Chapter 11

"Ah, Seigneur!" said he, "you have taken me, that is true. But you cannot touch my cargo or my men. See,--here is a pass from King George the Second of England. It says, 'All of the cargo, passengers, and crew of _La Belle Florence_ shall be exempt from molestation by English cruisers and privateers.' What say you to that?"

Captain Wright looked sad, but he seized the paper and read it with care. His smile broadened as he perused the document.

"How am I to know that this particular ship is to go free?" said he. "For although you told me that the name of your vessel (_La Belle Florence_) was mentioned in this document, I do not find that it is mentioned. The paper merely states that 'the vessel' shall not be molested, and, my boy, you may have stolen this from some other skipper. Ah! Ha! You are my prize and shall go with me into Leghorn."

You should have seen the face of the Frenchman!

"I vill haf revenge!" said he. And he had it.

For, when the matter was referred to the British Minister, he turned it over to the Admiral who commanded the English ships at this station, and this high official made Captain Wright give up both vessel and cargo. He did so with the same unwillingness that he had shown when asked to leave the quaint, little town of Lucca. Captain Wright, you see, had that bull-dog stubbornness which is characteristic of men of the British Isles. He believed in hanging on to everything which he took.

A bit later, this trait got him into serious difficulties and into prison.

A number of English merchants were trading with the people of Turkey under the name of "The Company of English Merchants trading to the Levant Sea," and, finding it impossible to ship all of their goods in British vessels, they often sent them in the holds of French ships. True it was that France was at war with England at this time, but, as these were English cargoes, the British naturally thought that they should be allowed to come through, unmolested, even though the French vessels might be captured by English privateers. But they had not reckoned with Fortunatus Wright.

Two French clipper ships were scudding quietly along off the Italian coast, one bright day in June of 1747, when a rakish vessel appeared upon the horizon and speedily bore down upon them. They crowded on sail, but they could not outdistance their pursuer, who was soon near enough to fire a gun across the bow of the foremost, and flaunt the English colors in her face.

"Helas!" growled the French skipper. "Eet ees that devil, ze Captain Wright. Eet is all up with me! Helas!"

So he came to and surrendered; but the other fellow pounded away at the British privateer with a couple of swivel guns and put up a smart, little skirmish before a well-directed shot from the deck of the Englishman, knocked a topmast crashing over the port side. Crippled, she surrendered.

It did not take Captain Wright long to sail into Leghorn harbor with his prizes. The holds were filled with bales of rich goods, marked: "The property of the Company of English Merchants trading to the Levant Sea."

"I'll sell the bloomin' cargoes," cried Wright. "For the vessels were under the French flag and we're at war with that nation. Besides this, one of them put up a fight against me."

Thus--the cargoes were sold--Captain Fortunatus pocketed the money, and went upon his way, rejoicing.

But he did not rejoice very long, for the British merchants were furious with anger, and procured--through some means or other--an order from the English Government to the effect that English cargoes in French vessels were not to be touched--when captured by British privateers. Word was sent to Captain Wright to refund the money which he had secured by the sale of the cargoes captured in the French ships, and the property of "The Company of English Merchants trading to the Levant Sea."

To this Captain Wright answered, "Bah! I have the money. I intend to keep it!"

Orders were sent from England to have this fellow arrested and shipped home; so the Italian police obligingly captured the old sea-dog, locked him up, and kept him in jail for six months, while the attorneys fought over the legality of the affair.

At length the bluff privateersman was allowed to go free, and--he never paid back the money. "These fellows attacked me at law," he wrote, "but I have not acted contrary to it. I am an Englishman. I am acting under a commission from the King of England, and, when we are at war with France, I intend to hold and keep all the cargoes which I capture in French vessels. As for this 'English Company trading to the Levant Sea!' let them learn a lesson and pack their goods in future in English vessels. English oak should be good enough for English cargoes."

The "English Company trading to the Levant Sea" had certainly learned that Fortunatus Wright was as stubborn as a mule, and--in the future--they employed no French vessels to carry their bales of commerce. _A wise dog only allows himself to be bitten once._

France and England now came to a peaceable settlement of their difficulties, but in 1755 war broke out afresh. Fortunatus Wright chuckled, for he itched for another brush upon the wide sweep of the ocean, and a chance to take a prize or two. So the _Fame_ not being available, he had a small vessel constructed at Leghorn, and called her the _Saint George_. She was a fast sailer and was as graceful as a sea-gull. "In this fair ship," said he, as he gazed upon her admiringly, "I shall take many a prize and shall have, I trust, many a sharp adventure. _Saint George_, I salute you! May you bring me only the best of luck!"

Trouble was in store for the well-hated mariner even before he turned his vessel's prow into the Mediterranean, for--in spite of the fact that the Italians were neutral--their sympathies were strongly with France, and they looked with decided disfavor upon the graceful hull of the _Saint George_, as she bobbed serenely upon the surface of the bay. Knowing full well the reputation of this famous seaman, they paid particular attention to his little craft, and sent a number of officials to inspect her. In a few days the intrepid Fortunatus received the information that, as his was a merchant vessel, he must carry a crew of only five-and-twenty men, and an armament of four small guns.

At this the old sea-dog only laughed, and exhibited the greatest anxiety to comply with the requirements of the law.

"I would suggest," said he to one of the officials of the town, "that you keep guard-boats rowing around my ship in order to be sure that I do not take on more guns and men than the law permits, before I set sail."

The officer smiled. "We are watching you closely," said he. "For Monsieur Wright, it is said that you are as crafty as a cat!"

The mariner grinned, and, before going to sea, obtained from the Governor, a certificate to the effect that he had complied with all the requirements of the law.

Armed with this, on July 28th, 1756, he put to sea, in company with four merchant vessels laden with valuable cargoes, and bound for the shores of England. Carefully the _Saint George_ had been watched, so carefully, in fact, that the authorities had overlooked the lading of the other vessels, aboard which numerous guns, howitzers, and hand-spikes had been smuggled, besides a number of seamen who were well-experienced in fighting upon the ocean. It is true that Fortunatus Wright was as crafty as a cat, or--as they say in Maine--"You'd have to git up early if yer wanted ter lick him."

Not only had the officials at Leghorn watched every move of this well-known privateersman, but they had sent word to the French that Wright had only a feeble force, that he was accompanying several rich prizes, and that he could be easily beaten and captured by a vessel of any size. So much hated was he, that it is said the French king had promised Knighthood and a handsome life pension to the sailor who could bring Wright to the shores of France _dead or alive_. The merchants of Marseilles were particularly bitter against him, for he had captured many of their ships, and in the market-place (where all could see it) had been posted a placard, which ran:

"ALL SAILORS AND SEAMEN ATTENTION!

To the person, or persons, who will capture and bring to France, the body of the arch-villain Captain Fortunatus Wright, shall be given

A SUM DOUBLE THE VALUE OF WRIGHT'S VESSEL.

Frenchmen! Catch this Thief! Bring him in Dead or Alive! Do your Duty!

This sum is guaranteed by the Merchants and Ship-owners 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.

"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."