Chapter IV: Part 4

The governor, named Foyle, had seen the ship come in, and sent a company of soldiers down to the shore to welcome the new-comers, who were taken into the castle, where the governor greeted them kindly. The pirates lied glibly, telling the governor that they were from Liverpool, bound for Senegal, but, having been chased by a couple of French men-o’-war, had put in at Gambia for safety. Would the governor trade with them for slaves? Gathering that the merchants had a large cargo of plate and iron, the governor agreed to barter, asking incidentally whether they had any liquor aboard. Davis said they had, and promised him a hamper for his own use, if he would care to accept it.

Overwhelmed at the generosity, the governor invited Davis and his comrades to dinner with him; Davis accepted, but said that he must go on board first to see that everything was all right. He would return in time for dinner, bringing the liquor with him.

Davis had been taking notes of everything in the fort, and when he got back to his ship was able to assure his rascally crew that before night the fort would be in their possession--if they didn’t get drunk. They promised to be good, and to send twenty men on shore directly they saw the flag of the fort struck--the signal that Davis had captured it. Davis took the precaution, in the evening, of securing the crew of a little sloop that lay in the harbour, lest they should hear anything and give warning to the governor.

Then, taking the hamper of liquor, Davis entered his boat, which had a number of men in it, each armed with two pairs of pistols, carefully hidden, and with instructions to mingle with the soldiers in the guard-room while Davis was engaged with the governor. When Davis fired a pistol through the governor’s window they were to set about the soldiers at once, and seize all the arms in the guard-room.

In due course the pirate was with the governor, waiting dinner, and making a bowl of punch to while the time away. Never was man more surprised than that luckless governor when, in the midst of the convivialities, Davis poked a pistol in his face, and told him that unless he surrendered the castle and all the money it contained, he would shoot him like a dog!

What could a man do? the governor evidently asked himself. Foyle gave in. Davis and the coxswain, the master and the doctor, having closed the door, took possession of all the weapons in the governor’s room, and loaded all the pistols. Then Davis fired through the window, as arranged. Instantly his men in the guard-room got to work; they placed themselves between the soldiers and their piled-up arms, and, with cocked pistols at the heads of the soldiers, called upon them to surrender. They did so; it was no use trying to resist ruffians who were so well armed! The soldiers were locked in the room, the flag was struck, reinforcements came from the ship, and during the day the pirates enjoyed themselves to the full, plundering everything, and reaping a fairly rich harvest. Davis, who felt he wanted more men, prevailed upon certain of the soldiers to join him; the others he placed on board the sloop, having taken the precaution of removing all sails, etc., from her, so that they could not escape.

Then, having got all that was to be obtained, Davis ordered the fortification to be destroyed and the guns dismounted, and, considering it time to be gone, weighed anchor. Just as the ship was setting sail the pirates saw a vessel bearing down upon them. Not knowing what kind of a ship she might be, whether friend or foe--they had very few friends, and far too many foes!--Davis had all his men to arms to receive the new-comer, who, when near enough, let fly a shot across the pirate’s bows and hoisted the black flag! Davis, overjoyed at the turn of events, returned the compliment both with shot and flag, and in a few minutes the two captains were hobnobbing together. Davis found that the new-comer was a pirate under the command of a Frenchman named La Bouse; and, joining forces, the precious pair sailed down the coast to Sierra Leone.

Here they saw a tall ship riding at anchor, and decided that she would make a good prize. The thing that worried them was that she did not attempt to escape, which made them wonder whether she might not be a heavily armed vessel, who felt sure of herself and didn’t mind a fight. However, Davis sailed in boldly, and his ship literally staggered back as she received a full and heavy broadside; and up went the stranger’s flag--a black one! Truly Davis was meeting some queer adventures! It did not take long to explain matters, and Davis and La Bouse found themselves in company with another band of pirates, under a rogue named Cocklyn. They fraternised together for three days, the first two being spent in true pirate fashion--feasting and debauching; on the third a council of war was held, at which it was agreed to join forces, Davis being appointed to supreme command. However, the friends soon quarrelled amongst themselves, and the three captains nearly came to blows one day while they were engaged in a debauch.

Davis decided that the affair must end at once, before worse happened.

“Hark ye, Cocklyn and La Bouse!” he cried. “I find that, by strengthening you, I have put a rod into your hands to whip myself. However, I am still able to deal with you both; but since we met in love, let us part in love, for it’s very plain that three of a trade can never agree.”

The other pirates saw the wisdom of Davis’s opinion, and the result was that they parted company. We will leave the others, and follow Davis to his tragic end. Ambitious as ever, he captured a big Dutch ship with thirty guns in her, and, mounting twenty-seven more, sailed to the Isle of Princes, which he thought to raid. To the governor he passed himself off as the captain of an English man-o’-war searching for pirates. The governor welcomed him and feasted him, and, to return the compliment, Davis, presenting him with a dozen slaves, invited him on board to a feast, asking him to bring some of the chief men and friars from the island. The governor agreed, and Davis was highly pleased, for he had fashioned a little plot whereby, as soon as the governor boarded the ship, he and his friends were to be taken prisoner, and held to ransom for £40,000.

Poor Pirate Davis! He was doomed to disappointment on this occasion. A negro, watching his opportunity, that night slipped overboard, swam to the shore, burst like a tornado upon the governor, and warned him of the plot.

Next morning, when Davis went ashore, the governor met him with smiling face, invited him to join him at the house in a little refreshment, and, chatting affably, the party walked up. Presently the governor shifted somewhat, and at a given signal a withering volley was poured in at the pirates, who, with one exception, fell to the ground. The plot had failed!

Davis, wounded in the bowels though he was, rose to his feet and endeavoured to get away; he dropped in his tracks, and in the moment of death pulled out his pistols, and fired them point-blank at his pursuers.

When those on board the ship saw what had happened, they hurried away post-haste, and, once clear of the island, elected a new captain. The choice fell upon Bartholomew Roberts, and a really fine pirate chief he made. He was a born fighter and leader of men; he stood no nonsense from anyone, and the man who disputed his authority knew it to his cost. He cared for nobody, and, although we need not follow his whole career, he did so much damage amongst shipping, both off Africa and America, that his name became a byword amongst mariners. He was a terror of the seas.

He cut a picturesque figure when he went fighting. He would overhaul a ship, pound at her for all he was worth, and then, entering his longboat, row over and tackle her. All his men were extravagant in their tastes regarding dress, but Roberts was worse than all; he dressed in a rich crimson damask waistcoat and breeches, wore a large black hat with a crimson feather, a gold chain round his neck, with a diamond pendant, a silk band hanging from his shoulders to carry his pistols. Thus, sword in hand, he led his men to the fight, dashing, very often, through a very hail of shot, and, with shouts and curses, urging his men on as they tried to board. A stiff fight very often ensued, and then the pirates, having run the gauntlet of fire, scrambled up the side of the ship and, after a fierce hand-to-hand fight, had her beaten.

But, though he played this game many a time with much success, Nemesis was at hand. The _Royal Fortune_, as he called his last ship, had as consort the _Ranger_, and the two ships caused such depredation that the British cruiser _Swallow_ scoured the seas to find them, eventually running them to earth in the River Gaboon. The _Royal Fortune_ lay well up the river, but the _Ranger_ was at the mouth, and, seeing the _Swallow_ approach with portholes closed, her crew hugged themselves with delight in anticipation of another prize. They thought she was a sugar ship, and they badly wanted sugar. They therefore hoisted sail and gave chase, which was just what the _Swallow_ wanted. Lieutenant Sun, in command, had realised that the _Ranger_ had made a mistake, and he led her on till she was well away from the river and out of gunshot of the _Royal Fortune_, which he meant to tackle later on.

The pirates, lured on by the thought of the sugar cargo sped after the _Swallow_, drew near enough to fire their bow chasers, and then opened on the quarry. Up went the black flag at the same time--as though the _Swallow_ wanted to be told who they were!--and then, after a little further chase, drew alongside and prepared to board. The ruffianly looking crew lined the side of the _Ranger_. That moment the lower ports of the _Swallow_ opened, and a terrific broadside crashed into the side of the astonished pirate. They had been bitten, deceived. They cursed their foes and drew off, though not before the black flag came fluttering down to the deck. Then, having hoisted another Jolly Roger, they tried to get away; but the _Swallow_ was swifter than their own ship, and her guns better handled, with the result that, after a running fight of two hours, the black flag came down again, this time struck by the pirates; and the _Ranger_ was captured.

They were a cheerful lot of pirates which the _Swallow_ took aboard; they did not seem to mind the prospect of the gallows, but joked and laughed, and treated the whole affair as a huge joke. They even tried to blow the _Ranger_ up before they were taken off, with the pirates and the Navy men on board. Lieutenant Sun sent the _Ranger_ into port with a prize crew, and then made off for the Gaboon River again, to tackle Roberts, in the _Royal Fortune_. While the fight had been going on, Roberts had been busy; he had captured a ship, and was sailing away with her when the _Swallow_ sighted him on February 9, 1722. Sun kept as far away as possible, so that Roberts should not suspect he was being followed, and allowed him to anchor in a bay near Cape Lopez for the night. Roberts, who, if he had known, might have given the _Swallow_ the slip, remained there, all unconscious of the fate coming to him. He was at breakfast next morning when news was brought him of a tall ship being near at hand. Roberts said it must be the _Ranger_ returning, or a slave ship; anyway, it was nothing to get into a turmoil about. He soon found his mistake, for the stranger hoisted her colour, opened her ports, and showed Roberts that he was in for a scrap.

“It’s only a bite!” he cried. “Get ready!”

While his men rushed to arms, Roberts stood on his deck in all the glory of his pilfered attire. There came to him one of his men who, a deserter from the Navy, had once sailed aboard the _Swallow_, and knew her powers.

“She sails best before the wind,” he said; “and we can escape, if we want to, by running for it.”

Roberts thought a while. He knew that he was in a tight corner, for the _Swallow’s_ men were brilliant fighters, and she was a sturdy ship. He decided, after all, he would run for it, making up his mind that, if everything else failed, he would either run the ship ashore, and let his men shift for themselves, or else dash down upon the _Swallow_, board her, and blow up both ships!

So the orders were given, and the _Royal Fortune_ swooped down upon the _Swallow_, intending to give her a broadside as she passed. The _Swallow_ opened fire as the black flag fluttered aloft; Roberts returned it, and then swung away. But, just as he thought he was safe, the _Royal Fortune_ failed them. Something went wrong; she did not answer to the helm, and failed to catch the wind. The _Swallow_ drew near!

What Roberts would have done it is impossible to say; what he did, however, was to die at that moment. A grapeshot hurtled across the deck, struck him in the throat, and killed him outright. He dropped to the deck in a sitting posture. The helmsman, thinking he was fooling, cursed him roundly, and tried to get him on his feet, but, finding the pirate chief dead, began to cry, and prayed that the next shot might kill him off too. The remainder of the ruffians seized the captain and pitched him overboard, as he had instructed them to do in case of death.

Then, leaderless, they scarcely knew what to do; they were half drunk most of them, and though they put up a little resistance, and some of them sought to blow up the magazine, they at last struck their flag; and the _Swallow_ had cleared Roberts and his herd off the sea.

So much for some of the pirates of long ago.

BLOCKADE RUNNING

Tales of Adventure in Eluding Watchful Blockaders

The Great War of 1914-15 showed what the command of the sea really meant. It showed that even although the greatest navy in the world had little opportunity in the early stages to meet its foes in a decisive battle--through the latter lurking in their harbours--yet there was much work to be done: the guarding of the ocean routes, the exertion of silent pressure upon the enemy, who found his shipping held up in harbour, and was unable to import food by the coast even before a blockade had been declared. On the other hand, in another chapter we have shown how German raiding cruisers also played havoc with the Allies’ shipping, and pounced upon outlying places--only at last to be brought to book. Here we are concerned only with ships that have run blockades, slipping through the cordon drawn around coasts, running the risk of being sunk or captured.

To go back to an earlier date, and a war which was as nothing compared with the world war, we find that during the American Civil War the Federals imposed a strict blockade of the southern ports whence the much-needed cotton was shipped. As a result cotton soared in price, and men found a means to make fortunes by slipping into blockaded ports with cargoes of stuff wanted by the Confederates and taking cargoes of cotton in their place, and then running the gauntlet of the watchful ships. Blockade running attracted hardy adventurers of all nationalities--men to whom adventure was the spice of life, and who, incidentally, found the spice pretty hot!

One of the most daring of these runners was Captain Hobart, an Englishman who joined the Royal Navy in 1836, worked hard and well in the suppression of the slave trade in South America, served later in the Crimean War, retiring in 1860. When the Civil War broke out he took service as a blockade-runner, and many were the daring trips he made. Wilmington was his favourite port, although at the mouth of the river the Federal fleet were in strong force, bombarding Fort Fisher and keeping up the blockade, holding up ships that were not fortunate enough to slip by in the night, and chasing those which did not stop on command.

Hobart didn’t stop, although on one occasion he was chased for many miles by a Federal cruiser. In his cotton-laden ship he had slipped out of the river and passed Fort Fisher at eleven o’clock one night, knowing full well that lying off the mouth of the river were twenty-five ships waiting to catch such as he.

It was pitch dark, and the blockade-runner, with no lights showing, went at full steam ahead through the channel over the bar, guided only by the faint lights the Confederates had cunningly placed to enable ships to enter the river safely. Hobart navigated his vessel by these, and crossed the bar; and then saw that a large barge had been placed by the Federals at the entrance for the purpose of signalling if any ship tried to slip out. The cotton ship almost ran the barge down, but by quick manœuvring avoided doing so, and steamed on. Next instant there was the _whoosh! whoosh!_ and a rocket sped heavenwards--the warning to the blockading fleet. Then there was the boom of a gun; but Hobart pushed forward, turned eastward, steaming a mile or so from the coast. Now and then there came the sound of guns being fired, sometimes quite close at hand; but they saw no ship, neither were they seen by any apparently, for nothing untoward happened until about nine o’clock the next morning, when through the rising mist they saw a large cruiser bearing down upon them.

It was a case of running for it, and the cotton ship sped on with her engines pounding out every ounce of power there was in them. After her came the cruiser, gaining at every yard, for the cargo of the runner was very heavy, and she was unable to show a clean pair of heels to the pursuer.

Some of the bales of cotton were shifted aft in order to sink the screws as deep as possible, and so increase the speed; but even this did not help them much, and the cruiser was still gaining. Then Hobart had a stroke of luck. About a mile in front of him he saw peculiar ripples which he knew betokened the proximity of the Gulf Stream. If he could only get his ship into the stream quickly he might stand a chance of escape, for the Gulf Stream, going at the rate of three miles an hour, would help them on their way considerably. The course was altered at once, and the cotton ship sped on towards the stream, into which she entered; and immediately her speed was accelerated. Meanwhile, the cruiser had also changed course, but had not got into the bosom of the stream, with the result that after a time Hobart found he had gained some seven miles on her.

Then about twelve o’clock the cruiser entered the stream, and again the distance between the two ships lessened, till by five o’clock only about three miles separated them; and shortly after the cruiser opened fire without result. Seven o’clock, and she was still nearer, for her shots went over the cotton ship, and Hobart began to think it was a case of giving up. Then night fell, and the sky was overcast; fortunately the cotton ship was in shadow cast by the moon shining over edge of clouds. This made a huge difference to their chance of escape, for when it came out from behind the clouds it showed the chasing cruiser quite plainly, but did not reveal her quarry, although she was barely a mile away. Luck was certainly on Hobart’s side!

Changing his course, in order to confuse his pursuer, who was still firing guns in rapid succession, although she could not see her aim, Hobart presently gave the order to “Stop!” and the cotton ship came to rest, steam was blown off under water, and the still and silent ship remained there till presently the men on board saw the cruiser go racing past them, firing madly at nothing!

Hobart got that cargo of cotton through all right!

Another Confederate blockade-runner was Captain William Watson, of the _Rob Roy_ schooner. He was also a dispatch-carrier on the occasion we are about to narrate, Major-General Magruder having entrusted him with important documents which he was to deliver to the Confederate States consul at Havana.

The night decided on to make the run was dark, and there was a good strong wind, but an uncertain one; outside the mouth of the Brazos River lurked a number of Federal cruisers and gunboats. Watson had for company two other schooners, the _Hind_ and the _Mary Elizabeth_. The _Rob Roy_ took the pilot aboard and led the way down the river and over the bar; the _Rob Roy_ and the _Mary Elizabeth_ managed to get away without being seen, but the _Hind_ dropped astern and was captured. Once clear of the mouth of the river the other two schooners sped under all the sail they dare hoist, having to be sparing with it lest the white show against the cliffs and reveal their presence. They had something like ten or eleven hours of darkness before them, and hoped to be well away from the watchful cruisers by that time. A gale sprang up, for which they were thankful, as it carried the ships along at a rattling pace. The _Mary Elizabeth_, however, was separated from the _Rob Roy_, which romped through the seas at a speed that delighted Watson, for by noon next day they had come a hundred and thirty miles without anything unforeseen happening. The only unfortunate thing was that the ship was now in the track of Federal cruisers searching for blockade-runners between New Orleans and Point Isabel; and while Watson was thinking seriously of this the wind dropped and the schooner was becalmed. The sails were lowered, so that the ship should not be so noticeable to any passing vessel, and Watson paced his deck eating his head off with impatience, expecting every minute to see a cruiser on the horizon. At two o’clock he saw a ship which he knew spelt danger. Instantly he made up his mind what to do. In the Brazos River they had picked up a couple of sweeps, and these were brought into use, together with boat oars. Then all the men available bent their backs to the task of rowing the schooner! They steered her so that she would go out of the course of the new-comer, and after working like niggers for goodness knows how long they managed to get her three miles, and then saw the other vessel pass them seven miles away. Watson thanked his lucky stars that he had taken in his sails, for the bare poles he knew would be scarcely visible to a steamer at such a distance away.

So far, so good. Towards evening a light breeze came up, sails were set once more, and the schooner went on her way until early next morning, when the wind dropped again, and the sails were lowered as before. She was becalmed for that day and the following night; and in the morning there appeared a large ship which some of the men aboard were sure was a man-o’-war. So it was out sweeps again to get the schooner out of danger. When they were some nine miles away from the man-o’-war the wind came up, which--strange how men get what they want when they would rather be without it!--they regarded as unfortunate, for they dared not hoist sail lest they be discovered.

Eventually, however, it was decided to take the risk, and every inch of canvas was crowded on, and away sped the _Rob Roy_, Watson hoping to get clear before the man-o’-war had a chance to hoist her sails. They had gone some distance when they noticed that the wind had caught the warship, and that she had hoisted all her canvas and was pelting along after them as fast as she could sail. Watson suddenly tacked, and the large vessel, keeping on her port tack, passed by to leeward some six miles away. Then, when she tacked about to follow them, Watson went back to his old course, and once more gained on her, for every time the warship changed course she had to lose way.

So the queer chase went on; but the warship gained upon the _Rob Roy_, and Watson’s one hope was that he would be able to keep at a safe distance, out of range of her guns, until night fell, when he would stand a better chance of giving her the slip. The sailors on the man-o’-war, anticipating that the wind would soon drop, worked hard to get their vessel as near to the runaway as possible, so that if that should happen they might be able to tackle her in their boats. Watson knew this, and still kept tacking about to increase the distance, until at last the wind did fall and the two ships were becalmed.

The man-o’-war was some four miles off then, and Watson had his sweeps and oars out again, the men falling to with a will; but as there was a slight sea against them they were not able to propel the ship so far as they had done previously. Soon Watson saw a couple of boats put off from the warship, their men pulling with all their might, hoping to catch the schooner before the breeze came up again. When they were a mile away the wind came, and the _Rob Roy_, aided by the sweeps, began to make some way, but not sufficient to outpace the boats, one of which came to within a quarter of a mile. The men on board now began to think that all was up, that they might just as well surrender; and Watson got his dispatches ready to throw overboard. He had wrapped them in canvas, weighted with a piece of chain, so that they should sink and not fall into the enemy’s hands.

Just when it seemed that they must be overhauled the wind became stronger, and the men, working hard at their sweeps, the sails bulging out as they caught the breeze, carried the schooner along at a pace that soon left the boats far behind; and the men stood up and waved their hands tauntingly to the sailors who had thought to have them in a few minutes.

A rifle-shot rang out across the waters, then others, and the bullets whistled across the deck, narrowly missing the men. The warship now made after her boats, to pick them up, and this gave the _Rob Roy_ a better chance of escape. Then the wind freshened so much that Watson became nervous; too much wind was not good for the overladen _Rob Roy_, and the sea was getting very boisterous. To make matters worse, the schooner was leaking very badly, and some of the men had to be told off to work the pumps for all they were worth.

As night fell the warship had gained considerably, and opened fire with her guns, the shots, however, falling short. Then the _Rob Roy_ was hidden by the darkness. Watson at once changed his tack in order to baffle the pursuer, and all through the night the schooner scudded before the wind, and by morning had left the cruiser far behind, reaching Tampico in due course without further adventure.

ADVENTURES ON A DESERT ISLAND

The Story of Some Castaways--and a Scoundrel

In October, 1628, there sailed from the Texel a Dutch ship, the _Batavia_, under the command of Captain Francis Pelsart. Now Pelsart wasn’t the best of navigators, and after having been at sea for nine months he lost his way on a trackless ocean, and, though he did not know it, he was close to the islands known as Houtman’s Abrohos, or Houtman’s Rocks, off the west coast of Australia--the seas in that quarter of the globe not being, as every schoolboy knows, the best known in those far-off days. As a matter of fact, Captain Pelsart was having a run of hard luck--lost, sick, and with a coming wreck in front of him, and not far off, either. While Pelsart lay in his cabin, without warning of any kind except the booming of the breakers, the _Batavia_ went pounding on a shoal off Houtman’s Rocks, where she stuck fast.

Jumping out of his cabin, Pelsart rushed on deck, and, seeing the position of things, soundly rated the master for his neglect; whereupon that worthy pointed out, quite convincingly, that he wasn’t to blame, seeing that as the place where they were had not been visited by anyone else before--so far as he knew--how was he to know the reefs and shoals? This argument, of course, commended itself to Pelsart, who, realising that the best must be made of a bad job, bethought himself of getting the _Batavia_ off the shoal. He had the cannon with which the ship was armed pitched overboard, in the hope that this would lighten her sufficiently to float her. But the _Batavia_ refused to be floated, and when a sudden and heavy squall came down on her Pelsart really thought everything was over; but the _Batavia_ weathered it all right, and, taking a last desperate chance, the captain ordered the mainmast to be cut away. This was done, but in such a way that, instead of going clear over, it fell on the deck.

Convinced finally that there was no chance of getting his ship off, Pelsart wondered what was to be done for the safety of his passengers and crew. Just a little distance away, in the bright moonlight, he could see two small islands, while some three leagues off lay a larger island. He resolved to have the islands inspected to see what they were like, and therefore sent the master of the ship on that errand. Meanwhile, on board the _Batavia_ reigned a miniature pandemonium; women were shrieking, children crying, grown men were raving; and the ship was beginning to break up, so that altogether poor Pelsart had his hands full, and was relieved when the master returned and reported favourably on the islands. There were, all told, 230 people on board, and, women and children going first, 120 were landed on the large island and forty on the smaller one near at hand, leaving seventy still to be landed. These also would have been rescued but for the fact that the crew behaved as no sailors ever should; they began to drink heavily, and got out of hand, for which reason only a very few barrels of water were landed, and twenty barrels of bread. Now, one would imagine that a castaway crowd’s first thought would be to conserve the food they had got, but this particular crowd did quite the other thing, and began to waste both food and water, with the result that one of the crew went back to the ship, by which Pelsart was still standing, telling him not to send any more provisions for a while. Pelsart therefore went ashore, leaving an officer and seventy men on the ship.

Arrived on shore, the captain discovered that the tale brought to him was quite correct; scarcely any water was left. Resolved to make this good, he tried to return to the ship to supervise the sending of further barrels; but the weather had become too rough for him to venture, and he had to hold back. Meanwhile, the ship’s carpenter, taking his life in his hands, swam ashore with the news that the ship’s crew on board were in a pretty bad way, and that unless something were done they would be all flung headlong into the sea when the ship broke up. Pelsart, unable to go himself, prevailed upon the carpenter to go back and tell the crew to hold on a while, and busy themselves with making rafts on which to float to shore. But the crew, although they did all they could, were unable to get to shore because the sea was now running heavier than ever, and to trust oneself on the pounding waves was to court disaster. Therefore they had to remain on the wreck, while Pelsart fumed and fretted at the thought of not being able to do anything for them.

Neither the larger island nor the smaller one, on which Pelsart himself was stranded, had any water besides that which had been brought; and this was little enough, in all conscience. The people who had been so prodigal of it at the beginning now came to see that without water they would surely perish. What was to be done? Water they must have; and they urged Pelsart to go to some of the neighbouring islands in quest of it.

With a captain’s loyalty to his ship’s company, Pelsart refused to go without the consent of all. Why should he take the main chance of being able to get away to safety while all the others remained stranded, cast away without means of sustenance? No, if he went at all, everyone must agree to his going. The folk on the small island argued with him, but argued in vain.

“I’ll go over there,” he said, pointing to the larger island, with its 120 poor souls, “and get their consent; or else I’ll go back to the ship and perish with her.”

There was no gainsaying that, anyway; and so they let him push off the boat, taking in her a crew sufficient to work her. They were a wily clique, that crew! When the captain got well away from the island they refused to take him to the other island. They feared, no doubt, that the people there would not agree to Pelsart’s going, and they knew that out at sea Pelsart was helpless against them. The captain raved, threatened; but raved and threatened in vain. They would not let him go, and when he jumped up and made as though he would fling himself overboard and swim back, they none too gently grabbed at him and held him down by force.

Pelsart scowled and growled at his mutinous crew; but neither black looks nor hard words moved them, and eventually Pelsart had to come to an arrangement whereby he agreed to go in search of water, provided he received a manifesto, signed by all his men, approving of this. Things being fixed up thus, the captain at last set out on his quest; and a long, long quest it proved to be.

Day after day he sailed amongst the islands, seeking water, but finding none; and all the time the supplies were running short. At last he resolved to go farther afield, and struck off across the trackless sea, and in a little while found himself off the coast of Australia, then a continent without a shred of civilisation. He hit the coast at the spot where Geraldton now stands, and tried to put in at a small cove; surf, however, romped at the boat, and flung her back each time she pushed her nose shorewards. Pelsart at last gave up in despair and sailed to the northwards, following the coast, looking for a likely spot to land. In due course this was found; but when they did land the men found no water, and only succeeded in frightening a few natives, who fled for their lives at the sight of the strange white men. Off again, to land, probably, at the North-West Cape, where they found water--rain water! This was not at all hopeful, and, as the coast had been trending away to the east, Pelsart determined to strike north-east, where he knew lay Batavia, in Java.

Twenty-two days after leaving his shipwrecked company Pelsart found himself at Batavia, having sailed nearly sixteen hundred miles in an open boat. At Batavia, in due course, Pelsart was able to obtain a frigate, with which he set out to return for his castaways.

Meanwhile, however, things were happening on the islands away down south. And such things!

The men whom Pelsart had left on the wreck had succeeded in getting off in safety after many days of anxious waiting, and the last man to leave was the supercargo, an ex-apothecary of Haarlem who rejoiced in the name of Jerom Cornelis, and who had ambitions. He wanted to be a pirate, and thought that he had found a splendid opportunity. He worked out his plans with delightful thoroughness. First he would kill off all the honest men of the company, and then, having formed his pirate crew, take the captain by surprise when he came back, as he firmly believed he would. Probably Cornelis’s further plans allowed for seizing Pelsart’s boat, and sailing away with it until he came up with some large vessel, whose crew his piratical company would eventually succeed in overpowering, when they would find themselves in possession of a ship suitable for their purpose of scouring the seas.

But the first step was to get rid of the true men; and as there seemed to be more of this calibre than Cornelis felt he could deal with at one operation, he resorted to an artful ruse. Forty men, under the chaplain and a Mr. Weybhays, were dispatched to another island in search of water, with instructions to light three fires as a signal of success. The little band were successful, and lighted their beacons as agreed. But there was no answer!

What had happened? They were soon to know. Even at the fair distance he was away Mr. Weybhays could see that something untoward was taking place on the island, and presently several men sprang into the sea and began swimming towards him for dear life. What a tale they told when they reached the island! Hardly had Weybhays left when Cornelis and his scoundrelly crew had begun to butcher the honest men left behind, and had succeeded in killing nearly forty! _Now_ Weybhays knew why he had not received the answering signal; he had evidently been sent off merely to get rid of him and his company while the ex-apothecary did his fell work, after which, no doubt, their turn would come.

In this latter surmise Weybhays was right; but first Pirate Cornelis had other fish to fry. Away on the smaller island were some forty men who had been landed before Pelsart departed, and Cornelis decided to go over and wipe out all those who would not throw in their lot with him. What he was afraid of was that either party might be able to warn Pelsart on his return, and thus frustrate Cornelis’s evil plan. So, without loss of time, the pirates rowed over to the small island, landed, and after a little trouble with the men, who did not really want to die, succeeded in killing them off, saving only seven youngsters and five women. On the island, also, they found a number of chests which had been washed ashore from the wreck, and these they broke open. They were filled with rich apparel, and the pirates bedecked themselves in wonderful attire, Cornelis incidentally forming a bodyguard clothed in scarlet livery. He felt almost a king, I’ll wager!

For some days the pirates had a gorgeous time, drinking and rioting, for some of the rum casks had been washed ashore. Then, considering it time he got to pirate’s business again, the captain-general, as he called himself, decided to tackle Weybhays and the forty odd men he had with him. Gathering all the arms he could find, Cornelis took twenty-two men with him in two light shallops, and went over to settle accounts with Weybhays.

Weybhays very nearly settled Cornelis, whose crew got a good thrashing and put back to their island, a sadder and angrier crowd. The pirate-in-chief, however, refused to be scared, and, arming thirty-seven men, went back to the attack. He wondered vaguely why he had got beaten before, for Weybhays’ men were unarmed, except for roughly fashioned clubs, fitted with long nails. Cornelis felt that it was a bad start for a pirate gang, and determined to wipe the stain out. Instead of which, when the second expedition got near the island, Weybhays and his men, dashing out into the water, fell upon the pirates with vigour, and, after a fine scrimmage, succeeded in driving them back, beaten a second time.

Cornelis felt hurt. He could see his plans being altogether upset unless he could cope with Weybhays, and clearly he and his dastardly crew were no match for that fearless man and his gallant company when it came to fighting. He must try other means; and try them quickly, lest Pelsart return and Weybhays be able to warn him.

Cornelis therefore thought of a scheme to outwit Weybhays. Amongst the latter’s party were two French soldiers, whom the pirate thought might be willing to come to terms with him and play the traitor--if he could but get into communication with them. He opened up negotiations with Weybhays, hoping thereby to be able to correspond with the Frenchmen.

He promised Weybhays that, if the latter would return the boat he had, his party should not again be attacked, and that some of the salvage from the _Batavia_ should be given up. Weybhays agreed to this after a while, and Cornelis hugged himself as he thought that, without a boat, Weybhays could not warn Pelsart when he appeared; and he hugged himself more when, during the negotiations, he succeeded in smuggling letters to the Frenchmen, offering them six thousand livres each if they would turn traitor to Weybhays, who had insisted upon the treaty being drawn up in proper order and being signed by both parties.

The captain-general, sure in his own mind that the Frenchmen could not resist the temptation of his gold, waited serenely for the morning to come, when he was to go over to Weybhays’ island and sign the treaty; but in the meantime the gallant French soldiers had decided that it was better to be honest than to be pirates, and they therefore warned Weybhays.

Morning came, and with it Cornelis and three or four of his men. He was in high spirits, anticipating that he was about to get the better of Weybhays. Instead, he received a shock. Weybhays, making no sign that he knew aught of Cornelis’s stratagem, went down to the beach and helped him run his boat up; and then, before Cornelis knew what had happened, Weybhays and his men fell upon him, knocked him on the head, and put _hors de combat_ two of his companions, the others succeeding in escaping in the boat.

Poor old Cornelis! When he came round he found himself trussed like a fowl for the cooking. Gone all his lofty hopes, shattered all his ambitions. Weybhays had triumphed.

But away on the other island Cornelis’s ruffianly crew were plotting and planning on his behalf--also on their own, by the way, for they felt that Cornelis was the corner-stone of their own safety, and that unless he were free they did not know how to cope with Pelsart, should he return. So without delay they tumbled into their boats and went over to Weybhays’ island, intending to do great deeds and rescue Cornelis. Weybhays was ready for them, and sent them scuttling off again--soundly beaten!

And then a frigate appeared on the horizon; and though the pirates did not know it, albeit they made a very good guess, Pelsart was standing on her deck, looking across at the islands he had left so many days ago. He was wondering what had happened during his absence, whether his company were still alive, or whether they had starved to death or died of thirst. He little knew that there had been worse foes than hunger and thirst at work!

Presently a column of smoke lifted its filmy head over one of the islands, and Pelsart realised that some at least still lived. A boat was lowered immediately, filled with provisions, and Pelsart embarked in her and started to make for the island. At the same instant a small boat sped out from Weybhays’ island; in her was Weybhays, who, when he reached Pelsart’s boat, hastily told the captain his story, and urged him to return to the frigate, named the _Sardam_, lest the pirates put out and overpower him.

Pelsart looked at Weybhays as though he were bereft of his senses; but confirmation of his words was soon forthcoming, for suddenly a couple of boats shot out from the larger island, and began speeding towards Pelsart’s boat. That was enough. Off went Pelsart to the frigate, followed hard by Weybhays. It was a race for life; and Pelsart won. Just as he had scrambled aboard the pirate boats drew alongside.

And a gallant-looking crowd they were! Their fanciful costumes showed signs of bad handling by Weybhays, but their weapons--swords and pistols--looked very workmanlike, and when Pelsart asked them what they meant by daring to come near the ship in such a condition, they replied that they would very soon show him. And they began trying to board the frigate.

Pelsart’s answer was quick and to the point.

“You see that gun?” he cried, pointing to one of the frigate’s cannons, frowning down at them. “If you don’t surrender--and at once--I’ll have it sink you where you lay!”

There was no arguing with that gun. The pirates laid down their arms, very soon to be joined by their whilom captain-general, and in a little while were on board the _Sardam_--in irons. Their piracy had come to an inglorious end.

That night the frigate lay off the islands, and next day a boat was sent off to try conclusions with the remainder of the mutineers, who, however, seeing that the game was up, flung down their arms and surrendered.

There is little more to be told. The wreck was salved of all that was valuable in her; the gold and silver that Cornelis and his ruffians had purloined was collected and taken on board the _Sardam_, where, of course, the remainder of Weybhays’ company had already found quarters. And then Pelsart held a court. Cornelis and his would-be pirates were tried, and executed on the spot. It was no time for delay, because the _Sardam_ contained a goodly treasure, and to keep Cornelis would be to run the risk of the ambitious scoundrel breaking out again. Then Pelsart weighed anchor and went his way, after a series of adventures such as seldom fall to a man’s lot.

ADRIFT WITH MADMEN

The Burning of the “Columbian,” and the Sequel

On May 3, 1914, there flashed across the ether a wireless message, picked up at Sable Island, as brief as it was dramatic: “Hurry up! We are on fire!” No ship’s name was given, nor indication as to position, and the world held its breath and wondered.

Then, two days later, the Cunard liner _Franconia_ picked up a boat containing thirteen survivors from the steamer _Columbian_; and as they had been adrift since the 3rd, a connection was at once seen between the faint, incoherent wireless message and the _Columbian_. A little later the _Manhattan_ rescued fourteen more _Columbian_ survivors, including Captain McDonald, from whom it was found that yet a third boat, with sixteen men, was missing. Immediately all the ships round about were notified, and a search was prosecuted; but it was not until thirteen days after the disaster that the boat was found, and in her were only five men. The rest had died.

Behind this epitome there is one of the great tragic stories of the sea.

It was during the night that, with startling suddenness, there was a terrific explosion which shook the ship from stem to stern. First Officer Tiere, whose watch it was, instantly gave the fire call, and the crew--some of whom were asleep, others at their posts of duty--rushed up on deck. Smoke issued from below, and told them what had happened. Then there was another mighty explosion, in the coal bunkers this time, and the whole deck was ripped up as though it had been made of tin-foil. There followed clap after clap, as hatches were burst open by other explosions, and in an incredibly short time the whole ship was one blazing mass. So instantaneously had the calamity fallen upon them that there was no time to lose, no time even to dress or to put sufficient provisions into the boats, which were immediately lowered. Men, scantily attired, some only in vests and pants, tumbled into them, and strong backs bent to the oars, seeking to pull away from the terrific heat and to get out of the range of danger from the ship, which seemed as though she must soon go down.

What followed was a nightmare--especially for those in First Officer Tiere’s boat, the story of which is to be told here. She carried sixteen souls, with only a twenty-gallon cask of water and a tank of biscuits to last them till--till they were picked up. In these days, when the seas are ploughed by thousands of ships, it seems incredible that a boat should be at the mercy of wind and wave for many days before being picked up; but it is always the unlikely thing that happens, and these castaways little realised how long it was to be before they were rescued. Soon it seemed to them as though rescue would never come. But that is anticipating.

When the boat pushed off from the flaming _Columbian_ there was a strong southerly wind blowing, which carried them to the northward. They had no navigating instruments on board, and the weather was misty; they were thus helpless in their endeavours to keep in the track of shipping, on which their sole chance of rescue depended.

Anxious eyes peered through the darkness to catch glimpses of passing lights; at any moment they knew that some mighty leviathan might push out of the blackness, and smash into their frail craft before they could cry aloud, even if their voices would be heard above the noise. Fortunately this did not happen, and towards morning their eyes were gladdened by the gleam of lights in the distance, coming nearer and nearer. Salvation was at hand, they told themselves, and hunted about, seeking matches, so that they might give a feeble light to the racing greyhound. But not a dry match could they find; a great sea had been shipped as the boat was lowered, and every match was useless.

Torn with agony, those sixteen men stood up in their boat and screamed themselves hoarse, hoping against hope that the sound would carry to the big ship, which, because of her size, they believed was the liner _Olympic_. But, though they yelled till their voices cracked and they were exhausted, no sign came that they had been heard, and the _Olympic_, a floating, gleaming palace, passed them by.

Despair now seized them; but, as the grey fingers of the dawn crept up, they took heart again, believing that they could not be passed by in daylight as they had been in the darkness. They were to be disillusioned once more, for presently they saw, about six or seven miles away, a large tramp steamer, to which they signalled frantically, using Tiere’s raincoat on an oar to wave with. They waved till their arms ached, taking it in turn; but the tramp passed on, and left them despondent, crazed.

During the afternoon hope was born afresh; away--far away--they saw a big liner heave in sight, and then come to a standstill. Eyes strained across the water, and presently the castaways realised that the new-comer was taking a boat on board; and they came to the only conclusion possible, that one of the other lifeboats, more fortunate than they, had been noticed. Strange as it may seem in the reading, and tragic in the event to those who watched, the rescue ship saw them not, although she steamed away in a circle, as though looking out for any other waifs. She was the _Franconia_, and her human salvage was thirteen souls, while within a few miles of her there tossed a boat with sixteen men on board, who cried in their anguish as they saw her steam off, their hopes dashed for the third time.