IVLiving at the unregulated rate they were, the meager provisioning of the ship was soon used up, and so, in search of food and wine rather than diamonds and gold, they set for the coasts of Spain and Portugal, hoping to intercept a local trader freighted with the desired goods.A small English ship, theSarah Snow, of Bristol, was the first honest craft to vividly discover that a robber was loose on the high seas. What with surprise and the display of a number of guns which Gow had brought up from below and thrust impressively through his ports, theSarah Snowyielded without a fight, whereupon she was systematically rifled from cargo to the crew’s few shillings, and, leaving one volunteer to join the despoilers, she was permitted to proceed on her voyage.TheDelight, of Poole, next fell into their hands, in very similar circumstances, was plundered and allowed to go.An Englishman, carrying fish from Newfoundland to Cadiz, was informally and unexpectedly relieved of a large portion of his cargo without dockage or stevedoring fees, but unfortunately without any receipt being given him forthe information of his owners. Not only that, but somebody thoughtfully decided the owners might at least have the advantage of the insurance, so he kicked a hole in the bottom and the fish boat took a nose dive into the far green deeps. The captain and her crew of four men were brought aboard theRevengeas “prisoners.” They were kept forward under guard, for what eventual disposition nobody—least of all themselves—had the slightest notion. Lieutenant Williams beguiled a boresome day by hanging them up by the thumbs, or seeing which one could longest stand a rope’s end on his bare back. Williams, doubtless, would have delighted in the plank-walking trick, but public opinion was not entirely with him. In fact, he began to sneer at Gow—behind his back—for a chicken-livered pirate, and even secured a sort of following for his point of view. One of the four captives, a man named Jack Belvin, avoided the Welsh lieutenant’s flayings by signing on with the pirates; the others heroically endured rather than become felons. Well, they must have been pretty good men to begin with to take a boat requiring only a crew of five all the way from Newfoundland to Cadiz.A Scotch ship, carrying pickled herrings to Italy, was the next in line. TheRevengealready had a surplus of fish, but, taking off a considerable quantity of the cargo, Gow amused the men and practiced the gunner by bombardingher with his guns and thus amusingly sending the pickled herring back to their original element. The Scotch crew joined Williams’ victims forward.A pirate always overloaded on the products of the locality he haunted. Kidd, off the Malabar coast procured butter enough to use as a lubricant; Quelch, down Brazil way, acquired control of the coffee and sugar trade; Blackbeard and Bonnet, off the Carolinas, specialized in pineapples and Jamaica rum; Henry Avery, in the Gulf of Guinea, opened his prize package and found it full of negro slaves, and now here is John Gow seriously disturbing the market in salt and pickled fish. Save for the exceptional chance, Kidd, Quelch and Avery would have degenerated into petty peddlers of stolen groceries; their big hauls just happened along.Everybody on board was now living on salmon, cod and pickled herrings, with never a barrel of bread to go with the fish, and not a spoonful of wine to wash the thirst-provoking diet down. They hesitated to attack any new ships for fear another scaly cargo should mock them, odoriferously from the hold; the thing got beyond a joke and the cook, no doubt, kept his dirk handily under his apron as he passed out the inevitable hunk of pickled horror.Gow had already seen vividly that the matter of something to eat will upset a dynasty and junk a throne more quickly than any merely politicalirritation, so, for the appeasement of his subjects and the preservation of his dignities—to say nothing of his life—he resolved to risk no more disappointing ships but to strike for a port and the run of land stores.The place chosen for their custom was the little Portuguese settlement of Porta Santa, in the Madeiras. With something of the feeling that honester men have on the homeward heave, all hands pulled together heartily, nor allowed any wallowing merchantmen to divert them until the white walls and red roofs of their desired haven rose comfortingly out of the sea. TheRevengefoamed smartly into the harbor and rattled her anchor into the mud.A solemn council in the great cabin—now in all that queer topsy-turveydom which betrays apparent but false authority, and where there was no longer any cramping posture for evening prayers—decided that here was a splendid opportunity to get rid of some of their fish. Appropriately, they would bestow a quantity of it on the governor of Porta Santa, as the embodiment of the State.Half a dozen ruffians washed their faces, clubbed their briny locks, rubbed up their shoe buckles, pulled together, with long stitches, the gaping holes in their stockings and set out in a boat jammed with dried salmon and pickled herring.From his airy prison, the Scotch captain gazedpensively upon them. “Mon,” he groaned to a captive Dane, “I cuid bear to ken the rabbers sell ma fush—but to gie it awa’; gie it awa’ to these jabberin’ jumping-jacks for never a bawbee! Mon, mon, these mock sailors air on the road to ruin. And Gow a Scottishman—” John Gow’s departure from the normal was simply inexplicable.The burly Dane grunted “Yah”, practically the extent of his linguistic resources in Danish or any other tongue. He never did know what all these doings meant, anyway.His Excellency was deeply touched when the load of preserved marine fauna was dumped on the gubernatorial verandah.“It’s not so much the gift,” he reflected, turning over a stark salmon with the toe of his shoe, “as the spirit of the giver.”He looked approvingly on the six honest visages before him and marveled at the depths of their unselfishness.“Where are you bound?” he asked, in Portuguese.“Tell him Bristol, Bill,” prompted one of the emissaries to the slow-footed chum who could parley the lingo sufficiently to interpret the question to his fellows. So Bristol it was.With racial courtesy, the governor proposed to return to the ship with them, to formally thank their captain. A group of local dignitaries was quickly collected and all went down to the wharf.“The governor’s coming aboard,” shouted Gow, as the company appeared at the water side. “Now, men, keep ’em on the quarter-deck and away from the prisoners, and you yourselves try to look less like jailbirds and more like sailormen!”The reception on the quarter-deck left nothing out; even the awning was drawn across so that for a little while it seemed to some of the men that the past few weeks were all a dream, good or bad as the individual viewpoint dictated.The boat had had orders, after bringing out the governor’s party, to go back to town and fetch provisions. Now, whether the idea was to pay for the goods or to just take them with a thank-ye-marm is not a matter of recorded history; historical it is, however, that the boat came back empty, which Gow, out of the corner of his eye, noticed, and, excusing his absence, stepped down the companion ladder in anxious questioning. Somehow there was always drumming through his head old Paterson’s ancient chant, “As we eat, so shall we work.”“They won’t give us the grub,” bellowed the boatswain, balancing himself in the stern of the bobbing boat.Gow went back and lodged a courteous complaint with His Excellency. Excellency called an attendant and battered him about the ears with swift Portuguese. Attendant went back with the boat.Back came the boat in a little while, with the boatswain holding aloft a sadly small meal bag in signals that needed no aid from the boatswain’s disgusted expression. More complaints to the governor—and complaints rather acrid; more rapid fire at the attendant; another departure for shore—the boat’s crew were beginning to grumble at their oars—another return. Nothing at all with them, this time. The boatswain wigwagged Gow to do something violent with the governor.Which Gow proceeded to do. He unbuttoned his coat and revealed himself attired to play “Arsenal” in a charade, with a belt full of sudden death in several varieties. As calmly as if he were taking out a toothpick, he drew a long, convincing pistol and laid it cozily—nose on—into the deepest crease of the governor’s brocaded waistcoat.In this manner theRevengewas amply provisioned at Porta Santa.
Living at the unregulated rate they were, the meager provisioning of the ship was soon used up, and so, in search of food and wine rather than diamonds and gold, they set for the coasts of Spain and Portugal, hoping to intercept a local trader freighted with the desired goods.
A small English ship, theSarah Snow, of Bristol, was the first honest craft to vividly discover that a robber was loose on the high seas. What with surprise and the display of a number of guns which Gow had brought up from below and thrust impressively through his ports, theSarah Snowyielded without a fight, whereupon she was systematically rifled from cargo to the crew’s few shillings, and, leaving one volunteer to join the despoilers, she was permitted to proceed on her voyage.
TheDelight, of Poole, next fell into their hands, in very similar circumstances, was plundered and allowed to go.
An Englishman, carrying fish from Newfoundland to Cadiz, was informally and unexpectedly relieved of a large portion of his cargo without dockage or stevedoring fees, but unfortunately without any receipt being given him forthe information of his owners. Not only that, but somebody thoughtfully decided the owners might at least have the advantage of the insurance, so he kicked a hole in the bottom and the fish boat took a nose dive into the far green deeps. The captain and her crew of four men were brought aboard theRevengeas “prisoners.” They were kept forward under guard, for what eventual disposition nobody—least of all themselves—had the slightest notion. Lieutenant Williams beguiled a boresome day by hanging them up by the thumbs, or seeing which one could longest stand a rope’s end on his bare back. Williams, doubtless, would have delighted in the plank-walking trick, but public opinion was not entirely with him. In fact, he began to sneer at Gow—behind his back—for a chicken-livered pirate, and even secured a sort of following for his point of view. One of the four captives, a man named Jack Belvin, avoided the Welsh lieutenant’s flayings by signing on with the pirates; the others heroically endured rather than become felons. Well, they must have been pretty good men to begin with to take a boat requiring only a crew of five all the way from Newfoundland to Cadiz.
A Scotch ship, carrying pickled herrings to Italy, was the next in line. TheRevengealready had a surplus of fish, but, taking off a considerable quantity of the cargo, Gow amused the men and practiced the gunner by bombardingher with his guns and thus amusingly sending the pickled herring back to their original element. The Scotch crew joined Williams’ victims forward.
A pirate always overloaded on the products of the locality he haunted. Kidd, off the Malabar coast procured butter enough to use as a lubricant; Quelch, down Brazil way, acquired control of the coffee and sugar trade; Blackbeard and Bonnet, off the Carolinas, specialized in pineapples and Jamaica rum; Henry Avery, in the Gulf of Guinea, opened his prize package and found it full of negro slaves, and now here is John Gow seriously disturbing the market in salt and pickled fish. Save for the exceptional chance, Kidd, Quelch and Avery would have degenerated into petty peddlers of stolen groceries; their big hauls just happened along.
Everybody on board was now living on salmon, cod and pickled herrings, with never a barrel of bread to go with the fish, and not a spoonful of wine to wash the thirst-provoking diet down. They hesitated to attack any new ships for fear another scaly cargo should mock them, odoriferously from the hold; the thing got beyond a joke and the cook, no doubt, kept his dirk handily under his apron as he passed out the inevitable hunk of pickled horror.
Gow had already seen vividly that the matter of something to eat will upset a dynasty and junk a throne more quickly than any merely politicalirritation, so, for the appeasement of his subjects and the preservation of his dignities—to say nothing of his life—he resolved to risk no more disappointing ships but to strike for a port and the run of land stores.
The place chosen for their custom was the little Portuguese settlement of Porta Santa, in the Madeiras. With something of the feeling that honester men have on the homeward heave, all hands pulled together heartily, nor allowed any wallowing merchantmen to divert them until the white walls and red roofs of their desired haven rose comfortingly out of the sea. TheRevengefoamed smartly into the harbor and rattled her anchor into the mud.
A solemn council in the great cabin—now in all that queer topsy-turveydom which betrays apparent but false authority, and where there was no longer any cramping posture for evening prayers—decided that here was a splendid opportunity to get rid of some of their fish. Appropriately, they would bestow a quantity of it on the governor of Porta Santa, as the embodiment of the State.
Half a dozen ruffians washed their faces, clubbed their briny locks, rubbed up their shoe buckles, pulled together, with long stitches, the gaping holes in their stockings and set out in a boat jammed with dried salmon and pickled herring.
From his airy prison, the Scotch captain gazedpensively upon them. “Mon,” he groaned to a captive Dane, “I cuid bear to ken the rabbers sell ma fush—but to gie it awa’; gie it awa’ to these jabberin’ jumping-jacks for never a bawbee! Mon, mon, these mock sailors air on the road to ruin. And Gow a Scottishman—” John Gow’s departure from the normal was simply inexplicable.
The burly Dane grunted “Yah”, practically the extent of his linguistic resources in Danish or any other tongue. He never did know what all these doings meant, anyway.
His Excellency was deeply touched when the load of preserved marine fauna was dumped on the gubernatorial verandah.
“It’s not so much the gift,” he reflected, turning over a stark salmon with the toe of his shoe, “as the spirit of the giver.”
He looked approvingly on the six honest visages before him and marveled at the depths of their unselfishness.
“Where are you bound?” he asked, in Portuguese.
“Tell him Bristol, Bill,” prompted one of the emissaries to the slow-footed chum who could parley the lingo sufficiently to interpret the question to his fellows. So Bristol it was.
With racial courtesy, the governor proposed to return to the ship with them, to formally thank their captain. A group of local dignitaries was quickly collected and all went down to the wharf.
“The governor’s coming aboard,” shouted Gow, as the company appeared at the water side. “Now, men, keep ’em on the quarter-deck and away from the prisoners, and you yourselves try to look less like jailbirds and more like sailormen!”
The reception on the quarter-deck left nothing out; even the awning was drawn across so that for a little while it seemed to some of the men that the past few weeks were all a dream, good or bad as the individual viewpoint dictated.
The boat had had orders, after bringing out the governor’s party, to go back to town and fetch provisions. Now, whether the idea was to pay for the goods or to just take them with a thank-ye-marm is not a matter of recorded history; historical it is, however, that the boat came back empty, which Gow, out of the corner of his eye, noticed, and, excusing his absence, stepped down the companion ladder in anxious questioning. Somehow there was always drumming through his head old Paterson’s ancient chant, “As we eat, so shall we work.”
“They won’t give us the grub,” bellowed the boatswain, balancing himself in the stern of the bobbing boat.
Gow went back and lodged a courteous complaint with His Excellency. Excellency called an attendant and battered him about the ears with swift Portuguese. Attendant went back with the boat.
Back came the boat in a little while, with the boatswain holding aloft a sadly small meal bag in signals that needed no aid from the boatswain’s disgusted expression. More complaints to the governor—and complaints rather acrid; more rapid fire at the attendant; another departure for shore—the boat’s crew were beginning to grumble at their oars—another return. Nothing at all with them, this time. The boatswain wigwagged Gow to do something violent with the governor.
Which Gow proceeded to do. He unbuttoned his coat and revealed himself attired to play “Arsenal” in a charade, with a belt full of sudden death in several varieties. As calmly as if he were taking out a toothpick, he drew a long, convincing pistol and laid it cozily—nose on—into the deepest crease of the governor’s brocaded waistcoat.
In this manner theRevengewas amply provisioned at Porta Santa.