Daring Deeds of Famous Pirates / True stories of the stirring adventures, bravery and resource of pirates, filibusters & buccaneers

by E. Keble Chatterton

Gallantry against Odds

The Englishmen showed themselves men indeed against the Moors, especially the boatswain, who was brought down by a bullet in his chest. But overcome by numbers the brave crew were overwhelmed, and the survivors condemned to the oars.

Such was the fine gallantry of these brave men, but they were fighting against heavy odds. The Turks pressed them sorely, and not one of the company but behaved as a man, except the master’s mate “who shrunke from the skirmish, like a notable coward, esteeming neither the valure of his name, nor accounting of the present example of his fellowes, nor having respect to the miseries, whereunto he should be put.” The rest of the crew covered themselves with glory, but at length it was of no avail, for the Turks won the day. Then, in accordance with the historic custom of the sea, the crew of the Aucher were placed in the galleys, set to row at the oars “and they were no sooner in them, but their garments were pulled over their eares, and torne from their backes,” for the galley slave was always condemned to row stark naked.

At length the galleys reached their stronghold at the port of Alexandria, which was well protected in those days by means of fortifications. The reader will recollect that it was stated some time back that the sailing season was confined only to the late spring and summer, and that in the winter the ships were laid up. The close time now approaching, the Christian prisoners were brought ashore at Alexandria and cast into prison until the time came round again for the season of piracy. At this port, says the Elizabethan chronicler, “the Turkes doe customably bring their gallies on shoare every yeere, in the winter season, and there doe trimme them, and lay them up against the spring time. In which road there is a prison, wherein the captives and such prisoners as serve in the gallies, are put for all that time, untill the seas be calme and passable for the gallies, every prisoner being most grievously laden with irons on their legges, to their great paine.”

So the voyage of the Aucher had come to a tragic ending. But after a time the news of this incident evidently reached England, for both the master and the owner were ransomed by their friends from their prison. The rest had to bear their ill-treatment and semi-starvation as best they would. But he who bore it all with wonderful endurance was the gunner John Foxe and “being somewhat skilfull in the craft of a Barbour, by reason thereof made great shift in helping his fare now and then with a good meale.” In the course of time the keeper of the prison became rather fond of him and allowed him special privileges, so that he could walk as far as the sea and back when he liked, but he was warned always to return by night, and he was never allowed to go about without his shackles on his legs. Later on, six more of the prisoners were allowed a like privilege.

The life sped wearily on, and now, for fourteen sorry years, this durance vile had continued. It was the year 1577, and the winter season had come round again and the galleys drawn up the beach. The masts and sails thereof were brought ashore and properly housed till once more the spring should return, and the Turkish masters and mariners were now “nested in their own homes,” as the narrative quaintly words it. The galley-slaves had again resumed their long bondage ashore, and now there were no fewer than 268 wretched Christians there, languishing in captivity, having been captured from sixteen different nations. It was then that John Foxe, man of resource that he was, resolved that escape must be made and his fellow-prisoners also released. If you consider such a project as the release of nearly 300 prisoners from the hands of these Turkish pirates, the idea seems entirely impracticable and utterly visionary.

To John Foxe, however, it seemed otherwise, and this is how he set to work. After pondering over a method for a very long time and saying many prayers that his scheme might be successful, he betook himself to a fellow-prisoner—a Spanish Christian—named Peter Unticaro, who had been in captivity no less than thirty years. This man was lodged in “a certaine victualling house” near the roadstead. He had never attempted escape during all those years, so was treated with less suspicion and trusted. Foxe and Unticaro had often discussed their bondage, however, and at last the Englishman took the risk of making him his confidant, and also one other fellow-prisoner. These three men put their heads together, and Foxe unfolded a method of escape. Their chances of meeting were but few and short, but at the end of seven weeks they had been able to agree on a definite plan. Five more prisoners were now taken into their confidence whom they thought they could safely trust.

The last day of the old year came round, and these eight men agreed to meet in the prison and inform the rest of the prisoners of the plan. On the 31st of December, then, this was done. It needed but little persuasion to cause these two hundred odd to join in the scheme, and Foxe having “delivered unto them a sort of files, which he had gathered together for this purpose, by the meanes of Peter Unticaro,” admonished them to be ready at eight o’clock the next night with their fetters filed through. So on the next day Foxe, with his six companions, resorted to the house of Peter Unticaro. In order to prevent any suspicions of a dark deed, they spent the time in mirth till the night came on and the hour of eight drew nigh. Foxe then sent Unticaro to the keeper of the road, pretending that he had been sent by one of the Turkish officials, ordering him to come at once. The keeper promptly came, and before doing so, told the warders not to bar the gate as he should not be long away.

In the meantime the other seven prisoners had been able to arm themselves with the best weapons they could find in the house of the Spaniard, and John Foxe was able to lay his hands on a rusty old sword blade “without either hilt or pomell,” but he managed to make it effective. By now the keeper had arrived, but as soon as he came to the house and saw it silent and in darkness he began to be suspicious. John Foxe was ready for him, and before the keeper had retraced his steps more than a few yards, the Englishman sprang out, and, calling him a villain and “a bloodsucker of many a Christian’s blood, lift up his bright shining sword of tenne yeeres rust” and killed him on the spot. They then marched quietly in the direction of the warders of the road and quickly dispatched these six officials. Foxe then barred the gate and put a cannon against it to prevent pursuit. So far all had worked with remarkable smoothness. They next proceeded to the gaoler’s lodge, where they found the keys of the fortress and prison by his bedside. They also found some better weapons than the arms they were using. But there was also a chest full of ducats. To three of the party this wonderful sight proved irresistible. Foxe would not have anything to do with the money for “that it was his and their libertie which he sought for, to the honour of his God, and not to make a marte of the wicked treasure of the Infidels.” But Unticaro and two others helped themselves liberally, and concealed the money between their skin and their shirt.