THE EXPLOITS OF CAPTAIN AVERY
If the sixteenth century was the “grand” period of the Moslem corsairs
of the Mediterranean, the eighteenth will ever remain memorable for the
manifold activities of those English seamen who took to piracy as a far
more remunerative profession than carrying freights. If we look for any
explanation of this, I think it is not far to seek.
You have to take into consideration several points. Firstly, it seems
to me, in all phases whether political or otherwise, whether concerned
with the sea or with land affairs, you must get at personal and national
character—the very fount and origin of all human energies. Whatever
else the seventeenth century was, it was not a very distinguished era.
There were, of course, exceptions, but speaking broadly, it was a
most disappointing period. Morally it was corrupt, politically it was
degenerate, and artistically it was insincere and pompous. You have only
to read the history of that period in its various aspects to realise
this. This was the time when the reaction after the Puritan period had
led to a dereliction of high principles, when intrigue and bribery had
made such an onslaught on political life that votes were bought for
money, that even admirals allowed petty politics to interfere with their
loyalty when fighting at sea the nation’s enemies. Smug respectability
was the dominating high ideal, and there was no greater sin than that of
being found out. High-handed actions by those in power and lawlessness
by those who were covetous of obtaining wealth were significant of this
period. And if you want to realise the humbug and insincerity of the
eighteenth century, you have only to go into the nearest art gallery and
examine the pictures of that period (excepting perhaps some portraiture),
or to read the letters which the men and women wrote, or to read the
books which the educated people of that time esteemed so highly. Religion
and politics, domestic life, art and literature were in an unhealthy
condition.
Now a man, whether a sailor or a politician, or whatever else, is
very largely the child of his age. That is to say, given a lawless,
unprincipled, corrupt period, it is more than likely that any particular
individual will be found to exhibit in his activities the marks of that
age. And therefore, bearing such facts as these in mind, it becomes
perfectly comprehensible that the eighteenth century should have been the
flourishing period of English sea-robbery. Add just one item more—the
continual period of unrest caused by years of international wars and
the rumours of war, and you are not surprised that the call of the sea
was accepted by so many more hundreds of men than ever before in the
history of the nation. But naval wars did not mean merely that more men
were wanted to work the ship which fought our battles; there was such
an encouragement and incentive to skippers and capitalists to undertake
privateering that not even in the Elizabethan age had so many ships and
men taken part in that kind of undertaking. So, instead of privateering
being merely an exceptional activity during an occasional period of
hostilities, it became, owing to long drawn-out wars, a regular,
definite profession. There was in it every opportunity to indulge both
personal and national hatred of the foreigner; to enjoy a series of fine
adventures, and then to return home with an accumulation of glory and
prizes. Side by side with this—and well illustrating the tone of the
age—smuggling had become an almost irrepressible national evil.
In the history of smuggling you not infrequently found that the
preliminary steps to this dishonest livelihood were as follows: First,
the man was employed as an honest fisherman; then, finding this did not
pay him, he became a privateer, or else in the King’s service serving on
board a Revenue cutter. Then, being more anxious for wealth, he threw
in his lot with the very men he had been chasing, and became either an
out-and-out smuggler or else a pirate. For, as has been insisted on
more than once in previous chapters, the line of demarcation between
privateering and piracy, though perfectly visible to lawyers, was
not always sufficiently strong to keep the roving seaman within the
limitations of legal livelihood. In a word, as it is always difficult
suddenly to break a habit, and as this immense body of seamen had so long
been accustomed to earning their money by attacking other ships, so in an
age that had but little respect for what was lawful, it was really not
surprising that dozens of ships put to sea as downright pirates or else
as acknowledged smugglers. In this present volume we are concerned only
with the first of these two classes.
Typical of the period was a notorious Captain Avery, whose doings
became known throughout Europe. There was nothing petty in these
eighteenth-century corsairs. They had in them the attributes which go
to making a great admiral, they were born rulers of men, they were good
strategists, hard fighters, brave and valorous, daring and determined.
But as against this they were tyrannical, cruel and brutal; and, as is so
frequently the case with all men, the acquisition of wealth ruined them,
made them still more overbearing and swollen-headed, so that with no high
principles, no lofty aims, they descended by degrees into debauchery
and callousness. It was a thousand pities in many ways, for these
were magnificent seamen who took their ill-designed, bluff, old tubs
practically all round the world, keeping the sea for months at a time,
and surviving terrible weather and many changes of climate. If these
great disciplinarians had not become tyrants, and if their unquestioned
abilities could have been legitimately employed, they had in them the
ability which has produced great Empire makers, brilliant admirals and
magnificent administrators. But their misfortune consisted in having
belonged to the eighteenth century.
Avery, like many of the world’s greatest seamen, was born in Devonshire,
went to sea when quite young, and rose to the rank of mate in a merchant
ship. It happened that there was a good deal of smuggling going on by the
French of Martinique with the Spaniards of the American colonies. And in
order to put a stop to this, the Spanish Government hired foreigners to
act against the delinquents. A number of Bristol merchants accordingly
fitted out a couple of 30-gun ships, and, well-manned, well-found in
everything, sent them to Corunna to await orders. One of these ships was
commanded by a Captain Gibson, and in the year 1715 Avery happened to
be his mate. The Devonshire man possessed all the traditional seafaring
instincts and that love of adventure for which his county was famous,
and he was evidently not unpopular with the rest of the crew. For after
he had won their confidence, he began to point out to them what immense
riches could be obtained on the Spanish coast, and suggested that they
should throw in their lot with him and run off with the ship. This
suggestion was heartily agreed upon, and it was resolved to make the
attempt the following evening at ten o’clock.
It should be mentioned that Gibson, like many another eighteenth-century
skipper, was rather too fond of his grog, and on the eventful night he
had imbibed somewhat freely and turned into his bunk, instead of going
ashore for his usual refreshment. Those of the crew who were not in the
present plot had also turned in, but the others remained on deck. At
ten o’clock the long-boat from the other ship rowed off to them. Avery
gave her a hail, and the boat answered by the agreed watchword thus. “Is
your drunken boatswain on board?” Avery replied in the affirmative, and
then sixteen able men came on board. The first thing was to secure the
hatches, and then very quietly they hauled up the anchor and put to sea
without making much noise.
After they had been under way some time, the captain awoke from his
drunken sleep and rang his bell. Avery and one other confederate then
went into the cabin. “What’s the matter with the ship?” queried the “old
man.” “Does she drive; what weather is it?” For as he realised she was
on the move he naturally was forced to the conclusion that the ship was
sheering about at her anchor and that a strong wind had sprung up. Avery
quickly reassured him, and incidentally gave his waking mind something of
a shock. “No,” answered the former mate, “no, we’re at sea, with a fair
wind and good weather.” “At sea?” gasped the captain. “How can that be?”
“Come, don’t be in a fright, but put on your clothes, and I’ll let you
into a secret. You must know,” he went on, “that I am captain of this
ship now, and this is my cabin, therefore you must walk out. I am bound
for Madagascar with the design of making my own fortune and that of all
the brave fellows joined with me.”
The captain began to recover his senses and to understand what was being
said, but he was still very frightened. Avery begged him not to be
afraid, and that if he liked to join their confederacy they were willing
to receive him. “If you turn sober, and attend to business, perhaps in
time I may make you one of my lieutenants. If not here’s a boat, and you
shall be set on shore.” Gibson preferred to choose this last alternative,
and the whole crew being called up to know who was willing to go ashore
with the captain, there were only about half a dozen who decided to
accompany him to the land.
So Avery took his ship to Madagascar without making any captures. On
arriving at the north-east portion of the island, he found a couple of
sloops at anchor, but when these espied him they slipped their cables and
ran their ships ashore, while the men rushed inland and hid themselves
in the woods. For these men had guilty consciences. They had stolen the
sloops from the East Indies, and on seeing Avery’s ship arrive they
imagined that he had been sent to punish them. But Avery sent some of
his own men ashore to say that the sloops’ men were his friends, and
suggested that they should form an amalgamation for their common benefit
and safety. The men were well armed and had taken up positions in the
wood, and outposts had been stationed to watch whether they were pursued
ashore.
But when the latter perceived that two or three men were approaching
unarmed, there was no opposition offered, and on learning that they were
friends, the messengers were led to the main body, where they delivered
Avery’s message. At first the fugitives had feared this was just a
stratagem to entrap them, but when they heard that Avery, too, had run
away with his ship, they conferred and decided to throw in their lot. The
next thing was to get the two sloops refloated, and then the trio sailed
towards the Arabian coast. When they arrived at length off the mouths of
the Indus, a man at the masthead espied a sail, so orders were given to
chase. As they came on nearer, the strange vessel was observed to be a
fine tall craft and probably an East Indiaman. But when they came closer
she was found to be far more valuable and more worth fighting.
On firing at her the latter hoisted the colours of the Great Mogul and
seemed prepared to fight the matter out. But Avery declined getting at
close quarters and preferred to bombard from a safe distance, whereupon
some of his men began to suspect that he was not the dashing hero they
had taken him for. But the sloops attacked the strange ship vigorously,
one at the bow and the other on her quarter. After a while they succeeded
in boarding her, when she was now compelled to strike colours. It was
found that she was one of the Great Mogul’s ships, carrying a number
of important members of his court on a pilgrimage to Mecca and most
valuable articles to be offered at the shrine of Mahomet. There were
large quantities of magnificent gold and silver vessels, immense sums of
money, and altogether the plunder was very considerable. Everything of
value having been taken out of her, and the entire treasure having been
transferred on board the three ships, the vessel was permitted to depart.
When at last the ship returned to her home, and the Mogul learned the
news, he was exceedingly wrathful and threatened to send a mighty army
to drive out the English from their settlements along the Indian coast.
This greatly alarmed the East India Company, but the latter managed to
calm him down by promising to send ships after the robbers and deliver
him into their hands. The incident caused great excitement in Europe, and
all sorts of extravagant rumours spread about, so that at one time it
was intended to fit out a powerful squadron and have him captured, while
another suggestion was that he should be invited home with his riches and
receive the offer of His Majesty’s pardon, for he was reputed now to be
about to found a new monarchy. But eventually these foolish notions were
discovered to be baseless. Meanwhile the three treasure-laden ships were
returning to Madagascar, where it was hoped to build a small fort, keep a
few men there permanently and there deposit their ill-gotten treasure.
But Avery had another plan in his mind, and this well exhibits his true
character. On the voyage he sent out a boat to each of the sloops,
inviting each skipper to repair on board him. They came and he laid
before them the following proposition. If either of the sloops were to
be attacked alone, they could not be able to offer any great resistance,
and so their treasure would vanish. As regards his own ship, he went on,
she was such a swift ship that he could not conceive of any other craft
overtaking her. Therefore he suggested that all the treasure should be
sealed up in three separate chests, that each of the three captains
should have keys, that they should not be opened until all were present,
that these chests should then be kept on his own ship, and afterwards
deposited in a safe place ashore.
It seems very curious that such wide-awake pirates should not have been
able to see through such an obvious trick. But without hesitation they
agreed with the idea, and all the treasure was placed aboard Avery’s ship
as had been suggested. The little fleet sailed on, and now Avery began
to approach his crew in his usual underhand manner. Here was sufficient
wealth on board to make them all happy for the rest of their lives.
“What,” he asked, “shall hinder us from going to some country where we
are not known and living on shore to the end of our days in affluence?”
The crew thoroughly appreciated the hint, so during the night Avery’s
ship got clear away, altered her course, sailed round the Cape of Good
Hope and made for America. They were strangers in that land, they would
divide up the booty and they would separate, so that each man would
be able to live on comfortably without working. They arrived at the
island of Providence, when it was decided that it would be wiser to get
rid of such a large vessel. So, pretending she had been fitted out for
privateering, and that, having had an unsuccessful voyage, Avery had
received orders from his owners to sell her as best he could, he soon
found a merchant who bought her, and Avery then purchased a small sloop.
In this craft he and his crew embarked with their treasure, and after
landing at different places on the American coast where no one suspected
them, they dispersed and settled down in the country. Avery had now
immense wealth, but as most thereof consisted of diamonds and he was
afraid of being unable to get rid of them in America without being
suspected as a pirate, he then crossed to the north of Ireland, where
some of his men settled and obtained the King’s pardon. And now began
a series of incidents which might well be taken to show the folly of
ill-gotten gain. The reader has already seen that in spite of the vast
affluence which these eighteenth-century pirates obtained, yet in the
end such wealth brought them nothing but anxiety and final wretchedness.
Avery could no more dispose of his precious stones in Ireland than in
America, so thinking that perhaps there might be some one in that big
west-country town of Bristol who would purchase them, he proceeded to his
native county of Devonshire and sent to one of his friends to meet him at
Bideford. The “friend” introduced other “friends” and Avery informed them
of his business. It was agreed that the best plan would be to place the
diamonds in the hands of some wealthy merchants who would ask no awkward
questions as to their origin. One of the “friends” asserted that he knew
some merchants who would be able to transact the business, and provided
they allowed a handsome commission the diamonds would be turned into
money. As Avery could think of no other solution to the difficulty, he
agreed with this, so presently the merchants came down to Bideford, and
after strongly protesting their integrity they were handed both diamonds
and vessels of gold, for which they gave him a small sum in advance.
Avery then changed his name and lived quietly at Bideford, but in a short
time he had spent all his money, and in spite of repeated letters to the
wily merchants he could get no answer. But at last they sent him a small
sum, though quite inadequate for paying his debts, and as he could barely
subsist he resolved to go to Bristol and interview the merchants.
He arrived, but instead of money he was met with a firm refusal and
a threat that they would give information that he was a pirate. This
frightened him so much that he returned to Ireland, and from there kept
writing for his money, which, however, never came. He was reduced to such
a condition of abject poverty that he resolved, in his misery, to go
back to Bristol and throw himself on the merchants’ mercy. He therefore
shipped on board a trading ship, worked his passage to Plymouth and then
walked to Bideford. He had arrived there not many days when he fell ill
and died without so much as the money to buy him a burial. So it was true
that “there be land rats and water rats, land thieves and water thieves,
I mean pirates.” Avery had met a company of men who treated him in the
way he had robbed others. Thus, the whole of his long voyaging from sea
to sea, the entire series of events from the time when he had seized
Gibson’s ship, had been not only profitless but brought upon him the
utmost misery, terror, starvation and ultimate death. He had fought, he
had schemed, he had done underhand tricks, he had told lies and he had
endured bitter anxiety: but all to no purpose whatever.