directed by the Pirates, and which I had the good fortune to reach
in safety in about an hour and a half. It was a humble tenement
thatched with canes, without any flooring but the ground, and was
tenanted by a man and his wife only, from whom I met with a welcome
reception, and by whom I was treated with much hospitality. Although
Spaniards, the man could speak and understand enough English to
converse with me, and to learn by what means I had been brought so
unexpectedly alone and unprotected to his house. Though it was the
same to which I had been directed by the Pirates, yet he declared
that so far from being in any way connected with them in their
Piratical robberies, or enjoying any portion of their ill-gotten
gain, no one could hold them in greater abhorrence. Whether he was
sincere in these declarations or not, is well known to Him whom the
lying tongue cannot deceive--it is but justice to them to say that
by both the man and his wife I was treated with kindness, and it was
with apparent emotions of pity that they listened to the tale of my
sufferings. By their earnest request I remained with them until the
morning ensuing, when I set out on foot for Mantansies, accompanied
by the Spaniard who had kindly offered to conduct me to that place,
which we reached about seven in the evening of the same day.
At Mantansies I found many Americans and Europeans, by whom I was
kindly treated, and who proffered their services to restore me to my
friends, but as there were no vessels bound direct from thence to
Antigua or St. Johns, I was persuaded to take passage for Jamaica,
where it was the opinion of my friends I might obtain a passage more
speedily for one or the other place, and where I safely arrived
after a pleasant passage of four days.
The most remarkable and unexpected circumstance of my extraordinary
adventures, I have yet, dear brother, to relate. Soon after my
arrival at Jamaica, the Authority having been made acquainted with
the circumstance of my recent capture by the Pirates, and the
extraordinary circumstance which produced my liberation, requested
that I might be conducted to the Prison, to see if I could among a
number of Pirates recently committed, recognize any of those by whom
I had been captured. I was accordingly attended by two or three
gentlemen, and two young ladies (who had politely offered to
accompany me) to the prison apartment, on entering which, I not only
instantly recognized among a number therein confined, the identical
savage monster of whom I have had so much occasion to speak (the
Pirates' Chief) but the most of those who had composed his gang, and
who were captured with him!
The sudden and unexpected introduction into their apartment of one,
whom they had probably in their minds numbered with the victims of
their wanton barbarity, produced unquestionably on their minds not
an inconsiderable degree of horror as well as surprise! and,
considering their condemnation now certain, they no doubt heaped
curses upon their more fortunate companions, for sparing the life
and setting at liberty one whom an all-wise Providence had conducted
to and placed in a situation to bear witness to their unprecedented
barbarity.
Government having through me obtained the necessary proof of the
guilt of these merciless wretches, after a fair and impartial trial
they were all condemned to suffer the punishment due to their
crimes, and seven ordered for immediate execution, one of whom was
the barbarian their chief. After the conviction and condemnation of
this wretch, in hopes of eluding the course of justice, he made (as
I was informed) an attempt upon his own life, by inflicting upon
himself deep wounds with a knife which he had concealed for that
purpose; but in this he was disappointed, the wounds not proving so
fatal as he probably anticipated.
I never saw this hardened villain or any of his equally criminal
companions after their condemnation, although strongly urged to
witness their execution, and am therefore indebted to one who daily
visited them, for the information of their behavior from that period
until that of their execution; which, as regarded the former, I was
informed was extremely impenitent--that while proceeding to the
place of ignominy and death, he talked with shocking unconcern,
hinting that by being instrumental in the destruction of so many
lives, he had become too hardened and familiar with death to feel
much intimidated at its approach! He was attended to the place of
execution by a Roman Catholic Priest, who it was said labored to
convince him of the atrociousness of his crimes, but he seemed deaf
to all admonition or exhortation, and appeared insensible to the
hope of happiness or fear of torment in a future state--and so far
from exhibiting a single symptom of penitence, declared that he knew
of but one thing for which he had cause to reproach himself, which
was in sparing my life and not ordering me to be butchered as the
others had been! How awful was the end of the life of this miserable
criminal! He looked not with harmony, regard, or a single penitent
feeling toward one human being in the last agonies of an ignominious
death.
After remaining nine days at Jamaica, I was so fortunate as to
obtain a passage with Capt. Ellsmore, direct for St. Johns--the
thoughts of once more returning home and of so soon joining my
anxious friends, when I could have an opportunity to communicate to
my aged parents, to a beloved sister and a large circle of
acquaintances, the sad tale of the misfortunes which had attended me
since I bid them adieu, would have been productive of the most
pleasing sensations, had they not been interrupted by the melancholy
reflection that I was the bearer of tidings of the most
heart-rending nature, to the bereaved families of those unfortunate
husbands and parents who had in my presence fallen victims to
Piratical barbarity. Thankful should I have been had the distressing
duty fell to the lot of some one of less sensibility--but, unerring
Providence had ordered otherwise. We arrived safe at our port of
destination after a somewhat boisterous passage of 18 days. I found
my friends all well, but the effects produced on their minds by the
relation of the distressing incidents and adverse fortune that had
attended me since my departure, I shall not attempt to describe--and
much less can you expect, brother, that I should attempt a
description of the feelings of the afflicted widow and fatherless
child, who first received from me the melancholy tidings that they
were so!
Thus, brother, have I furnished you with as minute a detail of the
sad misfortunes that have attended me, in my intended passage to
Antigua, in February and March last, as circumstances will admit
of--and here permit me once more to repeat the enquiry--is it not
sufficient to satisfy you and every reasonable person, that I owe my
life and liberty to the interposition of a Divine Providence?--so
fully persuaded am I of this, dear brother, and of my great
obligations to that Supreme Being who turned not away my prayer nor
his mercy from me, that I am determined to engage with my whole
heart to serve Him the residue of my days on earth, by the aid of
his heavenly grace--and invite all who profess to fear Him (should a
single doubt remain on their minds) to come and hear what he hath
done for me!
I am, dear brother, affectionately yours,
LUCRETIA PARKER.
FOOTNOTES:
[26] From an Old Pamphlet, published in 1825.
THE PASSING OF MOGUL MACKENZIE
The Last of the North Atlantic Pirates[27]
ARTHUR HUNT CHUTE
In the farther end of the Bay of Fundy, about a mile off from the Nova
Scotian coast, is the Isle of Haut. It is a strange rocky island that
rises several hundred feet sheer out of the sea, without any bay or
inlets. A landing can only be effected there in the calmest weather; and
on account of the tremendous ebb of the Fundy tides, which rise and fall
sixty feet every twelve hours, the venturesome explorer cannot long keep
his boat moored against the precipitous cliffs.
Because of this inaccessibility little is known of the solitary island.
Within its rampart walls of rock they say there is a green valley, and
in its center is a fathomless lake, where the Micmac Indians used to
bury their dead, and hence its dread appellation of the "Island of the
Dead." Beyond these bare facts nothing more is certain about the secret
valley and the haunted lake. Many wild and fabulous descriptions are
current, but they are merely the weavings of fancy.
Sometimes on a stormy night the unhappy navigators of the North Channel
miss the coast lights in the fog, and out from the Isle of Haut a
gentle undertow flirts with their bewildered craft. Then little by
little they are gathered into a mighty current against which all
striving is in vain, and in the white foam among the iron cliffs their
ship is pounded into splinters. The quarry which she gathers in so
softly at first and so fiercely at last, however, is soon snatched away
from the siren shore. The ebb-tide bears every sign of wreckage far out
into the deeps of the Atlantic, and not a trace remains of the
ill-starred vessel or her crew. But one of the boats in the fishing
fleet never comes home, and from lonely huts on the coast reproachful
eyes are cast upon the "Island of the Dead."
On the long winter nights, when the "boys" gather about the fire in Old
Steele's General Stores at Hall's Harbor, their hard gray life becomes
bright for a spell. When a keg of hard cider is flowing freely the grim
fishermen forget their taciturnity, the ice is melted from their speech,
and the floodgates of their souls pour forth. But ever in the background
of their talk, unforgotten, like a haunting shadow, is the "Island of
the Dead." Of their weirdest and most blood-curdling yarns it is always
the center; and when at last, with uncertain steps, they leave the empty
keg and the dying fire to turn homeward through the drifting snow,
fearful and furtive glances are cast to where the island looms up like a
ghostly sentinel from the sea. Across its high promontory the Northern
Lights scintillate and blaze, and out of its moving brightness the
terrified fishermen behold the war-canoes of dead Indians freighted with
their redskin braves; the forms of _c[oe]ur de bois_ and desperate
Frenchmen swinging down the sky-line in a ghastly snake-dance; the
shapes and spars of ships long since forgotten from the "Missing List";
and always, most dread-inspiring of them all, the distress signals from
the sinking ship of Mogul Mackenzie and his pirate crew.
Captain Mogul Mackenzie was the last of the pirates to scourge the North
Atlantic seaboard. He came from that school of freebooters that was let
loose by the American Civil War. With a letter of marque from the
Confederate States, he sailed the seas to prey on Yankee shipping. He
and his fellow-privateers were so thorough in their work of destruction,
that the Mercantile Marine of the United States was ruined for a
generation to come. When the war was over the defeated South called off
her few remaining bloodhounds on the sea. But Mackenzie, who was still
at large, had drunk too deeply of the wine of a wild, free life. He did
not return to lay down his arms, but began on a course of shameless
piracy. He lived only a few months under the black flag, until he went
down on the Isle of Haut. The events of that brief and thrilling period
are unfortunately obscure, with only a ray of light here and there. But
the story of his passing is the most weird of all the strange yarns
that are spun about the "Island of the Dead."
In May, 1865, a gruesome discovery was made off the coast of Maine,
which sent a chill of fear through all the seaport towns of New England.
A whaler bound for New Bedford was coming up Cape Cod one night long
after dark. There was no fog, and the lights of approaching vessels
could easily be discerned. The man on the lookout felt no uneasiness at
his post, when, without any warning of bells or lights, the sharp bow of
a brigantine suddenly loomed up, hardly a ship's length in front.
"What the blazes are you trying to do?" roared the mate from the bridge,
enraged at this unheard-of violation of the right of way. But no voice
answered his challenge, and the brigantine went swinging by, with all
her sails set to a spanking breeze. She bore directly across the bow of
the whaler, which just grazed her stern in passing.
"There's something rotten on board there," said the mate.
"Ay," said the captain, who had come on the bridge, "there's something
rotten there right enough. Swing your helm to port, and get after the
devils," he ordered.
"Ay, ay, sir!" came the ready response, and nothing loth the helmsman
changed his course to follow the eccentric craft. She was evidently
bound on some secret mission, for not otherwise would she thus tear
through the darkness before the wind without the flicker of a light.
The whaler was the swifter of the two ships, and she could soon have
overhauled the other; but fearing some treachery, the captain refrained
from running her down until daylight. All night long she seemed to be
veering her course, attempting to escape from her pursuer. In the
morning, off the coast of Maine, she turned her nose directly out to
sea. Then a boat was lowered from the whaler, and rowed out to intercept
the oncoming vessel. When they were directly in her course, they lay on
their oars and waited. The brigantine did not veer again, but came
steadily on, and soon the whalemen were alongside, and made themselves
fast to a dinghy which she had in tow. A few minutes of apprehensive
waiting followed, and as nothing happened, one of the boldest swung
himself up over the tow-rope on to the deck. He was followed by the
others, and they advanced cautiously with drawn knives and pistols.
Not a soul was to be seen, and the men, who were brave enough before a
charging whale, trembled with fear. The wheel and the lookout were alike
deserted, and no sign of life could be discovered anywhere below. In the
galley were the embers of a dead fire, and the table in the captain's
cabin was spread out ready for a meal which had never been eaten. On
deck everything was spick and span, and not the slightest evidence of a
storm or any other disturbance could be found. The theory of a derelict
was impossible. Apparently all had been well on board, and they had been
sailing with good weather, when, without any warning, her crew had been
suddenly snatched away by some dread power.
The sailors with one accord agreed that it was the work of a
sea-serpent. But the mate had no place for the ordinary superstitions of
the sea, and he still scoured the hold, expecting at any minute to
encounter a dead body or some other evil evidence of foul play. Nothing
more, however, was found, and the mate at length had to end his search
with the unsatisfactory conclusion that the _St. Clare_, a brigantine
registered from Hartpool, with cargo of lime, had been abandoned on the
high seas for no apparent reason. Her skipper had taken with him the
ship's papers, and had not left a single clue behind.
A crew was told off to stand by the _St. Clare_ to bring her into port,
and the others climbed into the long-boat to row back to the whaler.
"Just see if there is a name on that there dinghy, before we go," said
the mate.
An exclamation of horror broke from one of the men as he read on the bow
of the dinghy the name, _Kanawha_.
The faces of all went white with a dire alarm as the facts of the
mystery suddenly flashed before them. The _Kanawha_ was the ship in
which Captain Mogul Mackenzie had made himself notorious as a
privateersman. Every one had heard her awe-inspiring name, and every
Yankee seafaring man prayed that he might never meet her on the seas.
After the _Alabama_ was sunk, and the _Talahassee_ was withdrawn, the
_Kanawha_ still remained to threaten the shipping of the North. For a
long time her whereabouts had been unknown, and then she was discovered
by a Federal gunboat, which gave chase and fired upon her. Without
returning fire, she raced in for shelter amongst the dangerous islands
off Cape Sable, and was lost in the fog. Rumor had it that she ran on
the rocks off that perilous coast, and sank with all on board. As time
went by, and there was no more sign of the corsair, the rumor was
accepted as proven. Men began to spin yarns in the forecastle about
Mogul Mackenzie, with an interest that was tinged with its former fear.
Skippers were beginning to feel at ease again on the grim waters, when
suddenly, like a bolt from the blue, came the awful news of the
discovery of the _St. Clare_.
Gunboats put off to scour the coast-line; and again with fear and
trembling the look-out began to eye suspiciously every new sail coming
up on the horizon.
One afternoon, toward the end of May, a schooner came tearing into
Portland harbor, with all her canvas, crowded on, and flying distress
signals. Her skipper said that off the island of Campabello he had seen
a long gray sailing-ship with auxiliary power sweeping down upon him. As
the wind was blowing strong inshore, he had taken to his heels and made
for Portland. He was chased all the way, and his pursuer did not drop
him until he was just off the harbor bar.
Many doubted his story, however, saying that no one would dare to chase
a peaceful craft so near to a great port in broad daylight. And, again,
it was urged that an auxiliary vessel could easily have overhauled the
schooner between Campabello and Portland. The fact that the captain of
the schooner was as often drunk as sober, and that when he was under the
influence of drink he was given to seeing visions, was pointed to as
conclusive proof that his yarn was a lie. After the New Bedford whaler
came into port with the abandoned _St. Clare_, it was known beyond doubt
that the _Kanawha_ was still a real menace. But nobody cared to admit
that Mogul Mackenzie was as bold as the schooner's report would imply,
and hence countless arguments were put forward to allay such fears.
But a few days later the fact that the pirates were still haunting their
coast was absolutely corroborated. A coastal packet from Boston arrived
at Yarmouth with the news that she had not only sighted _Kanawha_ in the
distance, but they had crossed each other's paths so near that the name
could be discerned beyond question with a spyglass. She was heading up
the Bay of Fundy, and did not pause or pay any heed to the other ship.
This news brought with it consternation, and every town and village
along the Fundy was a-hum with stories and theories about the pirate
ship. The interest, instead of being abated, was augmented as the days
went by with no further report. In the public-houses and along the quays
it was almost the only topic of conversation. The excitement became
almost feverish when it was known that several captains, outward bound,
had taken with them a supply of rifles and ammunition. The prospect of a
fight seemed imminent.
About a week after the adventure of the Boston packet Her Majesty's ship
_Buzzard_ appeared off Yarmouth harbor. The news of the _Kanawha_ had
come to the Admiral at Halifax, and he had dispatched the warship to
cruise about the troubled coast.
"That'll be the end of old Mogul Mackenzie, now that he's got an English
ship on his trail," averred a Canadian as he sat drinking in the
"Yarmouth Light" with a group of seafaring men of various nationalities.
"It takes the British jack-tar to put the kibosh on this pirate game.
One of them is worth a shipload of Yankees at the business."
"Well, don't you crow too loud now," replied a Boston skipper. "I reckon
that that Nova Scotian booze-artist, who ran into Portland the other day
scared of his shadow, would not do you fellows much credit."
"Yes; but what about your gunboats that have had the job of fixing the
_Kanawha_ for the last three years, and haven't done it yet?" The
feelings between Canada and the United States were none too good just
after the Civil War, and the Canadian was bound not to lose this
opportunity for horse-play. "You're a fine crowd of sea-dogs, you are,
you fellows from the Boston Tea-Party. Three years after one little
half-drowned rat, and haven't got him yet. Wouldn't Sir Francis Drake or
Lord Nelson be proud of the record that you long-legged, slab-sided
Yankees have made on the sea!"
"Shut your mouth! you blue-nosed, down-East herring-choker!" roared the
Yankee skipper. "I reckon we've given you traitors that tried to stab us
in the back a good enough licking; and if any more of your dirty dogs
ever come nosing about down south of Mason and Dixon's Line, I bet
they'll soon find out what our record is."
"Well, you fools can waste your tongue and wind," said a third man,
raising his glass, "but for me here's good luck to the _Buzzard_."
"So say we all of us," chimed in the others, and the Yankee and the
Canadian drank together to the success of the British ship, forgetting
their petty jealousies before a common foe.
Everywhere the news of the arrival of the British warship was hailed
with delight. All seemed to agree that her presence assured the speedy
extermination of the pirate crew. But after several days of futile
cruising about the coast, her commander, to escape from a coming storm,
had to put into St. Mary's Bay, with the object of his search still
eluding his vigilance. He only arrived in time to hear the last chapter
of the _Kanawha's_ tale of horrors.
The night before, Dominic Lefountain, a farmer living alone at
Meteighan, a little village on the French shore, had been awakened from
his sleep by the moaning and wailing of a human voice. For days the
imminent peril of an assault from the pirates had filled the people of
the French coast with forebodings. And now, awakened thus in the dead of
night, the lonely Frenchman was wellnigh paralyzed with terror. With his
flesh creeping, and his eyes wide, he groped for his rifle, and waited
in the darkness, while ever and anon came those unearthly cries from the
beach. Nearly an hour passed before he could gather himself together
sufficiently to investigate the cause of the alarm. At last, when the
piteous wailing had grown weak and intermittent, the instinct of
humanity mastered his fears, and he went forth to give a possible succor
to the one in need.
On the beach, lying prostrate, with the water lapping about his feet, he
found a man in the last stage of exhaustion. The blood was flowing from
his mouth, and as Dominic turned him over to stanch its flow, he found
that his tongue had been cut out, and hence the unearthly wailing which
had roused him from his sleep. The beach was deserted by this time, and
it was too dark to see far out into the bay.
Dominic carried the unfortunate man to his house, and nursed him there
for many weeks. He survived his frightful experiences, and lived on for
twenty years, a pathetic and helpless figure, supported by the
big-hearted farmers and fishermen of the French shore. Evidently he had
known too much for his enemies, and they had sealed his mouth forever.
He became known as the "Mysterious Man of Meteighan," and his deplorable
condition was always pointed to as a mute witness of the last villainy
of Mogul Mackenzie.
On the night following the episode of the "Mysterious Man of Meteighan,"
a wild and untoward storm swept down the North Atlantic and over the
seaboard far and near. In the Bay of Fundy that night the elements met
in their grandest extremes. Tide-rips and mountain waves opposed each
other with titanic force. All along the bleak and rock-ribbed coast the
boiling waters lay churned into foam. Over the breakwaters the giant
combers crashed and soared far up into the troubled sky; while out under
the black clouds of the night the whirlpools and the tempests met. Was
ever a night like this before? Those on shore thanked God; and those
with fathers on the sea gazed out upon a darkness where no star of hope
could shine.
Now and again through the Stygian gloom a torrent of sheet-lightning
rolled down across the heavens, bringing in its wake a moment of
terrible light. It was in one of these brief moments of illumination
that the wan watchers at Hall's Harbor discerned a long gray ship being
swept like a specter before the winds towards the Isle of Haut. Until
the flash of lightning the doomed seamen appeared to have been
unconscious of their fast approaching fate; and then, as if suddenly
awakened, they sent a long thin trail of light, to wind itself far up
into the darkness. Again and again the rockets shot upward from her bow,
while above the noises of the tempest came the roar of a gun.