ELIZABETHAN SEAMEN AND TURKISH PIRATES
But a much more adventurous voyage was that of a ship called _The Three
Half Moones_, which, with a crew of thirty-eight men and well found
in arms—“the better to encounter their enemies withall”—set out from
Portsmouth in the year 1563.
In some ways the story reads like mere romance, but it has been so
thoroughly well-vouched for that there is not a particle of suspicion
connected with it. Having set forth bound for the south of Spain they
arrived near the Straits of Gibraltar, when they found themselves
surrounded by eight Turkish galleys. (It should be mentioned that the
Elizabethans used the word Turk somewhat loosely to mean Moslems.) It
was rapidly made clear that only two alternatives were possible. Flight
was out of the question, and either the _Aucher_ must fight to a finish
or she must be sunk. But being English and a gallant crew, they decided
to fight. Now, amongst those on board were the owner, the master, the
master’s mate, the boatswain, the purser and the gunner as officers.
When their desperate situation was realised, the owner exhorted his men
to behave valiantly, to be brave, and to bear a reverse with resignation.
Then, falling on their knees, they all commended themselves to God and
prepared for the fight. “Then stood up one Grove, the master, being
a comely man, with his sword and target, holding them up in defiance
against his enemies. So likewise stood up the Owner, the Master’s mate,
Boatswaine, Purser, and every man well appointed. Nowe likewise sounded
up the drums, trumpets and flutes, which would have encouraged any man,
had he never so litle heart or courage in him.” But next let us introduce
to the reader John Foxe, the ship’s gunner, a man of marvellous resource,
as we will see presently. Foxe saw that the guns were arranged to the
best effect and that the Turks were receiving a hot fire. But three times
as fast as the English shot came the infidel’s fire, and the fight raged
furiously with eight galleys to one big ship. The Turks advanced, and
then came the time for the English bowmen to let fly their arrows, which
fell thickly among the rowers. Simultaneously the English poured out from
their guns a hotter fire than ever, and the Turks fell like ninepins. But
meanwhile the _Aucher_ was receiving serious damage below her waterline,
and this the Turks seeing, the infidels endeavoured now to board the
ship. As they leapt on board many of them fell never again to rise, the
others engaging in a tremendous conflict on the _Aucher’s_ deck. “For
the Englishmen,” writes the narrator in fine, robustous Elizabethan
language, “shewed themselves men in deed, in working manfully with their
browne bills and halbardes: where the owner, master, boateswaine, and
their company stoode to it lustily, that the Turkes were halfe dismaied.
But chiefly the boateswaine shewed himself valiant above the rest: for
he fared amongst the Turkes like a wood Lion: for there was none of them
that either could or durst stand in his face, till at the last there came
a shot from the Turkes, which brake his whistle asunder, and smote him
on the brest, so that he fell downe, bidding them farewell, and to be of
good comfort, encouraging them likewise to winne praise by death, rather
than to live captives in misery and shame.”
[Illustration: GALLANTRY AGAINST ODDS
The Englishmen showed themselves men indeed against the Moors, especially
the boatswain, who was brought down by a bullet in his chest. But
overcome by numbers the brave crew were overwhelmed, and the survivors
condemned to the oars.]
Such was the fine gallantry of these brave men, but they were fighting
against heavy odds. The Turks pressed them sorely, and not one of the
company but behaved as a man, except the master’s mate “who shrunke from
the skirmish, like a notable coward, esteeming neither the valure of his
name, nor accounting of the present example of his fellowes, nor having
respect to the miseries, whereunto he should be put.” The rest of the
crew covered themselves with glory, but at length it was of no avail,
for the Turks won the day. Then, in accordance with the historic custom
of the sea, the crew of the _Aucher_ were placed in the galleys, set to
row at the oars “and they were no sooner in them, but their garments were
pulled over their eares, and torne from their backes,” for the galley
slave was always condemned to row stark naked.
At length the galleys reached their stronghold at the port of Alexandria,
which was well protected in those days by means of fortifications. The
reader will recollect that it was stated some time back that the sailing
season was confined only to the late spring and summer, and that in
the winter the ships were laid up. The close time now approaching, the
Christian prisoners were brought ashore at Alexandria and cast into
prison until the time came round again for the season of piracy. At this
port, says the Elizabethan chronicler, “the Turkes doe customably bring
their gallies on shoare every yeere, in the winter season, and there doe
trimme them, and lay them up against the spring time. In which road there
is a prison, wherein the captives and such prisoners as serve in the
gallies, are put for all that time, untill the seas be calme and passable
for the gallies, every prisoner being most grievously laden with irons on
their legges, to their great paine.”
So the voyage of the _Aucher_ had come to a tragic ending. But after a
time the news of this incident evidently reached England, for both the
master and the owner were ransomed by their friends from their prison.
The rest had to bear their ill-treatment and semi-starvation as best they
would. But he who bore it all with wonderful endurance was the gunner
John Foxe and “being somewhat skilfull in the craft of a Barbour, by
reason thereof made great shift in helping his fare now and then with a
good meale.” In the course of time the keeper of the prison became rather
fond of him and allowed him special privileges, so that he could walk as
far as the sea and back when he liked, but he was warned always to return
by night, and he was never allowed to go about without his shackles
on his legs. Later on, six more of the prisoners were allowed a like
privilege.
The life sped wearily on, and now, for fourteen sorry years, this durance
vile had continued. It was the year 1577, and the winter season had come
round again and the galleys drawn up the beach. The masts and sails
thereof were brought ashore and properly housed till once more the spring
should return, and the Turkish masters and mariners were now “nested in
their own homes,” as the narrative quaintly words it. The galley-slaves
had again resumed their long bondage ashore, and now there were no fewer
than 268 wretched Christians there, languishing in captivity, having been
captured from sixteen different nations. It was then that John Foxe,
man of resource that he was, resolved that escape must be made and his
fellow-prisoners also released. If you consider such a project as the
release of nearly 300 prisoners from the hands of these Turkish pirates,
the idea seems entirely impracticable and utterly visionary.
To John Foxe, however, it seemed otherwise, and this is how he set to
work. After pondering over a method for a very long time and saying many
prayers that his scheme might be successful, he betook himself to a
fellow-prisoner—a Spanish Christian—named Peter Unticaro, who had been in
captivity no less than thirty years. This man was lodged in “a certaine
victualling house” near the roadstead. He had never attempted escape
during all those years, so was treated with less suspicion and trusted.
Foxe and Unticaro had often discussed their bondage, however, and at last
the Englishman took the risk of making him his confidant, and also one
other fellow-prisoner. These three men put their heads together, and Foxe
unfolded a method of escape. Their chances of meeting were but few and
short, but at the end of seven weeks they had been able to agree on a
definite plan. Five more prisoners were now taken into their confidence
whom they thought they could safely trust.
The last day of the old year came round, and these eight men agreed to
meet in the prison and inform the rest of the prisoners of the plan.
On the 31st of December, then, this was done. It needed but little
persuasion to cause these two hundred odd to join in the scheme, and
Foxe having “delivered unto them a sort of files, which he had gathered
together for this purpose, by the meanes of Peter Unticaro,” admonished
them to be ready at eight o’clock the next night with their fetters filed
through. So on the next day Foxe, with his six companions, resorted to
the house of Peter Unticaro. In order to prevent any suspicions of a
dark deed, they spent the time in mirth till the night came on and the
hour of eight drew nigh. Foxe then sent Unticaro to the keeper of the
road, pretending that he had been sent by one of the Turkish officials,
ordering him to come at once. The keeper promptly came, and before doing
so, told the warders not to bar the gate as he should not be long away.
In the meantime the other seven prisoners had been able to arm themselves
with the best weapons they could find in the house of the Spaniard, and
John Foxe was able to lay his hands on a rusty old sword blade “without
either hilt or pomell,” but he managed to make it effective. By now the
keeper had arrived, but as soon as he came to the house and saw it silent
and in darkness he began to be suspicious. John Foxe was ready for him,
and before the keeper had retraced his steps more than a few yards, the
Englishman sprang out, and, calling him a villain and “a bloodsucker
of many a Christian’s blood, lift up his bright shining sword of tenne
yeeres rust” and killed him on the spot. They then marched quietly in
the direction of the warders of the road and quickly dispatched these
six officials. Foxe then barred the gate and put a cannon against it to
prevent pursuit. So far all had worked with remarkable smoothness. They
next proceeded to the gaoler’s lodge, where they found the keys of the
fortress and prison by his bedside. They also found some better weapons
than the arms they were using. But there was also a chest full of ducats.
To three of the party this wonderful sight proved irresistible. Foxe
would not have anything to do with the money for “that it was his and
their libertie which he sought for, to the honour of his God, and not to
make a marte of the wicked treasure of the Infidels.” But Unticaro and
two others helped themselves liberally, and concealed the money between
their skin and their shirt.
These eight men, armed with the keys, now came to the prison, whose doors
they opened. The captives were ready and waiting. Foxe called on them to
do their share, and the whole band—between two and three hundred—poured
forth. To each section did Foxe bestow some duty. The eight prison
warders were put to death, but some of the prisoners Foxe had wisely sent
down to the water, where they got ready for sea the best galley, called
the _Captain of Alexandria_. Whilst some were getting her launched,
others were rushing about bringing her masts and sails and oars and the
rest of her inventory from the winter quarters. The whole place was
seething with suppressed excitement. Meanwhile there was a warm contest
going on at the prison before all the warders were slain. The latter had
fled to the top of the prison, and Foxe with his companions went after
them with ladders. Blood and slaughter were all round them. Three times
was Foxe shot, but by a miracle the shot only passed through his clothing
on each occasion. But, as if by way of punishment for their greed,
Unticaro and his two companions who had taken the ducats were killed
outright, being “not able to weild themselves, being so pestered with the
weight and uneasie carrying of the wicked and prophane treasure.”
In this conflict one of the Turks was run through with a sword and,
not yet dead, fell from the top of the prison wall to the ground. Such
a noise did he then begin to make that the alarm was raised, and the
authorities were amazed to find the Christian prisoners were “paying
their ransoms” by dealing death to their late masters. Alexandria was
now roused, and both a certain castle as well as a strong fortress were
bestirring themselves to action. It seemed as if the prisoners, after
all their years of suffering, after having brought about so gallant an
escape, were now to fail just as victory was well in sight. It was
a saddening thought. But there was one road of escape and one only.
Whilst some of the prisoners were still running down to the sea carrying
munitions, some additional oars, victuals and whatever else were required
for the galleys, others were getting ready for pushing off. The last of
the Christians leapt aboard, the final touch was given to the gear, and
up went the yards and the sails were unloosed. There was a good breeze
and this, the swiftest and best of all Alexandria’s ships, was speeding
on at a good pace. But ashore the Turks have already got to their guns,
and the roar of cannon is heard from both the castle and fortress. The
sea is splashing everywhere with Turkish ball and the smoke is swept by
the breeze off the shore. Five and forty times did these guns fire and
never once did a shot so much as graze the galley, although she could see
the splashes all around her.
On and still on sailed this long, lean galley, increasing her speed all
the time, till at length, by God’s mercy, she, with her long-suffering
crew, who by years of involuntary training had learnt to handle her to
perfection, were at last out of range of any Turkish cannon. In the
distance they could see their late masters coming down to the beach “like
unto a swarme of bees,” and bustling about in a futile endeavour to
get their other galleys ready for the sea. But it was of little avail.
The Christians had long been preparing for flight in the _Captain_, so
the Turks found it took an unbearable time in seeing out the oars and
masts, and cables and everything else necessary to a galley’s inventory
lying hidden away in winter quarters. They had never suspected such a
well-planned escape as this. Nothing was ready; all was confusion. And
even when the galleys were at last launched and rigged, the weather was
so boisterous, there was such a strong wind that no man cared about
taking charge of these fine-weather craft just at that time.
So the escaping galley got right away, and then, as soon as they were
a safe distance away, Foxe summoned his men to do what Nelson was to
perform less than three centuries later at almost this very spot. You
remember how, after the glorious battle of the Nile, when the British
fleet had obtained such a grand victory over the French, Nelson sent
orders through the fleet to return thanksgiving to Almighty God for the
result of the battle. All work was stopped, and men who had spent the
whole night risking death and fighting for their lives, dishevelled and
dirty with sweat and grime, now stood bareheaded and rendered their
thanks. So it was now on the galley _Captain_. Foxe “called to them all,
willing them to be thankfull unto Almighty God for their deliverie, and
most humbly to fall downe upon their knees, beseeching Him to aide them
unto their friends’ land, and not to bring them into an other daunger,
sith Hee had most mightily delivered them from so great a thraldome and
bondage.” It must have been a momentous occasion. Men who, after being
prisoners for thirty years and less, men who had just come through a
night of wild excitement, men who had fought with their arms and sweated
hard to get their galley ready for sea, men who even at the last minute
had barely escaped being blown into eternity by the Turkish cannon, now
halted in their work and made their thanksgiving, whilst most of them
hardly could realise that at length they were free men and the time of
their tribulation was at an end.
And then they resumed their rowing, and instead of working till they
dropped for faintness, each man helped his neighbour when weariness was
stealing over the oarsmen. Never did a more united ship’s company put to
sea. One object alone did they all possess—to come to some Christian
land with the least possible delay. They had no charts, but Foxe and his
English fellow-seamen knew something about astronomy, and by studying the
stars in the heavens they roughly guessed the direction in which they
ought to steer.
With such haphazard navigation, however, they soon lost their position
when variable winds sprang up. Those light-draught ships made a good deal
of leeway, and as the wind had been from so many points of the compass
“they were now in a new maze.” But troubles do not come singly: they were
further troubled by their victuals giving out, so that it seemed as if
they had escaped from one form of punishment only to fall into a worse
kind of hardship. As many as eight died of starvation, but at last, on
the twenty-ninth day after leaving Alexandria, the others picked up the
land again and found it was the island of Candia. Their distance made
good had thus been about 350 miles north-west, which works out at about
twelve miles a day. But though this is ridiculously small it must be
borne in mind that their courses were many and devious, that to row for
twenty-nine consecutive days was a terrible trial for human endurance,
and latterly they were rowing with empty stomachs. They came at length
to Gallipoli in Candia and landed. Here the good abbot and monks of the
Convent of Amerciates received them with welcome and treated them with
every Christian hospitality. They refreshed these poor voyagers and
attended to their wants until well enough to resume their travels. Two
hundred and fifty-eight had survived, and good nourishment, with kindly
treatment on land, restored their health and vigour.
We need not attempt to suggest the warmth of the welcome which these poor
prisoners received and the congratulations which were showered upon
them in having escaped from the hands of the Turks. It was in itself a
remarkable achievement that so many had come out alive. As a token and
remembrance of this miraculous escape Foxe left behind as a present to
the monks the sword with which the Englishman had slain the keeper of
the prison. Esteeming it a precious jewel it remained hanging up in a
place of honour in the monastery. When the time came for the _Captain_
to get under way again, she coasted till she arrived at Tarento (in the
heel of Italy) and so concluded their voyage. They were once again in a
Christian land and away from their oppressors. The galley they sold at
this port and immediately started to walk on foot to Naples. Yes, they
had escaped, but by how little may be gathered from the fact that the
Christians having started their long walk in the morning, there arrived
that self-same night seven Turkish galleys. But the latter were too late:
their captives were now inland.
Having reached Naples without further adventure, the Christians separated
and, according to his nationality, made for their distant homes. But
Foxe proceeded first to Rome, arriving there one Easter Eve, where he
was well entertained by an Englishman who brought the news of this
wonderful escape to the notice of the Pope. Foxe was without any means
of livelihood, and it was a long way to walk to the English Channel,
so he determined to try his luck in Spain. The Pope treated the poor
man with every consideration, and sent him on his journey with a letter
to the King of Spain. “We, in his behalf, do in the bowels of Christ
desire you,” wrote His Holiness, “that, taking compassion of his former
captivity and present penury, you do not only suffer him freely to
pass throughout your cities and towns, but also succour him with your
charitable alms, the reward whereof you shall hereafter most assuredly
receive.”
Leaving Rome in April 1577, Foxe arrived in Spain apparently the
following August. The Spanish king appointed him to the office of gunner
in the royal galleys at a salary of eight ducats a month. Here he
remained for about two years, and then, feeling homesick, returned to
England in 1579. “Who being come into England,” as we read in Hakluyt,
“went unto the Court, and shewed all his travell unto the Councell: who,
considering of the state of this man, in that hee had spent and lost a
great part of his youth in thraldome and bondage, extended to him their
liberalitie, to helpe to maintaine him now in age, to their right honour,
and to the incouragement of all true heartied Christians.”
Such, then, was the happy ending to Foxe’s travels sixteen years after
his ship had set forth from Portsmouth. He had shown himself not merely
to be a man of exceptional physical endurance, but a man of considerable
resource and a born leader of men in times of crisis and despair We may
well relish the memory of such a fine character.