Frenchmen! Catch this Thief! Bring him in Dead or Alive! Do your Duty!
This sum is guaranteed by the Merchants and Ship-owners of Marseilles, and the Chamber of Commerce.”
Wright had heard of this, and it sent a grim look into his eyes. He also heard that a vessel was cruising outside the harbor in wait for him, and thus he was not surprised, as he saw a large boat upon his port bow, when only a few hours’ sail from the snug harbor of Leghorn.
This vessel—a zebeque—had been waiting for the well-hated privateersman for several days, as her captain had been warned by the Italians that Wright was about to set sail. She had three masts, each carrying a huge, three-cornered sail, sixteen guns of considerable size, and several swivels. Her crew numbered two hundred and eighty men, well armed and eager for a brush with the famous Fortunatus, whose proverbial good fortune seemed now to have deserted him.
Rounding to, Wright signalled to his merchantmen to draw near and hurriedly transported some of the cannon, which he had smuggled, to his own vessel. He also added to his small crew, so that—when the zebeque came pounding down within shooting distance—he had increased his sailors from twenty-five to seventy-five, and his guns, from four to twelve.
“Now let the Frenchie come on!” he cried. “I’m half prepared, but I’ll give her a warmer welcome than she ever had in all her career!”
“Huzzah! Huzzah!” shouted his men, who were a motley collection of all nationalities: Italians, English, Portuguese, Dutch, Germans, and a few Arabs. “Huzzah! Huzzah! Wright forever!” The Arabs, of course, didn’t say this, but they tried to.
The French were very confident, and, as they came within range of the guns of the little Saint George they began to sing a hymn of victory, while their captain already saw, in his hands, the rich reward offered by the good citizens of Marseilles.
“Poof!” he chuckled. “Monsieur Wright, he soon take dinnaire in my cabin. Poof!”
But Monsieur Wright was a different fellow than he imagined, and his men—although of all nationalities—were so animated by his stirring and martial spirit, that they fought better than they had ever fought in their lives before. You all know how necessary to success “Spirit” is in a foot-ball team, or a base-ball nine. The team which has the do-or-dare spirit, the never-give-up-until-the-last-gun-is-fired determination, is usually the team that wins. And the spirit of the captain is the controlling factor in any contest. If he be no desperate fighter, his followers will not be desperate fighters. If he is weak-kneed in a crisis, his followers will be weak-kneed.