Pirate tales from the law

by Arthur M. Harris

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, the Sarah 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, the Sarah Snow yielded 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.

The Delight, 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 for the 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 the Revenge as “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. The Revenge already had a surplus of fish, but, taking off a considerable quantity of the cargo, Gow amused the men and practiced the gunner by bombarding her 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 political irritation, 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. The Revenge foamed 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.