IIIAmid an infernal hilarity, the officers’ cabins were now looted. The little chests of personal belongings were smashed in and the contents tumbled out to be grabbed by whoever could get to them first. Watches, cheap trinkets of jewelry, silk handkerchiefs and what little money could be found were divided with shouts of dispute. But two or three boxes containing considerable coins and the property of the shipowners were withdrawn for more decorous and equitable division.Everything in the way of liquor was rushed to the quarter-deck and a night-long orgy ensued. The ship somehow wallowed along while its masters reveled. With a bottle of wine in one hand, the greedily gulped liquid streaming down his bushy beard, and a cutlass in the other, one Williams, a proper rascal, smote his weapon ringingly against a cannon and cried, “Captain Gow, you are welcome—welcome to your command.”In this way, informally but effectively, second mate John Gow accepted his promotion to the office of captain.Captain Gow politely returned the kindness by saying, “Mr. Williams, you shall be ourlieutenant.” Thereupon the nominations were closed, as parliamentarians say, and the elections unanimously carried. The night went along in a roaring good humor till the placid eye of morning, slowly opening in the watery east, was shocked to find the decks red with an unholy stain.As a matter of fact, the whole affair had been carried by a group of eight men, six of whom had been summoned from their hammocks by the watchword “Who fires first?”, the remaining two being up on deck. From the circumstance we have just seen, John Gow must have been a party to the criminal enterprise, as he indeed was.Four men were over the side, eight were conspirators; thus there remained twelve men of the crew more or less neutral. These men fled for hiding to the shrouds, into the lazaret, or anywhere that might shield them from the passionate tempest.A very similar circumstance has often engaged the interest of the story-tellers. If this were a fictitious narration of the conventional sort, this thrilling situation would be artfully resolved by the wonderful recovery of the ship and the ultimate defeat of the mutineers by the faithful and ingenious twelve. If it be permissible to point out the deficiency of such enthralling yarns, as related to practical fact, it would lie in the circumstance that by the time the ship had beenrecaptured there would not be enough men left alive to work it, and, at least according to the canny calculations of Lloyd’s, it would thereby become an impossible risk.John Gow had a ship to man, and as no ship probably in all history ever started out with too many hands, generally too few, theGeorgemust be supposed to have been no exception to the common rule; hence while Gow might personally have liked to toss all opposition over the bulwarks, he realized that to do so would have been tantamount to wrecking his vessel, so another method of approach to the problem was indicated.First, however, he had to get his lively eight in hand. As the morning waves slapped foamingly across the slanting deck, the challenge to orderly work was obvious. He therefore, in a regular quarter-deck talk to the men, demanded their obedience and good conduct, concluding with the announcement that alone ever assured harmony to a pirate ship,—an equal division of the spoils to all, with a double share to the ship, that is, the captain.Next he sent a deputation with drawn cutlasses to hunt out the fugitives and bring them before him under the persuasion of peaceful treatment. Out of their refuges came the frightened and tousled seamen, doubtless full dubious of the efficacy of the promise of him whom they now regarded as a monster. Lining them up, he thus addressed them:“Men, the inhumanity of the captain, of which you as well as we have complained, produced the consequences of last night. We are now going on a cruise. You may join with us, and if anything good comes to us you shall have your equal share. All I require is obedience and good order. You who have not been in this conspiracy have nothing to fear from us; do your duty as seamen and you will be well paid.”Four of the twelve grinned and stepped over to the ranks of the mutineers; eight stood dumb, answering never a word. It took a great deal of moral courage to stand amid those eight, deprived of even their dirks and utterly helpless in the hands of a crowd capable of the horrors which the eight had witnessed.In the story of the sea, the bravery of naval battle, the courageous deportment of men on sinking ships, the unselfish giving of one’s life for another, all these have been properly remembered with all the glowing artifice of rhetoric, and the heroes’ names treasured in the marine annals of their country. Unhonored and unsung, for the most part, are those obscure sailors who, without the incitement of martial camaraderie, without the applause of onlookers, without expectation of fame—in the most dejected and hopeless of situations—have manfully stood by their notion of conscientious duty against their mutinous or piratical fellows. Nevertheless,these unknown ones ascended the very height of true heroism.Conduct of this kind brands as a lie the cynical saying that “every man has his price”, for some men will not accept life itself in payment for principle.Quelch, the Boston pirate, had his sturdy protestants; so too did Major Bonnet, colleague of the infamous Blackbeard, and so did many other sea rogues. In truth, almost every instance of the sort exhibits the moral hardihood of an incorruptible minority.John Gow’s eight were delivered over to the rough abuse of Lieutenant Williams, who flogged them at will, and set men to keep them at work at the point of the cutlass. On them fell all the hard labor of the ship and they became the drudges of whatever roistering rascal chose to command them.At the same time, there is a final leniency about Gow’s treatment of this minority which lifts him from the charge of entirely purposeless ferocity. Purposeless ferocity is a tradition of piracy, but a curious thing is that not one of the pirates, of the major type, whose crimes were afterwards subjected to judicial examination, is particularly marked with a simple lust of cruelty. Tales of brutality abound concerning ruffians like Lafitte, England, Low, Lewis, Rackam and the rest of the roguish gallery, which may or may not be true. The same stories circulated about Kidd,Quelch, Avery and Gow, but when compared with the judicial records, the source alone of this series of pirate tales, of the activities of these last-named men, merely wanton cruelty is notably missing. On the contrary, in not a few cases there is a surprising magnanimity manifested by men of undoubtedly criminal disposition.Lives were taken in the actual capture of ships, but when the pirates gained possession there is no judicial record of plank-walking or other inhuman treatment. More often than not, the pirate chief recruited new hands from among the captives, though apparently without compulsion, and those that refused to join the black flag were commonly allowed to return to their ship and go their way. Plunder was the chief quest of the pirates, and that obtained their interest in ships or men ceased. If the pirate coveted the ship for his own use, he generally disposed of its crew by signing on those who would and putting ashore those who would not. Not that he was a tender chap—he could be very frightful where he conceived his profit required violence—but merely sportive torture was not a characteristic of those remembered in the only authentic sources of the subject,—the printed trials of the pirates. If this is true of those of whom we have definite information, it follows that the sanguinary accounts of those who never came to trial must be considerably thinned out by doubt.Gow in his method followed the invariablepractice of piracy: he stole his ship. They all began that way. In all the judicial reports of piracy we have examined only Major Stede Bonnet bought and outfitted a vessel for what was then called “the grand account.” In two cases that we know of, the disaffection of the crews made possible their corruption; Henry Avery, mate of theCharles the Second, capitalized the discontent of the men at not receiving their pay from the Spanish Government, and as Gow, in his quarter-deck speech declared, short rations and harsh treatment combined to drive the crew of theGeorgeinto mutiny. Probably the captains of neither theCharles the Secondnor theGeorgewere individually responsible for the condition; they were themselves creatures of circumstance, but as representatives of the owners or charterers they became the tangible objects of undiscriminating violence.The men who managed mutinous plots such as these were much more shrewd in their selection of conspirators than were the men who attempted the great political plots of history, for the sea plotters seldom or never had a betrayal. They never approached the entire crew, but picked out a positive core, who would hold fast, seize ship and weapons and dominate the situation. Perhaps this resolute conduct rose from the personal sense of wrong under which the individual plotter suffered; self-interest only could have produced so tight an adhesion to the group. The first partof the game called for few rather than many men, and apparently Gow could have persuaded four more men to come in with him than he actually did.Properly, the matter was a mutiny but its development into piracy was inevitable, foreseen and provided for. In their position, they might as well hang for a sheep as a lamb.Another typically piratical trick followed; they painted outGeorgeand substituted for it the nameRevenge, of all ship’s names the best beloved of pirates.The sailmaker hemmed up a strip of black bunting and under the funereal ensign they turned their prow to the affronted sea.
Amid an infernal hilarity, the officers’ cabins were now looted. The little chests of personal belongings were smashed in and the contents tumbled out to be grabbed by whoever could get to them first. Watches, cheap trinkets of jewelry, silk handkerchiefs and what little money could be found were divided with shouts of dispute. But two or three boxes containing considerable coins and the property of the shipowners were withdrawn for more decorous and equitable division.
Everything in the way of liquor was rushed to the quarter-deck and a night-long orgy ensued. The ship somehow wallowed along while its masters reveled. With a bottle of wine in one hand, the greedily gulped liquid streaming down his bushy beard, and a cutlass in the other, one Williams, a proper rascal, smote his weapon ringingly against a cannon and cried, “Captain Gow, you are welcome—welcome to your command.”
In this way, informally but effectively, second mate John Gow accepted his promotion to the office of captain.
Captain Gow politely returned the kindness by saying, “Mr. Williams, you shall be ourlieutenant.” Thereupon the nominations were closed, as parliamentarians say, and the elections unanimously carried. The night went along in a roaring good humor till the placid eye of morning, slowly opening in the watery east, was shocked to find the decks red with an unholy stain.
As a matter of fact, the whole affair had been carried by a group of eight men, six of whom had been summoned from their hammocks by the watchword “Who fires first?”, the remaining two being up on deck. From the circumstance we have just seen, John Gow must have been a party to the criminal enterprise, as he indeed was.
Four men were over the side, eight were conspirators; thus there remained twelve men of the crew more or less neutral. These men fled for hiding to the shrouds, into the lazaret, or anywhere that might shield them from the passionate tempest.
A very similar circumstance has often engaged the interest of the story-tellers. If this were a fictitious narration of the conventional sort, this thrilling situation would be artfully resolved by the wonderful recovery of the ship and the ultimate defeat of the mutineers by the faithful and ingenious twelve. If it be permissible to point out the deficiency of such enthralling yarns, as related to practical fact, it would lie in the circumstance that by the time the ship had beenrecaptured there would not be enough men left alive to work it, and, at least according to the canny calculations of Lloyd’s, it would thereby become an impossible risk.
John Gow had a ship to man, and as no ship probably in all history ever started out with too many hands, generally too few, theGeorgemust be supposed to have been no exception to the common rule; hence while Gow might personally have liked to toss all opposition over the bulwarks, he realized that to do so would have been tantamount to wrecking his vessel, so another method of approach to the problem was indicated.
First, however, he had to get his lively eight in hand. As the morning waves slapped foamingly across the slanting deck, the challenge to orderly work was obvious. He therefore, in a regular quarter-deck talk to the men, demanded their obedience and good conduct, concluding with the announcement that alone ever assured harmony to a pirate ship,—an equal division of the spoils to all, with a double share to the ship, that is, the captain.
Next he sent a deputation with drawn cutlasses to hunt out the fugitives and bring them before him under the persuasion of peaceful treatment. Out of their refuges came the frightened and tousled seamen, doubtless full dubious of the efficacy of the promise of him whom they now regarded as a monster. Lining them up, he thus addressed them:
“Men, the inhumanity of the captain, of which you as well as we have complained, produced the consequences of last night. We are now going on a cruise. You may join with us, and if anything good comes to us you shall have your equal share. All I require is obedience and good order. You who have not been in this conspiracy have nothing to fear from us; do your duty as seamen and you will be well paid.”
Four of the twelve grinned and stepped over to the ranks of the mutineers; eight stood dumb, answering never a word. It took a great deal of moral courage to stand amid those eight, deprived of even their dirks and utterly helpless in the hands of a crowd capable of the horrors which the eight had witnessed.
In the story of the sea, the bravery of naval battle, the courageous deportment of men on sinking ships, the unselfish giving of one’s life for another, all these have been properly remembered with all the glowing artifice of rhetoric, and the heroes’ names treasured in the marine annals of their country. Unhonored and unsung, for the most part, are those obscure sailors who, without the incitement of martial camaraderie, without the applause of onlookers, without expectation of fame—in the most dejected and hopeless of situations—have manfully stood by their notion of conscientious duty against their mutinous or piratical fellows. Nevertheless,these unknown ones ascended the very height of true heroism.
Conduct of this kind brands as a lie the cynical saying that “every man has his price”, for some men will not accept life itself in payment for principle.
Quelch, the Boston pirate, had his sturdy protestants; so too did Major Bonnet, colleague of the infamous Blackbeard, and so did many other sea rogues. In truth, almost every instance of the sort exhibits the moral hardihood of an incorruptible minority.
John Gow’s eight were delivered over to the rough abuse of Lieutenant Williams, who flogged them at will, and set men to keep them at work at the point of the cutlass. On them fell all the hard labor of the ship and they became the drudges of whatever roistering rascal chose to command them.
At the same time, there is a final leniency about Gow’s treatment of this minority which lifts him from the charge of entirely purposeless ferocity. Purposeless ferocity is a tradition of piracy, but a curious thing is that not one of the pirates, of the major type, whose crimes were afterwards subjected to judicial examination, is particularly marked with a simple lust of cruelty. Tales of brutality abound concerning ruffians like Lafitte, England, Low, Lewis, Rackam and the rest of the roguish gallery, which may or may not be true. The same stories circulated about Kidd,Quelch, Avery and Gow, but when compared with the judicial records, the source alone of this series of pirate tales, of the activities of these last-named men, merely wanton cruelty is notably missing. On the contrary, in not a few cases there is a surprising magnanimity manifested by men of undoubtedly criminal disposition.
Lives were taken in the actual capture of ships, but when the pirates gained possession there is no judicial record of plank-walking or other inhuman treatment. More often than not, the pirate chief recruited new hands from among the captives, though apparently without compulsion, and those that refused to join the black flag were commonly allowed to return to their ship and go their way. Plunder was the chief quest of the pirates, and that obtained their interest in ships or men ceased. If the pirate coveted the ship for his own use, he generally disposed of its crew by signing on those who would and putting ashore those who would not. Not that he was a tender chap—he could be very frightful where he conceived his profit required violence—but merely sportive torture was not a characteristic of those remembered in the only authentic sources of the subject,—the printed trials of the pirates. If this is true of those of whom we have definite information, it follows that the sanguinary accounts of those who never came to trial must be considerably thinned out by doubt.
Gow in his method followed the invariablepractice of piracy: he stole his ship. They all began that way. In all the judicial reports of piracy we have examined only Major Stede Bonnet bought and outfitted a vessel for what was then called “the grand account.” In two cases that we know of, the disaffection of the crews made possible their corruption; Henry Avery, mate of theCharles the Second, capitalized the discontent of the men at not receiving their pay from the Spanish Government, and as Gow, in his quarter-deck speech declared, short rations and harsh treatment combined to drive the crew of theGeorgeinto mutiny. Probably the captains of neither theCharles the Secondnor theGeorgewere individually responsible for the condition; they were themselves creatures of circumstance, but as representatives of the owners or charterers they became the tangible objects of undiscriminating violence.
The men who managed mutinous plots such as these were much more shrewd in their selection of conspirators than were the men who attempted the great political plots of history, for the sea plotters seldom or never had a betrayal. They never approached the entire crew, but picked out a positive core, who would hold fast, seize ship and weapons and dominate the situation. Perhaps this resolute conduct rose from the personal sense of wrong under which the individual plotter suffered; self-interest only could have produced so tight an adhesion to the group. The first partof the game called for few rather than many men, and apparently Gow could have persuaded four more men to come in with him than he actually did.
Properly, the matter was a mutiny but its development into piracy was inevitable, foreseen and provided for. In their position, they might as well hang for a sheep as a lamb.
Another typically piratical trick followed; they painted outGeorgeand substituted for it the nameRevenge, of all ship’s names the best beloved of pirates.
The sailmaker hemmed up a strip of black bunting and under the funereal ensign they turned their prow to the affronted sea.