But the Vice-Consul had reckoned without his host.

"We are apprehensive that you are obliged to give us this advice in order to gratify the Spaniards," wrote Captain Rogers. "If you do not allow my agent to come on board my ship, you may expect a visit from my guns at eight o'clock to-morrow morn."

To this there was no reply.

Next day the two English privateers stood in close to sh.o.r.e, and, just as the shot was rammed home, a boat put off, in the stern of which sat Mr. Vanbrugh with a present of wine, grapes, hogs and jelly. The prize which had been captured was sent back to Bristol with a picked crew.

The two sea-rovers bore towards the South--soon crossed the Tropic of Cancer--and there had appropriate ceremonies for the occasion. The tinkers, peddlers, fiddlers, and tailors who made up the crew, were each and all hoisted overboard by a rope. A stick was placed between their legs and they were ducked again and again in the brine.

"If any man wants to get off," spoke Captain Rogers, "he can do so by paying me a half-a-sovereign ($2.50) which must be expended on an entertainment for the rest of the company when England shall be reached. Every man that is ducked is paid in proportion to the number of times that he goes under."

Several accepted this offer. At which a sailor cried out:

"Duck me twelve times, Captain. I want to have a regular orgy when I get back home."

And the sailors did it, laughing uproariously.

Sailing to the Cape Verde Islands, the _Duke_ and the _d.u.c.h.ess_ anch.o.r.ed in the harbor of St. Vincent, where one of the crew, who was a good linguist (Joseph Alexander) was sent in a boat to the Governor, at San Antonio, in order to negotiate for supplies. He seemed to prefer Cape Verde to privateering.

"On October 6th," writes the gallant Rogers, "our boat went to San Antonio to get our linguist, according to appointment. No news of him."

"On October 6th, our boat returned with nothing but limes and tobacco.

No news of our linguist."

"On October 7th, no news of our linguist."

"On the 8th, boat sent ash.o.r.e, but no news of our linguist."

"On the 9th, as the trade-winds are blowing fresh, concluded to leave our good Alexander to practice his linguistic and other accomplishments ash.o.r.e. Adieu to our linguist."

Thus disappeared the sleek and crafty Joseph.

There was still trouble from insubordination, for Mr. Page--second mate of the _d.u.c.h.ess_--refused to accompany Mr. Cook (second in command on the _Duke_). Whereupon the hot-tempered Captain Cook--being the superior officer on board--struck him, and several blows were interchanged.

At last Page was forced into the boat and brought to the _Duke_, where he was ordered to the forecastle in the bilboes (leg irons sliding upon a long, iron bar). But he jumped overboard--despising the chance of being gobbled up by a shark--and started to swim to his own ship.

He was brought back, flogged, and put in irons; and he evidently found a week of this kind of thing sufficient; for he submitted himself humbly to future orders.

Thus Woodes Rogers had already learned that the life of a privateer commander was not a happy one.

Steering southwest, a large French ship was seen and chased, but she got away from the two consorts with surprising ease. On March 6th, when off the coast of Peru, a sail was sighted.

"Let the _d.u.c.h.ess_ bear down on her port and the _Duke_ to starboard,"

cried Captain Rogers. "Heave a solid shot across her bow, and, if she refuses to capitulate, let her have your broadsides."

Dipping, tossing, rolling; the two privateers swooped down upon their prey, like hawks. She flew the yellow flag of Spain--and--as the first ball of lead cut across her bowsprit, it fluttered to the deck. Up went a white shirt, tied to a rat-line, and the crew from the _Duke_ was soon in charge, and steering her for Lobas: a harbor on the coast.

"She's a tight little barque," said Rogers, when he had landed. "I'll make her into a privateer."

So she was hauled up, cleaned, launched, and christened the _Beginning_; with a spare topmast from the _Duke_ as a mast, and an odd mizzen-topsail altered for a sail. Four swivel-guns were mounted upon her deck, and, as she pounded out of the bay, loud cheers greeted her from the decks of the _d.u.c.h.ess_, which was loafing outside, watching for a merchantman to capture and pillage.

Next morn two sails were sighted, and both _Duke_ and _d.u.c.h.ess_ hastened to make another haul. As they neared them, one was seen to be a stout cruiser from Lima; the other a French-built barque from Panama; richly laden, it was thought.

"Broadsides for both," ordered Woodes Rogers. "Broadsides and good treatment when the white flag flutters aloft."

As the _d.u.c.h.ess_ chased the Lima boat, the _Duke_ neared the Frenchman and spanked a shot at her from a bow-gun. The sea ran high and she did not wish to get too close and board, because it would be easier to send her men in pinnaces.

"They're afraid!" cried the Captain of the _Duke_. "We can take 'em with no exertion." But he was like many an Englishman: despised his foe only to find him a valiant one.

Piling into four boats, the men from the _Duke_, fully armed, rowed swiftly towards the rolling Frenchman. They approached to within twenty yards. Then

_Crash! Crash! Rattle! Crash!_

A sheet of flame burst from her sides; muskets and pistols spoke; cannon spat grape and cannister; the Englishmen were frightfully cut up.

"On! On!" shouted young John Rogers--a brother of Woodes--as he waved his cutla.s.s aloft to enliven the sailors. But it was his last cry. A bullet struck him in the forehead, and he fell into the sea without a murmur.

_Crash! Crash!_

Again roared out a volley. Oars were splintered. One boat was pierced below the water line. She sank, and her men floundered about upon the surface of the oily sea.

"Bear off, and rescue our comrades!" cried the leaders of this futile attack, and, as the French barque drifted away, the remaining boats busied themselves with the swimming sailors. The a.s.sault had been a complete failure.

"Curses upon the Frenchman!" cried Captain Rogers when he saw the saucy fighter drawing off. "We'll go after her to-morrow, and catch her, or my blood's not English. What say you, men?"

"Yes. After her and board her amid-ships!" cried all. "Run our own vessel alongside."

"And that I will do," answered Rogers, watching the lumbering merchantman through his gla.s.s. "She's entirely too well armed for a trader."

When morning dawned, the Frenchman was still ploughing along the coast in the light breeze, with all sail set. But there was not wind enough to force her ahead of her pursuer. The _d.u.c.h.ess_ now returned from her chase of the Lima boat, and, joining her _Duke_, bore in upon the able fighter from the open sea.

"Egad! We'll have her yet," shouted Captain Rogers, rubbing his hands.

"She luffs!" cried a lieutenant. "She's coming to!"

Sure enough the Frenchman saw that resistance now was useless. She staggered into the wind, and a white flag beckoned for a prize-crew to come and take her.

"And," writes Captain Rogers, "I found that a Bishop who had been aboard of her, had been put ash.o.r.e, which gave me much grief. For I always love to catch fat prelates, as they give up a stout sum as their ransom. In truth they are nice pickings."

Things were going well with the wild rovers from Bristol. Plunder there was aplenty and the holds of the _Duke_ and the _d.u.c.h.ess_ bulged with treasure. Yet Woodes Rogers was not satisfied.

"On! On to Guayaquil!" cried he. "We'll capture this wealthy city; demand a great ransom; and sail to England, richer than the Spanish conquerors of the Incas."

"Hurrah!" shouted his staunch followers. "On! On! to Guayaquil!"

So--steering for the coast of Ecuador--the privateers drew near this rich Spanish-American town. A gulf lay before their eyes in which was a small island; with a little, white-housed village (called Puna) on its Eastern sh.o.r.e.

"Take the place!" cried Rogers, as the two ships forged into the sleepy shallows, and rounded to before the peaceful habitation.

With a cheer, the sailors piled into the boats, rowed ash.o.r.e, and--with cutla.s.s and dirk in hand--pressed through the narrow streets. Shots rang out from a few of the thatched houses; two seamen fell to the ground with mortal wounds; but, cheering wildly, the privateers rushed through the narrow highway; pressed into the court-house; and seized upon the Lieutenant-Governor of the town of Guayaquil, as he was attempting to hide behind an old clothes-press.