Poom! Poom!
There was still some fight left in the little Saint George and her dauntless crew kept pounding iron at the sullen zebeque, which, shattered and torn, filled away and made for the open sea. Her captain had been struck by a piece of shell just as the battle closed; two lieutenants were killed, seventy men were wounded, and eighty-eight had been killed by the accurate shooting of the “Never-Say-Dies” under Captain Fortunatus Wright: the invincible. It had been a gallant battle, gallantly fought by both sides, and gallantly won.
Bold navigator Wright followed his crippled adversary for several miles, then—seeing another French gun-boat threatening his convoy—he returned to the merchant-ships which had accompanied him; sent them back into Leghorn harbor; and followed, next day, with the proud, but battered Saint George. It had been a glorious victory.
No sooner had the war-scarred Captain Wright let go his anchor chains in the harbor of Leghorn than he realized that he had only just begun to fight.
“Sapristi!” said an Italian official. “This pirate has deceived us! This fellow was allowed but four guns upon his ship and he had twelve. To the jail with this dog! To the prison with this cut-throat! Sapristi!”
A boat soon rowed to the Saint George and an order was delivered to Captain Wright to the effect that he must bring his vessel into the inner harbor, and, if he did not obey, she would be brought in by Italian gun-boats. Wright—of course—refused. So two big Italian warships sailed up upon either side of the Saint George, ran out their guns, and cast anchor.
“I will not move for the entire Italian Government!” roared Captain Fortunatus. “I will appeal to the British consul for protection, as England is at war with France, not with Italy.”
Now was a pretty how-de-do. The Italians were furious with the stubborn privateersman for refusing to obey their orders, but, in truth, the way that he had deceived them in smuggling the extra cannon aboard—when under their own eyes—is what had roused their quick, Tuscan tempers. They thought that they had been sharp—well—here was a man who was even sharper than they, themselves. “Sapristi!” they cried. “To the jail weeth heem!”
There was a terrific war of words between the British consul and the officials of that snug, little town. Then, the problem was suddenly solved, for, two powerful, English men-of-war dropped into the harbor: the Jersey of sixty guns, and the Isis mounting fifty. The authorities of Leghorn were told that they had orders from the Admiral of the British, Mediterranean fleet, to convoy any English merchantmen which might be there, and to release the Saint George immediately. Wright threw up his cap and cheered, but the officials of Leghorn said things which cannot be printed. Thus the Saint George sailed upon her way, unmolested, and was soon taking more prizes upon the broad waters of the Mediterranean.
The path of the privateer is not strewn with roses. Captain Fortunatus found that his reputation had gone abroad and it had not been to his credit, for, when he put in at Malta he was not allowed to buy provisions for his ship.