North of St. John and so close to it as to appear, from a short distance, but a continuation, lies Tortola, the British isle which played so prominent a part in St. John’s early history. In beauty rivaling its once Danish neighbor, Tortola (or “the island of the turtle dove”) is even more forsaken,—an island of the blest given over to the blacks, the only white men being the resident magistrate and a half-dozen representatives of his Britannic Majesty,—while Roadtown, its capital, is but a tumble-down village of scarcely five hundred souls.
And yet in times gone by Tortola was a prosperous and wealthy island. In Roadtown’s harbor scores of great square-rigged ships rode to their moorings; along the quay, drays, trucks, and carts groaned and squeaked from morn till night. Long lines of black stevedores and porters passed like a procession of restless ants from drougher boats to warehouses and marts. Sloops and long-oared boats manned by toiling slaves came from outlying [[95]]plantations, laden with hogsheads of molasses, rum, and sugar; with pimento, bay-leaves, and spices; with bales of tobacco and cargoes of fruit. And the waterside taverns echoed to the shouts and songs, the boisterous laughter, and the deep-sea oaths of pigtailed sailormen in glazed hats. And here, too, the sea-rovers gathered, for Tortola, largest of the Virgins, was, like its sisters, a retreat of the buccaneers.
To-day, from time to time, ancient cannon and equally ancient coins are found here and there upon the island and, by common consent, are invariably credited to buccaneer origin. But it is very doubtful that the pirates ever had works or guns ashore at Tortola. As there was nothing to lead me to believe that they had, and as there were so many isles where they did certainly foregather and where associations that link them with the present still remain, I passed Tortola by and told Sam to shape the Vigilant’s course for Anegada, most northerly of the Virgins, and once the buccaneers’ favorite retreat among these little isles.
Close at hand rose the Fat Virgin, or, as it is more commonly and more euphoniously called, Virgin Gorda, a rather barren spot like St. Thomas in miniature with its central peaks thirteen hundred feet above the breaking surf. [[96]]
Low down and nestling in the lee of Tortola is Norman Island, a tiny speck, like Dead Man’s Chest, notable for its traditions and not for its size or importance; for on Norman Island is said to be buried that huge and entirely mythical treasure of the most widely known pirate of song and story, Captain Kidd.
I doubt if there is a stretch of coast ten miles in length between the Bay of Fundy and the Gulf of Mexico, or an island or wave-washed rock in the Atlantic or the Caribbean whereon Captain Kidd’s treasure-trove is not supposedly buried. How many thousands of men have searched and dug and toiled to unearth that will-o’-the-wisp hoard no one can say. How much real money has been expended in that same vain quest, it is impossible to estimate, but beyond the shadow of a doubt the money spent in digging for this treasure is greatly in excess of all the gold and other riches William Kidd ever saw or hoped to see. And, oddly enough, there is no proof, no reason even to think that the notorious captain ever buried a cent’s worth of loot on any spot other than Gardiner’s Island, in Long Island Sound, whence it was recovered by those for whom Kidd had placed it in safety there. Strange indeed is the reputation, the fame that has been reared and built about the name of Captain Kidd. It shows [[97]]what advertising and publicity will do, and how very little the public cares for facts, provided the fiction appeals to the imagination, for Captain Kidd—whose name is a synonym of piracy—was neither a pirate nor a buccaneer.
That he was hanged as a pirate is true, but many a man has been hanged for a murderer who was afterward proved innocent, and the unfortunate Kidd was a victim of circumstances, of avarice, jealousy, and revenge; the victim of what we to-day should call a “frame-up.” Not a particle of evidence worthy of consideration was ever brought forward to show that he was a pirate. Indeed, Captain Kidd, instead of being a pirate, was commissioned to catch pirates, his authority being granted by King William III of Great Britain and addressed to “our trusty and dearly beloved Captain William Kidd, of the ship Adventure, gally.”
Long before this, however, Kidd, who was a native of Greenock, Scotland, was a well-known and highly respected mariner with a reputation, along the American seaboard, for fair and honest dealing. Meeting with various influential and wealthy men who saw in the suppression of pirates and robbing of robbers a handsome profit, the worthy seaman was prevailed upon to set forth [[98]]under royal warrant to deal summarily with “divers wicked and ill-disposed persons who were committing many and grievous pyraces to the hurt and danger of our loving subjects.”
Setting sail from the port of Plymouth, England, in May, 1696, Kidd and his company of one hundred and fifty-five men proceeded to scour the seas in search of the “pyrates.” Either the “wicked and ill-disposed persons” had heard of his mission or else luck was against him: for the pirate-exterminator failed to find pirates to exterminate. Sailors then, as ever, were a disgruntled lot, and Kidd’s crew, growing weary of finding no corsairs with whom to match arms, evidently decided that the next best thing was to emulate them and do a little pirating on their own account. Consequently, the Adventure bore down upon a Moorish ship, the Queda Merchant, which was in command of an English captain, and took possession of her. Whether Kidd, finding his crew had made up their minds to turn pirates, gave in to superior numbers and consented to this temporary lapse from honesty; whether he was actually overpowered and held captive while the capture of the Queda Merchant was taking place, or whether the captain himself was so sorely tempted that he fell, may never be known. At his trial he contended[[99]]—and very probably with truth—that his crew mutinied, threatened his life, and confined him to his cabin while the piratical venture was being carried out. Whatever the facts were, word of the Adventure’s seizure of the Queda reached the authorities, and Kidd was forthwith declared a pirate.
In the meantime, the Adventure had become unseaworthy, and, transferring his more valuable possessions to his prize, Captain Kidd sailed for Santo Domingo, then known as Hispaniola, with—so he stated—the intention of notifying the authorities. But at Hispaniola the “dearly beloved” William heard that he was “wanted,” and, hastily purchasing a small sloop, he set sail for New England. There, being somewhat doubtful about the reception he might receive, he got into communication with his backers, and secreted what valuables he had, on Gardiner’s Island.