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Daring Deeds of Famous Pirates

<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV THE EXPLOITS OF CAPTAIN AVERY</h2></div> If the sixteenth century was the “grand” period of the Moslem corsairs of the Mediterranean, the eighteenth will ever remain memorable for the manifold activities of those English seamen who took to piracy as a far more remunerative profession than carrying freights. If we look for any explanation of this, I think it is not far to seek. You have to take into consideration several points. Firstly, it seems to me, in all phases whether political or otherwise, whether concerned with the sea or with land affairs, you must get at personal and national character—the very fount and origin of all human energies. Whatever else the seventeenth century was, it was not a very distinguished era. There were, of course, exceptions, but speaking broadly, it was a most disappointing period. Morally it was corrupt, politically it was degenerate, and artistically it was insincere and pompous. You have only to read the history of that period in its various aspects to realise this. This was the time when the reaction after the Puritan period had led to a dereliction of high principles, when intrigue and bribery had made such an onslaught on political life that votes were bought for money, that even admirals allowed petty politics to interfere with their loyalty when fighting at sea the nation’s enemies. Smug respectability[173] was the dominating high ideal, and there was no greater sin than that of being found out. High-handed actions by those in power and lawlessness by those who were covetous of obtaining wealth were significant of this period. And if you want to realise the humbug and insincerity of the eighteenth century, you have only to go into the nearest art gallery and examine the pictures of that period (excepting perhaps some portraiture), or to read the letters which the men and women wrote, or to read the books which the educated people of that time esteemed so highly. Religion and politics, domestic life, art and literature were in an unhealthy condition. Now a man, whether a sailor or a politician, or whatever else, is very largely the child of his age. That is to say, given a lawless, unprincipled, corrupt period, it is more than likely that any particular individual will be found to exhibit in his activities the marks of that age. And therefore, bearing such facts as these in mind, it becomes perfectly comprehensible that the eighteenth century should have been the flourishing period of English sea-robbery. Add just one item more—the continual period of unrest caused by years of international wars and the rumours of war, and you are not surprised that the call of the sea was accepted by so many more hundreds of men than ever before in the history of the nation. But naval wars did not mean merely that more men were wanted to work the ship which fought our battles; there was such an encouragement and incentive to skippers and capitalists to undertake privateering that not even in the Elizabethan age had so many ships and men taken part in that kind of undertaking. So, instead of privateering being merely an exceptional activity during an occasional period of hostilities, it became, owing to long drawn-out wars, a regular, definite profession. There was[174] in it every opportunity to indulge both personal and national hatred of the foreigner; to enjoy a series of fine adventures, and then to return home with an accumulation of glory and prizes. Side by side with this—and well illustrating the tone of the age—smuggling had become an almost irrepressible national evil. In the history of smuggling you not infrequently found that the preliminary steps to this dishonest livelihood were as follows: First, the man was employed as an honest fisherman; then, finding this did not pay him, he became a privateer, or else in the King’s service serving on board a Revenue cutter. Then, being more anxious for wealth, he threw in his lot with the very men he had been chasing, and became either an out-and-out smuggler or else a pirate. For, as has been insisted on more than once in previous chapters, the line of demarcation between privateering and piracy, though perfectly visible to lawyers, was not always sufficiently strong to keep the roving seaman within the limitations of legal livelihood. In a word, as it is always difficult suddenly to break a habit, and as this immense body of seamen had so long been accustomed to earning their money by attacking other ships, so in an age that had but little respect for what was lawful, it was really not surprising that dozens of ships put to sea as downright pirates or else as acknowledged smugglers. In this present volume we are concerned only with the first of these two classes. Typical of the period was a notorious Captain Avery, whose doings became known throughout Europe. There was nothing petty in these eighteenth-century corsairs. They had in them the attributes which go to making a great admiral, they were born rulers of men, they were good strategists, hard fighters, brave and valorous, daring and[175] determined. But as against this they were tyrannical, cruel and brutal; and, as is so frequently the case with all men, the acquisition of wealth ruined them, made them still more overbearing and swollen-headed, so that with no high principles, no lofty aims, they descended by degrees into debauchery and callousness. It was a thousand pities in many ways, for these were magnificent seamen who took their ill-designed, bluff, old tubs practically all round the world, keeping the sea for months at a time, and surviving terrible weather and many changes of climate. If these great disciplinarians had not become tyrants, and if their unquestioned abilities could have been legitimately employed, they had in them the ability which has produced great Empire makers, brilliant admirals and magnificent administrators. But their misfortune consisted in having belonged to the eighteenth century. Avery, like many of the world’s greatest seamen, was born in Devonshire, went to sea when quite young, and rose to the rank of mate in a merchant ship. It happened that there was a good deal of smuggling going on by the French of Martinique with the Spaniards of the American colonies. And in order to put a stop to this, the Spanish Government hired foreigners to act against the delinquents. A number of Bristol merchants accordingly fitted out a couple of 30-gun ships, and, well-manned, well-found in everything, sent them to Corunna to await orders. One of these ships was commanded by a Captain Gibson, and in the year 1715 Avery happened to be his mate. The Devonshire man possessed all the traditional seafaring instincts and that love of adventure for which his county was famous, and he was evidently not unpopular with the rest of the crew. For after he had won their confidence, he began to point out to them what immense riches could be obtained on the Spanish[176] coast, and suggested that they should throw in their lot with him and run off with the ship. This suggestion was heartily agreed upon, and it was resolved to make the attempt the following evening at ten o’clock. It should be mentioned that Gibson, like many another eighteenth-century skipper, was rather too fond of his grog, and on the eventful night he had imbibed somewhat freely and turned into his bunk, instead of going ashore for his usual refreshment. Those of the crew who were not in the present plot had also turned in, but the others remained on deck. At ten o’clock the long-boat from the other ship rowed off to them. Avery gave her a hail, and the boat answered by the agreed watchword thus. “Is your drunken boatswain on board?” Avery replied in the affirmative, and then sixteen able men came on board. The first thing was to secure the hatches, and then very quietly they hauled up the anchor and put to sea without making much noise. After they had been under way some time, the captain awoke from his drunken sleep and rang his bell. Avery and one other confederate then went into the cabin. “What’s the matter with the ship?” queried the “old man.” “Does she drive; what weather is it?” For as he realised she was on the move he naturally was forced to the conclusion that the ship was sheering about at her anchor and that a strong wind had sprung up. Avery quickly reassured him, and incidentally gave his waking mind something of a shock. “No,” answered the former mate, “no, we’re at sea, with a fair wind and good weather.” “At sea?” gasped the captain. “How can that be?” “Come, don’t be in a fright, but put on your clothes, and I’ll let you into a secret. You must know,” he went on, “that I am captain of this ship now, and this is my cabin,[177] therefore you must walk out. I am bound for Madagascar with the design of making my own fortune and that of all the brave fellows joined with me.” The captain began to recover his senses and to understand what was being said, but he was still very frightened. Avery begged him not to be afraid, and that if he liked to join their confederacy they were willing to receive him. “If you turn sober, and attend to business, perhaps in time I may make you one of my lieutenants. If not here’s a boat, and you shall be set on shore.” Gibson preferred to choose this last alternative, and the whole crew being called up to know who was willing to go ashore with the captain, there were only about half a dozen who decided to accompany him to the land. So Avery took his ship to Madagascar without making any captures. On arriving at the north-east portion of the island, he found a couple of sloops at anchor, but when these espied him they slipped their cables and ran their ships ashore, while the men rushed inland and hid themselves in the woods. For these men had guilty consciences. They had stolen the sloops from the East Indies, and on seeing Avery’s ship arrive they imagined that he had been sent to punish them. But Avery sent some of his own men ashore to say that the sloops’ men were his friends, and suggested that they should form an amalgamation for their common benefit and safety. The men were well armed and had taken up positions in the wood, and outposts had been stationed to watch whether they were pursued ashore. But when the latter perceived that two or three men were approaching unarmed, there was no opposition offered, and on learning that they were friends, the messengers were led to the main body, where they delivered Avery’s[178] message. At first the fugitives had feared this was just a stratagem to entrap them, but when they heard that Avery, too, had run away with his ship, they conferred and decided to throw in their lot. The next thing was to get the two sloops refloated, and then the trio sailed towards the Arabian coast. When they arrived at length off the mouths of the Indus, a man at the masthead espied a sail, so orders were given to chase. As they came on nearer, the strange vessel was observed to be a fine tall craft and probably an East Indiaman. But when they came closer she was found to be far more valuable and more worth fighting. On firing at her the latter hoisted the colours of the Great Mogul and seemed prepared to fight the matter out. But Avery declined getting at close quarters and preferred to bombard from a safe distance, whereupon some of his men began to suspect that he was not the dashing hero they had taken him for. But the sloops attacked the strange ship vigorously, one at the bow and the other on her quarter. After a while they succeeded in boarding her, when she was now compelled to strike colours. It was found that she was one of the Great Mogul’s ships, carrying a number of important members of his court on a pilgrimage to Mecca and most valuable articles to be offered at the shrine of Mahomet. There were large quantities of magnificent gold and silver vessels, immense sums of money, and altogether the plunder was very considerable. Everything of value having been taken out of her, and the entire treasure having been transferred on board the three ships, the vessel was permitted to depart. When at last the ship returned to her home, and the Mogul learned the news, he was exceedingly wrathful and threatened to send a mighty army to drive out the English[179] from their settlements along the Indian coast. This greatly alarmed the East India Company, but the latter managed to calm him down by promising to send ships after the robbers and deliver him into their hands. The incident caused great excitement in Europe, and all sorts of extravagant rumours spread about, so that at one time it was intended to fit out a powerful squadron and have him captured, while another suggestion was that he should be invited home with his riches and receive the offer of His Majesty’s pardon, for he was reputed now to be about to found a new monarchy. But eventually these foolish notions were discovered to be baseless. Meanwhile the three treasure-laden ships were returning to Madagascar, where it was hoped to build a small fort, keep a few men there permanently and there deposit their ill-gotten treasure. But Avery had another plan in his mind, and this well exhibits his true character. On the voyage he sent out a boat to each of the sloops, inviting each skipper to repair on board him. They came and he laid before them the following proposition. If either of the sloops were to be attacked alone, they could not be able to offer any great resistance, and so their treasure would vanish. As regards his own ship, he went on, she was such a swift ship that he could not conceive of any other craft overtaking her. Therefore he suggested that all the treasure should be sealed up in three separate chests, that each of the three captains should have keys, that they should not be opened until all were present, that these chests should then be kept on his own ship, and afterwards deposited in a safe place ashore. It seems very curious that such wide-awake pirates should not have been able to see through such an obvious[180] trick. But without hesitation they agreed with the idea, and all the treasure was placed aboard Avery’s ship as had been suggested. The little fleet sailed on, and now Avery began to approach his crew in his usual underhand manner. Here was sufficient wealth on board to make them all happy for the rest of their lives. “What,” he asked, “shall hinder us from going to some country where we are not known and living on shore to the end of our days in affluence?” The crew thoroughly appreciated the hint, so during the night Avery’s ship got clear away, altered her course, sailed round the Cape of Good Hope and made for America. They were strangers in that land, they would divide up the booty and they would separate, so that each man would be able to live on comfortably without working. They arrived at the island of Providence, when it was decided that it would be wiser to get rid of such a large vessel. So, pretending she had been fitted out for privateering, and that, having had an unsuccessful voyage, Avery had received orders from his owners to sell her as best he could, he soon found a merchant who bought her, and Avery then purchased a small sloop. In this craft he and his crew embarked with their treasure, and after landing at different places on the American coast where no one suspected them, they dispersed and settled down in the country. Avery had now immense wealth, but as most thereof consisted of diamonds and he was afraid of being unable to get rid of them in America without being suspected as a pirate, he then crossed to the north of Ireland, where some of his men settled and obtained the King’s pardon. And now began a series of incidents which might well be taken to show the folly of ill-gotten gain. The reader has already seen that in spite of the vast affluence which these eighteenth-century[181] pirates obtained, yet in the end such wealth brought them nothing but anxiety and final wretchedness. Avery could no more dispose of his precious stones in Ireland than in America, so thinking that perhaps there might be some one in that big west-country town of Bristol who would purchase them, he proceeded to his native county of Devonshire and sent to one of his friends to meet him at Bideford. The “friend” introduced other “friends” and Avery informed them of his business. It was agreed that the best plan would be to place the diamonds in the hands of some wealthy merchants who would ask no awkward questions as to their origin. One of the “friends” asserted that he knew some merchants who would be able to transact the business, and provided they allowed a handsome commission the diamonds would be turned into money. As Avery could think of no other solution to the difficulty, he agreed with this, so presently the merchants came down to Bideford, and after strongly protesting their integrity they were handed both diamonds and vessels of gold, for which they gave him a small sum in advance. Avery then changed his name and lived quietly at Bideford, but in a short time he had spent all his money, and in spite of repeated letters to the wily merchants he could get no answer. But at last they sent him a small sum, though quite inadequate for paying his debts, and as he could barely subsist he resolved to go to Bristol and interview the merchants. He arrived, but instead of money he was met with a firm refusal and a threat that they would give information that he was a pirate. This frightened him so much that he returned to Ireland, and from there kept writing for his money, which, however, never came. He was reduced to such a condition of abject poverty that he resolved, in[182] his misery, to go back to Bristol and throw himself on the merchants’ mercy. He therefore shipped on board a trading ship, worked his passage to Plymouth and then walked to Bideford. He had arrived there not many days when he fell ill and died without so much as the money to buy him a burial. So it was true that “there be land rats and water rats, land thieves and water thieves, I mean pirates.” Avery had met a company of men who treated him in the way he had robbed others. Thus, the whole of his long voyaging from sea to sea, the entire series of events from the time when he had seized Gibson’s ship, had been not only profitless but brought upon him the utmost misery, terror, starvation and ultimate death. He had fought, he had schemed, he had done underhand tricks, he had told lies and he had endured bitter anxiety: but all to no purpose whatever. <hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> [183] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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