THE PICAROON.
"Guert," said Vine Avery, as they stood together, with their backs
against the main boom of the _Noank_, "what do you think of this?"
"Think?" said Guert. "Well! It's the first time I ever saw summer in
winter."
"They're having good sleighing in New London," said Vine. "Skating,
too."
"Guess so," said Guert. "I wish my mother were here, and Rachel Tarns
with her. They'd enjoy this."
"My mother's made two West India trips," replied Vine. "She knows all
about it. Likes it, too."
"It's the laziest kind of cruising, though," said Guert. "We've dodged
away from some sails, and we've run after some, but we haven't taken
anything."
"Our chances'll come, boys," put in Captain Avery himself, as he came
strolling along the deck. "Not just 'bout here, maybe. Yonder on the
easterly Bahamas. Not many British traders are likely to be met
hereaway."
"What are we here for, then, father?" asked Vine. "What's your
notions?"
"We had to," said the captain. "The Frenchman we spoke, told me the
Florida Channel's alive with British cruisers. We sighted two of 'em,
you know, and had to run for it."
"Where next?" asked Vine.
"We'll take a course toward Porto Rico," said his father; "then up the
coast of Cuba. We'll try the Bahama Channel, and the Santaren, and the
Nicholas. I want to send home some prizes, pretty soon, on British
account."
Day after day, the _Noank_ had been hunting, hunting, farther and
farther into the southern sea, through good weather and bad. All the
while Guert Ten Eyck had been at school. Up-na-tan had laboriously
tried to teach him whatever he himself knew about guns, large and
small. The other sailors had done their duty by him, concerning ropes
and sails and points of seamanship. Captain Avery had driven him hard
at his books on navigation. Therefore, if the cruising had been more
or less lazy business for others, it had contained a good deal of hard
work for the young sea apprentice. He was in a fair way to be made a
good sailor of, and to be ready in due season to handle a ship.
"What you want most," Captain Avery had said, "is a long v'y'ge on a
square-rigged vessel, under a hard captain. I'll find a chance for you
one o' these days. You can't learn everything on board a schooner."
That idea was growing steadily in Guert's mind, and he now and then
found himself dreaming of all sorts of perilous cruises in great
American three-masters. By these splendid ships of his imagination,
all of which were as yet unlaunched from any shipyard, the best keels
of England were to be met and beaten. He was to command one of them,
and was to become a captain first, and then a commodore. It was all an
entirely natural young sailor's ambition, but it was looking far away
into the future of his country. All it was good for now was the help
it gave him in his pretty severe schooling.
Just at this present hour, leaning against the boom and gazing at the
low coast line of the islands, he was calling to mind the many yarns he
had heard concerning them. He had read about them, a little. He knew
how they had been discovered by the Spaniards, and then taken from
them, part of them, by the English and the French. He knew how the
Carib natives had been slaughtered, and he had heard, from Coco in
particular, of the horrible manner in which the tobacco and sugar
plantations had been provided with African slaves.
Vine, too, was thinking, but of a very different matter.
"Guert," he said, "away out yonder, easterly, there's the queerest
patch in all the Atlantic. It's where all the loose seaweed and
driftwood and wreckage float together. There are currents that whirl
in there and make a centre of it. More and more seaweed and other
plants grow on that stuff year after year, and it's all a kind of swamp
on the surface, with deep water under it. They call it the Sargasso
Sea. We were swept into the edges of it, once, and it took a fresh
breeze to pull us out. I don't just know if a craft like this could
plow her way across it."
"I guess she could," said Guert, "but I don't want to try. What I want
to see is Cuba and Porto Rico."
Away beyond them, hardly visible in the distance, was a tree-covered
point of land. Captain Avery was studying it through his telescope,
and they heard him mutter to himself:--
"I don't know whether or not that is Watling's Island. If it is, we've
made a better run on this tack than I thought we had. One good, long
reach beyond that and we'll begin to be in the track of the traders."
"Whoo-oop!" suddenly rang out the war-cry of Up-na-tan, from somewhere
up the mainmast.
"Where away?" shouted the captain. "What do you see?"
"No see!" came down from the redskin. "Hark! Hear gun! Hark ahead!
See point! More gun!"
His ears had been better than theirs, but, after a moment of intense
listening, the entire ship's company of the _Noank_ felt sure that they
heard the dull boom of far-away cannon.
Every sail was already set to take so fair and fresh a wind, and the
swift schooner was eating up the distance rapidly.
"All hands make ready for action!" shouted the captain. "Risk or no
risk, I'm goin' to see what it is."
His orders went out fast, but they went to the ears of men who had
sprung away without them. All the guns had been manned instantly.
Coco and Guert and half a dozen more were at the pivot-gun, but
Up-na-tan did not come down at once. The captain's order kept him
aloft as the best lookout and listener he had. Louder, now, at
intervals, came the ominous sound of the distant guns.
"No big gun yet," called down the keen-eared Indian. "No big war-ship.
_Noank_ run right along."
"The chief is worth his weight in gold!" exclaimed the captain.
"That's jest what I wanted to know, before roundin' that there p'int.
I don't care to run under the guns of a British cruiser."
Ships which are running toward each other under full sail cut every
mile in two in the middle. For instance, they need to run only two
miles instead of four to get together. There was a dense forest growth
on the point of Watling's Island, if that were indeed the land to
windward, for the breeze was westerly. Everything beyond was hidden
from view until the _Noank_ passed the outer reef and tacked seaward,
running almost wing and wing.
"Whoo-oop!" came fiercely down from the red man's perch. "'Panish
flag. Three-master. Trader. Not many gun. Whoop! Whoop! Whoop!
Kidd! Kidd! Black flag schooner! Pirate! Not so big as _Noank_.
Small gun! Take her quick! Kill 'em all! Whoo-oop!"
"Hurrah!" arose in a general roar from the crew of the _Noank_, more
than one voice adding, vociferously, the desire that was felt to smash
the picaroon.
"Ready, all, now!" sang out Captain Avery. "The American flag is
against the black flag, the world over. We'll fight it, every time!"
Fierce shouts of eagerness replied to him, and the men were stripping
themselves for a hard fight. The very most of clothing that was
actually needed under that hot sun, by men who were to handle cannon,
was a shirt and trousers, and many of the brawny backs were even bare.
Muskets, pikes, pistols, cutlasses, were bringing up from below.
Ammunition, plenty of it, was serving out to all the guns, and now, as
the point of land was left to starboard, all eyes could see what kind
of work had been cut out for the privateer.
The Spaniard, as her flag declared her, was a three-master of,
probably, not more than six hundred tons. She was crowding all sail,
but she was evidently heavily laden.
"She has too much cargo for good runnin'," growled Sam Prentice. "That
buccaneer has the heels of her."
"What's worse'n that," said the captain, "she has nothin' but popguns
to fight him with. He won't sink her, though. What he wants is to run
along side and board her."
"Then it'll be good-by to every livin' soul that's in her," said the
mate. "We'll jest put a stopper on all that!"
"Up-na-tan," shouted the captain, "come down to your gun! We shall be
in fair range in three minutes. Then give it to 'em as fast as you can
load and fire."
"Ugh!" was all the response they heard, and the Manhattan warrior came
down so swiftly that he was at his gun almost before they knew it.
There was a pitiful scene, just then, on board the unlucky Spaniard.
She had many passengers as well as much cargo. Women and children were
crouching in terror upon her deck, or hiding hopelessly away in her
cabins. Fathers and mothers, sisters and brothers, were gazing in
awful despair at the horrible black flag of murder and ruin, which was
so evidently nearing them, minute after minute.
"The _Santa Teresa_ is doomed!" groaned the Spanish captain, and then
he raised his voice to shout courageously: "Men! we will fight to the
last! We'd better go to the bottom, than to let those devils get on
board!"
"We'd better die fighting, than stand still to have our throats cut, or
to walk the plank!" came back to him from among the men.
Even the women begged for weapons. There were boys and girls who were
fiercely handling firearms, and swords, and pikes. Numerous as might
be the buccaneers, they were likely to win a costly victory upon the
deck of the _Santa Teresa_.
"There goes our mizzenmast," called out her mate to the captain.
"We've no chance left, now!"
"We never had any, Roderigo," replied the captain. "O God! Here they
come!"
"Ho! Captain Velasquez!" came from the man at the wheel. "A sail to
larboard! A schooner!"
"A Yankee flag!" said Mate Roderigo. "Captain! She's heading this
way!"
"Alas!" mourned the captain. "What can a Yankee sugar-boat do for us?"
A mournful wail went up from his women passengers as they heard him,
but a tall gentleman near him touched his elbow.
"Captain!" he said, "look again. That American does not seem to fear
the black flag. See! She is coming on full sail. What can it mean?"
"Perhaps she does not yet know what they are, Senor Alvarez," sadly
responded the captain. "She will be as hopelessly lost as we are."
So thought the buccaneer captain himself, at that moment, for he and
his hideous crew were already rejoicing over two triumphs to come
instead of one, and a second feast of bloodshed after taking the
Spaniard.
The black flag commander was a short, thin, tiger-faced man. He was
gaudily dressed, as were also some who seemed to be his lieutenants.
As for his crew, they were of all sorts. They were the offscourings of
several nations, including Englishmen, French, Dutch, and Africans.
They were at this moment yelling savagely, as they loaded and fired
their guns. Not one of these was larger than a short six-pounder,
although there was an absurd number of them, considering the size of
the vessel. She was schooner-rigged, but she was much more lightly
constructed than the _Noank_. Her breadth of beam was somewhat
greater, and she might be speedy. Precisely such craft were sometimes
built for the slave trade. They were expected to carry only human
cargoes, as a rule, and to make swift runs from African slave
barracoons to American markets. Delays in such voyages implied heavy
losses of black captives who would surely die in the hold.
"We will take the Yankee schooner first," was the decision of the
pirate captain. "We must cripple the Spaniard, so she cannot get away.
Two prizes are better than one. We need that schooner yonder, for our
own trade."
Loud laughs and jeers replied to him from many scores of throats, for
the buccaneer _Leon_ was positively over-thronged with sea-wolves.
"Steady with the helm there!" rang out on board the _Noank_, as she
arose like a duck upon the crest of a long sea.
"Ugh!" said Up-na-tan, as the sheet of flame sprang from the brazen
lips of his long eighteen. "Whoop!"
"Struck her!" exclaimed Captain Avery. "That was a good shot!"
"Between wind and water!" shouted Sam Prentice, studying the pirate
through his glass. "It took her as she heeled, and it knocked a hole
in her you could roll a barrel through."
Whether or not any bodily harm had been done to any pirate, a chorus of
astonished yells and imprecations went up from her crowded deck. All
the ears there could hear and understand the crash of timbers under
them, which had followed close upon the good shot of Up-na-tan.
"Praise God!" gasped the captain of the _Santa Teresa_. "Oh! Senor
Alvarez! I never thought of that. It is one of the new American
colonial cruisers. They carry heavy guns. Their men are as brave as
lions. All the saints be merciful and help them to shoot straight!"
"Amen!" groaned the senor. "Laura! My dear wife! The Americans are
armed! We have some hope!"
Down upon their knees, as if with one accord, dropped all the
despairing women and not a few of the men, the children grouping
frantically around their mothers. Loud and earnest were the hurried
supplications and bitter was the wailing.
Up-na-tan had not the least idea that he or his gunnery were being
prayed for, but he sent his next shot as truly as the first. He aimed
at her hull, as near amidships as might be. It was no fault of his
that a slight roll of the _Noank_ lifted his line of fire so that his
flying iron struck the mainmast of the _Leon_ instead of her ribs. The
tall spar was shattered and went over the lee rail with all its top
hamper, carrying with it several of the pirate crew who were aloft.
That stunning success of the old warrior was greeted with a storm of
wild cheering from the crews of the _Noank_ and the _Santa Teresa_,
while more than one woman's voice declared: "Praise God and all the
saints! Our prayers are heard!"
The remark of Captain Velasquez was more seamanlike than religious.
"Santo Domingo!" he exclaimed. "That cripples them! The villains can
come no nearer. They are at the mercy of that American. God bless
her! Why does she not use her broadside guns?"
She was not quite ready yet. It was better to ply her long eighteen
and keep well away from any harm to her hull or rigging by the
short-range pieces of the _Leon_.
"Give it to 'em!" said Captain Avery to Up-na-tan. "Make every shot
tell. Now for it, men! Ready with the port broadside! A minute more!
Don't miss, for your lives!"
The swift rush onward of the schooner brought her near enough, even
while he was giving his orders, and her six-pounders were worked by
very good marine marksmen. The pirates were helpless, and the
broadside of the _Noank_ ploughed among them with deadly effect. A
second quickly followed, and still she was drawing nearer.
"No surrender!" shouted the pirate captain. "We'll put the Spaniard
between us and the American. We must board her! That'll stop their
firing. Give it to her!"
There was something like good seamanship in his proposition if he could
have carried it out, but Sam Prentice was at the helm of the _Noank_,
and he instantly detected the intended manoeuvre.
"Sam!" shouted Captain Avery, as his schooner began to change her
course. "Port your helm! Keep her well away! Carry her out o' range!
Don't let 'em knock a splinter out of us!"
"All right, Lyme," responded Sam. "But let's rake 'em. They're losin'
steerage way with all that wreckage draggin'. The redskin has hulled
'em ag'in. Let's cross their bows."
"Go ahead! I'm agreed!" called back the captain. "Not too near,
though."
His careful keeping away was to have an important consequence that he
did not think of. All was confusion on board the _Leon_, after those
broadsides came. Her crew were frantically striving to cut loose the
towing wreckage and bring their craft once more to the wind, while, as
fast as Up-na-tan and his fellow-gunners could load and fire, the
destruction was increasing.
"What's that?" screeched the pirate captain, in reply to one of his
crew. "We are sinking, are we? Boats! To the boats! They shall
never take us alive. Boats, and board the Spaniard!"
Capture meant only death without mercy, as all of them knew, and some
of the cooler miscreants had already begun to get ready the boats. Of
these there were four, and the largest of them had been hanging at the
davits, ready for lowering.
"Sam," said Captain Avery, soberly, "not one of those fellows must git
away. Mercy to them is cruelty to everybody else. If I spare a
pirate, I'll feel as if I was murderin' the next man or woman he puts a
knife into."
"That's about the way I feel," said Sam; "but I ain't an executioner."
The Spaniards themselves had been doing something with the guns of the
_Santa Teresa_, such as they were, old-fashioned, clumsily mounted,
short-range, light pieces. Only a few of her crew and none of her
passengers had been killed or wounded. There had been no report of
them made in the general excitement and despondency.
It was almost too soon for any enthusiastic rejoicing, for hardly any
one felt sure of deliverance. It was almost as if the wonderful Yankee
privateer had fallen from the skies. She and her operations were
calling forth tremendous admiration, however, and there was plenty of
genuine piety in the fervent thanksgivings that were uttered.
"Stop firing!" commanded Captain Avery, less than a quarter of an hour
later. "That black flag feller is careenin'! She's fillin'! I
declare, she must ha' been a mere shell. The _Noank's_ timbers'd ha'
stood a heavier poundin' than that."
"It was pretty heavy pounding, Lyme," replied Sam Prentice. "Our
timbers are good, but we don't care to be struck at short range. Not
by heavy shot, anyhow. You see, that redskin jest plugged her every
time. Some of his hits must ha' gone clean through."
"Used her up, anyhow," said the captain.
"Guert," said Up-na-tan to his pupil in the science of gunnery, "good!
Boy aim twice. No miss. Boy make good gunner some day."
It was just so. The Manhattan had indulgently promised Guert to do
some actual battle practice, and had made him as proud as a peacock.
It was true that he had fired under close supervision and direction,
but it had been a valuable teaching, and Guert almost believed that he
could have done it all alone--with the right kind of men to handle the
pivot-gun for him.
"Boy good eye," said Up-na-tan. "Hold hand steady. Hit mark. Ugh!"
Over, over, over, rapidly leaned the shattered hull of the _Leon_, the
water pouring into her through the gaps in her starboard side. Down
from her had dropped boat after boat, to be crowded with her surviving
wolves, no effort being made by them to save any of their wounded
companions. She had now drifted into pretty close neighborhood with
the _Santa Teresa_, and a wild shout went up as the boats pulled away.
"Board the Spaniard!" cried her captain.
It was the last resource of utter desperation, and they might even now
have succeeded in gaining possession of the _Santa Teresa_ if she had
been unassisted.
"Stand by your guns, men!" shouted Captain Velasquez. "Let them have
it as they come!"
"Steady about," said Captain Avery to the steersman of the _Noank_, "we
must take care o' those boats. Oh! how I wish we were nearer! Give it
to 'em!"
"Ay, ay, sir!" came back from his gunners, "but the Spaniard's in the
way. As soon as we clear her--"
"Down with the mainsail! Haul on that jib! Port! Here we come!"
It was not round shot this time. The long sixes had been glutted with
grape-shot, and so had the pivot-gun. The Spanish cannon, hastily
fired by excited men, had done some execution, but not one of the
buccaneer boats had been disabled. The foremost of them was within ten
fathoms of the _Santa Teresa_, and the swarm of murderers would have
been over her bulwarks in another minute, when past her port quarter
swept the Yankee privateer.
Bang, bang, bang, as fast as they were brought to bear, spoke out her
three guns of that broadside, and Up-na-tan's eighteen-pounder. Then
she seemed to come about like a top, somewhat increasing her distance.
Three more successive reports, and then where were the picaroons?
Muskets and pistols were hurling lead among them from the deck of the
Spanish trader. A shot from one of her guns had knocked out the stern
of the largest boat. All that, however, had been of small account
compared to the effect of that tempest of grapeshot. The boat crews
withered away before it, and two of the boats themselves were upset in
the panic that followed, while the fourth was evidently sinking. Black
heads dotted the water, and a shriek from one of them brought a sharp,
quick exclamation from Coco.
"Shark! Shark!" he yelled. "See back fin! Twenty of 'em! See 'em!
Shark take 'em all!"
"Father," exclaimed Vine Avery, "that's awful! Can't we save some of
them?"
"Too late!" said the captain. "Not a man, I'm afraid. Jest look how
they're goin' down! It's a reg'lar school o' sharks. They're bitin'
fast. We'll go about, though, and we'll pick up any that are left."
The Spaniards continued firing while their American friends sped on and
came back on the other tack. Every boat had now been upset or
shattered and the sharks were having their own way with the picaroons.
"Here comes one of 'em, Captain Avery," said Guert. "I'll try and save
him!"
"Throw him a rope," said the captain; and Guert quickly had the help of
Vine and another sailor.
"Quick!" said Guert. "Don't let the sharks get him. I'd give anything
to save a man from them!"
"He's caught the rope," replied Vine. "Haul him in! We've got him."
Close behind him, or rather under him, as he came dripping over the
rail, was a huge pair of snapping jaws that barely missed him. He
fell, at first, and then his rescuers themselves were astonished. He
did not say a word to them, but dropped at once upon his knees, and
began to pour out thanks to the Virgin Mary, like a good Catholic.
[Illustration: A NARROW ESCAPE. "As he came over the rail, a huge pair
of jaws barely missed him.]
"Let him," said Sam Prentice. "Some o' these cutthroats are awful
pious."
"Yes," said Guert, "but he is praying in Dutch, and he mixes it up with
English. I can't tell what he is."
"There she goes!" shouted a dozen voices at that moment, and all turned
to look.
It was only a last lurch and a plunge, and all that was left of the
pirate _Leon_ sank forever out of sight. The heads of her crew had
also disappeared from the surface of the water, and the career of one
of the terrors of the sea was ended.