaniards of the town.</p> + +<p>“We have treasure here,” they whispered to each +other. “See, those English dogs have come to rob +us! We must fight, brothers, and fight hard to keep +the cruel Islanders away.” And they oiled their pistols +and sharpened their cutlasses upon their grindstones.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 494px;"> +<a name="francis_drake" id="francis_drake"></a> +<img src="images/fpas05.jpg" width="494" height="600" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p class="caption">SIR FRANCIS DRAKE.</p> + +<p>But luck was with the inhabitants of Vera Cruz. +Next morning thirteen careening galleys swept into +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> +the quiet waters of the bay and joy shone in the black +eyes of the Spaniards.</p> + +<p>“It is a Mexican fleet,” cried they. “It returns +with a new Viceroy or Governor, from good King +Philip of Spain.” And they laughed derisively.</p> + +<p>But in the breasts of Drake and Hawkins there was +doubt and suspicion.</p> + +<p>“They are sure to attack us,” said Hawkins, moving +among his men. “Let every fellow be upon his +guard.”</p> + +<p>The Spanish were full of bowings and scrapings. +They protested their deep friendship for the English +and wished to be moored alongside.</p> + +<p>“We are very glad to see you, English brothers,” +said one. “We welcome you to the traffic and trade +of the far East.” So they peacefully dropped anchor +near the suspicious men of England, still smiling, singing, +and cheerfully waving a welcome to the none-too-happy +sailors.</p> + +<p>“Avast,” cried Francis Drake, “and sleep on your +arms, my Hearties, for to-morrow there’ll be trouble, +or else my blood’s not British.” He was but a young +man, yet he had guessed correctly.</p> + +<p>As the first glimmer of day shone in the dim horizon, +a shot awoke the stillness of the morn. Another +and another followed in rapid succession. Then +<em>boom!</em> a cannon roared, and a great iron ball buried +itself in the decking of the <i>Jesus</i>; the flagship of +gallant Hawkins.</p> + +<p>“We’re attacked,” cried Drake. “Man the decks! +Up sails and steer to sea! Fight as you never fought +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> +before! Strike and strike hard for dear old England!”</p> + +<p>But his warning almost came too late, for two +Spanish galleons ranged alongside and swung grappling +irons into his rigging in order to close with the +moving vessel. The Englishmen struck at them with +oars and hand-spikes, knocking the tentacles of the +on-coming octopus aside, and, with sails flying and +shots rattling, the <i>Judith</i> bore towards the open sea.</p> + +<p>The fight was now furious. Two of the English +ships were sunk and the <i>Jesus</i>, Hawkins’ own boat, +was so badly damaged that she lay apparently helpless +in the trough of the surging ocean.</p> + +<p>“Back, my Hearties,” cried Drake, “and we’ll see +what we can do to save our gallant captain.”</p> + +<p>So back they sailed, and, firing their little cannon +with rapidity, soon held off the Spanish ship which +threatened Hawkins himself with capture. Some of +the English sailors jumped into their boats and rowed +away, some gave in to the Spaniards, and some fought +relentlessly. Thus raged the battle until the evening.</p> + +<p>As night fell, Drake ordered the <i>Judith</i> to put to +sea, Hawkins followed, and wandering about in these +unknown parts, with little water and a scarcity of +food, hunger forced the weary sailors to eat hides, +cats, dogs, mice, rats, parrots and monkeys.</p> + +<p>“It was the troublesome voyage,” wrote Hawkins, +and such, indeed, it had proved to be. Some of the +sailors asked to be placed on land rather than risk +shipwreck and starvation in the overcrowded boat. +Some of them reached England after years of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> +suffering and weary journeying to and fro. Some were +captured by the Spaniards and were put to death as +heretics. A few were sent to the galleys as slaves. +Others, more fortunate, were rowed ashore to serve +in monasteries, where the monks made kind and gentle +masters.</p> + +<p>And what of the youthful and danger-loving +Drake? Five days before the wind-swept <i>Jesus</i> struggled +into Plymouth harbor with Hawkins and a famine-driven +crew, Drake and his own adventurous Englishmen +steered the little <i>Judith</i> to the rocky headland +which hides this sheltering refuge from the fury of +the sea.</p> + +<p>“I am indeed right glad to reach Merrie England +again,” said he, “for we have had a rough and dangerous +voyage. The Spaniards are treacherous dogs. +They betrayed us, and henceforth I, for one, shall +show them no quarter.”</p> + +<p>So saying he journeyed to London to see the good +Queen Elizabeth.</p> + +<p>“It is impossible for me to wage war upon Philip +of Spain,” said the valiant Mistress of England’s destinies, +when she heard his story of loss of kinsmen, +friends and goods of great value. “I have a poor +country. The navy of my fathers has been ruined. I +have no proper army with which to avenge the treachery +of Spain, and I have trouble with both France +and Scotland. If you would have revenge, take matters +into your own hands.”</p> + +<p>“Philip is the mightiest monarch in the world to-day,” +answered the well-bronzed mariner, bowing low. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> +“I am only a humble seafarer without either ships +or money, but, most gracious Majesty, I am going +to help myself in my quarrel with the King of Spain. +From henceforth there will be war to the death between +myself and the men of the south.”</p> + +<p>The good Queen smiled, for she truly loved a valiant +man.</p> + +<p>“May God be with you,” said she.</p> + +<p>It was not long before the danger-loving mariner +was again headed for the West Indies and the Spanish +Main, with a crew of seventy-three men and boys.</p> + +<p>“We believe in our leader,” said one. “He will +take us on to fortune and to fame.” And this was +the sentiment of all, for who does not love a voyage +after gold and treasure?</p> + +<p>Ploughing relentlessly across the deep, the two ships +which carried these roving blades, reached the palm-clad +West Indies in twenty-five days. All were cheerful +and gay, for before them was danger, excitement, +battle, and Spanish gold. “Lead on, Captain Drake,” +cried one of the men. “We wish to land at Plymouth +with our pockets stuffed with Spanish dubloons.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll take you to the seaport of Nombre de Dios,” +said the bluff sea ranger. “There is gold and silver +in this spot, and by the hogshead. Furthermore,” he +added chuckling, “most of it will be in the hold of +our stout ships, the <i>Pascha</i> and the <i>Swan</i>, before another +moon.”</p> + +<p>So the sailors were drilled in attack and sword play, +while arms were distributed, which, up to now, had +been kept “very fair and safe in good casks.” All +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> +were in a cheerful mood, for the excitement of battle +had begun to stir the hot blood in their veins.</p> + +<p>Late in the afternoon, the pinnaces (which had been +carried on deck) were launched, and climbing aboard, +the men of Merrie England set sail for the Spanish +town. They lay under the shore, out of sight, until +dark. Then they rowed with muffled oars to the +shadows of the precipitous cliffs which here jutted +into the rolling ocean, and quietly awaited the dawn.</p> + +<p>At three in the morning, while the silvery light of +a half moon was just reddened with the first flush of +dawn, the eager buccaneers landed upon the sandy +beach. “Hark!” cried a youth, “We are already +discovered.”</p> + +<p>As he spoke, the noise of bells, drums, and shouting, +came to the startled ears of the invaders.</p> + +<p>“Twelve men will remain behind to guard the pinnaces,” +cried Drake. “The rest must follow me and +fight even to the last ditch. Forward!”</p> + +<p>Splitting into two bands, the Englishmen rushed +through the narrow streets with a wild cheer ringing +in the silent air. Drake’s brother—with a certain +John Oxenham and sixteen others—hurried around +behind the King’s treasure-house, and entered the +eastern side of the market-place; while Drake, himself, +marched up the main street with bugles blowing, +drums rolling, and balls of lighted tow blazing from +the end of long pikes carried by his stout retainers. +The townsfolk were terrified with the din and blaze +of fire. “An army is upon us,” cried many. “We +must flee for our lives.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> +In spite of this, a goodly number rallied at the +market-place, where there was a sharp fight. But +nothing could withstand the onset of the men from +the fog-swept island, and soon the Spaniards fled, +leaving two behind who had been captured and held.</p> + +<p>“You must show us the Governor’s house,” cried +Drake. “All the treasure is there.”</p> + +<p>The two captives obeyed unwillingly, and great was +the disappointment of the English when they found +only bars of silver in the spacious mansion.</p> + +<p>“On! To the King’s treasure-house!” again +shouted the bold mariner. “There, at least, must be +gold and jewels.”</p> + +<p>In fact the English were furious with disappointment, +for, as they reached the Governor’s mansion +(strongly built of lime and stone for the safe keeping +of treasure) the eager pillagers rushed through the +wide-open doorway. A candle stood lighted upon the +top of the stairs. Before the threshold a horse stood +champing his bit, as if recently saddled for the Governor, +himself, while, by the flickering gleam of the +taper, a huge glittering mass of silver bars was seen +piled from floor to ceiling. That was all,—no caskets +of gold or precious stones were to be seen.</p> + +<p>“Stand to your weapons, men!” cried Drake. +“The town is full of people. Move carefully to the +King’s treasure-house which is near the waterside. +There are more gold and jewels in that spot than all +our pinnaces can carry.”</p> + +<p>As the soldiers hurried where he led, a negro called +Diego, rushed panting from the direction of the shore.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> +“Marse Drake! Marse Drake!” he wailed. “De +boats am surrounded by de Spanish. Dey will sholy +be captured if you do not hurry back. Fo’ de Lohd’s +sake, Massa, come down to de sho’.”</p> + +<p>“My brother and John Oxenham will hasten to the +shore,” cried Drake. “Meanwhile, my Hearties, come +batter down the doorway to this noble mansion. You +are at the mouth of the greatest treasure-chest in the +world.”</p> + +<p>As the valiant captain spoke these words, he stepped +forward to deal a blow, himself, at the stout door +which shut him from the glittering riches. But suddenly +he reeled and almost fell. Blood flowed in great +quantities upon the sand, from a wound in his leg +which he had received in the furious struggle within +the market-place.</p> + +<p>“Come, Captain,” cried one of his retainers, seizing +him in his arms. “You must hasten to our pinnaces. +What brooks this treasure to us when we lose you, +for, if you live we can secure gold and silver enough +at any time, but if you die we can find no more.”</p> + +<p>“I fear me that I am grievously hurt,” sadly spake +the Captain. “Give me but a drink and then I think +that I can reach our boats.”</p> + +<p>A soldier stooped and bound his scarf about the +wounded leg of the now weakened leader, and, bearing +him aloft, the little band of adventurers turned +toward the ocean side. They soon embarked, with +many wounded besides the Captain, though none were +slain save one trumpeter.</p> + +<p>Although the surgeons were kept busy in providing +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> +remedies and salves for the hurts of the soldiers, their +main care was for the bold Francis Drake,—leader +of this desperate expedition in quest of treasure.</p> + +<p>“If we lose you,” cried a sailor, “we can scarce get +home again. But while we enjoy your presence and +have you in command of us, we can recover enough +of wealth.”</p> + +<p>“Before we left the harbor we took, with little +trouble, a ship of wine for the greater comfort of our +company,” writes one of the stout soldiers in this +brave affair. “And though they shot at us from the +town we carried our prize to the Isle of Victuals. +Here we cured our wounded men and refreshed ourselves +in the goodly gardens which we found there +abounding with great store of dainty roots and fruit. +There were also great plenty of poultry and other +fowls, no less strange and delicate.”</p> + +<p>Although unsuccessful—as you see—the brave +mariners were not daunted, and, after the wounded +had recovered, a new expedition was determined upon, +with the purpose of capturing one of the trains of +mules which carried gold from Vera Cruz to Panama. +Drake had been joined by numerous Maroons—negroes +who had escaped from the Spaniards and +had turned bandits—and these were quite willing and +ready to aid him in the pursuit of treasure. But before +the English marauders moved towards the interior, +they attempted to attack Cartagena, the capital +of the Spanish Main.</p> + +<p>Sailing into the harbor in front of this prosperous +town, one evening, they found that the townsfolk had +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> +been well warned of their coming; they rang their +bells and fired their cannon, while all of the soldiers +ranged themselves before the ramparts.</p> + +<p>“Egad,” cried Drake, with strange cheerfulness, in +spite of his disappointment. “They’re far too ready +to receive us. We’ve got to withdraw.”</p> + +<p>So they prowled around the mouth of the harbor, +captured two ships, outward bound, and roared with +laughter as they read a letter, written to warn all +nearby citizens of “that terrible marauder, pirate, and +butcher, Captain Drake.”</p> + +<p>“The Spaniards carry no treasure by land during +the rainy months,” said one of the natives. “You +must wait for five full moons, if you wish to catch a +mule train.”</p> + +<p>“All right,” said Captain Drake. “We’ll fortify +a place of refuge—explore—and await the propitious +moment when we can hope for success.”</p> + +<p>Thus they tarried patiently until they heard from +the Maroons (who ranged the country up and down) +that a large fleet had arrived from Spain at Nombre +de Dios. This was glad news. Drake smiled as he +heard it, and prepared immediately to make a land +journey to Panama with forty-eight followers, carrying +provisions, arms, and many pairs of shoes, because +they were to cross several rivers of stone and +gravel.</p> + +<p>The way lay between great palm trees and through +cool and pleasant woods where the sturdy Englishmen +were much encouraged when they heard that there +stood a great tree, not far from where they were, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +from which one could see both the North Sea (Atlantic) +from which they were journeying, and the +South Sea (Pacific) towards which they were going. +Finally—upon the fourth day—they came to a very +steep hill, lying east and west like a ridge, and, at this +point, Pedro—chief of the Maroons—took Drake +by the hand, saying,</p> + +<p>“Follow me, O Captain, and I will show you two +seas at once, for you are in the very centre of this +country. Behold you stand in the heart of this fertile +land.”</p> + +<p>Looking before him, the lion-hearted adventurer +saw a high tree in which had been cut many steps, +so that one could climb to the top. Here was a convenient +bower large enough for ten or twelve men to +seat themselves. Then—without further ado—he +and the chief Maroon clambered into the spreading +branches and gazed across the nodding palm tops +into the dim distance. It was a fair day, and, as the +Maroons had felled certain trees so that the prospect +might be more clear, upon the delighted vision of +the Englishman burst the vista of the blue Atlantic +and shimmering Pacific.</p> + +<p>“I pray Almighty God in all his goodness,” cried +out the adventurous Drake in loud tones of appreciation, +“that I may have life and leave to sail but once +an English ship in this mighty ocean of the West!”</p> + +<p>Then he called up the rest of the voyagers, and +told them of his prayer and purpose.</p> + +<p>“I will follow you by God’s grace!” cried John +Oxenham, “unless you do not wish my company.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> +Drake smiled good-humoredly, and, with a wave +of his arm in the direction of the glistening waters, +descended to the ground.</p> + +<p>“On, my hearties!” cried he, “and we’ll soon bag +a mule train with its panniers filled with gold.”</p> + +<p>The men started forward, singing an old English +ballad. As they walked through the high pampas +grass, they began to get glimpses of Panama and the +low-lying ships in the harbor. They kept silence and +at length hid themselves in a grove near the high road +from Panama to Nombre de Dios, while a negro was +sent into the city as a spy.</p> + +<p>In the afternoon the faithful henchman returned.</p> + +<p>“A certain great man intends to go to Spain by +the first ship,” he said. “He is travelling towards +Nombre de Dios this very night with his daughter +and his family. He has fourteen mules, eight of +which are laden with gold and one with jewelry. +Two other trains of fifty mules each—burdened with +food and little silver—will also come up this night.”</p> + +<p>The English smiled, and, without more ado, +marched to within two miles of Vera Cruz, where +half of them lay down upon one side of the road, +and half upon the other. They were screened by the +tall grass; so well, indeed, that no eye could see them, +and in an hour’s time, to their eager ears came the +sound of mule trains passing to and fro near Vera +Cruz, where trade was lively because of the presence +of the Spanish fleet. All was propitious for a successful +attack.</p> + +<p>But misfortune seemed always to follow the bold +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> +and adventurous Drake. As mischance would have +it, one of his men called Robert Pike, who had “drunk +too much brandy without water,” was lying close to +the roadway by the side of a grinning Maroon, and, +when a well-mounted cavalier from Vera Cruz rode +by—with his page running at his stirrup—he rose +up to peer at him, even though his companion pulled +him down in the endeavor to hide his burly form.</p> + +<p>“Sacre Nom de Dieu,” cried the traveller. “It +is a white man! An Englishman!” and, putting +spurs to his horse, he rode away at a furious gallop +in order to warn others of the highwayman’s position.</p> + +<p>The ground was hard and the night was still. As +Captain Drake heard the gentleman’s trot change into +a gallop, he uttered a round British oath.</p> + +<p>“Discovered,” he muttered, “but by whose fault +I know not. We’ll await the other trains and mayhap +we’ll have some booty yet.”</p> + +<p>The gentleman, in fact, warned the Treasurer, who, +fearing that Captain Drake had wandered to this hidden +thicket, turned his train of mules aside and let +the others—who were behind him—pass on. Thus, +by recklessness of one of the company, a rich booty +was lost, but—as an Englishman has well said, “We +thought that God would not let it be taken, for likely +it was well gotten by that Treasurer.”</p> + +<p>There was no use repining, for soon a tinkling of +bells and tread of hoofs came to the eager ears of +the adventurers, and, through the long pampas grass +ambled the other two mule trains—their drivers +snapping the whips with little thought of the lurking +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> +danger. In a moment they were between the English +and hidden Maroons, who—with a wild cheer—dashed +upon them, surrounded them, and easily held +them in their power. Two horse loads of silver was +the prize for all this trouble and hard travel.</p> + +<p>“I never grieve over things past,” cried Drake. +“We must now march home by the shortest route. +It is certainly provoking that we lost the mule train +of gold, particularly as we were betrayed by one of +our own men. Come, soldiers, turn about and retreat +to our good ships.”</p> + +<p>Half satisfied but cheerful, the soldiers and Maroons +turned towards the coast, and, as they neared +Vera Cruz, the infantrymen of the town swarmed +outside to attack the hated men of Merrie England, +with cries of, “Surrender! Surrender!”</p> + +<p>Drake looked at them scornfully, replying,</p> + +<p>“An Englishman never surrenders!”</p> + +<p>At this a volley rang out and one of the intrepid +adventurers was “so powdered with hail-shot that he +could not recover his life, although he continued all +that day with Drake’s men.” But stout Francis blew +his whistle—the signal for attack—and, with a wild +cry, the Maroons and English rushed for the black-haired +and sallow-skinned defenders of the town. +“Yo Peho! Yo Peho!” wailed the half-crazed natives +as they leaped high in the air, and encouraged +by the presence of the English, they broke through +the thickets at the town’s end and forced the enemy +to fly, while the now terrified Spanish scurried pell +mell down the coast. Several of Drake’s followers +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> +were wounded, and one Maroon was run through +with a pike, but his courage was so great that he +revenged his own death ere he died, by slaying a +Spaniard who opposed him.</p> + +<p>At sunrise the land pirates continued their journey, +carrying some plunder from Vera Cruz. Some of the +men fainted with weakness, but two Maroons would +carry them along until they could again walk, and thus—struggling, +cursing and singing—the party of +weary and disappointed marauders neared the place +where they had left their ship. A messenger was sent +forward with a golden toothpick to those left behind +upon the vessel and a request that the ship be brought +into the narrow channel of a certain river. It was +done, and when at last the weary plunderers reached +the shore, they gave a mighty cheer as they saw the +white, bellying sails of their staunch, English vessel. +Their journey for pelf and jewels had been a +failure.</p> + +<p>This did not discourage the lion-hearted Drake, +who declared, with a smile, “We’ll yet catch a mule +train, boys, and one in which the panniers are filled +with sufficient gold to sink our good ship. Keep your +hearts bright and I’ll gain you enough of treasure to +house you in peace and comfort in your old age. +Remember—‘Fortune favors the brave!’” He had +spoken with truth.</p> + +<p>Not long afterwards a French captain appeared, +whose men were only too eager for a little journey +ashore after golden mule trains and battle. So a +party was made up of twenty Frenchmen, fifteen +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> +Englishmen, and some Maroons, who sailed with a frigate +and two pinnaces, towards a river called Rio Francisco—to +the west of Nombre de Dios. They landed, +struck inland, and were soon near the high road from +Panama to Nombre de Dios, where mule trains passed +daily—some with food and merchandise—a few +with golden ingots and bars of silver.</p> + +<p>In silence they marched along and spent the night +about a mile from the road, where they could plainly +hear the carpenters working on their ships—which +they did at night because of the fierce, torrid sun during +the day. Next morning—the first of April, but +not an April Fool’s day by any means—they heard +such a number of bells that the Maroons began +to chuckle and say, “You will have much gold. +Yo Peho! Yo Peho! This time we will all be +rich!”</p> + +<p>Suddenly three mule trains came to view, one of +fifty long-eared beasts of burden; two of seventy each, +with every animal carrying three hundred pounds +weight of silver, amounting to nearly thirty tons. The +sight seemed almost too good to be true. With a wild +shout the ambuscaders leaped from their hiding places +to rush frantically upon the startled drivers. In a +few moments the train was in possession of Drake +and his French and half-negro associates, who chuckled +and grunted like peccaries.</p> + +<p>The leading mules were taken by the heads and all +the rest lay down, as they always do when stopped. +The fifteen soldiers who guarded each train were +routed, but not before they had wounded the French +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> +captain most severely and had slain one of the Maroons. +Silver bars and gold ingots were there aplenty. +They were seized and carried off, while, what was +not transported, was buried in the earthen burrows +made by the great land crabs under fallen trees, and +in the sand and gravel of a shallow river.</p> + +<p>“And now for home,” cried a valorous sea farer, +after a party had returned with a portion of the buried +treasure, which was divided equally between the +French and the English. Much of that left in the +sand crab holes had been discovered by the Spaniards—but +not all. Thirteen bars of silver and a few +quoits of gold had rewarded the search of the expectant +voyageurs.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” cried all. “Sails aloft for Merrie England!” +So, spreading canvas, the bold adventurers +were soon headed for the foggy and misty isle from +which they had come. On Sunday, August ninth, +1573—just about sermon time—they dropped anchor +in the peaceful harbor of Plymouth.</p> + +<p>“And the news of the Captain’s return brought +unto his people, did so speedily pass over all the +church, and fill the minds of the congregation with +delight and desire to see him, that very few, or none, +remained with the preacher. All hastened to see the +evidence of God’s love and blessing towards the gracious +Queen and country, by the fruit of the gallant +mariner’s labor and success.”</p> + +<p>“To God alone,” spake an humble citizen of Plymouth, +“be the Glory.”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a name="drakes_greatest_victory" id="drakes_greatest_victory"></a> +<img src="images/fpas06.jpg" width="600" height="394" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p class="caption">DRAKE’S GREATEST VICTORY ON THE SPANISH MAIN.<br /> +(The surrender of Don Anton to Sir Francis Drake, March 1, 1579.)</p> + +<p>And all echoed these pious sentiments, in spite of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> +the fact that Drake was a robber, a pirate, and a +buccaneer. But was he not their own countryman?</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The scene now changes. It is a gray day at Plymouth +and anxious faces peer into the street from the +windows of the low, tiled houses. A crowd has collected +upon the jutting cliffs and all gaze with eager +eyes towards the ocean. Men speak in hushed and +subdued voices, for there is trouble in the air.</p> + +<p>Among the knots of keen-eyed English there is one +small party which seems to be as joyous as a lot of +school-boys. Five men are playing at bowls, and one +of them is stout, and well knit, and swarthy visaged +with long exposure to the elements. He is laughing +uproariously, when a lean fellow comes running from +the very edge of those beetling cliffs which jut far out +into the gray, green Atlantic.</p> + +<p>“Hark’ee, Captain Drake!” he cries. “Ships are +in the offing, and many of them too! It must be the +fleet of Philip of Spain come to ravage our beauteous +country!”</p> + +<p>“Ah, indeed,” answers the staunch-figured captain, +without looking up. “Then let me have one last shot, +I pray thee, before I go to meet them.”</p> + +<p>And so saying, he calmly tosses another ball +upon the greensward, knocks aside the wooden pins, +then smiling, turns and strides towards the waterside.</p> + +<p>Thus Drake—the lion-hearted—goes out to battle +with the great Armada of Philip of Spain, with a +smile upon his lips, and full confidence in his ability +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> +to defeat the Spaniards at home as well as on the +Spanish Main. Let us see how he fared?</p> + +<p>Smarting with keen anger at Drake and his successful +attacks upon his western possessions, Philip—the +powerful monarch of Spain—determined to +gather a great fleet together and to invade England +with a mighty army.</p> + +<p>“That rascally pirate has beaten me at Cadiz, at +Cartagena, and at Lisbon,” the irate king had roared, +with no show of composure. “Now I will sail against +him and crush this buccaneer, so that he and his kind +can never rise again.”</p> + +<p>A mighty fleet of heavy ships—the Armada—was +not ready to sail until July, 1588, and the months +before this had been well spent by the English in +preparation for defense, for they knew of the full +intention of their southern enemy. Shipwrights +worked day and night. The clamoring dockyards +hummed with excitement, while Good Queen Bess and +her Ministers of State wrote defiant letters to the +missives from the Spanish crown. The cold blood +of the English—always quite lukewarm in their +misty, moisty isle—had begun to boil with vigor. +The Britons would fight valiantly.</p> + +<p>As the lumbering galleons neared the English coast, +a heavy mist which hid them, blew away, and the men +of England saw the glimmering water fairly black +with the wooden vultures of old Spain. The Spaniards +had come ready to fight in the way in which +they had won many a brilliant victory; with a horde +of towering hulks, of double-deckers and store-ships +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> +manned by slaves and yellow-skinned retainers, who +despised big guns and loved a close encounter with +hand thrusts and push of pike. Like a huge, wooden +octopus this arrogant fleet of Arragon moved its tentacles +around the saucy, new-made pinnaces of the +tight little isle.</p> + +<p>“The boats of the English were very nimble and +of good steerage,” writes a Spaniard, “so that the +English did with them as they desired. And our +ships being very heavy compared with the lightness of +those of the enemy, it was impossible to come to hand-stroke +with them.”</p> + +<p>This tells the whole story. With a light wind astern—the +war ships of the English bore down easily upon +the heavy-bottomed Spanish galleons and fired their +guns at the hulls of the enemy.</p> + +<p>“Don’t waste your balls upon the rigging,” cried +Drake through a trumpet. “Sight low and sink ’em +if you can. But keep away from the grappling hooks +so’s not to let ’em get hold of you. If they once do—you’re +lost!”</p> + +<p>Now was the sound of splitting of boards, as the +solid shot pumped great holes in the sides of the high +rocking galleons. Dense clouds of vapor hung over +the struggling combatants—partly from a sea fog +which the July sun had not thoroughly burned away, +and partly from the spitting mouths of the cannon. +Fire burst from the decks, the roar of the guns was +intermingled with the shrill wails of the slaves, the +guttural cries of the seamen, the screams of the +wounded and the derisive howls of those maddened +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> +by battle. The decks were crimson with blood; sails +split and tore as the chain-shot hummed through the +rigging, and the sharp twang of the arquebusques +was mingled with the crash of long-barrelled muskets.</p> + +<p>No men can fight like those who are defending +their own homes. At Gettysburg, the Army of the +Potomac—twice beaten in an attack upon the South +in the enemy’s country—struggled as it had never +done before,—and won. It had nowhere battled as +when the foe was pushing it back upon its own soil +and cities.</p> + +<p>So here—no fighters ever bled as did the English +when the greedy hands of Spain were clutching at +their shores. The light ships hung near the Spaniards +at a distance and did not board until spars were +down and the great rakish hulls were part helpless. +Then—with a wild cheer—the little galleons—often +two at a time—would grapple with the enemy +and board—cutlasses swinging, pistols spitting, and +hand-spikes hewing a way through the struggling, +yellow-faced ruffians of Philip of Arragon.</p> + +<p>While the awful battle raged, fire ships were prepared +on shore and sent down upon the Spanish fleet, +burning fiercely and painting the skyline with red. +Some of the large vessels had anchored, and, as these +terrors approached, they slipped their cables in order +to escape. Confusion beset the ranks of the boastful +foe and cheered on the British bull-dogs to renewed +exertions.</p> + +<p>At six in the evening a mighty cry welled from the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +British boats. “They fly! They fly!” sounded above +the ruck and roar of battle.</p> + +<p>Yes—it was the truth. Beaten and dismayed, the +Spanish fleet bore away to the North, while the English—in +spite of the fact that their powder was wet, +and nearly all spent—“gave them chase as if they +lacked nothing, until they had cleared their own coast +and some part of Scotland of them.” The Armada—split, +part helpless—drifted away from Plymouth, +and wild cheers of joy came from the deck of the vessel +which carried bold Sir Francis Drake. The great +battle had been won.</p> + +<p>So crippled were many of the Spanish hulks that +they were wrecked in stormy weather, off the coast +of Scotland and Ireland. Not half of those who put +to sea ever reached Spain again. Many sailors were +drowned, or perished miserably by the hands of the +natives of the coast, and some who escaped were put +to death by the Queen’s orders. Fever and sickness +broke out in the English ships and the followers of +bold Drake died by hundreds, “sickening one day and +perishing the next.”</p> + +<p>The English vessels, themselves, were in a bad way—they +had to be disinfected and the men put ashore—where +the report of the many wrecks and the massacre +of Spanish soldiers, eased the anxiety of the +once terrified inhabitants of the tight little isle, and +made it certain that the Armada would never return. +Drake and his bold seamen had saved the people of +Merrie England. Again hats off to this pirate of the +Spanish Main!</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> +Safely settled in Buckland Abbey, knighted, honored, +respected—the hero of the defense of England—one +would think that Drake would have remained +peacefully at home to die “with his boots on.” But +not so. The spirit of adventure called to him with +irresistible force, and again he set out for the Spanish +Main. He had sailed around the world before his +grapple with the Armada; he had harassed the Spaniard +in an expedition to Lisbon; he was the idol of +the English. He had done enough—you say. Yes, +he had done enough—but—like all men who love +the game of life he wished to have just one more +expedition in search of gold and adventure, for—by +nature he was a gambler, and he was throwing the +dice with Fate.</p> + +<p>So a goodly crew sailed with him again, hoping +for another raid upon mule trains and cities of treasure. +But alas! There was to be a different story +from the others. All the towns and hamlets of the +Spanish Main had been warned to “be careful and +look well to themselves, for that Drake and Hawkins +were making ready in England to come upon them.” +And when the English arrived they found stout defense +and valiant men, nor was a sail seen “worth +giving chase unto.” Hawkins died, many grew ill of +fever, and finally Drake, himself, succumbed to the +malarial atmosphere of Panama. He was to remain +where gold and adventure had first lured him.</p> + +<p>On January the twenty-eighth, 1596, the great captain +yielded up his spirit “like a Christian, quietly in +his cabin.” And a league from the shore of Porto +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> +Rico, the mighty rover of the seas was placed in a +weighted hammock and tossed into the sobbing ocean. +The spume frothed above the eddying current, sucked +downward by the emaciated form of the famous mariner, +and a solitary gull shrieked cruelly above the bubbles, +below which—upon beads of coral and clean +sand—rested the body of Sir Francis Drake, rover, +rogue, and rattling sea ranger. It was his last journey.</p> + + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Weep for this soul, who, in fathoms of azure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lies where the wild tarpon breaks through the foam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the sea otter mews to its brood in the ripples,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the pelican wings near the palm-forest gloom.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ghosts of the buccaneers flit through the branches,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dusky and dim in the shadows of eve,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While shrill screams the parrot,—the lord of Potanches,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">‘Drake, Captain Drake, you’ve had your last leave.’”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p> + +<h2>SEA IRONY</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">One day I saw a ship upon the sands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Careened upon beam ends, her tilted deck<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swept clear of rubbish of her long-past wreck;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her colors struck, but not by human hands;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her masts the driftwood of what distant strands!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her frowning ports, where, at the Admiral’s beck,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grim-visaged cannon held the foe in check,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gaped for the frolic of the minnow bands.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The seaweed banners in her fo’ks’le waved,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A turtle basked upon her capstan head;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her cabin’s pomp the clownish sculpin braved,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, on her prow, where the lost figure-head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once turned the brine, a name forgot was graved,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was “The Irresistible” I read.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author">—<span class="smcap">Heaton.</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<a name="Page_53" id="Page_53"><!--unnumbered title page --></a> +<p><span class='pagenum'></span></p> + +<h2>SIR WALTER RALEIGH<br /> +<br /> +PERSECUTOR OF THE SPANIARDS<br /> +<br /> +(1552-1618)</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>“All great men have lived by hope.”—<span class="smcap">James Freeman Clarke.</span></p> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a name="young_raleigh" id="young_raleigh"></a> +<img src="images/fpas07.jpg" width="600" height="502" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p class="caption">YOUNG RALEIGH AND A COMPANION LISTENING TO TALES OF THE +SPANISH MAIN.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center padtop">SIR WALTER RALEIGH<br /> +PERSECUTOR OF THE SPANIARDS<br /> +(1552-1618)</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“When the sobbing sea is squally,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then,—look out for Walter Raleigh!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He’s the fellow whom Queen Bess is said to love.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He’s a reckless, handsome sailor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a ‘Vandyke’ like a tailor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He can coo fond words of loving like a dove.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Faith! I like this gallant rover,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who has ploughed the wild seas over,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who has passed the grim and wild equator’s ring.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I cheer, whene’er I view him,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For—my Boy—off Spain I knew him<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When he trimmed the Spanish cruisers, like a King.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author">—<i>Chant of the Plymouth Dock-Hand.</i></p> + +<p><span class="dropcap">B</span>OYS! You have all heard about the <em>Square +Deal</em>. Well—Here is the story of a man who +didn’t get one.</p> + +<p>Walter Raleigh was a brave man; he was an able +seafarer; his younger manhood was spent in the +midst of the most brilliant Royal Court which England +has known. He proved his courage and military prowess +in more than one bitterly contested battle-field and +naval conflict. His love of his own land and his hatred +of his enemies was ardent.</p> + +<p>He was also a fellow of wit, and, as an author, took +rank with the great literary lights of the Elizabethan +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> +Age. He was an adventurer, and, in middle life, as +well as in old age, braved the great deep and perils of +savage lands in the magnificent attempt to make discoveries +and to settle English colonies in the New +World. Chivalrous in actions and feeling; of handsome +person; graceful manners and courtly address; +it is no wonder that he had a host of enemies: those +fellows who couldn’t do anything worth while themselves, +and wanted to “pull the other fellow down.” +There are plenty of them around, to-day, doing the +same thing in the same, old way.</p> + +<p>As an Englishman he loved England to such an +extent, that—upon the return from one of his numerous +voyages—he dropped upon one knee and kissed +the sand.</p> + +<p>“My men,” said he to his followers, “I love this +land as nothing else on earth!”</p> + +<p>The hostility of his rivals subjected him to harsh +ill treatment. It did not dampen his love for +England.</p> + +<p>The silly caprices of Queen Elizabeth, who—like +most women—was swayed, not by her reason, but by +her sentiments, made him suffer imprisonment. Yet, +it did not dampen his love for England.</p> + +<p>The terrible and bitter dislike of King James—who +succeeded the Virgin Queen—finally led to his trial +for treason; his execution; and his death.</p> + +<p>Yet, it did not dampen his love for England.</p> + +<p>If England can produce men of such a mold, nowadays, +she will continue to be a mighty world power.</p> + +<p>Do you think that <em>you</em> could be as patriotic as Sir +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> +Walter Raleigh? Particularly if <em>you</em> were treated as +<em>he</em> was treated? Think it over!</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>One day, the ancient palace of Greenwich, which +stood on the banks of the Thames—a few miles below +London—presented a lively and brilliant scene. +Courtiers, arrayed in gorgeous colors and glittering +ornaments, walked about, chattering gaily,—like a +flock of sparrows. Fine, young cavaliers were there, +attired in rich velvets, sparkling with gems, armed with +gold-hilted swords. Grave statesmen wandered +around,—with beards as white as their ruffles. +Stately dames, with heavy and gaily trimmed trains, +peered at the beautiful belles, and said:</p> + +<p>“My, isn’t she a fright!” or</p> + +<p>“Goodness, what <em>dreadful</em> manners the Duchess +so-and-so has!”</p> + +<p>Just as they do to-day. Times do not change.</p> + +<p>Trumpets blared a fan-fa-rade and lines of soldiers +gave forth inspiriting sounds, with many musical instruments. +There was a stir and flutter in the crowd; +and some one called out:</p> + +<p>“She’s coming! Hats off to the Queen!”</p> + +<p>So all the men took off their hats,—for they were +courtiers, and it was their business to do so, whenever +Her Royal Highness came around. Many of them +didn’t like to do it but if they hadn’t done so, some +spy would have cried out “Treason!” And they +would have been hustled off to the Tower. You <em>just +bet</em> they took off their hats!</p> + +<p>Descending the broad flight of steps, with proud +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> +and majestic mien, the tall and slender figure of +Elizabeth—the maiden Queen of England—was +seen approaching.</p> + +<p>She was then in the mature ripeness of middle age, +but she still preserved not a few remnants of the beauty +of her youth. Her form was straight and well proportioned. +Her large, blue eyes were yet bright and +expressive; her complexion was still wonderfully fair +and smooth. Her well arranged hair was luxuriant +and was of a light red. A large, fan-like collar of +richest lace rose from her slender neck, above her head +behind; and her tresses were combed high from her +forehead. Jewels blazed from her dress. Her attire +was far more splendid than that of any of the ladies +of her court.</p> + +<p>As it happened, a heavy shower had just passed over, +and little puddles of water stood all around upon the +gravelled paths. Bursting through the fast-vanishing +clouds, the sun cast its rays upon the trees still dripping +with glittering drops; and upon the smiling Queen, +who—surrounded by a gay group of courtiers—set +forth upon a promenade through the park. She chatted +affably with all. They tried to make themselves as +agreeable as possible, for he who was most agreeable +received the best plums from the Royal Tree. Politics +haven’t changed any since that day.</p> + +<p>The Queen walked on, playing with a beautiful, +white greyhound, and, pretty soon she came to a muddy +spot in the path.</p> + +<p>“Zounds!” said she (or it may have been something +stronger, for historians say that she could “swear +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> +valiantly”). “Zounds! Now I will spoil my pretty +shoes!”</p> + +<p>“And also your pretty feet,” interjected a courtier. +He received a smile for this compliment and the Queen +mentally made a note of it,—for future use in the +distribution of Court Favors.</p> + +<p>She hesitated, looked around aimlessly, and stood +still.</p> + +<p>At this instant a young noble—six feet tall and +elegantly attired—stepped forward; and, throwing +aside his richly embroidered cloak, spread it over the +muddy pool.</p> + +<p>“Prithee, pass onward!” said he, bowing low.</p> + +<p>Elizabeth was delighted.</p> + +<p>“Good Walter Raleigh,” said she, smiling. “You +are truly a gallant knight!” And she tripped gaily +across the embroidered mantlet. “I will reward you +right well for this!”</p> + +<p>But the courtiers, the Ladies, and the Statesmen +glanced with undisguised envy at the young gallant +who had so readily pleased their Mistress; and they +scowled at him as Elizabeth kept him at her side during +the rest of her promenade. “The Beggar’s outdone +us all!” said one. “Down with him!”</p> + +<p>But they could not down Sir Walter just then. +After awhile they had “their innings.”</p> + +<p>Rough, vain, whimsical Queen Bess was fond of +handsome, and especially of witty and eloquent young +men. She grew more attached to Sir Walter Raleigh +every day. He rapidly rose in power and influence, +and, as a poet, became well known. His verses were +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> +read in the luxurious halls of the palace with exclamations +of delight, while the tales of his military exploits +were eagerly repeated from mouth to mouth; for +Raleigh had fought valiantly in France and had helped +to suppress an insurrection in Ireland.</p> + +<p>And still the jealous courtiers murmured among +themselves.</p> + +<p>Raleigh was appointed “Warden of the Stanneries,” +or mines, in Cornwall and Devonshire, from which +he derived, each year, a large income. He was made +Captain of the Queen’s Guard. He was created Lord +Lieutenant of Cornwall and Vice-Admiral of Devon. +He received vast estates in Ireland and many privileges +and licenses, so that he was fast becoming a rich man. +He was splendid and extravagant in his dress. He +grew arrogant. He had, in fact, “too much Ego in his +Cosmos.”</p> + +<p>So, the jealous courtiers continued to murmur +among themselves.</p> + +<p>Elizabeth was fickle as well as sentimental. Her +fancy passed lightly from one gallant to another. For +some time Leicester (who had once been her sole +favorite, and who desired to regain his position) had +been growing jealous of Raleigh’s ascendency; and +he had been delighted to see that Queen Bess had taken +a violent fancy to the impetuous Earl of Essex. A +quarrel took place between Raleigh and the Ruler +of England. He was affronted before the whole +court and retired to his chambers, overwhelmed with +grief.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 483px;"> +<a name="walter_raleigh" id="walter_raleigh"></a> +<img src="images/fpas08.jpg" width="483" height="600" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p class="caption">SIR WALTER RALEIGH.</p> + +<p>And all the jealous courtiers punched each other +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> +beneath the ribs, and laughed “Ha! Ha! Ha! What +did we tell you?”</p> + +<p>It took the “Ego” out of Raleigh’s “Cosmos.”</p> + +<p>But the gallant courtier had a half-brother—Sir +Humphrey Gilbert—who had just returned from a +voyage around the world in the good ship <i>Golden +Hind</i>.</p> + +<p>“Let’s fit out a small fleet,” said he to Raleigh, +“and establish an English colony in Newfoundland.”</p> + +<p>“I’m with you,” cried Sir Walter. “We’ll found +another England in far distant America! On with +it!”</p> + +<p>Thus, an expedition of five ships sailed from Plymouth, +in the early summer of 1583. Sir Humphrey +boarded the <i>Squirrel</i>, and bade his kinsman an affectionate +adieu.</p> + +<p>“You must remain behind,” said he, “and regain +our position at court!”</p> + +<p>“That I will endeavor to do,” answered Raleigh. +“Good luck and God speed.”</p> + +<p>The expedition was a failure from the start. +Scarcely had the shallops gone to sea, than one of them—the +<i>Raleigh</i>—deserted its companions and put +back. The rest reached Newfoundland, but the men +were lawless and insubordinate.</p> + +<p>“This is the Deuce of a cold place for a colony,” +they said. “Home to Merrie England!”</p> + +<p>Gilbert was forced to yield to their angry demands, +and re-embarked.</p> + +<p>“Don’t sail in that rattle-trap of a <i>Squirrel</i>,” said +his officers to him. “She’ll founder!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> +But Sir Humphrey had that obstinacy which characterized +General Braddock.</p> + +<p>“No: I will not forsake the little company, going +homeward,” said he. “I’ll stick to my ship.”</p> + +<p>He stuck—and—when they hailed him one stormy +night, he said:</p> + +<p>“Be of good cheer, my friends: we are as near to +Heaven by sea as by land!”</p> + +<p>That night the <i>Squirrel</i> was sailing a little in advance +of the other ships, and, as those on board the +<i>Golden Hind</i> watched the frail barque, they saw her +lurch, heave, and then sink from view. Thus the soul +of brave Raleigh’s kinsman found a watery grave. He +had paid for his obstinacy with his life.</p> + +<p>Raleigh was overwhelmed with grief when he +learned of the death of his heroic half-brother.</p> + +<p>“I’ll yet found my Colony,” said he. “And I’ll go +myself.”</p> + +<p>This pleased the jealous courtiers more than ever, for +they would now have him out of the way for all time.</p> + +<p>With his ample wealth, the indefatigable adventurer +found no difficulty in fitting out an expedition, and, in +the year after the death of Sir Humphrey Gilbert, he +sent forth two vessels to explore the coast of the Carolinas.</p> + +<p>“I’m going to stay at home and face my enemies!” +said the gay blade. “Again good luck and God +Speed!”</p> + +<p>They had a fortunate voyage, and, when they returned, +the Captains told of the beautiful harbors, fine +rivers, magnificent forests and abundance of game. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> +The Queen was delighted, and at once named the fair +country for herself, with characteristic egotism. That +men might know that this fruitful land was explored +in the time of the Virgin Queen, it was called “Virginia.” +Raleigh was wild with delight.</p> + +<p>And the jealous courtiers looked dejected and sad.</p> + +<p>A fleet of seven vessels—with one hundred colonists—was +now sent to Virginia, under the command of +one Grenville, who was eager to become suddenly rich: +a disease as common now as in those venturous days. +No sooner had the people landed, than they began to +treat the savages with such harshness and rapacity—that +they had to gain their own food, as the natives +would have nothing to do with them. Dissensions tore +the little community into shreds. So they were only +too glad to return with the gallant old sea-dog, Sir +Francis Drake, when he happened that way, with a +large amount of booty which he had just taken from +the Spaniards in the southern seas.</p> + +<p>Another expedition was sent over by Raleigh; and +yet another. They were failures. But there was one, +single thing which was not a failure. This was the +discovery of a herb called “Yppowoc,” or tobacco, the +leaves of which—when dried—were smoked by the +natives in long pipes.</p> + +<p>Curious Sir Walter had a jeweller in London make +him a silver pipe, after the fashion of those used by the +native Virginians. In this he began to smoke the +tobacco, and soon grew to like it very much; so much, +indeed, that he was scarcely ever without this comforter, +when enjoying the quiet of his home.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> +One day he was sitting cosily by his fire with his +Long Nine in his mouth, and the smoke was curling +gracefully over his head. Just as he was puffing out +a particularly thick cloud, one of his servants happened +to enter the room with a tankard of ale, for the +luncheon table.</p> + +<p>“Ye Gods!” cried he. “My Master’s on fire!”</p> + +<p><em>Swash!!</em></p> + +<p>Over Sir Walter’s head went the ale, and the frightened +lackey dashed down the steps.</p> + +<p>“H-e-l-p! H-e-l-p!” cried he. “My Master is +burning up! H-e-l-p!”</p> + +<p>But Sir Walter did not burn up this time. Instead +he near split his gallant sides with laughing.</p> + +<p>Now, Boys, don’t smile! ’Tis said that good old +Queen Bess tried, herself, to smoke a Long Nine. But—hush—“she +became so dizzy and ill from the +effects that she never ventured upon the experiment +again!” (Keep this quiet! Very quiet! Will you!)</p> + +<p>On one occasion she was watching Sir Walter +blowing circles of smoke over his head, and said to +him—</p> + +<p>“Zounds! (or something stronger) Sir Walter! +You are a witty man; but I will wager that you cannot +tell me the weight of the smoke which comes from +your pipe!”</p> + +<p>“I can, indeed,” was the confident reply of the gallant +courtier. “Watch me closely!”</p> + +<p>At once he took as much tobacco as would fill his +pipe and exactly weighed it. Having then smoked it +up, he—in like manner—weighed the ashes.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> +“Now, Your Majesty,” said he, smiling. “The difference +between these two weights is the weight of the +smoke.”</p> + +<p>And again Queen Bess remarked “Zounds!” (or +Eftsoons!). At any rate, she paid the wager, for—with +all her frailties—she was a Good Loser.</p> + +<p>Raleigh, in fact, shortly became reinstated in Royal +favor, and, when he aided Drake and Hawkins—soon +afterwards—in dispersing the Invincible Armada, he +was again in the good graces of his sovereign.</p> + +<p>There was, however, a pretty, young Maid-of-Honor +at court, called Elizabeth Throgmorton, and no sooner +had the bright eyes of Sir Walter fallen upon her, than +he fell in love. In paying court to this amiable lady he +was compelled to use great caution and secrecy, for +jealous Queen Bess watched him narrowly, and with +suspicion. In spite of her preference for Essex, Elizabeth +was quite unwilling that Raleigh—her less +favored lover—should transfer his affections to another. +So, in making love to Elizabeth Throgmorton, +the gay courtier was compelled to use the utmost care.</p> + +<p>But Murder (or Love) will out!</p> + +<p>It chanced one day, that the Queen discovered what +was going on between her Maid-of-Honor and the +cavalier. Her rage knew no bounds. She berated +Raleigh before her ladies, and forbade him to come to +court. She fiercely commanded the Maid-of-Honor +to remain a prisoner in her room, and, on no account +to see Raleigh again. So the venturous Knight +turned his attention once more to wild roving upon the +sea.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> +Now the jealous courtiers fairly chuckled with glee. +“Ha! Ha! Ha!” laughed they. “Ho! Ho! Ho! +He! He! He!”</p> + +<p>But Sir Walter engaged very actively in fitting out +some squadrons to attack the Spanish ships.</p> + +<p>“Egad! I hate a Spaniard!” he said. “They are +my country’s special enemies and I intend to do them +all the harm that I can!”</p> + +<p>The Queen was glad enough to separate him from +his lady love and not only consented to his project, +but promised to aid him in it. Ere long fifteen vessels +were anchored in the Thames—all ready to sail—but, +before he set out, the gallant commander made up +his mind that he would marry his beloved Maid-of-Honor. +It was not difficult to find a clergyman who +would splice him tighter than he ever spliced a rope +aboard ship. The deed was done. He set sail. All +was going propitiously.</p> + +<p>“I’ll attack the Spanish ships in the harbor of +Seville,” said Raleigh. “Then—off to the Spanish +Main and sack the town of Panama.” He laughed,—but +what was that?</p> + +<p>Rapidly approaching from the coast of England +came a swift pinnace. It gained upon the squadron +in spite of the fact that all sail was hoisted, and, at last +came near enough to give Raleigh a signal to “Heave +to.” In a few moments her commander climbed +aboard.</p> + +<p>“The Queen has changed her mind about your expedition,” +said he. “She has sent me—Sir Martin +Frobisher—to tell you to come home.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> +Raleigh said things which made the air as blue as the +sea, but he put back—for he could not disobey the +Royal command. He was soon at court.</p> + +<p>The Queen was furious with anger.</p> + +<p>“You have disobeyed my commands,” said she. “I +find you have secretly married my Maid-of-Honor. +To the Tower with you! To the dungeons of the +Tower!”</p> + +<p>And all the jealous courtiers were so happy that +they danced a can-can in the ante chamber.</p> + +<p>What do you think of this? Thrown into prison +because he loved a Maid and married her! Nowadays +“all the World loves a Lover.” In those times all +the world <em>might</em> have “loved a Lover” except Queen +Bess,—and a number of courtiers hanging around +within easy call: <em>They</em> kicked a Lover. And then they +all got together and said:</p> + +<p>“Fine! Fine! Now we’ve got him where he ought +to be. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ho! Ho! Ho!”</p> + +<p>But women relent; that is one of their chief characteristics. +Queen Bess softened, grew lukewarm, +finally became molten.</p> + +<p>“Sir Walter Raleigh can go free,” said she.</p> + +<p>The gallant courtier returned to his country estate, +where—with his wife and children he enjoyed the +luxuries and comforts of country life. And the jealous +courtiers began to look strangely sober.</p> + +<p>Still the sea called. The sea sang its old song, and, +fired with the spirit of adventure, Sir Walter decided +upon another expedition: this time to the coast of +Guiana, in South America, where, it was said, “billets +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> +of gold lay about in heaps, as if they were logs of +wood marked out to burn.” With a large fleet at his +command he soon started upon this expedition for +plunder and for fame. This time no Sir Martin Frobisher +sailed after him to bring him back to a dungeon +in the Tower and he was able to reach his destination.</p> + +<p>The expedition was a howling success. Whenever +and wherever Sir Walter could inflict injury on the +Spaniards, whom he so bitterly detested, he did so with +eagerness. A Spanish ship was soon seen, chased, +and—after a brief, hot fight—surrendered and was +boarded.</p> + +<p>“Egad!” cried Raleigh. “Here’s luck, for the +cargo’s of fire arms. I’ll stow them away in my own +vessel and let the captive go!”</p> + +<p>Proceeding on his voyage, he not long afterwards +encountered and captured another prize; a Flemish +ship sailing homeward with a cargo of fine wine. +Twenty hogsheads were transferred to the hold of +Raleigh’s ship and the captured craft was allowed to +sail on,—empty.</p> + +<p>Things continued to go well. The Island of Trinidad +(off Venezuela) was reached at last. The natives +were friendly and told of vast deposits of gold far up +the river Orinoco. “But would Raleigh not please +besiege the Spanish town of St. Joseph?” said they, +“and rescue some of their chiefs whom the Spaniards +held prisoners—in chains.”</p> + +<p>“I always strike a Spaniard when I can,” said +Raleigh. “On, men, we’ll sack this proud city!”</p> + +<p>St. Joseph speedily fell into his hands. The chiefs +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> +were released. They were so gratified, that they +paddled him far up the river, where they found glittering +gold, which they tore out of rocks with their +daggers. The Englishmen were delighted, and, collecting +a mass of nuggets to show to those at home, +they put back to the ships, set sail, and were soon in +England again.</p> + +<p>The people were astonished at this exploit, but the +jealous courtiers did all they could to deprive Raleigh +of the renown which was justly his due.</p> + +<p>“What this fellow has told is a lie,” whispered they +into the ears of good Queen Bess. “There is no +such place as Guiana. Raleigh has been down upon +the coast of Spain and hidden himself. He has not +crossed the Atlantic at all.”</p> + +<p>Which proves that no one can ever do anything +adventurous without stirring up the hammers of the +Envious: the Little Men. Is it not so to-day? Look +around! You can hear the carping critic at any time +that you may wish! <em>Do</em> something <em>big</em>, sometime. +Then put your ear to the ground and listen!</p> + +<p>But the sea called for the fifth time. A vast English +fleet was hurled against the Spanish at Cadiz,—a +great English fleet, accompanied by an army. England +was bound to get even with the Spaniards for +daring to launch the supposedly invincible Armada +against them—and Sir Walter eagerly sailed for the +coast of Spain.</p> + +<p>The harbor of Cadiz was seen to be fairly jammed +full of stately galleons and men-of-war. Arranged in +compact rows, close to shore, just below the towering +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> +and frowning castle of Cadiz; they were protected, +on either side, by fortresses, whence heavy guns peeped +forth to defend them. There were nearly sixty large +vessels in all, four of which were galleons, and twenty +of which were galleys: well-manned and well-armed +with small cannon. There were many more ships than +in the attacking fleet.</p> + +<p>It was the evening of June the 20th, 1596. The +British vessels rapidly sailed into the harbor, Raleigh +leading, in the flagship, the <i>Water Sprite</i>; behind him +the <i>Mary Rose</i>, commanded by his cousin, Sir George +Carew; and the <i>Rainbow</i> under Sir Francis Vere. +All were eager for the fray, and it was not long before +their approach was observed by the Spanish fleet. Instantly +a huge galleon, the <i>Saint Philip</i>—the largest +in the Spanish Navy—swung out of her position, followed +by the <i>Saint Andrew</i>, second only to her in size.</p> + +<p>“They’re coming to meet me!” cried Raleigh—joyously.</p> + +<p>Instead of that, the galleons sailed for a narrow +strait in the harbor—followed by the rest of the +Spanish fleet—and cast anchor just under the stout +fortress of Puntal. They arranged themselves in close +array and awaited the attack of the English.</p> + +<p>The English fleet anchored, but at daybreak, the +impetuous Raleigh bore down upon the formidable +mass of hulking galleons. The sun rays streamed +over the old, Spanish town, gilding the pinnaces and +spires of the churches, shining brightly upon the flapping +pennons of Britisher and Don. The white sails +flapped, spars creaked and groaned, the sailors cheered, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> +and—in a moment—the cannon began to bark, like +wolf hounds. The fight had begun.</p> + +<p>Raleigh was the incarnation of battle. Passing +rapidly from point to point upon the deck of his vessel, +he encouraged and urged on his men, exposed himself +as freely as the rest; and whenever a man faltered, +there he appeared to urge the faint heart on with words +of inspiration and hope.</p> + +<p><em>Roar! Roar! Roar! Zoom! Zoom! Crash!</em></p> + +<p>The arquebusses spittled and spat; cannon growled; +and iron crashed into solid oak planking.</p> + +<p>The orders were not to board until the fly-boats +(long, flat-bottomed vessels with high sterns) came +up, which were manned by Dutch allies. For three +hours the battle raged, but the fly-boats did not arrive. +The Earl of Essex—the commander of this expedition—now +ordered his flagship to pass through the +advance line of vessels, and make the way to the front. +Raleigh was chafing with rage because the fly-boats +did not come, yet, in spite of the danger of being shot, +he jumped into a light skiff, and was rowed over to +the galleon of Essex.</p> + +<p>“I’ll board the <i>Saint Philip</i>,” cried he, “if the fly-boats +do not soon arrive. Even though it be against +the orders of the Admiral. For it is the same loss to +burn, or to sink, and I must soon endure one or the +other.”</p> + +<p>“Go ahead!” yelled Essex, over the bow. “I’ll +second you, upon my honor!”</p> + +<p>Raleigh hastened with all speed to the deck of the +<i>Water Sprite</i>, where his men were pounding away at +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> +the Spanish galleons with all their might and main. +No sooner had he mounted the poop, than he saw, with +anger, that two vessels of his own squadron had forced +themselves into a position in front of his own; for +their commanders wanted to win first honors in this +battle at sea.</p> + +<p>Raleigh, himself, wished to have the honor, just like +other sea captains in later battles. But,—that’s another +story.</p> + +<p>So, the gallant seaman ran the <i>Water Sprite</i> between +the two other ships and took up his position as leader. +Sir Francis Vere of the <i>Rainbow</i> was resolved to keep +in front as well as Raleigh.</p> + +<p>As the <i>Water Sprite</i> passed him he slyly cast a rope +to a sailor, who tied it to her stern, and his own vessel +thus kept abreast of the lumbering galley of his +chief. “But,” writes Sir Walter, “some of my company +advising me thereof, I caused the rope to be cast +off, and so Vere fell back in his place, where I guarded +him—all but his very prow—from the sight of the +enemy. I was very sure that none would outstart me +again for that day.”</p> + +<p>The guns of the fort appeared to be silent and the +big galleons lay apparently helpless in the face of the +valiant enemy. Raleigh moved on, but, as he was +about to clutch his splendid prize, it escaped him, for +the Spaniards—finding that they would be captured—made +haste to run the <i>Saint Philip</i>, and several of +her sister ships, aground on the sand.</p> + +<p>“Blow them up!” came the order.</p> + +<p>The Spanish sailors and soldiers came tumbling out +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> +of the ships into the sea in heaps—“as thick as if +coals had been poured out of a sack into many pots at +once.” Then a terrific roar boomed forth. The air +was filled with flying splinters, canvas, iron, and lead. +The portions of the galleons were now floating upon +the waves and the water was alive with the struggling +bodies of the Spaniards as they desperately endeavored +to save themselves.</p> + +<p>The spectacle was lamentable. Many drowned themselves. +Many, half burned, leaped into the water; +while others hung by the ropes’ ends; by the ships’ +sides; under the sea, even to their lips. “If any man +had a desire to see Hell, itself,” wrote Sir Walter, “it +was there most lively figured!”</p> + +<p>Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!</p> + +<p>The English sailors were cheering, for victory was +theirs, and of all the gallant warriors of that day, +Raleigh had been the most persistently daring and +heroic.</p> + +<p>“The <i>Saint Andrew</i>’s still afloat, good Sire!” cried +one of his sailors at this moment.</p> + +<p>“Then we’ll take her!” cried Raleigh.</p> + +<p>She was boarded and captured with little difficulty, +while yet another galleon—the <i>Saint Matthew</i>—fell +into his hands. These were the only vessels of all that +proud Spanish fleet which had escaped the flames.</p> + +<p>Raleigh, himself, had been severely wounded in the +leg, but he refused to release the command of his ship. +He gave orders that all lives should be spared, and +although these mandates were rigidly obeyed by the +English soldiers, the Dutch cruelly slaughtered many +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> +of their hapless prisoners, for their hatred of the +Spaniards was bitter and savage.</p> + +<p>Cadiz had not yet fallen and Raleigh was determined +to go on shore with the troops and witness the taking +of the town, in spite of his wound. A litter was prepared +for him—he was lowered into one of the boats—rowed +ashore, carried upon the shoulders of some of +his faithful soldiers, and witnessed the furious struggle +which now ensued. Cadiz fell. Although the lives +of the people were spared; the castle, fortifications and +the greater part of the town itself, were burned and +demolished. If you go there, to-day, you will still +find the marks of this great and stirring strife.</p> + +<p>There was nothing left but to put the Spanish prisoners +aboard the galleons, collect the plunder, and set +sail for England. When the fleet again swung into the +little harbor of Plymouth it was received by the people +with wildest enthusiasm and delight. All England +rang with the praise of the valor and courage of her +heroes, for Spain had been stripped of her ability to +injure her English rival and England’s power was +supreme upon the sea. Raleigh and his comrades had +done this,—and the descendants of Raleigh and his +comrades have continued to uphold the supremacy. +Hurrah for Raleigh!</p> + +<p>But how about those jealous courtiers? They were +still around—Oh, yes!—And Raleigh was greeted +at court as coldly as when he had departed with the +fleet. He had been deprived of his office of Captain +of the Queen’s Guard, and even his bravery at Cadiz +did not win this back for him. Nor did he receive any +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> +of the spoil which had been won by himself and his +comrades. Even Queen Bess was angry because her +share of the booty taken from Cadiz was not as great +as she had hoped for.</p> + +<p>“What the Generals have got,” wrote Sir Walter, +“I know least. For my own part, I have got a game +leg, and am deformed. I have received many good +words and exceedingly kind and regardful usage; but +I have possession of naught but poverty and pain.”</p> + +<p>Not long afterwards the old Queen was persuaded +to write Sir Walter to come to court, and thus he +and his wife, whom Elizabeth had also forgiven, appeared +daily in the brilliant throng which clustered in +the halls and corridors of the Royal Palace. He was +restored to his old office of Captain of the Queen’s +Guard and rode forth again in all the splendor of his +uniform, at the side of the sovereign.</p> + +<p>The rest of Sir Walter’s life can be briefly narrated. +With Essex he took part in a successful expedition to +the Azores, where they captured many ships, and with +him divided much booty and fame. But Essex became +too ambitious and started a conspiracy to place himself +upon the throne of England. It was a failure. He +was captured by the Queen’s soldiers—a part under +Sir Walter himself—was tried, and executed for High +Treason.</p> + +<p>Queen Bess soon died and was succeeded by a man +who disliked Sir Walter from the start. This was +James the First of Scotland—a “dour” fellow—who +charged the valorous knight with treason, for it +was alleged that he had conspired, with Lord Cobham, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> +to place the youthful Arabella Stuart upon the throne. +He was tried, convicted, and thrown into the Tower, +where he lived for twelve long, tedious years. Think +of it! A fellow of his venturesome and restless spirit +forced to remain in a dungeon-keep for such a time! +Weep for brave Sir Walter! This was fine treatment +for a patriot!</p> + +<p>But the jealous courtiers did not weep. Oh no! +<em>They</em> laughed.</p> + +<p>When gallant Sir Walter was thrown into the Tower +(for he had not plotted against the King) he was a +hale and stalwart cavalier of fifty-two. He was released—after +twelve years—when his hair and beard +were grizzled, his face worn and wrinkled, his body +somewhat bent, and his features grave and sorrowful. +With what tearful joy he clasped to his breast his ever +faithful wife and his two sons! At sixty-four his +brave spirit was still unshaken; his ardent and restless +ambition was as keen as ever.</p> + +<p>He went forth with the sentence of death still hanging +over his head; for King James, although giving +a grudging consent to his release, had refused to pardon +him. And he went forth with the understanding +that he should lead an expedition to the coast of Guiana +in South America; there to attack the Spaniards and +gain plunder, gold, and jewels. If successful he was +to go free. If non-successful, he was to suffer punishment—perhaps +death!</p> + +<p>The expedition was a failure. The Spaniards and +natives were well aware of his coming, for ’tis said that +King James, himself, sent them news of the expedition.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> +“If I go home it’s off with my head,” said Sir Walter. +“But I’ll risk it.”</p> + +<p>Don’t you think if you had been Sir Walter, instead +of sailing to England where you knew that a headsman’s +axe awaited you, you would have coasted by +the shores of the Chesapeake Bay and dropped off +quietly where is the home of the canvas-back and the +terrapin! Just stepped into one of the jolly-boats and +peacefully drifted ashore on a dark night?</p> + +<p>I think that you would have been strongly inclined +to do so,—but <em>you</em> are not Sir Walter Raleigh. <em>He</em> +was a lion-hearted adventurer.</p> + +<p>Opportunity after opportunity came to him to escape +to the shores of France. He let them go by, but, when +he found that his enemies demanded his trial for +treason, he thought it high time to get away. He +learned that a French envoy had arranged to get him to +France and had a barque for this purpose. A certain +Captain King had found a small boat commanded by +one of Sir Walter’s old boatmen, which lay at Tilbury +awaiting his orders. It was arranged by Raleigh’s +guard—one Stukeley—that he should be rowed to +the little lugger on the evening of Sunday, August the +9th, 1618. The latter was sent up the Thames river +to Gravesend.</p> + +<p>At the hour designated, Raleigh, Captain King, +Stukeley and his son Hart, with a page, jumped into +two small wherries in order to row to the lugger. They +had just shoved off, when keen Sir Walter saw another +boat push out from the bank and follow them.</p> + +<p>“How’s this?” said he to Stukeley.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> +But silent Stukeley did not answer.</p> + +<p>The boat rowed fast, but the pursuing craft moved +with equal speed. The tide was singing and gurgling +in a mad flow, and it became doubtful whether the +wherries could reach Gravesend under the protection +of darkness, for day was breaking, and the whirling +water made progress very slow.</p> + +<p>At last—seeing that they could not get away—the +shallops were forced to turn about and retrace +their passage. The pursuing boat swung, also—like +a shadow of the first. Sir Walter’s heart beat tumultuously.</p> + +<p>When the fugitives reached Greenwich—Stukeley +stood up and appeared in his true colors. Laying a +hand upon the shoulder of faithful Captain King, he +cried—</p> + +<p>“I arrest you in the name of our Monarch, James +First!”</p> + +<p>Raleigh looked around in anger and dismay.</p> + +<p>“Stukeley,” he said with heat, “you are a trait’rous +cur. These actions will not turn out to your credit!”</p> + +<p>But the knave laughed derisively,—so derisively +that the common people dubbed him “Sir Judas +Stukeley.” And it well suited him. Didn’t it?</p> + +<p>The boatmen rowed directly to the Tower and the +boat which had pursued the wherries—which contained +a courtier named Herbert (to whom Stukeley +had betrayed the projected escape)—followed them +close. The soldiers in her (for they had been well +hidden) escorted the dejected Sir Walter to the grim +walls of the dungeon.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> +There was now no hope for that gallant adventurer: +the man had brought honor and renown to England. +He was tried for Treason: condemned: executed.</p> + +<p>As he stood waiting for the axe to fall, he said:</p> + +<p>“I have many sins for which to beseech God’s +pardon. For a long time my course was a course of +vanity. I have been a seafaring man, a soldier, and +a courtier; and, in the temptations of the least of +these there is enough to overthrow a good mind and +a good man. I die in the faith professed by the Church +of England. I hope to be saved, and to have my sins +washed away by the precious blood and merits of our +Saviour, Jesus Christ.”</p> + +<p>A quick shudder ran through the multitude when +Sir Walter had ceased to live, and many groaned aloud +at the horrible sight. One stout yeoman cried out +angrily, “We have not had such another head to be +cut off.”</p> + +<p>The crowd separated slowly, muttering and crying +out against the enemies of the valiant man; while his +friends, who were present, parted with tears coursing +down their cheeks.</p> + +<p>And the jealous courtiers said: “Magnificent!” It +was now their turn to shout. And they did it, too.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>So, you see, Sir Walter Raleigh’s patriotism was +paid for by death. The trouble with him was, he +was too much of a man.</p> + +<p><em>Nowadays</em>—when a soldier or sailor does something +for England—they give him a Hip! Hip! +Hurray!</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> +He is appreciated. He is presented with titles, +honors, and a warm reception.</p> + +<p><em>Then</em>, when a man did something for England, those +in power gave him the cold shoulder; the icy stare.</p> + +<p>That’s the reason why England’s sons will do something +for her now. If she had kept treating them as +she did Sir Walter Raleigh she wouldn’t have many +of them around when it came to a fight. <em>And, some +day, she’ll need them all!</em></p> + +<p>So when a fellow does something really great, don’t +greet him with frozen silence. <em>Cheer! He needs it! +Besides,—it won’t hurt you!</em></p> + +<p><em>Give a tiger and three times three!</em></p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<h2>THE VANISHED SAILORS</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Say, sailors, what’s happened to young Bill Jones?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jones of Yarmouth; the bright-cheeked boy?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jones who could handle a boat like a man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jones, who would grapple a smack like a toy?<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“<i>Fell o’er the sea-end with Raleigh. Ahoy!</i>”<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Well, sea-dogs, where’s Thompson of Yarmouthport dock?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The chap who could outwit old Hawkins, they say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The man with th’ knowledge of charts and of reefs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There wasn’t his equal from Prawle to Torquay.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“<i>Fell o’er the sea-end with Raleigh, to-day!</i>”<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Where’s Rixey of Hampton; Smith of Rexhill?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who’d coasted and traded from London to Ryde,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Huggins and Muggins, all seamen of worth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who could jibe and could sail, sir, when combers were wide?<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“<i>Fell o’er the sea-end with Raleigh. Last tide!</i>”<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Well, seamen, when that day shall come near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the salt sea is moved from its bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some will there be, who can give us the news,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of all that brave band, whom Adventure has led<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“<i>Fall o’er the sea-end with Raleigh, ’tis said!</i>”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Such is the man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whom neither shape nor danger can dismay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor thought of tender happiness betray;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who, not content that worth stands fast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looks forward, persevering to the last,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From good to better, daily self-surpassed.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author">—<i>Ballads of the Day.</i></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<a name="Page_83" id="Page_83"><!-- unnumbered title page --></a> +<p><span class='pagenum'></span></p> + +<h2>JEAN BART<br /> +<br /> +THE SCOURGE OF THE DUTCH<br /> +<br /> +(1650-1702)</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>As long as selfishness remains a Human Passion,—Warfare +will continue.</p> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center padtop">JEAN BART<br /> +THE SCOURGE OF THE DUTCH<br /> +(1650-1702)</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“‘What means that canvas, Skipper? It’s bearing down to port,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And it drives a blackish barquentine, with every topsail taut,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There’re guns upon her poop deck. There’re cannon near her bow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the bugler’s bloomin’ clarion, it shrills a how-de-row?’<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The skipper took a peep at her, his face turned ashen pale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His jaw began to tremble, and his knees began to fail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the flag of France swung to the breeze and fluttered without check,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">‘Jean Bart!’ he gurgled weakly, and fainted on the deck.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author">—<i>Rhymes of The Dutch Channel Fleet.</i>—1676.</p> + +<p><span class="dropcap">T</span>HE good ship <i>Cochon Gras</i> boiled along off the +coast of Normandy under a full spread of +canvas, for the breeze was light, and was from +the southward. A boy of sixteen stood at the helm. +He was well bronzed by exposure to the elements; +was sturdy and strong. His dark hair waved luxuriantly +about a face in which keenness and shrewdness +were easily to be seen. His name was Jean Bart and +he had been born at Dunkirk in France.</p> + +<p>The Captain of the <i>Cochon Gras</i> strode about upon +the deck below. He was in an evil mood and his +voice showed his ill feeling.</p> + +<p>“Put the helm over!” he shouted to the steersman. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> +“Don’t you see that your sails aren’t half full! Boy, +will you never learn!”</p> + +<p>Jean Bart obeyed.</p> + +<p>“Very good, my Captain!” said he. “Very good, +my Monsieur Valbué.”</p> + +<p>And, at this, the captain scowled, for he was in a +beastly temper.</p> + +<p>“I am glad that you act quickly,” said he. “You +know nothing. By acting quickly you will learn a +thing or two. <em>Tiens!</em> Be speedy! Be very quick! +Be like the Bishop of Oléron!”</p> + +<p>He smiled and lurched against the rail.</p> + +<p>“Ah, this good prelate was a true seaman,” said +he. “He knew the tides like a mackerel. He knew as +much as I do, myself, and that is saying a good deal.”</p> + +<p>Jean Bart chuckled at the vanity of Monsieur +Valbué.</p> + +<p>“The good Bishop was standing on the rocks upon +a stormy evening,” continued the captain, “when +he saw some fisher boats making for the harbor. One +of them was bearing too close to the shore. One of +them was going to go upon the rocks. One of them +was steered by a poor fellow who knew neither the +reefs nor the shoals. ‘Voilà!’ cried the good bishop. +‘Voilà! I will save this dull-witted sailor.’ And, +forthwith, what do you think that he did,—?”</p> + +<p>A small knot of seamen had, by this time, collected +around the talkative captain. They all shook their +heads.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 413px;"> +<a name="jean_bart" id="jean_bart"></a> +<img src="images/fpas09.jpg" width="413" height="600" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p class="caption">JEAN BART.</p> + +<p>“Fools,” cried Captain Valbué. “Fools! Why, +he strode into the sea, of course. Being a pure man +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> +of God and a member of the true church, he walked +upon the surface of the water. The boat coming in +was manned by Huguenots, by unbelievers, mark +you! By fellows who had neither the sense nor the +grace to be members of the true church. <em>They</em> could +not walk upon the water. Oh! No! But the good +Bishop <em>he</em> walked as easily as a stormy petrel, for he +was a man of God. And, as he reached the boat he +made the sign of the cross, saying, ‘Beware of the +rocks which you sail down upon! Bear off to the +left! When you see the red buoy, bear to the right, +and then come home by keeping your bow pointed for +the spire of the big church!’ And they did so. They +were saved by the good Bishop, whom I know well. +As for me. I would have let the foolish Huguenots +get their just deserts. It would have been one heretic +less and good riddance.”</p> + +<p>At this one of the seamen was plainly angered.</p> + +<p>“Piff!” said he. “Piff!” That was all. But +Monsieur Valbué had noticed it and Monsieur Valbué +grew angry in a moment. Seizing a half-empty cider +mug, from which he had been drinking, he hurled it +at the head of the fellow who had made the remark.</p> + +<p>“You dog of a Huguenot!” he roared.</p> + +<p>The seaman dodged, and the cider mug spun into +the planks of a jolly boat. Then he stepped forward +and said,</p> + +<p>“Captain Valbué, the Laws of Oléron, under which +we sail, say that you cannot and must not strike a +seaman with any missile. I, Lanoix, will strike back +if you hit me.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> +But Monsieur Valbué was like a bubbling tea-pot. +Seizing a hand-spike, he shot it out at the man who +knew the law.</p> + +<p>“The Laws of Oléron allow me just one blow,” +blubbered Captain Valbué. “Just as the laws of +England allow each dog one bite.”</p> + +<p>As luck would have it, he missed his shot.</p> + +<p>Lanoix leaped over the iron rail which separated +the forecastle from the after part of the vessel. Then +he turned around.</p> + +<p>“Follow me here, you coward!” he shouted to the +captain, “and I will have the right to crack you +through the middle. Consult the Laws of Oléron under +which we sail and see if they do not back me up!”</p> + +<p>“The laws be blowed!” yelled Monsieur Valbué, +now beside himself with rage. And, leaping across +the rail he struck the Huguenot two sturdy blows in +the face.</p> + +<p>Jean Bart, meanwhile, steered the ship: looked on; +and said nothing.</p> + +<p>R-i-i-p! There was a flash, a blow, and a cry of +pain. A large, keen knife was clenched in the strong +right hand of Lanoix, and the captain was running +red, with a deep gash in his shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Down with the Mutineer! Down with the dog!” +came from the throats of the members of the crew +who had clustered about the two enraged men, smiling +at the little affair.</p> + +<p>With a rush they were upon the Huguenot; had +forced him to the deck; and wrested the knife from +his hand. But, before it was wrenched from his fist, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> +the blade had pierced the body of a seaman and had +felled him to the boarding.</p> + +<p>“Bring up the Laws of Oléron,” cried Captain +Valbué, when the Huguenot had been secured. +“Bring up the Laws of Oléron from my cabin, and +let us see whether or no I was right, when I struck +this prating Lanoix!”</p> + +<p>The cabin-boy dove below and was soon again upon +the deck.</p> + +<p>“The law shall be read,” cried the captain. “Out +with it!”</p> + +<p>Now, aboard the vessel was one Antoine Sauret—a +good, old boatswain—a friend of the father of +Jean Bart, and a courageous man.</p> + +<p>“The law shows you to be in the wrong,” said he.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” cried Jean Bart from the wheel, which he +had not left. “You were, and are, in the wrong.” +Monsieur Valbué glowered at them.</p> + +<p>“I am the law,” said he. “Is this not my vessel?”</p> + +<p>“But the right is on his side,” interrupted the good +Antoine Sauret.</p> + +<p>“You wait and see what I do to this cur of a +Huguenot,” snarled Captain Valbué. “And no more +talk from either you or Jean Bart. Hear! Six out +of eight of the crew agree that this Lanoix has +wounded me and has slain one of his ship-mates—without +proper provocation—I will now fix him.”</p> + +<p>And this he did in the most approved manner.</p> + +<p>Lashing his victim’s arm to a sharp sword tied to +the windlass, he knocked the unfortunate Lanoix +upon the deck with a hand-spike. Then, tying him—still +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> +alive—to the dead sailor whom the Huguenot +had killed when the crew rushed upon him,—he cried +out:</p> + +<p>“Throw ’em both to the fishes!”</p> + +<p>They were seized.</p> + +<p>“One! Two! Three! Heave Away!” sounded +from the throats of the Frenchmen.</p> + +<p>Lanoix and the dead sailor spun out above the blue +water. A splash. A gurgle of white foam, and the +Atlantic closed above them.</p> + +<p>Seamen—you witness—were brutes, in these +merry days of privateering. But hear the sequel of +the gruesome story!</p> + +<p>Jean Bart and the good boatswain Sauret had, from +that moment, no high opinion of the Laws of Oléron. +So, when the vessel touched at Calais, upon the coast +of France, they walked up to the captain, saying:</p> + +<p>“Sir. We wish to leave you! We cannot sail any +longer beneath your orders.”</p> + +<p>The brutal Valbué scowled.</p> + +<p>“Go!” said he. “And good riddance.”</p> + +<p>But when the circumstances of the death of the two +men were reported to the authorities, the captain was +tried.</p> + +<p>“The Law of Oléron,” said the Judge to him, +“acquits you, for the Huguenot sailor was in the +wrong to draw his knife, when you struck him only +with your fists. But it is a bad law and must be +changed.”</p> + +<p>Here he turned to young Jean Bart and the good +Sauret.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> +“As for you two,” said he, “I most highly commend +you for protesting against the brutality of this +captain. Would that all the sailors of France were +as good as both of you. If they were, there would +be less trouble aboard ship. Again I commend you!”</p> + +<p>So—feeling very happy, indeed—young Jean +Bart went out into the street. Though only sixteen +he had been right in his attempt to save the life of +poor Lanoix. Good for young Bart! Hats off to +the sailor lad of sixteen who was more merciful than +the cruel Law of Oléron! And this brutal set of rules +was soon changed to the Maritime Code of France, +which gave seamen some right to defend themselves +against the attacks of rough and overbearing captains. +Thus Jean Bart had started the ball rolling in the right +direction. Again hats off to the doughty, young +Frenchman!</p> + +<p>Not long after this event the Dutch fell out with +the English and began a smart little war. Jean Bart +hastened to the scene of action, enrolled in the Dutch +cause, and fought with them for five full years. Then +the Dutch began to make war upon the French (in +1672), but this was too much for the patriotic sentiments +of the youthful volunteer.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” said he. “When my own people are attacked, +I must hasten to their assistance. The Dutch +have paid me well ’tis true, but now I scorn their gold. +Vive la France!”</p> + +<p>So saying, he returned to Dunkirk, speedily found +employment, and went to sea again—not in a man-of-war, +but in a privateer. He was now four-and-twenty; +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> +was wiry, tough, and well used to battling +both with men and with the elements. The boat he +sailed in mounted only two guns and had a crew of +thirty-six. She was named after a famous personage +of Biblical history: <i>King David</i>, and she conducted +herself as skilfully as did that ancient monarch, for +was not Jean Bart at the helm?</p> + +<p>Cruising out upon the treacherous waters of the +North Sea, it was not long before a vessel was sighted +that was of such small tonnage that Bart was not +afraid to give chase. He slapped on all canvas, put +his helm hard over, and steered for the dancing bit of +canvas. The <i>King David</i> was a swift sailer, and soon +the bow-gun spoke from the deck of the French privateer, +sending a challenging shot whistling close to +the stern of the stranger, who flew the flag of the +States General (the Dutch Republic) with which the +French were now at war.</p> + +<p>The stranger did not relish the challenge, and came +to in a hurry, while her flag fluttered weakly to the +deck.</p> + +<p>“She’s ours!” cried Jean Bart, gleefully. “And +without a fight. Hurray for the life of a privateer!”</p> + +<p>Quickly ranging alongside, the stranger was seen +to be a valuable prize, laden with tea, spices, and cotton. +She was manned by a small crew and sent to +port.</p> + +<p>“Now off for other luck!” cried Jean Bart.</p> + +<p>Luck was with him, too. In four months cruising +in the English Channel, near the Belgian coast, he captured +six prizes; all without any fighting. The Dutch +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> +trading vessels of those days must have been without +guns and poorly manned, for it should have been easy +to stand off a crew of but thirty-six, with only two +cannon aboard. Jean Bart—you may be sure—was +well satisfied. He was now rich, quite famous, and +keen for further adventure.</p> + +<p>So well did the owners of the privateer <i>King David</i> +think of him, that they now put him in charge of a +larger vessel named <i>La Royale</i>, carrying about eighty +men and ten guns.</p> + +<p>“Go out and win!” cried the chief owner of this +privateer. “Jean Bart, you are followed by the best +blood of France. Your men are all from Dunkirk!”</p> + +<p>And Jean Bart smiled.</p> + +<p>“Watch me!” said he.</p> + +<p>Cruising near the coast of Holland in company +with a small French gun-boat, he fell in with a man-of-war—the +<i>Esperance</i>—carrying twelve guns and +about one hundred and twenty men.</p> + +<p>“Now we’ll have a real fight!” cried the youthful +French commander as he cleared decks for action. +“Men, see to it that your swords are sharpened for +there may be some boarding!”</p> + +<p>Then he signalled to the little French gun-boat to +follow him and give battle. This ally carried about +a hundred men and six cannon.</p> + +<p>“Poof! Poof!”</p> + +<p>The heavy guns of the Dutchman were the first to +speak and they barked away like fat Newfoundland +watch-dogs.</p> + +<p>“Poof! Poof! B-o-o-m!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> +Jean Bart reserved his fire until within about +seventy-five yards and then he gave the command,</p> + +<p>“Fire away! Aim low! And try to hull her!”</p> + +<p>A sheet of flame sprang from the ten guns of <i>La +Royale</i> and a splitting of boards and crackling of +splinters showed that the iron missiles had punctured +the stout sides of the <i>Esperance</i>.</p> + +<p>“Pop! Pop! Crash!”</p> + +<p>The other French vessel now threw her lead into +the stern of the defender of the flag of the States General +and her mizzen-mast was seen to rock like an +unfastened May pole.</p> + +<p>“Whow!”</p> + +<p>The <i>Esperance</i> was not slow in answering back and +her twelve guns spat like leopards in the brush. She +filled away and bore towards the land, but the French +gun-boat saw this move and checkmated it.</p> + +<p>Sailing across her bow, the Frenchman raked her +fore and aft, while the rub-a-dub-dub of Jean Bart’s +guns went drumming against her starboard side. +Crash! Crash! Crash! Her boards were split, her +mizzen-mast was swaying, and her rigging was near +cut in two. Men were falling fast and two of her +guns had blown up and were rendered useless.</p> + +<p>“Surrender!” came a sharp hail from the lusty +throat of Jean Bart, and, as he spoke, a perfect hail +of grape came from his French ally, now creeping up +to port for a chance to grapple and board.</p> + +<p>“What can I do?” sighed the stout, Dutch commander, +turning to one of his lieutenants. “Boy, haul +down our flag!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> +So down came the emblem of the States General +amidst ringing cheers from the throats of the followers +of Jean Bart. They had won a notable +victory.</p> + +<p>When the <i>Esperance</i> was towed and half-sailed into +Dunkirk harbor, old Antoine Sauret was there.</p> + +<p>“Ah, my friends,” said he, “I always told you that +my boy, Jean Bart, would make a great name for himself. +Three times three for the great privateer of +Dunkirk!”</p> + +<p>And all the bystanders joined in right willingly.</p> + +<p>Not long after this event, our hero’s ship was lying +in the harbor of Bergen in Sweden. The captain of +an English vessel met him on shore, and, after having +a chat with him, remarked:</p> + +<p>“I hear that you have quite a reputation for fighting +your ship. I, too, am a sea warrior and would +like to have a little affair with you. My own vessel +is of about the same tonnage as yours, so that +we could meet upon even terms. Will you join +me?”</p> + +<p>“I would be delighted,” answered the war-like Jean +Bart. “If you wait two days I will be ready for you +and will fight you three miles off the coast. Meanwhile +I must lie here and take on some stores which +are much needed by both men and guns.”</p> + +<p>The Englishman smiled.</p> + +<p>“You are a man after my own heart,” said he. +“Good-by until we meet in battle.”</p> + +<p>Three days after this, Jean Bart sent a boy to the +English vessel with a note for the captain. It ran:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>“I am ready to fight you to-morrow. Meet me +three miles beyond the breakwater and may the best +man win. Until then—good luck.</p> + +<p class="sig">“Yours for battle,<br /> +“<span class="smcap">Jean Bart</span>.”</p> +</div> + +<p>The boy came back bearing a return missive from +the Englishman, who wrote:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>“<span class="smcap">Monsieur Bart</span>: I am delighted to learn that +you want to fight me, and will do so. You are indeed +a brave man. But—before we go for each other’s +throats—pray let us breakfast together. Will you +therefore take your morning meal with me, to-morrow, +in my own cabin, aboard my ship? I shall expect +you.</p> + +<p class="sig">“Yours to count on,<br /> +“<span class="smcap">Middleton</span>.”</p> +</div> + +<p>“I do not want to accept, but I will,” mused Captain +Bart. “These English fellows are far too polite.”</p> + +<p>So, next morning, he was rowed to the British vessel +and was soon breakfasting with his red-faced opponent.</p> + +<p>After the meal the Frenchman lighted his pipe, +took a few puffs, and said:</p> + +<p>“Monsieur, I have greatly enjoyed this peaceful +repast. But it is now time for me to go and sharpen +my boarding-pike. I must bid you adieu.”</p> + +<p>The Englishman smiled.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> +“No,” said he. “You cannot go. You are my +prisoner!”</p> + +<p>Jean Bart still smoked.</p> + +<p>“You are too quick!” he answered, slowly. +“There you are wrong. I am not your prisoner, for +I see a barrel of gunpowder on the deck, and, if you +do not release me immediately, I will blow up your +ship!”</p> + +<p>The Englishman turned pale.</p> + +<p>“Watch me!” cried Jean Bart.</p> + +<p>Leaping from his seat, he rushed to the deck, lighted +a match from his pipe, and held it directly over the +mouth of a barrel of gunpowder, from which someone +had pried the head.</p> + +<p>“Lay on! You cowards!” he yelled. “Lay on, +and we’ll all go to the Land of the Hereafter together.”</p> + +<p>His cry was heard upon his own vessel, which—with +sails up—lay waiting for him.</p> + +<p>In a moment her bow was turned towards the +British ship which was still at anchor, with sails unhoisted. +In a moment she dropped down alongside—and—in +less time than it takes to tell—the Frenchmen +had brought her upon the port quarter, and were +swarming across the deck to rescue their bold captain.</p> + +<p>Taken by surprise, the English put up a plucky fight, +but they were no match for the infuriated men of +Dunkirk. They were soon overpowered. The captain +was taken prisoner, and the vessel was considered +a legitimate prize of war, because of the trick which +Middleton had attempted to play upon Jean Bart. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> +When—in a few days—the prize was sailed into +Dunkirk harbor—the Englishman well wished that +he had not attempted to capture the most able privateersman +of all France.</p> + +<p>The fame of this exploit spread over the land, and +gave rise to a ditty, which ran:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“If you want to catch Jean Bart, sir,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A slippery, slimy chap,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Don’t bait him with gunpowder,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For he’s sure to miss the trap.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You must splice him down with chains, sir;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You must nail him to the deck.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Put a belt around his middle,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a collar ’round his neck.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even then you cannot hold him,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For he’s certain to get through,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While his sailors sing a song, sir,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Cock-<br /></span> +<span class="i5">a-<br /></span> +<span class="i6">doodle-<br /></span> +<span class="i9">doo!”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>In July, 1675, Jean Bart was married, but he did +not remain long on shore. Three weeks after this +auspicious event he once more put to sea and captured +a number of Dutch fishing boats, which he allowed the +captains to ransom for large sums of money.</p> + +<p>This was a very convenient arrangement, for it +saved him the trouble of putting part of his own crew +on board and sending the boats to port. But the owners +of <i>La Royale</i>, upon which he sailed, did not care +for his methods of procedure.</p> + +<p>“You cannot do this in future!” said they. “And +you must forfeit half of what you took to us!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> +Jean Bart obeyed, but he was very angry. It is +even said that he uttered “a round seaman’s oath.”</p> + +<p>So successful was he, in fact, that he was given a +much larger vessel in 1676. This was a frigate—the +<i>Palme</i>—with twenty-four guns and a crew of +one hundred and fifty men. Sailing into the North +Sea with two small French gun-boats, he soon fell in +with three Dutch privateers and eight armed whaling +vessels. He attacked, and the battle raged for three +long, bloody hours.</p> + +<p>When the smoke and the fumes of sulphur burned +away, Bart had boarded the largest privateer, while his +two consorts had taken the eight whalers. The other +Dutch privateers found it too hot for their liking and +scudded for the coast, firing their stern-guns derisively +as they disappeared. It was a great victory, and again +the French coast rung with salvos for Jean Bart, while +the old sea-dogs shrugged their shoulders, saying:</p> + +<p>“Ah! Ha! Did we not tell you that Dunkirk bred +men of bone and marrow. Ah! Ha!”</p> + +<p>But Jean Bart was not happy.</p> + +<p>“Would that I could meet a foe of my own force,” +he used to say. “Either a man-of-war or a privateer, +I don’t care which. I want to try it on with one of +my own size and strength.”</p> + +<p>His wish was soon to be gratified.</p> + +<p>On September 7th, 1676, he was pointing the <i>Palme</i> +towards the Belgian coast-line, when he sighted a +number of sail on the starboard quarter. He headed +for them; scanned the white dots through a glass, and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> +saw that this was a fishing fleet of small, unarmed +luggers. But a big, hulking Dutch frigate hovered +in their rear, and thirty-two guns pointed their brown +muzzles menacingly from her open port-holes. She +was the <i>Neptune</i> and she lazed along like a huge +whale: omnipotent and self-satisfied.</p> + +<p>“Ah ha!” cried the delighted Jean Bart. “Now +I have met an enemy that is worthy of my steel. Up +with the flag and sail into yonder Dutchman. We +have but twenty-four guns to her thirty-two, but are +we to be awed by this show of force? Be ready, my +boys, to have the stiffest fight in your careers!”</p> + +<p>The Dutchman was equally well pleased when he +saw who was coming for him.</p> + +<p>“Here is Jean Bart, the pirate and privateer,” he +cried. “For three years I’ve been hoping to have a +fight with him and now my chance has come at last. +I am fortunate, for I can pay him back for all the +damage that he has done to Dutch commerce. Shoot +low, my hearties, and do not fail to hull our enemy. +Let your war-cry be: ‘Down with Jean Bart and his +pirate crew!’”</p> + +<p>“Hurrah!” shouted his men.</p> + +<p>And an answering</p> + +<p>“Hurray!” came from the <i>Palme</i>. These opponents +were as eager to get at each other as two prize-fighters +of modern days.</p> + +<p><em>Crash!</em> roared a broadside from the Dutch frigate +as her flag went aloft, and splash, splash, splash, went +her shells around the sides of the privateer.</p> + +<p>“Sail in close!” yelled Jean Bart. “Hug her to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> +leeward for awhile, then cross her bows, rake her, get +her wind, and board.”</p> + +<p>“Hurray!” shouted the men of Dunkirk, and a +rattle, rattle, roar came from the port guns of the +<i>Palme</i>.</p> + +<p>Around and around swung the sea gladiators and +the little fishing boats luffed and tittered on the waves +like inquisitive sparrows.</p> + +<p>“Bart cannot win!” said several of their skippers. +“For he’s outweighted and outnumbered!”</p> + +<p>But Bart was fighting like John Paul Jones.</p> + +<p>Around and around went the two opponents, guns +growling, men cheering, sails slapping and ripping +with the chain and solid shot. Again and again Jean +Bart endeavored to get a favorable position for boarding +and again and again he was forced to tack away +by the quick manœuvres of the Dutchman.</p> + +<p>“Fire into her rigging!” he now thundered. +“Cripple those topsails and I can bring my boat +alongside.”</p> + +<p>“<em>Crash! Crash! Crash!</em>”</p> + +<p>Volley after volley puffed from the side of the +rolling <i>Palme</i>. Volley after volley poured its lead and +iron into the swaying rigging of the Dutchman, and, +with a great roaring, ripping, and smashing, the +mizzen topmast came toppling over the lee rail.</p> + +<p>A lusty cheer sounded from the deck of the <i>Palme</i>.</p> + +<p>“She’s ours!” cried Jean Bart, smiling.</p> + +<p>Instantly he spun over the wheel, luffed, and +brought his boat upon the starboard quarter of the +Dutchman, who was now part helpless. It took but +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> +a moment to run alongside, and, in a moment more, +the <i>Palme</i> was lashed to the <i>Neptune</i> in a deadly embrace. +Smoke rolled from the sides of both contestants +and the roar of the guns drowned the shrill cries +of the wounded. The Dutchmen were now desperate +and their guns were spitting fire in rapid, successive +volleys; but many of them were silenced, as the great, +brown side of the <i>Palme</i> rubbed its planking against +the splintered railing of the shattered <i>Neptune</i>.</p> + +<p>As the vessels were securely bound together, Jean +Bart seized a boarding-pike, a brace of pistols, and, +giving the helm to a sailor, leaped into the waist of +his ship.</p> + +<p>“Board! Board!” he shouted.</p> + +<p>A wild yelp greeted these welcome sounds. As he +vaulted over the rail of his own ship to the deck of +the stranger, a motley crew of half-wild sea-savages +swarmed behind him. They had cutlasses and boarding-pikes, +and their faces were blackened with powder. +Their eyes were reddened with sulphurous fumes and +their clothes torn with splintered planking. They +rolled over the gunwales like a huge wave of irresistible +fire: pistols spitting, pikes gleaming, cutlasses +glistening in the rays of the sun.</p> + +<p>The captain of the <i>Neptune</i> lay near his own wheel, +grievously wounded.</p> + +<p>“Lay on, men!” he shouted. “Don’t let this +French privateer beat us. We will be disgraced.”</p> + +<p>But his sailors were no match for the onrush of +these fiends from Dunkirk. They fell back like foam +before a sea squall.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> +“Then down with our flag,” cried the captain of +the Dutchman. “But, ye gods, how it hurts me to +give the order.”</p> + +<p>A sailor seized the halyards and pulled the ensign +to the deck, and, as it fell upon the reddened planking, +a wild, frenzied cheer came from the French privateers.</p> + +<p>“Jean Bart, forever! France forever! Jean Bart +forever!” they cried.</p> + +<p>“Up with the French flag!” yelled Jean Bart, +laughing like a boy. “Up with the white lilies of +France.”</p> + +<p>And, as a spare ensign ran aloft, the little fishing +luggers scudded for the shore.</p> + +<p>“After them, men!” cried Captain Bart. “Our +work is not yet over. We must have the lambs as +well as the old wolf.”</p> + +<p>So, sail was soon clapped on the <i>Palme</i>, she headed +for the fleeing boats, and, with a few well directed +shots, hove them to. Then they were told to follow +behind and head for France, which they did—but, +oh! how it did hurt!</p> + +<p>It was a proud moment for Jean Bart, and his eyes +danced with pleasure when he sailed into Dunkirk with +the captured <i>Neptune</i> and the fleet of fishing boats.</p> + +<p>“Voilà!” cried the townspeople. “Jean Bart is a +true hero. Voilà! He shall have the freedom of the +city. Voilà!”</p> + +<p>The fame of this gallant exploit soon spread abroad +and the king showed some desire to see this courageous +privateersman.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> +“I would have him at court,” said he to his minister +Colbert. “For I would reward him.”</p> + +<p>When news of this was brought to the privateersman +he was naturally delighted, and, travelling to +Versailles, was ushered into the presence of his Majesty.</p> + +<p>“Here is a gold chain for you,” said the king. “I +trust that you will keep it in recognition of my appreciation +of your gallant conduct. I would be glad, indeed, +to have you in the Royal Service. Would you +not take a commission?”</p> + +<p>“You overwhelm me,” answered the valiant sea-fighter, +blushing. “I—I—I—am quite disconcerted. +But—if it would please your Majesty, I +believe that I would prefer to remain a simple privateer. +It is a free life and it suits my roving nature.”</p> + +<p>The king chuckled.</p> + +<p>“So be it,” said he. “But my good sir, keep yourself +in readiness for a commission. I may need you in +the Royal Marine!”</p> + +<p>“Very good, Sire!” said Jean Bart, and, bowing +low, he withdrew.</p> + +<p>But he did not get away without an adventure,—quite +as exciting as any he had had aboard the rocking +decks of one of his privateer ships.</p> + +<p>The fame of Jean Bart had stirred up a number of +enemies, for, when a man is successful in life, are there +not always a hundred unsuccessful fellows who stand +about and scoff?</p> + +<p>Among these were a few followers of the sea who +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> +had determined to make way with this too fortunate +privateer. One—Jules Blanc by name—even decided +upon murder, if Jean Bart would not agree to +leave the privateering business to himself and his +companions.</p> + +<p>As the sailor from Dunkirk left the presence of +the king he was accosted by one of his old acquaintances.</p> + +<p>“Ha, Jean Bart,” said he. “Come with me to the +Inn. Have a glass with me, my boy, for I see that +the king has richly rewarded you. You deserve it, +for you have done well, and you must be tired from +your journey. Come, let us dine together?”</p> + +<p>Suspecting nothing, the gallant privateer followed +his companion quite willingly, and, when he arrived +at the Inn, was not surprised to find several other seamen +from Dunkirk and the neighboring seaports of +France. They greeted him warmly.</p> + +<p>“To your health!” cried they, raising their glasses +of wine. “To the health of the bravest privateer in +all of France.”</p> + +<p>Jean Bart was delighted. He smiled like a child, +seated himself at their table, and began to drink with +these jovial men of the sea.</p> + +<p>As he sat there, suddenly a paper was mysteriously +shoved into his hand. He did not see from whence +it came, and, as he scanned its contents, his face grew +strangely pale.</p> + +<p>“Beware of these fellows,” he read. “They mean +to kill you if you do not do what they wish. Beware!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> +Jean Bart soon regained his composure.</p> + +<p>“Come! Let us go to the dining-room up-stairs,” +said the friend who had first accosted him. “Come, +my boys! We will there have far more quiet!”</p> + +<p>All moved for the door.</p> + +<p>Jean Bart moved, also, but before he went up-stairs, +he loosened his sword-belt and cocked two pistols +which he carried at his waist. He was not surprised +when he saw them lock the stout door as they +entered the room upon the second floor.</p> + +<p>When they were all seated Jules Blanc arose. His +face well exhibited his dislike for the successful privateersman, +Jean Bart.</p> + +<p>“Now, my friend,” said he, facing the man from +Dunkirk, “we have you here with a purpose. We +wish you to know that we are determined that you +shall no longer go to sea and spoil our own business +for us. You have had enough success. We +want you to withdraw and give some one else a +chance.”</p> + +<p>Jean Bart smiled.</p> + +<p>“We think that you should retire for we want +some pickings for ourselves.”</p> + +<p>“And if I refuse?” queried Jean Bart.</p> + +<p>Jules Blanc placed his hand instantly upon his +sword-hilt.</p> + +<p>“Then—there will be trouble!”</p> + +<p>“Poof!” said Jean Bart.</p> + +<p>As he spoke, all drew their rapiers.</p> + +<p>“Again Poof!” said Jean Bart.</p> + +<p>As he spoke, a thrust came from his right. He +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> +parried it, leaped upon a chair, and stood there smiling.</p> + +<p>Crack! There was the sound of a pistol and a +bullet whizzed by his ear.</p> + +<p>Then there was a sudden and awful <em>Crash!</em> The +room was filled with dust.</p> + +<p>When the startled sea-dogs looked about them Jean +Bart no longer stood upon the table. He had disappeared +through the window. And broken glass with +splintered fastenings was all that remained of the once +perfect glazing.</p> + +<p>“He has gone,” said Jules Blanc. “Fellow seamen, +we are outdone.”</p> + +<p>But Jean Bart was a quarter of a mile away, laughing +softly to himself, as he sped along the highway +which led to quiet Dunkirk.</p> + +<p>Things went well with him, also, for his employers—appreciating +his past services—now gave him +command of a larger ship than the <i>Palme</i>: the <i>Dauphin</i>, +with thirty guns and two hundred eager and +adventurous sailors from the northern coast of France.</p> + +<p>Sailing forth from Dunkirk harbor, on June 18th, +1678, Jean Bart eagerly scanned the horizon with his +glass. With him were two smaller privateers, so that +he felt well able to cope with any adversary from Holland. +His keen glance was soon to be rewarded, for +when but two days from port he spied a sail upon the +starboard bow. It was a Dutch frigate—the <i>Sherdam</i>—of +forty guns and manned by many stout dogs +of the sea. Her captain—André Ranc—was a keen +fighter and a man of well-tried courage.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> +“Bear off to leeward!” signalled Jean Bart to his +privateer companion. “Then we will get the stranger +between us, fasten to her, and board her from either +side.”</p> + +<p>The flag of the French privateer dipped back an +answering, “All right!” and, as she was nearest to +the Dutchman, she attacked at once.</p> + +<p>“<em>Poom! Poom!</em>” went the Dutch cannon, like the +beating of a churn in that land of canals and cheese-making. +And <em>piff! piff!</em> answered the little howitzers +of the privateer.</p> + +<p>But Jean Bart meant to have a quick fight, so he +bore down to starboard, wore ship, and ran so close to +the enemy, that his grappling irons soon held her fast. +In a moment more his own vessel was hauled alongside.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the smaller French privateer had +spanked over to larboard; had run up upon the opposite +side of the lumbering Dutchman; and had also +gripped her. A wild, nerve-wracking cheer went up, +as—sword in hand—Jean Bart led his boarders +over the side of the Dutch vessel.</p> + +<p>Ranc was badly wounded but he led his men to a +counter assault with courage born of desperation. +Cutlasses crashed together, boarding-pikes smashed +and hacked, and pistols growled and spattered in +one discordant roar. Back went the Dutch sailors +fighting savagely and bluntly with all the stubbornness +of their natures, then back they pushed the +followers of Jean Bart, while Ranc called to +them:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> +“Drive these French curs into the sea!”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a name="bart_led_his_boarders" id="bart_led_his_boarders"></a> +<img src="images/fpas10.jpg" width="600" height="515" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p class="caption">“JEAN BART LED HIS BOARDERS OVER THE SIDE OF THE DUTCH VESSEL.”</p> + +<p>But now the other privateer had made fast, and her +men came clambering over the rail, with cutlass, dirk, +and pistols.</p> + +<p>“We’re outnumbered,” Ranc shouted, his face +showing extreme suffering. “Haul down the flag! +Had Jean Bart been here alone I could have trounced +him well.”</p> + +<p>Thus reluctantly and sadly the flag of the <i>Sherdam</i> +came down. But the French had paid well for their victory.</p> + +<p>Jean Bart was badly wounded in the leg; his face +was burned by the discharge of a gun, which went off—almost +in his eyes—just as he leaped on board the +<i>Sherdam</i>. Six of his men were killed and thirty-one +were wounded, while the little privateer that had +fastened to the other flank of the huge <i>Sherdam</i>, was +a total wreck. So well, indeed, had the Dutch fighters +plied their cannon as she approached, that she was +shattered almost beyond repair. With great difficulty +she was finally towed to shore.</p> + +<p>Of course all France again rang with the fame of +Jean Bart, while the crafty sea-dogs who had endeavored +to capture the slippery privateersman were +furious with envious rage. But Jean Bart hummed +a little tune to himself, which ran,</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“You’ll have to get up early if you want to catch Jean Bart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You’ll have to get up early, and have a goodly start,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the early bird can catch the worm, if the worm is fast asleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But not if it’s a privateer, who can through a window leap.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> +This invincible corsair was also not idle, for in two +weeks’ time he was again at sea in the <i>Mars</i> of thirty-two +guns, and a fast sailer. Eagerly looking for +prizes, he cruised far up the coast of Holland and was +keenly hunting for either merchantman or frigate, +when a small vessel neared him, upon which was flying +a white flag.</p> + +<p>“A truce!” cried Jean Bart. “The war must be +over.”</p> + +<p>When the little boat drew nearer, a fat Dutchman +called out something which sounded like, “Amsterdam +yam Goslam!” which meant, “Peace has been declared,” +in Dutch.</p> + +<p>So Jean Bart sailed back into the sheltering harbor +of Dunkirk with tears of sorrow in his eyes, for he +loved his exciting life.</p> + +<p>“Helas!” said he. “It is all over!”</p> + +<p>Thus, indeed, ended the career of Jean Bart as a +privateer captain. In January, 1679, he was given the +commission of lieutenant in the French navy, but, +although he accepted, he was never happy in this +service. From captain to lieutenant was a decided +come down, and besides this, the aristocratic officers +of the Crown made life very unpleasant for one who +had entered their ranks from privateering.</p> + +<p>“Bah!” said they. “He is only a commoner!” +And they would turn up their titled noses.</p> + +<p>But—mark you this!</p> + +<p>Several hundred years have passed since those days, +and Jean Bart’s name is still remembered. Who remembers +the names of any of these titled nobles who +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> +held commissions from his Majesty, the King of +France?</p> + +<p>I do not think that any of you do. Certainly I do +not.</p> + +<p>Therefore, there is a little lesson to be learned, and +it is this:</p> + +<p>Never sneer at the fellow who accomplishes things, +if he be of humble birth. <em>His</em> name may go down to +history. <em>Yours</em> probably will not.</p> + +<p>So, the next time that you are tempted to do this, +think it over. If you do, you will not say, “Pish,—the +Commoner!” But you will say,</p> + +<p>“Well done! The Hero!”</p> + +<p>So, good-by, Jean Bart, and may France produce +your like again, if she can!</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Keep these legends, gray with age,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saved from the crumbling wrecks of yore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When cheerful conquerors moored their barques<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Along the Saxon shore.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author">—<span class="smcap">Thompson.</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<a name="Page_113" id="Page_113"><!-- unnumbered title page --></a> +<p><span class='pagenum'></span></p> + +<h2>DU GUAY-TROUIN<br /> +<br /> +THE GREAT FRENCH “BLUE”<br /> +<br /> +(1673-1736)</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>“Self trust is the essence of Heroism.”—<span class="smcap">Plutarch.</span></p> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center padtop">DU GUAY-TROUIN<br /> +THE GREAT FRENCH “BLUE”<br /> +(1673-1736)</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“He’s only a scurvy Democrat, his blood is hardly blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, Sacre Nom de Dieu! Sapristi! Eet is true!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet, he fights like the Maid of Orleans, with dirk and halberd, too,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, Sacre Nom de Dieu! Sapristi! Eet is true!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then—what’ll you think, good gentlemen, you men of the kingly pack,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye sons of Armand the Terrible, ye whelps of Catouriac,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall <em>he</em> gain the royal purple? Shall <em>he</em> sit in the ranks with us?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall <em>he</em> quaff of our golden vintage, shall <em>he</em> ride in the royal bus?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nay! Nay! For that would be te-r-r-ible! Nay! Nay! <em>That ill-born cuss?</em><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Par donc! but that is unbearable! ’Twould result in a shameful fuss!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pray, let him remain a Democrat—The cream of the fleet for us.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author">—<i>Song of the French Royal Marine.</i>—1695.</p> + +<p><span class="dropcap">Y</span>OU <em>must</em> be a churchman, Rénee,” said the +good Luc Trouin, turning to his little son. +“I have always had a great ambition to have +a child of mine in the church, and I feel that you are +in every way qualified for the position of a prelate.”</p> + +<p>But little Rénee hung his head.</p> + +<p>“Look up, boy,” continued the amiable Frenchman. +“I know that you are not now pleased with the idea, +but—later on—after you have had more experience, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> +I feel sure that you can thank Heaven that your good +father started you in the right and proper direction.”</p> + +<p>Still, little Rénee hung his head.</p> + +<p>“Tut! Tut!” continued the old man. “You will +leave, to-morrow, for the college at Rheims, and, after +you have been there but a short time, I feel sure that +you will like it. Tut! Tut!”</p> + +<p>But still little Rénee hung his head.</p> + +<p>Again came the amiable “Tut! Tut!” and the +chuckling Luc Trouin wandered off into the garden +to see how well the potatoes were growing.</p> + +<p>But little Rénee still hung his head.</p> + +<p>And—in spite of the fact that little Rénee went to +the Divinity school at Rheims, he continued to hang +his head. He hung his head for three years. Then, +news was brought to him, one day, that the good Luc +Trouin was dead, and, instead of holding his handkerchief +to his eyes to wipe away the tears, as one +would expect of him, little Rénee burst into loud +laughter.</p> + +<p>“At last,” cried he, “I can get away from the +church and go to sea. At last my freedom has come!”</p> + +<p>And it was not many hours before little Rénee was +scudding away from the school of Divinity, like a +clipper-ship under a full spread of canvas, before a +rousing sou’west breeze.</p> + +<p>For at least two hundred years before the birth of +bad, little Rénee, the Trouin family had been well +known and prosperous in the Breton seaport of St. +Malo. For many years a Trouin had been consul at +Malaga, Spain; and other members of the house had +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> +held excellent positions with the King, so little Rénee +had no reason to be ashamed of his forebears, in spite +of the fact that his people were of the “bourgeoisie:” +ship-owners, traders, smugglers, privateers, and merchants. +And, as they were of the “bourgeoisie,” they +were somewhat looked down upon by the proud and +haughty aristocrats who fawned about the weak and +dissipated King.</p> + +<p>Little Rénee was the son of Luc Trouin and Marguerite +Boscher but he was called Du Guay-Trouin, +in later years, and the reason for this is plain. For—in +accordance with the custom of the time—he was +sent to be nursed by a foster mother who resided in +the little village of Le Gué. So he was called Trouin +du Gué; which shortly became Du Guay-Trouin.</p> + +<p>“I’ve come home, mother,” shouted little Rénee, +when he had plodded his weary way which lay between +his temporary prison and the house of his parents. +“I’ve come home, mother, and I’m going to sea!”</p> + +<p>But his mother did not take any too kindly to this +bold and valiant idea.</p> + +<p>“You must study law,” said she, with great firmness. +And—in spite of the fact that little Rénee +begged and pleaded—he was forced to give up his +idea of seafaring life for the dry drudgery and routine +of a clerk at law. He was now about sixteen +years of age.</p> + +<p>“The law is dry and my spirits are high,” youthful +Rénee is said to have carolled as he spent his first few +hours at a lecture, “and whatever may be I’m going +to sea.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> +At any rate, he soon got into trouble and engaged +in three duels in his sixteenth year, in one of which +his assailant gave him a serious wound. This was +too much for even his stern mother to bear, so, summoning +a family council, she gave forth the following opinion:</p> + +<p>“Rénee has failed as a student of Divinity. Rénee +has failed as a student of law. Rénee has entirely too +high spirits. Rénee shall, therefore, be placed in one +of the family ships and sent to sea.”</p> + +<p>And to this decree Rénee is said to have cried: +“At last! Hurray!” for he longed for action.</p> + +<p>In a very short time little Rénee had a taste of that +war and adventure which he craved, for a historian +writes that:</p> + +<p>“During the first three months of this cruise his +courage was tried by a violent tempest, an imminent +shipwreck, the boarding of an English ship, and the +threatened destruction of his own vessel by fire. The +following year, still as a volunteer, he displayed the +greatest personal courage and won much fame in an +engagement which his ship had with five merchant +vessels.”</p> + +<p>“Ah ha,” said little Rénee, “this is indeed life. I +am having a good time.”</p> + +<p>So well did those higher in command feel towards +the youthful sailor, that, at the age of eighteen, he was +actually put in charge of the ship <i>Danycan</i> of fourteen +guns,—for France was at war with England, Holland, +and Spain, and to him who could strike a quick +and well-aimed blow there were “nice pickings” to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> +be had. And the reckless young sea-dog found some +“nice pickings” in Ireland, for, he landed an armed +party upon the coast of County Clare, where he pillaged +a village, burned two ships at anchor, and escaped +to his own vessel with considerable booty +and family heirlooms of the peasants, who said, +“Och, Begorra! We’ll be afther that wild bhoy +before many suns, and spank him for his unseemly +whork.”</p> + +<p>But the French cried “Voilà! Here, indeed, is a +brave young Bourgeois,” and promptly raised him to +the command of the <i>Coetquen</i> of eighteen guns, in +which he soon went cruising, accompanied by a sister-ship, +the <i>St. Aaron</i>.</p> + +<p>Prowling around the English channel, the skulking +sea-hounds soon came across two small English men-of-war +with five valuable merchantmen under their +sheltering wings.</p> + +<p>“All ready for the attack!” shouted Du Guay-Trouin. +“We’ll make mince-meat of those foreign +hulks, in spite of the fact that they are protected by +two men-of-war.”</p> + +<p>And, crowding on all sail, his own vessel and the +<i>St. Aaron</i> quickly bore down upon the Englishmen, +who, seeing them approach, hove-to for action.</p> + +<p>The engagement was short. After a few broadsides +had been delivered, the English struck, the prizes +were taken over, and all started for the coast of +France. But suddenly a cry went up,</p> + +<p>“Sail ho! Sail ho! off the starboard bow!”</p> + +<p>“Ta Donc,” cried the surprised Du Guay-Trouin. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> +“It is a big man-of-warsman and a Britisher too. +We must give up our prizes, I fear. Clap on all canvas +and we’ll hie us to shore.”</p> + +<p>So all sail was hoisted, and, steering for the shoals +and rocks off Lundy Island—where he knew that +the heavy Englishman could not follow—Du Guay-Trouin +soon outdistanced and outwitted the <i>Centurion</i>: +a line-of-battle ship and a formidable opponent. +The rich prizes had to be left behind.</p> + +<p>Honorable appointments crowded upon the daring, +young sea-dog, after this affair, and we find him successively +in command of the <i>Profond</i>, of thirty-two +guns; the <i>Hercule</i>, of twenty-eight guns, and the +<i>Diligente</i> of thirty-six guns and two hundred and +fifty sailors, which was a King’s ship borrowed for +privateering and run on shares,—the monarch to +have a certain part of the winnings.</p> + +<p>Like partners in business the <i>Diligente</i> and <i>Hercule</i> +now went cruising, and it was not long before the +two harpies swooped down upon their prey in the +shape of two Dutch East Indiamen, armed with +twenty-five guns each, and manned by rotund-bodied +Dutchmen. There was rich treasure aboard, and, with +eagerness and zeal, the Frenchmen slapped on all canvas +in pursuit.</p> + +<p>Now was a hot chase. Mile after mile was passed, +and slowly but surely the Frenchmen gained upon the +lumbering foe. Then suddenly,—</p> + +<p><em>Crash!</em></p> + +<p>A ball screamed above the head of Du Guay-Trouin, +and a Dutchman hove-to for battle.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> +“Crawl in close,” cried the valiant Frenchman, +“and don’t let go a broadside until you can hit ’em +below the water line. Try to scuttle the Dutch lumber +merchant!”</p> + +<p>His men obeyed him willingly and soon there was +a muffled roar as the first broadside spoke in the still +air. Another and another followed, and the Dutchman +trembled like an aspen leaf.</p> + +<p>“Hah,” shouted the enthusiastic Rénee, “up goes +the white flag!”</p> + +<p>Sure enough, the vessel struck, and aboard of her +was the Dutch commodore. But the <i>Hercule</i> was +beaten off by the second Dutchman, and, as the privateers +boarded the captured vessel, the East Indiaman +showed a clean pair of heels, under a cloud of +bellying canvas.</p> + +<p>Du Guay-Trouin was delighted. “On we go, +Boys,” he cried, “for we’ll sail these waters until we +strike another prize.” And this is what soon happened.</p> + +<p>On May the 12th, the <i>Diligente</i> was cruising alone, +when, suddenly six white dots appeared upon the +horizon, and six British ships-of-the-line were soon +closing in upon the venturous French navigator and +his crew.</p> + +<p>“Ye Gods,” cried the doughty Frenchman, “we’re +in for it now, but we will give them a lively bout even +though we’ll get the worst of it.”</p> + +<p>And here is how he has described the battle:</p> + +<p>“One of the English ships named <i>Adventure</i> first +overtook me, and we maintained a running fight for +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> +nearly four hours, before any other of their ships +could come up....</p> + +<p>“At length my two topmasts were shot away; on +which the <i>Adventure</i> ranged up alongside me, a short +pistol-shot off, and hauled up her courses. Seeing +her so near, it occurred to me to run foul of her and +board her with my whole crew. Forthwith I ordered +such of the officers as were near to send the people on +deck, got ready the grapnels, and put the helm over.</p> + +<p>“We were just on the point of hooking on to her, +when unfortunately, one of my Lieutenants, looking +out through a port and seeing the two ships so close +together, took it into his head that there was some +mistake, as he could not think that—under the circumstances—I +had any intention of boarding; and +so, of himself, ordered the helm to be reversed.</p> + +<p>“I had no idea of what had been done, and was +impatiently waiting for the two ships to clash together, +ready to throw myself on board the enemy; but seeing +that my ship did not obey her helm, I ran to the +wheel, and found it had been changed without my +order.</p> + +<p>“I had it again jammed hard on; but perceived, +with the keenest vexation, that the captain of the +<i>Adventure</i>, having guessed by the expression of my +face what I had meant to do, had let fall his courses, +and was sheering off. We had been so near that my +bowsprit had broken his taffrail; but the mistake of +my Lieutenant made me lose the opportunity of one +of the most surprising adventures ever heard tell of.</p> + +<p>“In the determination I was in to perish or to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> +capture this ship, which was much the fastest sailor of the +squadron, it was more than probable that I should have +succeeded, and should thus have taken back to France +a much stronger ship than that which I abandoned. +And, not to speak of the credit which would have +attached to the execution of such a plan, it is quite +certain that—being dismasted—there was absolutely +no other way for me to escape from forces so superior.”</p> + +<p>But closer—always closer—crowded the British +war-dogs, and the valorous French seamen became +panic stricken. “We are outnumbered and outfought,” +cried many, and, deserting their guns, they +fled below to the holds, in spite of the vigorous protests +of Du Guay-Trouin.</p> + +<p>“I was busy trying to put a stop to the panic,” +says he. “I had cut down one and pistolled another, +when, to crown my misfortune, fire broke out in the +gun-room. The fear of being blown up made it necessary +for me to go below; but, having got the fire put +out, I had a tub full of grenades brought me, and +began throwing them down into the hold.</p> + +<p>“By this means I compelled the deserters to come +up and to man some of the lower deck guns; but, +when I went up on the poop, I found, to my astonishment +and vexation, that some cowardly rascal had +taken advantage of my absence to haul down the +colors.</p> + +<p>“I ordered them to be hoisted again; but my officers +represented that to do so would be simply giving +up the remnant of my ship’s company to be +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> +butchered by the English, who would give no quarter +if the flag were hoisted again, after being struck for +so long, and that further resistance was hopeless as +the ship was dismasted.”</p> + +<p>“Never give in, for”—cried Du Guay-Trouin, +whose democratic blood was now up, but he did not +finish the sentence as a spent shot then knocked him +senseless. And—as he fell—the white flag went +aloft, for his officers had not his fighting spirit.</p> + +<p>“Ah ha,” laughed the English jack-tars. “We’ve +got the French rascal at last, and we’ll hold him +too.”</p> + +<p>So little Rénee was imprisoned in a nice, dark +dungeon,—the kind which the English used to put +their poor debtors in. But—like a true man of courage—little +Rénee escaped, took to a smuggler’s skiff, +and made off to the coast of France, where he arrived +on the 18th of June, 1694, and was received right +boisterously by the Trouin family.</p> + +<p>“My son,” spoke his aged mother, “you were +indeed not intended for the law, for lawlessness seems +to be your particular fancy.”</p> + +<p>So the delighted Trouins put him in charge of a +splendid privateersman mounting forty-eight guns, +sailing under the simple name of <i>Francois</i>, and, as +she forged valiantly into the English channel, her +skipper chanted an old French song, which ran,—</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Sons of St. Malo, hark to my lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a Heave! Ho! Blow the man down.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For we’ll capture a lugger ere close of the day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a Heave! Ho! Blow the man down.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> +<span class="i0">“She’s filled with gold nuggets, her crew is asleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then board her, and take her, for dead men are cheap,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We’ll spike them and pike them, like so many sheep.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a Heave! Ho! Blow the man down.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>It was not long before a sail was sighted, and, on +the 12th day of January, 1695, the stout, little <i>Francois</i> +overhauled a solitary timber ship, loaded with huge +trees, bound to England from the good town of Boston +in New England. She was an easy capture, and, +Du Guay-Trouin smiled with joy when her skipper +said:</p> + +<p>“Three other lumber ships are in the offing. But +they are under convoy of the frigate <i>Nonsuch</i> with +forty-eight guns, and the <i>Falcon</i> with thirty-eight +cannon. Look out my bold sea-dog, there’ll be +trouble.”</p> + +<p>But the French mariner laughed.</p> + +<p>“It’s just what I’m searching for,” said he, and +forthwith he swung the stout <i>Francois</i> in wide circles, +with look-outs at every mast-head.</p> + +<p>“Sail ho!” shouted the watch, next morn, and +there, off the port bow, were the three merchantmen +strung out in a line, with the two protecting gun-boats +to windward.</p> + +<p>Like a greyhound the <i>Francois</i> swept down upon +them, and with the audacity of despair, the privateersman +of St. Malo ranged alongside of the <i>Falcon</i> and +opened fire. The engagement was short. In an hour’s +time the guns of the Englishman were silent and a +white pennon fluttered from the mizzen-mast.</p> + +<p>The <i>Nonsuch</i>, meanwhile, had been ranging to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> +windward in a vain endeavor to bring her guns to +bear upon the Frenchman without crippling her own +mate, and—as the <i>Francois</i> drifted away from the +lurching <i>Falcon</i>—she bore down to within twenty +yards, luffed, and spanked a rakish broadside into +the privateer.</p> + +<p>“Board her!” shouted Du Guay-Trouin. “Board +her!” and, bringing the wheel close around, he swung +the bow of the <i>Francois</i> into the side of the Englishman. +But, as the sailors scampered to the bulwarks +with cutlass and with dirk, a sheet of flame burst from +the port-holes of the drifting <i>Nonsuch</i>. She was afire.</p> + +<p>“Luff! Luff!” cried the keen-eyed French mariner, +and the <i>Francois</i> drew away as the red flames +curled upward with a cruel hiss.</p> + +<p>With a swift turn the helm again spun over, under +the quick hand of Du Guay-Trouin, and the <i>Francois</i> +was jibed about in order to run under the port bow +of the Englishman.</p> + +<p>“Hold, Captain!” cried a French Lieutenant. +“We, ourselves, are afire!”</p> + +<p>As he spoke—a direful cloud of vapor rolled from +the starboard quarter.</p> + +<p>“Alack!” answered the now furious Rénee. “This +puts an end to the fighting of this day, and we’d soon +have had the second Britisher. All hands below and +bucket out this fire!”</p> + +<p>So, as night fell upon the rolling ocean, the <i>Falcon</i> +lay drifting helplessly, while the <i>Nonsuch</i> and the +<i>Francois</i> were burning like two beacons upon a jutting +headland.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> +As day broke, the <i>Francois</i> filled away (for the fire +had been extinguished after an hour’s toil) and ranged +within striking distance of the <i>Nonsuch</i>. A broadside +belched from her starboard guns and an answering +roar came back from the cannon of the Englishman. +The fore and main masts of the <i>Nonsuch</i> trembled +for a moment—then tottered and fell—while +the gallant Captain, struck in the chest by a flying +piece of shell, fell dying upon the deck. Du Guay-Trouin +again attempted to board, at this moment, but +the third mast was shaking and he was forced to +sheer off lest the tangle of yards and rigging should +fall and crush his vessel. He hung within hailing +distance of the crippled sea-warrior, and, seeing that +his antagonist was now helpless, cried out through +his trumpet:</p> + +<p>“Run up the white flag, or I’ll give you a broadside +that will sink you.”</p> + +<p>No answering hail came from the deck of the battered +<i>Nonsuch</i>, but the piece of a torn, white shirt +was soon fluttering from the tangled rigging of the +foremast. Thus the gallant Rénee had defeated two +warships of equal strength, and had captured vessels +with a rich and valuable cargo. Now, don’t you think +that this fellow was a doughty sea rover? And, although +the English made many excuses, the fact still +remains that a single privateer had conquered double +her own force in a fair and open fight upon the high +seas.</p> + +<p>The sturdy <i>Francois</i> could just barely drift into St. +Malo—so badly crippled was she—but the rest came +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> +safely to port, in spite of a hard gale which blew down +the masts of two of the lumber boats. And doughty +Rénee refitted the <i>Nonsuch</i>, transferred his flag to +her, called her the <i>Sans-Pareil</i>, and flung his flag defiantly +from her mast-head in spite of the fact that +she was “made in England.” All France was agog +over his exploit.</p> + +<p>Now, know you, that doughty Rénee was a +“Blue;” a “Blue” being a man of the people (the +bourgeoisie) who were not of aristocratic birth. And, +as the French Royal Marine was the most exclusive +body of officers in the world, birth and station being +necessary for admittance therein, the titled office-holders +threw up their hands when Du Guay-Trouin’s +name was mentioned for a place of command, saying,—</p> + +<p>“Why, he’s only a beastly Democrat. Pooh! Bah! +We do not care to have such a fellow among us.” +And they shrugged their shoulders.</p> + +<p>The officers of the French Royal Marine wore red +breeches, and, if by chance a democrat were given +a commission, he had to appear in blue small-clothes +throughout his entire career. Very few of the +“Blues” ever came to be an Admiral, for the odds +were too great against them.</p> + +<p>But Rénee had done so bravely and well that a +sword was sent him by the King, who wrote,—</p> + +<p>“Should you wish a commission in the Royal Navy, +good sir, it shall be yours.”</p> + +<p>And to this, Du Guay-Trouin replied,—</p> + +<p>“I feel that I can do better where I am, Most +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> +Gracious Majesty. I will remain a Privateer.” For +Du Guay-Trouin wished to accumulate riches, as his +forebears had done.</p> + +<p>So, cruising down the coast of Ireland, he fell in +with three East Indiamen, whom he captured with +ease, and, piloting them to St. Malo, declared a dividend +of two thousand pounds ($10,000) a share, to +the stockholders in his staunch vessel. And the value +of the shares was but one hundred pounds ($500) +each. Would not the men of Wall Street love such +a fellow in these piping times of peace?</p> + +<p>A month later we find him cruising in the Bay of +Biscay, where—in the dead of night—he ran into +a great English fleet, roving about for just such vessels +as the <i>Sans-Pareil</i> and eager for a broadside at +the French privateer. But young Rénee—for he was +now twenty-three—had not lost his nerve. “There +was no time,” he wrote, “for hesitation. I had two +valuable prizes with me and ordered them to hoist +Dutch colors and to run away to leeward, saluting +me with seven guns each as they went.</p> + +<p>“Trusting to the goodness and soundness of the +<i>Sans-Pareil</i> I stood towards the fleet, as boldly and +as peaceably as if I had really been one of their number, +rejoining them after having spoken the Dutchmen. +Two capital ships and a thirty-six gun frigate +had at first left the fleet to overhaul me; but, on seeing +what I was doing, the ships returned to their +stations; the frigate—impelled by her unlucky fate—persisted +in endeavoring to speak the two prizes, +and I saw that she was rapidly coming up with them.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> +“I had by this time joined the fleet, tranquil enough +in appearance, though inwardly I was fuming at the +prospect of my two prizes being taken by the frigate; +and, as I perceived that my ship sailed much +better than those of the enemy who were near me, +I kept away little by little, at the same time forereaching +on them. Suddenly, bearing up, I ran +down to place myself between the prizes and the +frigate.</p> + +<p>“I should have liked to lay aboard of her and carry +her in sight of the whole fleet; but her captain, being +suspicious, would not let me get within musket-shot +of him, and sent his boat to help me. But, when the +boat was half way, her people made out that we were +French, and turned to go back; on which, seeing that +we were discovered, I hoisted my white flag and +poured my broadside into the frigate.</p> + +<p>“She answered with hers; but, not being able to +sustain my fire, she hauled her wind, and with a signal +of distress flying, stood to meet the captain’s ship, +which hastily ran down towards us. As they stopped +to render her assistance, and to pick up her boat, I +was able to rejoin my prizes, and, without misadventure, +to take them to Port Louis.”</p> + +<p>Again France rang with acclaim for the hero of +this bold exploit, and again the King offered a commission +to the gallant sea-dog. But Du Guay-Trouin +shook his head.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps I will become an officer in the Royal +Marine later on,” said he. “But not now. I am too +happy and successful as a Privateer.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> +He was quite right, for in March, 1697, was his +greatest exploit.</p> + +<p>While busily scanning the horizon for sail in the +<i>St. Jacques des Victoires</i>, upon the thirteenth day of +that auspicious month, he saw upon the horizon, a +cluster of vessels. They drew near and proved to be +the Dutch East India fleet convoyed by two fifty-gun +ships and a thirty-gun sloop-of-war. With him was +the <i>Sans-Pareil</i> of forty-eight guns, and the little +sloop-of-war <i>Lenore</i>, mounting fourteen. The hostile +squadron was formidable, and Du Guay-Trouin +hesitated to attack.</p> + +<p>In command of the Dutch vessels was Baron van +Wassenaer, one of a family of famous sea-fighters +from Holland, and he manœuvred his ships with consummate +skill; always interposing his own vessel between +the French privateer and his fleet of merchantmen.</p> + +<p>“Ah-ha,” cried gallant Rénee, at this moment. +“Here come some of my own boys.”</p> + +<p>And—sure enough—from the direction of France, +and boiling along under full canvas, rolled two privateersmen +of St. Malo. Cheer after cheer went up +from the deck of the <i>St. Jacques des Victoires</i>, as they +pounded through the spray, for this made the contending +parties about equal, although the Dutch boats +were larger, heavier, and they had more guns aboard.</p> + +<p>The Dutchmen now formed in line. In front was +the flagship—the <i>Delft</i>—with her fifty guns glowering +ominously from the port-holes; second was the +thirty-gun frigate; and third, the other war-hound +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> +of fifty guns: the <i>Hondslaardjiik</i>. Through a trumpet +Du Guay-Trouin shrilled his orders.</p> + +<p>“The <i>Sans-Pareil</i> will attack the <i>Hondslaardjiik</i>,” +cried he. “The two privateers will hammer the frigate, +while I and the <i>St. Jacques des Victoires</i> will +attend to the <i>Delft</i>. The <i>Lenore</i> will sail in among +the convoy. Fight, and fight to win!”</p> + +<p>A fine breeze rippled the waves. The two squadrons +were soon at each others’ throats, and there upon +the sobbing ocean a sea-fight took place which was +one of the most stubborn of the ages.</p> + +<p>As the Frenchmen closed in upon the Dutch, the +<i>Hondslaardjiik</i> suddenly left the line and crashed a +broadside into the <i>St. Jacques des Victoires</i>. It staggered +her, but she kept on, and—heading straight for +her lumbering antagonist—ran her down. A splitting +of timber, a crunch of boards, a growl of musketry, +and, with a wild cheer, the Frenchmen leaped +upon the deck of the Dutch warship; Du Guay-Trouin +in the lead, a cutlass in his right hand, a spitting +pistol in the left.</p> + +<p><em>Crash! Crackle! Crash!</em> An irregular fire of +muskets and pistols sputtered at the on-coming boarders. +But they were not to be stopped. With fierce, +vindictive cheers the privateers of St. Malo hewed a +passage of blood across the decking, driving the +Dutchmen below, felling them upon the deck in windrows, +and seizing the commander himself by the coat +collar, after his cutlass had been knocked from his +stalwart hand. The Dutchman was soon a prize, and +her proud ensign came fluttering to the decking.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> +But things were not going so well in other quarters. +Disaster had attended the dash of the <i>Sans-Pareil</i> +upon the <i>Delft</i>. An exploding shell had set her +afire and she lay derelict with a cloud of drifting +smoke above, when suddenly, <em>Crash!</em></p> + +<p>A terrible explosion shook the staunch, little vessel, +her sides belched outward, and a number of sailors +came shooting through the air, for a dozen loose +cartridge boxes had been caught by the roaring flames. +Helplessly she lolled in the sweep of the gray, lurching +billows.</p> + +<p>“Hah!” shouted Van Wassenaer, as he saw his +work. “Now for the saucy Du Guay-Trouin,” and, +twisting the helm of the <i>Sans-Pareil</i>, he soon neared +the <i>St. Jacques des Victoires</i>, which was hanging to +the <i>Delft</i> like a leech, firing broadside after broadside +with clock-like precision, her sea-dogs cheering as +the spars crackled, the rigging tore; and splinters +ricochetted from her sides.</p> + +<p>“Ready about!” cried Rénee, wiping the sweat +from his brow, “and board the <i>Hondslaardjiik</i>. +Now for Van Wassenaer and let us show the +Dutchman how a privateer from St. Malo can +battle.”</p> + +<p>So, luffing around in the steady breeze, the privateersman +rolled ominously towards the lolling <i>Delft</i>. +A crash, a sputter of pistols, a crushing of timber, and +grappling hooks had pinioned the two war-dogs in a +sinister embrace. And—with a wild yell—the +Frenchmen plunged upon the reddened decking of the +flagship of the courageous Van Wassenaer, who cried, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> +“Never give in, Lads! What will they think of this +in Holland!”</p> + +<p>There was a different reception than when the privateers +rushed the <i>Hondslaardjiik</i>. The Dutch fought +like wildcats. Three times the cheering, bleeding +Frenchmen stormed the planking, and three times +they were hurled back upon the slippery deck of their +own ship; maddened, cursing, furious at their inability +to take the foreigner. “The conflict was very +bloody both by the very heavy fire on both sides, of +guns, muskets, and grenades,” says Du Guay-Trouin, +“and by the splendid courage of the Baron Van +Wassenaer, who received me with astonishing boldness.”</p> + +<p>“Bear away,” ordered the courageous Dutchman, +at this juncture. “We must have time to recover and +refit our ship.”</p> + +<p>And—suiting the action to his words—the +badly battered <i>Delft</i> filled, and crept well to leeward.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the two privateers of St. Malo had captured +the frigate as she lay helpless; a white flag +beckoning for a prize crew.</p> + +<p>“The <i>Faluere</i> will attack the <i>Delft</i>,” shouted Du +Guay-Trouin, running near the largest of these; a +ship of thirty-eight guns. “I must have time to +breathe and to refit.”</p> + +<p>But stubborn Van Wassenaer was ready for his new +antagonist. He received the privateer with such a +furious fire that she turned tail and fled to leeward; +her captain bleeding upon the poop, her crew cursing +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> +the blood which ran in the veins of the valorous +Hollander.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a name="combat" id="combat"></a> +<img src="images/fpas11.jpg" width="600" height="388" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p class="caption">COMBAT BETWEEN DU GUAY-TROUIN AND VAN WASSENAER.</p> + +<p>Du Guay-Trouin had now recovered his breath. +Again the bellying canvas of the <i>St. Jacques des +Victoires</i> bore her down upon the <i>Delft</i>, and again +the two war-dogs wrapped in deadly embrace. Hear +the invincible Frenchman’s own account of the final +assault:</p> + +<p>“With head down,” he writes, “I rushed against +the redoubtable Baron, resolved to conquer or to +perish. The last action was so sharp and so bloody +that every one of the Dutch officers was killed or +wounded. Wassenaer, himself, received four dangerous +wounds and fell on his quarterdeck, where he was +seized by my own brave fellows, his sword still in his +hand.</p> + +<p>“The <i>Faluere</i> had her share in the engagement, running +alongside of me, and sending me forty men on +board for reinforcement. More than half of my own +crew perished in this action. I lost in it one of my +cousins, first Lieutenant of my own ship, and two +other kinsmen on board the <i>Sans-Pareil</i>, with many +other officers killed or wounded. It was an awful +butchery.”</p> + +<p>But at last he had won, and the victorious pennon +of the Privateer fluttered triumphant over the battered +hulks which barely floated upon the spar-strewn +water.</p> + +<p>“The horrors of the night,” he writes, “the dead +and dying below, the ship scarcely floating, the swelling +waves threatening each moment to engulf her, the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> +wild howling of the storm, and the iron-bound coast +of Bretagne to leeward, were all together such as to +try severely the courage of the few remaining officers +and men.</p> + +<p>“At daybreak, however, the wind went down; we +found ourselves near the Breton coast; and, upon +our firing guns and making signals of distress, a number +of boats came to our assistance. In this manner +was the <i>St. Jacques</i> taken into Port Louis, followed in +the course of the day by the three Dutch ships-of-war, +twelve of the merchant ships, the <i>Lenore</i>, and +the two St. Malo privateers. The <i>Sans-Pareil</i> did not +get in till the next day, after having been twenty times +upon the point of perishing by fire and tempest.”</p> + +<p>Thus ended the great fight of Rénee Du Guay-Trouin, +whose blood, you see, was quite as blue as +his breeches.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>“Again,” wrote His Majesty the King, “do I offer +you a commission in the Royal Navy, Du Guay-Trouin. +Will you accept? This time it is a Captaincy.”</p> + +<p>“I do,” replied little Rénee,—quite simply—and, +at the next dinner of the officers of the Royal Marines, +they sang a chorus, which ran:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Oh, yes, he’s only a Democrat, his blood is hardly blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, Sacre Nom de Dieu! Sapristi! Eet is true!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But he’s a jolly tar dog, with dirk and pistol, too,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He fights like William the Conqueror, he fights!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Egad! that’s true!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A health to Rénee the terrible; soldier and sailor too.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<a name="Page_137" id="Page_137"><!-- unnumbered title page --></a> +<p><span class='pagenum'></span></p> + +<h2>EDWARD ENGLAND<br /> +<br /> +TERROR OF THE SOUTH SEAS<br /> +<br /> +(1690?-<i>about</i> 1725)</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“A Privateer’s not a Buccaneer, but they’re pretty chummy friends,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One flies a reg’lar ensign, there’s nothing that offends.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One sails ’neath Letters Legal, t’other ’neath Cross-Bones,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, both will sink you, Sailor, or my name’s not Davy Jones.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author">—<i>Old Ballad.</i></p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center padtop">EDWARD ENGLAND<br /> +TERROR OF THE SOUTH SEAS<br /> +(1690?-<i>about</i> 1725)</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“If England wuz but wind an’ paint,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How we’d hate him.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But he ain’t.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author">—<i>Log of the Royal James.</i></p> + +<p><span class="dropcap">H</span>IT him with a bottle, he deserves it, th’ +brute!”</p> + +<p>The man who spoke was a thick-set sailor +of some forty-five summers, with a swarthy skin, a +brownish mat of hair, a hard visage, and a cut across +one eye. He stood upon the deck of a good-sized +brig, which was drowsily lolling along the coast of +Africa.</p> + +<p>“Yes, he treated us like dogs aboard th’ <i>Cuttlefish</i>. +Here, give me a shot at ’im.”</p> + +<p>Thus cried another sailor—a toughish customer +also—and, as his voice rang out, a dozen more came +running to the spot.</p> + +<p>Cringing before the evil gaze of the seamen stood +the Captain of a Bristol merchantman—the <i>Cadogan</i>—which +lay a boat’s length away, upon the glassy +surface of a rocking sea.</p> + +<p>Again rang out the harsh tones of him who had +first spoken.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> +“Ah, Captain Skinner, it is you, eh? You are the +very person I wished to see. I am much in your debt, +and I shall pay you in your own coin.”</p> + +<p>The poor Captain trembled in every joint, and said, +with a curious chattering of his teeth,</p> + +<p>“Yes, Edward England, you’ve got me now. But +go easy like, will yer? I always was a friend o’ +yourn.”</p> + +<p>“Yer didn’t look like a friend on th’ old <i>Jamaica</i>, +when you refused to pay me my wages,” interrupted +the first speaker. “Yer didn’t remove me to ’er cursed +man-o’-warsman, did yer? Yer didn’t see that I got +th’ cat-o’-nine-tails on my back, did yer? Now, +Mr. Skinner, it’s my chance ter get even. Tie +him ter th’ windlass, boys, and we’ll fix th’ feller’s +hash.”</p> + +<p>With a jeering laugh the sailors seized the frightened +man, roped him tightly to the desired prop, and, +procuring a lot of glass bottles, pelted him with them +until their arms were tired.</p> + +<p>“You wuz a good master to me, Captain Skinner,” +cried one. “Now you’re gettin’ a dose of your own +medicine. Overboard with him, Boys.”</p> + +<p>And, suiting the action to the words, he seized him +by the collar. The ropes were unwound. The poor +wretch was dragged to the rail, and, as his body spun +out into the oily sea, a shot ended the life of poor +Thomas Skinner of the <i>Cadogan</i> from Bristol. Captain +Edward England and his men had had a sweet +and sure revenge.</p> + +<p>Where this reckless mariner was born, it is difficult +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> +to ascertain. We know that he started life honestly +enough, for he was mate of a sloop that sailed +from Jamaica, about the year 1715, and was taken +by a pirate called Captain Winter. The youthful +sailor soon took up the careless ways of his captors, +and it was not many years before he became Captain +of his own vessel: a sloop flying the black flag with +a skull and cross-bones.</p> + +<p>Off the east coast of Africa he soon took a ship +called the <i>Pearl</i>, for which he exchanged his own +sloop, fitting the new vessel up for piratical service, +after rechristening her the <i>Royal James</i>. Cruising +about in this staunch craft, he captured several ships +of different sizes and flying the flags of many nations. +He was rich and prosperous.</p> + +<p>“Captain,” said one of his reckless followers, at +this time, “man-o’-warsmen are gettin’ too thick in +these parts for an honest sailor. Let’s get across th’ +pond to th’ Brazilian coast.”</p> + +<p>“You’re quite right,” answered England. “We’ve +got to look for other pickings. After we provision-up, +we’ll sail towards th’ setting sun. That’s a fresh field +and we can have it to ourselves.”</p> + +<p>So all made ready for a trans-Atlantic voyage.</p> + +<p>But Captain England was in error when he said +that he was sailing for fields which had never before +been touched. Two other piratical vessels: the <i>Revenge</i> +and the <i>Flying King</i>, had been cruising off the +coast of Brazil, just before his advent. Fighting in +partnership, they had taken two Portuguese schooners, +and were making off with them, when a Portuguese +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> +man-o’-warsman came booming along under full canvas. +She was an unwelcome guest.</p> + +<p>Setting all sail the two pirates had attempted to +get away and the <i>Revenge</i> succeeded in doing so. +Two days later a typhoon struck her and she was +soon swinging bottom upwards, with the kittiwakes +shrieking over her barnacled keel.</p> + +<p>But the revengeful man-o’-warsman ploughed relentlessly +after the <i>Flying King</i>, which could not fly +quite fast enough, this time, and—in despair—was +run, bows on, upon the shore, where the crew scrambled +to the sand in a desperate endeavor to get away. +The sailors from the man-o’-warsman were speedy; +they shot twelve of the buccaneers, took the rest +prisoners (there were seventy in all) and hanged +thirty-eight to the yard-arm. News of this came to +Captain England when he neared the tropic coast of +Brazil.</p> + +<p>“It’s all in a life-time,” said he. “If I’m captured, +of course I’ll swing. But, meanwhile, I hope to have +a good life.”</p> + +<p>Not many days afterwards he heard the welcome +sound of:</p> + +<p>“Sail ho! Off the port bow!”</p> + +<p>And raising the glass to his eye discovered +two fat, prosperous-looking merchant ships, slipping +quietly along like an old maid fresh from market.</p> + +<p>“Slap on all sail and give chase!” was bellowed +out in stentorian tones, and the <i>Royal James</i> was +soon fairly boiling along with every stitch aloft, which +she could carry.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> +As she neared the merchantmen, the names came +plainly to view: the <i>Peterborough</i> of Bristol, and the +<i>Victory</i> of Liverpool, but a shot screamed across the +bowsprit of the latter and victory was turned into +defeat. A white flag was fluttering at her mainmast +in a moment, for the Captain had no stomach for a +fight.</p> + +<p>“Egad, it’s a pirate,” said the good seaman in +despair, as the black flag with the skull and cross-bones +fluttered from the rigging of his capturer. “I +thought she was a privateersman under Letters of +Marque. It’s all up with us.”</p> + +<p>As the boat-load of boarders came bobbing alongside +he cried out,</p> + +<p>“Mercy! Have mercy upon the souls of these poor +wretches who sail with me.”</p> + +<p>The pirates guffawed, helped themselves to everything +of value, and took the merchantmen with them +to the coast of Brazil, where the crew were allowed +to escape to the shore. The <i>Peterborough</i> was re-christened +the <i>Victory</i> and was manned by half of +England’s crew, while the other vessel was burned at +night; the pirates dancing on the beach to the light +of the flames and singing the weird songs of the sea.</p> + +<p>Now there was a scene of wild revel upon the Brazilian +coast; but the natives grew angry at the conduct +of these rough men of the ocean.</p> + +<p>“Ugh!” spoke a chief, “we must drive them away, +else they will burn our own villages as they did their +houses upon the water.”</p> + +<p>One peaceful evening the followers of Captain +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> +England were hard beset by fully a thousand black-skinned +warriors from the Brazilian jungle.</p> + +<p>There was a fierce battle. The negroes were pressed +back upon their principal town and were driven +through it on the run, for their arrows and spears +were not as effective as the guns and pistols of the +English, Dutch, Spaniards and Portuguese, who had +adopted a piratical career. Their thatched huts were +set on fire, and, satisfied with the day’s work, the +pirates retired to their ships, where a vote was cast +where was to be their next venture. It fell to the +East Indies and the Island of Madagascar. So they +set sail, singing an old ballad which ran,</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Heave the lead and splice th’ topsail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tie her down, and let her fill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We’re agoin’ to Madagascar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where th’ little tom-tits trill,<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Bill an’ coo, an’ sing so sweetly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In th’ dronin’ hours of noon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That you want to die there, neatly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just drop off into ’er swoon.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>The voyage across was a good one and the pirates +captured two East Indiamen and a Dutchman, bound +to Bombay. These they exchanged for one of their +own vessels, and then set out for Madagascar Island, +where several of their hands were set ashore with +tents and ammunition, to kill such beasts and venison +as the place afforded.</p> + +<p>Then they sailed for the Isle of Juanna,—not a +great distance from Madagascar,—and here had as +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> +keen a little engagement as ever employed a piratical +crew. Hear the story of this fight in the words of +Captain Mackra, an English sea-captain who happened +at that time to be in the harbor.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="address">“<span class="smcap">Bombay</span>, November 16th, 1720.</p> + +<p>“We arrived on the 25th of July last, in company +with the <i>Greenwich</i>, at Juanna, an island not far from +Madagascar. Putting in there to refresh our men, +we found fourteen pirates who came in their canoes +from the Mayotta (island) where the pirate ship to +which they belonged, the <i>Indian Queen</i>—two hundred +and fifty tons, twenty-eight guns, commanded by +Captain Oliver de la Bouche, bound from the Guinea +coast to the East Indies—had been bulged (run +ashore) and lost. They said they left the Captain +and forty men building a new vessel, to proceed upon +their wicked designs.</p> + +<p>“Captain Kirby and I concluding that it might be +of great service to the East India Company to destroy +such a nest of rogues, were ready to sail for this +purpose on the 17th of August, about eight o’clock +in the morning, when we discovered two pirates standing +into the Bay of Juanna, one of thirty-four and +the other of thirty-six guns.</p> + +<p>“I immediately went on board the <i>Greenwich</i> where +they seemed very diligent in preparation for an engagement, +and I left Captain Kirby with mutual +understanding of standing by each other. I then unmoored, +got under sail, and brought two boats ahead +to row me close to the <i>Greenwich</i>; but he being open +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> +to a breeze, made the best of his way from me; which +an Ostender in our company of twenty-two guns, +seeing, did the same, though the Captain had promised +heartily to engage with us, and, I believe would +have been as good as his word, if Captain Kirby had +kept his.</p> + +<p>“About half an hour after twelve, I called several +times to the <i>Greenwich</i> to bear down to our assistance, +and fired a shot at him, but to no purpose; for, though +we did not doubt but he would join us, because, when +he got about a league from us he brought his ship +to and looked on; yet both he and the Ostender basely +deserted us, and left us engaged with barbarous and +inhuman enemies, with their black and bloody flags +hanging over us, without the least appearance of ever +escaping, but to be cut to pieces.</p> + +<p>“But God in his good providence, determined +otherwise; for, notwithstanding their superiority, we +engaged them both about three hours, during which +time the biggest of them received some shot betwixt +wind and water, which made her keep a little off, to +stop her leaks. The other endeavored all she could +to board us, by rowing with her oars, being within +half a ship’s length of us about an hour; but, by good +fortune, we shot all her oars to pieces, which prevented +them from getting in close, and consequently saved our +lives.</p> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 407px;"> +<a name="left_us_engaged" id="left_us_engaged"></a> +<img src="images/fpas12.jpg" width="407" height="600" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p class="caption">“‘LEFT US ENGAGED WITH BARBAROUS AND INHUMAN ENEMIES.’”</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>“About four o’clock most of the officers and men +posted on the quarter-deck being killed and wounded, +the largest ship made up to us with diligence, after +giving us a broadside. There now being no hopes of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> +Captain Kirby’s coming to our assistance, we endeavored +to run ashore; and though we drew four feet +of water more than the pirate, it pleased God that he +stuck fast on a higher ground than happily we fell in +with; so was disappointed a second time from boarding +us.</p> + +<p>“Here we had a more violent engagement than +before. All of my officers and most of my men behaved +with unexpected courage; and, as we had a +considerable advantage by having a chance to hurl a +broadside into his bow, we did him great damage. +Had Captain Kirby come in then, I believe we should +have taken both the vessels, for we had one of them, +sure.</p> + +<p>“The other pirate (who was still firing at us) seeing +the <i>Greenwich</i> did not offer to assist us, supplied +his consort with three boats full of fresh men. About +five in the evening the <i>Greenwich</i> stood clear away to +sea, leaving us struggling hard for life, in the very +jaws of death; which the other pirate that was afloat, +seeing, got a hawser out, and began to haul under our +stern.</p> + +<p>“By this time many of my men were being killed +and wounded, and no hopes left us of escaping being +all murdered by enraged barbarous conquerors, I ordered +all that could to get into the long-boat, under +the cover of the smoke from our guns; so that, with +what some did in boats, and others by swimming, most +of us that were able got ashore by seven o’clock.</p> + +<p>“When the pirates came aboard, they cut three of +our wounded men to pieces. I, with some of my +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> +people, made what haste I could to Kings-town, +twenty-five miles from us; where I arrived next day, +almost dead with the fatigue and loss of blood, having +been sorely wounded in the head by a musket-ball.</p> + +<p>“At this town I heard that the pirates had offered +ten thousand dollars to the country people to bring +me in, which many of them would have accepted, only +they knew that the king and all his chief people were +in my interest. Meanwhile I caused a report to be +circulated that I was dead of my wounds, which much +abated their fury.</p> + +<p>“We had, in all, thirteen killed and twenty-four +wounded; and we were told that we destroyed about +ninety, or a hundred, of the pirates. I am persuaded +that, had our consort the <i>Greenwich</i> done her duty, +we could have destroyed both of them, and got two +hundred thousand pounds ($1,000,000.00) for our +owners and ourselves.”</p></div> + +<p>What say you to this fight? And to think that our +own good friend Captain Mackra just missed being +a millionaire! Weep for the gallant sea warrior!</p> + +<p>At any rate he got safely away, for, at length going +aboard one of the piratical vessels,—under a flag +of truce—he discovered that several of the wild sea-robbers +knew him; some of them—even—had +sailed with him in earlier years.</p> + +<p>“I found this to be of great advantage,” he writes. +“For, notwithstanding their promise not to harm me, +some of them would have cut me to pieces, had it not +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> +been for their chief, Captain Edward England, and +some others whom I knew.”</p> + +<p>And he used his powers of persuasion to such effect +that: “They made me a present of the shattered ship—which +was Dutch built—called the <i>Fancy</i>, her +burden being about three hundred tons.</p> + +<p>“With jury-masts, and such other old sails as they +left me, I set sail on September 8th, with forty-three +of my ship’s crew, including two passengers and +twelve soldiers. After a passage of forty-eight days +I arrived at Bombay on the 26th of October, almost +naked and starved, having been reduced to a pint of +water a day, and almost in despair of ever seeing +land, by reason of the calms we met with between the +coast of Arabia and Malabar.”</p> + +<p>The gallant writer of this interesting description +was certainly in imminent danger of his life, when he +trusted himself upon the pirate ship, and unquestionably +nothing could have justified such a hazardous +step but the desperate circumstances in which he was +placed. The honor and influence of Captain England, +however, protected him and his men from the wrath +of the crew, who would willingly have wreaked their +vengeance upon those who had dealt them such heavy +blows in the recent fight.</p> + +<p>But the generosity of Captain England toward the +unfortunate Mackra proved to be calamitous to himself.</p> + +<p>“You are no true pirate,” cried one of his crew. +“For a buccaneer never allows his foes to get away.”</p> + +<p>“No! No!” shouted others. “This fighting +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> +Mackra will soon come against us with a strong force. +You did wrong in letting him escape.”</p> + +<p>“To the yard-arm with the traitor!” sounded from +the throat of many a ruffianly seaman.</p> + +<p>Thus grew the feeling of mutiny—and the result +of these murmurs of discontent—was that Captain +England was put ashore by the cruel villains; and, +with three others was marooned upon the island of +Mauritius. Had they not been destitute of every +necessity they might have been able to live in comfort, +for the island abounds in deer, hogs, and other animals. +Dissatisfied, however, with this solitary situation, +Captain England and his three men exerted their +industry and ingenuity, built a small boat, and sailed +to Madagascar, where they lived upon the generosity +of some more fortunate piratical companions.</p> + +<p>But can a pirate remain happy when not pirating?</p> + +<p>“Away with this life,” cried Captain England. “I +pine for more treasure and for battle. Let’s out and +to sea!”</p> + +<p>“Good! Good!” said his mates. “Let’s ship +aboard another vessel and get away from here.”</p> + +<p>So, they again took to the ocean, but what became +of Edward England is not known.</p> + +<p>Some say that he was killed in a brawl; some that +he was again marooned and was adopted by a savage +tribe; some that he perished in a fight upon the Indian +Ocean. At any rate that rough and valiant soul +is lost to history, and—somewhere—in the vast +solitude of the Southern Hemisphere, lie the bleaching +bones of him who had flaunted the skull-and-cross-bones +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> +upon the wide highway of the gleaming wastes +of salty brine. His was a rough and careless life. +Do not emulate the career of Edward England!</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Near the straits of Madagascar; near the sobbing oceans’ roar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A ghostly shape glides nightly, by the beady, kelp-strewn shore.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the Cubic monkeys chatter; as the Bulbul lizards hiss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Comes a clear and quiet murmur, like a Zulu lover’s kiss.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flying-fishes scatter; the chattering magpies scream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The topaz hummers dart and dip; their jewelled feathers gleam.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mud-grimed hippos bellow; the dove-eyed elands bleat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the clank of steel disturbs them, and the beat of sandalled feet.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pirate crew is out to-night, no rest is for their souls,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blood of martyrs moves them; they charge a million tolls.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On! On! Their souls must hasten. On! On! Their shapes must go,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While the limpid rushes quiver, and the beast-lapped waters glow.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No rest for Captain England. No rest, for King or pawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On! On! Their feet must wander. On! On! Forever on!<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span></p> + +<h2>SONG OF THE PIRATE</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“To the mast nail our flag! it is dark as the grave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or the death which it bears while it sweeps o’er the wave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let our decks clear for action, our guns be prepared;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be the boarding-axe sharpened, the scimetar bared:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Set the canisters ready, and then bring to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the last of my duties, the powder-room key.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It shall never be lowered, the black flag we bear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If the sea be denied us, we sweep through the air.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unshared have we left our last victory’s prey;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is mine to divide it, and yours to obey:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There are shawls that might suit a Sultana’s white neck,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pearls that are fair as the arms they will deck;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There are flasks which, unseal them, the air will disclose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Diametta’s fair summers, the home of the rose.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I claim not a portion: I ask but as mine—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But to drink to our victory—one cup of red wine.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some fight, ’tis for riches—some fight, ’tis for fame:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The first I despise, and the last is a name.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I fight ’tis for vengeance! I love to see flow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At the stroke of my sabre, the life of my foe.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I strike for the memory of long-vanished years;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I only shed blood where another sheds tears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I come, as the lightning comes red from above,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O’er the race that I loathe, to the battle I love.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<a name="Page_153" id="Page_153"><!-- unnumbered title page --></a> +<p><span class='pagenum'></span></p> + +<h2>WOODES ROGERS<br /> +<br /> +THE BRISTOL MARINER<br /> +<br /> +(?-1736)</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>“If you want to win a lass, or a sea fight; don’t cajole. Sail in!”—<i>Old +Proverb.</i></p> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center padtop">WOODES ROGERS<br /> +THE BRISTOL MARINER<br /> +(?-1736)</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For he can fight a Spaniard, like a Tipperary cat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For he can sack a city, like a <em>blawsted</em>, rangy rat;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Woodes Rogers was a Gentleman, from Bristol-town he sailed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An’ his crew came from th’ prisons, an’ were<br /></span> +<span class="i17">Bailed,<br /></span> +<span class="i19">Bailed,<br /></span> +<span class="i21">Bailed.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p><span class="dropcap">Y</span>ES, you can have the <i>Duke</i> and the <i>Duchess</i>. +They are both staunch craft and we expect +to get a good return for our investment in +them.”</p> + +<p>The fellow who spoke—a stout-bodied Quaker—looked +quizzically at a bronzed sea-captain, who, cap +in hand, stood before him. By his side were seated +a number of merchants, fat, sleek, contented-looking. +They were giving instructions to Captain Woodes +Rogers: their privateersman, who was about to make +a voyage of adventure in their behalf.</p> + +<p>“My good friends,” said the mariner, “I shall do +my very best for you all. The French and Spaniards +have been having it all their own way in the South +seas. It is about time that the English had a share in +the rich spoils of that treasure highway. I shall work +my hardest for you.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> +The merchants, ship-owners and Quakers nodded.</p> + +<p>“May Providence guide your course aright,” said +they. And—as Captain Woodes Rogers went off to +inspect his privateersmen—all indulged in a glass of +Madeira to pledge “good luck and good health” to the +staunch seaman from Bristol.</p> + +<p>It was not many weeks before the <i>Duke</i> (of three +hundred and twenty tons) with thirty guns and one +hundred and seventeen men, and the <i>Duchess</i> (of two +hundred and sixty tons) with twenty-six guns and one +hundred and eight men, sailed from King Road for +Cork, in Ireland.</p> + +<p>“Egad!” cried Captain Rogers, as they passed out +to sea. “Our rigging is slack. Our decks are +lumbered up. Our stores are badly stowed. Our crew +is so very mixed that I must stop in Ireland to get more +able sea-dogs. Was ever captain in a worse fix?”</p> + +<p>His Lieutenants grinned, for they saw that things +were in a sorry mess, indeed.</p> + +<p>“Most of us have embraced this trip around the +world in order to retrieve our fortunes,” continued +the captain. “Did you ever see a harder crew than +this? There are tinkers, tailors, haymakers, peddlers, +fiddlers, a negro and ten boys. None know how to use +the cutlass and they haven’t got any sea-legs. Well, +well; I’ll make the best of it, but it’s hard goin’, I +assure you.”</p> + +<p>And still the Lieutenants grinned.</p> + +<p>They grinned still more when they had lain a few +days at Cork, for the crew were continually marrying, +although they expected to sail immediately. However, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> +as the two privateers got under way on September 1st,—with +the <i>Hastings</i>, a man-of-war—the majority of +the crew drank a health to their spouses; waved their +hands to them over the rail; and “parted unconcerned.” +Truly, a sailor has a lass in every port.</p> + +<p>Not many days after their out-going, a sail was +sighted and all speed was made to capture her. The +Swedish colors fluttered from her mast-head, and she +hove to at the first gun. Rogers boarded.</p> + +<p>“No contraband goods are here,” said he, after +looking into the hold. “We must let her off.”</p> + +<p>Then—turning to her captain—he said,</p> + +<p>“You can go. I am not a pirate—but a privateer—sailing +under Letters of Marque. I only seize goods +that are contraband.”</p> + +<p>Bobbing and courtesying on the waves, the little +Swede soon drifted from view.</p> + +<p>But the crew grew mutinous,—for had they not +come out for plunder? The boatswain even called +Rogers a traitor.</p> + +<p>“Seize the fellow and flog him,” cried the sturdy +captain. “Put ten of these talkative hounds in irons. +We’ll do the talking on this boat, and the sailors must +do theirs in the fo’castle.”</p> + +<p>This was done immediately.</p> + +<p>Next day a seaman came aft, with near half the +ship’s company in his rear, and cried:</p> + +<p>“I demand the boatswain out of his irons, Captain +Rogers. He’s done nothing to deserve such a severe +punishment.”</p> + +<p>“Speak with me privately, on the quarter-deck,” +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> +said the bluff commander. “I cannot discuss this +matter with you in such a crowd.” And he moved aft.</p> + +<p>The grumbler followed, but, no sooner was he alone +with stout Woodes, than the captain sprang upon him +with the agility of a leopard. He was thrown to the +ground, held, and bound by two officers. Then he was +stripped and whipped until the blood ran.</p> + +<p>“This method,” writes the doughty Woodes, “I +deemed best for breaking any unlawful friendship +among the mutinous crew. It allayed the tumult, so +that they began to submit quietly and those in irons +begged my pardon, and promised amendment.”</p> + +<p>Thus the captain had won the first round with the +mutineers.</p> + +<p>Now, know you, that the War of the Spanish Succession +was then in progress; a war in which one party +was endeavoring to put the Archduke Charles of Austria +upon the Spanish throne; another to place Philip, +grandson of Louis XIV of France, in the chair of the +rulers. And when—a few days later—the two privateers +captured a small Spanish vessel, they found that +their possession of it was disputed, when they sailed +into the Canaries.</p> + +<p>“It has been agreed between Queen Anne of England +and the Kings of Spain and France,” said the +Vice-Consul of that place—an Englishman—“that +all vessels trading to the Canary Isles shall be exempt +from interference by men-o’-war, or privateers. The +prize must be released. If you do not do so, we will +keep your agent, Mr. Vanbrugh, who has come ashore, +and will throw him into irons.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> +But the Vice-Consul had reckoned without his host.</p> + +<p>“We are apprehensive that you are obliged to give +us this advice in order to gratify the Spaniards,” wrote +Captain Rogers. “If you do not allow my agent to +come on board my ship, you may expect a visit from +my guns at eight o’clock to-morrow morn.”</p> + +<p>To this there was no reply.</p> + +<p>Next day the two English privateers stood in close +to shore, and, just as the shot was rammed home, a +boat put off, in the stern of which sat Mr. Vanbrugh +with a present of wine, grapes, hogs and jelly. The +prize which had been captured was sent back to Bristol +with a picked crew.</p> + +<p>The two sea-rovers bore towards the South—soon +crossed the Tropic of Cancer—and there had appropriate +ceremonies for the occasion. The tinkers, peddlers, +fiddlers, and tailors who made up the crew, were +each and all hoisted overboard by a rope. A stick +was placed between their legs and they were ducked +again and again in the brine.</p> + +<p>“If any man wants to get off,” spoke Captain +Rogers, “he can do so by paying me a half-a-sovereign +($2.50) which must be expended on an entertainment +for the rest of the company when England shall be +reached. Every man that is ducked is paid in proportion +to the number of times that he goes under.”</p> + +<p>Several accepted this offer. At which a sailor cried out:</p> + +<p>“Duck me twelve times, Captain. I want to have +a regular orgy when I get back home.”</p> + +<p>And the sailors did it, laughing uproariously.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> +Sailing to the Cape Verde Islands, the <i>Duke</i> and the +<i>Duchess</i> anchored in the harbor of St. Vincent, where +one of the crew, who was a good linguist (Joseph +Alexander) was sent in a boat to the Governor, at +San Antonio, in order to negotiate for supplies. He +seemed to prefer Cape Verde to privateering.</p> + +<p>“On October 6th,” writes the gallant Rogers, “our +boat went to San Antonio to get our linguist, according +to appointment. No news of him.”</p> + +<p>“On October 6th, our boat returned with nothing +but limes and tobacco. No news of our linguist.”</p> + +<p>“On October 7th, no news of our linguist.”</p> + +<p>“On the 8th, boat sent ashore, but no news of our +linguist.”</p> + +<p>“On the 9th, as the trade-winds are blowing fresh, +concluded to leave our good Alexander to practice his +linguistic and other accomplishments ashore. Adieu +to our linguist.”</p> + +<p>Thus disappeared the sleek and crafty Joseph.</p> + +<p>There was still trouble from insubordination, for +Mr. Page—second mate of the <i>Duchess</i>—refused +to accompany Mr. Cook (second in command on the +<i>Duke</i>). Whereupon the hot-tempered Captain Cook—being +the superior officer on board—struck him, +and several blows were interchanged.</p> + +<p>At last Page was forced into the boat and brought +to the <i>Duke</i>, where he was ordered to the forecastle in +the bilboes (leg irons sliding upon a long, iron bar). +But he jumped overboard—despising the chance of +being gobbled up by a shark—and started to swim +to his own ship. He was brought back, flogged, and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> +put in irons; and he evidently found a week of this +kind of thing sufficient; for he submitted himself +humbly to future orders.</p> + +<p>Thus Woodes Rogers had already learned that the +life of a privateer commander was not a happy one.</p> + +<p>Steering southwest, a large French ship was seen +and chased, but she got away from the two consorts +with surprising ease. On March 6th, when off the +coast of Peru, a sail was sighted.</p> + +<p>“Let the <i>Duchess</i> bear down on her port and the +<i>Duke</i> to starboard,” cried Captain Rogers. “Heave +a solid shot across her bow, and, if she refuses to +capitulate, let her have your broadsides.”</p> + +<p>Dipping, tossing, rolling; the two privateers +swooped down upon their prey, like hawks. She +flew the yellow flag of Spain—and—as the first +ball of lead cut across her bowsprit, it fluttered to the +deck. Up went a white shirt, tied to a rat-line, and +the crew from the <i>Duke</i> was soon in charge, and steering +her for Lobas: a harbor on the coast.</p> + +<p>“She’s a tight little barque,” said Rogers, when +he had landed. “I’ll make her into a privateer.”</p> + +<p>So she was hauled up, cleaned, launched, and +christened the <i>Beginning</i>; with a spare topmast +from the <i>Duke</i> as a mast, and an odd mizzen-topsail +altered for a sail. Four swivel-guns were mounted +upon her deck, and, as she pounded out of the bay, +loud cheers greeted her from the decks of the <i>Duchess</i>, +which was loafing outside, watching for a merchantman +to capture and pillage.</p> + +<p>Next morn two sails were sighted, and both <i>Duke</i> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> +and <i>Duchess</i> hastened to make another haul. As they +neared them, one was seen to be a stout cruiser from +Lima; the other a French-built barque from Panama; +richly laden, it was thought.</p> + +<p>“Broadsides for both,” ordered Woodes Rogers. +“Broadsides and good treatment when the white flag +flutters aloft.”</p> + +<p>As the <i>Duchess</i> chased the Lima boat, the <i>Duke</i> +neared the Frenchman and spanked a shot at her from +a bow-gun. The sea ran high and she did not wish to +get too close and board, because it would be easier to +send her men in pinnaces.</p> + +<p>“They’re afraid!” cried the Captain of the <i>Duke</i>. +“We can take ’em with no exertion.” But he was +like many an Englishman: despised his foe only to +find him a valiant one.</p> + +<p>Piling into four boats, the men from the <i>Duke</i>, fully +armed, rowed swiftly towards the rolling Frenchman. +They approached to within twenty yards. Then</p> + +<p><em>Crash! Crash! Rattle! Crash!</em></p> + +<p>A sheet of flame burst from her sides; muskets and +pistols spoke; cannon spat grape and cannister; the +Englishmen were frightfully cut up.</p> + +<p>“On! On!” shouted young John Rogers—a +brother of Woodes—as he waved his cutlass aloft +to enliven the sailors. But it was his last cry. A +bullet struck him in the forehead, and he fell into the +sea without a murmur.</p> + +<p><em>Crash! Crash!</em></p> + +<p>Again roared out a volley. Oars were splintered. +One boat was pierced below the water line. She sank, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> +and her men floundered about upon the surface of the +oily sea.</p> + +<p>“Bear off, and rescue our comrades!” cried the +leaders of this futile attack, and, as the French barque +drifted away, the remaining boats busied themselves +with the swimming sailors. The assault had been a +complete failure.</p> + +<p>“Curses upon the Frenchman!” cried Captain +Rogers when he saw the saucy fighter drawing off. +“We’ll go after her to-morrow, and catch her, or my +blood’s not English. What say you, men?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. After her and board her amid-ships!” cried +all. “Run our own vessel alongside.”</p> + +<p>“And that I will do,” answered Rogers, watching +the lumbering merchantman through his glass. “She’s +entirely too well armed for a trader.”</p> + +<p>When morning dawned, the Frenchman was still +ploughing along the coast in the light breeze, with all +sail set. But there was not wind enough to force her +ahead of her pursuer. The <i>Duchess</i> now returned +from her chase of the Lima boat, and, joining her +<i>Duke</i>, bore in upon the able fighter from the open sea.</p> + +<p>“Egad! We’ll have her yet,” shouted Captain +Rogers, rubbing his hands.</p> + +<p>“She luffs!” cried a lieutenant. “She’s coming +to!”</p> + +<p>Sure enough the Frenchman saw that resistance +now was useless. She staggered into the wind, and a +white flag beckoned for a prize-crew to come and take +her.</p> + +<p>“And,” writes Captain Rogers, “I found that a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> +Bishop who had been aboard of her, had been put +ashore, which gave me much grief. For I always love +to catch fat prelates, as they give up a stout sum as +their ransom. In truth they are nice pickings.”</p> + +<p>Things were going well with the wild rovers from +Bristol. Plunder there was aplenty and the holds of +the <i>Duke</i> and the <i>Duchess</i> bulged with treasure. Yet +Woodes Rogers was not satisfied.</p> + +<p>“On! On to Guayaquil!” cried he. “We’ll capture +this wealthy city; demand a great ransom; and +sail to England, richer than the Spanish conquerors of +the Incas.”</p> + +<p>“Hurrah!” shouted his staunch followers. “On! +On! to Guayaquil!”</p> + +<p>So—steering for the coast of Ecuador—the privateers +drew near this rich Spanish-American town. A +gulf lay before their eyes in which was a small island; +with a little, white-housed village (called Puna) on its +Eastern shore.</p> + +<p>“Take the place!” cried Rogers, as the two ships +forged into the sleepy shallows, and rounded to before +the peaceful habitation.</p> + +<p>With a cheer, the sailors piled into the boats, rowed +ashore, and—with cutlass and dirk in hand—pressed +through the narrow streets. Shots rang out from a few +of the thatched houses; two seamen fell to the ground +with mortal wounds; but, cheering wildly, the privateers +rushed through the narrow highway; pressed +into the court-house; and seized upon the Lieutenant-Governor +of the town of Guayaquil, as he was attempting +to hide behind an old clothes-press.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> +“Let no man get away in order to warn the large +town of our approach!” shouted Captain Rogers. +“Catch all who dash for the canoes upon the beach!”</p> + +<p>“Crush the bloomin’ canoes!” yelled Cook, as he +saw some of the natives running towards them on the +sandy shore. “Crush the canoes before the devils +can get there!”</p> + +<p>“All right!” answered several of his men, as they +ran for the clusters of boats. “We’ll put holes in +them!”</p> + +<p>As they hurried forward, several of the natives were +ahead. Two jumped into the bark boats and paddled +furiously for Guayaquil. The <em>zip</em>, <em>zip</em> of bullets nipped +the water around them, but,—with desperate sweeps—they +dug their blades into the sea and got safely +off. As a result, the city was all ready and prepared +for the invaders.</p> + +<p>“Ho! Ho!” laughed Rogers, as he thumbed the +papers of the Lieutenant-Governor. “What is this?”</p> + +<p>“A warning to the townsfolk of Guayaquil,” said +one of his men, as he peered over his shoulder.</p> + +<p>Rogers chuckled.</p> + +<p>“Beware, all you people”—he read—“of a +squadron from the faraway isles of Great Britain +which is coming shortly upon you. There will be full +ten great ships, heavily manned and well armed for +attack. The arch rogue, William Dampier, will be in +control,—he who has plundered Puna before. Be +on your guard, citizens! Be prepared! Arm yourselves!”</p> + +<p>“Hah! Hah!” laughed the free-booting captain. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> +“They think I’m Dampier. That’s good. But we’ll +have a tough time with them, for they know that we +mean to assault their pretty little town.”</p> + +<p>His followers looked solemn.</p> + +<p>“Let’s attack, right away,” cried several, “before +the Spaniards have time to prepare for our charge!”</p> + +<p>Rogers, however, would not hear of it.</p> + +<p>“We must rest. Equip ourselves. Place cannon +in the bows of our boats, and then we will be ready.”</p> + +<p>His men murmured, but they knew that when +Rogers had made up his mind upon a thing, there was +no use in endeavoring to dissuade him. So they collected +what plunder was to be had and awaited his +further orders.</p> + +<p>Two days later all was ready for the advance. It +was near midnight—upon April 22nd,—when the +command was passed around:</p> + +<p>“Muffle your oars and take the town!”</p> + +<p>With one hundred and ten men in the jolly boats, the +privateers neared the sleepy, little seaport. Not a +sound broke the silence, save the drip, drip of the +sweeps, yet, as they approached the white-washed walls +of the lower town,—a bonfire was touched off upon +the shore.</p> + +<p>“’Tis well,” whispered a stout sailor. “Now we +can see to shoot!”</p> + +<p>As he said this, many lights appeared in the houses +of Guayaquil. The townspeople were wide awake.</p> + +<p>“What means this, sirrah?” thundered Rogers at +a native guide, who was piloting him to the shore.</p> + +<p>The fellow had a ready answer.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> +“’Tis the celebration of All Saints Day,” he answered +smiling. “The people here are good Christians.”</p> + +<p>“They know that we are coming,” growled the +English captain, for, as the native spoke, a Spaniard +upon the shore was heard to shout:</p> + +<p>“Puna has been captured! The enemy is advancing! +Arm! Arm!”</p> + +<p>Bells clanged from the steeples of the little churches. +Muskets and guns went off. Black masses could be +seen surging into the streets. Cannon roared, and a +screeching shot spun ahead of the on-coming boats.</p> + +<p>“’Tis nothing,” said Rogers. “The alarm has only +just been given. Preparations are not complete and +we can rush them, easily.”</p> + +<p>But Captain Cook had his own opinion upon the +affair.</p> + +<p>“The Buccaneers,” said he, “never attack any large +place after it is alarmed. My advice is to keep away.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t go in,” cried several. “Wait and rush +them when they are not so well prepared.”</p> + +<p>Even the men seemed disinclined to advance.</p> + +<p>Thus cautious counsel prevailed: the boats dropped +down-stream again—about three miles below the +town—and were joined by two small barques. They +were prizes which had been recently captured. Here +the flotilla lay while the cries in the city grew inaudible,—for +the inhabitants saw that the attack had +been avoided.</p> + +<p>When flood-tide came, Captain Rogers once more +ordered an advance upon the town.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> +“No! No!” argued Dover. “They are too well +prepared. Night will cloak our movements, so we +should then go on. I, myself, advise the sending of +a trumpeter with a flag of truce. He shall propose +that we make some trades with the people of this +place.”</p> + +<p>“Your measure is half-hearted,” said Rogers, with +heat. “You are a craven knave. Let’s rush the town +like Englishmen and heroes!”</p> + +<p>Again cautious counsel prevailed. Two prisoners—a +Lieutenant from Puna, and the Captain of the +Frenchman of recent capture—were sent to parley +with the Spaniards.</p> + +<p>“The English are afraid!” whispered the inhabitants. +“Let us keep them off with braggadocio, and +mayhap reinforcements will come to us.”</p> + +<p>So they bickered and delayed.</p> + +<p>“These dogs would palaver forever,” said Captain +Rogers, when negotiations had proceeded for full two +days without result. “I, for one, am for attacking +the city right now!”</p> + +<p>“Yes! On! On!” cried his men.</p> + +<p>Even the cautious Dover was ready to advance; +so, landing upon the beach, the one hundred and +ten ran towards the town with a wild, exultant +whoop!</p> + +<p><em>Zip! Zip!</em> came the bullets from the nearer houses, +as the privateers advanced.</p> + +<p><em>Boom! Boom!</em> sounded the guns from the <i>Duchess</i> +and the <i>Duke</i>, which had edged up near the wharves +and anchored. Shells shrieked and burst; guns +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> +roared; and, with a hoarse cheer, the English beat +down two lines of Spaniards who opposed them.</p> + +<p>Back, back, they crushed the defenders of Guayaquil +to the market-place in the centre of the town, where +four cannon were drawn up behind a barricade which +was flanked by cavalry.</p> + +<p><em>Crash! Crash!</em> they roared at the on-coming privateers, +and many a man went down before the +exploding grape and cannister. But the blood of the +English was now up.</p> + +<p>“Take the guns!” shouted Woodes Rogers. +“Scale the barricade and spike the pieces!”</p> + +<p>With a mighty roar the jack-tars ran for the engines +of death; leaping over the wall of the defenses; +bayonetting the gunners; turning the spitting war-engines +upon the cavalry, which, in confusion and dismay, +was driven down a crooked lane. It was the last +stand. The English standard soon waved from the +flag-pole of the House of Justice.</p> + +<p>“And now,” cried Captain Rogers, gleefully, “I’ll +meet the worthy <i>Padres</i> and treat with them for a +ransom. We’ll make them pay full well to get back +the neat little town of Guayaquil.”</p> + +<p>Crestfallen and abashed, the city fathers were soon +brought before the privateer.</p> + +<p>“Señor,” said they, “your men can fight like devils. +Señor, you are the first man to have taken our town, +and many a Buccaneer has endeavored to do so!”</p> + +<p>Captain Rogers smiled.</p> + +<p>“Tut! Tut!” said he. “The English can always +battle. But—Fathers—you must pay me well for +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> +this affair. I demand thirty thousand pieces of eight +($35,000 or about £6,750) as ransom for your fair +city. I will give you two days in which to collect it.”</p> + +<p>The worthy <i>Padres</i> hung their heads.</p> + +<p>“You English,” said they, “are cruel extortioners.”</p> + +<p>Yet—in two day’s time—the British marched to +their boats with colors flying, bugles blowing, and +drums beating a rollicking tattoo. Captain Rogers +brought up the rear with a few men. He had secured +the ransom and fairly smiled with exuberant joy. +“Our sailors,” says he, “kept continually dropping +their pistols, cutlasses, and pole-axes; which shows +they had grown careless and very weak—weary of +being soldiers—and it was high time that we should +be gone from hence to the shores of Merrie England.”</p> + +<p>Thus, on April 28th, when the <i>Duke</i> and the <i>Duchess</i> +weighed anchor and stood out to sea: guns roared: +trumpets blew: the men cheered.</p> + +<p>“And so,” writes the gallant Rogers, “we took leave +of the Spaniards very cheerfully, but not half so well +pleased as we should have been if we had taken ’em by +surprise; for I was well assured from all hands, that +at least we should then have got about two hundred +thousand pieces of eight in money (£45,000 or +$225,000); and in jewels, diamonds, and wrought +and unwrought gold and silver.”</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The owners of the two privateers: the <i>Duke</i> and the +<i>Duchess</i>, sat in solemn meeting at the good town of +Bristol. It was the month of October, 1711.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> +The fat Quakers were smiling, for Captain Rogers +had brought them back equally fat moneys.</p> + +<p>The rugged merchants laughed, for the venture had +been a howling success.</p> + +<p>“And you were wounded?” said a stockholder, +turning to the bronzed sea-rover who stood before +them, giving account and reckoning of his journey +to the Spanish Main.</p> + +<p>“A scratch,” replied the stout sea-dog, smiling. +“When we tackled a Manila ship on the way home +from Guayaquil, I got a ball through the jaw, and a +splinter in the left foot. It laid me up for full three +weeks, but, gentlemen, a cat and Woodes Rogers both +have nine lives.”</p> + +<p>And even the sober Quaker fathers laughed at this +sally.</p> + +<p>“You have done well,” they said. “We will reward +you with money and a good berth. How would you +care to be Governor of the Bahamas?”</p> + +<p>“Fine!” said Woodes Rogers, chuckling.</p> + +<p>And that is the way the old sea-barnacle spent his +declining years, dying at the tropic isle on July 16th, +1732. Hail to this Prince of Privateers!</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p> + +<h2>TWILIGHT AT SEA</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The twilight hours like birds flew by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As lightly and as free;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ten thousand stars were in the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ten thousand on the sea;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For every wave with dimpled face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That leaped up in the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had caught a star in its embrace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And held it trembling there.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<a name="Page_173" id="Page_173"><!-- unnumbered title page --></a> +<p><span class='pagenum'></span></p> + +<h2>FORTUNATUS WRIGHT<br /> +<br /> +THE MOST HATED PRIVATEERSMAN OF +THE MEDITERRANEAN SEA<br /> +<br /> +(1715-1765)</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>“It was a high counsel which I once heard given to a young +person: ‘Always do what you are afraid to do.’”—<span class="smcap">Emerson.</span></p> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center padtop">FORTUNATUS WRIGHT<br /> +THE MOST HATED PRIVATEERSMAN OF +THE MEDITERRANEAN SEA<br /> +(1715-1765)</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“‘<em>Be sure you’re right, then go ahead!</em>’ was coined by Andrew Jackson,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who was a fighter, tough as nails, and loved to lay the whacks on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He followed out this sage advice, in spite of opposition,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While everybody winked and said,—‘<em>A Fellow with a Mission!</em>’<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In other days, in other climes, there lived a seaman daring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who loved a fight, as well as he,—was just as good at swearing;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His name was Wright, and thus in spite of all his foemen said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old <em>Fortune</em> Wright, was surely right, whene’er he went ahead!”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author">—<i>Chants of the Eastern Clipper Ships.</i>—1846.</p> + +<p><span class="dropcap">I</span>N the year 1744 war was declared between England +and France. French privateers harried the +coast of her rival, caught her merchantmen whenever +they ventured away from stout men-o’-warsmen, +and chased them in the blue, shimmering waters of +the Mediterranean. It seemed as if there were never +gun-boats enough to protect the British shipping, and +thus many of the English merchants grew choleric and +angry.</p> + +<p>Englishmen carried on quite a trade with Italy, +Greece, and the countries of Asia Minor, and at +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> +Leghorn—upon the Italian coast—they had numerous +trading shops and docks for their own vessels. They +began to suffer, not only great annoyance, but also +great loss, from the depredations of the French privateers +which swarmed about the harbor mouth and +scurried into every corner of the ragged coast-line. +Their trade was hampered, their ships compelled to +remain in port, or—if they ventured out—they +were inevitably captured. The situation was unbearable.</p> + +<p>“My! My!” said one of the red-faced merchants. +“My! My! We must have a remedy for this. My! +My! We must have our own privateers!”</p> + +<p>“Well spoken,” cried another. “And I know the +very man to help us out. He is living here, now, and +his name is Fortunatus Wright. Gentlemen! I tell +you he is a true sea-dog! He is the fellow to cripple +these saucy, French bushwhackers of the sea.”</p> + +<p>“Hear! Hear!” cried others.</p> + +<p>And thus Mr. Fortunatus Wright was sought for, +and was asked:</p> + +<p>“Will you take charge of a privateer for the British +merchants of Leghorn? Will you chase these rascally +Frenchmen? Will you cripple their operations? Will +you chastise these sea-robbers?”</p> + +<p>To this Mr. Fortunatus Wright, being a true seaman +with the love of the salt water tugging at his +heart strings, is said to have remarked,</p> + +<p>“Whoop-ee!”</p> + +<p>Which being interpreted means:</p> + +<p>“Gentlemen, I’m dee-lighted!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> +As luck would have it, there was a vessel lying in +the harbor which was directly available. She was a +brigantine called the <i>Fame</i>, and, although we know +little about her tonnage and the number of stout sea-dogs +whom she could carry, it is apparent that Fortunatus +Wright considered her most admirably suited +for his venture. At any rate he soon boarded her, +swore in a crew of stalwart seamen, and saw that +plenty of gunpowder, cutlasses, boarding-pikes and +muskets were aboard.</p> + +<p>It was September, 1746, and, before the close of +the month of December, the <i>Fame</i> had captured eighteen +prizes, one of which was a hulking, French privateer +with twenty guns and one hundred and fifty +men, especially fitted out to put an end to the career +of the vessel of Fortunatus Wright. They had met +off the port of Messina and had had a roaring, little +scrimmage, but—seeing that matters were going ill +with him—the French captain had cried:</p> + +<p>“Run for the shore! Run our ship aground! We +will fix her so that this English hound cannot make +a prize of us!”</p> + +<p>“Voilà! Voilà!” his men had shouted. “Oui! +We will f-e-e-x th-e-es Eengleesh chien! Oui! Au +revoir, Monsieur Wright!”</p> + +<p>So saying, the privateer had been run upon the +sandy beach, bows on, where her crew took to the +brush, yelling derisively at the <i>Fame</i> as she came up +within hail,—sails snug down so as to move cautiously.</p> + +<p>The Frenchmen had counted without their host.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> +“We’ll float her, my hearties!” cried Wright. +“All hands ashore in the small boats. Tie hawsers +to her stern and pull her off!”</p> + +<p>This they did, while the French captain, far back +in the brush, saw it and fairly boiled with disappointment +and rage.</p> + +<p>“Zees Wright,” he blustered. “One cannot outweet +heem.”</p> + +<p>So the privateer was towed into the harbor of Leghorn, +where all the English merchants cried:</p> + +<p>“Good! Good! Now we have a true man to fight +our battles! Huzzah for Fortunatus Wright!”</p> + +<p>The French were furious, while at the island of +Malta (where were numerous French, Spanish, Austrian +and English traders) the feeling grew intense. +Here the Austrians sided with the English and several +duels were fought by angry officers, as crafty Fortunatus +Wright continued to send in his prizes.</p> + +<p>Finally the French merchants forwarded a missive +to Marseilles, in France, which ran:</p> + +<p>“Can the French be further humiliated by this corsair—this +robber—Fortunatus Wright? Let our +people fit out a privateer sufficiently large to cope with +him, and let her defeat and cripple this fellow. Make +haste, for he is doing much damage!”</p> + +<p>An answer came back.</p> + +<p>“Before a month is gone, Monsieur Wright will no +more harass your privateers. What we have determined +to do, we shall do!”</p> + +<p>Word of this was brought to Captain Fortunatus +Wright and he only smiled broadly. “There’ll be +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> +another ship to bring into Malta, care of F. Wright, +Esq.,” said he. “And it will be labelled Collect on +Delivery.”</p> + +<p>Not three weeks later the French vessel came +jauntily into the harbor of Malta. The captain was a +man of considerable repute as a seaman and fighter, +and he was warmly received by the French. They +invited him to many dinners.</p> + +<p>“Voilà!” said they. “Here is the fellow to do the +tr-e-e-k. Tenez! There will soon be one b-e-eg mince +pie we-eth Captain Wright eenside. Ha! Ha!”</p> + +<p>It is never well to count your chickens before they +hatch or to pat a man upon the back before he has won a victory.</p> + +<p>Eagerly the French captain cruised outside, continually +upon the watch for slippery Skipper Wright. +His vessel was superior to the <i>Fame</i> in numbers of +both guns and men. He was sure of victory. “If +only the hated Englishman would appear!” he grumbled.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the excitement and expectation at Malta +became intense. Finally it was noised abroad that the +terrible privateer had been sighted about five miles off +the harbor. All factions were aroused: the Austrians +and English slapping the French and Spaniards upon +the back, and saying, “Now there will be a chance +to sink bold Captain Wright, Messieurs!”</p> + +<p>To which the irritable Frenchmen would answer, +“Ah! Yes! He will be gobbled up like Jonah by the +whale. Pouff!”</p> + +<p>The French privateer sailed out to meet the foe, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> +and soon her white canvas had disappeared from view +around a jutting headland. The stranger ran off. +The Frenchman pursued, and soon both were lost to +the eager gaze of the population of Malta, which +crowded every headland, eager and expectant for the +bloody battle. The shore was black with people.</p> + +<p>Hours passed. Another day came and with it the +news that two vessels had been sighted off the entrance +to the harbor. Hundreds rushed to the headlands and +cliffs in order to see the victor and the vanquished, +for two cruisers were approaching, the one towing +the other.</p> + +<p>“Huzzah!” shouted an enthusiastic Frenchman. +“We have won! See—up go the French colors upon +the first vessel. The other—poof—eet ees a jelly. +Eet ees pounded to ze shreds.”</p> + +<p>“Huzzah!” shouted all of his compatriots, and +they danced about, shaking hands, embracing, and +waving their hats and their handkerchiefs.</p> + +<p>“Ce cher Wright!” cried they. “He ees een the +soup, eh?”</p> + +<p>And what of the Englishmen?</p> + +<p>They—of course—said nothing, but bit their +lips, looked at their Austrian friends, and hung their +heads dejectedly.</p> + +<p>Here is the most beautiful part of all this story, +for Fortunatus Wright, my boys, was a joker—a +real, true end man in a minstrel show—and he was +having his fun with “the Frenchies.” His vessel—indeed—had +come off victorious, in spite of the fact +that she had been much more shattered than the other +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> +contestant. Therefore, Wright had put her in tow +of the captured Frenchman, which he, himself, was +steering, with the crew of his opponent down in the +hold, as prisoners of war.</p> + +<p>Seeing the crowded headlands and swarming ramparts +in the harbor, he could not resist the temptation +of hoisting the flag of France. He chuckled as he saw +the effect it produced upon the crowd, then—as the +vessels rounded a fort at the entrance to the harbor—down +came the colors of France and up went the English +flag to the peak, with the French flag below.</p> + +<p>And then—well, you can imagine how the Englishmen +and Austrians yelled, and how the poor +Frenchmen beat a hasty flight for their homes. Fortunatus +Wright had had a sweet revenge. He laughed +long and hard, while the Frenchmen said, “Curse +heem! He ees a devil! A thousand curses upon the +head of thees Wright! Sapristi!” And they did not +open any more bottles of wine for their supposedly +great captain from Marseilles.</p> + +<p>As for Fortunatus Wright, he continued to harass +the French and get into trouble, as the following anecdote +well shows.</p> + +<p>Not long after his famous battle, he was travelling +in Italy with introductions to many of the nobility, +and arrived—one day—before the city gates of +Lucca. Here was stationed a guard, and a sentinel +scrutinized him with great care and deliberation.</p> + +<p>Fortunatus Wright grew impatient.</p> + +<p>“Can I not go by?” said he. “My passports are +correct!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> +“No! No!” answered the soldier. “I no likea +zose peestols in your belta. You must deeliver them +to me before you can go to ze ceety.”</p> + +<p>The English sea-captain said nothing, but the color +rose in his cheeks. In an instant he raised one of his +pistols and pointed it at the head of the astonished +sentry.</p> + +<p>“The first man that endeavors to take my weapons +from me,” he yelled, “does so at the cost of his life!”</p> + +<p>The guardsman was flabbergasted.</p> + +<p>“Corporal of the Guard! Post Number Two!” he +shouted, presenting his musket at the same instant, +and pointing it at the head of the irascible Captain +Wright.</p> + +<p>Immediately a dozen soldiers came running to the +spot. They surrounded the irate English traveller. +He was ordered to “Throw up your hands!”</p> + +<p>“You air one mad Englishmana!” said the Officer +of the Guard. “Here. Comea weeth usa! We weel +feexa youa!”</p> + +<p>Seeing that the odds were too much against him, +Captain Wright allowed himself to be taken to the +guard house, while a soldier was dispatched to the +British Ambassador in order to explain that “they +had captured an Englishman as mad as a mad dog!”</p> + +<p>Things looked bad for the great privateersman. +But was his name not Fortunatus? And was not +good fortune always with him?</p> + +<p>A nobleman to whom the bold mariner had a letter +now intervened in his favor, and secured the release +of the high-tempered man-of-the-sea. On the morning +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> +of the fourth day of his captivity, and at the early +hour of four, a soldier waked Captain Fortunatus +Wright, who was peacefully sleeping at a military +prison. A missive was handed him, and he read:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>“<span class="smcap">Seigneur Wright</span>:—Since you have been so +daring as to attempt to enter the town of Lucca by +force, it is therefore ordered that you shall now leave +the State and never presume to enter it again, without +leave from the Republic. Post-horses, with a guard to +see you over the border, are now ready for you. We +trust that you shall have a safe journey.</p> + +<p class="sig">“By order of the<br /> +“<span class="smcap">Governor of Lucca</span>.”</p> +</div> + +<p>“These Italians are the most unreasonable people +alive,” growled Captain Wright. But he pocketed +both his pride and his pistols, entered the post-chaise +at the door, and was soon rolling forth for other parts. +In spite of this order—he continued to reside in +Italy, with the true independence of a privateersman.</p> + +<p>In December, 1746, the bold seafarer made an exceptionally +good capture: a French vessel on a voyage +from Marseilles to Naples, with a rich cargo and +the servants and luggage of a real potentate,—the +Prince of Campo Florida.</p> + +<p>When valorous Wright stepped aboard of her, her +captain was scraping and bowing near the rail.</p> + +<p>“Ah, Seigneur!” said he, “you have taken me, +that is true. But you cannot touch my cargo or my +men. See,—here is a pass from King George the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> +Second of England. It says, ‘All of the cargo, passengers, +and crew of <i>La Belle Florence</i> shall be exempt +from molestation by English cruisers and privateers.’ +What say you to that?”</p> + +<p>Captain Wright looked sad, but he seized the paper +and read it with care. His smile broadened as he +perused the document.</p> + +<p>“How am I to know that this particular ship is to +go free?” said he. “For although you told me that +the name of your vessel (<i>La Belle Florence</i>) was mentioned +in this document, I do not find that it is mentioned. +The paper merely states that ‘the vessel’ +shall not be molested, and, my boy, you may have +stolen this from some other skipper. Ah! Ha! You +are my prize and shall go with me into Leghorn.”</p> + +<p>You should have seen the face of the Frenchman!</p> + +<p>“I vill haf revenge!” said he. And he had it.</p> + +<p>For, when the matter was referred to the British +Minister, he turned it over to the Admiral who commanded +the English ships at this station, and this +high official made Captain Wright give up both vessel +and cargo. He did so with the same unwillingness +that he had shown when asked to leave the quaint, +little town of Lucca. Captain Wright, you see, had +that bull-dog stubbornness which is characteristic of +men of the British Isles. He believed in hanging on +to everything which he took.</p> + +<p>A bit later, this trait got him into serious difficulties +and into prison.</p> + +<p>A number of English merchants were trading with +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> +the people of Turkey under the name of “The Company +of English Merchants trading to the Levant +Sea,” and, finding it impossible to ship all of their +goods in British vessels, they often sent them in the +holds of French ships. True it was that France was +at war with England at this time, but, as these were +English cargoes, the British naturally thought that +they should be allowed to come through, unmolested, +even though the French vessels might be captured by +English privateers. But they had not reckoned with +Fortunatus Wright.</p> + +<p>Two French clipper ships were scudding quietly +along off the Italian coast, one bright day in June of +1747, when a rakish vessel appeared upon the horizon +and speedily bore down upon them. They crowded +on sail, but they could not outdistance their pursuer, +who was soon near enough to fire a gun across the +bow of the foremost, and flaunt the English colors +in her face.</p> + +<p>“Helas!” growled the French skipper. “Eet ees +that devil, ze Captain Wright. Eet is all up with +me! Helas!”</p> + +<p>So he came to and surrendered; but the other fellow +pounded away at the British privateer with a couple +of swivel guns and put up a smart, little skirmish +before a well-directed shot from the deck of the Englishman, +knocked a topmast crashing over the port +side. Crippled, she surrendered.</p> + +<p>It did not take Captain Wright long to sail into +Leghorn harbor with his prizes. The holds were +filled with bales of rich goods, marked: “The property +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> +of the Company of English Merchants trading +to the Levant Sea.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll sell the bloomin’ cargoes,” cried Wright. +“For the vessels were under the French flag and +we’re at war with that nation. Besides this, one of +them put up a fight against me.”</p> + +<p>Thus—the cargoes were sold—Captain Fortunatus +pocketed the money, and went upon his way, rejoicing.</p> + +<p>But he did not rejoice very long, for the British +merchants were furious with anger, and procured—through +some means or other—an order from the +English Government to the effect that English cargoes +in French vessels were not to be touched—when captured +by British privateers. Word was sent to Captain +Wright to refund the money which he had secured +by the sale of the cargoes captured in the French ships, +and the property of “The Company of English Merchants +trading to the Levant Sea.”</p> + +<p>To this Captain Wright answered, “Bah! I have +the money. I intend to keep it!”</p> + +<p>Orders were sent from England to have this fellow +arrested and shipped home; so the Italian police +obligingly captured the old sea-dog, locked him up, +and kept him in jail for six months, while the attorneys +fought over the legality of the affair.</p> + +<p>At length the bluff privateersman was allowed to +go free, and—he never paid back the money. “These +fellows attacked me at law,” he wrote, “but I have +not acted contrary to it. I am an Englishman. I am +acting under a commission from the King of England, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> +and, when we are at war with France, I intend to +hold and keep all the cargoes which I capture in +French vessels. As for this ‘English Company trading +to the Levant Sea!’ let them learn a lesson and +pack their goods in future in English vessels. English +oak should be good enough for English cargoes.”</p> + +<p>The “English Company trading to the Levant Sea” +had certainly learned that Fortunatus Wright was as +stubborn as a mule, and—in the future—they employed +no French vessels to carry their bales of commerce. +<em>A wise dog only allows himself to be bitten +once.</em></p> + +<p>France and England now came to a peaceable settlement +of their difficulties, but in 1755 war broke out +afresh. Fortunatus Wright chuckled, for he itched +for another brush upon the wide sweep of the ocean, +and a chance to take a prize or two. So the <i>Fame</i> +not being available, he had a small vessel constructed +at Leghorn, and called her the <i>Saint George</i>. She was +a fast sailer and was as graceful as a sea-gull. “In +this fair ship,” said he, as he gazed upon her admiringly, +“I shall take many a prize and shall have, I +trust, many a sharp adventure. <i>Saint George</i>, I salute +you! May you bring me only the best of luck!”</p> + +<p>Trouble was in store for the well-hated mariner +even before he turned his vessel’s prow into the Mediterranean, +for—in spite of the fact that the Italians +were neutral—their sympathies were strongly with +France, and they looked with decided disfavor upon +the graceful hull of the <i>Saint George</i>, as she bobbed +serenely upon the surface of the bay. Knowing full +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> +well the reputation of this famous seaman, they paid +particular attention to his little craft, and sent a number +of officials to inspect her. In a few days the intrepid +Fortunatus received the information that, as his +was a merchant vessel, he must carry a crew of only +five-and-twenty men, and an armament of four small +guns.</p> + +<p>At this the old sea-dog only laughed, and exhibited +the greatest anxiety to comply with the requirements +of the law.</p> + +<p>“I would suggest,” said he to one of the officials +of the town, “that you keep guard-boats rowing +around my ship in order to be sure that I do not take +on more guns and men than the law permits, before +I set sail.”</p> + +<p>The officer smiled. “We are watching you +closely,” said he. “For Monsieur Wright, it is said +that you are as crafty as a cat!”</p> + +<p>The mariner grinned, and, before going to sea, +obtained from the Governor, a certificate to the effect +that he had complied with all the requirements of the +law.</p> + +<p>Armed with this, on July 28th, 1756, he put to sea, +in company with four merchant vessels laden with +valuable cargoes, and bound for the shores of England. +Carefully the <i>Saint George</i> had been watched, +so carefully, in fact, that the authorities had overlooked +the lading of the other vessels, aboard which +numerous guns, howitzers, and hand-spikes had been +smuggled, besides a number of seamen who were +well-experienced in fighting upon the ocean. It is +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> +true that Fortunatus Wright was as crafty as a cat, +or—as they say in Maine—“You’d have to git up +early if yer wanted ter lick him.”</p> + +<p>Not only had the officials at Leghorn watched every +move of this well-known privateersman, but they had +sent word to the French that Wright had only a feeble +force, that he was accompanying several rich prizes, +and that he could be easily beaten and captured by a +vessel of any size. So much hated was he, that it is +said the French king had promised Knighthood and +a handsome life pension to the sailor who could bring +Wright to the shores of France <em>dead or alive</em>. The +merchants of Marseilles were particularly bitter against +him, for he had captured many of their ships, and in +the market-place (where all could see it) had been +posted a placard, which ran:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="center">“ALL SAILORS AND SEAMEN ATTENTION!</p> + +<p>To the person, or persons, who will capture and bring to +France, the body of the arch-villain Captain Fortunatus Wright, +shall be given</p> + +<p class="center">A SUM DOUBLE THE VALUE OF WRIGHT’S VESSEL.</p> + +<p>Frenchmen! Catch this Thief! Bring him in Dead or Alive! +Do your Duty!</p> + +<p>This sum is guaranteed by the Merchants and Ship-owners of +Marseilles, and the Chamber of Commerce.”</p> +</div> + +<p>Wright had heard of this, and it sent a grim look +into his eyes. He also heard that a vessel was cruising +outside the harbor in wait for him, and thus he +was not surprised, as he saw a large boat upon his +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> +port bow, when only a few hours’ sail from the snug +harbor of Leghorn.</p> + +<p>This vessel—a zebeque—had been waiting for the +well-hated privateersman for several days, as her captain +had been warned by the Italians that Wright was +about to set sail. She had three masts, each carrying +a huge, three-cornered sail, sixteen guns of considerable +size, and several swivels. Her crew numbered +two hundred and eighty men, well armed and eager +for a brush with the famous Fortunatus, whose proverbial +good fortune seemed now to have deserted +him.</p> + +<p>Rounding to, Wright signalled to his merchantmen +to draw near and hurriedly transported some of the +cannon, which he had smuggled, to his own vessel. +He also added to his small crew, so that—when the +zebeque came pounding down within shooting distance—he +had increased his sailors from twenty-five +to seventy-five, and his guns, from four to +twelve.</p> + +<p>“Now let the Frenchie come on!” he cried. “I’m +half prepared, but I’ll give her a warmer welcome than +she ever had in all her career!”</p> + +<p>“Huzzah! Huzzah!” shouted his men, who were +a motley collection of all nationalities: Italians, English, +Portuguese, Dutch, Germans, and a few Arabs. +“Huzzah! Huzzah! Wright forever!” The Arabs, +of course, didn’t say this, but they tried to.</p> + +<p>The French were very confident, and, as they came +within range of the guns of the little <i>Saint George</i> +they began to sing a hymn of victory, while their +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> +captain already saw, in his hands, the rich reward +offered by the good citizens of Marseilles.</p> + +<p>“Poof!” he chuckled. “Monsieur Wright, he soon +take dinnaire in my cabin. Poof!”</p> + +<p>But Monsieur Wright was a different fellow than +he imagined, and his men—although of all nationalities—were +so animated by his stirring and martial +spirit, that they fought better than they had ever +fought in their lives before. You all know how necessary +to success “Spirit” is in a foot-ball team, or +a base-ball nine. The team which has the do-or-dare +spirit, the never-give-up-until-the-last-gun-is-fired determination, +is usually the team that wins. And the +spirit of the captain is the controlling factor in +any contest. If he be no desperate fighter, his +followers will not be desperate fighters. If he is +weak-kneed in a crisis, his followers will be weak-kneed.</p> + +<p>So this motley crew, under Fortunatus Wright, +cheered onward by the dauntless navigator, fought as +they had never fought before. Arab and German +strove as well as Englishman and Italian to battle +strenuously beneath the eye of the famous privateersman. +They had never been together before, but, animated +by the presence of this fearless “cock-of-the-Mediterranean,” +they now sailed into the Frenchman +as if the zebeque were a vessel of equal strength and +armament. Cheer after cheer welled into the air as +the two antagonists drew near each other, while the +puff of white smoke from the sides of the French +vessel was followed by the <em>chug! chug!</em> of solid shot, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> +as it cut up the waves near the body of the staunch, +little <i>Saint George</i>.</p> + +<p>“It’s three to one against us, Boys!” shouted the +battle-scarred Captain Wright. “Fire for the enemy’s +rigging and bring down one of her masts, if you can. +If you fight hard we can lick her!”</p> + +<p>The screech of a shell cut his words short, for a +piece of iron passed dangerously near his lips, striking +a stout Italian in the neck, and rendering him useless +for further conflict.</p> + +<p>Around and around in a wide circle floated the two +sea-warriors, for the wind was light and just drove +them along at the rate of a snail’s pace. The rag-tag-and-bob-tail +crew on the <i>Saint George</i> stood to their +guns like veterans and poured in such a hot fire that +the French captain speedily realized that his only +chance for victory was to board and overwhelm the +English by superior numbers.</p> + +<p>“Bring the vessel up on her starboard side!” he +commanded. “And get out the boarding-pikes! +Now we’ll finish Captain Wright!”</p> + +<p>The zebeque soon ranged alongside the battered +<i>Saint George</i>, threw her grappling hooks into the rigging, +and her men were in a hand-to-hand struggle +with the motley crew who battled for the veteran +Fortunatus. <em>Slash! Slash! Crack!</em> The cutlasses +cut and parried, the pistols spat, and the boarding-pikes +thrust and struck. Cheering wildly the Frenchmen +attempted to climb upon the deck of the privateer, +but the followers of old Wright fought like demons. +They parried and thrust like fiends; and such was the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> +ferocity of their struggle that the boarders were repulsed +with great slaughter.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 487px;"> +<a name="boarders_repulsed" id="boarders_repulsed"></a> +<img src="images/fpas13.jpg" width="487" height="600" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p class="caption">“THE BOARDERS WERE REPULSED WITH GREAT SLAUGHTER.”</p> + +<p>“Thees Wright ees a very hornet for a fight!” +sighed the French captain, as he ordered the grappling +hooks cast off, and floated his vessel away.</p> + +<p><em>Poom! Poom!</em></p> + +<p>There was still some fight left in the little <i>Saint +George</i> and her dauntless crew kept pounding iron at +the sullen zebeque, which, shattered and torn, filled +away and made for the open sea. Her captain had +been struck by a piece of shell just as the battle closed; +two lieutenants were killed, seventy men were +wounded, and eighty-eight had been killed by the accurate +shooting of the “Never-Say-Dies” under Captain +Fortunatus Wright: the invincible. It had been +a gallant battle, gallantly fought by both sides, and +gallantly won.</p> + +<p>Bold navigator Wright followed his crippled adversary +for several miles, then—seeing another +French gun-boat threatening his convoy—he returned +to the merchant-ships which had accompanied +him; sent them back into Leghorn harbor; and followed, +next day, with the proud, but battered <i>Saint +George</i>. It had been a glorious victory.</p> + +<p>No sooner had the war-scarred Captain Wright +let go his anchor chains in the harbor of Leghorn +than he realized that he had only just begun to +fight.</p> + +<p>“Sapristi!” said an Italian official. “This pirate +has deceived us! This fellow was allowed but four +guns upon his ship and he had twelve. To the jail +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> +with this dog! To the prison with this cut-throat! +Sapristi!”</p> + +<p>A boat soon rowed to the <i>Saint George</i> and an order +was delivered to Captain Wright to the effect that he +must bring his vessel into the inner harbor, and, if +he did not obey, she would be brought in by Italian +gun-boats. Wright—of course—refused. So two +big Italian warships sailed up upon either side of +the <i>Saint George</i>, ran out their guns, and cast anchor.</p> + +<p>“I will not move for the entire Italian Government!” +roared Captain Fortunatus. “I will appeal +to the British consul for protection, as England is at +war with France, not with Italy.”</p> + +<p>Now was a pretty how-de-do. The Italians were +furious with the stubborn privateersman for refusing +to obey their orders, but, in truth, the way that +he had deceived them in smuggling the extra cannon +aboard—when under their own eyes—is what had +roused their quick, Tuscan tempers. They thought +that they had been sharp—well—here was a man +who was even sharper than they, themselves. “Sapristi!” +they cried. “To the jail weeth heem!”</p> + +<p>There was a terrific war of words between the +British consul and the officials of that snug, little +town. Then, the problem was suddenly solved, for, +two powerful, English men-of-war dropped into the +harbor: the <i>Jersey</i> of sixty guns, and the <i>Isis</i> mounting +fifty. The authorities of Leghorn were told that +they had orders from the Admiral of the British, Mediterranean +fleet, to convoy any English merchantmen +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> +which might be there, and <em>to release the Saint George +immediately</em>. Wright threw up his cap and cheered, +but the officials of Leghorn said things which cannot +be printed. Thus the <i>Saint George</i> sailed upon her +way, unmolested, and was soon taking more prizes +upon the broad waters of the Mediterranean.</p> + +<p>The path of the privateer is not strewn with roses. +Captain Fortunatus found that his reputation had gone +abroad and it had not been to his credit, for, when he +put in at Malta he was not allowed to buy provisions +for his ship.</p> + +<p>“You are a beastly pirate!” said an official. “You +cannot purchase anything here for your nefarious +business.”</p> + +<p>“I am a privateer!” answered Wright, with anger.</p> + +<p>“A privateer looks just the same to me as a pirate,” +sarcastically sneered the official. And Captain Fortunatus +had to look elsewhere for provisions.</p> + +<p>As he cruised along, a big, French cruiser of +thirty-eight guns chased the little <i>Saint George</i> as if +to gobble her up alive.</p> + +<p>“Boys! We shall now have some fun!” said Captain +Wright. “I can sail faster than this Frenchy. +Just watch me!”</p> + +<p>So, when the great beast of a French vessel came +lumbering by, Wright played with her like a cat with +a mouse; sailed around her in circles; shot guns at her +rigging—just to aggravate the men from the sunny +land—and then dipped his ensign and went careening +away as if nothing had happened. No wonder that +the French hated and despised this valiant mariner! +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> +Wouldn’t you have done so if you had been a Frenchman?</p> + +<p>Thus Captain Fortunatus Wright continued upon +his privateering, his fighting, and his cruising; bearing +terror to his enemies but satisfaction to his friends. +His name was as well known among those who sailed +the Mediterranean as was that of the great Napoleon +in later years, and it was just as cordially hated by +those who opposed him. “The Ogre from Leghorn” +was one of his titles, while some applied to him the +choice epithet of “The Red Demon from Italy.” At +any rate this did not seem to worry the veteran sea-dog, +who continued to take prizes and make money +until the year 1757. Then he disappears from history, +for the body of brave, resolute, stubborn, and +valiant Captain Fortunatus Wright mysteriously and +suddenly vanished from this earth.</p> + +<p>What was his end?</p> + +<p>Perhaps he perished while boarding the deck of +some craft which was manned by men as gallant as +his own. Perhaps he fell while stemming the advance +of a crew of wild Frenchmen, eager for his blood and +remembering the many victories which he had won +over their countrymen. Perhaps, in the wild, wind-tossed +wastes of the Mediterranean, his vessel—unable +to cope with the elements—was hurled upon +some jagged rock and sunk in the sobbing waters of +the frothing sea. Perhaps he was captured, hurried +to some dark prison, and died in one of those many +dungeons which disgrace the cities of the Italian coast. +Perhaps he was hanged for privateering.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> +At any rate, nothing is known of the last days of +this dauntless navigator save what can be gathered +from an old grave in St. Peter’s churchyard, in +Liverpool.</p> + +<p>Here is the tombstone of the father of Fortunatus +Wright, an inscription upon which, tells us that he +was a master-mariner of Liverpool; that he defended +his ship—on one occasion—most gallantly against +two vessels of superior force; and that he died, not +by the stroke of a boarding-pike, but safely in his own +home. To this is added the information that:</p> + +<p>“Fortunatus Wright, his son, was always victorious, +and humane to the vanquished. He was a constant +terror to the enemies of his king and his country.” +That is all.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span></p> + +<h2>THE DEEP</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There’s beauty in the deep:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wave is bluer than the sky;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And though the lights shine bright on high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More softly do the sea-gems glow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That sparkle in the depths below;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rainbow tints are only made<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When on the waters they are laid.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sea and moon most sweetly shine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the ocean’s level brine.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There’s beauty in the deep.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There’s quiet in the deep.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above, let tide and tempest rave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And earth-born whirlwinds wake the wave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above, let care and fear contend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With sin and sorrow to the end:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here, far beneath the tainted foam<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That frets above our peaceful home,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We dream in joy, and walk in love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor know the rage that yells above.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There’s quiet in the deep.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<a name="Page_199" id="Page_199"><!-- unnumbered title page --></a> +<p><span class='pagenum'></span></p> + +<h2>GEORGE WALKER<br /> +<br /> +WINNER OF THE GAMEST SEA FIGHT +OF THE ENGLISH CHANNEL<br /> +<br /> +(1727-1777)</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>“‘War is Hell,’ said General William T. Sherman. But,—better +have war than bow to an inferior nation.”—<i>Doctrines of +the Strenuous Life.</i></p> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center padtop">GEORGE WALKER<br /> +WINNER OF THE GAMEST SEA FIGHT OF +THE ENGLISH CHANNEL<br /> +(1727-1777)</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“If Britain can but breed th’ men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who are like Walker made,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She’ll have no fear of danger,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When th’ foe starts to invade.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When th’ foe starts to invade, my boys,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An’ creep along th’ shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where th’ curling breakers wash th’ cliffs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where th’ breeching combers roar.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, lift a glass to Walker,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of <i>Glorioso</i> fame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>May we ne’er forget his deed lads,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>May we ne’er forget his name</i>.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author">—<i>Chants from The Channel.</i>—1769.</p> + +<p><span class="dropcap">I</span>T was the year 1739, and the good people of +Charleston, South Carolina, were in a great state +of agitation. Little knots of merchants, sailors, +clerks, and dock-hands clustered about each other in +the narrow streets. And, above the hub-bub of many +voices, could be heard the solemn sentence, oft repeated:</p> + +<p>“The pirate is off the narrows! The pirate will +soon be here!”</p> + +<p>Then all would gaze seaward with startled faces, +and would murmur:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> +“The pirate—the Spanish pirate will be here.”</p> + +<p>As they thus stood irresolutely, a strongly-knit +fellow came walking towards the dock-end. He was +clad in gray; his face was deeply seamed by long exposure +to the elements; and high top-boots of leather +encased his lower limbs.</p> + +<p>“What ho! Good citizens,” said he. “Do I understand +that a Spaniard has frightened you all? +Why, where’s your courage?”</p> + +<p>“Courage?” answered a rotund-bodied merchant. +“Of that we have a plenty. But we have no ship with +which to combat this fellow—or fellows—for some +of my skippers tell me that there are two of them off +the coast, and that they’ve captured twenty trading +vessels.”</p> + +<p>The newcomer smiled.</p> + +<p>“I’ve got a staunch craft here,” said he. “My +name is Walker, and I hail from Bristol, England. +My ship—the <i>Duke William</i>—mounts but twenty +guns, and my crew is but of thirty-two, yet, I know +that many of you gentlemen will volunteer your services, +particularly if there is to be a nice little battle.”</p> + +<p>“Hear! Hear!” came from all sides. “You’re the +boy for us! You’re the chap we’ve been looking for! +Hear! Hear!”</p> + +<p>It did not take long to increase the crew of the +<i>Duke William</i>. Several of the wealthy colonists volunteered +their services; many sailors were there who +had been fighting on the Spanish Main. They were +eager and anxious to join. So, before three days were +out, the <i>Duke William</i> spread her canvas for the open +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> +sea, carrying one hundred men and an additional +twenty guns. Now—you see—she could put up an +excellent fight with the average pirate-ship which +cruised about the low-lying and sandy coast.</p> + +<p>Out into the broad expanse of the Atlantic glided +the little barque and eagerly the mariners scanned the +horizon for some signs of the pirate.</p> + +<p>“She’s been hereabouts!” cried one stout seaman. +“For several of my mess-mates saw her sails down +near the channel islands. And her flag was surely +black with th’ skull an’ cross-bones.”</p> + +<p>“Must have heard that we were coming, then,” +growled Captain Walker, “for there’s nothing in +view.”</p> + +<p>In an hour’s time he thought differently, for, +“Sail ho!” sounded from the forward deck, and +there, far off to leeward, was the outline of a long, +blackish vessel, bearing no flag at her mizzen or stern.</p> + +<p>Crowding on all canvas—for the breeze was light—the +<i>Duke William</i> bore away towards her. “It +must be the pirate!” said all, for, also crowding on +all sail, the vessel headed up the coast, and did her +utmost to get away.</p> + +<p>On, on, went pursuer and pursued; on, on, and the +<i>Duke William</i> began to draw dangerously close to +the fleeing vessel, which now could be easily seen. +She was a brigantine, carrying about eighteen guns, +with a high stern and graceful lines. No flags waved +from her mast-heads.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the scudding sea-warrior pointed her nose +in-shore, ran around the corner of a sandy island, and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> +bore away into a seemingly large lagoon upon the +other side. The <i>Duke William</i> followed, and, as she +rounded a jutting sand-spit, there before her lay a +little schooner, on the deck of which were seen several +sailors, waving and gesticulating frantically. Behind, +and on the shore, was an earth-work, from which +several cannon pointed their black muzzles. On a +flag-pole in the centre, waved a Spanish flag, and, +beneath it, a black ensign upon which was the skull-and-cross-bones.</p> + +<p>“It’s the pirate stronghold!” cried several, at once. +“We’re in for a tight skirmish!”</p> + +<p>But Captain Walker only smiled.</p> + +<p>The brigantine, which he had been following, now +rounded-to, opened her port-holes, and fired a couple +of shots toward the pursuing craft. At the same +time an English flag was hoisted on the schooner, and +a fellow on her deck sang out through a speaking +trumpet.</p> + +<p>“Thank Heaven you have come! We were only +captured two days ago! Hurrah for the English +flag!”</p> + +<p>The <i>Duke William</i> kept on after the brigantine, her +mixed crew yelling with joy, now that they were to +have an action.</p> + +<p><em>Bang! Bang!</em></p> + +<p>Her two forward guns spoke, and a shot went ripping +through one of the foresails of the pirate.</p> + +<p>This was enough for the fighting spirit of those who +sailed the Spanish Main. For, putting about, the +brigantine scudded through a narrow channel, known +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> +only to her skipper (for no one else could have followed +without grounding upon a sand-spit), and was +soon running away upon the opposite side of a low-lying +island, now flaunting the pirate-flag from her +halyards.</p> + +<p>“She’s gone!” sadly remarked the gallant Captain +Walker, “but we can capture the gun-battery. Make +ready to go ashore, if needed!”</p> + +<p>Steering for the coast, the guns of the <i>Duke William</i> +opened upon the sandy barricade, and shot after shot +was soon making the dirt and gravel fly in every direction:</p> + +<p><em>Poom! Poom! Cu-poom!</em></p> + +<p>The cannon in the earth-work next began to speak, +and, it was apparent, from the strange noises which +some of them made, that they were full of rust.</p> + +<p><em>Cu-Poom! Cu-Pow! Chuck-chuck-cu-swash!</em> they +roared, and a few balls began to whistle about the +spars of the <i>Duke William</i>.</p> + +<p>There were some accurate marksmen upon the +deck of the British vessel, and, as she lay broadside +to the fortification, one well-aimed shot struck a cannon +and dismounted it; while another shattered the +flag-pole and brought down the flag with a crash.</p> + +<p>“Hurrah!” shouted the men from Charleston. +“Now we’ll even up with these cursed pirates for all +the damage that they’ve done us. Now, we’ll teach +them not to ravage our coasts and catch our merchant +ships!”</p> + +<p><em>Cu-whow!</em> barked the rust-caked guns of the barricade. +“<em>Go-slow! Go-back! Go-home!</em>”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> +To this a full broadside roared, and the balls tore +the top of the earth-work to shreds.</p> + +<p>“Now let thirty men take to the boats!” commanded +Captain Walker. “Steer for the beach and +rush the barricade with pistols and cutlasses. I don’t +believe that there are more than a dozen men inside +the earth-work.”</p> + +<p>“Huzzah!” was the cheerful answer to this order, +and, in a few moments, several boats were racing for +the beach, each eager to be the first ashore.</p> + +<p>As they approached, the antiquated guns on the +sand-spit became strangely silent, and, as the eager +raiders rushed valiantly upon the pirate fortress, no +shots were fired at them to impede their progress. +With a wild yell they leaped over the side of the barricade, +only to find it deserted; for whatever had been +the force that had fired these cannon, it had taken to +the brush as the English seamen drew near. Only a +few charges of ammunition were there, so it was +plainly evident that the pirates (whatever their +strength might have been) could only have held out +for a few more rounds.</p> + +<p>“Hurrah! Hurrah!” shouted the raiders. “The +fort is ours!”</p> + +<p>“And it’s a sorry victory,” said one of the crew, +“for there’s nothing here worth the having, except +the cannon, and they couldn’t stand more than two +more shots without blowing up. I call it a pretty +hollow success.”</p> + +<p>In spite of this the men of Charleston were well +pleased. They had dispersed the pirates; taken their +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> +fort; and had re-captured a schooner which had recently +been taken only a few miles from the harbor-mouth +of that fair, southern city.</p> + +<p>When they sailed into their home port they received +a tremendous ovation. The bells were rung in all the +churches; shots were fired; trumpets were blown.</p> + +<p>“We could fall in with nothing that would stay for +us upon the seas,” said Captain Walker, modestly; but, +in spite of this, he was treated like a great hero. All +the influential persons in the Colony offered to sign +a request that he might be given the command of a +king’s ship; but this he declined. So they tendered +him an immense tract of land if he would remain in +that country and drive off the pirates when next they +became too bold and daring; but this he also declined, +and stuck to his ship. In a few weeks he sailed for +the Barbadoes, and then to England, in company with +three unarmed trading-vessels which placed themselves +under his convoy. The good people of Charleston +bade him a sad and affectionate farewell.</p> + +<p>George Walker sailed forth smiling, but he was now +to have far more trouble than his little affair with the +pirates.</p> + +<p>When half way to England, a terrific gale struck +the <i>Duke William</i> and her convoys, which separated +them by many miles, and made this good vessel +(which had dispersed the pirates) leak like a sieve. +The gale continued in its violence, while Captain +Walker was so ill that the ship’s surgeon despaired of +his life. But note how grit and nerve pulled him +through!</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> +On the second day of the tempest, a sailor rushed +into his cabin, crying:</p> + +<p>“Captain! Captain! We’ll founder, for the water +is pouring into our bottom by the hogshead. We’re +gone for unless we take to the boats!”</p> + +<p>Captain Walker was not the man to leave his ship +in such a crisis.</p> + +<p>“Throw all of the guns overboard, but two!” he +ordered. “We need those in order to signal for help +if a vessel comes near us. That will lighten us so that +we can still float awhile.”</p> + +<p>This was done, but, as the last cannon shot into the +waves, a sailor burst into his cabin with the intelligence +that the men had prepared to desert in the tenders.</p> + +<p>“Carry me on deck!” roared the resolute captain. +“I’ll give these cowards a piece of my mind.”</p> + +<p>Three sailors seized him and bore him aloft, where +he remonstrated with his men in the strongest language +possible. In spite of this, many clustered about +one of the boats.</p> + +<p>“The ship’s a-sinking,” cried one. “She won’t +stand up for an hour.”</p> + +<p>As he spoke, the welcome sound of, “Sail ho!” +arose, above the wash and roar of the angry water.</p> + +<p>Sure enough, a ship was bearing down upon them, +but, to the dismay of all, she hastily hauled off again.</p> + +<p>Captain Walker was astonished. “She thinks us an +armed enemy,” said he. “Fire a gun, men, and cut +the mizzen-mast in two, so that it falls overboard. +That will show the stranger that we’re a friend in distress.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> +His orders were immediately obeyed and the mast +came ripping and tearing over the side. A gun also +roared, and the stranger, now convinced that the ship +was a friend, and not a foe, came bearing down upon +the crippled <i>Duke William</i>, to the rescue.</p> + +<p>“She’s one of our own convoy!” shouted a seaman, +waving his hand joyfully. And such she proved +to be. Captain Walker had saved his crew by his +foresight and quickness of decision. Had he thrown +all of his cannon overboard he would have had no +gun with which to hail the stranger, and, had he not +cut away his own mast, she would have gone away, +fearful that he was an enemy. Three cheers for the +brave and thoughtful Captain Walker! He reached +England, at last, but he and his men were in a sorry +plight, for the vessel which had rescued them was +almost as unseaworthy as their own, which sank in +a great whirl of eddying foam, not half an hour after +they had left her. Thus ended the career of the good +ship which had chased all of the pirates away from the +harbor of Charleston. A sad fate, indeed, for such a +gallant craft.</p> + +<p>Captain Walker was not long idle, for he soon took +charge of a brigantine trading to the Baltic Sea, in +spite of the fact that war had been declared with +France, and the privateers and gun-boats of that nation +hovered in his path, eager and anxious to secure +some English merchant vessel, as a prize.</p> + +<p>“I see that these fellows mean to catch me, if they +can,” said the keen-witted mariner. “So I intend to +be ready for them if I do not happen to be near an +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> +English man-of-warsman when they come sailing +by.”</p> + +<p>He therefore shipped a number of wooden guns, +which were painted black, so that, at a distance, they +looked exactly like the real thing. Upon his vessel +were only six cannon, so when—a short time afterwards—he +was chased by a French privateer off the +coast of Scotland—he had an excellent opportunity +to “bluff” the bold marauder.</p> + +<p>As the Frenchman drew near, the vessel which Captain +Walker was on kept steadily upon her way, and, +through his glass, the cautious mariner saw that his +pursuer carried fully twenty guns.</p> + +<p>“Run out our dummy cannon!” he ordered.</p> + +<p>Out were thrust the black, wooden muzzles, twenty-five +in number, and—as the Frenchman was now +within shooting distance—the English boat was +luffed into the wind. In a second the British jack, +ensign, and man-of-war’s pendant were hoisted, and a +gun was fired across the bow of the arrogant privateer.</p> + +<p>“Come on!” shouted bold Walker. “I am waiting +for you!”</p> + +<p>But the enemy did not come on. Instead of this, +she turned tail in a hurry, filled away, and made off +as fast as a freshening breeze would drive her.</p> + +<p>“Ha! Ha! Ha!” laughed the genial, English +skipper. “Bluffed by a lot of wooden guns. Ha! +Ha! Ha!”</p> + +<p>And all of his sailors gave a rousing cheer.</p> + +<p>This was indeed good fortune, but Captain Walker +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> +was soon to meet with some fortune which was quite +the reverse.</p> + +<p>It was the year 1744 and the doughty sailor had +accepted the command of the privateer <i>Mars</i>, of +twenty-six guns and one hundred and thirty men, +which sailed from London for a cruise in the English +channel. With her was the <i>Boscawen</i>, another privateer +with about the same number of guns, but with a +crew of fully one hundred and eighty. They soon +had an adventure which was not all to the liking of +bold George Walker.</p> + +<p>At midnight, late in December, the two privateers +were running near the coast of France. There +was a heavy mist and rain, also a fresh breeze, +so the steersmen could not well see what way they +were going. Suddenly the hulls of two large vessels +loomed up in the blackness, and the twinkling lights +from their port-holes shone upon the dripping sides of +the British privateers. Voices came through the mist—French +voices—so it was apparent that the ships +were not friends.</p> + +<p>“Those fellows are showing much alarm,” said +Captain Walker, a few moments later. “I therefore +believe that the vessels are full of treasure. We’ll +hang on until daylight, at any rate, and see whether +or no we cannot capture a rich cargo.”</p> + +<p>Next morning, at eight o’clock, the fog suddenly +lifted, disclosing—not two treasure ships—but two +French men-of-war; one bearing seventy-four guns, +the other sixty-four.</p> + +<p>“Egad!” ejaculated the startled Walker. “We’re +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> +in a hornet’s nest! I guess we’d better run for +it!”</p> + +<p>The Frenchmen, however, were both treasure-ships, +as well as men-of-war; both bound from the West +Indies, with cargoes worth about four millions sterling +($20,000,000), which they were carrying into the +harbor of Brest. They were not in good fighting +trim, as their heavy cargoes made them low in the +water, and very unwieldy. It is probable that they +would not have attacked the two Englishmen, had not +the captain of the <i>Boscawen</i> turned tail and fled, leaving +the <i>Mars</i> all alone.</p> + +<p>“Did you ever see such a coward?” cried Captain +Walker, with heat. “Boys! We’re in for it now!”</p> + +<p>Sure enough, they were: for the Frenchmen saw +that only one enemy was left, and immediately sent +the sixty-four gun ship—the <i>Fleuron</i>—in pursuit.</p> + +<p>Walker turned his vessel about and clapped on +all sail, but the large gun-boat quickly overhauled +him.</p> + +<p>“Gentlemen!” said Captain Walker, as she rapidly +approached. “I do not mean to be so rash as to attempt +a regular engagement with so superior a force; +all I ask of you is to confide in me and my orders, to +get away—if possible—without striking our flag; +and, be assured, I shall not call upon you to fight unless +there is excellent opportunity for success. The +ship which pursues us is certainly the better sailer of +the two French men-of-war; yet, if we have good +fortune with our shots, we may bring down a topmast +or yard; or hurt her rigging so as to retard her +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> +pursuit. We may yet get entirely clear. So, my hearties, +do not lose your nerve!”</p> + +<p>These wise remarks were greeted with a “Hip! +Hip! Hooray!”</p> + +<p>Now was a lively chase. The <i>Mars</i> hoisted the +English flag, opened with her stern guns, and put on +all available canvas. But she was not a fast sailer, +and gradually but surely, the <i>Fleuron</i> crept up on one +side, and the other French man-of-war upon the other. +She, too, had entered the chase.</p> + +<p>Finally the French vessels had the British privateer +directly between them.</p> + +<p>“The jig is up!” cried Captain Walker, sadly. +“Gentlemen, we do not strike to one ship only. Haul +down the colors!”</p> + +<p>Down came the proud ensign, the sails were lowered, +and the gallant Walker entered a boat, in order +that he might be put aboard the <i>Fleuron</i> and give up +his sword. When he arrived on the deck he found the +French captain by no means in the politest of humors.</p> + +<p>After receiving the weapon of the vanquished privateersman, +the Frenchman thundered in very good +English:</p> + +<p>“How dare you fire against a force like mine in so +small a ship? Sirrah, you must be stark mad. I +compliment you upon your lack of judgment.”</p> + +<p>Captain Walker was nettled.</p> + +<p>“Sir,” he replied, with warmth, “if you will look +at my commission you will find that I had as good a +right to fight as you, yourself, had. Furthermore, if +my force had not been so inferior to yours, I would +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> +have shown you more civil treatment on board my +own ship, after I had captured you.”</p> + +<p>The Frenchman winced.</p> + +<p>“How many of your bushwhackers have I killed?” +said he.</p> + +<p>“None at all, sir!” replied the Englishman.</p> + +<p>“Then, sir, you should be well ashamed of your +scurvy fighting. For you have killed six of my brave +men and have wounded several with pieces of glass. +Pray, when, sir, did the rules of war allow glass to +be used as ammunition?”</p> + +<p>“You lie,” cried Captain Walker. “No glass was +used by my men.”</p> + +<p>The Frenchman curbed his anger.</p> + +<p>“Then what was it?” said he.</p> + +<p>Here a British seaman interrupted.</p> + +<p>“If it would please your French Majesty,” he said, +with a bow, “I reckon I know what it was that you +took for glass. The captain of one of our stern guns, +when he found out that we must surrender, sir, took +about sixteen shillings from his pocket, saying: +‘Sooner than let these French rascals plunder me of +all I’ve got in the world, I’ll see what a bribe can do!’ +So he wrapped the money up in a bag, sir, crammed +it into a gun, and let fly at your deck. Faith, your +men were lucky to be struck by good, British coin!”</p> + +<p>At this all had a good laugh, and the unpleasantness +between the French captain and George Walker was +at an end. The privateersman was treated with the +greatest courtesy and was made as comfortable as +could be.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> +The action took place on Friday and the ships were +headed for Brest, about three days’ sail away. At daybreak +on Sunday morning, four large boats were +sighted astern, and it did not take long to realize that +they were coming up pretty fast <em>and were flying the +English colors</em>.</p> + +<p>“Hurray!” shouted Captain Walker. “No French +prison for me. Hurray!”</p> + +<p>The English squadron gained steadily. The boats +grew nearer and nearer, while Walker’s hopes soared +higher and higher. Finally, the French officer, who +was in charge of his own boat—the <i>Mars</i>—put his +helm up and ran to leeward, hoping to draw one of +the British vessels after him. He was successful, for +a seventy-gun ship made after him, chased him for +several miles, and finally re-captured the English +privateer. The other ships kept on and drew closer +and closer.</p> + +<p>Seeing that an action would soon take place, the +French captain politely requested Walker and his +officers to go below.</p> + +<p>“Messieurs!” said he. “There will soon be a leetle +affair in which the balls will fly. You will be better +off in the hold, where they cannot reach you so easily +as up here.”</p> + +<p>“Sir!” replied the English privateer-captain. “I +go below with the greatest of pleasure, for I am now +certain of my liberty. Au revoir!”</p> + +<p>“Do not count your chickens before they hatch!” +cried the Frenchman, after his retreating form.</p> + +<p>The British vessels were the <i>Hampton Court</i> of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> +seventy guns, and the <i>Sunderland</i> and <i>Dreadnought</i> of +sixty each; so, being three to two, they should have +had a fairly easy victory over the Frenchmen. But +the <i>Sunderland</i> lost a spar overboard, and dropped +astern; so it left but two to two: an even affair.</p> + +<p>Alas for gallant Captain Walker! Although the +Englishmen came near the two French men-of-war, +they hung about without firing a shot; allowed the +Frenchmen to sail on unmolested, and thus carry their +astonishingly rich treasure into Brest, amid wild and +enthusiastic cheering of their crews, and groans of disappointment +from the English prisoners.</p> + +<p>Yet these same prisoners had little cause to complain +of their treatment when they arrived at Brest; +for they were landed at once, and the captain and officers +were liberated on parole. The French also +treated them very well and invited the valorous George +Walker to many a repast, where they laughed at the +narrow shave that he had had from death,—for they +had left the <i>Fleuron</i> none too soon.</p> + +<p>On the day following the landing, Captain Walker +was seated in the office of a counting-house, near the +dock-end, and was writing a letter to the captain of +the <i>Fleuron</i>, requesting him to send him his letter-of-credit, +which was in a tin box in a cabin of the French +man-of-war, when a terrible <em>Boom!</em> sounded upon his +ears.</p> + +<p>A sailor came running past the open window.</p> + +<p>“The <i>Fleuron</i> has blown up!” he cried. “The +<i>Fleuron</i> is a total loss!”</p> + +<p>Captain Walker dashed into the street; to the end +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> +of the quay; and there a sad spectacle greeted his +eager gaze. Strewn about upon the surface of the +water were broken spars; pieces of sail; and the débris +of a once gallant man-of-war. The remnants of +the <i>Fleuron</i> were burning brightly.</p> + +<p>The captain of the French ship came running by. +“Helas!” he wailed. “A careless gunner has destroyed +my gallant vessel. Helas! Helas!”</p> + +<p>It was too true. Four or five powder barrels had +been left in the magazine for saluting purposes, and +quite a little loose powder had been allowed to lie upon +the floor. Some careless seamen had gone down into +the hold with a decrepit, old lantern. The handle +broke, the flame set fire to the loose powder,—and +that was the end of the gallant ship <i>Fleuron</i>. She +burned to the water’s edge and then went down to the +bottom with a dull, sizzling hiss; while the treasure +also disappeared. Later on, divers secured a part of +it, but much that was of value was never recovered.</p> + +<p>Captain Walker did not long grieve over the loss of +his letter-of-credit, left on board the ill-starred <i>Fleuron</i>, +for he was exchanged, after a few weeks, and +was sent back to England with his crew. This was in +1745. He lost no time in reporting to the owners of +the <i>Mars</i>, and so well did they think of him, that in +a short while they sent him upon another privateering +venture aboard the <i>Boscawen</i>, which, as you remember, +had run away from the <i>Mars</i>, after she had fallen in +with the two French men-of-war. Now occurred his +greatest sea-fight.</p> + +<p>The <i>Boscawen</i> had been built in France and had +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> +been a prize, taken at sea. She mounted twenty-eight +guns (nine-pounders), but Walker added two more, +and shipped a crew of three hundred and fourteen men. +Without waiting for the <i>Mars</i>, the stout sea-dog put +out to sea on April 19th, 1745, steering for the shores +of France where cruised the prize-laden clipper ships, +and the unwelcome men-of-warsmen. The British +privateersman cruised about for a whole month without +any luck, and, falling in with the privateer <i>Sheerness</i>, +joined with her in a little run in search of inoffensive +merchantmen. At daybreak a cry came from +the forward watch,—</p> + +<p>“Sails ho! Sails ho! Off the starboard quarter! +There’re eight o’ them an’ heading no’ east.”</p> + +<p>Both the privateers started in pursuit, but the <i>Sheerness</i> +was left far astern, as the <i>Boscawen</i> was a speedy +sailer. The latter drew near the eight scudding sail, +which suddenly veered about and formed a line, awaiting +an attack. The <i>Sheerness</i> was way astern. Would +Captain Walker advance?</p> + +<p>It was eight against one, and there was no certainty +what was the armament of the vessels now standing +in a row, all ready for action. The faces of the officers +on the <i>Boscawen</i> showed anxiety and suspense, but +there was no shadow of fear upon the countenance of +Captain Walker, who now addressed them in the following +words:</p> + +<p>“Gentlemen, I hope that you do not think the number +of prizes before us too many. Be assured, my +good friends, that by their being armed, they have +something on board of them that is worth defending. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> +I take them to be merchantmen with letters of marque +(privateers), and homeward bound. Without doubt +we shall meet with some opposition, in which I know +that you will exhibit your usual courage. We must +conquer these superior numbers by superior skill. Be +cool. Be careful that you aim correctly, for, as we +shall be pressed on all sides, let every man do his best +to engage the enemy that he sees before him.</p> + +<p>“In a word, Gentlemen, if you will put full confidence +in me for leading you on, I will pawn my life +upon the fact that I will bring you off victorious.”</p> + +<p>“Hurray! Hurray for Walker!” came the reassuring +response.</p> + +<p>“Then go to your quarters, my hearties! Fight like +Britishers of old, and all will be well!” cried the brave +mariner.</p> + +<p>Like a hornet among a group of snap-dragons, the +<i>Boscawen</i> now sailed into the centre of the enemy’s +line.</p> + +<p>“Do not fire until I give the word!” cried Captain +Walker, as the salt spray kicked and splashed about +the bow of the on-coming <i>Boscawen</i>. “Then hammer +away like anvils on a sledge!”</p> + +<p>Sixty men were ill on board the stout little English +privateer, but all save three crawled on deck in order +to render what assistance they could in pointing and +handling the guns.</p> + +<p>Now was a glorious fight.</p> + +<p><em>Bang! Crash! Z-i-i-p!</em></p> + +<p>The French privateers were hammering away as the +Englishman approached and their balls cut and tore +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> +through the rigging, damaging the mizzen topsail, +and splitting a topmast. Steering straight for the +largest vessel, Walker waited until he was within close +range and then gave the order:</p> + +<p>“Fire, and hull her if you can.”</p> + +<p><em>Poof! Cr-a-a-sh!</em></p> + +<p>A blinding broadside rolled from the port of the +<i>Boscawen</i>, and the solid shot bit and tore the stranger +like a terrier mouthing a rat.</p> + +<p>The valiant little privateer was now in the midst +of the enemy. Two were to right of her; two to the +left of her; one across her bow; and one across her +stern. Two of the eight decamped, at this juncture; +making the odds six, instead of eight, to one.</p> + +<p>“<em>Pow! Pow! Cu-boom!</em>”</p> + +<p>The vessel astern was banging away like a Banshee, +but a sudden <em>crash</em> from the stern guns so badly damaged +her that she hauled off. It was now five to one.</p> + +<p>“Keep it up, boys!” cried Walker, above the roar +and rattle of the fray. “You’re doing splendidly. +You all deserve statues in the temple of fame.”</p> + +<p>“Huzzah!” shouted his men. “Hurray for the +<i>Boscawen</i>. Down with the Frenchmen!”</p> + +<p>“<em>Cu-pow! Boom! Boom!</em>” roared the cannon, +while the broadsides from the <i>Boscawen</i> were delivered +without either confusion or disorder. The five were +sparring gamely, but they were lightly armed, with +only a few guns to each, so the thirty nine-pounders +on board the English privateer were about an equal +match for the greater numbers of the foe.</p> + +<p>Thus the fight raged for an hour, when, suddenly, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> +the ensign upon the mast of the French flagship was +seen to flutter to the deck. Ten minutes later a cry +arose from a sailor aboard the <i>Boscawen</i>:</p> + +<p>“Look, Captain, she’s sinking!”</p> + +<p>Sure enough, the accurate fire from the British +privateer had so riddled the hull of the Frenchman, +that she fast filled with water, and sank, stern first, +her men escaping in their small boats.</p> + +<p>“That’s one less, anyway,” mused Captain Walker.</p> + +<p>The remaining four continued the fight, but the +little privateer was too much for them. Around and +around she veered, broadsiding with astonishing accuracy, +and knocking the spars about like a foot-ball +team kicking a ball. “<em>Pow! Pow!</em>” the guns roared, +and the men cried, “Remember the oath of our captain! +Let’s take ’em all!”</p> + +<p>It began to look as if they would do it, too; for, +now upon the starboard quarter appeared the white +sails of a vessel, and, as she approached, a joyous cheer +arose from the deck of the <i>Boscawen</i>, for it was the +<i>Sheerness</i>.</p> + +<p>“Now we’ll get ’em! Now we’ll get ’em!” yelled +the British sailors, and they plied their guns with renewed +activity and care.</p> + +<p>Down came the flag upon one of the Frenchmen, +and—in a few moments—down came another. +Then, as the <i>Sheerness</i> rolled closer, two more ensigns +fluttered to the deck. There was but one Frenchman +left, and she made off, with the newcomer hot in pursuit.</p> + +<p>“Hurray! Hurray! Hurray!” The sailors on +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> +board the <i>Boscawen</i> were fairly jumping for joy. +“Hurray! Hurray! Hurray!” they yelled.</p> + +<p>And well might they cheer, for had they not won +one of the pluckiest sea-fights of all history? The +enemy is said to have had one hundred and thirteen +killed and drowned, while the casualties of the <i>Boscawen</i> +amounted to but one killed and seven wounded. +“And this,” says an old chronicler of the spirited affair, +“was due to the fact that the British privateer +had a bulwark of elm-planking, man-high, around her +deck. It was so fashioned that there was a step on +which the marines could mount and fire, and then +come down in order to load. Furthermore, this elm-wood +did not splinter; but kept out the bullets, and +closed up around the holes made by shot.”</p> + +<p>At any rate, it was a glorious victory, and when—a +few hours later—the <i>Sheerness</i> came back with the +other French vessel a prize, the total capture amounted +to six vessels: homeward bound traders from Martinique, +provided with letters of marque, and with +about six guns each. Their crews were undoubtedly +undisciplined and ill-used to shooting, else how could +they have done so badly with the <i>Boscawen</i>?</p> + +<p>The prizes were headed for the English coast and +arrived at King’s Road, Bristol, in a few days, where +a swarm of eager sight-seers crowded about the shattered +craft.</p> + +<p>“My! My!” said many. “This Walker is another +Drake. He is a valiant soul!”</p> + +<p>And so thought the British Admiralty, for they sent +him a letter (upon his reporting to them) which read:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> +“We cannot too highly congratulate and commend +you upon the seamanship and courage which you have +displayed in the capture of these French vessels. Your +daring and ability should always make your name one +to be revered by those Britishers who follow the sea. +May your future career upon the ocean but add to the +laurels which you have already won!”</p> + +<p>And were they not right?</p> + +<p>Seldom has such a feat been accomplished, and +seldom has one vessel come off victorious against such +odds. If you love a game warrior, cheer for George +Walker, for he deserves it. If you are an admirer of +the fighting quality in a man, give three times three +for the privateersman who had the nerve to sail into +eight vessels,—and won out.</p> + +<p>So much, indeed, did the British owners of the privateer +vessels think of Captain Walker, that he was +now placed in command of four ships, known as “The +Royal Family of Privateers,” for each was named +after some member of the English royal family. These +were the <i>Princess Amelia</i>, of twenty-four guns and +one hundred and fifty men: the <i>Prince Frederick</i> of +twenty-six guns and two hundred and sixty men: the +<i>Duke</i> of twenty guns and two hundred and sixty men; +and the <i>King George</i>, of thirty-two guns and three +hundred men. This last boat was commanded by +Walker, himself; the <i>Duke</i> by Edward Dottin, a +staunch sailor; the <i>Prince Frederick</i> by Hugh +Bromedge; and the <i>Princess Amelia</i> by Robert Denham. +The entire squadron carried nearly a thousand +men and one hundred and two guns, so, you see, that +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> +it could do quite a little damage to the enemies of +Merrie England.</p> + +<p>Sailing in May, 1746, the squadron soon met with +hard luck, for the <i>Prince Frederick</i> ran upon a rock +in Bristol Channel, and had to be left behind; for she +was badly punctured below the water-line. The three +others sailed for the coast of France, and—a week +later—had a startling little adventure.</p> + +<p>A heavy fog lay over the sobbing water, and the +three English sea-robbers were gliding along within +easy gun-shot of each other, when it was evident that +they were near some other vessels. Voices came out +of the mist, lights flashed (for it was near the close of +day), and the wash of water could be heard, as the +waves beat against solid oak planking.</p> + +<p>“Egad!” whispered Captain Walker to one of his +lieutenants. “Listen, my boy, and tell me whether +these voices are French, Spanish, or English.”</p> + +<p>The lieutenant held a speaking-trumpet to his ear.</p> + +<p>The <em>swish</em>, <em>swish</em> of water came to the eager senses +of the anxious privateersman. That was all!</p> + +<p>Captain Walker passed the word around among +his men to be absolutely silent, and, as he strained his +hearing, in order to catch the faintest sound from the +strangers, suddenly he heard the sentence,</p> + +<p>“Pressy! Chantez une chanson. Je vais me +coucher.” (Sing a song, Pressy. I am going to +bed.)</p> + +<p>In a second the gallant Walker knew that, as once +before, he was in the midst of some French vessels.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> +“Caught!” he whispered. “And I believe that +they’re men-of-warsmen! Now we’re in a pretty +pickle!”</p> + +<p>His officers scowled.</p> + +<p>“I know that they’re men-o’-warsmen,” said one, +“for, just now, the fog lifted for a second, and I could +make out—by their lights—that they were large +gun-ships.”</p> + +<p>Captain Walker looked dejected.</p> + +<p>“The deuce,” said he.</p> + +<p>But he soon regained his composure.</p> + +<p>“Put every light out on board,” he ordered. +“These fellows see us, for I hear them bearing over +our way.”</p> + +<p>Sure enough, from the swashing of water and glimmer +of lights in the fog, it could be seen that the great +lumbering men-of-war were closing in upon the privateer. +But the Frenchmen had a human eel to capture +and he was equal to the occasion.</p> + +<p>“Bring up a couple of casks from below!” cried +Captain Walker. They were soon on deck.</p> + +<p>“Now put a lantern in one and lash them together,” +he continued. “We’ll alter our course and skip, while +the Frenchies will follow this light.”</p> + +<p>The ruse worked magnificently, and, when morning +dawned and the bright sun burned off the fog, the +French men-of-war found themselves hovering around +a couple of old casks with a lantern tied to the top; +while Captain Walker in the <i>King George</i> was scudding +along the French coast, many miles away. At +which the French captain remarked,</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> +“Sapristi! L’oiseau s’est envolé.” (Egad! The +bird has flown!)</p> + +<p>Not long after this “The Royal Family of Privateers” +took some valuable prizes, and, having chased +a small, French merchantman into the bay of Safia, in +Morocco, Captain Walker determined to capture her +at night, by sending a party against her in the long-boats. +A second lieutenant was put in charge of this +venture, and, at dark three tenders, crowded with +armed seamen and propelled by muffled oars, started +after the prize. As they neared the merchantman a +hail came through the blackness:</p> + +<p>“Qui est la?” (Who is there?)</p> + +<p>No answer was made to this, but the boats kept +straight on.</p> + +<p><em>Crash! Bang!</em></p> + +<p>A gun roared in the faces of the privateers, and +shots came falling around them like hail-stones,—but +still they kept on.</p> + +<p>Again <em>Crash! Crash! Crash!</em></p> + +<p>The Frenchmen were plying their guns right willingly, +but the English sailors could not be stopped, +and they neared the vessel under vigorous sweeps of +the oars. The lieutenant in command was badly +wounded, and was forced to lie in the bottom of his +boat, but—in a few moments—the tenders were +alongside the merchantman, and the sailors, with a +wild yell, were clambering to her deck. There was a +fierce hand-to-hand struggle, but nothing would gainsay +the rush of the British tars. In twenty minutes +the fight was all over and the vessel was towed out of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> +the bay, in triumph, next morning. As she was a +smart, little craft she was turned into a privateer in +place of the <i>Prince Frederick</i> (which had run +aground) and was christened the <i>Prince George</i>.</p> + +<p>The “Royal Family” continued upon its way, made +many captures, and—after eight months—put into +the harbor of Lisbon with prizes and prize-money +amounting to £220,000 (about $1,100,000). So you +can see that privateering was a very lucrative trade in +those days, when successfully pursued. Not a single +man had been killed aboard the little fleet, but many +had been severely wounded. The ships were overhauled, +refitted, and, being joined by the <i>Prince +Frederick</i>, amounted to six in number, for the vessel +captured in the harbor of Safia had been converted +into a full-fledged privateer. Now was to be one of +the most gruelling sea-fights in which George Walker +ever engaged.</p> + +<p>In the month of October the squadron was cruising +off of Lagos Bay, on the coast of Portugal, when a +large sail was sighted at about five in the morning. +The <i>Princess Amelia</i> was at anchor in the harbor of +Lagos, so Captain Walker sent a small sloop (a recent +capture) after her to tell her to “Hurry up and +get under way,” while he gave signal to the other +vessels to chase the stranger at once. All started after +the foreigner, who stood to the northward and could +be seen to be crowding on all possible canvas. There +were four ships in this merry little chase, but two of +them—the <i>Duke</i> and the <i>Prince George</i>—dropped +out, after about an hour’s run. They either could not +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> +get up, or else their captains grew tired of the affair.</p> + +<p>On, on, went the other privateers, and—at about +noon—Walker drew near the fugitive, in the <i>King +George</i>. The <i>Prince Frederick</i>, with her twenty-six +guns, was still some distance away, but Walker kept +after the stranger, although he now saw that she was +a large vessel,—much more powerful than the <i>King +George</i>, with her thirty-two guns and three hundred +men. He was rapidly nearing the big fellow, when it +grew suddenly calm, so that neither could move.</p> + +<p>At this moment an ejaculation of astonishment +burst from the lips of some of the officers aboard the +saucy <i>King George</i>.</p> + +<p>“She’s a seventy-four!” cried several. “We’re in +a tight hole!”</p> + +<p>Sure enough, the pursued hoisted her colors, ran +out her guns, and showed herself to be a man-of-warsman +carrying seventy-four cannon: over double +the amount of armament aboard the plucky <i>King +George</i>.</p> + +<p>“I can’t make out whether she’s Spanish or Portuguese,” +said Captain Walker, gazing carefully at her +drooping flag.</p> + +<p>The colors hung down in the dead calm, and it was +impossible to tell whether they were Spanish or Portuguese; +for the two ensigns—at that period—were +very similar.</p> + +<p>The sea-warriors drifted along, eyeing each other, +for about an hour, when the stranger ran in her lower +deck-guns and closed her port-holes.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> +“She’s a treasure ship,” cried a sailor. “And she +won’t fight if she can avoid it!”</p> + +<p>Walker turned to his officers and asked,</p> + +<p>“Gentlemen, shall we fight her?”</p> + +<p>“Aye! Aye!” came from all. “She’s afraid of +us!”</p> + +<p>The vessel, in fact, was a treasure ship which had +been recently chased by some English men-of-war and +had already landed her treasure, to the value of about +one million sterling (about $5,000,000). A slight +breeze sprang up, at about five in the afternoon, and +the big ship kept on her course; the gamey <i>King +George</i> following, while the white sails of the <i>Prince +Frederick</i> were far astern, as the breeze had not yet +struck her. So they swashed along, the Englishmen +anxious for a fight, and a chance to overhaul the supposed +treasure which the stranger was carrying. At +eight o’clock the <i>King George</i> was struck by a favorable +puff of wind, and came quite close to the seventy-four. +It was time for battle.</p> + +<p>“What ship is that?” hailed Captain Walker, in +the Portuguese tongue. He was cleared for action +and his men were all lying down at their quarters. +There was no answer to his challenge.</p> + +<p>“What ship is that?” he asked again; this time in +English.</p> + +<p>A voice came back,—also in English,</p> + +<p>“And what ship may you be?”</p> + +<p>“The <i>King George</i>.”</p> + +<p><em>Crash! B-oo-m!</em></p> + +<p>A thundering broadside belched from the side of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> +the seventy-four, dismounting two guns on the port +side of the <i>King George</i>, and bringing the main topsail +yard crashing to the deck. It was now bright moonlight, +and in its radiance the flag of the stranger was +seen to blow straight out, disclosing her nationality to +be Spanish. She was the <i>Glorioso</i>: a strong and powerful +vessel, ably officered and ably manned. She +towered above the little <i>King George</i> like a church-spire, +and her broadsides now sputtered with great +regularity.</p> + +<p><em>Crash! Crash! Crash!</em></p> + +<p>The sprightly little <i>King George</i> kept after the big +warship like a sword-fish chasing a whale. She drew +so close that some burning wads from the Spanish +guns set fire to her mainsail. Continually hoping that +the <i>Prince Frederick</i> would come up, the gallant +Walker hammered away at the <i>Glorioso</i> with furious +precision, and drove her so near the rocks off Cape +Vincent that the castle guns began to play upon the +two grappling warriors of the sea. The British sea-captain +fought and commanded with “a calmness +peculiar to himself” and his example secured order +and discipline even in the thickest of the fight, when +the mainsail was set on fire. He was magnificent in +action.</p> + +<p>So the unequal struggle kept on. By half-past ten +the <i>King George</i> had been so severely damaged aloft +that she could not have escaped if she had tried. All +the braces were shot away; the foremast was quite +disabled; and the mainmast was badly splintered. +Battered, torn, and distressed she kept banging away +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> +at the great, towering Spaniard; while the big fellow +ceased her fire somewhat, and ever now and again +let go a broadside, like the blow from the mouth of a +huge whale. It sounded like, <em>Chu-spow!</em></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a name="action_between_ships" id="action_between_ships"></a> +<img src="images/fpas14.jpg" width="600" height="353" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p class="caption">ACTION BETWEEN THE “GLORIOSO” AND THE “KING GEORGE” AND “PRINCE FREDERICK” UNDER GEORGE WALKER.</p> + +<p>But hurrah! hurrah! The <i>Prince Frederick</i> had at +last caught the breeze, and came bouncing by, her little +pennons fluttering like so many silk stockings on a +clothes-line.</p> + +<p>“Are you all well?” shouted her commander, as +he neared the splintered <i>King George</i>. “You look as +if you’re sinking.”</p> + +<p>Captain Walker came to the rail with the speaking-trumpet +in his hand.</p> + +<p>“One killed and fifteen wounded,” he answered. +“Now sail after that Spanish villain and take her, +in revenge for all the damage that she has done me. +She’s a treasure ship.”</p> + +<p>“All right,” Captain Dottin called back, and he +kept on after the <i>Glorioso</i>, which was now rapidly +drawing away.</p> + +<p>By the bright moonlight it could be seen that the +<i>Duke</i> and the <i>Prince George</i> were also approaching. +And, when they came close enough to the maimed +and battered <i>King George</i>, her captain called to them, +“to keep on after the Spaniard, and catch the rascal.” +They continued on their way, and, at daybreak the +three vessels could be seen, through the glass, as they +closed in upon the Spanish game-cock from three +sides. “She’ll be ours before nightfall,” said Captain +Walker, chuckling.</p> + +<p>The headmost ship, apparently the <i>Duke</i> under +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> +Captain Dottin, could now be seen to hotly engage the +<i>Glorioso</i>, which greatly displeased the captain of the +dismantled <i>King George</i>.</p> + +<p>“Dottin will fire away all of his cartridges,” said +he, turning to a few of his officers, who clustered +around him. “He will shoot them all off at too great +a distance, and will afterwards be obliged to load +with loose powder, by which some fatal accident is +sure to occur. He’s a brave fellow, but a rash one!”</p> + +<p>He had scarcely spoken, when a broadside rang out. +Simultaneously, with the discharge of the guns, a +pillar of smoke and flame shot high into the air.</p> + +<p>“Good Heavens, the <i>Duke</i> has blown up!” cried +Captain Walker. “Dottin and his brave followers +have found a watery grave!”</p> + +<p>“It is merely the smoke of a broadside,” one of the +officers interrupted.</p> + +<p>“No! No!” answered Walker, dejectedly. “It’s +the last that will ever be seen of noble Dottin and his +men!”</p> + +<p>The smoke now cleared away and no ship was to be +seen upon the surface of the water. The <i>Glorioso</i> +was still-belching both smoke and flame, and near her +were three sails, indistinctly seen through a haze of +smoke and fog. Could it not have been the <i>Duke</i>, +after all? “Vain thought,” cried bold Walker, aloud. +“Our bravest and best ship has gone to the bottom.”</p> + +<p>This terrible incident had such an effect upon the +seamen of the <i>King George</i> that Captain Walker called +the officers aside into the companionway, and there +made them a speech.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> +“My brave men,” said he, “you must keep up an +air of cheerfulness before these fellows of ours, for, +otherwise they will be backward in fighting, and will +not have the courage which we desire. Go among +them and show no sign that you are lacking in pleasantry.”</p> + +<p>As he ceased speaking there was a series of sudden +explosions, mingled with cries of alarm.</p> + +<p>“Gad zooks! What’s happened!” cried all, rushing +to the deck.</p> + +<p>They found matters in a sorry state, for the crew +was in a panic; some clinging outside the ship; some +climbing out upon the bowsprit, all ready to jump +overboard should the vessel blow up.</p> + +<p>Captain Walker was astonished. “Why, men!” +said he. “What means this confusion?”</p> + +<p>It was easily explained, for the alarm had been +caused by a seaman who stepped upon a number of +loaded muskets, which had been covered by a sail. +One was fired off accidentally, and this exploded some +spare ammunition, set the sail on fire, and completely +demoralized the crew; who still were thinking of the +sad tragedy which they had just witnessed. Order +was quickly restored, the blazing sail was torn down +and bucketed, and the terrified sailors came back to +their posts. When men have their nerves shattered, it +is easy to startle them.</p> + +<p>But how about the <i>Glorioso</i>?</p> + +<p>The fair-fighting Spaniard was far out of sight, by +now, still whanging away at her many enemies, and +still proudly flaunting the flag of Arragon in the faces +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> +of the British war-dogs, who were snapping and snarling +at her like a wolf pack. What became of her was +not known for several days, when the poor, battered +<i>King George</i> staggered into a sheltering harbor, there +to meet with the <i>Duke</i> herself, which was Dottin’s +good ship,—the one which all had thought to have +exploded and sunk.</p> + +<p>“Hurray!” shouted many. “She’s afloat after +all!”</p> + +<p>Eager questioning brought out the fact that it had +been the frigate <i>Dartmouth</i> which had exploded; a +vessel which had run near the fight in order to see +the fun. Some loose powder had set fire to her magazine, +and thus she had suffered the same fate as the +<i>Fleuron</i>, which, as you remember, had blown up, when +at anchor in the harbor of Brest. <em>It’s a wise ship that +keeps away from a sea battle.</em></p> + +<p>Only seventeen of the crew of this unfortunate +craft had been picked up by the boats of the <i>Prince +Frederick</i>; one of whom was an Irish lieutenant +named O’Brien, who was hauled aboard Dottin’s vessel, +clad only in a night shirt.</p> + +<p>“Sirrah!” said he, bowing politely. “You must +excuse the unfitness of my dress to come aboard a +strange ship, but really I left my own in such a hurry +that I had no time to stay for a change.” He had +been blown out of a port-hole!</p> + +<p>An additional vessel, the <i>Russel</i>, had aided in the +capture of the powerful <i>Glorioso</i>, so it had taken four +privateers to down the proud Castilian: the <i>Duke</i>, the +<i>Prince George</i>, the <i>Prince Frederick</i>, and the <i>Russel</i>. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> +Certainly she had put up a magnificent battle and she +had completely crippled the stout little craft sailed by +Captain Walker, who was now filled with chagrin and +mortification, when he found that the treasure (which +he had been sure was in the hold) had been safely +landed at Ferrol, before he had sighted this valorous +man-of-warsman. It was a great blow both to him +and to his men, and, upon arriving at Lisbon he was +met by one of the owners of his own vessel, who +severely reprimanded him for fighting with such a +powerful boat.</p> + +<p>“Captain Walker,” said he, “I fear that your fighting +blood is superior to your prudence!”</p> + +<p>But to this, the game old sea-dog replied, with considerable +heat:</p> + +<p>“Had the treasure been aboard the <i>Glorioso</i>, as I +expected, my dear sir, your compliment would have +been far different. Or had we let her escape from us +with the treasure aboard, what would you have said +then?”</p> + +<p>To these sage reflections the owner did not reply.</p> + +<p>The honesty and courage of this able seaman were +never questioned, and the following incident bears +good witness to the first quality. Upon one occasion +he was sailing for Lisbon in a well-armed privateer, +when a couple of East India trading ships offered him +£1,000 ($5,000) if he would act as their guard and +protect them from the enemy.</p> + +<p>“Gentlemen,” said he to the captain of these vessels, +“I shall never take a reward for what I consider it +my duty to do without one. I consider it my bounden +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> +duty to conduct you both safely into port, for you +are both British ships, and I am engaged to fight the +enemies of our King.”</p> + +<p>So he convoyed them safely into port and would +not take even the smallest present, in recompense for +his services.</p> + +<p>As a fighter he had no superior. War is simply +glorified sport and those who are best trained athletically +can usually win upon the battle-field. Did not +Wellington say, “The battle of Waterloo was won +upon the foot-ball grounds of Eton and Harrow?” +Which was another way of saying that the boys who +had learned to stand punishment upon the athletic +field, could take it manfully and well upon the field of +battle.</p> + +<p>Walker believed in athletic exercise and made his +sailors continually practice both gunnery and work +with the cutlass. They were always in training and +always prepared. That is the reason why they won. +As you know, if you want to win in athletics you have +to train hard and practice daily. If you want to win +at warfare you have to do likewise. The most athletic +nation is the nation which will win in the long fight, +providing that it has sufficient resources and money +to carry out a war, once that it has placed its men in +the field. It takes a great deal of money to fight a +war, but it takes trained men also, and those who are +the most fit will win every time.</p> + +<p>The English are an athletic nation, an island nation, +and great numbers of her people have had to +follow the sea as a matter of course. Hence England +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> +has always had a vast quantity of well-trained seamen +at her beck and call. For this reason she has been +more successful upon the ocean than many of her +neighbors. Will she continue to be?</p> + +<p><em>If she continues to breed men like George Walker +there is little reason to doubt that she will always be +a winner in sea fighting.</em></p> + +<p>As for this famous mariner, little is known of his +later life save that he was once imprisoned for debt, +but this was no disgrace in those times and I am sure +that he was soon liberated. He died September 20th, +1777, but where he was buried is not known, nor is +there any record of his marriage. At any rate he has +left the reputation of a brave and valiant seaman who +was beloved by his men, feared by his enemies, and +appreciated by his contemporaries.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Britannia’s glory first from ships arose;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To shipping still her power and wealth she owes.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let each experienced Briton then impart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His naval skill to perfect naval art.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span></p> + +<h2>BIVOUAC OF THE DEAD</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Their silvered swords are red with rust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their pluméd heads are bowed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their haughty banner, trailed in dust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is now their martial shroud.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And plenteous funeral tears have washed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The red stains from each brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the proud forms, by battle gashed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are free from anguish now.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yon marble minstrel’s voiceless stone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In deathless song shall tell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When many a vanished age hath flown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The story how ye fell:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor wreck, nor change, nor winter’s blight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor Time’s remorseless gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall dim one ray of glory’s light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That gilds your deathless tomb.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 442px;"> +<a name="american_privateer" id="american_privateer"></a> +<img src="images/fpas15.jpg" width="442" height="600" alt="" /> +<p class="smlfont">From “The Army and Navy of the United States.”</p> +</div> + +<p class="caption">AMERICAN PRIVATEER TAKING POSSESSION OF A PRIZE.</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<a name="Page_239" id="Page_239"><!-- unnumbered title page --></a> +<p><span class='pagenum'></span></p> + +<h2>JOHN PAUL JONES<br /> +<br /> +THE FOUNDER OF THE AMERICAN NAVY<br /> +<br /> +(1747-1792)</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“Every generation has its own war. To forget the disagreeable +is a characteristic of the human mind.”—<i>The Philosopher.</i></p> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center padtop">JOHN PAUL JONES<br /> +THE FOUNDER OF THE AMERICAN +NAVY<br /> +(1747-1792)</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Why! Shiver my bones! It’s John Paul Jones!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Johnny the Pirate! Johnny should swing!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Johnny who hails from Old Scotlant y’ know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Johnny who’s tryin’ to fight our good King.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shiver my Timbers! We’ll catch the old fox!<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Clew up those top-sails! Ware o’ th’ shoals!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Fire ’cross his bow-lines! Steer for th’ rocks!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Ease away on the jib-boom; shoot as she rolls!</i><br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Oh! Johnny, my Johnny, you’re slick as can be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, Johnny, My John, you’ll be nipped present-ly.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author">—<i>Song of the English Privateers.</i>—1794.</p> + +<p><span class="dropcap">A</span> FRENCH frigate lay in the silvery water off +Norfolk, Virginia, and, as she swung quietly +upon her anchor chains, a small sloop came +bobbing alongside. A hail arose from her stern, +where sat a man of about twenty-eight years; of +medium stature, strongly built and swarthy. He was +dressed in the gray clothing of a Virginian planter.</p> + +<p>“Hallo,” he shouted in very good French. “May +I come aboard?”</p> + +<p>“<em>Certainement! Certainement!</em>” cried a French +officer, as he neared the rail. “Welcome, Monsieur +Jones!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> +And, as the Virginian farmer scrambled upon the +deck, he was greeted most effusively by a handsome +nobleman. It was Louis Philippe Joseph, Duke de +Chartres; known as “the Sailor Prince of France.” +The Virginian was John Paul Jones, of “Whitehaven” +upon the river Rappahannock.</p> + +<p>“I bring you delicacies of the season from my garden,” +said the planter, smiling. “Some for you, and +some for the commander—the Commodore de Kersaint. +I trust that you will accept them, with my +kindest regards. Meanwhile, I beg that you will give +me leave to inspect your vessel and obtain information +in regard to her plan, construction of the hull, +arrangement of the batteries, her spars, her rig and +other technical particulars. For, know you, Gentlemen, +that war has just commenced between Great +Britain and her Colonies and the newly-formed Marine +Department of the Government will require a +knowledge of ships and their construction. Partly +for this I have visited you.”</p> + +<p>Kersaint’s face grew sober.</p> + +<p>“Monsieur Jones,” said he, “I have just heard the +news from Lexington and I am the senior officer upon +this coast. France is at peace with England. The +situation for me is a delicate one. I must refuse to +allow you to sketch any plans of my vessel.”</p> + +<p>But the young Duke de Chartres looked upon the +matter in a different light.</p> + +<p>“You shall have all the assistance from me that +you wish,” he cried. “I do not fear the displeasure +of England.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> +So the Virginian planter was allowed to obtain the +most complete data of the new frigate, even to copies +of deck plans and sail spread, which he caused his +carpenter to make. John Paul Jones was the guest +of the Frenchman for two or three days.</p> + +<p>“And now you will visit my plantation,” said he, +when the time came for him to leave. “Is it not so? +For there I can repay some of the kindnesses which +you have shown me.”</p> + +<p>“That we cannot do,” replied the French commander. +“It would be most impolitic for us to accept +entertainment ashore from persons known to be +hostile to King George. But we thank you, exceedingly, +for your kind offer.”</p> + +<p>So John Paul Jones proceeded alone to his plantation, +and the French warship sailed for Corunna, +Spain, after firing one gun as a salute to the new-born +nation.</p> + +<p>The son of a Scotch gardener of Arbigland, Parish +of Kirkbean, the youthful farmer had emigrated to +America, where his brother owned the large plantation +upon which he now resided. He found his kinsman +dying of what was then called lung fever—in +our time pneumonia—and, as he willed him his Virginian +possessions, Jones was soon residing upon +“3,000 acres of prime land, on the right bank of the +Rappahannock; 1,000 acres cleared and under plough, +or grass; with 2,000 acres of strong, first-growth +timber.” He had a grist-mill; a mansion; overseer’s +houses; negro quarters; stables; tobacco houses; +threshing floors; thirty negroes of all ages; twenty +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> +horses and colts; eighty neat cattle and calves; and +many sheep and swine. Thus lived the future sea-captain; +in peace, plenty, and seclusion, at the outbreak +of the American Revolution.</p> + +<p>John Paul Jones had gone to sea at the early age +of twelve. As a master’s apprentice upon the stout +brig <i>Friendship</i>, he had sailed from Scotland to the +North American Colonies, the West Indies, and back +again. He had kept to his seaman’s life, and—so +improved in knowledge of his profession—that he +became second mate; then first mate; then Captain. +At twenty-one he had amassed a fortune of about +one thousand guineas ($5,000) in gold,—then equal, +in purchasing power, to three times this sum. Besides +this he had studied French and Spanish assiduously, +so that he could speak the first like a native. +It was to be of great help to the ambitious mariner. +And he had plenty of nerve, as the following incident +bears full witness:</p> + +<p>Upon one of his many voyages, the crew was reduced, +by fever, to five or six hands. One of them +was a huge mulatto named Munro—or “Mungo”—Maxwell. +They became mutinous, and, as Captain +Jones was the only officer who could keep the deck, +it was found necessary to subdue the refractory seaman.</p> + +<p>“Will you obey my orders?” cried Jones, picking +up a belaying pin.</p> + +<p>“You go sit down,” cried Maxwell. “I no like +you. <em>Pish!</em> I could kill you with one crack.”</p> + +<p>John Paul Jones did not answer, but walking +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> +towards the big black, he struck him just one blow +with his pin. “Mungo” dropped to the deck and lay +there. He never rose again.</p> + +<p>Upon arriving at port, Captain Jones surrendered +to the authorities, and asked for a trial. It was given +him.</p> + +<p>“Captain Paul,” asked the Judge, “are you, in +conscience, satisfied that you used no more force than +was necessary to preserve discipline on your ship?”</p> + +<p>“May it please the most Honorable Court, Sir,” +answered the doughty seaman, “it became imperative +to strike the mutinous sailor, Maxwell. Whenever +it becomes necessary for a commanding officer to hit +a seaman, it is also necessary to strike with a weapon. +I may say that the necessity to strike carries with it +the necessity to kill, or to completely disable the mutineer. +I had two brace of loaded pistols in my belt, +and could easily have shot him. I struck with a +belaying pin in preference, because I hoped that I +might subdue him without killing him. But the result +proved otherwise. I trust that the Honorable +Court and the jury will take due account of the fact +that, though amply provided with pistols throwing +ounce balls, necessarily fatal weapons, I used a belaying +pin, which, though dangerous, is not necessarily +a fatal weapon.”</p> + +<p>The judge smiled and Captain Paul was acquitted.</p> + +<p>The famous Lord Nelson once said: “A naval +officer, unlike a military commander, can have no +fixed plans. He must always be ready for <em>the</em> chance. +It may come to-morrow, or next week, or next year, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> +or never; but he must be <em>always ready</em>!” Nunquam +non Paratus. (Never unprepared.)</p> + +<p>Paul Jones kept a copy of this maxim in his head. +He was always in training; always on the <i>qui vive</i>; +always prepared. And—because he was always prepared—he +accomplished what would seem to be the +impossible.</p> + +<p>Shortly placed in command of a sloop-of-war, the +<i>Alfred</i> (one of the four vessels which constituted the +American Navy), Lieutenant Jones assisted in an +expedition against Fort Nassau, New Providence +Island, in the Bahamas, which was a complete and +absolute failure. On the way home, and when passing +the end of Long Island, his boat was chased by +the twenty-gun sloop-of-war <i>Glasgow</i>. The long shot +kicked up a lot of spray around the fleet American +vessel, but it was of no use. Jones got away and +sailed into Newport Harbor, Rhode Island, with sails +full of holes and stern-posts peppered with lead. But +he was created a Captain; placed in command of the +<i>Providence</i>—sloop-of-war, fourteen guns and one +hundred and seven men—and soon harried the seas +in search of fighting and adventure. With him were +two faithful negro boys—Cato and Scipio—who +followed him through the many vicissitudes of the +Revolutionary War.</p> + +<p>The seas traversed by the <i>Providence</i> were full of +English cruisers—superior in size to the saucy +American—but inferior in alertness and resources of +her commander and her crew. She captured sixteen +vessels—of which eight were sent to port and eight +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> +were destroyed at sea. Twice she was chased by +British frigates, and, on one of these occasions, narrowly +escaped capture.</p> + +<p>As the little sloop was running into one of the +many harbors of the coast, a fast-sailing frigate bore +down upon her from the starboard quarter.</p> + +<p><em>Whang!</em></p> + +<p>Her bow-guns spoke and said “Heave to!”</p> + +<p>But Captain Jones had heard this call before, and +kept on upon his course.</p> + +<p>“She’s got me,” said he. “But, as the breeze is +fresh I may run away. Stand ready, Boys, and let +go your tackle immediate, when I give the command!”</p> + +<p>The helm was now put hard-up and the <i>Providence</i> +crept into the wind. Closer and closer came the brig—now +her bow-guns sputtered—and a shot ricochetted +near the lean prow of the <i>Providence</i>. But +the sloop kept on.</p> + +<p>Suddenly—just as the brig drew alongside—Paul +Jones swung his rudder over, wore around in the +wind, and ran dead to leeward.</p> + +<p>“Watch her sniffle!” cried the gallant Captain, as +the brig <em>chug-chugged</em> on the dancing waves, and, +endeavoring to box short about, came up into the +wind. But fortune favored the American skipper. +Just then a squall struck the Englishman; she lost +steering way; and hung upon the waves like a huge +rubber ball, while her Captain said things that cannot +be printed.</p> + +<p>When in this condition, Jones ran his boat within +half gun-shot, gave her a dose of iron from one of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> +his stern-guns, and—before the frigate could get +squared away—was pounding off before the wind, +which was the sloop’s best point of sailing.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said the crafty John Paul, his face +wreathed in smiles. “If the frigate had simply followed +my manœuver of wearing around under easy +helm and trimming her sails as the wind bore, I could +not have distanced her much in the alteration of the +course, and she must have come off the wind very +nearly with me, and before I could get out of range.</p> + +<p>“I do not take to myself too great credit for getting +away. I did the best that I could, but there was +more luck than sense to it. A good or bad puff of +wind foils all kinds of skill one way or the other—and +this time when I saw the little squall cat’s-pawing +to windward—I thought that I would ware ship and +see if the Britisher wouldn’t get taken aback. The +old saying that ‘Discretion is the better part of valor’ +may, I think, be changed to ‘Impudence is—or +may be, sometimes—the better part of discretion.’”</p> + +<p>Two kinds of news greeted the slippery sailor when +he arrived in port. One was a letter from Thomas +Jefferson, enclosing his commission as Captain in the +Continental Navy, by Act of Congress. The other—an +epistle from his agents in Virginia, informing him +that, during the month of July previous, his plantation +had been utterly ravaged by an expedition of +British and Tories (Virginians who sided with England +in the war) under Lord Dunmore. His buildings +had all been burned; his wharf demolished; his livestock +killed; and every one of his able-bodied slaves +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> +of both sexes had been carried off to Jamaica to be +sold. The enemy had also destroyed his growing +crops; cut down his fruit trees; in short, nothing was +left of his once prosperous and valuable plantation +but the bare ground.</p> + +<p>“This is part of the fortunes of war,” said Jones. +“I accept the extreme animosity displayed by Lord +Dunmore as a compliment to the sincerity of my attachment +to the cause of liberty.”</p> + +<p>Bold words, well spoken by a bold man!</p> + +<p>“But,” continued the able sailor, “I most sadly +deplore the fate of my poor negroes. The plantation +was to them a home, not a place of bondage. Their +existence was a species of grown-up childhood, not +slavery. Now they are torn away and carried off +to die under the pestilence and lash of Jamaica cane-fields; +and the price of their poor bodies will swell +the pockets of English slave-traders. For this cruelty +to those innocent, harmless people, I hope sometime, +somehow, to find an opportunity to exact a reckoning.”</p> + +<p>Again bold sentiments,—and the reckoning, too, +was forthcoming.</p> + +<p>“I have no fortune left but my sword, and no +prospect except that of getting alongside of the enemy,” +wrote the impoverished sea-captain to a Mr. +Hewes.</p> + +<p>This prospect also was to soon have ample fulfilment.</p> + +<p>Ordered to take command of the <i>Alfred</i>, Captain +Jones made a short cruise eastward, in 1776, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> +accompanied by the staunch little <i>Providence</i>. The journey +lasted only thirty-three days, but, during that time, +seven ships of the enemy fell into the clutches of the +two American vessels.</p> + +<p>“Aha!” cried Captain Jones, as he rubbed his +hands. “This looks more propitious for our cause. +We have taken the <i>Mellish</i> and the <i>Biddeford</i>. Let +us break into them and see how much of the King’s +treasure has been secured.”</p> + +<p>And it was indeed good treasure!</p> + +<p>The <i>Mellish</i> was found to contain ten thousand +complete uniforms, including cloaks, boots, socks and +woollen shirts, for the winter supply of General +Howe’s army; seven thousand pairs of blankets; one +thousand four hundred tents; six hundred saddles and +complete cavalry equipments; one million seven hundred +thousand rounds of fixed ammunition (musket +cartridges); a large quantity of medical stores; forty +cases of surgical instruments; and forty-six soldiers +who were recruits sent out to join the various British +regiments then serving in the Colonies.</p> + +<p>The larger prize—the <i>Biddeford</i>—carried one +thousand seven hundred fur overcoats for the use of +the Canadian troops; eleven thousand pairs of blankets, +intended partly for the British troops in Canada, +and partly for the Indians then in British pay along +the northern frontier; one thousand small-bore guns +of the type then known as the “Indian-trade smooth-bore,” +with hatchets, knives, and boxes of flint in +proportion, to arm the redskins. There were eight +light six-pounder field guns and complete harness and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> +other equipage for the two four-gun batteries of horse-artillery. +Also some wines and table supplies for Sir +Guy Carleton and a case of fine Galway duelling +pistols for a British officer then serving in Canada.</p> + +<p>“These I will appropriate as mine own portion,” +cried Captain Jones. “And also a share of the wines, +for I must have something to drink the health of mine +enemy in.” And—so saying—he chuckled gleefully. +It had been a rich haul.</p> + +<p>But the Captain was not happy. His pet project +was to cruise in European waters, and he wanted to +get near the British coast with a ship—or better—a +squadron of some force.</p> + +<p>“Cruises along the American coast,” said he, “will +annoy the enemy and result in capture of small ships +and consorts from time to time. But who—forsooth—will +hear of this in Europe? We will add nothing +to our prestige as a new nation if we win victories +upon this side of the ocean.”</p> + +<p>All who heard him were much impressed by the +vehement earnestness of his arguments.</p> + +<p>“You have had so much success, Mr. Jones,” said +they, “that we feel you will have still greater good +fortune in future years.”</p> + +<p>And Jones said to himself: “Oh, if I only could +get the chance!”</p> + +<p>It soon came, for on June the 14th, 1777, the +Continental Congress passed the following resolution:</p> + +<p>“<i>Resolved:</i> That Captain John Paul Jones be appointed +to command the ship <i>Ranger</i>” (a brand-new +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> +sloop-of-war which had just been launched at Portsmouth, +N. H.).</p> + +<p>This boat was designed to carry a battery of twenty +long six-pounders and was planned expressly for +speed. She was one hundred and sixteen feet long, +twenty-eight feet in breadth, and her bottom was +covered with copper: the first American ship to be +thus protected. Captain Jones put fourteen long nine-pounders +in her and only four six-pounders, but even +then she was top-heavy.</p> + +<p>In spite of the fact that it was not quite safe to +carry full sail, if clearing to windward, close-hauled +in squally weather; when running free—before the +wind—she could course through the water like a +jack-rabbit. In outward appearance she was a perfect +beauty, and, as she was rather low in the water +for her length, and her masts raked two or three +degrees more than any other ship of the day, she +was—on the whole—the sauciest craft afloat. Jones +was delighted.</p> + +<p>“I have the best crew I have ever seen,” said he. +“I believe it is the best in the world. They are nearly +all native Americans, and the proportion of able seamen +to the total is much beyond the average. I’m +going to make one or two short runs off the coast—a +day or two at a time—to shake down the sails and +find the best trim of the ship. Then away to the +shores of England and France!”</p> + +<p>He waited impatiently for orders to proceed across +the blue Atlantic. On October the 18th, 1777, a +courier raced frantically into Portsmouth, crying,</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> +“Burgoyne has surrendered! Burgoyne has surrendered!” +And Jones’ impatience to be off increased +ten-fold.</p> + +<p>There were no details of the American victory, for +the courier had reached the sleepy New England town +from the field of Stillwater, in about thirty hours, and +it was one hundred and forty-seven miles—as the +crow flies—or, about one hundred and seventy-five +by the shortest road. He had stopped only long +enough to saddle a fresh horse and shift his saddle, +eating his meals in the stirrups, and never thinking +of rest until he had shouted his tidings for three +full days. The patriot country was wild with enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>“I will spread the news in France in thirty days,” +said Jones, when his dispatches were placed in his +hands, about midnight of October the thirty-first. +And, running by the whirling eddies of “Pull-and-be-damned” +Point, he soon had the <i>Ranger</i> clear of the +low-lying Isle of Shoals: the sea cross and choppy, +but the good ship bowling along before a fresh gale +of wind.</p> + +<p>“I had sailed with many Captains,” writes Elijah +Hall, second Lieutenant of the staunch, little vessel, +“but I never had seen a ship crowded as Captain +Jones drove the <i>Ranger</i>. The wind held northeasterly +and fresh ’til we cleared Sable Island and began to +draw on to the Banks. Then it came northeast and +east-northeast with many snow squalls, and thick of +nights.”</p> + +<p>Imagine the situation of the <i>Ranger</i>’s crew, with +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> +a top-heavy, cranky ship under their feet, and a +Commander who day and night insisted on every +rag she could stagger under, without laying clear +down!</p> + +<p>As it was, she came close to beam-ends more than +once, and on one occasion righted only by letting-fly +her sheets cut with hatchets. During all this trying +work Captain Jones was his own navigating officer, +keeping the deck eighteen or twenty hours out of the +twenty-four; often serving extra grog to the men +with his own hands; and, by his example, silencing +all disposition to grumble. In the worst of it, the +watch and watch was lap-watched, so that the men +would be eight hours on to four off; but no one complained. +It speaks well alike for commander and crew +that not a man was punished or even severely reprimanded +during the terrific voyage.</p> + +<p>But Captain Jones made good his boast. He actually +did land at Nantes—upon the coast of France—early +in the morning of December second, 1777, thirty-two +days out from Portsmouth. His crew were jubilant, +and sang a song which ran:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“So now we had him hard and fast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Burgoyne laid down his arms at last,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And that is why we brave the blast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To carry the news to London!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heigh-ho! Carry the News!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Go! Go! Carry the News!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tell old King George that he’s undone!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He’s licked by the Yankee squirrel gun.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Go!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Go!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Carry the news to London!”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> +And Captain John made haste to proceed to Paris, +placing the dispatches in the hands of Dr. Franklin +early upon the fifth day of December,—travelling +two hundred and twenty miles in sixty hours. He +returned to his ship about the middle of the month, +to find that several of the crew were mutinous.</p> + +<p>“See here, Captain,” said one—a seaman from +Portsmouth, New Hampshire—“Me and my pals +enlisted at home after readin’ a hand-bill which said +that we wuz to get $40.00 apiece extra, for this cruise. +Now, your young Lieutenant tells us that the reg’lations +of Congress say that we are to only get th’ reg’lar +salary allotted by those old pals, who make our +laws. We came with you thinkin’ that we wuz ter +git this money, and, by gum, we intend to git it!”</p> + +<p>“Calm yourself, my good fellow,” said Jones soothingly. +“If the hand-bill said that you were to receive +$40.00 you shall have it. You shall get this sum even +if I have to pay it myself.”</p> + +<p>And this he did.</p> + +<p>“I would not deceive any man who has entered +or may enter, to serve in my command,” remarked +John Paul Jones. “I consider myself as being under +a personal obligation to these brave men, who have +cheerfully enlisted to serve with me, and I accept their +act as a proof of their good opinion of me, which I +value so highly, that I cannot permit it to be dampened +in the least degree, by misunderstanding, or failure +to perform engagements. I wish all my men to be +happy and contented. The conditions of the hand-bills +will be strictly complied with.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> +Accordingly he disbursed one hundred and forty-seven +guineas (about $800.00) out of his own pocket, +in making good the terms of the hand-bill. Is it any +wonder that the gallant seaman was popular with his +followers?</p> + +<p>But the <i>Ranger</i> lay at Brest—eager for action—her +light sails furled; her spars shining with new +varnish; her polished guns winking in the rays of +the sun.</p> + +<p>“Come, my Hearties!” cried Captain Jones on +April the 10th, “we’ll hie us out to the west coast +of Ireland and see if our new ship cannot make a good +name for herself.”</p> + +<p>Sails were hoisted upon the staunch, little vessel. +Her bow was turned toward the ocean—and—with +the new flag of the infant republic fluttering from +her masts, the <i>Ranger</i> went forth for battle, for plunder, +and for glory. She was to get a little of each.</p> + +<p>Arriving off the coast of Cumberland, and, learning +from fishermen decoyed on board, that there was a +large amount of shipping in the harbor of Whitehaven, +with no warship of superior force in the neighborhood +to protect it, the bold American skipper resolved +to make a dash into this quiet cove, with a +view of destroying the ships there in port. The British +authorities had no suspicion of his presence in the +Irish Sea.</p> + +<p>As the <i>Ranger</i> drew near to Whitehaven, the wind +blew such a gale from the southwest, that it was impossible +to land a boat.</p> + +<p>“We must hold off until the breeze slackens!” +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> +cried bold Captain Jones. “This cannot last forever, +and our opportunity will soon be here.”</p> + +<p>Sure enough—the wind died out about midnight +of April 22nd—and the <i>Ranger</i> beat up towards the +town. When about five hundred yards from the +shore, the vessel was hove to—two boats were lowered—and +twenty-nine seamen, with third Lieutenant +Wallingford, Midshipmen Arthur Green and +Charles Hill, jumped into them. With Jones in command +they hastened toward the coast.</p> + +<p>The surprise was complete. Two small forts lay +at the mouth of the harbor, but, as the seamen scrambled +ashore, they were precipitately abandoned by the +garrison of “coast-guards.” Captain Jones, Midshipman +Green, and six men rushed shouting upon one +of these, capturing it without an effort; the other was +taken by Lieutenant Wallingford and eight sailors,—while +four were left behind as a boat-guard. A few +pistols spattered, a few muskets rang; but, when the +stout sea-dogs reached the tidal basin, where the shipping +lay, the townsfolk were thoroughly aroused. +Burning cotton was thrown on board of the ships +lying at anchor, but only one took fire. It was full +daylight, and the insignificance of Jones’ force became +evident to the townsfolk, who were rallying from all +directions.</p> + +<p>“Retreat to the ships,” shouted the Yankee Captain, +“there is no time to lose!”</p> + +<p>The landing party—small as it was—had become +separated into two groups; one commanded by Jones, +the other by Wallingford. Thinking that Wallingford’s +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> +party was, for the moment, more seriously menaced +than his own, Jones attacked and dispersed—with +his dozen men—a force of about one hundred +of the local militia who were endeavoring to retake +the lower fort, or battery, whose guns had been spiked +by the Americans. The townsfolk and coast-guards +had joined and were making a vigorous assault upon +Wallingford. But shots flew thick and fast from the +muskets of the followers of the daring Paul Jones—as +they retreated to their own boats. The whole landing +party—with the exception of one man—finally +leaped safely into the boat, and were on board the +<i>Ranger</i> before the sun was an hour over the horizon.</p> + +<p>Jones was delighted.</p> + +<p>“The actual results of this affair,” said he, “are +of little moment, as we destroyed but one ship. The +moral effect—however—is very great, as it has +taught the English that the fancied security of their +coasts is a Myth.”</p> + +<p>In fact this little raid of the valiant John Paul +made the Government take expensive measures for +the defense of numerous ports hitherto relying for +protection upon the vigilance and supposed omnipotence +of the navy. It also doubled the rates of marine +insurance; which was the most grievous damage of +all.</p> + +<p>“Now to attack a castle!” cried Jones, “and bag +an Earl, too, if he is around!”</p> + +<p>The <i>Ranger</i> was headed for Solway Firth—not +more than three hours’ sail away—where, upon St. +Mary’s Isle, was the castle of the Earl of Selkirk.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> +“If we can catch the noble owner of this keep,” +said John Paul, “we will hold him as hostage for the +better treatment of American prisoners in England.”</p> + +<p>As luck would have it, the Earl was away at this +particular time, and, although the wild sea-dogs of +the <i>Ranger</i> carried off several pieces of silverware +from the castle, this was all that was captured. Lucky +Earl! But, had he fallen into the clutches of John +Paul, he would have been treated with the greatest +consideration, for the Captain of the <i>Ranger</i> was the +most chivalrous of conquerors.</p> + +<p>The <i>Ranger</i> stood across the Irish Channel and next +day ran into some fisher boats.</p> + +<p>“Ah! Ha!” laughed one of the sons of Ireland. +“The <i>Drake</i>—the guard-ship at Carrickfergus—is +after you, and she’s a twenty-gun sloop-of-war.”</p> + +<p>John Paul smiled.</p> + +<p>“To lessen trouble,” said he, “I’ll heave-to off the +mouth of Belfast Lough and wait for her to work out. +This will save her the pains of coming after me.”</p> + +<p>So he luffed his ship, lay to, and waited for the +<i>Drake</i> to sail on. Her white sails could be seen more +clearly as she neared the adventurous American. A +boat was sent out to reconnoitre—but—as it approached, +it was surrounded by tenders from the +<i>Ranger</i>; a midshipman and five men in her, were +made prisoners. Tide and wind were both against +the <i>Drake</i>; she came on slowly; and, at an hour +before sundown, was just within hail. The sea was +fairly smooth, the wind southerly and very light.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> +“What ship is that?” sounded from the deck of +the <i>Drake</i>.</p> + +<p>“The American Continental ship <i>Ranger</i>,” rang +the clear reply. “Lay on! We are waiting for +you!”</p> + +<p>Both ships bore away before the wind and neared +each other to within striking distance. <em>Boom!</em> a +broadside roared from the side of the <i>Drake</i>, and the +fight had begun.</p> + +<p><em>Crash! Crash!</em> Muskets spoke from the rigging of +the <i>Ranger</i>, where several seamen had climbed in the +endeavor to pick off the gunners on the deck of the +British warship. There were one hundred and fifty-seven +men upon the <i>Drake</i>; Paul Jones had one hundred +and twenty-six. The <i>Drake</i>’s battery was sixteen +nine-pounders and four sixes. Thus—you see—the +advantage was clearly with the Britishers.</p> + +<p>Both boats swung along under full canvas, pounding +away at each other like prize-fighters. Spars were +shattered; sails ripped; masts splintered in the hail +of iron. And—as the fight progressed—it could +be plainly seen that the marksmanship of those upon +the <i>Drake</i> was infinitely less accurate than that of the +Americans.</p> + +<p>“Every shot of our men told,” said Jones—not +long afterwards. “They gave the <i>Drake</i> three broadsides +for two, right along, at that. The behavior of +my crew in this engagement more than justifies the +representations I have often made, of what American +sailors would do, if given a chance at the enemy in +his own waters. We have seen that they fight with +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> +courage on our own coast—but fought here, almost +in hail of the enemy’s shore.”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 478px;"> +<a name="began_to_hull" id="began_to_hull"></a> +<img src="images/fpas16.jpg" width="478" height="600" alt="" /> +<p class="smlfont">From “The Army and Navy of the United States.”</p> +</div> + +<p class="caption">“BEGAN TO HULL THE ‘DRAKE’ BELOW THE WATER-LINE.”</p> + +<p>As the two ships were going off the wind, which +was light, they both rolled considerably, and together; +that is, when the <i>Ranger</i> went down to port, the +<i>Drake</i> came up to starboard. The gunners upon the +quarter-deck of the <i>Ranger</i> timed their guns, so that +they were fired as their muzzles went down and the +enemy’s side arose. By this practice they began to +hull the <i>Drake</i> below the water-line.</p> + +<p>“Sink the English! Sink the English!” cried the +powder-blackened fighters.</p> + +<p>But Captain Jones thought differently.</p> + +<p>“Don’t sink her!” he yelled to gunner Starbuck, +above the din of battle. “I want to take her alive, +instead of destroying her; for it will be much more +to our advantage if we carry her as a visible prize into +a French port.”</p> + +<p>“All right, Cap’n!” shouted his men. “We’ll +cripple her aloft!”</p> + +<p>They now fired as the muzzles rose, and, so terrific +were their broadsides, that the fore and main topsail-yards +came tumbling across the starboard quarter, in +a tangle of ropes, sails, and rigging.</p> + +<p>“Rake her! Rake her!” shouted Jones to his men.</p> + +<p>The <i>Ranger</i> luffed and crossed the stern of the +<i>Drake</i> with the purpose of spanking a full broadside +down her decks. The British boat was badly crippled +and had lost steering way.</p> + +<p>But, before the well-aimed guns belched another +destructive volley into the shattered Englishman, a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> +white flag went aloft, and a voice came: “Hold your +fire. We surrender!” The <i>Drake</i> was a prisoner-of-war.</p> + +<p>Thus Paul Jones had won a notable victory, and +thus he had proved that the British were not invincible, +and could be defeated, upon the sea, by their own +cousins, as readily as upon the land.</p> + +<p>When the <i>Ranger</i> lay in the harbor of Brest, a few +days later, with the <i>Drake</i> alongside, boats crowded +about in order to view the vessel which had captured +another,—larger than herself. And, as the <i>Ranger</i> +had taken three merchant ships on the way to the +coast of France, the black eyes of the natives shone +with beady lustre as they gazed upon the graceful hull +of the victorious sloop-of-war from Portsmouth, New +Hampshire.</p> + +<p>“See Monsieur Jones,” said they, as they nudged +each other. “Voilà! Here is a man who is better +than our own sailors. Look at this American sea-devil!”</p> + +<p>And the chest of John Paul Jones swelled with +pride.</p> + +<p>Eager and active, the gallant Commodore was most +unhappy during the next few months, for the <i>Ranger</i> +was ordered back to America—under his Lieutenant +Simpson. Twenty-seven of his crew, however, elected +to remain and fight with him, when he should get another +command,—among them a little Narragansett +Indian called Antony Jeremiah.</p> + +<p>“Me like to see big gun shoot,” said he. “Me +like to walk on deck of enemy’s big boat when you +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> +take it! Byme-by we take bigger ship than <i>Drake</i> +and kill heap more enemy! Ugh! Ugh!”</p> + +<p>At this John Paul laughed.</p> + +<p>“Antony Jeremiah,” said he, “you shall witness +one big fight if you stay with John Paul. You wait +and see!”</p> + +<p>And what John Paul had said soon came to pass.</p> + +<p>“The French,” writes the doughty warrior, “have +little conception of an expedition such as I propose; +to harry the coast and destroy the commerce of the +enemy. Their idea is to leave all of that to privateers, +of which I have already been offered a dozen commands. +Some of the ships they fit out as privateers +are really respectable frigates in size, and I have seen +one, called the <i>Monsieur</i>, that mounts thirty-eight or +forty guns. But I do not wish to engage in privateering. +My object is not that of private gain, but to +serve the public in a way that may reflect credit on +our infant navy and give prestige to our country over +the sea.”</p> + +<p>Noble sentiments—nobly expressed!</p> + +<p>In spite of the gloomy outlook he at last secured +a vessel from the King himself, called the <i>Duras</i>, +which he re-christened “<i>Le Bon Homme Richard</i>”—“<i>The +Good Richard</i>”—the name assumed by Dr. +Benjamin Franklin when writing his famous “Almanack,” +except that he called him “Poor Richard.” +This was a well-merited compliment to the great and +good man, who was then Commissioner from the +United States to France, and a firm friend to the +ardent John Paul. The vessel had forty guns, “and,” +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> +writes the Minister of Marine, “as you may find too +much difficulty in enlisting a sufficient number of +Americans, the King permits you to levy French volunteers, +until you obtain a full crew.”</p> + +<p>John Paul hastened to get her ready for a cruise. +“I mounted twenty-eight long twelve-pounders on the +gun-deck,” he says, “put eight of the long nines on +the quarter-deck, and discarded the six-pounders of +her old battery. This gave her a battery of forty-two +guns, throwing two hundred and fifty-eight pounds of +metal in a single broadside. She was the fair equivalent +of a thirty-six gun frigate.”</p> + +<p>From February to June she was worked over; +refitted; resparred. On June 19th, 1779, the gallant +John Paul Jones swung out into the English +Channel; he, himself, in command of the <i>Good Richard</i>, +which carried a crew of three hundred and +seventy-five, not more than fifty of whom were Americans. +Four other vessels were with him: the <i>Alliance</i>, +a thirty-two gun frigate; the <i>Pallas</i>, a twenty-eight +gun frigate; the <i>Vengeance</i>, a twelve gun brig; +and the <i>Cerf</i>, a cutter.</p> + +<p>On the second day out the <i>Alliance</i> fouled the <i>Richard</i>, +causing so much damage to both, that the squadron +was compelled to return to port for repairs, which—with +other transactions—consumed six weeks. +But the accident was a lucky one, for numerous American +sailors, who were in English prisons, were shortly +exchanged with English seamen in French dungeons; +and thus Paul Jones was able to man the <i>Good Richard</i> +with one hundred and fourteen native Americans, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> +who were anxious to have a crack at those who had +captured them but a short time before.</p> + +<p>Finally, with refitted ships and reorganized crews, +Paul Jones was ready to sail from the roadstead of +Isle de Groaix, in the early part of August, 1779, +bound upon his cruise around the British Islands. +There were four ships in this squadron: the <i>Good +Richard</i>; the <i>Alliance</i>, under Pierre Landais (a depraved +and dishonest Frenchman); the <i>Pallas</i>, under +Cottineau (an honest Frenchman); and the <i>Vengeance</i>, +a sloop-of-war. The prevailing winds +were light and baffling, so the squadron moved +slowly.</p> + +<p>War had been declared between France and England, +and thus the English Channel was thronged with +privateers from both countries. The <i>Richard</i> and a +French privateer, in company, re-captured a large ship +belonging to Holland, but bound from Barcelona to +Dunkirk, France, which had been taken some days +before by an English vessel off Cape Ortegal and +ordered into Falmouth, England. England and Holland +were still at peace, at this time, but the English +claimed the right to intercept and send into their own +port for examination, all neutral vessels bound to +French ports, as England and France were then at +war. Commodore Jones took the English prize-crew +out of the Dutch ship, as prisoners of war, and then +ordered the ship into l’Orient in charge of her own +crew, but under the command of one of his midshipmen, +until she could come under the protection of a +French port.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> +“Things are going well with us!” cried Captain +Jones, rubbing his hands gleefully.</p> + +<p>He soon felt much happier. For, on the morning +of August 23rd, when in the vicinity of Cape Clear, +the <i>Richard</i> sent three boats, and afterwards a fourth, +to take a brig that was becalmed in the northwest +quarter—just out of gun-shot. It proved to be the +<i>Fortune</i>, of Bristol, bound from Newfoundland +for her home-port with whale-oil, salt fish, and +barrel staves. Manned by a prize-crew of two +warrant officers and six men, she was sent to +Nantes.</p> + +<p>All were happy. All were looking forward to a +good fight. It was to come to them.</p> + +<p>The little fleet of war-dogs sailed northward, and, +on September 1st, about ten o’clock in the morning, +the northwest promontory of Scotland was sighted. +At the same instant, two large ships bore in sight on +the same quarter, and another vessel appeared to windward.</p> + +<p>“Bear up! Bear up!” cried Jones.</p> + +<p>The <i>Richard</i> held over toward the first two ships +until he saw that it was the <i>Alliance</i> and a prize she +had taken about daylight,—a vessel bound for Jamaica, +from London.</p> + +<p>“Now chase the other fellow!” he cried, turning +the wheel with his own hands, and soon the <i>Good +Richard</i> was bounding over the waves in hard pursuit +of the second sail. Slowly but surely she was +overhauled. Heavily armed, she did not surrender +until after the exchange of several shots, which the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> +<i>Richard</i> pumped into her, after running up close +enough to show her broadside.</p> + +<p>A boat soon carried a number of seamen to take +possession of her, and she proved to be the British +privateer, the <i>Union</i>, mounting twenty-two six-pounders, +and bound northward from London to Quebec, +in Canada, laden with a cargo of naval and military +stores for the British troops and flotillas on the Lakes. +The <i>Union</i> also carried a valuable mail, including dispatches +for Sir William Howe, in New York, and +Sir Guy Carleton, in Canada. “These were lost,” +writes John Paul to good Doctor Franklin, at Paris, +for the <i>Alliance</i> imprudently showed American colors, +though English colors were still flying on the <i>Bon +Homme Richard</i>; “the enemy thereby being induced +to throw his papers of importance overboard before +we could take possession of him.” The prizes were +manned from the <i>Alliance</i> and sent (by Landais) into +the seaport of Bergen, in Norway.</p> + +<p>The squadron now beat down the east coast of +Scotland, and, after capturing five or six small prizes, +rounded-to off the Firth of Forth.</p> + +<p>“I intend to attack the port of Leith!” cried Jones, +“as I understand that it is defended only by a small +guard-ship of twenty-two guns, and an old fortification +(old Leith Fort) garrisoned by a detachment of +Militia.”</p> + +<p>The wind was adverse, blowing off shore, with +frequent heavy squalls, but about noon of the 17th +of September, the <i>Richard</i> and the <i>Pallas</i> beat up +within gun-shot of Leith Fort and were lowering +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> +away their tenders in order to land, when a heavy +Northwest gale sprang up, compelling them to hoist +their boats, and put to sea. The gale lasted about +twenty-four hours, but, on the morning of the 19th, +the wind took another turn, the sea grew calm, and +Jones proposed to renew the attack upon Leith. The +Commander of the <i>Pallas</i> made strong objection to +this. “I do not believe that we should stay here,” +cried he. “If we persist in the attempt to remain +on this station three days longer, we shall have a +squadron of heavy frigates, if not a ship of line, to +deal with. Convinced of this, I offer it as my judgment +that we had better work along the shore to-day +and to-morrow, as far as Spurn Head, and then, if +we do not fall in with the Baltic merchant fleet, stand +off the coast and make the best of our way to Dunkirk.”</p> + +<p>Commodore Jones spent a few moments in reflection. +“You are probably right, Cottineau,” said he. +“I only wish that another man like you were in command +of the <i>Alliance</i>. However, we cannot help +what is and must make the best of it. Go aboard your +ship and make sail to the south-southwest. Speak the +<i>Vengeance</i> as you run down, and tell Ricot—her +commander—to rendezvous off Spurn Head. I will +bring up the rear with this ship. We may fall in +with the Baltic fleet between here and Scarboro’, which +is usually their first English port of destination at this +time of the year. Should you happen to sight the +<i>Alliance</i>, inform Captain Landais of our destination, +but do not communicate it to him as an order, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> +because that would be likely to expose you only to +insult.”</p> + +<p>The two ships turned South, and the next three +days were without events of importance. At length +they neared the harbor of Scarboro’, and, as they hovered +about twelve miles off the land, they saw some +vessels making for the shore, and protecting a fleet +of merchantmen.</p> + +<p>“They’re a heavy man-of-war—either a fifty-gun +frigate, or a fifty-four—with a large ship-of-war in +company,” cried one of his Lieutenants, who had been +watching them through a glass. “The Captain of +the larger one has cleverly manœuvered to protect his +merchant ship.”</p> + +<p>Commodore Jones seemed to be much pleased.</p> + +<p>“At last we’ll have a little fight,” cried he. “Bear +hard for the land, and get between the larger vessel +and the shore!”</p> + +<p>Captain Cottineau was signalled to and requested to +go after the sloop-of-war. About sundown the <i>Richard</i> +succeeded in weathering the large frigate and +manœuvered between her and the land.</p> + +<p>The ships neared each other very gradually, for the +breeze was slight. They were on opposite tacks and +Commodore Jones readily made out the force and rate +of his antagonist. By the light of the dying day—for +it was about seven <small>P. M.</small>—he saw that she was a +new forty-four; a perfect beauty. It was the <i>Serapis</i>—Captain +Richard Pearson commanding—but six +months off the stocks and on her first cruise as a +convoy to the Baltic fleet of merchantmen: consisting +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> +of about forty vessels laden with timber and other +naval stores for the use of the British dockyards. +Jones had hoped to have an opportunity to attack this +flotilla, but his plans had been frustrated by the vigilance +and skill of the commander of the men-of-war +in convoy.</p> + +<p>Even now Landais might have got among the merchantmen +in the fast-sailing <i>Alliance</i>, while Jones and +Cottineau occupied the attention of the two men-of-war; +but the French officer did not have sufficient +courage to tackle them, and kept well beyond striking +distance.</p> + +<p>The Captain of the <i>Serapis</i> stood upon the deck, +intently gazing at the on-coming vessel.</p> + +<p>“Gad Zooks!” he uttered. “From the size of her +spars and her height out of water I take her to be +a French fifty of the time of the last war. It’s too +dark for me to see whether she has any lower ports +or not.” He raised his night glasses to his eyes, and, +in the light of the full moon which was now flooding +the sea with a silvery haze, saw that his opponent was +intent upon a fight.</p> + +<p>“It is probably Paul Jones,” said he, lowering the +glasses. “If so—there’s tight work ahead. What +ship is that?” he cried out in loud tones.</p> + +<p>No answer came from the dark hull of the <i>Good +Richard</i>, but, as she swung nearer upon the rolling +waves, suddenly a flash, a roar, and a sheet of flame +belched from her side. The battle was on!</p> + +<p>It was a struggle which has been talked of for +years. It was a battle about which the world never +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> +seems to tire of reading. It was <em>the</em> battle which has +made the name of John Paul Jones nautically immortal.</p> + +<p>The two warriors of the deep were on the same +tack, headed northwest, driven by a slight wind which +veered to the westward. The sea was smooth, the +sky was clear, the full moon was rising—the conditions +for a night struggle were ideal.</p> + +<p><em>Crash! Crash! Crash!</em></p> + +<p>Broadside after broadside rolled and shrieked from +ship to ship, as the air was filled with flying bits of +iron.</p> + +<p><em>Crash! Crash! Crash!</em></p> + +<p>Travelling very slowly, for the wind was little more +than sufficient to give them steering-way in the tide, +the two antagonists drifted along for twenty minutes, +at cable length (600 to 900 feet—about the distance +of the 220 yard dash). But suddenly—<em>Boom!</em> an +explosion sounded in the gun-room of the <i>Good Richard</i>. +Two of her eighteen-pounders had blown up +back of the trunnions; many of the crew lay dead +and dying, the after part of the main gun-deck was +shattered like a reed: Senior Midshipman and Acting +Lieutenant John Mayrant—who had command of +this battery—was severely wounded in the head by +a fragment of one of the exploded shells, and was +scorched by the blast of flame.</p> + +<p>“Abandon your guns!” shouted First Lieutenant +Dale, “and report with your remaining men to the +main-deck battery!”</p> + +<p>“All right!” answered Mayrant, as he bound a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> +white kerchief around his bleeding head. “I’ll be +with you just as soon as I give them one more shot.”</p> + +<p>This he endeavored to do, but not a gun could be +touched off. “The old sixteen-pounders that formed +the battery of the lower gun-deck, did no service +whatever, except firing eight shots in all,” writes John +Paul Jones. “Two out of three of them burst at the +first fire, killing almost all the men who were stationed +to manage them.”</p> + +<p>The gunnery of the <i>Good Richard</i> was excellent. +Though her battery was one-third lighter than that +of the <i>Serapis</i>; though her gun-crews were composed—to +a great extent—of French volunteers, who had +never been at sea before—in quickness and rapidity +of fire, the shells from the American fell just as accurately +as did those from the Britisher; pointed and +gauged by regular, trained English men-of-war seamen. +The roar of belching cannon was deafening. +The superior weight and energy of the British shot +began to tell decisively against the sputtering twelve-pounders +of the <i>Richard</i>, in spite of the fact that they +were being served with quickness and precision. As +the two battling sea-monsters drifted slowly along, a +pall of sulphurous smoke hung over their black hulls, +like a sheet of escaping steam. They were drawing +nearer and nearer to each other.</p> + +<p>It was now about a quarter to eight. Wounded +and dying littered the decks of both Britisher and +American, but the fight was to the death.</p> + +<p>“Luff! Luff!” cried Captain Pearson, as the <i>Richard</i> +began to forge near him. “Luff! Luff! and let +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> +fly with all guns at the water-line. Sink the Yankee +Pirate!”</p> + +<p>But Paul Jones was intent upon grappling with +his adversary. Quickly jerking the tiller to one side, +he shoved the <i>Richard</i> into the wind and endeavored +to run her—bows on—into the side of his opponent. +The <i>Serapis</i> paid off, her stern swung to, and, before +she could gather way, the <i>Richard</i>’s jib-boom shot +over her larboard quarter and into the mizzen rigging.</p> + +<p>Jones was delighted.</p> + +<p>“Throw out the grappling hooks!” cried he, in +shrill tones. “Hold tight to the Britisher and be +prepared to board!”</p> + +<p>In an instant, many clawing irons spun out into +the mizzen stays of the <i>Serapis</i>; but, though they +caught, the lines holding them soon parted. The +<i>Serapis</i> fell off and the <i>Richard</i> lurched ahead. +Neither had been able to bring her broadsides to bear.</p> + +<p>“We can’t beat her by broadsiding,” cried Jones. +“We’ve <em>got</em> to board!”</p> + +<p><em>Crash! Crash! Crash!</em></p> + +<p>Again the cannon made the splinters fly. Again +the two game-cocks spat at each other like angry cats, +but, the fire from the <i>Richard</i> was far weaker than +before.</p> + +<p>Commodore Jones walked hastily to the gun-deck.</p> + +<p>“Dick,” said he to Lieutenant Dale, “this fellow’s +metal is too heavy for us at this business. He is hammering +us all to pieces. We must close with him! +We must get hold of him! Be prepared at any moment +to abandon this place and bring what men you +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> +have left on the spar-deck—and give them the small +arms for boarding when you come up.”</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Dale saluted.</p> + +<p>“All right!” cried he. “I’ll be with you in a jiffy, +Commodore.”</p> + +<p>As Jones walked hastily to the main deck—the +Lieutenant ran to the store-room and dealt out cutlasses, +pistols and pikes, to the eager men. The deck +was red with blood.</p> + +<p>The worst carnage of all was at “number two” gun +of the forward, starboard division. From the first +broadside until the quarter-deck was abandoned, nineteen +different men were on this gun, and, at this time, +only one of the original crew remained. It was the +little Indian, Antony Jeremiah; or, as his mates called +him, “Red Cherry.”</p> + +<p>“Let me join you,” he cried, as he saw Mayrant’s +boarding party. Seizing a cutlass and dirk, he stood +beside the cluster of men, eager and keen to have a +chance at the enemy. A soul of fire was that of the +little savage—and now he had a splendid opportunity +to indulge in the natural blood-thirst of his race, +for an Indian loves a good fight, particularly when +he is upon the winning side.</p> + +<p>The vessels swung on slowly—the fire from the +<i>Serapis</i> still strong and accurate; the sputtering volleys +from the <i>Richard</i> growing weaker and weaker. +Only three of the nine-pounders on the starboard +quarter-deck were serviceable; the entire gun-deck +battery was silent and abandoned.</p> + +<p>“We have him,” cheerfully cried Captain Pearson +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> +to one of his aides. “But, hello”—he continued, +“what sail is that?”</p> + +<p>As he spoke the <i>Alliance</i> came bounding across the +waves, headed for the two combatants, and looking +as if she were to speedily close the struggle.</p> + +<p>“The fight is at an end,” said Jones, jubilantly.</p> + +<p>Imagine his astonishment, chagrin, and mortification! +Instead of pounding the English vessel, the +French ally discharged a broadside full into the stern +of the <i>Richard</i>, ran off to the northward, close hauled, +and soon was beyond gun-shot.</p> + +<p>“Coward!” shouted John Paul, shaking his fist at +the retreating ally. “I’ll get even with you for this +if it takes me twenty years!”</p> + +<p>No wonder he was angered, for, with his main battery +completely silenced, his ship beginning to sink, +nearly half his crew disabled, his wheel shot away, +and his consort firing into him, there remained but +one chance of victory for John Paul Jones: to foul +the enemy and board her.</p> + +<p>Luckily a spare tiller had been fitted to the rudder +stem of the <i>Richard</i> below the main tiller—before +leaving port—because of the fear that the wheel +would be disabled. The foresight of the Commodore +had effected this; and now—by means of this extra +steering-gear—the battered warrior-ship was enabled +to make one, last, desperate lunge for victory. It +was touch and go with John Paul Jones.</p> + +<p>“I could distinctly hear his voice amid the crashing +of musketry,” says a seaman. “He was cheering on +the French marines in their own tongue, uttering such +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> +imprecations upon the enemy as I have never before +or since heard in French, or any other language. He +exhorted them to take good aim, pointed out the object +of their fire, and frequently took their loaded +muskets from their hands in order to shoot them himself. +In fact, towards the very last, he had about him +a group of half a dozen marines who did nothing but +load their firelocks and hand them to the Commodore; +who fired them from his own shoulder, standing on +the quarter-deck rail by the main topmast backstay.”</p> + +<p>Luck now came to the disabled <i>Richard</i>. A fortunate +puff of wind struck and filled her sails, shooting +her alongside of the growling <i>Serapis</i>, and to windward. +The canvas of the Britisher flapped uselessly +against her spars. She was blanketed and lost steering-way. +In a moment the jib-boom of the English +vessel ran over the poop-deck of the American ship. +It was seized, grappled by a turn of small hawsers, +and made fast to the mizzen-mast.</p> + +<p>“She’s ours!” cried John Paul Jones. “Seize that +anchor and splice it down hard!”</p> + +<p>As he spoke, the fluke of the starboard anchor of +the <i>Serapis</i> hooked in the mizzen chains. It was +lashed fast, and the <i>Richard</i> had been saved.</p> + +<p><em>Rattle! Rattle! Crash!</em> sounded the muskets of +the French marines. The English tried to cut their +anchor chains and get free, but all who attempted to +sever these hawsers were struck dead by the accurate +balls from the marksmen on the poop-deck and round-house +of the <i>Richard</i>.</p> + +<p>“I demand your surrender!” shouted Pearson.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 410px;"> +<a name="swarmed_into_forecastle" id="swarmed_into_forecastle"></a> +<img src="images/fpas17.jpg" width="410" height="600" alt="" /> +<p class="smlfont">From an old print.</p> +</div> + +<p class="caption">“THEY SWARMED INTO THE FORECASTLE AMIDST FIERCE CHEERS.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> +“Surrender?” cried John Paul Jones. “Why, I +am just beginning to fight!”</p> + +<p>Then he turned to John Mayrant, who stood ready +to rush across the hammock-nettings into the waist +of the enemy’s ship. Twenty-seven sailors were +nearby, each with a cutlass and two ship’s pistols.</p> + +<p>“Board ’em!” he cried.</p> + +<p>Over the rail went the seamen—monkey-wise—over +the rail, John Mayrant leading with a dirk in +his teeth, like a Bermuda pirate. They swarmed into +the forecastle amidst fierce cheers, the rattle of musketry, +and the hiss of flames. Just at the moment +that John Mayrant’s feet struck the enemy’s deck, a +sailor thrust a boarding-pike through the fleshy part +of his right thigh. <em>Crack!</em> a pistol spat at him, and +he fell prostrate.</p> + +<p>“Remember Portsea jail! Remember Portsea +jail!” cried the dauntless raider, rushing down into +the forecastle with his wild, yelping sailors. Pearson +stood there; crest-fallen—abashed.</p> + +<p>Seizing the ensign-halyards of the <i>Serapis</i>, as the +raging torrent of seamen rolled towards him, the +brave English sea-captain hauled the flag of his ship +to the deck.</p> + +<p>The <i>Richard</i> had won!</p> + +<p>“He has struck; stop firing! Come on board and +take possession!” yelled Mayrant, running to the rail.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Dale heard him, and, swinging himself +on the side of the <i>Serapis</i>, made his way to the quarter-deck, +where Captain Pearson was standing. “I +have the honor, sir, to be the first Lieutenant of the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> +vessel alongside,” said he saluting. “It is the American +Continental ship <i>Bon Homme Richard</i>, under +command of Commodore Paul Jones. What vessel is +this?”</p> + +<p>“His Britannic Majesty’s late man-of-war the +<i>Serapis</i>, sir,” was the sad response, “and I am Captain +Richard Pearson.”</p> + +<p>“Pardon me, sir,” said the American officer, “in +the haste of the moment I forgot to inform you that +my name is Richard Dale and I must request you to +pass on board the vessel alongside.”</p> + +<p>Pearson nodded dejectedly.</p> + +<p>As he did so, the first Lieutenant of the <i>Serapis</i> +came up from below, and, looking at Captain Pearson, asked,</p> + +<p>“Has the enemy struck, sir?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir! <em>I</em> have struck!” was the sad reply.</p> + +<p>“Then, I will go below and order our men to cease +firing,” continued the English Lieutenant.</p> + +<p>But Lieutenant Dale interrupted.</p> + +<p>“Pardon me, sir,” said he, “I will attend to that; +and, as for yourself, please accompany Captain Pearson +on board the ship alongside.”</p> + +<p>With reluctant steps the two officers clambered +aboard the battered <i>Good Richard</i>, where Commodore +Jones received them with much courtesy.</p> + +<p>Bowing low, Captain Pearson offered him his +sword. His first Lieutenant did likewise.</p> + +<p>“Captain Pearson,” said the victorious John Paul, +“you have fought heroically. You have worn this +weapon to your own credit and to the honor of your +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> +service. I hope that your sovereign will suitably +reward you.”</p> + +<p>The British commander was the image of chagrin +and despair. He bowed again, and then walked slowly +into the cabin, followed by his crest-fallen Lieutenant.</p> + +<p>It was nearly midnight. The full moon above—in +a cloudless sky—made it almost as light as day. +Seven feet of water were in the hold of the <i>Richard</i>; +she had sunk so much that many shot-holes were +below the water-line and could not be plugged. +Nearly sixty of her crew lay dead upon her decks; +more than a hundred and twenty were desperately +wounded. Every twelve-pounder of the starboard +broadside was either dismounted, or disabled. The +starboard side, which had been opposite the <i>Serapis</i>’s +eighteen-pounders, was driven so far in, that, but for +a few frames and stanchions which remained, the +whole gun-deck would have fallen through. She was +afire, and the flames licked upward with an eager +hiss.</p> + +<p>“Take the wounded aboard the <i>Serapis</i>!” commanded +Captain Jones. “We must desert our good +ship!”</p> + +<p>In an hour’s time all were upon the deck of the +vanquished Britisher. No one was left on the <i>Richard</i> +but the dead. The torn and tattered flag was still +flying from the gaff, and, as the battered sea-warrior +gradually settled in the long swell, the unconquered +ensign fluttered defiantly in the slight breeze. At +length the <i>Bon Homme Richard</i> plunged downward +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> +by the head; her taffrail rose momentarily on high, +and, with a hoarse roar of eddying bubbles and sucking +air, the conqueror disappeared from view. To +her immortal dead was bequeathed the flag which +they had so desperately defended.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>So ended the great battle. Thus Paul Jones had +made his name immortal. And by it he was to be +known for all time.</p> + +<p>This was not the end of his career, by any means. +He never again fought for the infant Republic of the +United States. But he became an Admiral in the +Russian Navy: battled valorously for the great Empress +Catherine against the Turks, and died in Paris, +July 18th, 1792.</p> + +<p>Buried at the French capital, his body was disinterred +in the year 1905, and brought to the United +States, to be entombed with military honors, at Annapolis, +Maryland.</p> + +<p>Paul Jones loved brave men. The braver they were +the more he loved them. When he went ashore and +happened to meet his old sailors—every one of whom +he knew and called by his first name—they seldom +failed to strip his pockets of the last shilling. He +was generous to a fault and faithful to his friends. +His time, his purse, his influence were always at the +call of those who had served under him. A typical +sea-dog: a brave fighter,—</p> + +<p>Then, why not give three times three for John Paul +Jones?</p> + +<p>Are you ready?</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span></p> + +<h2>THE ESCAPE</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">’Tis of a gallant, Yankee ship that flew the Stripes and Stars,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the whistling wind from the west-nor’-west blew through her pitch-pine spars:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With her starboard tacks aboard, my Boys, she hung upon the gale;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the Autumn night, that we passed the light, on the old Head of Kinsale.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It was a clear and cloudless eve, and the wind blew steady and strong,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As gayly, o’er the sparkling deep, our good ship bowled along;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the foaming seas beneath her bow, the fiery waves she spread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, bending low her bosom of snow, she buried her lee cat-head.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There was no talk of short’ning sail, by him who walked the poop,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, under the press of her pounding jib, the boom bent like a hoop!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the groaning, moaning water-ways, told the strain that held the tack,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, he only laughed, as he glanced aloft, at the white and silvery track.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The mid-tide met in the Channel waves that flow from shore to shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the mist hung heavy upon the land, from Featherstone to Dunmore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And that sterling light in Tusker Rock, where the old bell tolls each hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the beacon light, that shone so bright, was quenched on Waterford tower.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What looms upon our starboard bow? What hangs upon the breeze?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">’Tis time that our good ship hauled her wind, abreast the old Saltees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For, by her pond’rous press of sail, and by her consorts four,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We saw that our morning visitor, was a British Man-of-War.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Up spoke our noble Captain—then—as a shot ahead of us passed,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">“Haul snug your flowing courses! Lay your topsail to the mast!”<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those Englishmen gave three loud cheers, from the deck of their covered ark,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, we answered back by a solid broad-side, from the side of our patriot barque.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“<em>Out booms! Out booms!</em>” our skipper cried, “<em>Out booms! and give her sheet!</em>”<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the swiftest keel that e’er was launched, shot ahead of the British fleet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">’Midst a thundering shower of shot,—and with stern-sails hoisting away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down the North Race <em>Paul Jones</em> did steer, just at the break of day.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author">—<i>Old Ballad.</i></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<a name="Page_283" id="Page_283"><!-- unnumbered title page --></a> +<p><span class='pagenum'></span></p> + +<h2>CAPTAIN SILAS TALBOT<br /> +<br /> +STAUNCH PRIVATEERSMAN OF +NEW ENGLAND<br /> +<br /> +(1751-1813)</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“If you want ter learn how ter fight, why jest fight.”—<i>Dock-end +Philosophy.</i></p> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center padtop">CAPTAIN SILAS TALBOT<br /> +STAUNCH PRIVATEERSMAN OF +NEW ENGLAND<br /> +(1751-1813)</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Talk about your clipper ships, chipper ships, ripper ships,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Talk about your barquentines, with all their spars so fancy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I’ll just take a sloop-o’-war with Talbot, with Talbot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An’ whip ’em all into ’er chip, an’ just to suit my fancy.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“So, heave away for Talbot, for Talbot, for Talbot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So, heave away for Talbot, an’ let th’ Capting steer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For, he’s the boy to smack them, to crack them, to whack them,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For he’s th’ boy to ship with, if you want to privateer.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author">—<i>Ballads of Rhode Island.</i>—1782.</p> + +<p><span class="dropcap">A</span> TRADING vessel, laden with wheat, from Cardigan +in Wales, was lying to in the English +Channel. Nearby rolled a long-bodied American +Privateer, while a boat neared the trader, in the +stern of which sat a staunch, weather-beaten officer in +a faded pea-jacket. It was the year 1813 and war was +on between England and the United States.</p> + +<p>When the blustering captain entered the cabin to +survey his prize, he spied a small box with a hole in the +top, on which was inscribed the words, “Missionary +Box.” He drew back, astonished.</p> + +<p>“Pray, my bold seaman,” said he, turning to the +Welsh captain, “what is this?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> +“Oh,” replied the honest, old sailor, heaving a sigh, +“’tis all over now.”</p> + +<p>“What?” asked the American privateersman.</p> + +<p>“Why, the truth is,” said the Welshman, “that I +and my poor fellows have been accustomed, every Monday +morning, to drop a penny each into that box for the +purpose of sending out missionaries to preach the +Gospel to the heathen; but it’s all over now.”</p> + +<p>The American seemed to be much abashed.</p> + +<p>“Indeed,” said he, “that is very good of you.” +And, pausing a few moments, he looked abstractedly +into the air, humming a tune beneath his breath.</p> + +<p>“Captain,” said he, at length, “I’ll not hurt a hair +of your head, nor touch your vessel.”</p> + +<p>So saying, he turned on his heel, took to his boat, +and left the Welshman to pursue its even course. And—as +the privateer filled away to starboard—a voice +came from the deck of the helpless merchantman,</p> + +<p>“God bless Captain Silas Talbot and his crew!”</p> + +<p>But we do not know what the owners of the privateer +said to the humane skipper about this little +affair when he returned to New York. They might +have uttered hard words about a Welshman who scored +upon him by means of a pious fraud. At any rate +Silas Talbot had done a good deed.</p> + +<p>This valorous privateer was born at Dighton, Massachusetts, +on the Sakonet River about the year 1752; +beginning his career at sea as a cabin-boy. At twenty-four +he was a captain in the United States army and +fought in the Revolutionary war, for a time, on land. +But—by reason of his nautical training—he was +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> +placed in command of a fireship at New York, and was +soon promoted to be Major—but still with duties +upon the water and not the shore. While here, a +soldier came to him, one day, with his eyes alight in +excitement.</p> + +<p>“Major,” said he, “there’s a chance for a splendid +little enterprise. Just off the coast of Rhode Island, +near Newport, lies a British vessel, moored to a kedge. +She mounts fifteen guns and around her is stretched a +stout netting to keep off a party of boarders. But we +can cut it and get through, I’ll warrant. And the game +is worth the candle.”</p> + +<p>Young Talbot was delighted at the thought of a +little expedition.</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell you how we’ll cut through,” said he. +“We’ll fix a small anchor at the bowsprit of our sloop. +Then, we’ll ram her into the netting at night, and—if +our vessel can punch hard enough—we’ll have forty +Americans upon the deck before you can say ‘Jack +Robinson.’”</p> + +<p>The soldier laughed.</p> + +<p>“Major Talbot,” said he, “you are a true fighting +man. I’ll have a crew for you within twenty-four +hours and we’ll take the good sloop <i>Jasamine</i>, lying off +of Hell Gate. Ahoy for the capture of the Englishman!”</p> + +<p>In two days’ time, all was ready for the expedition. +The sloop <i>Jasamine</i> slowly drifted into the harbor of +New York, an anchor spliced to her bowsprit, a crew +of sturdy adventurers aboard; and, filling away in a +stout sou’wester, rolled down the coast in the direction +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> +of Rhode Island. Reaching the vicinity of Newport, +she lay to behind a sheltering peninsula, waiting for the +night to come, so that she could drop down upon the +Englishman under the cloak of darkness.</p> + +<p>Blackness settled upon the still and waveless water. +With muffled oars the sloop now glided towards the +dark hull of the British gun-boat; her men armed to +the teeth, with fuses alight, and ready to touch off the +cannon at the slightest sign of discovery. All was still +upon the towering deck of the war-vessel and the little +lights twinkled at her bow.</p> + +<p>But what was that?</p> + +<p>Suddenly a voice came through the darkness.</p> + +<p>“Who goes there?”</p> + +<p>No answer came but the dip of the oars in unison.</p> + +<p>“Who goes there? Answer, or I fire!”</p> + +<p>Again the slow beat of the oars and nothing more.</p> + +<p><em>Crash!</em></p> + +<p>A musket spoke from the jutting bow in front of +the sloop and a bullet struck in the foremast of the +staunch attacker, with a resounding z-i-n-n-g!</p> + +<p>“We’re discovered,” whispered Talbot. “Pull for +your lives, men, and punch her like a battering-ram. +When we’ve cut through the netting, let every fellow +dash upon her decks, and fight for every inch you can.”</p> + +<p>As he ceased speaking, the bow of the sloop struck +the roping stretched around the man-o’-warsman, and +a ripping and tearing was plainly heard above the crash +of small arms, the shouts of men, and the rumble of +hawsers. Two cannon spoke from the side of the +Englishman, and, as their roar echoed across the still +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> +ocean, the guns of the <i>Jasamine</i> belched forth their +answer.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 436px;"> +<a name="talbot_himself" id="talbot_himself"></a> +<img src="images/fpas18.jpg" width="436" height="600" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p class="caption">“TALBOT, HIMSELF, AT THE HEAD OF HIS ENTIRE CREW, CAME +LEAPING ACROSS THE SIDE.”</p> + +<p>The anchor attached to the bowsprit had done what +was desired. It tore a great hole in the stout netting, +ripped open a breach sufficiently wide for entrance to +the deck, and, as the cannon grumbled and spat at the +sloop,—the bowsprit was black with jack-tars scrambling +for an opportunity to board the Britisher.</p> + +<p>“Now, men,” shouted Major Talbot, above the din. +“Swing our craft sideways! Let go the port guns, +and then let every mother’s son rush the foe! And +your cry must be, ‘Death and no quarter!’”</p> + +<p>As he ceased, the good <i>Jasamine</i> was forced sideways +into the man-o’-warsman, and, propelled by the +current, drifted against her with tremendous force, +crushing the remaining nets as she did so. A few of +the Americans were already on the deck in a terrific +struggle with the half-sleepy English seamen, but—in +a moment—Talbot, himself, at the head of his entire +crew, came leaping across the side.</p> + +<p>Now was a scene of carnage. The cutlasses of both +Yankee tar and British, were doing awful execution, +and pistols were cracking like hail upon the roof. +Back, back, went the English before the vigorous assault +of the stormers, and, as the deck was now piled +with the dead and dying, the commander of the man-o’-warsman +cried out,</p> + +<p>“I surrender! Cease, you Yankee sea-dogs. You’re +too smart for me!”</p> + +<p>So saying, he held up a handkerchief tied to his +cutlass, and the battle ceased.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> +The story of the fight of Silas Talbot’s was now on +every lip, and all praised the daring and courage of +this valorous Major, who was as bold as a lion, and +as courageous as any seaman who sailed upon the sea.</p> + +<p>Promotion came rapidly to the soldier-sailor. In +1779 he became a colonel and was placed in command +of the <i>Argo</i>, a sloop of about one hundred tons, armed +with twelve six-pounders, and carrying but sixty men. +’Tis said that she looked like a “clumsy Albany +trader,” with one great, rakish mast, an immense mainsail, +and a lean boom. Her tiller was very lengthy, she +had high bulwarks and a wide stern—but, in spite of +her raw appearance, she could sail fast and could show +a clean pair of heels to most vessels of twice her size.</p> + +<p>Shortly after taking charge of this privateer, word +was brought that Captain Hazard of the privateer +<i>King George</i> was off the coast of Rhode Island.</p> + +<p>“That’s what I want,” cried Captain Talbot, slapping +his knee. “This fellow Hazard is an American. +He was born in Rhode Island, and, instead of joining +in our righteous cause against the Mother Country, he +has elected to fight against us. For the base purpose +of plundering his old neighbors and friends, he has +fitted out the <i>King George</i> and has already done great +damage on the coast. Let me but catch the old fox and +I’ll give him a taste of American lead. I’ll put a stop +to the depredations of this renegade.”</p> + +<p>The <i>King George</i> had fourteen guns and eighty men, +but this did not worry staunch and nervy Silas Talbot. +He started in pursuit of her, as soon as he learned of +her whereabouts, and, before many days, sighted a sail +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> +just off the New York coast, which was hoped to be +the vessel of the renegade.</p> + +<p>Mile after mile was passed. Hour by hour the <i>Argo</i> +ploughed after the silvery sails, until, late in the afternoon, +the stranger hovered near a shallow harbor on +the coast, and seemed to await the on-coming privateer +with full confidence.</p> + +<p>The <i>Argo</i> boomed along under a spanking sou’wester +and, sailing near the stranger, to the keen eyes +of Talbot came the welcome sight of <i>King George</i> +painted upon the stern of the rakish privateer.</p> + +<p>“All hands man the guns,” cried he. “We’ll sink +th’ rascally Hazard with all his crew, unless he strikes. +She’s got more men and guns, but what care we for +that. Take hold, my Hearties, and we’ll soon make her +know her master.”</p> + +<p>The <i>King George</i> seemed to welcome the coming +fight; she luffed; lay to; and her men could be seen +standing ready at the polished cannon. Now was one +of the strangest battles of American sea history.</p> + +<p>The <i>King George</i> cruised along under a full +spread of canvas, jibbed, came about upon the port +quarter of the stranger, and ran up to within shooting +distance, when a broadside was poured into the deck +of the rolling <i>Argo</i>. She replied with her own fourteen +guns, and, before they could be reloaded, the <i>King +George</i> struck her alongside; the American seaman +swarmed across the rail; and—if we are to believe a +historian of the period—“drove the crew of <i>King +George</i> from their quarters, taking possession of her, +without a man on either side being killed.” Hats off +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> +to the doughty Silas Talbot for this brave adventure! +Did you ever hear of such a fight with no man ever +being slaughtered?</p> + +<p>Again rang the fame of Silas Talbot, but he was not +to rest long upon laurels won. The British privateer +<i>Dragon</i>—of three hundred tons and eighty men—was +hovering near Providence, Rhode Island, hungry +and eager for unprotected merchantmen.</p> + +<p>“I’ll have to strike her,” said Captain Talbot.</p> + +<p>It was a beautiful day in June. As the <i>Dragon</i> +drowsed along listlessly a dozen miles off the shore, her +topsails barely filling in the gentle southerly breeze, the +watch suddenly stirred, and sang out in no gentle +tones,</p> + +<p>“Sail ho, off the starboard! Looks like Captain +Talbot of the <i>Argo</i>!”</p> + +<p>The captain came bounding from his cabin, glass in +hand.</p> + +<p>“Sure enough,” said he, scanning the white sails +upon the horizon. “It’s Talbot and we’re in for a +tight affair. All hands prepare for action!”</p> + +<p>There was noise and confusion upon the deck of the +privateer as the guns were sponged, charges were +rammed home, and all prepared for battle. Meanwhile, +the stranger came nearer, and rounding to within +striking distance, crashed a broadside into the slumbering +<i>Dragon</i>, who had not yet shown her fangs.</p> + +<p><em>Crackle! Crackle! Boom!</em></p> + +<p>The small arms from the Britisher began to spit at +the advancing privateer, and seven of her fourteen +guns rang out a welcome to the sailors of Rhode +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> +Island. The solid shot ploughed through the rigging, +cutting ropes and spars with knife-like precision.</p> + +<p>“Round her to on the port quarter!” shouted Captain +Talbot, “and get near enough for boarding!”</p> + +<p>But, as the <i>Argo</i> swung near her antagonist, the +<i>Dragon</i> dropped away—keeping just at pistol-shot +distance.</p> + +<p>“Run her down!” yelled the stout Rhode Islander, +as he saw this manœuvre of his wily foe. Then he +uttered an exclamation of disgust, for, as he spoke, a +bullet struck his speaking trumpet; knocking it to the +deck, and piercing it with a jagged hole.</p> + +<p>“Never mind!” cried he, little disconcerted at the +mishap. “Give it to her, boys!”</p> + +<p>Then he again uttered an exclamation, for a bounding +cannon ball—ricochetting from the deck—took +off the end of his coat-tail.<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> + +<p>“I’ll settle with you for that,” yelled the old sea-dog, +leaping to a cannon, and, pointing it himself, he +touched the fuse to the vent. A puff of smoke, a roar, +and a ball ploughed into the mainmast of the rocking +<i>Dragon</i>.</p> + +<p>Talbot smiled with good humor.</p> + +<p>“Play for that, my brave fellows,” he called out, +above the din of battle. “Once get the mainmast +overside, and we can board her.”</p> + +<p>With a cheer, his sailors redoubled their efforts to +sink the <i>Dragon</i>, and solid shot fairly rained into her +hull, as the two antagonists bobbed around the rolling +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> +ocean in this death grapple. Thus they sparred and +clashed for four and a half hours, when, with a great +splitting of sails and wreck of rigging, the mainmast +of the <i>Dragon</i> trembled, wavered, and fell to leeward +with a sickening thud.</p> + +<p>“She’s ours!” yelled Captain Talbot, through his +dented speaking trumpet.</p> + +<p>Sure enough, the <i>Dragon</i> had had enough. Her +wings had been clipped, and, in a moment more, a +white flag flew from her rigging.</p> + +<p>“The <i>Argo</i> is sinking! The <i>Argo</i> is sinking!” +came a cry, at this moment.</p> + +<p>“Inspect the sides of our sloop,” cried Talbot.</p> + +<p>This was done, immediately, and it was found that +there were numerous shot-holes between wind and +water, which were speedily plugged up. Then, bearing +down upon the crippled <i>Dragon</i>, she was boarded; +a prize-crew was put aboard; and the <i>Argo</i> steered for +home, her men singing,</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Talk about your gay, old cocks,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yankee, Doodle, Dandy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">‘Si’ Talbot he can heave the blocks,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And stick like pepp’mint candy.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">“Yankee—Doodle—Shoot and kill,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yankee—Doodle—Dandy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yankee—Doodle—Back an’ fill,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yankee—Doodle—Dandy.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Silas Talbot, in fact, had done extremely well, but, +not content with his laurels already won, he soon put +out again upon the <i>Argo</i>, in company with another +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> +privateer from Providence, Rhode Island, called the +<i>Saratoga</i>; which sailed under a Captain Munro. They +were not off the coast more than two days when they +came across the <i>Dublin</i>; a smart, English privateer-cutter +of fourteen guns, coming out of Sandy Hook. +Instead of running away, she ploughed onward, and +cleared for action.</p> + +<p>The <i>Argo</i> and the <i>Saratoga</i> ran in upon the windward +quarter and banged away with audacity. The +fight lasted for an hour. Then—as the <i>Argo</i> tacked +in closer in order to grapple and board—the <i>Saratoga</i> +was headed for the privateer. But—instead of coming +in—she began to run off in the wind.</p> + +<p>“Hard a-weather! Hard up there with the helm!” +cried Captain Munro.</p> + +<p>“It is hard up!” cried the steersman.</p> + +<p>“You lie, you blackguard!” cried Munro. “She +goes away lasking! Hard a-weather I say again!”</p> + +<p>“It is hard a-weather, I say again, captain,” cried +the fellow at the tiller.</p> + +<p>“Captain Talbot thinks that I am running away +when I want to join him,” cried Munro. “What the +deuce is the matter anyway?”</p> + +<p>“Why, I can tell you,” cried a young Lieutenant. +“You’ve got an iron tiller in place of the wooden one, +and she’s loose in the rudder head, so your boat won’t +steer correctly.”</p> + +<p>“Egad, you’re right,” said Munro, as he examined +the top of the tiller. “Now, jam her over and we’ll +catch this <i>Dublin</i> of old Ireland, or else I’m no sailor. +We’ll give her a broadside, too, when we come up.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> +The <i>Argo</i>, meanwhile, was hammering the Englishman +in good fashion, and, as the <i>Saratoga</i> pumped a +broadside into her—raking her from bow to stern—the +<i>Dublin</i> struck her colors.</p> + +<p>“Two to one, is too much odds,” cried the English +captain, as a boat neared the side of his vessel. “I +could have licked either of you, alone.”</p> + +<p>And, at this, both of the American privateersmen +chuckled.</p> + +<p>Old “Si” Talbot was soon in another fight. Three +days later he chased another sail, and coming up with +her, found his antagonist to be the <i>Betsy</i>: an English +privateer of twelve guns and fifty-eight men, commanded +by an honest Scotchman.</p> + +<p>The <i>Argo</i> ranged up alongside and Talbot hailed +the stranger. After a bit of talk he hoisted the Stars +and Stripes, crying,</p> + +<p>“You must haul down those British colors, my +friend!”</p> + +<p>To which the Scot replied:</p> + +<p>“Notwithstanding I find you an enemy, as I suspected, +yet, sir, I believe that I shall let them hang a +little longer, with your permission. So fire away, +Flanagan!”</p> + +<p>“And that I’ll do,” yelled Talbot. “Flanagan will +be O’Toole and O’Grady before the morning’s over. +For I’ll beat you like an Irish constable from Cork.”</p> + +<p>So it turned out. Before an hour was past, the +<i>Betsy</i> had struck, the captain was killed, and all of +his officers were wounded.</p> + +<p>“Old Si”—you see—had had good luck. So +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> +well, indeed, had he fought, that in 1780 he was put +in command of a good-sized vessel, the <i>General Washington</i>. +In her he cruised about Sandy Hook in search +of spoil.</p> + +<p>One hazy day in August, the watch sang out,</p> + +<p>“Several sail astern, Sir! Looks like a whole +squadron!”</p> + +<p>Talbot seized the glass and gazed intently at the +specks of white.</p> + +<p>“Egad! It <em>is</em> a squadron,” said he, at length. +“And they’re after me. Crowd on every stitch of +canvas and we’ll run for it.”</p> + +<p>So all sail was hoisted, and the <i>General Washington</i> +stood out to sea.</p> + +<p>But the sails of the pursuers grew strangely clear. +They came closer, ever closer, and Talbot paced the +deck impatiently.</p> + +<p>“Gad Zooks!” cried he, “I wish that I could fly like +a bird.”</p> + +<p>He could not fly, and, in two hours’ time the red flag +on the foremast of a British brig was clear to the eyes +of the crew of the privateer. When—an hour later—a +solid shot spun across his bow, “Old Si” Talbot hove +to, and ran up the white flag. He was surrounded by +six vessels of the English and he felt, for once, that +discretion was the better part of valor.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>“Old Si” was now thrown into a prison ship off +Long Island and then was taken to England aboard +the <i>Yarmouth</i>. Imprisoned at Dartmoor, he made +four desperate attempts to escape. All failed.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> +In the summer of 1781 he was liberated; found his +way home to Rhode Island; and died “with his boots +on” in New York, June 30th, 1813. The old sea-dogs +of his native state still cherish the memory of +“Capting Si;” singing a little song, which runs:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">“He could take ’er brig or sloop, my boy,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">An’ fight her like ’er man.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">He could steer ’er barque or barquentine,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">An’ make her act jest gran!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">‘Ole Si’ wuz ’er rip-dazzler,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">His flag wuz never struck,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Until ’er British squadroon,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Jest catched him in th’ ruck.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“So drink ’er drop ter ‘Ole Si,’ Sky-high, Oh my!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drink ’er glass ter ‘Ole Si,’ th’ skipper from our kentry.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Give three cheers fer ‘Ole Si,’ Sky-high, Oh my!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Give three cheers fer ‘Ole Si,’ th’ pride o’ Newport’s gentry.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> A true incident vouched for by two historians.</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a name="privateer_capturing_two" id="privateer_capturing_two"></a> +<img src="images/fpas19.jpg" width="600" height="365" alt="" /> +<p class="smlfont">From “The Army and Navy of the United States.”</p> +</div> + +<p class="caption">AMERICAN PRIVATEER CAPTURING TWO ENGLISH SHIPS.</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<a name="Page_299" id="Page_299"><!-- unnumbered title page --></a> +<p><span class='pagenum'></span></p> + +<h2>CAPTAIN “JOSH” BARNEY<br /> +<br /> +THE IRREPRESSIBLE YANKEE<br /> +<br /> +(1759-1818)</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>“Never strike your flag until you have to. And if you have +to, why let it come down easy-like, with one, last gun,—fer +luck.”—<i>Maxims of 1812.</i></p> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center padtop">CAPTAIN “JOSH” BARNEY<br /> +THE IRREPRESSIBLE YANKEE<br /> +(1759-1818)</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If you would hear of fighting brave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of war’s alarms and prisons dark,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, listen to the tale I tell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Yankee pluck—and cruising barque,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which, battling on the rolling sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There fought and won,—Can such things be?<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p><span class="dropcap">I</span>T was about eight o’clock in the evening. The +moon was bright, and as the privateer <i>Pomona</i> +swung along in the fresh breeze, her Captain, +Isaiah Robinson of New York, laid his hand softly +upon the shoulder of his first officer, Joshua Barney, +saying,</p> + +<p>“A ship off the lee-quarter, Barney, she’s an Englishman, +or else my name’s not Robinson.”</p> + +<p>Barney raised his glass.</p> + +<p>“A British brig, and after us, too. She’s a fast +sailer and is overhauling us. But we’ll let her have +a broadside from our twelve guns and I believe that +we can stop her.”</p> + +<p>The <i>Pomona</i> carried thirty-five men. Laden with +tobacco for Bordeaux, France, she was headed for +that sunny land,—but all ready for a fight, if one +should come to her. And for this she carried twelve +guns, as her first officer had said.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> +The British boat came nearer and nearer. Finally +she was close enough for a voice to be heard from her +deck, and she ran up her colors. A cry came from +the black body,</p> + +<p>“What ship is that?”</p> + +<p>There was no reply, but the Stars and Stripes were +soon floating from the mainmast of the American.</p> + +<p>“Haul down those colors!” came from the Britisher.</p> + +<p>There was no answer, but the <i>Pomona</i> swung +around so that her port guns could bear, and a clashing +broadside plunged into the pursuer. Down came +her fore-topsail, the rigging cut and torn in many +places, and, as the American again showed her heels, +the British captain cried out,</p> + +<p>“All sail aloft and catch the saucy and insolent +privateer!”</p> + +<p>Then commenced one of the most interesting running +actions of American naval history.</p> + +<p>“The cursed American has no stern-gun ports,” +said the British sea-captain. “So keep the ship abaft, +and on th’ port quarter, where we can let loose our +bow-guns and get little in return.”</p> + +<p>This was done, but—if we are to believe an old +chronicler of the period—“The British crew had +been thrown into such confusion by the <i>Pomona</i>’s +first broadside that <em>they were able to fire only one or +two shots every half hour</em>.”</p> + +<p>“By Gad,” cried Joshua Barney to Captain Robinson, +about this time, “let’s cut a hole in our stern, +shove a cannon through it, and whale the British +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> +landlubber as he nears us for another shot with her +bow-chasers.”</p> + +<p>The captain grinned.</p> + +<p>“A good idea, Barney, a good idea,” he chuckled. +“Now we can teach her to keep clear of us.”</p> + +<p>So a three-pounder soon poked her nose through +the stern, and, when the proud Britisher again came +up for one of her leisurely discharges, she received a +dose of grape which made her captain haul off precipitously. +Nor did he venture near again for another +shot at the saucy fugitive.</p> + +<p>When daylight came, sixteen guns were counted +upon the British brig.</p> + +<p>“By George!” shouted Barney. “See those officers +in the rigging. She’s a gun-ship—a regular +ship-of-war.”</p> + +<p>But Captain Robinson laughed.</p> + +<p>“That’s an old game,” said he. “They’re tryin’ +to fool us into the belief that she’s a real gun-boat, +so’s we’ll surrender immediately. But see—she’s +drawin’ near again—and seems as if she’s about to +board us from the looks of her crew.”</p> + +<p>Barney gazed intently at the stranger.</p> + +<p>“You’re right,” said he. “Load the three-pounder +with grape-shot.”</p> + +<p>“And here’s a crow-bar as’ll top it off nice,” put +in a sailor.</p> + +<p>Captain Robinson laughed.</p> + +<p>“Yes, spike her in, too. She’ll plunk a hole clear +through th’ rascal,” he cried. “I’ll touch her off +myself.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span> +The British gun-boat drew nearer and nearer. Just +as she was within striking distance—about ten yards—the +three-pounder was touched off with a deaf’ning +roar.</p> + +<p>“So accurate was the aim,” says an old historian, +“that the British were completely baffled in their +attempt; their foresails and all their weather foreshrouds +being cut away.”</p> + +<p>“Give her a broadside!” called out Captain Robinson, +as the brig sheered off in order to support its +foremast, which tottered with its own weight; the +rigging which supported it, being half cut away. And, +as he spoke—the crew let drive a shower of balls +and grape-shot. It was the last volley.</p> + +<p>The <i>Pomona</i> kept upon her course, while the white +sails of the attacker grew fainter and fainter upon +the horizon.</p> + +<p>“I saw her name as she ranged in close to us,” +said Joshua Barney, slapping Captain Robinson on the +back. “And it was the <i>Rosebud</i>.”</p> + +<p>“I reckon that <i>Rosebud</i> has no thorns left,” +chuckled Captain Robinson, and he was still chuckling +when the little <i>Pomona</i> safely sailed into the harbor +of Bordeaux in France. The voyage had been +a success.</p> + +<p>Here a store of guns, powder and shot was purchased, +and, having shipped a cargo of brandy, and +raised the crew to seventy men, the staunch, little vessel +set sail for America.</p> + +<p>Not three days from the coast of France the cry +of “Sail ho!” startled all on board, and, upon the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span> +starboard quarter—loomed a British privateer. Upon +nearer view she was seen to have sixteen guns and +seventy men.</p> + +<p>“All hands for a fight!” cried Robinson. “Don’t +let th’ fellow escape.”</p> + +<p>Now was a hard battle. It lasted for full two hours, +and—in the end—the Britisher struck, with twelve +killed and a number wounded, while the American +loss was but one killed and two wounded. The <i>Pomona</i> +kept upon her course, jubilantly.</p> + +<p>But the saucy ship was not to have all smooth sailing. +She was soon captured—by whom it is not +known—and stout “Josh” Barney became a prisoner +of war. In December, 1780, with about seventy +American officers, he was placed on board the <i>Yarmouth</i>—a +sixty-four-gun brig—and was shipped +to England.</p> + +<p>Now listen to the treatment given him according +to a contemporaneous historian. Did you ever hear +of anything more atrocious? Peace—indeed—had +more horrors than war in the year 1780.</p> + +<p>“From the time these Americans stepped aboard +the <i>Yarmouth</i> their captors gave it to be understood, +by hints and innuendos, that they were being taken +to England ‘to be hanged as rebels;’ and, indeed +the treatment they received aboard the <i>Yarmouth</i> on +the passage over, led them to believe that the British +officers intended to cheat the gallows of their prey, by +causing the prisoners to die before they reached port.</p> + +<p>“On coming aboard the ship-of-the-line, these officers +were stowed away in the lower hold, next to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> +the keel, under five decks, and many feet below the +water-line. Here, in a twelve-by-twenty-foot room, +with upcurving floor, and only three feet high, the +seventy-one men were kept for fifty-three days, like +so much merchandise—without light or good air—unable +to stand upright, with no means to get away.</p> + +<p>“Their food was of the poorest quality, and was +supplied in such insufficient quantities, that, whenever +one of the prisoners died, the survivors concealed the +fact, in order that the dead man’s allowance might be +added to theirs. The water which they were served +to drink was atrocious.</p> + +<p>“From the time the <i>Yarmouth</i> left New York till +she reached Plymouth, in a most tempestuous winter +passage, these men were kept in this loathsome dungeon. +Eleven died in delirium; their wild ravings +and piercing shrieks appalling their comrades, and +giving them a foretaste of what they, themselves, +might expect. Not even a surgeon was permitted to +visit them.</p> + +<p>“Arriving at Plymouth, the pale, emaciated men +were ordered to come on deck. Not one obeyed, for +they were unable to stand upright. Consequently +they were hoisted up, the ceremony being grimly suggestive +of the manner in which they had been treated,—like +merchandise. And what were they to do, now +that they had been placed on deck?</p> + +<p>“The light of the sun, which they had scarcely seen +for fifty-three days, fell upon their weak, dilated pupils +with blinding force; their limbs were unable to +uphold them, their frames wasted by disease and want. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> +Seeking for support, they fell in a helpless mass, one +upon the other, waiting and almost hoping for the +blow that was to fall upon them next. Captain Silas +Talbot was one of these unfortunate prisoners.</p> + +<p>“To send them ashore in this condition was ‘impracticable,’ +so the British officers said, and we readily +discover that this ‘impracticable’ served the purpose +of diverting the indignation of the land’s folk, +which sure would be aroused, if they knew that such +brutality had been practiced under the cross of St. +George (the cross upon the British flag).</p> + +<p>“Waiting, then, until the captives could, at least, +endure the light of day, and could walk without leaning +on one another, or clutching at every object for +support, the officers had them removed to the old Mill +Prison.”</p> + +<p>This story has been denied, for the reason that the +log of the <i>Yarmouth</i> shows that she was forty-four +and not fifty-three days at sea, and the captain writes:</p> + +<p>“We had the prisoners ‘watched’ (divided into +port and starboard watch) and set them to the pumps. +I found it necessary so to employ them, the ship’s +company, from their weak and sickly state, being +unequal to that duty, and, on that account to order +them whole allowance of provisions.”</p> + +<p>It would have been impossible for men to be in the +condition which the first historian describes if they +had to man the pumps. It would have been impossible +for them to have done an hour’s work. Therefore, +I, myself, believe the second story. Don’t you?</p> + +<p>But to return to stout “Josh” Barney, now +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> +meditating thoughts of escape in old Mill Prison. Bold +and resourceful he was always, and he was now determined +to face the difficulties of an exit and the chances +of detection. “I must and can get away,” he said.</p> + +<p>The prisoners were accustomed to play leap-frog, +and one day the crafty “Josh” pretended that he had +sprained his ankle. Constructing two crutches—out +of pieces of boards—he limped around the prison-yard +and completely deceived all but a few of his +most intimate friends.</p> + +<p>One day—it was May the eighteenth, 1781—he +passed a sentry near the inner gate. The fellow’s name +was Sprokett and he had served in the British army +in America, where he had received many kindnesses +from the country people. For this reason his heart +warmed to the stout, young “Josh,” who had often +engaged him in conversation.</p> + +<p>Hopping to the gate upon his crutches, the youthful +American whispered,</p> + +<p>“Give me a British uniform and I will get away. +Can you do it?”</p> + +<p>Sprokett smiled.</p> + +<p>“Sure,” said he.</p> + +<p>“To-day?”</p> + +<p>“Dinner.”</p> + +<p>And this meant one o’clock, when the warders +dined.</p> + +<p>“All right,” whispered “Josh,” smiling broadly, +and he again hobbled around the yard.</p> + +<p>After awhile the sentry motioned for him to come +nearer. He did so—and as he approached—a large +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> +bundle was stealthily shoved into his arms. He +hastened to his cell and there put on the undress uniform +of an officer of the British army.</p> + +<p>Drawing on his great-coat, he went into the yard +and hobbled about upon his two sticks until the time +drew near for the mid-day mess. Then he drew close +to the gate.</p> + +<p>One o’clock tolled from the iron bell upon the +prison rampart, and, as its deep-toned echoes sounded +from its tower, several of Barney’s friends engaged +the half-dozen sentries in conversation. It was the +time for action.</p> + +<p>The astute “Josh” suddenly dropped his crutches. +Then—walking across the enclosure towards the +gate,—he winked to the sentry. A companion was +at hand. With a spring he leaped upon his shoulders. +One boost—and he was on top of the walk. Another +spring, and he had dropped to the other side as +softly as a cat.</p> + +<p>But the second gate and sentry had to be passed.</p> + +<p>Walking up to this red-coated individual he placed +four guineas (about $20.00) into his outstretched +palm. The soldier smiled grimly, as the great-coat +was tossed aside, and the shrewdest privateer in the +American Navy walked towards the opening through +the outer wall, which was usually left ajar for the +convenience of the prison officials. Another sentry +stood upon duty at this point.</p> + +<p>Barney nodded. The sentry had been “squared” +(told of the coming escape) and so he turned his back. +Thus—with his heart beating like a trip-hammer—“Josh,” +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> +the nervy one—walked down the cobbled +street outside of the “Old Mill.” He was free.</p> + +<p>Dodging into a lane, he soon met a friend who had +been told of his attempt, and who took him to the +house of an old clergyman in Plymouth. In the morning, +with two fellow-countrymen, who were also in +hiding (for they had been captured as passengers in +a merchant vessel), he secured a fishing-smack. +“Josh” now covered his uniform. Putting on an +old coat with a tarred rope tied around his waist, a +pair of torn trousers, and a tarpaulin hat, the disguised +Jack-tar ran the little vessel down the River +Plym, just as day was dawning. The forts and men-of-war +were safely passed, and the little shallop tossed +upon the gleaming wavelets of the English channel.</p> + +<p>We are told that his escape was not noticed for some +time because “a slender youth who was capable of +creeping through the window-bars at pleasure crawled +into Barney’s cell (in the Old Mill Prison) and answered +for him.” I doubt this, for—if you have +ever seen the bars of a prison—it would take a Jack +Spratt to get through them, and Jack Spratts are not +common. At any rate someone answered to the daily +roll-call for Joshua B., so that it was full two weeks +before the authorities knew of his escape. Perhaps +there was a ventriloquist in the jail.</p> + +<p>The tiny boat in which the adventurous American +hoped to reach the welcome shores of France, bobbed +up and down, as she ambled towards the low-lying +coast, under a gentle southerly breeze. But there was +trouble in this self-same wind, for the white wings +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span> +of a British privateer grew nearer and nearer, and a +hail soon came:</p> + +<p>“What’s your name, and where are you bound?”</p> + +<p>Barney and his partners in distress did not answer +at all. They scowled as a boat was lowered from the +side of their pursuer, and quickly splashed towards +them. In not many moments, a swearing sea-captain +swung himself upon their deck.</p> + +<p>“Who are you, you lubbers?” said he. “Where’ +yer papers, and where’ yer bound to?”</p> + +<p>“I’m a British officer,” replied the astute Joshua, +opening his coat and disclosing the uniform of the +service. “I am bound for France upon official business.”</p> + +<p>The Captain snickered.</p> + +<p>“An’ with two others in er’ launch? Aw go tell +that to th’ marines!”</p> + +<p>“It’s God’s truth. I’m in a state secret.”</p> + +<p>“Wall—be that as it may be—you must come +aboard of my vessel and tell yer state secret to th’ +authorities in England. Meanwhile, I’ll put a skipper +of my own aboard yer vessel and we’ll travel together—bein’ +friends.”</p> + +<p>Barney swore beneath his breath.</p> + +<p>Thus the two boats beat towards the coast of Merrie +England in company, and upon the day following, +came to anchor in a small harbor, six miles from +Plymouth. The captain of the privateer went ashore +in order to report to Admiral Digby at Plymouth, +while most of the crew also hastened to the beach in +order to avoid the chance of being seized by the press-gang, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> +which harried incoming vessels for recruits for +His Majesty’s service.</p> + +<p>“Can’t I go, too?” asked the cautious “Josh.”</p> + +<p>“No, you must remain on board until we come for +you,” said the captain, as he jumped into his boat en +route for the shore. “Mister Officer, I want to search +your record.” Then he laughed brutishly.</p> + +<p>But Barney’s thinking cap was working like a mill +race. There was a jolly-boat tied to the stern of the +privateer, and, when all were safe ashore, he gently +slipped into this, purposely skinning his leg as he did +so. Then he sculled to the beach; where a group of +idlers stood looking out to sea.</p> + +<p>“Here,” he cried, as he neared them. “Help me +haul up this boat, will yer? She’s awful heavy.”</p> + +<p>A custom’s officer was among these loiterers and he +was inquisitive.</p> + +<p>“Who are you?” said he. “What regiment and +where stationed, pray?”</p> + +<p>“That I cannot answer, my friend,” calmly replied +the acute “Josh,” pointing to the blood as it trickled +through his stocking. “I am badly injured, you see, +and must go away in order to get my leg tied up. +Prithee, kind sir, can you tell me where the crew from +my vessel have gone to?”</p> + +<p>“They are at the Red Lion at the end of the village,” +replied the official of the law. “You are, indeed, +badly hurt.”</p> + +<p>“Wall, I reckon,” replied the American, and, stumbling +up the beach, he was soon headed for the end +of the little village.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span> +But things were not to go too well with him. He +found that he was obliged to pass the Red Lion, and +he had almost succeeded in doing so unmolested, when +one of the sailors who was loitering outside, cried +out after him,</p> + +<p>“Ho, friend! I would speak with you!”</p> + +<p>“Josh” had to stop although sorely tempted to run +for it.</p> + +<p>“I’ve got some idee of shippin’ in th’ Navy,” said +the fellow, as he approached. “Now, friend, you can +tell me somethin’ of th’ pay an’ service, as you’re an +officer of th’ army.”</p> + +<p>Barney’s eyes shone with pleasure, as he saw that +his disguise had deceived the fellow.</p> + +<p>“Walk along with me towards Plymouth,” said he, +“and I’ll explain everything to you. I have business +there which will not wait and I must get on +to it.”</p> + +<p>So they jogged along together, talking vigorously +about the Navy, but, in the course of half an hour +the jack-tar seemed to think better of his plan for +entering “a service noted for its cruelty to seamen,” +and turned back, saying,</p> + +<p>“Thank’ee my fine friend. Thank’ee. I’ll stick to +privateerin’. It’s easier an’ there’s less cat-o’-nine-tails +to it.”</p> + +<p>As soon as his burly form disappeared down the +winding road, Barney began to grow anxious about +his safety. Perhaps a guard would be sent after him? +Perhaps—even now—men had discovered his absence +and were hurrying to intercept him? So—with +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span> +these thoughts upon his mind—he jumped over +a stiff hedge into the grounds of Lord Mount-Edgecumbe.</p> + +<p>“Egad! it’s touch and go with me,” said he, as he +walked down one of the gravelled paths. “I’m in +for it now for here comes the gardener.”</p> + +<p>Sure enough, towards him ambled a middle-aged +fellow, smiling as he pushed along a wheel-barrow +filled with bulbs.</p> + +<p>Joshua walked up to him, extending his right +hand.</p> + +<p>“My friend,” said he, “I am an officer escaping +from some seamen who wish my life because of a +duel in which I recently engaged over the hand of a +fair lady. Here is a guinea. It is all that I possess. +And—if you could but pilot me to the waterside and +will not tell of my whereabouts—I will bless you to +my dying day.”</p> + +<p>The good-humored man-of-the-soil smiled benignly.</p> + +<p>“Prithee, but follow me,” said he, “and we’ll soon +see that you pass by the way of the water gate. Your +money is most welcome, sir, for my wife is just now +ill and doctors must be paid, sir. That you know +right well.”</p> + +<p>Barney breathed easier as they walked towards the +sea; for out of the corner of his eye he saw a +guard—sent to capture him—tramping along +the other side of the hedge over which he had +leaped.</p> + +<p>“Good-bye and good luck!” cried the kind-hearted +servant as he closed the private gate which led to the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span> +waterside. And, with a wave of the hand, the fleeing +American was soon hastening to the winding river, +over which he must cross in order to get on to Plymouth.</p> + +<p>Luck was still with him. A butcher who was ferrying +some beeves by water, took him in his boat, and, +as night fell, the keen-witted privateersman crept +through the back door of the old clergyman’s house +at Plymouth—from which he had started. For the +time being, he was safe.</p> + +<p>Strange to relate, the two friends of the fishing-smack +adventure here joined him once more, for they, +also, had run away from the crew of the privateer, +and—as they sat around the supper-table—the town-crier +went by the house, bawling in harsh and discordant +tones:</p> + +<p>“Five guineas reward for the capture of Joshua +Barney; a rebel deserter from Mill Prison! Five +guineas reward for this deserter! Five guineas! Five +guineas!”</p> + +<p>But Barney stuffed his napkin into his mouth in +order to stop his laughter.</p> + +<p>Three days later a clean-shaven, bright-cheeked, +young dandy stepped into a post chaise, at midnight, +and drove off to Exeter. At Plymouth gate the conveyance +was stopped; a lantern was thrust into the +black interior; and the keen eyes of the guard scanned +the visages of those within:</p> + +<p>“He’s not here,” growled the watchman, lowering +the light. “Drive on!”</p> + +<p>Thus Joshua Barney rolled on to home and freedom, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span> +while the stout-bodied soldier little guessed that +the artful privateersman had slipped through his fingers +like water through a sieve.</p> + +<p>Two months later—in the autumn of 1781—Joshua +Barney: fighter, privateer, liar and fugitive, +walked down the quiet streets of Beverly, Massachusetts, +and a little fish-monger’s son whispered to his companions,</p> + +<p>“Say, Boys! That feller is a Jim Dandy. He’s +been through more’n we’ll ever see. Say! He’s a +regular Scorcher!”</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Many months later—when the Revolutionary War +had ended—the good ship <i>General Washington</i> lay +in Plymouth Harbor on the south coast of England. +Her commander—Captain Joshua Barney—gazed +contentedly at the Stars and Stripes as they flew +jauntily from the mizzen-mast, and then walked to +the rail, as a group of British officers came over the +side. But there was one among these guests who was +not an officer. He was bent, old, weather-beaten; +and his dress showed him to be a tiller and worker +of the soil. It was the aged and faithful gardener of +Lord Mount-Edgecumbe.</p> + +<p>“You remember me?” cried the genial American, +grasping the honest servant by the hand.</p> + +<p>The gardener’s eyes were alight with pleasure.</p> + +<p>“You are the feller who jumped over the hedge—many +years ago—when the sea-dogs were hot upon +your trail.”</p> + +<p>Joshua Barney chuckled.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span> +“The same,” said he. “And here is a purse of +gold to reward my kind and worthy helpmeet.”</p> + +<p>So saying, he placed a heavy, chamois bag of glittering +eagles into the trembling hands of the ancient +retainer.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span></p> + +<h2>THE DERELICT</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Unmoored, unmanned, unheeded on the deep—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tossed by the restless billow and the breeze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It drifts o’er sultry leagues of tropic seas.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where long Pacific surges swell and sweep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When pale-faced stars their silent watches keep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From their far rhythmic spheres, the Pleiades,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In calm beatitude and tranquil ease,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smile sweetly down upon its cradled sleep.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Erewhile, with anchor housed and sails unfurled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We saw the stout ship breast the open main,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To round the stormy Cape, and span the World,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In search of ventures which betoken gain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To-day, somewhere, on some far sea we know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her battered hulk is heaving to and fro.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<a name="Page_319" id="Page_319"><!-- unnumbered title page --></a> +<p><span class='pagenum'></span></p> + +<h2>ROBERT SURCOUF<br /> +<br /> +THE “SEA HOUND” FROM ST. MALO<br /> +<br /> +(1773-1827)</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>“If you would be known never to have done anything, never +do it.”—<span class="smcap">Emerson.</span></p> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center padtop">ROBERT SURCOUF<br /> +THE “SEA HOUND” FROM ST. MALO<br /> +(1773-1827)</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Parlez-vous Français?</i> Yes, Monsieur,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I can speak like a native,—sure.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, take off your cap to the lilies of France,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Throw it up high, and hasten the dance.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For “Bobbie” Surcouf has just come to town,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><em>Tenez!</em> He’s worthy of wearing a crown.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p><span class="dropcap">I</span>T was a sweltering, hot day in July and the good +ship <i>Aurora</i> swung lazily in the torpid waters of +the Indian Ocean. Her decks fairly sizzled in the +sun, and her sails flopped like huge planks of wood. +She was becalmed on a sheet of molten brass.</p> + +<p>“I can’t stand this any longer,” said a young fellow +with black hair and swarthy skin. “I’m going overboard.”</p> + +<p>From his voice it was easy to see he was a Frenchman.</p> + +<p>Hastily stripping himself, he went to the gangway, +and standing upon the steps, took a header into the +oily brine. He did not come up.</p> + +<p>“Sacre nom de Dieu!” cried a sailor. “Young +Surcouf be no risen. Ah! He has been down ze long +time. Ah! Let us lower ze boat and find heem.”</p> + +<p>“Voilà! Voilà!” cried another. “He ees +drowned!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span> +<em>Plunkety, plunk, splash!</em> went a boat over the side, +and in a moment more, a half dozen sailors were +eagerly looking into the deep, blue wash of the ocean.</p> + +<p>“He no there. I will dive for heem,” cried out the +fellow who had first spoken, and, leaping from the +boat, he disappeared from view.</p> + +<p>In a few moments he re-appeared, drawing the body +of the first diver with him. It was apparently helpless. +The prostrate sailor was lifted to the deck; +rubbed, worked over, scrubbed,—but no signs of +life were there.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, a Portuguese Lieutenant, who was +pacing the poop, appeared to be much pleased at what +took place.</p> + +<p>“The fellow’s dead! The beggar’s done for,—sure. +Overboard with the rascal! To the waves with +the dead ’un!”</p> + +<p>“Give us a few more moments,” cried the sailors. +“He will come to!”</p> + +<p>But the Lieutenant smiled satirically.</p> + +<p>“To the waves with the corpse! To the sharks +with the man from St. Malo!” cried he.</p> + +<p>And all of this the senseless seaman heard—for—he +was in a cataleptic fit, where he could hear, but +could not move. The Portuguese Lieutenant and he +were bitter enemies.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I tell you, Boys, the fellow’s dead!” again +cried the Portuguese. “Over with him!”</p> + +<p>So saying, he seized the inert body with his hands; +dragged it to the ship’s side; and started to lift it to +the rail.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span> +Conscious of all that went on around him, the paralyzed +Surcouf realized that, unless he could make some +sign, he had only a few seconds to live. So, with a +tremendous effort—he made a movement of his limbs. +It was noticed.</p> + +<p>“Voilà! Voilà!” cried a French sailor. “He ees +alife. No! No! You cannot kill heem!”</p> + +<p>Running forward, he grabbed the prostrate form of +Robert Surcouf, pulled it back upon the deck, and—as +the Portuguese Lieutenant went off cursing—he +rubbed the cold hands of the half-senseless man. In a +moment the supposed corpse had opened its eyes.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” he whispered. “I had a close call. A thousand +thanks to all!”</p> + +<p>In five more moments he could stand upon the deck, +and—believe me—he did not forget the Portuguese +Lieutenant!</p> + +<p>Robert Surcouf was born at St. Malo—just one +hundred years after Du Guay-Trouin, to whom he +was related. And like his famous relative he had been +intended for the Church,—but he was always fighting; +was insubordinate, and could not be made to +study. In fact, he was what is known as a “holy +terror.”</p> + +<p>Finally good Mamma Surcouf sent him to the Seminary +of St. Dinan, saying:</p> + +<p>“Now, Robert, be a good boy and study hard thy +lessons!”</p> + +<p>And Robert said, “Oui, Madame!” But he would +not work.</p> + +<p>One day the master in arithmetic did not like the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span> +method in which young “Bobbie” answered him, +and raising a cane, he ran towards the youthful +scholar. But Robert had learned a kind of “Jiu-Jitsu” +practiced by the youths of France, and he +tackled his irate master like an end-rush upon the +foot-ball team, when he dives for a runner. Both fell +to the ground with a thud. And all the other boys +yelled “Fine!” in unison.</p> + +<p>Now was a fierce battle, but weight told, and +“Bobbie” was soon underneath, with his teeth in the +leg of his tutor. They scratched and rolled until +“Bobbie” freed himself, and, running to the window, +jumped outside—for he was on the ground floor—scaled +the garden fence, and made off. Home was +twenty miles away.</p> + +<p>“I must get there, somehow,” said young “Bobbie.” +“I can never go back. I will be spanked so that I +cannot seat myself.”</p> + +<p>So little “Bob” trudged onward in the snow, for +it was winter. It grew dark. It was bitterly cold, and +he had no hat. At length—worn out with cold and +hunger—he sank senseless to the roadside.</p> + +<p>Luck pursues those destined for greatness.</p> + +<p>Some fish-merchants happened that way, and, seeing +the poor, helpless, little boy, they picked him up; +placed him upon a tiny dog-cart; and carried him to +St. Malo, where he had a severe attack of pneumonia. +But his good mother nursed him through, saying:</p> + +<p>“Ta donc! He will never be a scholar. Ta donc! +Young Robbie must go to sea!”</p> + +<p>So when “Bobbie” was well he was shipped aboard +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span> +the brig <i>Heron</i>, bound for Cadiz, Spain—and he was +only just thirteen. But he threw up his cap crying,</p> + +<p>“This is just what I’ve always wanted. Hurrah +for the salty brine!”</p> + +<p>At about twenty years of age we find him upon the +good ship <i>Aurora</i> from which his dive into the Indian +Ocean came near being his last splash. And the Portuguese +Lieutenant did not forget.</p> + +<p>Upon the next visit of the cruiser <i>Aurora</i> to the +coast of Africa an epidemic of malarial fever struck +the crew. Among those who succumbed to the disease +was the Portuguese Lieutenant. He was dangerously +ill.</p> + +<p>The ship arrived at the island of Mauritius, and, +Lieutenant Robert Surcouf was just going ashore, +when he received a message which said:</p> + +<p>“Come and see me. I am very ill.” It was from +his enemy,—the Portuguese.</p> + +<p>Surcouf did not like the idea, but after thinking the +matter over, he went. But note this,—he had a pair +of loaded pistols in his pocket. Dead men—you know—tell +no tales.</p> + +<p>As he entered the sick man’s cabin, a servant was +there. The Portuguese made a sign to him to retire.</p> + +<p>“I wish to speak to you with a sincere heart,” said +he, turning his face to young Surcouf. “Before I pass +from this world I want to relieve my conscience, and +ask your forgiveness for all the evil which I have +wished you during our voyages together.”</p> + +<p>“I bear you no malice,” said Surcouf. “Let by-gones +be by-gones.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span> +As he spoke a spasm seemed to contort the body of +the dying man. One arm stretched out towards a +pillow nearby, and Robert had a sudden, but excellent +thought. Stepping forward, he seized the hand of his +old enemy, lifted the pillow, and, then started back +with an exclamation of astonishment.</p> + +<p>“Ye Gods!” cried he. “You would murder me!”</p> + +<p>There, before him, were two cocked and loaded +pistols.</p> + +<p>Leaping forward he grabbed the weapons, pointing +one at the forehead of the rascally sailor.</p> + +<p>“You miserable beast!” cried he. “I can now +shoot you like a dog, or squash you like an insect; +but I despise you too much. I will leave you to die +like a coward.”</p> + +<p>“And,” says a historian, “this is what the wretched +man did,—blaspheming in despairing rage.”</p> + +<p>In October, 1794, Lieutenant Surcouf saw his first +big battle, for, the English being at war with the +French, two British men-of-war hovered off the island +of Mauritius, blockading the port of St. Thomas. +They were the <i>Centurion</i> of fifty-four guns, and the +<i>Diomede</i>, also of fifty-four cannon, but with fewer +tars. The French had four ships of war: the <i>Prudente</i>, +forty guns; the <i>Cybele</i>, forty-four guns; the +<i>Jean Bart</i>, twenty guns; and the <i>Courier</i>, fourteen +guns. Surcouf was junior Lieutenant aboard the +<i>Cybele</i>.</p> + +<p>It was a beautiful, clear day, as the French vessels +ploughed out to battle; their sails aquiver with the +soft breeze; their pennons fluttering; guns flashing; +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span> +and eager sailors crowding to the rails with cutlasses +newly sharpened and pistols in their sashes.</p> + +<p><em>Boom!</em></p> + +<p>The first gun spoke. The first shell spun across the +bow of the British bull-dog <i>Diomede</i>, and the battle +was on.</p> + +<p>Have you ever seen a school of pollock chasing a +school of smaller fry? Have you ever seen them +jump and splash, and thud upon the surface of the +water?</p> + +<p>Well—that is the way that the shells looked and +sounded—as they plumped and slushed into the surface +of the southern sea; and every now and then there +was a <em>punk</em>, and a <em>crash</em>, and a <em>chug</em>, as a big, iron ball +bit into the side of a man-of-war.</p> + +<p>Around and around sailed the sparring assailants, +each looking for a chance to board. <em>Crash! Roar! +Crash!</em> growled the broadsides. Shrill screams +sounded from the wounded; the harsh voices of the +officers echoed above the din of the conflict; and, the +whining bugle squealed ominously between the roaring +crush of grape and chain-shot.</p> + +<p>But the French got nearer and nearer. Great gaps +showed in the bulwarks of the <i>Diomede</i>; one mast +was tottering. Beaten and outnumbered she stood out +to sea, her sailors crowding into the rigging like +monkeys, and spreading every stitch of white canvas.</p> + +<p>“She runs! Egad, she runs!” cried the Commander +of the other British vessel. “Faith, I cannot +stand off four Frenchmen alone. I must after her +to save my scalp.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span> +So—putting his helm hard over—he threw his +vessel before the wind, and she spun off, pursued by +bouncing shells and shrieking grapnel.</p> + +<p>“Voilà!” cried the French. “Ze great battaile, +eet belongs to us!” But there were many dead and +wounded upon the decks of the proud French warships.</p> + +<p>Soon after this smart, little affair the soldiers and +sailors who had been in this fight were discharged,—and—looking +about for employment, young Robert +took the first position that presented itself: the command +of the brig <i>Creole</i>,—engaged in the slave trade. +He made several successful voyages, but orders were +issued to—</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Arrest the Slave Hunter and all his crew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When they arrive at the Mauritius.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>One of those little birds which sometimes carry +needed information, both on sea and land, whispered +this ill news to the gallant, young sea-dog. So he +steered for the isle of Bourbon, and there landed his +human freight in a small bay. At daybreak he lay at +anchor in the Harbor of St. Paul in that self-same +island.</p> + +<p>About eight in the morning a boat was seen approaching, +and to the hail,—“Who goes there?” +came the reply—</p> + +<p>“Public Health Committee from St. Denis. We +wish to come on board and to inspect your ship.”</p> + +<p>Surcouf was much annoyed.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span> +“You can climb aboard,” said he, stifling an exclamation +of disgust. “I am at your service.”</p> + +<p>In a few moments the commissioners were upon the +deck, and, in a few moments more, they had discovered +that the ship was a slaver.</p> + +<p>Turning to the youthful captain, one of the committee +said:</p> + +<p>“You, sir, are engaged in illegal traffic. You must +suffer for this, and must come with us at once to the +city to answer an indictment drawn up against you.”</p> + +<p>Surcouf smiled benignly.</p> + +<p>“I am at your service,” said he, with a polite bow. +“But do not go—I pray thee—until you have given +me the great pleasure of partaking of the breakfast +which my cook has hastily prepared.”</p> + +<p>The Committee-men smiled.</p> + +<p>“You are very kind,” said one. “We accept with +pleasure.”</p> + +<p>The hasty efforts of the cook proved to be most +attractive. And, as the Commissioners smacked their +lips over the good Madeira wine, the mate of the <i>Creole</i> +dismissed the boat which had brought the stolid Commissioners +to the side.</p> + +<p>“The tender of our brig will take your people +ashore,” said he to the coxswain.</p> + +<p>No sooner had this tender neared the shore, than the +cable of the <i>Creole</i> was slipped; she left her anchorage; +and quickly drew out to sea in a fresh sou’westerly +breeze.</p> + +<p>The unaccustomed rallying soon warned the Commissioners +that the vessel was no longer at anchor, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span> +and, rushing to the deck, they saw—with dismay—that +a full half mile of foam-flecked ocean lay between +them and the island.</p> + +<p>“Ye Gods!” cried one, turning to Surcouf. +“What mean you by this, sir?”</p> + +<p>The crafty Captain was smiling like the Cheshire +cat.</p> + +<p>“You are now in my power,” said he—very +slowly and deliberately. “I am going to take you +to the coast of Africa among your friends—the +negroes. You seem to prefer them to the whites, so +why not, pray? Meanwhile,—my kind sirs,—come +below and take my orders.”</p> + +<p>The Commissioners were flabbergasted.</p> + +<p>“Pirate!” cried one.</p> + +<p>“Thief!” cried another.</p> + +<p>“Scamp!” shouted the third.</p> + +<p>But they went below,—mumbling many an imprecation +upon the head of the crafty Robert Surcouf.</p> + +<p>That night the wind freshened, the waves rose, and +the good ship <i>Creole</i> pitched and tossed upon them, +like a leaf. The Committee-men were very ill, for they +were landsmen, and Surcouf’s smile expanded.</p> + +<p>“Take us ashore! Take us ashore!” cried one. +“We <em>must</em> get upon land.”</p> + +<p>Surcouf even laughed. Everything was as he +wished.</p> + +<p>“I will land you upon one condition only,” said he. +“Destroy the indictment against me and my ship. +Write a document to the effect that you have found +no traces of slaves upon my staunch craft. Say that +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span> +my boat was driven from her anchor by a tidal wave—and +you can put your feet upon solid ground.”</p> + +<p>The three Commissioners scowled, but he had them. +Besides they were sea-sick.</p> + +<p>In an hour’s time, the desired paper had been drawn +up. The <i>Creole</i> was headed for the Mauritius,—and, +in eight days, the sad but wiser Commissioners were +brooding over the smartness of Robert Surcouf when +seated in their own snug little homes. “He is a rascal,” +said one. “He’s a slick and wily cur.”</p> + +<p>So much reputation came to the young mariner—at +this exploit—that he was soon offered the command +of the <i>Emilie</i>: a privateer of one hundred and +eighty tons and four guns. He accepted with glee, +but when about to go to sea, the Governor refused +him Letters of Marque.</p> + +<p>“What shall I do?” asked the crest-fallen Robert, +approaching the owners of the trim and able +craft.</p> + +<p>“Sail for the Seychelles (Islands off the east coast +of Africa) for a cargo of turtles,” said they. “If you +fail to find these; fill up with corn, cotton and fruit. +Fight shy of all English cruisers, and battle if you +have to.”</p> + +<p>Surcouf bowed.</p> + +<p>“I am not a regular privateer,” he answered. “For +I have no Letters of Marque. But I can defend myself +if fired upon, and am an armed vessel in war-time. I +may yet see some fighting.”</p> + +<p>He was not to be disappointed.</p> + +<p>While at anchor at the Seychelles, two large and fat +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span> +English men-of-war appeared in the offing. Surcouf +had to run for it.</p> + +<p>Steering in among the many little islets, which here +abound, he navigated the dangerous channels and got +safely off, his men crying,</p> + +<p>“Voilà! Here is a genius. We did well to ship +with such a master!”</p> + +<p>But the gallant Surcouf soon turned from privateer +to pirate.</p> + +<p>South of the Bay of Bengal, a cyclone struck the +<i>Emilie</i> and she was steered for Rangoon, where—</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“The flying fishes play,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An’ the dawn comes up like thunder,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Outer China across the Bay.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>And here a British vessel steered for her: white-winged, +saucy, vindictive-looking.</p> + +<p>She came on valiantly, and, when within a hundred +yards, pumped a shot across the bow of the +drowsing <i>Emilie</i>. It meant “Show your colors.”</p> + +<p>Hoisting the red, white and blue of France, Surcouf +replied with three scorching shots. One struck +the Britisher amid-ships, and pumped a hole in her +black boarding.</p> + +<p>Like a timid girl, the Englishman veered off, +hoisted her topsail, and tried to get away. She saw +that she had caught a tartar.</p> + +<p>The blood was up of the “Man from St. Malo.” “I +consider the shot across my bows as an attack,” said +he, and he slapped on every stitch of canvas, so that +the <i>Emilie</i> was soon abreast of the Britisher. <em>Boom!</em> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span> +A broadside roared into her and she struck her colors. +Bold Robert Surcouf had passed the Rubicon,—he +had seen the English flag lowered to him, for the first +time; and his heart swelled with patriotic pride, in +spite of the fact that this was an act of piracy, for +which he could be hanged to the yard-arm.</p> + +<p>“On! On!” cried Surcouf. “More captures! +More prizes!”</p> + +<p>Three days later three vessels carrying rice fell into +his hands,—one of which,—a pilot-brig—was appropriated +in place of the <i>Emilie</i>, which had a foul, +barnacled bottom and had lost her speed. The <i>Diana</i>, +another rice-carrier—was also captured—and Robert +Surcouf headed for the Mauritius: pleased and +happy.</p> + +<p>A few days later, as the vessels pottered along off +the river Hooghly, the cry came:</p> + +<p>“A large sail standing into Balasore Roads!”</p> + +<p>In a moment Surcouf had clapped his glass to his +keen and searching eye.</p> + +<p>“An East Indiaman,” said he. “And rich, I’ll +warrant. Ready about and make after her. She’s too +strong for us,—that I see—but we may outwit +her.”</p> + +<p>The vessel, in fact, was the <i>Triton</i>, with six-and-twenty +guns and a strong crew. Surcouf had but +nineteen men aboard, including the surgeon and himself, +and a few Lascars,—natives. The odds were +heavily against him, but his nerve was as adamant.</p> + +<p>“My own boat has been a pilot-brig. Up with the +pilot flag!” he cried.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span> +As the little piece of bunting fluttered in the breeze, +the <i>Triton</i> hove to, and waited for him, as unsuspecting +as could be. Surcouf chuckled.</p> + +<p>Nearer and nearer came his own vessel to the lolling +Indiaman, and, as she rolled within hailing distance, +the bold French sea-dog saw “<i>beaucoup de monde</i>”—a +great crowd of people—upon the deck of the Englishman.</p> + +<p>“My lads!” cried he, turning to his crew. “This +<i>Triton</i> is very strong. We are only nineteen. Shall +we try to take her by surprise and thus acquire both +gain and glory? Or, do you prefer to rot in a beastly +English prison-ship?”</p> + +<p>“Death or victory!” cried the Frenchmen.</p> + +<p>Surcouf smiled.</p> + +<p>“This ship shall either be our tomb, or the cradle +of our glory,” said he. “It is well!”</p> + +<p>The crew and passengers of the <i>Triton</i> saw only a +pilot-brig approaching, as these did habitually (to +within twenty or thirty feet) in order to transfer the +pilot. Suddenly a few uttered exclamations of surprise +and dismay. The French colors rose to the mast of +the sorrowful-looking pilot-boat, and with a flash and +a roar, a heavy dose of canister and grape ploughed +into the unsuspecting persons upon the deck of the +Indiaman. Many sought shelter from the hail of +iron.</p> + +<p>A moment more, and the brig was alongside. A +crunching: a splitting of timber as the privateer struck +and ground into the bulwarks of the <i>Triton</i>, and, with +a wild yell—Surcouf leaped upon the deck of his +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span> +adversary—followed by his eighteen men, with cutlass, +dirks and pistols.</p> + +<p>There was but little resistance. The Captain of +the <i>Triton</i> seized a sword and made a vain attempt to +stem the onslaught of the boarders, but he was immediately +cut down. The rest were driven below, and +the hatches clapped tight above them. In five minutes +the affair was over, with five killed and six wounded +upon the side of the English: one killed and one +wounded among the French. Surcouf had made a +master stroke. The <i>Triton</i> was his own.</p> + +<p>The many prisoners were placed on board the <i>Diana</i> +and allowed to make their way to Calcutta, but the +<i>Triton</i> was triumphantly steered to the Mauritius, +where Surcouf received a tremendous ovation.</p> + +<p>“Hurrah for Robert Surcouf: the sea-hound from +St. Malo!” shrieked the townsfolk.</p> + +<p>“Your captures are all condemned,” said the Governor +of the island, a few days after his triumphant +arrival. “For you sailed and fought not under a +Letter of Marque, so you are a pirate and not a privateer. +Those who go a-pirating must pay the piper. +Your prizes belong to the Government of France, and +its representative. I hereby seize them.”</p> + +<p>Surcouf was nonplussed.</p> + +<p>“We will take this matter to France, itself,” cried +he. “And we shall see whether or no all my exertions +shall go for nought.”</p> + +<p>So the case was referred to the French courts, where +Robert appeared in person to plead his cause. And +the verdict was:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span> +“The captures of Captain Robert Surcouf of St. +Malo are all declared ‘good prize’ and belong to him +and the owners of his vessel.”</p> + +<p>So the wild man from St. Malo was very happy, and +he and his owners pocketed a good, round sum of +money. But he really was a pirate and not a privateer. +<em>Tenez!</em> He had the money, at any rate, so why should +he care?</p> + +<p>The remaining days of Robert’s life were full of +battle, and, just a little love, for he returned to his +native town during the progress of the law-suit—in +order to see his family and his friends, and there +became engaged to Mlle. Marie Blaize, who was as +good as she was pretty. But the sea sang a song which +ran:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“For men must work and women must weep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The home of a hero is on the deep.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>which the stout sea-dog could not resist. So he left +the charming demoiselle without being married, and +’tis said that she wept bitterly.</p> + +<p>Now came his greatest exploit.</p> + +<p>On October 7th, 1800, the hardy mariner—in command +of the <i>Confiance</i>; a new vessel with one hundred +and thirty souls aboard—was cruising off the Indian +coast. He had a Letter of Marque this time, so all +would go well with him if he took a prize. The opportunity +soon came. A sail was sighted early that +day, and Surcouf scanned her carefully through his +glass.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 383px;"> +<a name="surcouf_scanned_her" id="surcouf_scanned_her"></a> +<img src="images/fpas20.jpg" width="383" height="600" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p class="caption">“SURCOUF SCANNED HER CAREFULLY THROUGH HIS GLASS.”</p> + +<p>“She’s a rich prize,” said he. “An Indiaman. All +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span> +hands on deck. Make sail! Drinks all round for the +men! Clear for action!”</p> + +<p>He spoke this to himself, for he was aloft, and, +climbing to the deck, ordered everybody aft to listen +to a speech. When they had collected there, he said, +with feeling:</p> + +<p>“I suppose each one of you is more than equal to +one Englishman? Very good—be armed and ready +for boarding—and, as it is going to be hot work, I’ll +give you one hour for pillage. You can fight, and, +behind me, you should be invincible! Strike, and strike +hard; and you will be rich.”</p> + +<p>The <i>Kent</i> had four hundred and thirty-seven souls +aboard, says an old chronicler, for she had picked up +a great part of the crew of the <i>Queen</i>: an East Indiaman +which had been destroyed off the coast of Brazil. +Her Captain’s name was Rivington and he was a fellow +of heroic courage.</p> + +<p>As the <i>Confiance</i> drew near, the crew of the Englishman +gave her a fair broadside and pumped gun after +gun into her hull. But the Frenchman held her fire, +and bore in close, in order to grapple. Hoarse shouts +sounded above the roar of the guns and the splitting +of timber, as the two war-dogs closed for action. The +crew of the <i>Kent</i> were poorly armed and undisciplined: +they had never fought together. With Surcouf it was +far different. His sailors were veterans—they had +boarded many a merchantman and privateer before—and, +they were well used to this gallant pastime. Besides, +each had a boarding-axe, a cutlass,—pistol and +a dagger—to say nothing of a blunderbuss loaded +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span> +with six bullets, pikes fifteen feet long, and enormous +clubs—all of this with “drinks all round” and the +promise of pillage. No wonder they could fight!</p> + +<p>With a wild, ear-splitting whoop the wild men of +the French privateer finally leaped over the rail—upon +the deck of the Englishman—and there was fierce +struggling for possession of her. At the head of his +men, Rivington fought like a true Briton,—cutlass in +hand, teeth clinched, eyes to the front. He was magnificent.</p> + +<p>But what could one man do against many?</p> + +<p>Back, back, the French forced the valiant lion, while +his crew fell all about in tiers, and, at length, they +drove him to the poop. He was bleeding from many +a wound. He was fast sinking.</p> + +<p>“Don’t give up the ship!” he cried, casting his eye +aloft at the red ensign of his country.</p> + +<p>Then he fell upon his face, and the maddened followers +of Surcouf swept over the decking like followers +of Attila, the terrible Hun.</p> + +<p>“Spare the women!” shouted the French Captain +above the din—and roar of battle. “Pillage; but spare +the women!”</p> + +<p>It was well that he had spoken, for his cut-throats +were wild with the heat of battle. In twenty minutes +the <i>Kent</i> was helpless; her crew were prisoners; and +the saucy pennon of France fluttered where once had +waved the proud ensign of Great Britain.</p> + +<p>Surcouf was happy. Landing the English prisoners +in an Arab vessel, he arrived at the Mauritius with his +prize in November, and soon took his doughty +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span> +<i>Confiance</i> to the low shores of France, catching a Portuguese +merchant en route, and anchoring at La +Rochelle, on April 13th, 1801.</p> + +<p>Rich, famous, respected; he now married the good +Mlle. Marie Blaize, and became the owner of privateers +and a respected citizen of the Fatherland. Fortune +had favored this brave fellow.</p> + +<p>As a prosperous ship-owner and ship-builder of his +native village—“the Sea-Hound of St. Malo”—closed +his adventurous life in the year 1827. And +when he quietly passed away, the good housewives +used to mutter:</p> + +<p>“Look you! Here was a man who fought the English +as well as they themselves could fight. He was +a true son of William the Conqueror. Look you! +This was a King of the Ocean!”</p> + +<p>And the gulls wheeled over the grave of the doughty +sea-warrior, shrieking,</p> + +<p>“He-did-it! He-did-it! He-did-it!”</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span></p> + +<h2>THE CRY FROM THE SHORE</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Come down, ye greyhound mariners,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unto the wasting shore!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The morning winds are up,—the Gods<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bid me to dream no more.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come, tell me whither I must sail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What peril there may be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before I take my life in hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And venture out to sea!<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>We may not tell thee where to sail,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Nor what the dangers are;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Each sailor soundeth for himself,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Each hath a separate star;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Each sailor soundeth for himself,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>And on the awful sea,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>What we have learned is ours alone;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>We may not tell it thee.</i><br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Come back, O ghostly mariners,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye who have gone before!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I dread the dark, tempestuous tides;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I dread the farthest shore.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tell me the secret of the waves;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Say what my fate shall be,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Quick! for the mighty winds are up,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And will not wait for me.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Hail and farewell, O voyager!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Thyself must read the waves;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>What we have learned of sun and storm</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Lies with us in our graves;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>What we have learned of sun and storm</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Is ours alone to know.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>The winds are blowing out to sea,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Take up thy life and go!</i><br /></span> +</div> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<a name="Page_341" id="Page_341"><!-- unnumbered title page --></a> +<p><span class='pagenum'></span></p> + +<h2>LAFITTE<br /> +<br /> +PRIVATEER, PIRATE, AND TERROR OF +THE GULF OF MEXICO<br /> +<br /> +(1780-1826)</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“For it’s fourteen men on a dead man’s chest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yo, ho, ho, and a bottle of rum.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author">—<span class="smcap">Stevenson.</span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center padtop">LAFITTE<br /> +PRIVATEER, PIRATE, AND TERROR OF +THE GULF OF MEXICO<br /> +(1780-1826)</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“He was the mildest mannered man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That ever scuttled ship or cut a throat;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With such true breeding of a gentleman,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That you could ne’er discern his proper thought.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pity he loved an adventurous life’s variety,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He was <em>so</em> great a loss to good society.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author">—<i>Old Ballad.</i>—1810.</p> + +<p><span class="dropcap">C</span>APTAIN, we can’t live much longer unless +we have food. We’ve got enough to last +us for two weeks’ time, and then—if we +do not get fresh provisions—we’ll have to eat the +sails.”</p> + +<p>The fellow who spoke was a rough-looking sea-dog, +with a yellow face—parched and wrinkled by many +years of exposure—a square figure; a red handkerchief +tied about his black hair; a sash about his waist +in which was stuck a brace of evil-barrelled pistols. +He looked grimly at the big-boned man before him.</p> + +<p>“Yes. You are right, as usual, Gascon. We’ve +got to strike a foreign sail before the week is out, and +capture her. And I, Lafitte, must turn from privateer +to pirate. May my good mother at St. Malo have +mercy on my soul.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span> +And, so saying, he turned to pace restlessly upon the +sloping deck of the two-hundred-ton barque which +boiled along under a spread of bellying canvas, and +was guided by the keen eye of this youthful mariner. +He came from the same little town in France which +sheltered the good mother of Du Guay-Trouin, the +great French “blue.” His name was Jean Lafitte.</p> + +<p>This sea-rover had been born in 1781, and had taken +to the ocean at the age of thirteen, when most boys are +going to boarding-school. After several voyages in +Europe, and to the coast of Africa, he was appointed +mate of a French East Indiaman, bound to Madras in +India. But things did not go any too well with the +sturdy ship; a heavy gale struck her off the Cape of +Good Hope; she sprung her mainmast, and—flopping +along like a huge sea-turtle—staggered into the +port of St. Thomas in the island of Mauritius, off the +east coast of Africa.</p> + +<p>“Here,” said young Lafitte to his Captain, “is +where I leave you, for you are a bully, a braggart, and +a knave.”</p> + +<p>And, so saying, he cut for shore in the jolly-boat, +but—if the truth must be known—Lafitte and the +Captain were too much alike to get on together. They +both wished to “be boss.” Like magnets do not attract, +but repel.</p> + +<p>Luck was with the young deserter. Several privateers +were being fitted out at the safe port of St. +Thomas and he was appointed Captain of one of them. +Letters of Marque were granted by the Governor of +the Mauritius.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span> +“Ah ha!” cried the youthful adventurer. “Now +I can run things to suit myself. And I’ll grow +rich.”</p> + +<p>This he speedily succeeded in doing, for, in the +course of his cruise, he robbed several vessels which +came in his path, and, stopping at the Seychelles +(Islands off the eastern coast of Africa), took on a +load of slaves for the port of St. Thomas. Thus he +had descended—not only to piracy—but also to +slave catching; the lowest depths to which a seaman +could come down.</p> + +<p>When four days out from the curiously named +islands, a cry went up from the watch,</p> + +<p>“Sail ho! Off the port bow! A British frigate, by +much that’s good, and she’s after us with all speed!”</p> + +<p>To which bold Lafitte answered, “Then, we must +run for it!” But he hoisted every bit of canvas which +he had about and headed for the Bay of Bengal. +“And,” said he, “if she does not catch us and we get +away, we’ll take an English merchantman and burn +her.” Then he laughed satirically.</p> + +<p>The British frigate plodded along after the lighter +vessel of Lafitte’s until the Equator was reached, and +then she disappeared,—disgruntled at not being able +to catch the saucy tartar. But the privateersman +headed for the blue Bay of Bengal; there fell in with +an English armed schooner with a numerous crew; +and—although he only had two guns and twenty-six +men aboard his own vessel—he tackled the sailors +from the chilly isle like a terrier shaking a rat. There +was a stiff little fight upon the shimmering waves of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span> +the Indian Ocean. When night descended the Britisher +had struck and nineteen blood-stained ruffians +from the privateer took possession of the battered hulk, +singing a song which ran:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“For it’s fourteen men on a dead man’s chest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yo-Ho-Ho and a bottle of rum.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Lafitte was now feeling better; his men had been +fed; he had good plunder; and he possessed two +staunch, little craft.</p> + +<p>“Let’s bear away for India, my Hearties,” cried he, +“and we’ll hit another Englishman and take her.”</p> + +<p>What he had said soon came to pass, for, when off +the hazy, low-lying coast of Bengal, a rakish East +Indiaman came lolling by, armed with twenty-six +twelve-pounders and manned with one hundred and +fifty men. A bright boarding upon her stern-posts +flaunted the truly Eastern name: the <i>Pagoda</i>.</p> + +<p>The dull-witted Britishers had no suspicions of the +weak, Puritan-looking, little two-’undred tonner of +Lafitte’s, as she glided in close; luffed; and bobbed +about, as a voice came:</p> + +<p>“Sa-a-y! Want a pilot fer the Ganges?”</p> + +<p>There was no reply for a while. Then a voice +shrilled back,</p> + +<p>“Come up on th’ port quarter. That’s just what +we’ve been lookin’ for.”</p> + +<p>The fat <i>Pagoda</i> ploughed listlessly onward, as the +unsuspicious-looking pilot plodded up on the port side; +in fact, most of the crew were dozing comfortably +under awnings on the deck, when a shot rang out. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span> +Another and another followed, and, with a wild, ear-splitting +whoop, the followers of Lafitte clambered +across the rail; dirks in their mouths; pistols in their +right hands, and cutlasses in their left.</p> + +<p>Now was a short and bloodless fight. Taken completely +by surprise, the Englishmen threw up their +hands and gave in only too willingly. With smiles of +satisfaction upon their faces, the seamen of the bad +man from St. Malo soon hauled two kegs of spirits +upon the decks, and held high revel upon the clean +boarding of the rich and valuable prize. The <i>Pagoda</i> +was re-christened <i>The Pride of St. Malo</i>, and soon +went off privateering upon her own hook; while Lafitte +headed back for St. Thomas: well-fed—even +sleek with good living—and loaded down with the +treasure which he had taken. “Ah-ha!” cried the +black-haired navigator. “I am going to be King of +the Indian waters.”</p> + +<p>Now came the most bloody and successful of his +battles upon the broad highway of the gleaming, +southern ocean.</p> + +<p>Taking command of the <i>La Confidence</i> of twenty-six +guns and two hundred and fifty men, whom he found +at the port of St. Thomas, he again headed for the +coast of British India; keen in the expectation of +striking a valuable prize. And his expectations were +well fulfilled.</p> + +<p>In October, 1807, the welcome cry of “Sail Ho!” +sounded from the forward watch, when off the Sand +Heads, and there upon the starboard bow was a spot +of white, which proved to be a Queen’s East Indiaman, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span> +with a crew of near four hundred. She carried +forty guns.</p> + +<p>There were double the number of cannon, there +were double the number of men, but Lafitte cried out:</p> + +<p>“I came out to fight and I’m going to do it, comrades! +You see before you a vessel which is stronger +than our own, but, with courage and nerve, we can +beat her. I will run our own ship close to the enemy. +You must lie down behind the protecting sides of our +vessel until we touch the stranger. Then—when I +give the signal to board—let each man seize a cutlass, +a dirk, and two pistols, and strike down all that +oppose him. We <em>must</em> and <em>can</em> win!”</p> + +<p>These stirring words were greeted by a wild and +hilarious cheer.</p> + +<p>Now, running upon the port tack, the <i>La Confidence</i> +bore down upon the Britisher with the water boiling +under her bows; while the stranger luffed, and prepared +for action. Shrill cries sounded from her huge +carcass as her guns were loaded and trained upon the +on-coming foe, while her masts began to swarm with +sharpshooters eager to pick off the ravenous sea-dogs +from the Mauritius.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a terrific roar sounded above the rattle +of ropes and creak of hawsers—and a broadside cut +into the <i>La Confidence</i> with keen accuracy.</p> + +<p>“Lie flat upon the deck,” cried Lafitte, “and dodge +the iron boys if you can see ’em.”</p> + +<p>His men obeyed, and, as the missiles pounded into +the broad sides of their ship, the steersman ran her +afoul of the Queen’s East Indiaman. When he did +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span> +so, many sailors swarmed into the rigging, and from +the yards and tops threw bombs and grenades into the +forecastle of the enemy, so that death and terror made +the Britishers abandon the portion of their vessel near +the mizzen-mast.</p> + +<p>“Forty of the crew will now board,” cried Lafitte. +“And let every mother’s son strike home!”</p> + +<p>With pistols in their hands and daggers held between +their teeth, the wild sea-rovers rollicked across +the gunwales like a swarm of rats. Dancing up the +deck of the Britisher they beat back all who opposed +them, driving them below into the steerage. Shots +rang out like spitting cats; dirks gleamed; and cutlasses +did awful execution. But the Captain of the +Indiaman was rallying his men about him on the poop, +and, with a wild cheer, these precipitated themselves +upon the victorious privateers.</p> + +<p>“Board! Board!” cried Lafitte, at this propitious +moment, and, cutlass in hand, he leaped from his own +vessel upon the deck of the East Indiaman. His crew +followed with a yelp of defiant hatred, and beat the +Captain’s party back again upon the poop, where they +stood stolidly, cursing at the rough sea-riders from +St. Thomas.</p> + +<p>But Lafitte was a general not to be outdone by such +a show of force. He ordered a gun to be loaded with +grape-shot; had it pointed towards the place where +the crowd was assembled; and cried—</p> + +<p>“If you don’t give in now, I’ll exterminate all of +you at one discharge of my piece.”</p> + +<p>It was the last blow. Seeing that it was useless to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span> +continue the unequal struggle, the British Captain +held up his long cutlass, to which was bound a white +handkerchief, and the great sea battle was over. Lafitte +and his terrible crew had captured a boat of double +the size of his own, and with twice his numbers.</p> + +<p>Says an old chronicler of the period: “This exploit, +hitherto unparalleled, resounded through India, and +the name of Lafitte became the terror of English commerce +in these latitudes. The British vessels now +traversed the Indian Ocean under strong convoys, in +order to beat off this harpy of South Africa.”</p> + +<p>“Egad,” said Lafitte about this time, “these fellows +are too smart for me. I’ll have to look for other +pickings. I’m off for France.”</p> + +<p>So he doubled the Cape of Good Hope, coasted up +the Gulf of Guinea, and, in the Bight of Benin, took +two valuable prizes loaded down with gold dust, ivory, +and palm oil. With these he ran to St. Malo, where +the people said:</p> + +<p>“Tenez! Here is a brave fellow, but would you +care to have his reputation, Monsieur?” And they +shook their heads, shrugged their shoulders, and +looked the other way when they saw him coming.</p> + +<p>The privateersman, slaver, and pirate was not going +to be long with them, however, for he soon fitted out +a brigantine, mounted twenty guns on her, and with +one hundred and fifty men, sailed for Guadaloupe, +among the West Indies. He took several valuable +prizes, but, during his absence upon a cruise, the island +was captured by the British, so he started for a more +congenial clime. He roved about for some months, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span> +to settle at last at Barrataria, near New Orleans, +Louisiana. He was rich; he had amassed great quantities +of booty; and he was a man of property. Lafitte, +in fact, was a potentate.</p> + +<p>“Now,” said the privateer and pirate, “I will settle +down and found a colony.”</p> + +<p>But can a man of action keep still?</p> + +<p>It is true that Lafitte was not as bold and audacious +as before, for he was now obliged to have dealings +with merchants of the United States and the West +Indies who frequently owed him large sums of money, +and the cautious transactions necessary to found and +to conduct a colony of pirates and smugglers in the +very teeth of civilization, made the black-haired +Frenchman cloak his real character under a veneer of +supposed gentility. Hundreds of privateers, pirates, +and smugglers gathered around the banner of this +robber of the high seas.</p> + +<p>But what is Barrataria?</p> + +<p>Part of the coast of Louisiana is called by that +name: that part lying between Bastien Bay on the +east, and the mouth of the wide river, or bayou of +La Fourche, on the west. Not far from the rolling, +sun-baked Atlantic are the lakes of Barrataria, connecting +with one another by several large bayous and a +great number of branches. In one of these is the +Island of Barrataria, while this sweet-sounding name +is also given to a large basin which extends the entire +length of the cypress swamps, from the Gulf of +Mexico, to a point three miles above New Orleans. +The waters from this lake slowly empty into the Gulf +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span> +by two passages through the Bayou Barrataria, between +which lies an island called Grand Terre: six +miles in length, and three in breadth, running parallel +with the coast. To the West of this is the great pass +of Barrataria, where is about nine to ten feet of water: +enough to float the ordinary pirate or privateersman’s +vessel. Within this pass—about two miles from the +open sea—lies the only safe harbor upon the coast, +and this is where the cut-throats, pirates, and smugglers +gathered under Lafitte. They called themselves +<i>Barratarians</i>, and they were a godless crew.</p> + +<p>At a place called Grand Terre, the privateers would +often make public sale of their cargoes and prizes by +auction. And the most respectable inhabitants of the +State were accustomed to journey there in order to +purchase the goods which the <i>Barratarians</i> had to +offer. They would smile, and say,</p> + +<p>“We are going to get some of the treasure of +Captain Kidd.”</p> + +<p>But the Government of the United States did not +take so kindly to the idea of a privateer and pirate +colony within its borders. And—with malice aforethought—one +Commodore Patterson was sent to disperse +these marauders at Barrataria, who, confident +of their strength and fighting ability, defiantly flaunted +their flag in the faces of the officers of the Government. +“We can lick the whole earth,” chuckled the +piratical followers of Lafitte.</p> + +<p>Patterson was a good fighter. On June the eleventh +he departed from New Orleans with seventy members +of the 44th regiment of infantry. On the sixteenth +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span> +he made for the Island of Barrataria, with some six +gun-boats, a launch mounting one twelve pound carronade; +the <i>Sea Horse</i> (a tender carrying one six-pounder) +and the schooner <i>Carolina</i>.</p> + +<p>“We must fight, Boys,” cried Lafitte to his ill-assorted +mates. “Come, take to our schooners and +show these officers that the followers of Lafitte can +battle like Trojans.”</p> + +<p>A cheer greeted these noble sentiments.</p> + +<p>“Lead on!” yelled his cut-throats. “Lead on and +we’ll sink these cocky soldiers as we’ve done to many +an East Indiaman!”</p> + +<p>So, about two o’clock in the afternoon, the privateers +and pirates formed their vessels, ten in number +(including their prizes) near the entrance of the +harbor.</p> + +<p><em>Crash!</em></p> + +<p>A shell from the forward gun of the leading gun-boat +spun across the bows of Lafitte’s flagship and +buried itself in the gray water with a dull sob.</p> + +<p>Up went a huge white flag upon the foremost mast-head +of the king pirate and these words could be +plainly seen:</p> + +<p>“Pardon for all Deserters.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, ha,” chuckled Patterson. “The arch ruffian +has heard that some of my men are ashore and this +is the way he would hire them.”</p> + +<p><em>Crash!</em></p> + +<p>Another shell ricochetted across the still surface +of the harbor and sunk itself in the side of a piratical +brig.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span> +“Hello!” cried a Lieutenant, running up to the +United States Commander. “They’re giving up already. +See! The beggars are hastening ashore in +order to skip into the woods.”</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid so,” answered the disappointed Commodore. +“All my pains for nothing. The fellows +are getting away.”</p> + +<p>Sure enough—afraid to remain and fight it out—the +craven followers of Lafitte now turned their +schooners to the shore—ran their bows into the sand, +and, leaping overboard, made into the forest as fast +as their legs could carry them. Thus—without firing +a shot—the cowardly pirates of Barrataria “took to +the bush.”</p> + +<p>“The enemy had mounted on their vessels, twenty +pieces of cannon of different calibre,” wrote Patterson, +after this tame affair. “And, as I have since learnt, +they had from eight hundred to one thousand men of +all nations and colors. When I perceived the pirates +forming their vessels into a line of battle I felt confident, +from their fleet and very advantageous position, +and their number of men, that they would have fought +me. Their not doing so I regret; for had they, I +should have been enabled more effectually to destroy +or make prisoners of them and their leaders; but it +is a subject of great satisfaction to me, to have effected +the object of my enterprise, without the loss of a man. +On the afternoon of the 23rd, I got under way with +my whole squadron, in all seventeen vessels, but during +the night one escaped and the next day I arrived +at New Orleans with my entire command.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span> +Thus ended the magnificent (?) attempt of the +vainglorious Lafitte to stem the advance of the Government +of the United States. In the parlance of the +camp, “He was a fust-class quitter.”</p> + +<p>But he did not show himself to be a “quitter” in +the battle of New Orleans.</p> + +<p>The English and Americans, in fact, were soon at +each other’s throats in the ungentle game of war. At +different times the British had sought to attack the +pirates of Barrataria, in the hope of taking their +prizes and armed vessels. On June 23rd, 1813, while +two of Lafitte’s privateers were lying to off of Cat +Island, an English sloop-of-war came to anchor at +the entrance of the pass, and sent out two boats in the +endeavor to capture the rakish sea-robbers. But they +were repulsed with severe and galling loss.</p> + +<p>On the 2nd of September, 1814, an armed brig +appeared on the coast, opposite the famous pass to the +home of the rangers of the sea. She fired a gun at a +smuggler, about to enter, and forced her to poke her +nose into a sand-bar; she then jibed over and came +to anchor at the entrance to the shallows.</p> + +<p>“That vessel means business, sure,” said one of the +pirates to Lafitte. “She has spouted one gun, but now +she’s lyin’ to. Better see what’s up.”</p> + +<p>“You’re right,” answered the famous sea-rover. +“We’ll go off in a boat and look out for what’s going +to happen.”</p> + +<p>So, starting from the shore, he was soon on his way +to the brig, from which a pinnace was lowered, in +which could be seen two officers, one of whom had a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span> +flag of truce. The two boats rapidly neared each +other.</p> + +<p>“Where is Mr. Lafitte?” cried one of the Britishers, +as the pinnace neared the shore. “I would speak with +the Laird of Barrataria.”</p> + +<p>But Lafitte was not anxious to make himself known.</p> + +<p>“He’s ashore,” said he. “But, if you have communications +for him, these I can deliver.”</p> + +<p>“Pray, give him these packages, my good man,” +spoke the English tar, handing him a bundle of letters, +tied up in tarpaulin.</p> + +<p>Lafitte smiled.</p> + +<p>“I would be delighted to do so,” he replied. “But, +pray come ashore and there I will return you your answer +after I have seen the great Captain, who is camping +about a league inland.”</p> + +<p>The Britishers readily assented, and both rowed +towards the sandy beach, where a great number of +pirates of Barrataria had collected.</p> + +<p>As soon as the boats were in shallow water, Lafitte +made himself known to the English, saying:</p> + +<p>“Do not let my men know upon what business you +come, for it will go ill with you. My followers know +that war is now on between Great Britain and +the United States, and, if they hear you are +making overtures with me, they will wish to hang +you.”</p> + +<p>It was as he had said. When the Englishmen +landed, a great cry went up amongst the privateers, +pirates and smugglers:</p> + +<p>“Hang the spies! Kill the dirty dogs! To the yard-arm +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span> +with the rascally Englishmen! Send the hounds +to New Orleans and to jail!”</p> + +<p>But Lafitte dissuaded the multitude from their intent +and led the officers in safety to his dwelling, where he +opened the package, finding a proclamation addressed +to the inhabitants of Louisiana, by Col. Edward +Nichalls—British commander of the land forces in +this state—requesting them to come under the sheltering +arm of the British Government. There were also +two letters to himself, asking him to join and fight +with the English.</p> + +<p>“If you will but battle with us,” said Captain +Lockyer—one of the British officers—“we will +give you command of a forty-four gun frigate, and +will make you a Post Captain. You will also receive +thirty thousand dollars,—payable at Pensacola.”</p> + +<p>Lafitte looked dubiously at him.</p> + +<p>“I will give answer in a few days,” he replied, with +courtesy.</p> + +<p>“You are a Frenchman,” continued the British Captain. +“You are not in the service of the United States, +nor likely to be. Come—man—give us a reply at +once.”</p> + +<p>Captain Lafitte was obdurate, for—strange as it +may seem—he wished to inform the officers of the +State Government of this project of the English. So +he withdrew to his own hut.</p> + +<p>As he did this, the pirates seized the British officers, +dragged them to a cabin, and thrust them inside. A +guard was stationed at the door, while cries went up +from every quarter:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</a></span> +“To New Orleans with the scoundrels! A yard-arm +for the butchers! A rope’s end for the scurvy +tars!”</p> + +<p>Lafitte was furious when he learned of this, and, +after haranguing the crowd, had the Britishers released.</p> + +<p>“If you treat men under a flag of truce as prisoners,” +he cried, “you break one of the first rules of +warfare. You will get the same treatment if you, +yourselves, are captured, and you will lose the opportunity +of discovering what are the projects of the +British upon Louisiana.”</p> + +<p>His men saw the good sense of these words of +advice, and acted accordingly.</p> + +<p>Early the next morning the officers were escorted +to their pinnace with many apologies from Lafitte, who +now wrote a letter to Captain Lockyer, which shows +him to have been a man of considerable cultivation, +and not a mere “rough and tumble” pirate—without +education or refinement. He said:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="address">“<span class="smcap">Barrataria</span>, 4th Sept., 1814.</p> + +<p>“<span class="smcap">To Captain Lockyer,</span></p> + +<p>“<span class="smcap">Sir</span>:—The confusion which prevailed in our +camp yesterday and this morning, and of which you +have a complete knowledge, has prevented me from +answering in a precise manner to the object of your +mission; nor even at this moment can I give you all +the satisfaction that you desire. However, if you could +grant me a fortnight, I would be entirely at your disposal +at the end of that time.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span> +“This delay is indispensable to enable me to put my +affairs in order. You may communicate with me by +sending a boat to the Eastern point of the pass, where +I will be found. You have inspired me with more confidence +than the Admiral—your superior officer—could +have done, himself. With you alone I wish to +deal, and from you, also, I will claim in due time, the +reward of the services which I may render you.</p> + +<p class="sig">“Your very respectful servant,<br /> +“<span class="smcap">J. Lafitte.</span>”</p> +</div> + +<p>His object in writing this letter—you see—was, +by appearing to accede to the proposals, to give time to +communicate the affair to the officers of the State Government +of Louisiana and to receive from them instructions +how to act, under circumstances so critical +and important to his own country: that is, the country +of his adoption.</p> + +<p>He, therefore, addressed the following epistle to the +Governor of Louisiana. Do you think that you, yourself, +could write as well as did this pirate?</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="address">“<span class="smcap">Barrataria</span>, Sept. 4th, 1814.</p> + +<p>“<span class="smcap">To Governor Claiborne:</span></p> + +<p>“<span class="smcap">Sir</span>:—In the firm persuasion that the choice made +of you to fill the office of first magistrate of this State, +was dictated by the esteem of your fellow citizens, and +was conferred on merit, I confidently address you on an +affair on which may depend the safety of this country.</p> + +<p>“I offer to you to restore to this State several citizens, +who perhaps, in your eyes, have lost that sacred +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span> +title. I offer you them, however, such as you could +wish to find them, ready to exert their utmost efforts +in the defence of the country.</p> + +<p>“This point of Louisiana, which I occupy, is of great +importance in the present crisis. I tender my services +to defend it; and the only reward I ask is that a stop +be put to the proscription against me and my adherents, +by an act of oblivion, for all that has been done heretofore.</p> + +<p>“I am the stray sheep wishing to return to the fold.</p> + +<p>“If you are thoroughly acquainted with the nature +of my offences, I should appear to you much less guilty, +and still worthy to discharge the duties of a good citizen. +I have never sailed under any flag but the republic +of Carthagena, and my vessels were perfectly regular +in that respect.</p> + +<p>“If I could have brought my lawful prizes into the +ports of this State, I should not have employed illicit +means that have caused me to be proscribed (hounded +by the State authorities).</p> + +<p>“I decline to say more upon this subject until I have +your Excellency’s answer, which I am persuaded can +be dictated only by wisdom. Should your answer not +be favorable to my ardent desire, I declare to you that +I will instantly leave the country, to avoid the imputation +of having coöperated towards an invasion on this +point, which cannot fail to take place, and to rest secure +in the acquittal of my conscience.</p> + +<p>“I have the honor to be,</p> + +<p class="sig">“Your Excellency’s Most Humble Servant,<br /> +“<span class="smcap">J. Lafitte.</span>”</p> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</a></span> +Now how is that for a swashbuckling privateer? +Anyone would be proud of such a letter and it does +honor to the judgment of this sand-spit king, giving +clear evidence of a strange but sincere attachment to +the American cause. Hurrah for the Frenchman!</p> + +<p>This missive, in fact, made such an impression upon +the Governor that he had an interview with Lafitte, +who was ushered into his presence only to find General +Andrew Jackson (Old Hickory) closeted with the chief +executive.</p> + +<p>“My dear sir,” said the effusive Governor. “Your +praiseworthy wishes shall be laid before the council of +the State, and I will confer with my august friend, here +present, upon this important affair, and send you an +answer.”</p> + +<p>Bowing low, the courteous privateersman withdrew.</p> + +<p>“Farewell,” cried Old Hickory after his retreating +form. “When we meet again I trust that it will be +in the ranks of the American Army.”</p> + +<p>And in two days’ time appeared the following proclamation:</p> + +<p>“The Governor of Louisiana, informed that many +individuals implicated in the offences hitherto committed +against the United States at Barrataria, express +a willingness at the present crisis to enroll themselves +and march against the enemy.</p> + +<p>“He does hereby invite them to join the standard +of the United States, and is authorized to say, should +their conduct in the field meet the approbation of the +Major General, that that officer will unite with the +Governor in a request to the President of the United +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</a></span> +States, to extend to each and every individual, so +marching and acting, a free and full pardon.”</p> + +<p>When Lafitte saw these words, he fairly yelled with +delight, and it is said that he jumped into the air, +cracking his heels three times together before he struck +the ground.</p> + +<p>The orders were circulated among his followers and +most of them readily embraced the pardon which they +held out. Thus—in a few days—many brave men +and skillful artillerists flocked to the red-white-and-blue +standard of the United States. And when—a +few months afterwards—Old Hickory and his men +were crouched behind a line of cotton bales, awaiting +the attack of a British army (heroes, in fact, of Sargossa), +there, upon the left flank, was the sand-spit +King and his evil crew. Lafitte’s eyes were sparkling +like an electric bulb, and the language of his followers +does not bear repetition.</p> + +<p>It was the morning of January eighth. The British +were about to attack the American Army defending +New Orleans, which—under the leadership of stout +Andrew Jackson—now crouched behind the earthworks +and cotton bales, some miles from the city. +Rockets shot into the air with a sizzling snap. The +roar of cannon shook the thin palmettos, and wild +British cheers came from the lusty throats of the +British veterans of Spain, as they advanced to +the assault in close order—sixty men in front—with +fascines and ladders for scaling the defences. +Now a veritable storm of rockets hissed and sizzed +into the American lines, while a light battery of artillery +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</a></span> +pom-pomed and growled upon the left flank. All +was silence in the dun-colored embankments.</p> + +<p>But look! Suddenly a sheet of flame burst from +the earthworks where lay the buck-skin-clad rangers +from Tennessee and Kentucky: men who had fought +Indians; had cleared the forest for their rude log huts, +and were able to hit the eye of a squirrel at one hundred +yards. <em>Crash! Crash! Crash!</em> A flame of fire +burst through the pall of sulphurous smoke, a storm of +leaden missiles swept into the red coats of the advancing +British, and down they fell in windrows, like +wheat before the reaper. <em>Boom! Boom! Boom!</em> The +cannon growled and spat from the cotton bales, and +one of these—a twenty-four pounder—placed upon +the third embrasure from the river, from the fatal +skill and activity with which it was managed (even in +the best of battle),—drew the admiration of both +Americans and British. It became one of the points +most dreaded by the advancing foe. <em>Boom! Boom!</em> +It grumbled and roared its thunder, while Lafitte and +his corsairs of Barrataria rammed home the iron +charges, and—stripped to the waist—fought like +wolves at bay.</p> + +<p>Two other batteries were manned by the Barratarians, +who served their pieces with the steadiness and +precision of veteran gunners. The enemy crept closer, +ever closer, and a column pushed forward between the +levee and the river so precipitously that the outposts +were forced to retire, closely pressed by the coats of +red. On, on, they came, and, clearing the ditch before +the earthworks, gained the redoubt through the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span> +embrasures, leaped over the parapet and quickly bayonetted +the small force of backwoodsmen who held +this point.</p> + +<p>“To the rescue, men,” cried Lafitte, at this juncture. +“Out and at ’em!”</p> + +<p>Cutlass in hand, the privateer called a few of his +best followers to his side; men who had often boarded +the decks of an East Indiaman and were well used to +hand-to-hand engagements. With a wild cheer they +leaped over the breastworks and rushed upon the +enemy.</p> + +<p>The British were absolutely astonished at the intrepidity +of this advance. Pistols spat, cutlasses +swung, and one after another, the English officers fell +before the snapping blade of the King of Barrataria, as +they bravely cheered on their men. The practiced +boarders struck the red-coated columns with the same +fierceness with which they had often bounded upon the +deck of an enemy, and cheer after cheer welled above +the rattle of arms as the advancing guardsmen were +beaten back. All the energies of the British were concentrated +upon scaling the breastworks, which one +daring officer had already mounted. But Lafitte and +his followers, seconding a gallant band of volunteer +riflemen, formed a phalanx which it was impossible to +penetrate. They fought desperately.</p> + +<p>It was now late in the day. The field was strewn +with the dead and dying. Still spat the unerring rifles +of the pioneers and still crashed the unswerving volleys +from their practiced rifles. “We cannot take the +works,” cried the British. “We must give up.” +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</a></span> +And—turning about—they beat a sad and solemn +retreat to their vessels. The great battle of New +Orleans was over, and Lafitte had done a Trojan’s +share.</p> + +<p>In a few days peace was declared between the United +States and Great Britain, and General Jackson—in +his correspondence with the Secretary of War—did +not fail to speak in the most flattering terms of the +conduct of the “Corsairs of Barrataria.” They had +fought like tigers, and they had been sadly misjudged +by the English, who wished to enlist them in their own +cause. Their zeal, their courage, and their skill, were +noticed by the whole American Army, who could no +longer stigmatize such desperate fighters as “criminals.” +Many had been sabred and wounded in defence +of New Orleans, and many had given up their lives +before the sluggish bayous of the Mississippi. And +now, Mr. Lafitte, it is high time that you led a decent +life, for are you not a hero?</p> + +<p>But “murder will out,” and once a privateer always +a privateer, and sometimes a pirate.</p> + +<p>Securing some fast sailing vessels, the King of +Barrataria sailed to Galveston Bay, in 1819, where he +received a commission from General Long as a “privateer.” +Not content with living an honest and peaceful +life, he proceeded to do a little smuggling and +illicit trading upon his own account, so it was not long +before a United States cruiser was at anchor off the +port to watch his movements. He was now Governor +of Galveston, and considered himself to be a personage +of great moment. Five vessels were generally cruising +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</a></span> +under his orders, while three hundred men obeyed his +word. Texas was then a Republic.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>“Sir”—wrote Lafitte to the Commander of the +American cruiser off the port of Galveston—“I am +convinced that you are a cruiser of the navy, ordered +here by your Government. I have, therefore, deemed +it proper to inquire into the cause of your lying before +this port without communicating your intention. I +wish to inform you that the port of Galveston belongs +to and is in the possession of the Republic of Texas, +and was made a port of entry the 9th day of October, +last. And, whereas the Supreme Congress of the said +Republic have thought proper to appoint me as Governor +of this place, in consequence of which, if you +have any demands on said Government, you will please +to send an officer with such demands, who will be +treated with the greatest politeness. But, if you are +ordered, or should attempt, to enter this port in a hostile +manner, my oath and duty to the Government compel +me to rebut your intentions at the expense of my +life.</p> + +<p class="sig">“Yours very respectfully,<br /> +“<span class="smcap">J. Lafitte.</span>”</p> +</div> + +<p>But to this the American officer paid no attention. +Instead, he attacked a band of Lafitte’s followers, who +had stationed themselves on an island near Barrataria +with several cannon, swearing that they would perish +rather than surrender to any man. As they had +committed piracy, they were open to assault. +Twenty were taken, tried at New Orleans, and hung,—the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</a></span> +rest escaped into the cypress swamps, where it +was impossible to arrest them.</p> + +<p>When Lafitte heard of this, he said with much feeling:</p> + +<p>“A war of extermination is to be waged against me. +I, who have fought and bled for the United States. +I who helped them to win the battle of New Orleans. +My cruisers are to be swept from the sea. I must turn +from Governor of Galveston, and privateer to pirate. +Then—away—and let them catch me if they can.”</p> + +<p>Now comes the last phase of his career. Too bad +that he could not have died honestly!</p> + +<p>Procuring a large and fast-sailing brigantine, mounting +sixteen guns, and having selected a crew of one +hundred and sixty men, the desperate and dangerous +Governor of Galveston set sail upon the sparkling +waters of the Gulf, determined to rob all nations and +neither to give quarter nor to receive it.</p> + +<p>But luck was against him. A British sloop-of-war +was cruising in the Mexican Gulf, and, hearing that +Lafitte, himself, was at sea, kept a sharp lookout at +the mast-head for the sails of the pirate.</p> + +<p>One morning as an officer was sweeping the horizon +with his glass he discovered a long, dark-looking vessel, +low in the water: her sails as white as snow.</p> + +<p>“Sail off the port bow,” cried he. “It’s the Pirate, +or else I’m a landlubber.”</p> + +<p>As the sloop-of-war could out-sail the corsair, before +the wind, she set her studding-sails and crowded every +inch of canvas in chase. Lafitte soon ascertained the +character of his pursuer, and, ordering the awnings to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</a></span> +be furled, set his big square-sail and shot rapidly +through the water. But the breeze freshened and the +sloop-of-war rapidly overhauled the scudding brigantine. +In an hour’s time she was within hailing distance +and Lafitte was in a fight for his very life.</p> + +<p><em>Crash!</em></p> + +<p>A cannon belched from the stern of the pirate and a +ball came dangerously near the bowsprit of the Englishman.</p> + +<p><em>Crash! Crash!</em></p> + +<p>Other guns roared out their challenge and the iron +fairly hailed upon the decks of the sloop-of-war; killing +and wounding many of the crew. But—silently +and surely—she kept on until within twenty yards +of the racing outlaw.</p> + +<p>Now was a deafening roar. A broadside howled +above the dancing spray—it rumbled from the port-holes +of the Englishman—cutting the foremast of +the pirate in two; severing the jaws of the main-gaff; +and sending great clods of rigging to the deck. Ten +followers of Lafitte fell prostrate, but the great Frenchman +was uninjured.</p> + +<p>A crash, a rattle, a rush, and the Englishman ran +afoul of the foe—while—with a wild cheer, her +sailors clambered across the starboard rails; cutlasses +in the right hand, pistols in the left, dirks between +their teeth.</p> + +<p>“Never give in, men!” cried the King of Barrataria. +“You are now with Lafitte, who, as you have +learned, does not know how to surrender.”</p> + +<p>But the Britishers were in far superior numbers. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</a></span> +Backwards—ever backwards—they drove the desperate +crew of the pirate ship. Two pistol balls struck +Lafitte in the side which knocked him to the planking; +a grape-shot broke the bone of his right leg; he +was desperate, dying, and fighting like a tiger. He +groaned in the agony of despair.</p> + +<p>The deck was slippery with blood as the Captain of +the boarders rushed upon the prostrate corsair to put +him forever out of his way. While he aimed a blow +a musket struck him in the temple, stretching him +beside the bleeding Lafitte, who, raising himself upon +one elbow, thrust a dagger at the throat of his assailant.</p> + +<p>But the tide of his existence was ebbing like a torrent; +his brain was giddy; his aim faltered; the point +of the weapon descended upon the right thigh of the +bleeding Englishman. Again the reeking steel was +upheld; again the weakened French sea-dog plunged +a stroke at this half-fainting assailant.</p> + +<p>The dizziness of death spread over the sight of the +Monarch of the Gulf of Mexico. Down came the +dagger into the left thigh of the Captain; listlessly; +helplessly; aimlessly; and Lafitte—the robber of St. +Malo—fell lifeless upon the rocking deck. His spirit +went out amidst the hoarse and hollow cheers of the +victorious Jack-tars of the clinging sloop-of-war.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“The palmetto leaves are whispering, while the gentle trade-winds blow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the soothing, Southern zephyrs, are sighing soft and low,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As a silvery moonlight glistens, and the droning fire-flies glow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Comes a voice from out the Cypress,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">‘Lights out! Lafitte! Heave ho!’”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</a></span></p> + +<h2>THE PIRATE’S LAMENT</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I’ve been ploughin’ down in Devonshire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My folks would have me stay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the wheat grows on th’ dune side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where th’ scamperin’ rabbits play.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But th’ smells come from th’ ocean,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An’ th’ twitterin’ swallows wheel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As th’ little sails bob landwards,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To th’ scurryin’ sea-gulls’ squeal.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Oh, it’s gold, gold, gold,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>That’s temptin’ me from here.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>An’ it’s rum, rum, rum,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>That makes me know no fear.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>When th’ man-o-war is growlin’,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>As her for’ard swivels roar,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>As th’ decks are black with wounded,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>An’ are runnin’ red with gore.</i><br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I’ve been goin’ to church o’ Sundays,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An’ th’ Parson sure can talk,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He’s been pleadin’ for my soul, Sir,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Paradise to walk.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An’ I kind o’ have th’ shivers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come creepin’ down my spine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When th’ choir breaks into music,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While th’ organ beats th’ time.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>But it’s gold, gold, gold,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>That glitters in my eye,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>An’ it’s rum, rum, rum,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>That makes me cheat an’ lie,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>When th’ slaver’s in th’ doldrums,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Th’ fleet is closin’ round,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>An’ th’ Captain calls out, furious,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>“Now, run th’ hound aground!”</i><br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No matter how I farm, Sir,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No matter how I hoe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Th’ breezes from th’ blue, Sir,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just kind uv make me glow.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</a></span> +<span class="i0">When th’ clipper ships are racin’,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An’ their bellyin’ sails go past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I just leave my team an’ swear, Sir,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I’ll ship before th’ mast.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>For it’s gold, gold, gold,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>That makes me shiver, like,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>An’ it’s rum, rum, rum,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>That makes me cut an’ strike,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>When th’ boarders creep across th’ rail,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Their soljers all in line,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>An’ their pistols spittin’ lead, Sir,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Like er bloomin’ steam engine.</i><br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So I’ll kiss my plough good-bye, Sir,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I’ll throw my scythe away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An’ I’m goin’ to th’ dock, Sir,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where th’ ships are side th’ quay.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shake out th’ skull an’ cross-bones,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Take out th’ signs of Marque,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An’ let’s cut loose an’ forage,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a rakish ten-gun barque.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</a></span></p> + +<h2>THE MEN BEHIND THE GUNS</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A cheer and salute for the Admiral, and here’s to the Captain bold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And never forget the Commodore’s debt, when the deeds of might are told!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They stand to the deck through the battle’s wreck, when the great shells roar and screech—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And never they fear; when the foe is near, to practice what they preach:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, off with your hat, and three times three, for the war-ship’s true-blue sons,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The men who batter the foe—my Boys—the men behind the guns.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, light and merry of heart are they, when they swing into port, once more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, with more than enough of the “green-backed stuff,” they start for their leave-o’-shore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And you’d think, perhaps, that these blue-bloused chaps who loll along the street,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are a tender bit, with salt on it, for some fierce chap to eat—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some warrior bold, with straps of gold, who dazzles and fairly stuns<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The modest worth of the sailor boys,—the lads who serve the guns.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But, say not a word, till the shot is heard, that tells of the peace-blood’s ebb,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the long, low roar grows more and more, from the ships of the “Yank” and “Reb.”<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till over the deep the tempests sweep, of fire and bursting shell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the very air is a mad Despair, in the throes of a living Hell:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, down, deep down, in the mighty ship, unseen by the mid-day suns,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You’ll find the chaps who are giving the raps—the men behind the guns.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author">—<span class="smcap">Rooney</span> (<i>Adapted</i>).</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<a name="Page_373" id="Page_373"> +<p><span class='pagenum'><!-- unnumbered title page --></a></span></p> + +<h2>RAPHAEL SEMMES<br /> +<br /> +DESPOILER OF AMERICAN COMMERCE<br /> +<br /> +(1809-1877)</h2> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</a></span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>“Sit apart, write; let them hear or let them forbear; the +written word abides, until, slowly and unexpectedly, and in +widely sundered places, it has created its own church.”—<span class="smcap">Ralph +Waldo Emerson.</span></p> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center padtop">RAPHAEL SEMMES<br /> +DESPOILER OF AMERICAN COMMERCE<br /> +(1809-1877)</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“We started from Ole England fer to cripple up our foes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We started from Ole England fer to strike some rapid blows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So we coasted to the Azores where we ran a packet down,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then to the Bermudas, where we burned the <i>Royal Crown</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then we scampered to Bahia, fer to sink the gay <i>Tycoon</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And to scuttle the <i>Justina</i>, before the Harvest Moon.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We hit across the ocean to race by Cape Good Hope<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in Madagascar channel towed <i>Johanna</i> with a rope.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Away off at Sumatra, we had lots an’ lots uv fun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When we winged the <i>Pulo Condor</i>; but say,—we had a run,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An’ a pretty bit uv fightin’, when we took the <i>Emma Jane</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Off th’ heated coast uv India, near th’ bendin’ sugar cane.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yes, we did some privateerin’, as wuz privateerin’, sure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An’ we scuttled many a schooner, it wuz risky business pure.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But—stranger—we’d be laughin’, jest filled with persiflage,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If we hadn’t had a seance with that bloomin’ <i>Kearsarge</i>.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="author">—<i>Song of the Chief Mate of the Alabama.</i>—1864.</p> + +<p><span class="dropcap">I</span>T was off the east coast of South America. The +year was 1864, and a little schooner—the <i>Justina</i>—bobbed +along, with the flag of the United +States Government flying jauntily from her gaff.</p> + +<p>Suddenly there was a movement on deck. Men +rushed hither and thither with some show of excitement. +Glasses were brought out and raised,—smothered +cries of excitement were mingled with +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</a></span> +orders to trim sails. All eyes looked with suspicion and +dismay at a long, graceful vessel which was seen +approaching from the northward.</p> + +<p>“The <i>Alabama</i>!” cried one.</p> + +<p>“Yes, the cursed <i>Alabama</i>!” answered another. +“We are lost!”</p> + +<p>On, on came the pursuing vessel; a cloud of black +smoke rolling from her smoke-stack; her white sails +bellying in the fresh breeze; for she was rigged like +a barquentine, with a lean body, single smoke-stack, +and a polished rifle-gun winking in the sun-rays upon +her bow. On, on, she came, and then—<em>puff! boom!</em>—a +single shot came dancing in front of the slow-moving +schooner.</p> + +<p>“Pull down the colors!” shouted the Captain of +the <i>Justina</i>. “We’re done for!”</p> + +<p>Down came the ensign of the United States, and +the little schooner was luffed so that she stood still. +The <i>Alabama</i> ranged up alongside, a boat soon +brought a crew of boarders, and, before many moments, +she was in the hands of Captain Raphael +Semmes and his men.</p> + +<p>That evening the <i>Alabama</i> steamed southward, the +crew of the <i>Justina</i> was on board, her rich cargo filled +the hold, and a black curl of smoke and hissing flames +marked where the proud, little merchantman had once +bobbed upon the rolling water. Raphael Semmes was +happy, for his work of destroying the commerce of the +United States Navy had progressed far better than he +had hoped.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 538px;"> +<a name="raphael_semmes" id="raphael_semmes"></a> +<img src="images/fpas21.jpg" width="538" height="600" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p class="caption">RAPHAEL SEMMES.</p> + +<p>“Men!” cried he, “The cause of the Confederate +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</a></span> +States of America was never brighter upon the ocean +than now. Give three times three for Jeff. Davis—his +soldiers and his sailors!”</p> + +<p>A rousing cheer rose above the waves, and the +proud privateer bounded onward upon her career of +destruction and death. The <i>Alabama</i> was in the zenith +of her power.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The scene now shifts to the harbor of Cherbourg, +upon the western coast of France. The <i>Alabama</i> lay +there,—safely swinging at her anchor-chains within +the break-water. She had come in to refit, for her +bottom was much befouled by a long cruise, which +had been successful. Built at Birkenhead, England, +for the Confederate States Government, she set sail +in August, 1862; and had been down the coast of +North and South America; around the Cape of Good +Hope to India, and back to the shores of France. +Sixty-six vessels had fallen into her clutches, and of +these fifty-two had been burned; ten had been released +on bond; one had been sold, and one set free. +Truly she had had a marvellous trip.</p> + +<p>As she slumbered on—like a huge sea-turtle—a +black cloud of smoke appeared above the break-water, +and a low-bodied United States cruiser slowly steamed +into the harbor. She nosed about, as if looking for +safe anchorage, and kept upon the opposite side of +the little bay.</p> + +<p>Immediately all hands clambered to the side of the +Confederate cruiser, and glasses were levelled at this +vessel which carried the flag of opposition.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</a></span> +“She’s stronger than we are,” said one of the crew.</p> + +<p>Another grinned.</p> + +<p>“Look at her eleven-pounders,” said he. “I see +her name, now. She’s the <i>Kearsarge</i>, and about our +tonnage, but I reckon that she carries more men.”</p> + +<p>Captain Semmes, himself, had come up from below, +and was examining the intruder with his glass.</p> + +<p>“Boys!” said he, “we’ve got to fight that ship.”</p> + +<p>And, as he withdrew into the cabin, all seemed to +be well pleased with this announcement.</p> + +<p>The <i>Kearsarge</i>, commanded by Captain John A. +Winslow, had been lying at anchor in the Scheldt, off +Flushing, Holland, when a gun roared from the forward +part of the ship, warning those officers who had +gone ashore, to come on board. Steam was raised, +and, as soon as all were collected on deck, the Captain +read a telegram from Mr. Dayton, the Minister to +France from the United States. It said:</p> + +<p>“The <i>Alabama</i> has arrived at Cherbourg. Come +at once or she will escape you!”</p> + +<p>“I believe that we’ll have an opportunity to fight +her,” said Captain Winslow. “So be prepared.”</p> + +<p>At this, all of his sailors cheered wildly.</p> + +<p>The <i>Kearsarge</i> was a staunch craft; she was two +hundred and thirty-two feet over all, with thirty-three +feet of beam, and carried seven guns; two +eleven inch pivots, smooth bore; one thirty-pound rifle, +and four light thirty-two pounders. Her crew numbered +one hundred and sixty-three men. The sleeping +<i>Alabama</i> had but one hundred and forty-nine souls +on board, and eight guns: one sixty-eight pounder +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</a></span> +pivot rifle, smooth bore; one one hundred-pounder +pivot, and six heavy thirty-two pounders. So, you +see, that the two antagonists were evenly matched, +with the superior advantage of the numbers of men on +the <i>Kearsarge</i> offset by the extra guns of her opponent.</p> + +<p>Most of the officers upon the <i>Kearsarge</i> were from +the merchant service, and, of the crew, only eleven +were of foreign birth. Most of the officers upon the +<i>Alabama</i> had served in the navy of the United States; +while nearly all of her crew were either English, +Irish, or Welsh. A few of the gunners had been +trained aboard the <i>Excellent</i>: a British training ship +in Portsmouth Harbor. Her Captain—Raphael +Semmes—was once an officer in the navy of the +United States. He had served in the Mexican War, +but had joined the Southern cause, as he was a +Marylander. He was an able navigator and seaman.</p> + +<p>The <i>Kearsarge</i> cruised about the port of Cherbourg, +poked her bows nearly into the break-water, +and then withdrew. The French neutrality law would +only allow a foreign vessel to remain in a harbor for +twenty-four hours.</p> + +<p>“Will she come out?” was the question now upon +every lip aboard the <i>Kearsarge</i>. “Will she come out +and fight? Oh, just for one crack at this destroyer +of our commerce!”</p> + +<p>But she did not come out, and the <i>Kearsarge</i> beat +around the English Channel in anxious suspense.</p> + +<p>Several days later Captain Winslow went ashore +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</a></span> +and paid a visit to the United States Commercial +Agent.</p> + +<p>“That beastly pirate will not fight,” he thought. +“All she wants to do is to run away.”</p> + +<p>Imagine how his eyes shone when he was handed +the following epistle!</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="address">“C.S.S. <i>Alabama</i>, <span class="smcap">Cherbourg</span>, June 14th, 1864.</p> + +<p>“To <span class="smcap">A. Bonfils</span>, Esqr., Cherbourg;</p> + +<p>“<span class="smcap">Sir</span>:—I hear that you were informed by the +United States Consul that the <i>Kearsarge</i> was to come +to this port solely for the prisoners landed by me, and +that she was to depart in twenty-four hours. I desire +you to say to the U. S. Consul that my intention is +to fight the <i>Kearsarge</i> as soon as I can make the +necessary arrangements. I hope these will not detain +me more than until to-morrow evening, or after the +morrow morning at furthest. I beg she will not depart +before I am ready to go out.</p> + +<p>“I have the honor to be, very respectfully,</p> + +<p class="sig">“Your obedient servant,<br /> +“<span class="smcap">R. Semmes</span>, Captain.”</p> +</div> + +<p>“Ha! Ha!” chuckled Winslow. “We’re in for it, +now. Hurray!” and he hastened back to his ship to +spread the glad tidings.</p> + +<p>“My boys!” said he to his crew. “It is probable +that the two ships will engage on parallel lines, and, +if defeated, the <i>Alabama</i> will seek for neutral waters. +It is necessary, therefore, that we begin this action +several miles from the break-water. The <i>Alabama</i> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[Pg 381]</a></span> +must believe that she can win, or she would not fight +us, for, if we sink her, she cannot be replaced by the +Confederate Government. As for ourselves, let us +never give up, and—if we sink—let us go down with +the flag flying!”</p> + +<p>“Hear! Hear!” cried all. “We’re with you, +Captain. Never give up the ship!”</p> + +<p>“Clean decks, boys!” continued brave Winslow. +“Get everything ship-shape for the coming affair, for +we’re in for as tight a little fight as e’er you entered +upon.”</p> + +<p>Preparations were immediately made for battle, but +no <i>Alabama</i> appeared.</p> + +<p>Thursday passed; Friday came; the <i>Kearsarge</i> +waited in the channel with ports down; guns pivoted +to starboard; the whole battery loaded; and shell, +grape, and canister ready to use in any method of +attack or defence,—but no <i>Alabama</i> appeared. A +French pilot-boat drifted near, and the black-eyed +skipper cried out,</p> + +<p>“You fellers look out for ze <i>Alabama</i>. She take +in much coal. Whew! She take much of ze captured +stuff ashore. Whew! She scrub ze deck. Whew! +She put ze sailors to ze business of sharpening ze cutlass +and ze dirk. Whew! You look out for ze great +privateer! Whew!”</p> + +<p>Captain Winslow only smiled.</p> + +<p>“Zey have ze big feast,” continued the Frenchman. +“Zey dr-e-e-nk ze wine. Zey stan’ on ze chairs and +zey say, ‘We will seenk ze Yankee dog.’ Ta donc! +Zey call you ze dog!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[Pg 382]</a></span> +And still Captain Winslow smiled. But, next day, +his smile turned to a frown.</p> + +<p>It was Sunday, the nineteenth day of June. The +weather was beautiful; the atmosphere was somewhat +hazy; the wind was light; and there was little sea. +At ten o’clock the <i>Kearsarge</i> was drifting near a buoy +about three miles eastward from the entrance of Cherbourg +break-water. Her decks had been newly holy-stoned; +the brass work had been cleaned; the guns +polished, and the crew had on their Sunday clothes. +They had been inspected, and dismissed—in order to +attend divine service.</p> + +<p>At 1.20 a cry rang out:</p> + +<p>“She comes!”</p> + +<p>The bell was tolling for prayers.</p> + +<p>“The <i>Alabama</i>! The <i>Alabama</i>! She’s moving, +and heading straight for us!”</p> + +<p>All rushed to the deck; the drum beat to quarters. +Captain Winslow laid aside his prayer-book, seized +his trumpet, ordered the boat about, and headed seaward. +The ship was cleared for action and the battery +was pivoted to starboard.</p> + +<p>Yes, she was coming!</p> + +<p>From the western entrance of the safe, little French +seaport steamed the long-bodied, low-hulled privateer: +her rakish masts bending beneath the spread of +canvas: her tall funnel belching sepia smoke. A +French iron-clad frigate—the <i>Couronne</i>—accompanied +her, flying the pennant of the Commander-of-the-Port. +In her wake plodded a tiny fore-and-aft-rigged +steamer-yacht: the <i>Deerhound</i>, showing the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[Pg 383]</a></span> +flag of the Royal Mersey (British) Yacht Club. The +frigate—having convoyed the Confederate privateer +to the limit of the French waters (three marine miles +from the coast)—put down her helm and ploughed +back into port. The steam yacht continued on, and +remained near the scene of action.</p> + +<p>As the <i>Alabama</i> had started upon her dash into the +open, Captain Semmes had mounted a gun-carriage, +and had cried,</p> + +<p>“Officers and Seamen of the <i>Alabama</i>:</p> + +<p>“You have at length another opportunity of meeting +the enemy—the first that has been presented to +you since you sank the <i>Hatteras</i>! In the meantime +you have been all over the world, and it is not too +much to say that you have destroyed, and driven for +protection under neutral flags, one-half of the enemy’s +commerce, which, at the beginning of the war, covered +every sea. This is an achievement of which you +may well be proud, and a grateful country will not +be unmindful of it. The name of your ship has become +a household word wherever civilization extends! +Shall that name be tarnished by defeat? The thing +is impossible! Remember that you are in the English +Channel, the theatre of so much of the naval glory +of our race, and that the eyes of all Europe are, at +this moment, upon you. The flag that floats over +you is that of a young Republic, which bids defiance +to her enemies whenever and wherever found! Show +the world that you know how to uphold it! Go to +your quarters!”</p> + +<p>A wild yell had greeted these stirring expressions.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[Pg 384]</a></span> +The shore was black with people, for the word had +been passed around that the two sea-warriors were to +grapple in deadly embrace. Even a special train had +come from Paris to bring the sober townsfolk to +Cherbourg, where they could view the contest. They +were chattering among themselves, like a flock of magpies.</p> + +<p>“Voilà!” said a fair damsel, whose eyes were fairly +shining with excitement. “Oh, I hope zat ze beeg +gray fellow weel win.”</p> + +<p>She meant the <i>Alabama</i>, for the Confederates +dressed in that sober color.</p> + +<p>“Zis ees ze naval Waterloo!” whispered a veteran +of the Crimean War.</p> + +<p>It was 10.50 o’clock. The <i>Kearsarge</i> had been +steaming out to sea, but now she wheeled. She was +seven miles from shore and one and one-quarter miles +from her opponent. She steered directly for her, as +if to ram her and crush through her side. The <i>Alabama</i> +sheered off and presented her starboard battery. +The <i>Kearsarge</i> came on, rapidly, and—at 10.57 was +about eighteen hundred yards from her enemy—then—<em>Crash! +Roar!</em> A broadside thundered from the +Confederate privateer, while the solid shot screamed +through the rigging of the Yankee man-of-war.</p> + +<p>On! On! came Captain Winslow’s gallant craft, +while a second and a third broadside crashed into her. +The rigging tore and swayed, but she was little injured. +She was now within nine hundred yards.</p> + +<p>“Sheer! Sheer!” cried the Union Commander.</p> + +<p>The <i>Kearsarge</i> spun off and broke her long silence +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[Pg 385]</a></span> +with the starboard battery. <em>Crash! Roar!</em> the shells +pounded around the great privateer, and, with a full +head of steam, the corsair of the Southern Confederacy +swept onward. <em>Crash! Roar!</em> she answered +with shell, and the bursting iron shivered the foremast +of her doughty opponent.</p> + +<p>Captain Winslow was fearful that the enemy would +make for the shore, so he spun over his helm to port +in the endeavor to run under the <i>Alabama</i>’s stern and +rake her. But she sheered off, kept her broadside +to him, and pounded away like a pugilist. The ships +were a quarter of a mile (440 yards) away from each +other. They were circling around in a wide arc, plugging +away as fast as they could load. The spectators +cheered, for it was as good a show as they had ever +witnessed.</p> + +<p>“Eet ees fine!” said the veteran of the Crimea. +“Eet remin’ me of ze battaile at Balaklava!”</p> + +<p>Suddenly a wild cheer rose from the deck of the +United States cruiser. A shot had struck the spanker-gaff +on the enemy and her ensign had come down on +the run.</p> + +<p>“Hurray!” shouted the seamen. “That means +we’ll win, sure!”</p> + +<p>The fallen ensign re-appeared at the mizzen, while +firing from the <i>Alabama</i> became rapid and wild. The +gunners of the <i>Kearsarge</i> had been cautioned against +shooting without direct aim, and had been told to point +their heavy guns below, rather than above the water-line.</p> + +<p>Captain Winslow was busy with his orders.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[Pg 386]</a></span> +“Clear the enemy’s deck with the light guns!” he +shouted. “Sink the Confederate with the heavy +iron!”</p> + +<p>Cheer succeeded cheer from his sailors. Caps were +thrown into the air, or overboard. Jackets were +tossed aside. Now, certain of victory, the men were +shouting wildly, as each projectile took effect.</p> + +<p>“That’s a good one!”</p> + +<p>“Down, boys, down!”</p> + +<p>“Give her another like the last!”</p> + +<p>“Now—we have her!”</p> + +<p>The vessels continued to swing around each other +in wide circles, and—at this moment—a sixty-eight +pound Blakely shell passed through the starboard bulwarks +of the <i>Kearsarge</i> below the main rigging, exploded +on the quarter-deck, and wounded three of +the crew of the after pivot-gun. The three unfortunate +men were speedily taken below, but the act was +done so quietly, that—at the termination of the fight—a +large number of the crew were unaware that any +of their comrades were injured.</p> + +<p>Two shots now crashed through the port-holes occupied +by the thirty-two pounders; one exploded in +the hammock-netting; the other shrieked through the +opposite port; yet no one was hurt. Fire blazed from +the deck; the alarm calling for fire-quarters was +sounded, and the men who had been detailed for this +emergency put it out. The rest stayed at the guns.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<a name="men_shouting_wildly" id="men_shouting_wildly"></a> +<img src="images/fpas22.jpg" width="600" height="363" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p class="caption">“THE MEN WERE SHOUTING WILDLY, AS EACH PROJECTILE TOOK EFFECT.”</p> + +<p>The eleven-inch shells were doing terrible execution +upon the quarter-deck of the <i>Alabama</i>. Three of +them crashed into the eight-inch pivot-gun port; the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[Pg 387]</a></span> +first swept off the forward part of the gun’s crew; +the second killed one man and wounded several others; +the third struck the breast of the gun-carriage and +spun around on the deck until one of the men picked +it up and threw it overboard. The ship was careening +heavily to starboard, while the decks were covered +with the dead and dying. A shell plunged into the +coal bunker and a dense cloud of coal dust arose. +Crippled and torn, the hulking privateer began to +settle by the stern. Her guns still spat and growled, +and her broadsides were going wild. She was fast +weakening.</p> + +<p>“Any one who silences that after pivot-gun will +get one hundred dollars!” cried Captain Semmes, as +he saw the fearful accuracy of its fire.</p> + +<p><em>Crash!</em> a whole broadside from the privateer spat +at this particular piece. It was in vain.</p> + +<p>Around and around circled the belching <i>Kearsarge</i>. +Seven times she had swooped about the weakening +gladiator of the sea, and her fire was more and more +accurate. She was like a great eagle closing in for +a deaththrust. Captain Semmes was in a desperate +situation.</p> + +<p>“Hoist the fore-trysail and jibs!” he called out +above the din of cannon. “Head for the French +coast!”</p> + +<p>As the sailors scrambled to obey, the <i>Alabama</i> presented +her port battery to the <i>Kearsarge</i>. She showed +gaping sides and only two guns were bearing.</p> + +<p>At this moment the chief engineer came up on the +deck of the privateer.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[Pg 388]</a></span> +“The fires are all out and the engines will not +work!” he reported to Captain Semmes.</p> + +<p>The doughty seaman turned to his chief executive +officer, Mr. Kell.</p> + +<p>“Go below, sir,” he shouted, “and see how long the +ship can float!”</p> + +<p>In a few moments the sailor had returned from his +inspection.</p> + +<p>“Captain!” cried he, saluting. “She will not stay +on the sea for ten minutes.”</p> + +<p>The face of the Confederate was ashen, as he answered,</p> + +<p>“Then, sir, cease firing, shorten sail, and haul down +the colors. It will never do in this Nineteenth Century +for us to go down with the decks covered with +our gallant wounded!”</p> + +<p>As he ceased speaking, a broadside roared from the +side of his sinking vessel. The ensign of the <i>Kearsarge</i> +had been stopped (rolled up and tied with a +piece of twine) and, as a shell crashed through her +rigging, a piece hit the flag-halyards—parted them—and +unstopped the flag. It unfurled itself gallantly +in the breeze, and, as its beautiful striping waved aloft, +the sailors upon the deck gave a loud cheer, for this +was the omen of Victory.</p> + +<p>At this moment, two of the junior officers upon the +<i>Alabama</i> swore that they would never surrender, and, +in a spirit of mutiny, rushed to the two port guns +and opened fire upon the Union vessel.</p> + +<p>“He is playing us a trick!” shouted Winslow. +“Give him another broadside!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[Pg 389]</a></span> +Again the shot and shell went crashing through +the sides of the Confederate cruiser. The <i>Kearsarge</i> +was laid across her bows for raking, and, in a position +to use grape and canister.</p> + +<p>A white flag was then shown over the stern of the +<i>Alabama</i> and her ensign was half-masted; Union +down.</p> + +<p>“Cease firing!” shouted Captain Winslow.</p> + +<p>The great fight was over. It had lasted one hour +and two minutes.</p> + +<p><em>Chugety, plug, splash!</em> The boats were lowered +from the <i>Alabama</i>, and her Master’s mate rowed to +the <i>Kearsarge</i>, with a few of his wounded.</p> + +<p>“We are sinking,” said he. “You must come and +help us!”</p> + +<p>“Does Captain Semmes surrender his ship?” asked +Winslow.</p> + +<p>“Yes!”</p> + +<p>“All right. Then I’ll help you!”</p> + +<p>Fullam grinned.</p> + +<p>“May I return with this boat and crew in order +to rescue the drowning?” he asked. “I pledge you +my word of honor that I will then come on board and +surrender.”</p> + +<p>Captain Winslow granted his request.</p> + +<p>With less generosity, the victorious Commander +could have detained the officers and men, supplied their +places with his own sailors, and offered equal aid to +the distressed. His generosity was abused. Fullam +pulled to the midst of the drowning; rescued several +officers; went to the yacht <i>Deerhound</i>, and cast his +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[Pg 390]</a></span> +boat adrift; leaving a number of men struggling in +the water.</p> + +<p>The <i>Alabama</i> was settling fast.</p> + +<p>“All hands overboard!” cried Mr. Kell. “Let +every man grab a life-preserver, or a spar.”</p> + +<p>As the sailors plunged into the sea, Captain Semmes +dropped his sword into the waves and leaped outward, +with a life-preserver around his waist. Kell followed, +while the <i>Alabama</i> launched her bows high in the air, +and—graceful, even in her death throes—plunged +stern-foremost into the deep. A sucking eddy of +foam, spars, and wreckage marked where once had +floated the gallant ship.</p> + +<p>Thus sank the terror of the merchantmen—riddled +through and through—and no cheer arose as her battered +hulk went down in forty-five fathoms of water. +Her star had set.</p> + +<p>The <i>Deerhound</i> had kept about a mile to windward +of the two contestants, but she now steamed towards +the mass of living heads, which dotted the surface of +the sea. Her two boats were lowered, and Captain +Semmes was picked up and taken aboard, with forty +others. She then edged to the leeward and steamed +rapidly away.</p> + +<p>An officer quickly approached Captain Winslow.</p> + +<p>“Better fire a shot at the yacht,” he said, saluting. +“She’s got Captain Semmes aboard and will run off +with him.”</p> + +<p>Winslow smiled.</p> + +<p>“It’s impossible,” said he. “She’s simply coming +around!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[Pg 391]</a></span> +But the <i>Deerhound</i> kept on.</p> + +<p>Another officer approached the commander of the +<i>Kearsarge</i>.</p> + +<p>“That beastly yacht is carrying off our men,” said +he. “Better bring her to, Captain!”</p> + +<p>“No Englishman who carries the flag of the +Royal Yacht Squadron can so act!” Winslow replied,—somewhat +pettishly. “She’s simply coming +around.”</p> + +<p>But she never “came around,” and Captain Raphael +Semmes was soon safe upon British soil. He had +fought a game fight. The superior gunnery of the +sailors of the <i>Kearsarge</i> had been too much for him. +Nine of his crew were dead and twenty-one wounded, +while the <i>Kearsarge</i> had no one killed and but +three wounded; one of whom died shortly afterwards.</p> + +<p>Thus,—the lesson is:</p> + +<p>If you want to win: Learn how to shoot +straight!</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Captain Raphael Semmes died quietly at Mobile, +Alabama, August 30th, 1877. His ill-fated <i>Alabama</i> +had inflicted a loss of over seven million dollars upon +the commerce of the United States.</p> + +<p>A number of wise men met, many years afterwards, +in Geneva, Switzerland, and decided, that, as the British +Government had allowed this vessel to leave their +shores, when warned by the American minister of her +character and intention to go privateering, it should +therefore pay for all the vessels which the graceful +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[Pg 392]</a></span> +cruiser had destroyed. England had broken the neutrality +laws.</p> + +<p>John Bull paid up.</p> + +<p> +But,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">—Boys—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">it</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">hurt!</span><br /> +</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[Pg 393]</a></span></p> + +<h2>EL CAPITAN</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There was a Captain-General who ruled in Vera Cruz,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And what we used to hear of him was always evil news:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He was a pirate on the sea—a robber on the shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Señor Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“There was a Yankee skipper who round about did roam;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His name was Stephen Folger,—Nantucket was his home:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And having sailed to Vera Cruz, he had been <em>skinned</em> full sore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the Señor Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“But having got away alive, though all his cash was gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He said, ‘If there is vengeance, I will surely try it on!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I do wish that I may be hung,—if I don’t clear the score<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With Señor Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.’<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“He shipped a crew of seventy men—well-arméd men were they,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sixty of them in the hold he darkly stowed away;<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[Pg 394]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And, sailing back to Vera Cruz, was sighted from the shore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the Señor Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“With twenty-five soldados, he came on board, so pleased,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And said ‘<i>Maldito</i>, Yankee,—again your ship is seized.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How many sailors have you got?’ Said Folger, ‘Ten—no more,’<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the Captain Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“‘But come into my cabin and take a glass of wine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I do suppose, as usual, I’ll have to pay a fine:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I’ve got some old Madeira, and we’ll talk the matter o’er—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My Captain Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.’<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“And, as over the Madeira the Captain-General boozed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It seemed to him as if his head were getting quite confused;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For, it happened that some morphine had travelled from ‘the Store’<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the glass of Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“‘What is it makes the vessel roll? What sounds are these I hear?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It seems as if the rising waves were beating on my ear!’<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[Pg 395]</a></span> +<span class="i0">‘Oh, it is the breaking of the surf—just that, and nothing more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My Captain Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador!’<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“The Governor was in a sleep, which muddled up his brains;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The seventy men had caught his ‘gang’ and put them all in chains;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, when he woke the following day, he could not see the shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For he was away out on the sea—the Don San Salvador.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“‘Now do you see the yard-arm—and understand the thing?’<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Said rough, old Folger, viciously—‘for this is where you’ll swing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or forty thousand dollars you shall pay me from your store,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My Captain Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador!’<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“The Captain he took up a pen—the order he did sign—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">‘O my, but Señor Yankee! You charge great guns for wine!’<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet it was not until the draft was paid, they let him go ashore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">El Señor Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /><br /> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[Pg 396]</a></span> +<span class="i0">“The greater sharp will some day find another sharper wit;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It always makes the Devil laugh to see a biter bit;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It takes two Spaniards, any day, to comb a Yankee o’er—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even two like Don Alonzo Estabán San Salvador.”<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[Pg 397]</a></span></p> + +<h2>RETROSPECT</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The curtain falls, the plays are done,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To roar of shell and shock of gun;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The scuttled shipping bobs and sways,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In grime and muck of shallow bays.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tattered ensigns mould’ring lie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As diving otters bark and cry;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While—in the lee of crumbling piers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rotting hulk its decking rears.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gray, screaming kestrels wheel and sheer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above the wasted steering gear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In moulding kelp and mackerel’s sheen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blighted log-book hides unseen.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Red flash the beams of northern blaze.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through beaded clouds of Elmo’s haze;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While dim, unkempt, the ghostly crew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Float by, and chant the lesson true!<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sons of the fog-bound Northland; sons of the blinding seas,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If ye would cherish the trust which your fathers left,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye must strive—ye must work—without ease.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strong have your good sires battled, oft have your fathers bled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If ye would hold up the flag which they’ve never let sag,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[Pg 398]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Ye must plod—ye must creep where they’ve led.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shimmering icebergs call you; the plunging screw-drums scream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By shallowing shoals they haul you, to the beat of the walking beam.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The twisting petrels chatter, as ye drift by the waiting fleet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In your towering grim, gray Dreadnought,—a king who sneers at defeat.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While the silken pennons flutter; as the frozen halyards strain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Comes the growling old-world mutter, the voice of the million slain:<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><i>Keep to your manly war games; keep to your warrior’s play.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Though the dove of peace is dancing to the sounding truce harp’s lay.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Arbitrate if you have to; smooth it o’er if you must,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>But, be prepared for battle, to parry the war king’s thrust.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Don’t foster the chip on the shoulder; don’t hasten the slap in the face.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>But, burnish your sword, ere you’re older,—the blade of the ancient race.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Hark to the deeds of your fathers; cherish the stories I’ve told,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Then—go and do like, if you have to—and die—like a Hero of Old.</i><br /></span> +</div> +</div> + + + +<div class="bbox" style="margin-top: 3em;"> +<p><b>Transcriber's Note</b></p> + +<p>Punctuation errors have been repaired. Hyphenation has been made consistent +within the main text. There is some archaic and variable spelling, which has +been preserved as printed.</p> + +<p>The following amendments have also been made:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>Page <a href="#Page_3">3</a>—repeated book title deleted.</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#Page_77">77</a>—omitted word 'to' added after +row—"... jumped into two small wherries in order +to row to the lugger."</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#Page_156">156</a>—pedlers amended to +peddlers—"There are tinkers, tailors, haymakers, peddlers, +fiddlers, ..."</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#Page_178">178</a>—Huzza amended to +Huzzah—"“... Huzzah for Fortunatus Wright!”"</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#Page_226">226</a>—envollé amended to +envolé—"“Sapristi! L’oiseau s’est envolé.”"</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#Page_248">248</a>—manœver amended to +manœuver—"... had simply followed my manœuver of +wearing around under easy helm ..."</p> +</div> + +<p>Illustrations have been moved slightly where necessary so that they are not +in the middle of a paragraph. The frontispiece and advertising matter have been +moved to follow the title page.</p> +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Famous Privateersmen and Adventurers +of the Sea, by Charles H. L. 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