Tales of Modern Pirate Hunting
IT must not be supposed that all pirates lived in the far distant past, or that there are no pirates nowadays. It is true that the picturesque gentlemen whose acquaintance we have made so far have disappeared from the high seas, but fellow rogues of theirs still ply their trade far away in the East. The coasts of China have always been infested by pirates; of course, they are not so numerous or so open in their methods to-day as they were, say, forty or fifty years ago, for China has awakened from her lethargy of ages, and her ancient civilisation is being supplanted by a newer one which will not tolerate pirates. As a matter of fact, the old Chinese civilisation did not tolerate them; but the officials were so slack, and so cowardly, that the freebooters laughed at them and their efforts to suppress piracy. It was for this reason that Great Britain had gunboats in the Far Eastern waters whose mission it was to destroy the pirates—rout them out of their strongholds, and sink or capture their junks.
The Gulf of Tonquin, the island of Hainan, and the length of coast from that point to Macao, were—and are—what might be termed the hunting-ground of the Chinese pirates. Macao, as a glance at the map will show, is on the opposite side of the Canton River to Hong-Kong, the British naval base. The trading was done chiefly from Hong-Kong to the northward, the country below Macao being practically unknown to Europeans. The British steamer Takon was held up on April 27th, 1914, by pirates off Kian, to the north of Macao. It was late at night, and the captain was on his bridge. The pirates swarmed along the deck, killing as they went, and instantly all was confusion. There were two hundred and thirty people on board, including passengers and crew, and it was a bold attempt the pirates made. The officers and crew opposed them nobly, and tried to force them back; but nothing could stop them. Across the deck they went towards the bridge where the captain stood, revolver in hand, blazing away at them as fast as he could. Here so good a stand was made, that the pirates found they would be unable to win, and, while some kept the captain and his few men engaged, others rushed below and set fire to the ship. Very soon the vessel was a blazing mass, with women and children screaming, pirates jumping overboard to escape capture, the crew launching boats and trying to get the women and children off.
Naturally, after the turmoil of the fight, there was much confusion, for people had lost their heads, and though incoming steamers rescued over a hundred and fifty from the ship, which was burnt to the water’s edge, when the toll was taken next morning it was found that a hundred and eighty were missing, including the chief officer, Evans, who had been last seen clinging to a floating oar. Of the rescued, some showed signs of the encounter with the pirates, several of whom had been killed and a number of others wounded.
To go farther back, in 1865, a large junk, with a fine cargo of opium, left the port bound for Swatow in the north. Now, as the junk was well armed and well manned, having no fewer than a dozen 12- to 18-pounder guns and some forty-five men on board, it seemed unlikely that she would be molested by the pirates. For this reason a number of people sailed in her, thinking themselves safe. The better not to be noticed by any prowling piratical craft, the junk slipped out of harbour at evening, but, the wind falling, she had to anchor about nine o’clock a few miles from the outer roads of Hong-Kong, the crew, despite their strength, and the passengers, despite the crew, feeling anything but at ease in their minds; at any moment they knew they might be swooped down upon by a number of pirate junks, and then—well, here is the “then.”
At midnight, while the passengers were tossing about uneasily, a dark shape loomed out of the night, there was a grating of ship’s side against ship’s side, the patter of running feet on deck, and before the crew or the passengers could gather themselves together—before they even knew what was afoot—they were clapped under the hatches, prisoners to pirates. Eighty-three people had been captured by, perhaps, half that number!
Once having secured their prisoners, the pirates set the junk’s sails, and under cover of the darkness took her back towards Hong-Kong, keeping well away from the coast until they were on the south side of the island. Here, at daybreak, they ordered the prisoners to come up on deck one by one.
They came; and as each one showed head above the hatch, he or she—for there were women and children aboard—was seized by the pirates, bound hand and foot, and pitched headlong into the sea; these ruffians didn’t trouble about planks! A man stood too much chance of being saved if he walked off a plank, and very little if flung overboard with his feet and hands tied.
Eighty-two of the batch were treated in this way, the sole exception being a child of twelve years of age, whom they decided to keep and turn into ship’s boy. Then away went the pirates to a snug little harbour near Macao, where they shared their spoil—no little lot, either, for the ship had been well laden. Then the captured junk was burnt, and the pirates broke up into little companies and went anywhere they felt inclined, to spend their ill-gotten gains, and then to return to their trade.
Seven of the rogues, taking the little boy with them, boarded a steamer bound for Hong-Kong. The pirates, used to such ventures, maintained a fine pose, but the poor little laddie, scared out of his wits and wondering what was likely to happen to him, attracted the attention of the captain.