“Ah, Seigneur!” said he, “you have taken me, that is true. But you cannot touch my cargo or my men. See,—here is a pass from King George the Second of England. It says, ‘All of the cargo, passengers, and crew of La Belle Florence shall be exempt from molestation by English cruisers and privateers.’ What say you to that?”
Captain Wright looked sad, but he seized the paper and read it with care. His smile broadened as he perused the document.
“How am I to know that this particular ship is to go free?” said he. “For although you told me that the name of your vessel (La Belle Florence) was mentioned in this document, I do not find that it is mentioned. The paper merely states that ‘the vessel’ shall not be molested, and, my boy, you may have stolen this from some other skipper. Ah! Ha! You are my prize and shall go with me into Leghorn.”
You should have seen the face of the Frenchman!
“I vill haf revenge!” said he. And he had it.
For, when the matter was referred to the British Minister, he turned it over to the Admiral who commanded the English ships at this station, and this high official made Captain Wright give up both vessel and cargo. He did so with the same unwillingness that he had shown when asked to leave the quaint, little town of Lucca. Captain Wright, you see, had that bull-dog stubbornness which is characteristic of men of the British Isles. He believed in hanging on to everything which he took.
A bit later, this trait got him into serious difficulties and into prison.
A number of English merchants were trading with the people of Turkey under the name of “The Company of English Merchants trading to the Levant Sea,” and, finding it impossible to ship all of their goods in British vessels, they often sent them in the holds of French ships. True it was that France was at war with England at this time, but, as these were English cargoes, the British naturally thought that they should be allowed to come through, unmolested, even though the French vessels might be captured by English privateers. But they had not reckoned with Fortunatus Wright.
Two French clipper ships were scudding quietly along off the Italian coast, one bright day in June of 1747, when a rakish vessel appeared upon the horizon and speedily bore down upon them. They crowded on sail, but they could not outdistance their pursuer, who was soon near enough to fire a gun across the bow of the foremost, and flaunt the English colors in her face.
“Helas!” growled the French skipper. “Eet ees that devil, ze Captain Wright. Eet is all up with me! Helas!”