A CORSAIR'S DEATH
There is not a corner of the world which is more full of historic
memories than is the West Indies. Dominica, the next island which Stuart
passed after he had left Martinique, besides being one of the scenic
glories of the world, described as "a tabernacle for the sun, a shrine
of a thousand spires, rising tier above tier, in one exquisite fabric of
green, purple and grey," has many claims to fame. Here, the cannibal
Caribs were so fierce that for 255 years they defied the successive
fleets of Spaniards, French and English who tried to take possession of
the island. Some three hundred Caribs still dwell upon the island upon a
reservation provided by the government. The warriors no longer make war,
and fish has taken the place of the flesh of their enemies as a staple
diet.
Under the cliffs of Dominica is a memory of the Civil War, for there the
Confederate vessel _Alabama_ finally escaped the Federal man-of-war
_Iroquois_. A few miles further north, between Dominica and Guadeloupe,
in The Saints Passage, was fought, in 1782, the great sea-battle between
Rodney and De Grasse, which ended in the decisive victory of the
English over the French and gave Britain the mastery of the Caribbean
Sea. It ranks as one of the great historic sea-fights of the world.
The next island on the direct line to the north, St. Kitts, is not
destitute of fame. As Cecil had told Stuart, St. Kitts or St.
Christopher was first a home for buccaneers, and later one of the keys
to the military occupation of the West Indies. Its neighbor, St. Nevis,
together with other claims to romance, has a special interest to the
United States in that Alexander Hamilton--perhaps one of the greatest of
American statesmen--was born there.
Near St. Kitts lies Antigua, where the _Most Blessed Trinity_--despite
her name, one of the most famous pirate craft afloat--settled after her
bloody cruises. Its captain was Bartholomew Sharp, described as "an
acrid-looking villain whose scarred face had been tanned to the color of
old brandy, whose shaggy brows were black with gunpowder, and whose long
hair, half singed off in a recent fight, was tied up in a nun's wimple.
He was dressed in the long embroidered coat of a Spanish grandee, and,
as there was a bullet hole in the back of the garment, it may be
surmised that the previous owner had come to a violent end. His hose of
white silk were as dirty as the deck, his shoe buckles were of dull
silver."
Sharp, with 330 buccaneers, had left the West Indies in April, 1760.
They landed on the mainland, and, crossing the isthmus, made for
Panama. Having secured canoes, they attacked the Spanish fleet lying at
Perico, an island off Panama City, and, after one of the most desperate
fights recorded in the annals of piracy, they took all the ships,
including the _Most Blessed Trinity_. Then followed a long record of
successful piracy, of battle, murder and sudden death, of mutiny and
slaughter grim and great. Sharp, who, with all his crimes, was as good a
navigator as he was reckless a fighter, sailed the _Most Blessed
Trinity_ with his crew of desperadoes the whole length of South America,
rounded the Horn and, after eighteen months of adventure, peril and
hardship, reached the West Indies again.
"The log of the voyage," writes Treves, "affords lurid reading. It
records how they landed and took towns, how they filled the little
market squares with corpses, how they pillaged the churches, ransacked
the houses and then committed the trembling places to the flames.
"It tells how they tortured frenzied men until, in their agony, they
told of hiding places where gold was buried; how they spent an unholy
Christmas at Juan Fernandez; how, in a little island cove, they fished
with a greasy lead for golden pieces which Drake is believed to have
thrown overboard for want of carrying room. It gives account of a cargo
of sugar and wine, of tallow and hides, of bars of silver and pieces of
eight, of altar chalices and ladies' trinkets, of scented laces, and of
rings torn from the clenched and still warm fingers of the dead.
"The 'valiant commander' had lost many of his company on the dangerous
voyage. Some had died in battle; others had mumbled out their lives in
the delirium of fever, sunstroke or drink; certain poor souls, with
racked joints and bleeding backs, were crouching in Spanish prisons; one
had been marooned on a desert island in the Southern Pacific Ocean." At
the last, Sharp turned over the ship to the remainder of his crew and
set sail, rich and respected (!) for England.
On the way from St. Kitts to St. Thomas, Stuart passed the two strange
islands of St. Eustatius and Saba, remnants of the once great Dutch
power in the West Indies. Statia, as the first island is generally
called, is a decadent spot, its commerce fallen to nothing, the
warehouses along the sea-front of its only town, in ruins. Yet once,
strange as it may seem, for a few brief months, Statia became the scene
of a wild commercial orgy, and the place where once was held "the most
stupendous auction in the history of the universe."
It happened thus: When the American Revolulutionary War broke out,
England being already at war with France, commercial affairs in the West
Indies became complicated by the fact that the Spanish, the French and
the English, all enacted trading restrictions so stringent that
practically every port in the West Indies was closed. The Dutch, seizing
the opportunity, made Statia a free port. Immediately, the whole of
French, English, Spanish, Dutch and American trade was thrown upon the
tiny beach of Fort Oranje.
More than that, Statia became the center for contraband of war. All the
other islands took advantage of this. Statia became a huge arsenal.
American privateers and blockade-runners were convoyed by Dutch
men-of-war, which, of course, could not be attacked. Smugglers were
amply provided with Dutch papers. Goods poured in from Europe every day
in the week. Rich owners of neighboring islands, not knowing how the
French-English strife might turn out, sent their valuables to Statia for
safe keeping. The little island became a treasure-house.
At times more than a hundred merchant vessels could be seen swinging to
their anchors in the roadstead. A mushroom town appeared as by magic.
Warehouses rose by scores. The beach was hidden by piles of boxes, bags
and bales for which no storeroom could be found. Merchants came from all
ports, especially the Jews and Levantines, who, since the beginning of
time, have been the trade-rovers of the sea. Neither by day nor by night
did the Babel of commerce cease. Unlike other West Indian towns, where
such a condition led to gaiety and pleasure, Fort Oranje retained its
Dutch character. It was a hysteria, but a hysteria of buying and selling
alone.
Then, one fine day, February 3, 1781, Rodney came down with a British
fleet and captured Fort Oranje and all that it contained. There were
political complications involved, but Rodney bothered little about that.
Fort Oranje was a menace to British power. Rodney took it without
remorse, appropriated the more than $20,000,000 worth of goods lying on
the beach and the warehouses, and the 150 merchantmen, which, on that
day, were lying in the bay. Jews and Levantines were stripped to the
skin and sent packing. The Dutch surrendered and took their medicine
phlegmatically. The French, as open enemies, were allowed to depart with
courtesy.
Then came the great auction. Without reserve, without remorse, over
$20,000,000 worth of goods were put up for what they would fetch. Boxes,
crates, bales and bags melted away like snow before the sun. Warehouses
bursting with goods became but empty shells. Traders' booths were
abandoned, one by one. Just for a few months the commercial debauch
lasted, then Rodney sailed away. Since then, the selling on the beach of
Statia has been confined to a little sugar and a few yams.
For the United States, the little fort above Fort Oranje has a historic
memory. From the old cannon, still in position on that fort, was fired
the first foreign salute to the Stars and Stripes, the first salute
which recognized the United States as a sovereign nation.
It was on the 16th of November, 1776, that the brig _Andrea Doria_,
fourteen guns, third of the infant American navy of five vessels, under
the command of Josiah Robinson, sailed into the open roadstead of St.
Eustatius, and dropped anchor almost under the guns of Fort Oranje.
"She could have chosen no more fitting name," writes Fenger, "than that
of the famous townsman of Columbus.... The _Andrea Doria_ may have
attracted but little attention as she appeared in the offing ... but,
with the quick eyes of seafarers, the guests of Howard's Tavern had
probably left their rum for a moment to have their first glimpse of a
strange flag which they all knew must be that of the new republic.
"Abraham Ravené, commandant of the fort, lowered the red-white-and-blue
flag of Holland in recognition of the American ship. In return, the
_Andrea Doria_ fired a salute.
"This put the commandant in a quandary. Anchored not far from the
_Andrea Doria_ was a British ship. The enmity of the British for
Holland, and especially against Statia, was no secret.
"In order to shift the responsibility, Ravené went to consult De Graeff,
the governor. De Graeff had already seen the _Andrea Doria_, for Ravené
met him in the streets of the Upper Town. A clever lawyer and a keen
business man, the governor had already made up his mind when Ravené
spoke.
"'Two guns less than the national salute,'" was the order.
"And, so, the United States was for the first time recognized as a
nation by this salute of eleven guns.
"For this act, De Graeff was subsequently recalled to Holland, but he
was reinstated as Governor of Statia, and held that position when the
island was taken by Rodney in 1781. The Dutch made no apology to
England."
Saba, which lies close to Statia, depends for its interest on its
location. It is but an old volcanic crater, sticking up out of the sea,
in the interior of which a town has been built. As a writer describes
it, "if the citizens of this town--which is most fitly called
Bottom--wish to look at the sea, they must climb to the rim of the
crater, as flies would crawl to the edge of a tea-cup, and look over.
They will see the ocean directly below them at the foot of a precipice
some 1,300 feet high. To go down to the sea it is necessary to take a
path with a slope like the roof of a house, and to descend the Ladder,
an appalling stair on the side of a cliff marked at the steepest part by
steps cut out of the face of the rock."
This strange town of Bottom is built with a heavy wall all round it, to
save it from the torrents which stream down the inside slopes of the
crater during a rain. Its population is mainly white, flaxen-haired
descendants of the Dutch.
More amazing than all, most of the inhabitants are shipbuilders, but the
ships, when built, have to be let down by ropes over the side of the
cliff. These fishing smacks are not only built in a crater, but on an
island which has neither beach, harbor, landing stage nor safe anchoring
ground, where no timber is produced, where no iron is to be found, and
where cordage is not made. The island has no more facilities for the
shipbuilding trade than a lighthouse on a rock in the middle of the sea.
[Illustration: ABOVE THE HOARSE SHOUTS OF RUFFIANS AND JACK-TARS, ROSE
TEACH'S MURDEROUS WAR CRY.]
Passing Saba, the steamer went on to her next port of call, St. Thomas.
Here was seen the influence of another European power. Barbados and
Trinidad are English; Martinique, French; Statia and Saba, Dutch; but
St. Thomas is Danish. It is the chief of the Virgin Islands, and
rejoices in a saintlier name than many of its companions which are known
as "Rum Island," "Dead Man's Chest," "Drowned Island," "Money Rock,"
"Cutlass Isle" and so forth, the naming of which shows buccaneer
authorship. Even in the town of Charlotte Amalia, the capital of St.
Thomas, the stamp of the pirate is strong, for two of the hills above
the city are marked by the ruins of old stone buildings, one of which is
called "Bluebeard's Castle," and "Blackbeard's Castle," the other. It
was once, no doubt, one of the many ports of call of that Nero of
pirates, Blackbeard Edward Teach.
Cecil's description of the buccaneers had greatly stimulated Stuart's
interest in pirate stories, and, rightly thinking that he could sell a
story to his paper by new photographs of "Blackbeard's Castle" and by a
retelling of the last fight of that savage scoundrel, he set himself to
find out what was known of this career of this "Chiefest and Most
Unlovely of all the Pyrates" as he is called in a volume written by one
of his contemporaries.
In appearance he was as fierce and repulsive as in character. He was of
large size, powerfully built, hairy, with a mane-like beard which, black
as his heart, grew up to his very eyes. This beard he twisted into four
long tails, tied with ribbons, two of which he tucked behind his
outstanding ears, and two over his shoulders. His hair was like a mat
and grew low over his forehead. In fact, little of the skin of his face
was visible, his fierce eyes glaring from a visage like that of a
baboon. In fighting, it was his custom to stick lighted fuses under his
hat, the glare of which, reflected in his jet-like eyes, greatly
increased the ferocity of his appearance.
Teach was an execrable rascal, who ruled his ship by terror. The worst
of his crew admitted him master of horror as well as of men. It was his
custom ever and anon to shoot a member of his crew, whenever the fancy
pleased him, in order that they should remember that he was captain.
Blackbeard is famous in the annals of piracy for his idea of a pleasant
entertainment. One afternoon, when his ship was lying becalmed, the
pirates found the time pass heavily. They had polished their weapons
till they shone like silver. They had gambled until one-half of the
company was swollen with plunder and the other half, penniless and
savage. They had fought until there was nothing left to fight about, and
it was too hot to sleep.
At this, Teach, hatless and shoeless, and, says his biographer, "a
little flushed with drink"--as a man might be who spent most of his
waking hours swigging pure rum--stumbled up on deck and made a proposal
to his bored companions.
"I'm a better man than any o' you alive, an' I'll be a better man when
we all go below. Here's for proving it!"
At which he routed up half a dozen of the most hardened of the crew,
kicked them down into the hold, joined them himself and closed the
hatches. There in the close, hot hold, smelling of a thousand odors,
they set fire to "several pots full of brimstone and other inflammable
matters" and did their best to reproduce what they thought to be the
atmosphere of the Pit.
One by one, the rest gave in and burst for the comparatively free air of
the deck, but Teach's ugly head was the last to come up the hatch, and
his pride thereon was inordinate. It was the surest road to the
Captain's good favors to remind him of his prowess in that stench-hole
on a tropic afternoon.
Teach's death was worthy of his life. Lieutenant Maynard of H. M. S.
_Pearl_ learned that Teach was resting in a quiet cove near Okracoke
Inlet, not far from Hatteras, N. C. He followed the pirate in a small
sloop. Teach ran his craft ashore.
Maynard was determined to get alongside the pirate, so with desperate
haste he began to throw his ballast overboard. More than that, he staved
in every water cask, until, feeling that he had enough freeboard, he
slipped his anchor, set his mainsail and jib, and bore down upon the
stranded sea robber.
As he came on, Teach, with fuses glowing under his hat, hailed him, and,
standing on the taffrail, defied him and drank to his bloody end in a
goblet of rum.... Teach, surrounded by his sullen and villainous gang,
shrieked out the chorus of a sea song as the sloop drew near and, when
she had drifted close enough, he pelted her deck with grenades.
At this moment, the two vessels touched, whereupon Teach and his crew,
with hideous yells, and a great gleam of cutlass blades, leapt upon the
sloop's deck. Through the smoke cloud the awful figure of the pirate
emerged, making for Maynard. At the same time, the men hidden in the
sloop scrambled up from below, and the riot of the fight began.
As Teach and Maynard met, they both fired at each other, point blank.
The lieutenant dodged, but the robber was hit in the face, and the blood
was soon dripping from his beard, the ends of which were, as usual,
tucked up over his ears.
There was no time to fumble with pistols now. So they fought with
cutlasses. Teach, spitting the blood from his mouth, swore that he would
hack Maynard's soul from his body, but his opponent was too fine an
adept with the sword to be easily disposed of. It was a fearful duel, a
trial of the robber's immense strength against the officer's deftness.
They chased each other about the deck, stumbling across dead bodies,
knocking down snarling men, who, clutched together, were fighting with
knives. Ever through the mirk could be seen the pirate's grinning teeth
and his evil eyes lighted by the burning and smoking fuses on either
side of them, ever above the groans of the wounded and the hoarse shouts
of ruffians and jack tars, rose Teach's murderous war cry.
At last, Maynard, defending himself from a terrific blow, had his sword
blade broken off at the hilt. Now was the pirate's chance. He aimed a
slash at Maynard. The lieutenant put up the remnant of his sword and
Teach's blow hacked off his fingers. Had the fight been left to the duel
between the two, Maynard had not a second to live. But, just as the
pirate's blow fell, one of the navy men brought his cutlass down upon
the back of the pirate's neck, half severing it. Teach, too enraged to
realize it was his death blow, turned on the man and cut him to the
deck.
The current of the fight changed. From all sides the jack tars, who
dared not close with the pirate chief, fired pistols at him. The decks
were slippery with blood. Still fighting, Teach kicked off his shoes,
to get a better hold of the planks. His back was to the bulwarks. Six
men were attacking him at once.
Panting horribly, and roaring curses still, Teach, with his dripping
cutlass, kept them all at bay. He had received twenty-five wounds, five
of which were from bullets. His whole body was red. The half-severed
head could not be held straight, but some incredible will power enabled
him to twist his chin upwards, so that, to the last, his eyes glared
with the fierce joy of battle, and the lips, already stiffening, smiled
defiantly.
The six men drew back, aghast that a creature so wounded could still
live and move, but Teach drew a pistol and was cocking it, when his
eyelids closed slowly, as though he were going to sleep, and he fell
back on the railing, dead.
So, in fitting manner, perished the last of the great pirates of the
Spanish Main.