Chapter V: Part 5

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.

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.

"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."

Several accepted this offer. At which a sailor cried out:

"Duck me twelve times, Captain. I want to have a regular orgy when I get back home."

And the sailors did it, laughing uproariously.

Sailing to the Cape Verde Islands, the _Duke_ and the _Duchess_ 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.

"On October 6th," writes the gallant Rogers, "our boat went to San Antonio to get our linguist, according to appointment. No news of him."

"On October 6th, our boat returned with nothing but limes and tobacco. No news of our linguist."

"On October 7th, no news of our linguist."

"On the 8th, boat sent ashore, but no news of our linguist."

"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."

Thus disappeared the sleek and crafty Joseph.

There was still trouble from insubordination, for Mr. Page--second mate of the _Duchess_--refused to accompany Mr. Cook (second in command on the _Duke_). Whereupon the hot-tempered Captain Cook--being the superior officer on board--struck him, and several blows were interchanged.

At last Page was forced into the boat and brought to the _Duke_, 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 put in irons; and he evidently found a week of this kind of thing sufficient; for he submitted himself humbly to future orders.

Thus Woodes Rogers had already learned that the life of a privateer commander was not a happy one.

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.

"Let the _Duchess_ bear down on her port and the _Duke_ to starboard," cried Captain Rogers. "Heave a solid shot across her bow, and, if she refuses to capitulate, let her have your broadsides."

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 _Duke_ was soon in charge, and steering her for Lobas: a harbor on the coast.

"She's a tight little barque," said Rogers, when he had landed. "I'll make her into a privateer."

So she was hauled up, cleaned, launched, and christened the _Beginning_; with a spare topmast from the _Duke_ 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 _Duchess_, which was loafing outside, watching for a merchantman to capture and pillage.

Next morn two sails were sighted, and both _Duke_ and _Duchess_ 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.

"Broadsides for both," ordered Woodes Rogers. "Broadsides and good treatment when the white flag flutters aloft."

As the _Duchess_ chased the Lima boat, the _Duke_ 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.

"They're afraid!" cried the Captain of the _Duke_. "We can take 'em with no exertion." But he was like many an Englishman: despised his foe only to find him a valiant one.

Piling into four boats, the men from the _Duke_, fully armed, rowed swiftly towards the rolling Frenchman. They approached to within twenty yards. Then

_Crash! Crash! Rattle! Crash!_

A sheet of flame burst from her sides; muskets and pistols spoke; cannon spat grape and cannister; the Englishmen were frightfully cut up.

"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.

_Crash! Crash!_

Again roared out a volley. Oars were splintered. One boat was pierced below the water line. She sank, and her men floundered about upon the surface of the oily sea.

"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.

"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?"

"Yes. After her and board her amid-ships!" cried all. "Run our own vessel alongside."

"And that I will do," answered Rogers, watching the lumbering merchantman through his glass. "She's entirely too well armed for a trader."

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 _Duchess_ now returned from her chase of the Lima boat, and, joining her _Duke_, bore in upon the able fighter from the open sea.

"Egad! We'll have her yet," shouted Captain Rogers, rubbing his hands.

"She luffs!" cried a lieutenant. "She's coming to!"

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.

"And," writes Captain Rogers, "I found that a 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."

Things were going well with the wild rovers from Bristol. Plunder there was aplenty and the holds of the _Duke_ and the _Duchess_ bulged with treasure. Yet Woodes Rogers was not satisfied.

"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."

"Hurrah!" shouted his staunch followers. "On! On! to Guayaquil!"

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.

"Take the place!" cried Rogers, as the two ships forged into the sleepy shallows, and rounded to before the peaceful habitation.

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.

"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!"

"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!"

"All right!" answered several of his men, as they ran for the clusters of boats. "We'll put holes in them!"

As they hurried forward, several of the natives were ahead. Two jumped into the bark boats and paddled furiously for Guayaquil. The _zip_, _zip_ 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.

"Ho! Ho!" laughed Rogers, as he thumbed the papers of the Lieutenant-Governor. "What is this?"

"A warning to the townsfolk of Guayaquil," said one of his men, as he peered over his shoulder.

Rogers chuckled.

"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!"

"Hah! Hah!" laughed the free-booting captain. "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."

His followers looked solemn.

"Let's attack, right away," cried several, "before the Spaniards have time to prepare for our charge!"

Rogers, however, would not hear of it.

"We must rest. Equip ourselves. Place cannon in the bows of our boats, and then we will be ready."

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.

Two days later all was ready for the advance. It was near midnight--upon April 22nd,--when the command was passed around:

"Muffle your oars and take the town!"

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.

"'Tis well," whispered a stout sailor. "Now we can see to shoot!"

As he said this, many lights appeared in the houses of Guayaquil. The townspeople were wide awake.

"What means this, sirrah?" thundered Rogers at a native guide, who was piloting him to the shore.

The fellow had a ready answer.

"'Tis the celebration of All Saints Day," he answered smiling. "The people here are good Christians."

"They know that we are coming," growled the English captain, for, as the native spoke, a Spaniard upon the shore was heard to shout:

"Puna has been captured! The enemy is advancing! Arm! Arm!"

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.

"'Tis nothing," said Rogers. "The alarm has only just been given. Preparations are not complete and we can rush them, easily."

But Captain Cook had his own opinion upon the affair.

"The Buccaneers," said he, "never attack any large place after it is alarmed. My advice is to keep away."

"Don't go in," cried several. "Wait and rush them when they are not so well prepared."

Even the men seemed disinclined to advance.

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.

When flood-tide came, Captain Rogers once more ordered an advance upon the town.

"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."

"Your measure is half-hearted," said Rogers, with heat. "You are a craven knave. Let's rush the town like Englishmen and heroes!"

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.

"The English are afraid!" whispered the inhabitants. "Let us keep them off with braggadocio, and mayhap reinforcements will come to us."

So they bickered and delayed.

"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!"

"Yes! On! On!" cried his men.

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!

_Zip! Zip!_ came the bullets from the nearer houses, as the privateers advanced.

_Boom! Boom!_ sounded the guns from the _Duchess_ and the _Duke_, which had edged up near the wharves and anchored. Shells shrieked and burst; guns roared; and, with a hoarse cheer, the English beat down two lines of Spaniards who opposed them.

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.

_Crash! Crash!_ 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.

"Take the guns!" shouted Woodes Rogers. "Scale the barricade and spike the pieces!"

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.

"And now," cried Captain Rogers, gleefully, "I'll meet the worthy _Padres_ and treat with them for a ransom. We'll make them pay full well to get back the neat little town of Guayaquil."

Crestfallen and abashed, the city fathers were soon brought before the privateer.

"Senor," said they, "your men can fight like devils. Senor, you are the first man to have taken our town, and many a Buccaneer has endeavored to do so!"

Captain Rogers smiled.

"Tut! Tut!" said he. "The English can always battle. But--Fathers--you must pay me well for this affair. I demand thirty thousand pieces of eight ($35,000 or about L6,750) as ransom for your fair city. I will give you two days in which to collect it."

The worthy _Padres_ hung their heads.

"You English," said they, "are cruel extortioners."

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."

Thus, on April 28th, when the _Duke_ and the _Duchess_ weighed anchor and stood out to sea: guns roared: trumpets blew: the men cheered.

"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 (L45,000 or $225,000); and in jewels, diamonds, and wrought and unwrought gold and silver."

* * * * *

The owners of the two privateers: the _Duke_ and the _Duchess_, sat in solemn meeting at the good town of Bristol. It was the month of October, 1711.

The fat Quakers were smiling, for Captain Rogers had brought them back equally fat moneys.

The rugged merchants laughed, for the venture had been a howling success.

"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.

"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."

And even the sober Quaker fathers laughed at this sally.

"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?"

"Fine!" said Woodes Rogers, chuckling.

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!

TWILIGHT AT SEA

The twilight hours like birds flew by,
As lightly and as free;
Ten thousand stars were in the sky,
Ten thousand on the sea;
For every wave with dimpled face,
That leaped up in the air,
Had caught a star in its embrace,
And held it trembling there.

FORTUNATUS WRIGHT

THE MOST HATED PRIVATEERSMAN OF THE MEDITERRANEAN SEA

(1715-1765)

"It was a high counsel which I once heard given to a
young person: 'Always do what you are afraid to
do.'"--EMERSON.

FORTUNATUS WRIGHT

THE MOST HATED PRIVATEERSMAN OF THE MEDITERRANEAN SEA

(1715-1765)

"'_Be sure you're right, then go ahead!_' was coined by Andrew Jackson,
Who was a fighter, tough as nails, and loved to lay the whacks on,
He followed out this sage advice, in spite of opposition,
While everybody winked and said,--'_A Fellow with a Mission!_'
In other days, in other climes, there lived a seaman daring,
Who loved a fight, as well as he,--was just as good at swearing;
His name was Wright, and thus in spite of all his foemen said,
Old _Fortune_ Wright, was surely right, whene'er he went ahead!"

--_Chants of the Eastern Clipper Ships._--1846.

In 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.

Englishmen carried on quite a trade with Italy, Greece, and the countries of Asia Minor, and at 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.

"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!"

"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."

"Hear! Hear!" cried others.

And thus Mr. Fortunatus Wright was sought for, and was asked:

"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?"

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,

"Whoop-ee!"

Which being interpreted means:

"Gentlemen, I'm dee-lighted!"

As luck would have it, there was a vessel lying in the harbor which was directly available. She was a brigantine called the _Fame_, 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.

It was September, 1746, and, before the close of the month of December, the _Fame_ 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:

"Run for the shore! Run our ship aground! We will fix her so that this English hound cannot make a prize of us!"

"Voila! Voila!" his men had shouted. "Oui! We will f-e-e-x th-e-es Eengleesh chien! Oui! Au revoir, Monsieur Wright!"

So saying, the privateer had been run upon the sandy beach, bows on, where her crew took to the brush, yelling derisively at the _Fame_ as she came up within hail,--sails snug down so as to move cautiously.

The Frenchmen had counted without their host.

"We'll float her, my hearties!" cried Wright. "All hands ashore in the small boats. Tie hawsers to her stern and pull her off!"

This they did, while the French captain, far back in the brush, saw it and fairly boiled with disappointment and rage.

"Zees Wright," he blustered. "One cannot outweet heem."

So the privateer was towed into the harbor of Leghorn, where all the English merchants cried:

"Good! Good! Now we have a true man to fight our battles! Huzzah for Fortunatus Wright!"

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.

Finally the French merchants forwarded a missive to Marseilles, in France, which ran:

"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!"

An answer came back.

"Before a month is gone, Monsieur Wright will no more harass your privateers. What we have determined to do, we shall do!"

Word of this was brought to Captain Fortunatus Wright and he only smiled broadly. "There'll be another ship to bring into Malta, care of F. Wright, Esq.," said he. "And it will be labelled Collect on Delivery."

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.

"Voila!" 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!"

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.

Eagerly the French captain cruised outside, continually upon the watch for slippery Skipper Wright. His vessel was superior to the _Fame_ in numbers of both guns and men. He was sure of victory. "If only the hated Englishman would appear!" he grumbled.

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!"

To which the irritable Frenchmen would answer, "Ah! Yes! He will be gobbled up like Jonah by the whale. Pouff!"

The French privateer sailed out to meet the foe, 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.

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.

"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."

"Huzzah!" shouted all of his compatriots, and they danced about, shaking hands, embracing, and waving their hats and their handkerchiefs.

"Ce cher Wright!" cried they. "He ees een the soup, eh?"

And what of the Englishmen?

They--of course--said nothing, but bit their lips, looked at their Austrian friends, and hung their heads dejectedly.

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 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.

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.

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.

As for Fortunatus Wright, he continued to harass the French and get into trouble, as the following anecdote well shows.

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.

Fortunatus Wright grew impatient.

"Can I not go by?" said he. "My passports are correct!"

"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."

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.

"The first man that endeavors to take my weapons from me," he yelled, "does so at the cost of his life!"

The guardsman was flabbergasted.

"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.

Immediately a dozen soldiers came running to the spot. They surrounded the irate English traveller. He was ordered to "Throw up your hands!"

"You air one mad Englishmana!" said the Officer of the Guard. "Here. Comea weeth usa! We weel feexa youa!"

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!"

Things looked bad for the great privateersman. But was his name not Fortunatus? And was not good fortune always with him?

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 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:

"SEIGNEUR WRIGHT:--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.

"By order of the

"GOVERNOR OF LUCCA."

"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.

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.

When valorous Wright stepped aboard of her, her captain was scraping and bowing near the rail.

"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 Second of England. It says, 'All of the cargo, passengers, and crew of _La Belle Florence_ shall be exempt from molestation by English cruisers and privateers.' What say you to that?"

Captain Wright looked sad, but he seized the paper and read it with care. His smile broadened as he perused the document.

"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 (_La Belle Florence_) 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."

You should have seen the face of the Frenchman!

"I vill haf revenge!" said he. And he had it.

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.

A bit later, this trait got him into serious difficulties and into prison.

A number of English merchants were trading with 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.

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.

"Helas!" growled the French skipper. "Eet ees that devil, ze Captain Wright. Eet is all up with me! Helas!"

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.

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 of the Company of English Merchants trading to the Levant Sea."

"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."

Thus--the cargoes were sold--Captain Fortunatus pocketed the money, and went upon his way, rejoicing.

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."

To this Captain Wright answered, "Bah! I have the money. I intend to keep it!"

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.

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, 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."

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. _A wise dog only allows himself to be bitten once._

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 _Fame_ not being available, he had a small vessel constructed at Leghorn, and called her the _Saint George_. 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. _Saint George_, I salute you! May you bring me only the best of luck!"

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 _Saint George_, as she bobbed serenely upon the surface of the bay. Knowing full 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.

At this the old sea-dog only laughed, and exhibited the greatest anxiety to comply with the requirements of the law.

"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."

The officer smiled. "We are watching you closely," said he. "For Monsieur Wright, it is said that you are as crafty as a cat!"

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.

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 _Saint George_ 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 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."

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 _dead or alive_. 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:

"ALL SAILORS AND SEAMEN ATTENTION!

To the person, or persons, who will capture and bring to
France, the body of the arch-villain Captain Fortunatus
Wright, shall be given

A SUM DOUBLE THE VALUE OF WRIGHT'S VESSEL.

Frenchmen! Catch this Thief! Bring him in Dead or Alive!
Do your Duty!

This sum is guaranteed by the Merchants and Ship-owners
of Marseilles, and the Chamber of Commerce."

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 port bow, when only a few hours' sail from the snug harbor of Leghorn.

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.

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.

"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!"

"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.

The French were very confident, and, as they came within range of the guns of the little _Saint George_ they began to sing a hymn of victory, while their captain already saw, in his hands, the rich reward offered by the good citizens of Marseilles.

"Poof!" he chuckled. "Monsieur Wright, he soon take dinnaire in my cabin. Poof!"

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.

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 _chug! chug!_ of solid shot, as it cut up the waves near the body of the staunch, little _Saint George_.

"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!"

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.

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 _Saint George_ 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.

"Bring the vessel up on her starboard side!" he commanded. "And get out the boarding-pikes! Now we'll finish Captain Wright!"

The zebeque soon ranged alongside the battered _Saint George_, 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. _Slash! Slash! Crack!_ 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 ferocity of their struggle that the boarders were repulsed with great slaughter.

"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.

_Poom! Poom!_

There was still some fight left in the little _Saint George_ 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.

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 _Saint George_. It had been a glorious victory.

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.

"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 with this dog! To the prison with this cut-throat! Sapristi!"

A boat soon rowed to the _Saint George_ 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 _Saint George_, ran out their guns, and cast anchor.

"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."

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!"

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 _Jersey_ of sixty guns, and the _Isis_ 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 which might be there, and _to release the Saint George immediately_. Wright threw up his cap and cheered, but the officials of Leghorn said things which cannot be printed. Thus the _Saint George_ sailed upon her way, unmolested, and was soon taking more prizes upon the broad waters of the Mediterranean.

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.

"You are a beastly pirate!" said an official. "You cannot purchase anything here for your nefarious business."

"I am a privateer!" answered Wright, with anger.

"A privateer looks just the same to me as a pirate," sarcastically sneered the official. And Captain Fortunatus had to look elsewhere for provisions.

As he cruised along, a big, French cruiser of thirty-eight guns chased the little _Saint George_ as if to gobble her up alive.

"Boys! We shall now have some fun!" said Captain Wright. "I can sail faster than this Frenchy. Just watch me!"

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! Wouldn't you have done so if you had been a Frenchman?

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.

What was his end?

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.

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.

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:

"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.

THE DEEP

There's beauty in the deep:
The wave is bluer than the sky;
And though the lights shine bright on high,
More softly do the sea-gems glow
That sparkle in the depths below;
The rainbow tints are only made
When on the waters they are laid.
And sea and moon most sweetly shine
Upon the ocean's level brine.
There's beauty in the deep.

There's quiet in the deep.
Above, let tide and tempest rave,
And earth-born whirlwinds wake the wave;
Above, let care and fear contend
With sin and sorrow to the end:
Here, far beneath the tainted foam
That frets above our peaceful home,
We dream in joy, and walk in love,
Nor know the rage that yells above.
There's quiet in the deep.

GEORGE WALKER

WINNER OF THE GAMEST SEA FIGHT OF THE ENGLISH CHANNEL

(1727-1777)

"'War is Hell,' said General William T. Sherman.
But,--better have war than bow to an inferior
nation."--_Doctrines of the Strenuous Life._

GEORGE WALKER

WINNER OF THE GAMEST SEA FIGHT OF THE ENGLISH CHANNEL

(1727-1777)

"If Britain can but breed th' men,
Who are like Walker made,
She'll have no fear of danger,
When th' foe starts to invade.
When th' foe starts to invade, my boys,
An' creep along th' shore,
Where th' curling breakers wash th' cliffs,
Where th' breeching combers roar.
Then, lift a glass to Walker,
Of _Glorioso_ fame,
_May we ne'er forget his deed lads,_
_May we ne'er forget his name_."

--_Chants from The Channel._--1769.

It 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:

"The pirate is off the narrows! The pirate will soon be here!"

Then all would gaze seaward with startled faces, and would murmur:

"The pirate--the Spanish pirate will be here."

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.

"What ho! Good citizens," said he. "Do I understand that a Spaniard has frightened you all? Why, where's your courage?"

"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."

The newcomer smiled.