Next morning, when Davis went ashore, the governor met him with smiling face, invited him to join him at the house in a little refreshment, and, chatting affably, the party walked up. Presently the governor shifted somewhat, and at a given signal a withering volley was poured in at the pirates, who, with one exception, fell to the ground. The plot had failed!
Davis, wounded in the bowels though he was, rose to his feet and endeavoured to get away; he dropped in his tracks, and in the moment of death pulled out his pistols, and fired them point-blank at his pursuers.
When those on board the ship saw what had happened, they hurried away post-haste, and, once clear of the island, elected a new captain. The choice fell upon Bartholomew Roberts, and a really fine pirate chief he made. He was a born fighter and leader of men; he stood no nonsense from anyone, and the man who disputed his authority knew it to his cost. He cared for nobody, and, although we need not follow his whole career, he did so much damage amongst shipping, both off Africa and America, that his name became a byword amongst mariners. He was a terror of the seas.
He cut a picturesque figure when he went fighting. He would overhaul a ship, pound at her for all he was worth, and then, entering his longboat, row over and tackle her. All his men were extravagant in their tastes regarding dress, but Roberts was worse than all; he dressed in a rich crimson damask waistcoat and breeches, wore a large black hat with a crimson feather, a gold chain round his neck, with a diamond pendant, a silk band hanging from his shoulders to carry his pistols. Thus, sword in hand, he led his men to the fight, dashing, very often, through a very hail of shot, and, with shouts and curses, urging his men on as they tried to board. A stiff fight very often ensued, and then the pirates, having run the gauntlet of fire, scrambled up the side of the ship and, after a fierce hand-to-hand fight, had her beaten.
“Sword in hand, Roberts led his men to the fight, dashing through a very hail of shot”
But, though he played this game many a time with much success, Nemesis was at hand. The Royal Fortune, as he called his last ship, had as consort the Ranger, and the two ships caused such depredation that the British cruiser Swallow scoured the seas to find them, eventually running them to earth in the River Gaboon. The Royal Fortune lay well up the river, but the Ranger was at the mouth, and, seeing the Swallow approach with portholes closed, her crew hugged themselves with delight in anticipation of another prize. They thought she was a sugar ship, and they badly wanted sugar. They therefore hoisted sail and gave chase, which was just what the Swallow wanted. Lieutenant Sun, in command, had realised that the Ranger had made a mistake, and he led her on till she was well away from the river and out of gunshot of the Royal Fortune, which he meant to tackle later on.
The pirates, lured on by the thought of the sugar cargo sped after the Swallow, drew near enough to fire their bow chasers, and then opened on the quarry. Up went the black flag at the same time—as though the Swallow wanted to be told who they were!—and then, after a little further chase, drew alongside and prepared to board. The ruffianly looking crew lined the side of the Ranger. That moment the lower ports of the Swallow opened, and a terrific broadside crashed into the side of the astonished pirate. They had been bitten, deceived. They cursed their foes and drew off, though not before the black flag came fluttering down to the deck. Then, having hoisted another Jolly Roger, they tried to get away; but the Swallow was swifter than their own ship, and her guns better handled, with the result that, after a running fight of two hours, the black flag came down again, this time struck by the pirates; and the Ranger was captured.
They were a cheerful lot of pirates which the Swallow took aboard; they did not seem to mind the prospect of the gallows, but joked and laughed, and treated the whole affair as a huge joke. They even tried to blow the Ranger up before they were taken off, with the pirates and the Navy men on board. Lieutenant Sun sent the Ranger into port with a prize crew, and then made off for the Gaboon River again, to tackle Roberts, in the Royal Fortune. While the fight had been going on, Roberts had been busy; he had captured a ship, and was sailing away with her when the Swallow sighted him on February 9, 1722. Sun kept as far away as possible, so that Roberts should not suspect he was being followed, and allowed him to anchor in a bay near Cape Lopez for the night. Roberts, who, if he had known, might have given the Swallow the slip, remained there, all unconscious of the fate coming to him. He was at breakfast next morning when news was brought him of a tall ship being near at hand. Roberts said it must be the Ranger returning, or a slave ship; anyway, it was nothing to get into a turmoil about. He soon found his mistake, for the stranger hoisted her colour, opened her ports, and showed Roberts that he was in for a scrap.
“It’s only a bite!” he cried. “Get ready!”