the whole fleet; but her captain, being suspicious, would not let me
get within musket-shot of him, and sent his boat to help me. But, when
the boat was half way, her people made out that we were French, and
turned to go back; on which, seeing that we were discovered, I hoisted
my white flag and poured my broadside into the frigate.
"She answered with hers; but, not being able to sustain my fire, she
hauled her wind, and with a signal of distress flying, stood to meet
the captain's ship, which hastily ran down towards us. As they stopped
to render her assistance, and to pick up her boat, I was able to
rejoin my prizes, and, without misadventure, to take them to Port
Louis."
Again France rang with acclaim for the hero of this bold exploit, and
again the King offered a commission to the gallant sea-dog. But Du
Guay-Trouin shook his head.
"Perhaps I will become an officer in the Royal Marine later on," said
he. "But not now. I am too happy and successful as a Privateer."
He was quite right, for in March, 1697, was his greatest exploit.
While busily scanning the horizon for sail in the _St. Jacques des
Victoires_, upon the thirteenth day of that auspicious month, he saw
upon the horizon, a cluster of vessels. They drew near and proved to
be the Dutch East India fleet convoyed by two fifty-gun ships and a
thirty-gun sloop-of-war. With him was the _Sans-Pareil_ of forty-eight
guns, and the little sloop-of-war _Lenore_, mounting fourteen. The
hostile squadron was formidable, and Du Guay-Trouin hesitated to
attack.
In command of the Dutch vessels was Baron van Wassenaer, one of a
family of famous sea-fighters from Holland, and he manoeuvred his
ships with consummate skill; always interposing his own vessel between
the French privateer and his fleet of merchantmen.
"Ah-ha," cried gallant Renee, at this moment. "Here come some of my
own boys."
And--sure enough--from the direction of France, and boiling along
under full canvas, rolled two privateersmen of St. Malo. Cheer after
cheer went up from the deck of the _St. Jacques des Victoires_, as
they pounded through the spray, for this made the contending parties
about equal, although the Dutch boats were larger, heavier, and they
had more guns aboard.
The Dutchmen now formed in line. In front was the flagship--the
_Delft_--with her fifty guns glowering ominously from the port-holes;
second was the thirty-gun frigate; and third, the other war-hound of
fifty guns: the _Hondslaardjiik_. Through a trumpet Du Guay-Trouin
shrilled his orders.
"The _Sans-Pareil_ will attack the _Hondslaardjiik_," cried he. "The
two privateers will hammer the frigate, while I and the _St. Jacques
des Victoires_ will attend to the _Delft_. The _Lenore_ will sail in
among the convoy. Fight, and fight to win!"
A fine breeze rippled the waves. The two squadrons were soon at each
others' throats, and there upon the sobbing ocean a sea-fight took
place which was one of the most stubborn of the ages.
As the Frenchmen closed in upon the Dutch, the _Hondslaardjiik_
suddenly left the line and crashed a broadside into the _St. Jacques
des Victoires_. It staggered her, but she kept on, and--heading
straight for her lumbering antagonist--ran her down. A splitting of
timber, a crunch of boards, a growl of musketry, and, with a wild
cheer, the Frenchmen leaped upon the deck of the Dutch warship; Du
Guay-Trouin in the lead, a cutlass in his right hand, a spitting
pistol in the left.
_Crash! Crackle! Crash!_ An irregular fire of muskets and pistols
sputtered at the on-coming boarders. But they were not to be stopped.
With fierce, vindictive cheers the privateers of St. Malo hewed a
passage of blood across the decking, driving the Dutchmen below,
felling them upon the deck in windrows, and seizing the commander
himself by the coat collar, after his cutlass had been knocked from
his stalwart hand. The Dutchman was soon a prize, and her proud ensign
came fluttering to the decking.
But things were not going so well in other quarters. Disaster had
attended the dash of the _Sans-Pareil_ upon the _Delft_. An exploding
shell had set her afire and she lay derelict with a cloud of drifting
smoke above, when suddenly, _Crash!_
A terrible explosion shook the staunch, little vessel, her sides
belched outward, and a number of sailors came shooting through the
air, for a dozen loose cartridge boxes had been caught by the roaring
flames. Helplessly she lolled in the sweep of the gray, lurching
billows.
"Hah!" shouted Van Wassenaer, as he saw his work. "Now for the saucy
Du Guay-Trouin," and, twisting the helm of the _Sans-Pareil_, he soon
neared the _St. Jacques des Victoires_, which was hanging to the
_Delft_ like a leech, firing broadside after broadside with clock-like
precision, her sea-dogs cheering as the spars crackled, the rigging
tore; and splinters ricochetted from her sides.
"Ready about!" cried Renee, wiping the sweat from his brow, "and board
the _Hondslaardjiik_. Now for Van Wassenaer and let us show the
Dutchman how a privateer from St. Malo can battle."
So, luffing around in the steady breeze, the privateersman rolled
ominously towards the lolling _Delft_. A crash, a sputter of pistols,
a crushing of timber, and grappling hooks had pinioned the two
war-dogs in a sinister embrace. And--with a wild yell--the Frenchmen
plunged upon the reddened decking of the flagship of the courageous
Van Wassenaer, who cried, "Never give in, Lads! What will they think
of this in Holland!"
There was a different reception than when the privateers rushed the
_Hondslaardjiik_. The Dutch fought like wildcats. Three times the
cheering, bleeding Frenchmen stormed the planking, and three times
they were hurled back upon the slippery deck of their own ship;
maddened, cursing, furious at their inability to take the foreigner.
"The conflict was very bloody both by the very heavy fire on both
sides, of guns, muskets, and grenades," says Du Guay-Trouin, "and by
the splendid courage of the Baron Van Wassenaer, who received me with
astonishing boldness."
"Bear away," ordered the courageous Dutchman, at this juncture. "We
must have time to recover and refit our ship."
And--suiting the action to his words--the badly battered _Delft_
filled, and crept well to leeward.
Meanwhile the two privateers of St. Malo had captured the frigate as
she lay helpless; a white flag beckoning for a prize crew.
"The _Faluere_ will attack the _Delft_," shouted Du Guay-Trouin,
running near the largest of these; a ship of thirty-eight guns. "I
must have time to breathe and to refit."
But stubborn Van Wassenaer was ready for his new antagonist. He
received the privateer with such a furious fire that she turned tail
and fled to leeward; her captain bleeding upon the poop, her crew
cursing the blood which ran in the veins of the valorous Hollander.
[Illustration: COMBAT BETWEEN DU GUAY-TROUIN AND VAN WASSENAER.]
Du Guay-Trouin had now recovered his breath. Again the bellying canvas
of the _St. Jacques des Victoires_ bore her down upon the _Delft_, and
again the two war-dogs wrapped in deadly embrace. Hear the invincible
Frenchman's own account of the final assault:
"With head down," he writes, "I rushed against the redoubtable Baron,
resolved to conquer or to perish. The last action was so sharp and so
bloody that every one of the Dutch officers was killed or wounded.
Wassenaer, himself, received four dangerous wounds and fell on his
quarterdeck, where he was seized by my own brave fellows, his sword
still in his hand.
"The _Faluere_ had her share in the engagement, running alongside of
me, and sending me forty men on board for reinforcement. More than
half of my own crew perished in this action. I lost in it one of my
cousins, first Lieutenant of my own ship, and two other kinsmen on
board the _Sans-Pareil_, with many other officers killed or wounded.
It was an awful butchery."
But at last he had won, and the victorious pennon of the Privateer
fluttered triumphant over the battered hulks which barely floated upon
the spar-strewn water.
"The horrors of the night," he writes, "the dead and dying below, the
ship scarcely floating, the swelling waves threatening each moment to
engulf her, the wild howling of the storm, and the iron-bound coast
of Bretagne to leeward, were all together such as to try severely the
courage of the few remaining officers and men.
"At daybreak, however, the wind went down; we found ourselves near the
Breton coast; and, upon our firing guns and making signals of
distress, a number of boats came to our assistance. In this manner was
the _St. Jacques_ taken into Port Louis, followed in the course of the
day by the three Dutch ships-of-war, twelve of the merchant ships, the
_Lenore_, and the two St. Malo privateers. The _Sans-Pareil_ did not
get in till the next day, after having been twenty times upon the
point of perishing by fire and tempest."
Thus ended the great fight of Renee Du Guay-Trouin, whose blood, you
see, was quite as blue as his breeches.
* * * * *
"Again," wrote His Majesty the King, "do I offer you a commission in
the Royal Navy, Du Guay-Trouin. Will you accept? This time it is a
Captaincy."
"I do," replied little Renee,--quite simply--and, at the next dinner
of the officers of the Royal Marines, they sang a chorus, which ran:
"Oh, yes, he's only a Democrat, his blood is hardly blue,
Oh, Sacre Nom de Dieu! Sapristi! Eet is true!
But he's a jolly tar dog, with dirk and pistol, too,
He fights like William the Conqueror, he fights!
Egad! that's true!
A health to Renee the terrible; soldier and sailor too."
EDWARD ENGLAND
TERROR OF THE SOUTH SEAS
(1690?-_about_ 1725)
"A Privateer's not a Buccaneer, but they're pretty chummy friends,
One flies a reg'lar ensign, there's nothing that offends.
One sails 'neath Letters Legal, t'other 'neath Cross-Bones,
But, both will sink you, Sailor, or my name's not Davy Jones."
--_Old Ballad._
EDWARD ENGLAND
TERROR OF THE SOUTH SEAS
(1690?-_about_ 1725)
"If England wuz but wind an' paint,
How we'd hate him.
But he ain't."
--_Log of the Royal James._
"Hit him with a bottle, he deserves it, th' brute!"
The man who spoke was a thick-set sailor of some forty-five summers,
with a swarthy skin, a brownish mat of hair, a hard visage, and a cut
across one eye. He stood upon the deck of a good-sized brig, which was
drowsily lolling along the coast of Africa.
"Yes, he treated us like dogs aboard th' _Cuttlefish_. Here, give me a
shot at 'im."
Thus cried another sailor--a toughish customer also--and, as his voice
rang out, a dozen more came running to the spot.
Cringing before the evil gaze of the seamen stood the Captain of a
Bristol merchantman--the _Cadogan_--which lay a boat's length away,
upon the glassy surface of a rocking sea.
Again rang out the harsh tones of him who had first spoken.
"Ah, Captain Skinner, it is you, eh? You are the very person I wished
to see. I am much in your debt, and I shall pay you in your own coin."
The poor Captain trembled in every joint, and said, with a curious
chattering of his teeth,
"Yes, Edward England, you've got me now. But go easy like, will yer? I
always was a friend o' yourn."
"Yer didn't look like a friend on th' old _Jamaica_, when you refused
to pay me my wages," interrupted the first speaker. "Yer didn't remove
me to 'er cursed man-o'-warsman, did yer? Yer didn't see that I got
th' cat-o'-nine-tails on my back, did yer? Now, Mr. Skinner, it's my
chance ter get even. Tie him ter th' windlass, boys, and we'll fix th'
feller's hash."
With a jeering laugh the sailors seized the frightened man, roped him
tightly to the desired prop, and, procuring a lot of glass bottles,
pelted him with them until their arms were tired.
"You wuz a good master to me, Captain Skinner," cried one. "Now you're
gettin' a dose of your own medicine. Overboard with him, Boys."
And, suiting the action to the words, he seized him by the collar. The
ropes were unwound. The poor wretch was dragged to the rail, and, as
his body spun out into the oily sea, a shot ended the life of poor
Thomas Skinner of the _Cadogan_ from Bristol. Captain Edward England
and his men had had a sweet and sure revenge.
Where this reckless mariner was born, it is difficult to ascertain.
We know that he started life honestly enough, for he was mate of a
sloop that sailed from Jamaica, about the year 1715, and was taken by
a pirate called Captain Winter. The youthful sailor soon took up the
careless ways of his captors, and it was not many years before he
became Captain of his own vessel: a sloop flying the black flag with a
skull and cross-bones.
Off the east coast of Africa he soon took a ship called the _Pearl_,
for which he exchanged his own sloop, fitting the new vessel up for
piratical service, after rechristening her the _Royal James_. Cruising
about in this staunch craft, he captured several ships of different
sizes and flying the flags of many nations. He was rich and
prosperous.
"Captain," said one of his reckless followers, at this time,
"man-o'-warsmen are gettin' too thick in these parts for an honest
sailor. Let's get across th' pond to th' Brazilian coast."
"You're quite right," answered England. "We've got to look for other
pickings. After we provision-up, we'll sail towards th' setting sun.
That's a fresh field and we can have it to ourselves."
So all made ready for a trans-Atlantic voyage.
But Captain England was in error when he said that he was sailing for
fields which had never before been touched. Two other piratical
vessels: the _Revenge_ and the _Flying King_, had been cruising off
the coast of Brazil, just before his advent. Fighting in partnership,
they had taken two Portuguese schooners, and were making off with
them, when a Portuguese man-o'-warsman came booming along under full
canvas. She was an unwelcome guest.
Setting all sail the two pirates had attempted to get away and the
_Revenge_ succeeded in doing so. Two days later a typhoon struck her
and she was soon swinging bottom upwards, with the kittiwakes
shrieking over her barnacled keel.
But the revengeful man-o'-warsman ploughed relentlessly after the
_Flying King_, which could not fly quite fast enough, this time,
and--in despair--was run, bows on, upon the shore, where the crew
scrambled to the sand in a desperate endeavor to get away. The sailors
from the man-o'-warsman were speedy; they shot twelve of the
buccaneers, took the rest prisoners (there were seventy in all) and
hanged thirty-eight to the yard-arm. News of this came to Captain
England when he neared the tropic coast of Brazil.
"It's all in a life-time," said he. "If I'm captured, of course I'll
swing. But, meanwhile, I hope to have a good life."
Not many days afterwards he heard the welcome sound of:
"Sail ho! Off the port bow!"
And raising the glass to his eye discovered two fat,
prosperous-looking merchant ships, slipping quietly along like an old
maid fresh from market.
"Slap on all sail and give chase!" was bellowed out in stentorian
tones, and the _Royal James_ was soon fairly boiling along with every
stitch aloft, which she could carry.
As she neared the merchantmen, the names came plainly to view: the
_Peterborough_ of Bristol, and the _Victory_ of Liverpool, but a shot
screamed across the bowsprit of the latter and victory was turned into
defeat. A white flag was fluttering at her mainmast in a moment, for
the Captain had no stomach for a fight.
"Egad, it's a pirate," said the good seaman in despair, as the black
flag with the skull and cross-bones fluttered from the rigging of his
capturer. "I thought she was a privateersman under Letters of Marque.
It's all up with us."
As the boat-load of boarders came bobbing alongside he cried out,
"Mercy! Have mercy upon the souls of these poor wretches who sail with
me."
The pirates guffawed, helped themselves to everything of value, and
took the merchantmen with them to the coast of Brazil, where the crew
were allowed to escape to the shore. The _Peterborough_ was
re-christened the _Victory_ and was manned by half of England's crew,
while the other vessel was burned at night; the pirates dancing on the
beach to the light of the flames and singing the weird songs of the
sea.
Now there was a scene of wild revel upon the Brazilian coast; but the
natives grew angry at the conduct of these rough men of the ocean.
"Ugh!" spoke a chief, "we must drive them away, else they will burn
our own villages as they did their houses upon the water."
One peaceful evening the followers of Captain England were hard beset
by fully a thousand black-skinned warriors from the Brazilian jungle.
There was a fierce battle. The negroes were pressed back upon their
principal town and were driven through it on the run, for their arrows
and spears were not as effective as the guns and pistols of the
English, Dutch, Spaniards and Portuguese, who had adopted a piratical
career. Their thatched huts were set on fire, and, satisfied with the
day's work, the pirates retired to their ships, where a vote was cast
where was to be their next venture. It fell to the East Indies and the
Island of Madagascar. So they set sail, singing an old ballad which
ran,
"Heave the lead and splice th' topsail,
Tie her down, and let her fill,
We're agoin' to Madagascar,
Where th' little tom-tits trill,
"Bill an' coo, an' sing so sweetly,
In th' dronin' hours of noon,
That you want to die there, neatly,
Just drop off into 'er swoon."
The voyage across was a good one and the pirates captured two East
Indiamen and a Dutchman, bound to Bombay. These they exchanged for one
of their own vessels, and then set out for Madagascar Island, where
several of their hands were set ashore with tents and ammunition, to
kill such beasts and venison as the place afforded.
Then they sailed for the Isle of Juanna,--not a great distance from
Madagascar,--and here had as keen a little engagement as ever
employed a piratical crew. Hear the story of this fight in the words
of Captain Mackra, an English sea-captain who happened at that time to
be in the harbor.
"BOMBAY, November 16th, 1720.
"We arrived on the 25th of July last, in company with
the _Greenwich_, at Juanna, an island not far from
Madagascar. Putting in there to refresh our men, we
found fourteen pirates who came in their canoes from the
Mayotta (island) where the pirate ship to which they
belonged, the _Indian Queen_--two hundred and fifty
tons, twenty-eight guns, commanded by Captain Oliver de
la Bouche, bound from the Guinea coast to the East
Indies--had been bulged (run ashore) and lost. They said
they left the Captain and forty men building a new
vessel, to proceed upon their wicked designs.
"Captain Kirby and I concluding that it might be of
great service to the East India Company to destroy such
a nest of rogues, were ready to sail for this purpose on
the 17th of August, about eight o'clock in the morning,
when we discovered two pirates standing into the Bay of
Juanna, one of thirty-four and the other of thirty-six
guns.
"I immediately went on board the _Greenwich_ where they
seemed very diligent in preparation for an engagement,
and I left Captain Kirby with mutual understanding of
standing by each other. I then unmoored, got under sail,
and brought two boats ahead to row me close to the
_Greenwich_; but he being open to a breeze, made the
best of his way from me; which an Ostender in our
company of twenty-two guns, seeing, did the same, though
the Captain had promised heartily to engage with us,
and, I believe would have been as good as his word, if
Captain Kirby had kept his.
"About half an hour after twelve, I called several times
to the _Greenwich_ to bear down to our assistance, and
fired a shot at him, but to no purpose; for, though we
did not doubt but he would join us, because, when he got
about a league from us he brought his ship to and looked
on; yet both he and the Ostender basely deserted us, and
left us engaged with barbarous and inhuman enemies, with
their black and bloody flags hanging over us, without
the least appearance of ever escaping, but to be cut to
pieces.
"But God in his good providence, determined otherwise;
for, notwithstanding their superiority, we engaged them
both about three hours, during which time the biggest of
them received some shot betwixt wind and water, which
made her keep a little off, to stop her leaks. The other
endeavored all she could to board us, by rowing with her
oars, being within half a ship's length of us about an
hour; but, by good fortune, we shot all her oars to
pieces, which prevented them from getting in close, and
consequently saved our lives.
[Illustration: "'LEFT US ENGAGED WITH BARBAROUS AND INHUMAN ENEMIES.'"]
"About four o'clock most of the officers and men posted
on the quarter-deck being killed and wounded, the
largest ship made up to us with diligence, after giving
us a broadside. There now being no hopes of Captain
Kirby's coming to our assistance, we endeavored to run
ashore; and though we drew four feet of water more than
the pirate, it pleased God that he stuck fast on a
higher ground than happily we fell in with; so was
disappointed a second time from boarding us.
"Here we had a more violent engagement than before. All
of my officers and most of my men behaved with
unexpected courage; and, as we had a considerable
advantage by having a chance to hurl a broadside into
his bow, we did him great damage. Had Captain Kirby come
in then, I believe we should have taken both the
vessels, for we had one of them, sure.
"The other pirate (who was still firing at us) seeing
the _Greenwich_ did not offer to assist us, supplied his
consort with three boats full of fresh men. About five
in the evening the _Greenwich_ stood clear away to sea,
leaving us struggling hard for life, in the very jaws of
death; which the other pirate that was afloat, seeing,
got a hawser out, and began to haul under our stern.
"By this time many of my men were being killed and
wounded, and no hopes left us of escaping being all
murdered by enraged barbarous conquerors, I ordered all
that could to get into the long-boat, under the cover of
the smoke from our guns; so that, with what some did in
boats, and others by swimming, most of us that were able
got ashore by seven o'clock.
"When the pirates came aboard, they cut three of our
wounded men to pieces. I, with some of my people, made
what haste I could to Kings-town, twenty-five miles from
us; where I arrived next day, almost dead with the
fatigue and loss of blood, having been sorely wounded in
the head by a musket-ball.
"At this town I heard that the pirates had offered ten
thousand dollars to the country people to bring me in,
which many of them would have accepted, only they knew
that the king and all his chief people were in my
interest. Meanwhile I caused a report to be circulated
that I was dead of my wounds, which much abated their
fury.
"We had, in all, thirteen killed and twenty-four
wounded; and we were told that we destroyed about
ninety, or a hundred, of the pirates. I am persuaded
that, had our consort the _Greenwich_ done her duty, we
could have destroyed both of them, and got two hundred
thousand pounds ($1,000,000.00) for our owners and
ourselves."
What say you to this fight? And to think that our own good friend
Captain Mackra just missed being a millionaire! Weep for the gallant
sea warrior!
At any rate he got safely away, for, at length going aboard one of the
piratical vessels,--under a flag of truce--he discovered that several
of the wild sea-robbers knew him; some of them--even--had sailed with
him in earlier years.
"I found this to be of great advantage," he writes. "For,
notwithstanding their promise not to harm me, some of them would have
cut me to pieces, had it not been for their chief, Captain Edward
England, and some others whom I knew."
And he used his powers of persuasion to such effect that: "They made
me a present of the shattered ship--which was Dutch built--called the
_Fancy_, her burden being about three hundred tons.
"With jury-masts, and such other old sails as they left me, I set sail
on September 8th, with forty-three of my ship's crew, including two
passengers and twelve soldiers. After a passage of forty-eight days I
arrived at Bombay on the 26th of October, almost naked and starved,
having been reduced to a pint of water a day, and almost in despair of
ever seeing land, by reason of the calms we met with between the coast
of Arabia and Malabar."