Things were going well with the wild rovers from Bristol. Plunder there was aplenty and the holds of the Duke and the Duchess bulged with treasure. Yet Woodes Rogers was not satisfied.
“On! On to Guayaquil!” cried he. “We’ll capture this wealthy city; demand a great ransom; and sail to England, richer than the Spanish conquerors of the Incas.”
“Hurrah!” shouted his staunch followers. “On! On! to Guayaquil!”
So—steering for the coast of Ecuador—the privateers drew near this rich Spanish-American town. A gulf lay before their eyes in which was a small island; with a little, white-housed village (called Puna) on its Eastern shore.
“Take the place!” cried Rogers, as the two ships forged into the sleepy shallows, and rounded to before the peaceful habitation.
With a cheer, the sailors piled into the boats, rowed ashore, and—with cutlass and dirk in hand—pressed through the narrow streets. Shots rang out from a few of the thatched houses; two seamen fell to the ground with mortal wounds; but, cheering wildly, the privateers rushed through the narrow highway; pressed into the court-house; and seized upon the Lieutenant-Governor of the town of Guayaquil, as he was attempting to hide behind an old clothes-press.
“Let no man get away in order to warn the large town of our approach!” shouted Captain Rogers. “Catch all who dash for the canoes upon the beach!”
“Crush the bloomin’ canoes!” yelled Cook, as he saw some of the natives running towards them on the sandy shore. “Crush the canoes before the devils can get there!”
“All right!” answered several of his men, as they ran for the clusters of boats. “We’ll put holes in them!”
As they hurried forward, several of the natives were ahead. Two jumped into the bark boats and paddled furiously for Guayaquil. The zip, zip of bullets nipped the water around them, but,—with desperate sweeps—they dug their blades into the sea and got safely off. As a result, the city was all ready and prepared for the invaders.