Prince Rupert, the Buccaneer

by Charles John Cutcliffe Wright Hyne

Rupert muttered a jest, that if he came not soon, we should be forced to report him to his superiors for dereliction of duty.

But presently through the gloom these desperate men saw one step from the coach on to the gangway and step towards them. Their muscles grew hardened for the spring, their nerves strung for fierce fighting. And then, lo! here was a deputy sent to do the formal round, whilst the boatswain himself lay sleeping.

So there was the tedious vigil to be endured a second time. But galley slaves can be patient over a disappointment like this, so that there is shrewd prospect of their vengeance coming if only it is waited for long enough. And in due time the boatswain himself came out of the coach, yawning and stretching, and making his way leisurely along the centre of the gangplank.

It was plain that his eyes were heavy with drowsiness, and he saw little. Indeed he was within an ace of the sailor who lay on the gangway sleeping (or pretending to sleep), and only swerved just in time to prevent stumbling over him. He stepped to the edge of the gangway, cursing softly, and the chain on Rupert's wrist that fettered it to the oar gave just sufficient play for the man's undoing. The Prince grasped his ankle and plucked it smartly from beneath him. The boatswain fell down headlong among the slaves—the slaves whom his whip had so cruelly tortured—and under their vicious handling his natural cries were stifled before they were born. The keys were ripped from his pouch, and passed down the row of benches, and callous, blistered fingers trembled as they fitted them into the locks of the shackles. The sweat of anxiety poured from the slaves during those minutes as they fumbled.

A voice rang out through the rustling night that called for the boatswain. There was no reply. Again the voice called, and this time it was answered by a laugh. Prince Rupert, once more a free man, stepped up on to the gangway. The secretary followed him. They made their way aft to the coach where the officers of the soldiers lived, and other shadowy figures, first by ones and twos, then in mobs, began to move on at their heels. There were no cries, there was no shouting; but the very silence of these ill-used slaves made their onset all the more dreadful. The officers and the soldiers welled out like angry bees from an upturned hive to meet them.

Both Rupert and the secretary were happy enough to filch swords from soldiers that were barely awake, and with hands once more gripped on their accustomed tools, were able to make pretty play. But the great mob of slaves that came on at their heels found no such genteel weapons; contented themselves with stanchions, belaying-pins, balustrading, or anything which offered itself to the first sight; or else raged horribly with bare teeth and talons, as though they had been wild beasts unaccustomed to more human warfare. There was no display of fencing skill. Their one manoeuvre was to rush in to hand-grips and commence a deadly wrestle.

There was no doubt about the slaves' ferocity. Numbers of them were killed, but even in their death-writhings they generally managed to pull their man down overboard with them. Their numbers and their rush were unconquerable. And, besides, the Spaniards were still nauseated with the defeat of the afternoon and with seasickness.

As more of the slaves got loose from their shackles the battle degenerated into mere slaughter. The wretches were men no longer; they were wild beasts mad with the lust for blood. They had forgotten the meaning of the word "quarter"; and when here and there one of the soldiers threw down his arms, crying that he surrendered, they simply ran in and finished him, with laughter at his foolishness.

But it was no part of Rupert's plan to let capture and punishment degenerate into massacre. That there were men on the galleys who had been buccaneers before being taken as prisoners by the Spaniards, has been mentioned already. And it appears there were others. It was the pockmarked Yorkshireman, Simpson, who told of them.

This man Simpson came up to Rupert when he and the secretary were defending against some of the maddened slaves a handful of soldiers who had surrendered. "What d'ye bother yer head about yon carrion for, young feller?" said Simpson. "They're nobbut Jack-Spaniards, and they're far better ower t' side an' into t' watter."