Captain Rogers smiled.

"Tut! Tut!" said he. "The English can always battle. But--Fathers--you must pay me well for this affair. I demand thirty thousand pieces of eight ($35,000 or about 6,750) as ransom for your fair city. I will give you two days in which to collect it."

The worthy _Padres_ hung their heads.

"You English," said they, "are cruel extortioners."

Yet--in two day's time--the British marched to their boats with colors flying, bugles blowing, and drums beating a rollicking tattoo. Captain Rogers brought up the rear with a few men. He had secured the ransom and fairly smiled with exuberant joy. "Our sailors," says he, "kept continually dropping their pistols, cutla.s.ses, and pole-axes; which shows they had grown careless and very weak--weary of being soldiers--and it was high time that we should be gone from hence to the sh.o.r.es of Merrie England."

Thus, on April 28th, when the _Duke_ and the _d.u.c.h.ess_ weighed anchor and stood out to sea: guns roared: trumpets blew: the men cheered.

"And so," writes the gallant Rogers, "we took leave of the Spaniards very cheerfully, but not half so well pleased as we should have been if we had taken 'em by surprise; for I was well a.s.sured from all hands, that at least we should then have got about two hundred thousand pieces of eight in money (45,000 or $225,000); and in jewels, diamonds, and wrought and unwrought gold and silver."

The owners of the two privateers: the _Duke_ and the _d.u.c.h.ess_, sat in solemn meeting at the good town of Bristol. It was the month of October, 1711.

The fat Quakers were smiling, for Captain Rogers had brought them back equally fat moneys.

The rugged merchants laughed, for the venture had been a howling success.

"And you were wounded?" said a stockholder, turning to the bronzed sea-rover who stood before them, giving account and reckoning of his journey to the Spanish Main.

"A scratch," replied the stout sea-dog, smiling. "When we tackled a Manila ship on the way home from Guayaquil, I got a ball through the jaw, and a splinter in the left foot. It laid me up for full three weeks, but, gentlemen, a cat and Woodes Rogers both have nine lives."

And even the sober Quaker fathers laughed at this sally.

"You have done well," they said. "We will reward you with money and a good berth. How would you care to be Governor of the Bahamas?"

"Fine!" said Woodes Rogers, chuckling.

And that is the way the old sea-barnacle spent his declining years, dying at the tropic isle on July 16th, 1732. Hail to this Prince of Privateers!

TWILIGHT AT SEA

The twilight hours like birds flew by, As lightly and as free; Ten thousand stars were in the sky, Ten thousand on the sea; For every wave with dimpled face, That leaped up in the air, Had caught a star in its embrace, And held it trembling there.

FORTUNATUS WRIGHT

THE MOST HATED PRIVATEERSMAN OF THE MEDITERRANEAN SEA

(1715-1765)

"It was a high counsel which I once heard given to a young person: 'Always do what you are afraid to do.'"--EMERSON.

FORTUNATUS WRIGHT

THE MOST HATED PRIVATEERSMAN OF THE MEDITERRANEAN SEA

(1715-1765)

"'_Be sure you're right, then go ahead!_' was coined by Andrew Jackson, Who was a fighter, tough as nails, and loved to lay the whacks on, He followed out this sage advice, in spite of opposition, While everybody winked and said,--'_A Fellow with a Mission!_'

In other days, in other climes, there lived a seaman daring, Who loved a fight, as well as he,--was just as good at swearing; His name was Wright, and thus in spite of all his foemen said, Old _Fortune_ Wright, was surely right, whene'er he went ahead!"

--_Chants of the Eastern Clipper Ships._--1846.

In the year 1744 war was declared between England and France. French privateers harried the coast of her rival, caught her merchantmen whenever they ventured away from stout men-o'-warsmen, and chased them in the blue, shimmering waters of the Mediterranean. It seemed as if there were never gun-boats enough to protect the British shipping, and thus many of the English merchants grew choleric and angry.

Englishmen carried on quite a trade with Italy, Greece, and the countries of Asia Minor, and at Leghorn--upon the Italian coast--they had numerous trading shops and docks for their own vessels. They began to suffer, not only great annoyance, but also great loss, from the depredations of the French privateers which swarmed about the harbor mouth and scurried into every corner of the ragged coast-line. Their trade was hampered, their ships compelled to remain in port, or--if they ventured out--they were inevitably captured. The situation was unbearable.

"My! My!" said one of the red-faced merchants. "My! My! We must have a remedy for this. My! My! We must have our own privateers!"

"Well spoken," cried another. "And I know the very man to help us out.

He is living here, now, and his name is Fortunatus Wright. Gentlemen!

I tell you he is a true sea-dog! He is the fellow to cripple these saucy, French bushwhackers of the sea."

"Hear! Hear!" cried others.

And thus Mr. Fortunatus Wright was sought for, and was asked:

"Will you take charge of a privateer for the British merchants of Leghorn? Will you chase these rascally Frenchmen? Will you cripple their operations? Will you chastise these sea-robbers?"

To this Mr. Fortunatus Wright, being a true seaman with the love of the salt water tugging at his heart strings, is said to have remarked,

"Whoop-ee!"

Which being interpreted means:

"Gentlemen, I'm dee-lighted!"

As luck would have it, there was a vessel lying in the harbor which was directly available. She was a brigantine called the _Fame_, and, although we know little about her tonnage and the number of stout sea-dogs whom she could carry, it is apparent that Fortunatus Wright considered her most admirably suited for his venture. At any rate he soon boarded her, swore in a crew of stalwart seamen, and saw that plenty of gunpowder, cutla.s.ses, boarding-pikes and muskets were aboard.

It was September, 1746, and, before the close of the month of December, the _Fame_ had captured eighteen prizes, one of which was a hulking, French privateer with twenty guns and one hundred and fifty men, especially fitted out to put an end to the career of the vessel of Fortunatus Wright. They had met off the port of Messina and had had a roaring, little scrimmage, but--seeing that matters were going ill with him--the French captain had cried:

"Run for the sh.o.r.e! Run our ship aground! We will fix her so that this English hound cannot make a prize of us!"

"Voila! Voila!" his men had shouted. "Oui! We will f-e-e-x th-e-es Eengleesh chien! Oui! Au revoir, Monsieur Wright!"