Thus, on April 28th, when the Duke and the Duchess weighed anchor and stood out to sea: guns roared: trumpets blew: the men cheered.
“And so,” writes the gallant Rogers, “we took leave of the Spaniards very cheerfully, but not half so well pleased as we should have been if we had taken ’em by surprise; for I was well assured from all hands, that at least we should then have got about two hundred thousand pieces of eight in money (£45,000 or $225,000); and in jewels, diamonds, and wrought and unwrought gold and silver.”
The owners of the two privateers: the Duke and the Duchess, sat in solemn meeting at the good town of Bristol. It was the month of October, 1711.
The fat Quakers were smiling, for Captain Rogers had brought them back equally fat moneys.
The rugged merchants laughed, for the venture had been a howling success.
“And you were wounded?” said a stockholder, turning to the bronzed sea-rover who stood before them, giving account and reckoning of his journey to the Spanish Main.
“A scratch,” replied the stout sea-dog, smiling. “When we tackled a Manila ship on the way home from Guayaquil, I got a ball through the jaw, and a splinter in the left foot. It laid me up for full three weeks, but, gentlemen, a cat and Woodes Rogers both have nine lives.”
And even the sober Quaker fathers laughed at this sally.
“You have done well,” they said. “We will reward you with money and a good berth. How would you care to be Governor of the Bahamas?”