Finally the French merchants forwarded a missive to Marseilles, in France, which ran:
“Can the French be further humiliated by this corsair—this robber—Fortunatus Wright? Let our people fit out a privateer sufficiently large to cope with him, and let her defeat and cripple this fellow. Make haste, for he is doing much damage!”
An answer came back.
“Before a month is gone, Monsieur Wright will no more harass your privateers. What we have determined to do, we shall do!”
Word of this was brought to Captain Fortunatus Wright and he only smiled broadly. “There’ll be another ship to bring into Malta, care of F. Wright, Esq.,” said he. “And it will be labelled Collect on Delivery.”
Not three weeks later the French vessel came jauntily into the harbor of Malta. The captain was a man of considerable repute as a seaman and fighter, and he was warmly received by the French. They invited him to many dinners.
“Voilà!” said they. “Here is the fellow to do the tr-e-e-k. Tenez! There will soon be one b-e-eg mince pie we-eth Captain Wright eenside. Ha! Ha!”
It is never well to count your chickens before they hatch or to pat a man upon the back before he has won a victory.
Eagerly the French captain cruised outside, continually upon the watch for slippery Skipper Wright. His vessel was superior to the Fame in numbers of both guns and men. He was sure of victory. “If only the hated Englishman would appear!” he grumbled.
Meanwhile the excitement and expectation at Malta became intense. Finally it was noised abroad that the terrible privateer had been sighted about five miles off the harbor. All factions were aroused: the Austrians and English slapping the French and Spaniards upon the back, and saying, “Now there will be a chance to sink bold Captain Wright, Messieurs!”