Prince Rupert, the Buccaneer

by Charles John Cutcliffe Wright Hyne

But Wick came out and faced the crowd with a brazen assurance.

"Look here," he said, "you people. We've got what we came for and we're ready to go. If you want more fighting, such as you've had a sample of already, by the Lord, we'll give you a belly full. You see this fine gentleman who's assisting me? That's Prince Rupert, who's come all the way from England to make a bit out here. And let me tell you you don't get a Prince amongst you every day. I'm Captain Wick, whose name you'll have heard often enough before and will again. Now if you're for further trouble, just say the word, and I'll fire this church in twenty places, and you can set about extinguishing it. We've got ten of your biggest men with us as hostages, and if you give us a quiet passage through the town, and let us get on our ship again unmolested, I'll make you a present of them sans ransom. But if you give me trouble, all that these good caballeros will want further at your hands will be ten little funerals. There, good people, there's a civil offer for you, and I want a reply straight and quick.—Inside the church there! Blow up your matches and stand by to fire the woodwork."

That the Spaniards have pride there is no denying, and had those in authority been able to speak their own mind, with such a large body of troops at their disposal they would never have accepted the disgrace of giving safe conduct to the insolent handful of buccaneers. Church and hostages would doubtless have been sacrificed, but at least the pride and honour of those that survived would have been retained to them. But the hostages had wives and daughters who clamoured shrilly that they should not be sacrificed, and the other women of the place added their voices to the plea, through the dread of horrors which would come very short of an absolute sack, and in the end the men (perhaps in truth glad of the excuse) with a strong show of reluctance, gave way.

Upon which out marched the buccaneers, careless of how near they had been to general massacre, and carrying themselves with their usual sturdy arrogance. Indeed, presently it occurred to one bright spirit that the success of the foray ought by rights to be celebrated by music, and so the pompous dons that were the hostages were compelled at the knife-point to whistle a cheery measure as they marched, and a very droll sight their faces presented to the onlooker.

Now it is hard for the historian of one who, like Rupert, is born by nature to be a leader to be compelled to own that another could supplant him in a leadership, and still bring his campaign to a prosperous issue. Still harder is it to write of the success of this man Wick, whose gentility was aped, and sat upon him untidily; who was indeed a vulgar fellow; and who on occasion got very nastily drunk and made ridiculous an inoffensive secretary like Stephen Laughan. But the plain truth must be set down that the conduct of this expedition by Wick was by some extraordinary freak of fortune entirely successful; and though a tidy number of the buccaneers were killed, it is not the custom of the survivors to waste superfluous regrets on their late companions. For whatever can be said against the murderous forays of these men, it can never be held that they value their own lives any more highly than they esteem the lives of their enemies.

But the secretary can at least look back with pleasure at a little scene which was brought about by this adventure. The buccaneers marched down the streets of the town always on the keen alert, and presenting a very ugly front and rear. They had a contemptuous distrust for the good faith of the Spaniards. But they were not molested. And in due time they passed out through the Watergate, got on board their ship, and then honourably fulfilling their engagement, gave the hostages enlargement, though with some impertinence, requesting that they would whistle them out of ear-shot. Then they poled off from the shore, hoisted their topsails, set the courses and mizzen, and stood out over the bar to sea, and those that were wounded—and these were most—had for the first time leisure to tend their hurts.

But when the bar was passed, and the swells of the open sea once more swung the ship over their breasts, Captain Wick gave a compass course to the helmsman, and took off his hat with a great bow to Prince Rupert, and laughed.

"That direction you've set should take us back to Curassou," said the Prince.

"That's what my navigation intends, your Excellency."

"And to the harbour from which we came?"