of Marseilles, and the Chamber of Commerce."
Wright had heard of this, and it sent a grim look into his eyes. He
also heard that a vessel was cruising outside the harbor in wait for
him, and thus he was not surprised, as he saw a large boat upon his
port bow, when only a few hours' sail from the snug harbor of Leghorn.
This vessel--a zebeque--had been waiting for the well-hated
privateersman for several days, as her captain had been warned by the
Italians that Wright was about to set sail. She had three masts, each
carrying a huge, three-cornered sail, sixteen guns of considerable
size, and several swivels. Her crew numbered two hundred and eighty
men, well armed and eager for a brush with the famous Fortunatus,
whose proverbial good fortune seemed now to have deserted him.
Rounding to, Wright signalled to his merchantmen to draw near and
hurriedly transported some of the cannon, which he had smuggled, to
his own vessel. He also added to his small crew, so that--when the
zebeque came pounding down within shooting distance--he had increased
his sailors from twenty-five to seventy-five, and his guns, from four
to twelve.
"Now let the Frenchie come on!" he cried. "I'm half prepared, but I'll
give her a warmer welcome than she ever had in all her career!"
"Huzzah! Huzzah!" shouted his men, who were a motley collection of all
nationalities: Italians, English, Portuguese, Dutch, Germans, and a
few Arabs. "Huzzah! Huzzah! Wright forever!" The Arabs, of course,
didn't say this, but they tried to.
The French were very confident, and, as they came within range of the
guns of the little _Saint George_ they began to sing a hymn of
victory, while their captain already saw, in his hands, the rich
reward offered by the good citizens of Marseilles.
"Poof!" he chuckled. "Monsieur Wright, he soon take dinnaire in my
cabin. Poof!"
But Monsieur Wright was a different fellow than he imagined, and his
men--although of all nationalities--were so animated by his stirring
and martial spirit, that they fought better than they had ever fought
in their lives before. You all know how necessary to success "Spirit"
is in a foot-ball team, or a base-ball nine. The team which has the
do-or-dare spirit, the never-give-up-until-the-last-gun-is-fired
determination, is usually the team that wins. And the spirit of the
captain is the controlling factor in any contest. If he be no
desperate fighter, his followers will not be desperate fighters. If he
is weak-kneed in a crisis, his followers will be weak-kneed.
So this motley crew, under Fortunatus Wright, cheered onward by the
dauntless navigator, fought as they had never fought before. Arab and
German strove as well as Englishman and Italian to battle strenuously
beneath the eye of the famous privateersman. They had never been
together before, but, animated by the presence of this fearless
"cock-of-the-Mediterranean," they now sailed into the Frenchman as if
the zebeque were a vessel of equal strength and armament. Cheer after
cheer welled into the air as the two antagonists drew near each other,
while the puff of white smoke from the sides of the French vessel was
followed by the _chug! chug!_ of solid shot, as it cut up the waves
near the body of the staunch, little _Saint George_.
"It's three to one against us, Boys!" shouted the battle-scarred
Captain Wright. "Fire for the enemy's rigging and bring down one of
her masts, if you can. If you fight hard we can lick her!"
The screech of a shell cut his words short, for a piece of iron passed
dangerously near his lips, striking a stout Italian in the neck, and
rendering him useless for further conflict.
Around and around in a wide circle floated the two sea-warriors, for
the wind was light and just drove them along at the rate of a snail's
pace. The rag-tag-and-bob-tail crew on the _Saint George_ stood to
their guns like veterans and poured in such a hot fire that the French
captain speedily realized that his only chance for victory was to
board and overwhelm the English by superior numbers.
"Bring the vessel up on her starboard side!" he commanded. "And get
out the boarding-pikes! Now we'll finish Captain Wright!"
The zebeque soon ranged alongside the battered _Saint George_, threw
her grappling hooks into the rigging, and her men were in a
hand-to-hand struggle with the motley crew who battled for the veteran
Fortunatus. _Slash! Slash! Crack!_ The cutlasses cut and parried, the
pistols spat, and the boarding-pikes thrust and struck. Cheering
wildly the Frenchmen attempted to climb upon the deck of the
privateer, but the followers of old Wright fought like demons. They
parried and thrust like fiends; and such was the ferocity of their
struggle that the boarders were repulsed with great slaughter.
[Illustration: "THE BOARDERS WERE REPULSED WITH GREAT SLAUGHTER."]
"Thees Wright ees a very hornet for a fight!" sighed the French
captain, as he ordered the grappling hooks cast off, and floated his
vessel away.
_Poom! Poom!_
There was still some fight left in the little _Saint George_ and her
dauntless crew kept pounding iron at the sullen zebeque, which,
shattered and torn, filled away and made for the open sea. Her captain
had been struck by a piece of shell just as the battle closed; two
lieutenants were killed, seventy men were wounded, and eighty-eight
had been killed by the accurate shooting of the "Never-Say-Dies" under
Captain Fortunatus Wright: the invincible. It had been a gallant
battle, gallantly fought by both sides, and gallantly won.
Bold navigator Wright followed his crippled adversary for several
miles, then--seeing another French gun-boat threatening his convoy--he
returned to the merchant-ships which had accompanied him; sent them
back into Leghorn harbor; and followed, next day, with the proud, but
battered _Saint George_. It had been a glorious victory.
No sooner had the war-scarred Captain Wright let go his anchor chains
in the harbor of Leghorn than he realized that he had only just begun
to fight.
"Sapristi!" said an Italian official. "This pirate has deceived us!
This fellow was allowed but four guns upon his ship and he had twelve.
To the jail with this dog! To the prison with this cut-throat!
Sapristi!"
A boat soon rowed to the _Saint George_ and an order was delivered to
Captain Wright to the effect that he must bring his vessel into the
inner harbor, and, if he did not obey, she would be brought in by
Italian gun-boats. Wright--of course--refused. So two big Italian
warships sailed up upon either side of the _Saint George_, ran out
their guns, and cast anchor.
"I will not move for the entire Italian Government!" roared Captain
Fortunatus. "I will appeal to the British consul for protection, as
England is at war with France, not with Italy."
Now was a pretty how-de-do. The Italians were furious with the
stubborn privateersman for refusing to obey their orders, but, in
truth, the way that he had deceived them in smuggling the extra cannon
aboard--when under their own eyes--is what had roused their quick,
Tuscan tempers. They thought that they had been sharp--well--here was
a man who was even sharper than they, themselves. "Sapristi!" they
cried. "To the jail weeth heem!"
There was a terrific war of words between the British consul and the
officials of that snug, little town. Then, the problem was suddenly
solved, for, two powerful, English men-of-war dropped into the harbor:
the _Jersey_ of sixty guns, and the _Isis_ mounting fifty. The
authorities of Leghorn were told that they had orders from the Admiral
of the British, Mediterranean fleet, to convoy any English
merchantmen which might be there, and _to release the Saint George
immediately_. Wright threw up his cap and cheered, but the officials
of Leghorn said things which cannot be printed. Thus the _Saint
George_ sailed upon her way, unmolested, and was soon taking more
prizes upon the broad waters of the Mediterranean.
The path of the privateer is not strewn with roses. Captain Fortunatus
found that his reputation had gone abroad and it had not been to his
credit, for, when he put in at Malta he was not allowed to buy
provisions for his ship.
"You are a beastly pirate!" said an official. "You cannot purchase
anything here for your nefarious business."
"I am a privateer!" answered Wright, with anger.
"A privateer looks just the same to me as a pirate," sarcastically
sneered the official. And Captain Fortunatus had to look elsewhere for
provisions.
As he cruised along, a big, French cruiser of thirty-eight guns chased
the little _Saint George_ as if to gobble her up alive.
"Boys! We shall now have some fun!" said Captain Wright. "I can sail
faster than this Frenchy. Just watch me!"
So, when the great beast of a French vessel came lumbering by, Wright
played with her like a cat with a mouse; sailed around her in circles;
shot guns at her rigging--just to aggravate the men from the sunny
land--and then dipped his ensign and went careening away as if nothing
had happened. No wonder that the French hated and despised this
valiant mariner! Wouldn't you have done so if you had been a
Frenchman?
Thus Captain Fortunatus Wright continued upon his privateering, his
fighting, and his cruising; bearing terror to his enemies but
satisfaction to his friends. His name was as well known among those
who sailed the Mediterranean as was that of the great Napoleon in
later years, and it was just as cordially hated by those who opposed
him. "The Ogre from Leghorn" was one of his titles, while some applied
to him the choice epithet of "The Red Demon from Italy." At any rate
this did not seem to worry the veteran sea-dog, who continued to take
prizes and make money until the year 1757. Then he disappears from
history, for the body of brave, resolute, stubborn, and valiant
Captain Fortunatus Wright mysteriously and suddenly vanished from this
earth.
What was his end?
Perhaps he perished while boarding the deck of some craft which was
manned by men as gallant as his own. Perhaps he fell while stemming
the advance of a crew of wild Frenchmen, eager for his blood and
remembering the many victories which he had won over their countrymen.
Perhaps, in the wild, wind-tossed wastes of the Mediterranean, his
vessel--unable to cope with the elements--was hurled upon some jagged
rock and sunk in the sobbing waters of the frothing sea. Perhaps he
was captured, hurried to some dark prison, and died in one of those
many dungeons which disgrace the cities of the Italian coast. Perhaps
he was hanged for privateering.
At any rate, nothing is known of the last days of this dauntless
navigator save what can be gathered from an old grave in St. Peter's
churchyard, in Liverpool.
Here is the tombstone of the father of Fortunatus Wright, an
inscription upon which, tells us that he was a master-mariner of
Liverpool; that he defended his ship--on one occasion--most gallantly
against two vessels of superior force; and that he died, not by the
stroke of a boarding-pike, but safely in his own home. To this is
added the information that:
"Fortunatus Wright, his son, was always victorious, and humane to the
vanquished. He was a constant terror to the enemies of his king and
his country." That is all.
THE DEEP
There's beauty in the deep:
The wave is bluer than the sky;
And though the lights shine bright on high,
More softly do the sea-gems glow
That sparkle in the depths below;
The rainbow tints are only made
When on the waters they are laid.
And sea and moon most sweetly shine
Upon the ocean's level brine.
There's beauty in the deep.
There's quiet in the deep.
Above, let tide and tempest rave,
And earth-born whirlwinds wake the wave;
Above, let care and fear contend
With sin and sorrow to the end:
Here, far beneath the tainted foam
That frets above our peaceful home,
We dream in joy, and walk in love,
Nor know the rage that yells above.
There's quiet in the deep.
GEORGE WALKER
WINNER OF THE GAMEST SEA FIGHT OF THE ENGLISH CHANNEL
(1727-1777)
"'War is Hell,' said General William T. Sherman.
But,--better have war than bow to an inferior
nation."--_Doctrines of the Strenuous Life._
GEORGE WALKER
WINNER OF THE GAMEST SEA FIGHT OF THE ENGLISH CHANNEL
(1727-1777)
"If Britain can but breed th' men,
Who are like Walker made,
She'll have no fear of danger,
When th' foe starts to invade.
When th' foe starts to invade, my boys,
An' creep along th' shore,
Where th' curling breakers wash th' cliffs,
Where th' breeching combers roar.
Then, lift a glass to Walker,
Of _Glorioso_ fame,
_May we ne'er forget his deed lads,_
_May we ne'er forget his name_."
--_Chants from The Channel._--1769.
It was the year 1739, and the good people of Charleston, South
Carolina, were in a great state of agitation. Little knots of
merchants, sailors, clerks, and dock-hands clustered about each other
in the narrow streets. And, above the hub-bub of many voices, could be
heard the solemn sentence, oft repeated:
"The pirate is off the narrows! The pirate will soon be here!"
Then all would gaze seaward with startled faces, and would murmur:
"The pirate--the Spanish pirate will be here."
As they thus stood irresolutely, a strongly-knit fellow came walking
towards the dock-end. He was clad in gray; his face was deeply seamed
by long exposure to the elements; and high top-boots of leather
encased his lower limbs.
"What ho! Good citizens," said he. "Do I understand that a Spaniard
has frightened you all? Why, where's your courage?"
"Courage?" answered a rotund-bodied merchant. "Of that we have a
plenty. But we have no ship with which to combat this fellow--or
fellows--for some of my skippers tell me that there are two of them
off the coast, and that they've captured twenty trading vessels."
The newcomer smiled.
"I've got a staunch craft here," said he. "My name is Walker, and I
hail from Bristol, England. My ship--the _Duke William_--mounts but
twenty guns, and my crew is but of thirty-two, yet, I know that many
of you gentlemen will volunteer your services, particularly if there
is to be a nice little battle."
"Hear! Hear!" came from all sides. "You're the boy for us! You're the
chap we've been looking for! Hear! Hear!"
It did not take long to increase the crew of the _Duke William_.
Several of the wealthy colonists volunteered their services; many
sailors were there who had been fighting on the Spanish Main. They
were eager and anxious to join. So, before three days were out, the
_Duke William_ spread her canvas for the open sea, carrying one
hundred men and an additional twenty guns. Now--you see--she could put
up an excellent fight with the average pirate-ship which cruised about
the low-lying and sandy coast.
Out into the broad expanse of the Atlantic glided the little barque
and eagerly the mariners scanned the horizon for some signs of the
pirate.
"She's been hereabouts!" cried one stout seaman. "For several of my
mess-mates saw her sails down near the channel islands. And her flag
was surely black with th' skull an' cross-bones."
"Must have heard that we were coming, then," growled Captain Walker,
"for there's nothing in view."
In an hour's time he thought differently, for, "Sail ho!" sounded from
the forward deck, and there, far off to leeward, was the outline of a
long, blackish vessel, bearing no flag at her mizzen or stern.
Crowding on all canvas--for the breeze was light--the _Duke William_
bore away towards her. "It must be the pirate!" said all, for, also
crowding on all sail, the vessel headed up the coast, and did her
utmost to get away.
On, on, went pursuer and pursued; on, on, and the _Duke William_ began
to draw dangerously close to the fleeing vessel, which now could be
easily seen. She was a brigantine, carrying about eighteen guns, with
a high stern and graceful lines. No flags waved from her mast-heads.
Suddenly the scudding sea-warrior pointed her nose in-shore, ran
around the corner of a sandy island, and bore away into a seemingly
large lagoon upon the other side. The _Duke William_ followed, and, as
she rounded a jutting sand-spit, there before her lay a little
schooner, on the deck of which were seen several sailors, waving and
gesticulating frantically. Behind, and on the shore, was an
earth-work, from which several cannon pointed their black muzzles. On
a flag-pole in the centre, waved a Spanish flag, and, beneath it, a
black ensign upon which was the skull-and-cross-bones.
"It's the pirate stronghold!" cried several, at once. "We're in for a
tight skirmish!"
But Captain Walker only smiled.
The brigantine, which he had been following, now rounded-to, opened
her port-holes, and fired a couple of shots toward the pursuing craft.
At the same time an English flag was hoisted on the schooner, and a
fellow on her deck sang out through a speaking trumpet.
"Thank Heaven you have come! We were only captured two days ago!
Hurrah for the English flag!"
The _Duke William_ kept on after the brigantine, her mixed crew
yelling with joy, now that they were to have an action.
_Bang! Bang!_
Her two forward guns spoke, and a shot went ripping through one of the
foresails of the pirate.
This was enough for the fighting spirit of those who sailed the
Spanish Main. For, putting about, the brigantine scudded through a
narrow channel, known only to her skipper (for no one else could have
followed without grounding upon a sand-spit), and was soon running
away upon the opposite side of a low-lying island, now flaunting the
pirate-flag from her halyards.
"She's gone!" sadly remarked the gallant Captain Walker, "but we can
capture the gun-battery. Make ready to go ashore, if needed!"
Steering for the coast, the guns of the _Duke William_ opened upon the
sandy barricade, and shot after shot was soon making the dirt and
gravel fly in every direction:
_Poom! Poom! Cu-poom!_
The cannon in the earth-work next began to speak, and, it was
apparent, from the strange noises which some of them made, that they
were full of rust.
_Cu-Poom! Cu-Pow! Chuck-chuck-cu-swash!_ they roared, and a few balls
began to whistle about the spars of the _Duke William_.
There were some accurate marksmen upon the deck of the British vessel,
and, as she lay broadside to the fortification, one well-aimed shot
struck a cannon and dismounted it; while another shattered the
flag-pole and brought down the flag with a crash.
"Hurrah!" shouted the men from Charleston. "Now we'll even up with
these cursed pirates for all the damage that they've done us. Now,
we'll teach them not to ravage our coasts and catch our merchant
ships!"
_Cu-whow!_ barked the rust-caked guns of the barricade. "_Go-slow!
Go-back! Go-home!_"
To this a full broadside roared, and the balls tore the top of the
earth-work to shreds.
"Now let thirty men take to the boats!" commanded Captain Walker.
"Steer for the beach and rush the barricade with pistols and
cutlasses. I don't believe that there are more than a dozen men inside
the earth-work."
"Huzzah!" was the cheerful answer to this order, and, in a few
moments, several boats were racing for the beach, each eager to be the
first ashore.
As they approached, the antiquated guns on the sand-spit became
strangely silent, and, as the eager raiders rushed valiantly upon the
pirate fortress, no shots were fired at them to impede their progress.
With a wild yell they leaped over the side of the barricade, only to
find it deserted; for whatever had been the force that had fired these
cannon, it had taken to the brush as the English seamen drew near.
Only a few charges of ammunition were there, so it was plainly evident
that the pirates (whatever their strength might have been) could only
have held out for a few more rounds.
"Hurrah! Hurrah!" shouted the raiders. "The fort is ours!"
"And it's a sorry victory," said one of the crew, "for there's nothing
here worth the having, except the cannon, and they couldn't stand more
than two more shots without blowing up. I call it a pretty hollow
success."
In spite of this the men of Charleston were well pleased. They had
dispersed the pirates; taken their fort; and had re-captured a
schooner which had recently been taken only a few miles from the
harbor-mouth of that fair, southern city.
When they sailed into their home port they received a tremendous
ovation. The bells were rung in all the churches; shots were fired;
trumpets were blown.
"We could fall in with nothing that would stay for us upon the seas,"
said Captain Walker, modestly; but, in spite of this, he was treated
like a great hero. All the influential persons in the Colony offered
to sign a request that he might be given the command of a king's ship;
but this he declined. So they tendered him an immense tract of land if
he would remain in that country and drive off the pirates when next
they became too bold and daring; but this he also declined, and stuck
to his ship. In a few weeks he sailed for the Barbadoes, and then to
England, in company with three unarmed trading-vessels which placed
themselves under his convoy. The good people of Charleston bade him a
sad and affectionate farewell.
George Walker sailed forth smiling, but he was now to have far more
trouble than his little affair with the pirates.
When half way to England, a terrific gale struck the _Duke William_
and her convoys, which separated them by many miles, and made this
good vessel (which had dispersed the pirates) leak like a sieve. The
gale continued in its violence, while Captain Walker was so ill that
the ship's surgeon despaired of his life. But note how grit and nerve
pulled him through!
On the second day of the tempest, a sailor rushed into his cabin,
crying:
"Captain! Captain! We'll founder, for the water is pouring into our
bottom by the hogshead. We're gone for unless we take to the boats!"
Captain Walker was not the man to leave his ship in such a crisis.
"Throw all of the guns overboard, but two!" he ordered. "We need those
in order to signal for help if a vessel comes near us. That will
lighten us so that we can still float awhile."
This was done, but, as the last cannon shot into the waves, a sailor
burst into his cabin with the intelligence that the men had prepared
to desert in the tenders.
"Carry me on deck!" roared the resolute captain. "I'll give these
cowards a piece of my mind."
Three sailors seized him and bore him aloft, where he remonstrated
with his men in the strongest language possible. In spite of this,
many clustered about one of the boats.
"The ship's a-sinking," cried one. "She won't stand up for an hour."
As he spoke, the welcome sound of, "Sail ho!" arose, above the wash
and roar of the angry water.
Sure enough, a ship was bearing down upon them, but, to the dismay of
all, she hastily hauled off again.
Captain Walker was astonished. "She thinks us an armed enemy," said
he. "Fire a gun, men, and cut the mizzen-mast in two, so that it falls
overboard. That will show the stranger that we're a friend in
distress."
His orders were immediately obeyed and the mast came ripping and
tearing over the side. A gun also roared, and the stranger, now
convinced that the ship was a friend, and not a foe, came bearing down
upon the crippled _Duke William_, to the rescue.
"She's one of our own convoy!" shouted a seaman, waving his hand
joyfully. And such she proved to be. Captain Walker had saved his crew
by his foresight and quickness of decision. Had he thrown all of his
cannon overboard he would have had no gun with which to hail the
stranger, and, had he not cut away his own mast, she would have gone
away, fearful that he was an enemy. Three cheers for the brave and
thoughtful Captain Walker! He reached England, at last, but he and his
men were in a sorry plight, for the vessel which had rescued them was
almost as unseaworthy as their own, which sank in a great whirl of
eddying foam, not half an hour after they had left her. Thus ended the
career of the good ship which had chased all of the pirates away from
the harbor of Charleston. A sad fate, indeed, for such a gallant
craft.