With which contention it is not easy for the student of history to disagree. Those were days when letters of marque were not required, only a swift-sailing vessel, a good crew of daring men, and the much adventuring spirit which distinguished most of the Cornish seaports at a time even antecedent to what Hals refers to as “the warlike reigns of our two valiant Edwards,” when, as he goes on to assert, “the Foyens (not, however, without some inkling, we venture to deduce, of private and personal gain) addicted themselves to backe their princes’ quarrels by coping with the enemy at sea, and made return of many prizes, which purchases (plunder) having advanced them to a good estate of wealth, the same was heedfully and diligently employed and bettered by the more civil trade of merchandize.”
Thus one gathers that the foundation of much of Fowey’s past greatness was of questionable or “uncivil” origin, and that it was only when Foyens had well-lined their nests that the more legitimate and peaceful callings made any great appeal to them. So greatly did the piratical enterprises prosper that Hals goes on to say, “It is reported sixty tall ships (ships of size) did at one time belong to the harbour.”
Unfortunately, however, the bold men of Fowey did not confine their energies to the backing of “their princes’ quarrels by coping with the enemy at sea,” but sometimes fell foul of their fellow countrymen, as was the case with the men of Winchelsea and Rye, to whom they refused, when sailing near those ports, to “vaile their bonnets at the summons of those towns,” with a result that the seamen of Winchelsea and Rye, burning with indignation at the Foyens’ contempt, “made out with might and maine against them, howbeit (as Hals goes on to tell us) with so more hardy onset than happy issue, for the Foy men gave them so rough entertainment as their welcome that they were glad to depart without bidding farewell.”
In a ballad (too long for us to quote in full) the exploit of Nicol, a widow’s son of Fowey, in capturing the celebrated Italian corsair Giovanni Doria (known as John Dory), of the famous Genoese family of the Dorias, who had been hired by the King of France to prey upon the English during the wars of Edward III, is preserved, and testifies to the old-time prowess of Fowey folk.
After Nicol had roamed the seas he sighted the vessel of the redoubtable Giovanni, and with his “goodly bark with fifty good oars of a side” promptly sought to engage the enemy. We are told in somewhat rugged verse, in which there dwells not only a fine fighting spirit but also some poetic licence:
The roaring cannons then were plied,
And dub-a-dub went the drum-a;
The braying trumpets loud they cried,
To courage both all and some-a.
The grappling hooks were brought at length,
The brown bill and the sword-a;
John Dory, at length, for all his strength,
Was clapt fast under board-a.
It seems, however, more than doubtful whether the cannons did roar at the period at which the fight took place. It is more probable that this was a touch of “local colour.”
When such successes attended Fowey arms—however unauthorized—it is little wonder that the Foyens sent their ships not only scouring the Channel in search of the French, but also along the Breton coast, “in search of plunder and sometimes of women.”