“I demand the boatswain out of his irons, Captain Rogers. He’s done nothing to deserve such a severe punishment.”
“Speak with me privately, on the quarter-deck,” said the bluff commander. “I cannot discuss this matter with you in such a crowd.” And he moved aft.
The grumbler followed, but, no sooner was he alone with stout Woodes, than the captain sprang upon him with the agility of a leopard. He was thrown to the ground, held, and bound by two officers. Then he was stripped and whipped until the blood ran.
“This method,” writes the doughty Woodes, “I deemed best for breaking any unlawful friendship among the mutinous crew. It allayed the tumult, so that they began to submit quietly and those in irons begged my pardon, and promised amendment.”
Thus the captain had won the first round with the mutineers.
Now, know you, that the War of the Spanish Succession was then in progress; a war in which one party was endeavoring to put the Archduke Charles of Austria upon the Spanish throne; another to place Philip, grandson of Louis XIV of France, in the chair of the rulers. And when—a few days later—the two privateers captured a small Spanish vessel, they found that their possession of it was disputed, when they sailed into the Canaries.
“It has been agreed between Queen Anne of England and the Kings of Spain and France,” said the Vice-Consul of that place—an Englishman—“that all vessels trading to the Canary Isles shall be exempt from interference by men-o’-war, or privateers. The prize must be released. If you do not do so, we will keep your agent, Mr. Vanbrugh, who has come ashore, and will throw him into irons.”
But the Vice-Consul had reckoned without his host.
“We are apprehensive that you are obliged to give us this advice in order to gratify the Spaniards,” wrote Captain Rogers. “If you do not allow my agent to come on board my ship, you may expect a visit from my guns at eight o’clock to-morrow morn.”
To this there was no reply.