Captain William Kidd and Others of the Buccaneers

CHAPTER III

Piratic Adventures

Audacity of Kidd. – Fate of the November. – Kidd kills William Moore. – The Renowned Ballad. – Kidd’s Compunctions. – Kidd at Madagascar. – Piratic Carousals. – The Artificial Hell. – Kidd’s Return to the West Indies. – Exaggerated Reports of Avery. – His wretched Career, and wretched End.

Captain Kidd, with a piratic frown upon his brow, and piratic oaths upon his lips, turned to Mr. Le Roy and said:

“Do you pretend that this is not a French ship, and that you are but a passenger on board?”

“It is so,” Mr. Le Roy politely replied. “I am a stranger in these parts, and have merely taken passage on board this native ship, under Captain Mitchel, on my way to Bombay.”

“It is a lie,” said the pirate, as he drew from his belt a pistol and cocked it. “This is a French ship, and you are its captain; and it is my lawful prize. If you deny this, you shall instantly die.”

The features of Kidd, and his words blended with oaths, convinced Mr. Le Roy that he was in the hands of a desperate man, who would shrink from no crime. He was silent. Kidd then added:

“I seize this ship as my legitimate prize. It belongs to a French subject, and is sailing under the French flag. I have a commission from his majesty the King of England to seize all such ships in his name.”

It seems strange that Kidd, after the many lawless acts of which he had already been guilty, should have deemed it of any consequence to have recourse to so wretched a quibble. But the incident shows that the New-York merchant, formerly of good reputation, still recoiled from the thought of plunging headlong into a piratic career. By observing these forms he could, in this case, should he ever have occasion to do so, claim the protection of the royal commission authorizing him to capture French ships.

Kidd took his prize, which he called the November, because it was captured in that month, into one of the East-Indian ports, and sold ship and cargo for what they would fetch. What the amount was, or how he divided it, is not known. Again he resumed his cruise. It was evident that he had become anxious to renounce the career of pirate, upon which he had barely entered, and resume that of privateersman. They soon came across a Dutch ship, unmistakably such, in build and flag and rigging. The crew clamored for its capture; Kidd resolutely opposed it. A mutiny arose. A minority of the ship’s company adhered to the captain. The majority declared that they would arm the boats and go and seize her.

The captain, with drawn sabre in his hand, and pistols in his belt, and surrounded by those still faithful to him, stood upon her quarter-deck and said to the mutineers, firmly:

“You may take the boats and go. But those who thus leave this ship will never ascend its sides again.”

One of the men, a gunner by the name of William Moore, was particularly violent and abusive. With threatening gestures he approached the captain, assailing him in the most vituperative terms, saying:

“You are ruining us all. You are keeping us in beggary and starvation. But for your whims we might all be prosperous and rich.”

The captain was by no means a meek man. In his ungovernable passion he seized an iron-bound bucket, which chanced to be lying at his side, and gave the mutineer such a blow as fractured his skull and struck him senseless to the deck. Of the wound the gunner died the next day. Not many will feel disposed to censure Captain Kidd very severely for this act. It was not a premeditated murder. It was perhaps a necessary deed, in quelling a mutiny, in which the mutineers were demanding that the black flag of the pirate should be raised, and which demand the captain was resisting. And yet it is probable that this blow sent Kidd to the gallows. Upon his subsequent trial, but little evidence of piracy could be adduced, and the death of Moore was the prominent charge brought against him.

Kidd ever averred that it was a virtuous act, and that it did not trouble his conscience. It was done to prevent piracy and mutiny. He also averred that he had no intention to

kill

 the man. Had he so intended he would have used pistol or sabre. In the ballad which, half a century ago, was sung in hundreds of farm-houses in New England, the lullaby of infancy, the event is alluded to in the following words:

“I murdered William Moore, as I sailed, as I sailed,

I murdered William Moore as I sailed;

I murdered William Moore, and left him in his gore,

Not many leagues from shore, as I sailed.”

We will give a few more verses to show the general character of this ballad of twenty-five stanzas, once so popular, now forgotten:

“My name was William Kidd, when I sailed, when I sailed,

My name was William Kidd when I sailed,

My name was William Kidd, God’s laws I did forbid,

And so wickedly I did when I sailed.

“Thus being o’ertaken at last, I must die, I must die,

Thus being o’ertaken at last, I must die;

Thus being o’ertaken at last, and into prison cast,

And sentence being pass’d, I must die.

“To Newgate now I’m cast, and must die, and must die,

To Newgate now I’m cast, and must die,

To Newgate now I’m cast, with sad and heavy heart,

To receive my just desert, I must die.

“To Execution Dock I must go, I must go,

To Execution Dock I must go;

To Execution Dock will many thousands flock,

But I must bear my shock, and must die.

“Come all ye young and old, see me die, see me die,

Come all ye young and old, see me die;

Come all ye young and old, you’re welcome to my gold,

For by it I’ve lost my soul, and must die.”

The Dutchman had no consciousness of the peril to which he had been exposed. The two ships kept company for several days, and then separated. Is it possible that all this time Kidd was hesitating whether to raise the black flag and seize the prize? It looks like it; for a few days after the Dutch ship had disappeared, quite a fleet of Malabar boats were met with, laden with provisions and other articles which Kidd needed. Unscrupulously he plundered them all. Probably he had no fears that tidings of the outrage would ever reach England. And even if a rumor of the deed were ever to reach those distant shores, he had no apprehension that England would trouble herself to punish him for a little harsh treatment of semi-savages on the coast of Malabar.

A few days after this robbery a Portuguese ship hove in sight. Kidd’s moral nature was every hour growing weaker. He could no longer resist the temptation to seize the prize. He robbed the vessel of articles to the estimated value of two thousand dollars, and let her go, inflicting no injury upon the ship’s company.

For three weeks they continued to cruise over a sailless sea, when one morning, about the middle of December, an immense mass of canvas was seen rising over the distant horizon. It proved to be a native ship of four hundred tons burden. The ship was called the Quedagh Merchant, was very richly laden, and was commanded by an Englishman, Captain Wright. The wealthy merchants of the East were fully aware of the superior nautical skill of the English seaman, and were eager to intrust their important ventures to European commanders.

Kidd unfurled the French flag, chased the ship, and soon overtook it. A cannon-ball whistling over the heads of the crew was the very significant hint with which the ship was commanded to heave to. Kidd ordered the captain to lower his boat and come on board the Adventure. The captain obeyed and informed the pirate that all the crew were East Indians, excepting two Dutchmen and one Frenchman, and that the ship belonged exclusively to East-Indian merchants.

Kidd took piratic possession of the ship. He had not the shadow of a claim to it on the ground of his commission as a privateersman. He landed the officers and the crew, in boatload after boatload, upon the shore, and left them to shift for themselves. One or two of the merchants who owned the ship and cargo were on board. They offered the pirate twenty thousand rupees, which was equivalent to about fifteen thousand dollars, to ransom the property. Kidd declined the offer.

His own ship, after such long voyaging, was leaky and much in want of repairs. The Quedagh Merchant was far superior to the Adventure. He therefore transferred all his stores to his prize. The torch was applied to the Adventure, and the ill-fated ship soon disappeared in a cloud of smoke and flame. Kidd, now a confirmed pirate, directed his course toward the great rendezvous of the pirates at Madagascar. Here the prize was valued at sixty-four thousand pounds, or about three hundred and twenty thousand dollars.

Still this strange man assumed that he was acting under the royal commission, in behalf of the London company; and these treasures were the legitimate plunder of a piratic ship. He therefore reserved forty shares for himself and the company. There were about one hundred and fifty men composing this piratic crew. Each man received about two thousand dollars. Kidd’s portion amounted to nearly eighty thousand dollars.

In the pirates’ harbor at Madagascar, Kidd found a large ship, the Resolution, belonging to the East India Company, which the captain, a man by the name of Culliford, with the crew, had seized and turned into a pirate. It was clearly Kidd’s duty, under his commission, at once to attack and capture this piratic ship. When Captain Culliford saw him entering the harbor with his powerful and well-armed ship, he was terrified. The pirates had heard of Captain Kidd’s commission, and had not yet learned that he had turned pirate himself. Captain Culliford, with the gallows in vision before him, and trembling in every nerve, for there was no possibility of escape, sent some officers, in a boat, on board the Quedagh Merchant, to ascertain Captain Kidd’s intention.

It was testified at the subsequent trial of Kidd, that he stood upon his deck and received with open arms the piratic officers as they came up over the ship’s side, that he invited them to his cabin, where they had a great carouse in drinking and smoking; and that in the frenzy of drink he offered for a toast:

“May damnation seize my soul if I harm a hair of the head of any one on board the Culliford.”

It was declared that he received large presents of bales of silk from the piratic captain, and sold him some heavy ordnance, with suitable ammunition, for two thousand dollars; and that he was on the most friendly terms with Culliford, exchanging frequent visits with him.

On the other hand, Kidd emphatically denied all these charges. He said, “I never stepped foot on board Captain Culliford’s ship. When I entered the harbor and ascertained the character of the craft, I ordered my men to prepare for action. But the mutinous crew, who had already compelled me to resort to measures against which my soul revolted, peremptorily refused, saying that they would rather fire two shots into my vessel than one into that of Captain Culliford. The mutiny became so menacing that my life was in danger. The turbulent crew rifled my chest, stole my journal, took possession of the ammunition. I was compelled to barricade myself in the cabin. The mutineers held the ship, and being beyond all control, acted according to their own good pleasure. I was in no degree responsible for their conduct.”

The captain’s statement was not credited by the court. At the same time it was quite evident that he had lost the control of his crew. His testimony was, however, in some degree borne out by the fact that ninety-five of his men in a body deserted him, and joined the piratic crew of Captain Culliford. This would seem to prove conclusively that Captain Kidd was not sufficiently piratical in his measures to satisfy the demands of the mutineers.

For several weeks these guilty and wretched men remained in the “own place” of the pirates, indulging in every species of bacchanal wassail and sensual vice, amidst their palaces and in their harems. Their revelry could not have been exceeded by any scenes ever witnessed in Sodom or Gomorrah. There were between five and six hundred upon the island. They were continually coming and going. Some of them were so rich that they remained at home cultivating quite large plantations by slave labor. They amused themselves by hunting, and in the wide meadows and forests found abundant game. The arrival of a ship in the harbor was the signal for an universal carouse. They endeavored to magnify the charms of their women by dressing them gorgeously in silks and satins, with glittering jewelry.

Often a pipe of wine would be placed upon the shore, the head taken out, and the community would drink of it as they pleased, as freely as if it were water. Drunken pirates reeled through the streets. Oaths filled the air. Knives gleamed, and pistols were discharged, and there were wounds and death. In the midst of all their revelry and wantonness and brawls, it is evident from the record we have of those days, that a more unhappy, wretched set of beings could scarcely be found this side of the world of woe. There was not a joy to be found there. There were no peaceful homes; no loving husbands and wives; no happy children climbing the parental knee and enfolded in parental arms; and in death nothing but a “fearful looking for of judgment and fiery indignation.”

These wretched pirates were hateful and hating. Satiated with vice, they knew not where to turn for a single joy. Their shouts of laughter fell discordantly upon the ear like the revelry of demons. Satan never allows his votaries any happiness either in this world or in that which is to come. Wisdom’s ways only are ways of pleasantness, and her paths alone are those of peace.

How far Captain Kidd entered into these godless carousals is not known. But it is not probable that he was then able to throw off all restraint, and become hail-fellow with these vulgar, degraded, profane wretches, whom in heart he must have despised. Neither is it probable that one accustomed to the society in which an honored New-York merchant would move, could so soon have formed a taste for the drunken revelry of the lowest and vilest creatures on earth.

It is evident that these men had occasionally reproaches of conscience, and some faint sense of their terrible responsibility at God’s bar. Four of them decided one day to make a little artificial hell for themselves, that they might see who could stand its pains the longest.

A cloudless tropical sun blistered the deck with its blazing rays. The cabin was heated like an oven. In addition to this, they built a fire in the stove, till the iron plates were red hot. They then with blaspheming oaths entered this furnace, and sprinkled brimstone upon the fire till the room was filled with its suffocating fumes. One of these wretches, apparently as fiend-like as a man could be, bore the pains of this little artificial hell for five minutes. None of the others could endure them so long. The victor came out very exultant. One would have thought that the idea would have occurred to their minds that there was some considerable difference between five minutes and eternity.

We do not learn that any of these men were made better by the brief endurance of their self-inflicted tortures. The mind is appalled by the thought that these same men, when transferred to the spirit land,

may

 be as persistent in their hostility to all God’s laws as they were here.

Captain Kidd found himself abandoned by nearly all his crew. He remained in port only long enough to recruit sufficient men to navigate his ship, and then, spreading the sails of his stolen vessel, the Quedagh Merchant, he set out for the West Indies, with his ill-gotten treasure of eighty thousand dollars. The news of Kidd’s piratic acts had been reported to the home government by the East India Company. Orders had accordingly been issued to all the governors of the American colonies to arrest him wherever he should appear.

The voyage from Madagascar to the West Indies was long and tempestuous. Not a single sail appeared in sight. Day after day the ocean was spread out in all its solitary grandeur before these guilty, discontented men. At length, in a very destitute condition, the ship reached Anguilla, or Snake Island, so called from its tortuous figure. This is the most northerly of the Caribbee Islands, and there was a small English colony here.

As Kidd dropped anchor in the little harbor he was greeted by the intelligence that he had been officially, in England, proclaimed a pirate; that his conduct had been discussed in Parliament; that a committee had been appointed to inquire into the character of the company which had commissioned him, and into the nature of the commission he had received; that a British man-of-war, the Queensborough, had been dispatched in pursuit of him, and that a royal proclamation had been issued, offering pardon to all who had been guilty of piracy, eastward of the Cape of Good Hope, before the last day of April, 1699, excepting William Kidd, and another notorious buccaneer by the name of Avery.

This Avery had obtained great renown, and the most extravagant stories were reported and universally believed in reference to his achievements. It was said that this pirate had attained almost imperial wealth, dignity, and power; that he had become the proud founder of a new monarchy in the East, whose sceptre he swayed in undisputed absolutism. His exploits were celebrated in a play called, “The Successful Pirate,” which was performed to admiring audiences in all the theatres.

According to these representations, Avery had captured a ship, belonging to the Great Mogul, and laden with the richest treasures. On board the imperial ship there was a beautiful princess, the daughter of the Great Mogul. Avery had married her. The father, reigning over boundless realms, had recognized the union, and had assigned to Avery vast territories in the East, where millions were subject to his control. He occupied one of the most magnificent of Oriental palaces, had several children, and was surrounded with splendors of royalty quite unknown in the Western world. He had a squadron of ships manned by the most desperate fellows of all nations. In his own name he issued commissions to the captains of his ships and the commanders of his forts, and they all recognized his princely authority.

His piracies were still continued on a scale commensurate with his power. Many schemes were offered to the royal council of England for fitting out a squadron to disperse his fleets and to take him captive. Others affirmed that he was altogether too powerful to be assailed in that way. They urged the expediency of sending an embassage to his court, and inviting him and his companions to come to England with all their treasures, assuring him of a hospitable reception and of the oblivion of all the past. They feared that unless these peaceful measures were adopted, his ever-increasing greatness would enable him to annihilate all commerce with the East.

These rumors were so far from having any foundation in truth, that at the same time that such wondrous tales were told, the wretch was a fugitive, wandering in disguise through England, trembling in view of the scaffold, and with scarcely a shilling in his pocket. His career was sufficiently extraordinary to merit a brief notice here.

Avery was born in one of the western seaports of England, and from a boy was bred to the hardships and the degradation of a rude sailor’s life. He was educated only in profanity, intemperance, and vice. As he grew up to stout boyhood he became a bold smuggler, even running contraband goods on shore on the far-away coasts of Peru. The Spaniards were poorly provided with war-ships to guard from what they deemed illicit traffic their immense regions in the New World.

They therefore hired at Bristol a stout English ship, called the Duke. It was manned chiefly by English seamen. Captain Gibson was commander. Avery was first mate. The captain was a gambler, fond of his cups, and he often lingered many days in foreign ports, spending his time in haunts of dissipation.

Avery was a fellow of more cunning than courage. He despised the captain, and formed a conspiracy with the most desperate men on board, to get rid of the captain and any sailors who might adhere to him, run away with the ship, and crossing over to the distant waters of the East Indies, reap a harvest of wealth from the commerce which whitened those seas.

The ship was one day at anchor in a South American port. The plan had been, that night, when the captain was on shore, to weigh anchor, leaving the captain behind, and to set out on their cruise. But it so happened that the captain, that night, having drank deeply, did not go on shore as usual, but, at an early hour, went to bed. All the crew, excepting the conspirators, were either on shore or had retired to their berths.

At ten o’clock at night the long-boat of the Duke came to the ship’s side, bringing sixteen stout desperadoes, whom Avery had enlisted from the vagabonds of all nations who thronged the port. They were received on board; the hatches were closed; and then, everything being secure, the anchor was leisurely weighed, and the ship put to sea.

The motion of the ship and the noise of the running tackles awoke the drunken captain, and he rang his bell. Avery, with two sailors, entered the cabin. The captain was sitting up in his berth, rubbing his eyes, and evidently much alarmed.

“What is the matter?” he exclaimed in hurried Accents. “Something is the matter with the ship. Does she drive? What weather is it?”

“Nothing is the matter,” said Avery coolly; “only we are at sea, with a fair wind and good weather.”

“At sea!” said Gibson. “How can that be?”

“Don’t be in a fright,” Avery replied. “Put on your clothes, and I will tell you a little secret.

I

 am now captain of this ship. This is my cabin, and you must walk out of it. I am bound to Madagascar, with the design of making my own fortune and that of all the brave fellows joined with me.”

The captain was now completely sobered. In anticipation of immediate death his terror was pitiable. Avery endeavored to console him with the not very consolable words:

“You have nothing to fear, captain, if you will join us, keep sober, and do your duty. If you behave well, I may, perhaps, some time, make you one of my lieutenants. Or, if you prefer, here is a boat along side, and we will put you ashore.”

The terror-stricken man begged to be landed. The rest of the crew were brought up, and all who wished to go on shore with the captain were permitted to do so. But five or six availed themselves of the privilege. All the rest joined the piratic crew. The captain and his few adherents were placed in the boat and turned adrift, to make their way to the land as best they could. The carousing pirates directed their course to Madagascar. Here they found two piratic vessels, with whose crews they entered into close alliance. The three vessels, under Avery as admiral, set out on a cruise.

Upon the Arabian coast, near the mouth of the Indus, the man at the mast-head cried out, “A sail.” They ran down upon her, and fired a cannon-ball across her bows. But the vessel, instead of yielding at once, hoisted the Mogul’s colors, and cleared her decks for battle. Avery kept at a distance, cannonading her with his heavy guns, and not approaching within reach of the shot of his foe. He thus lost greatly reputation with his men, who regarded him as a coward. The crews of the two accompanying sloops, with their decks swarming with pirates, ran one upon the bow and the other upon the quarter, and clambering over the bulwarks of the heavily laden merchantman, took her by storm.

It is true, as the story had it, that the vessel belonged to the emperor, or Great Mogul, himself. His daughter was on board, as well as several of the most distinguished personages of his court. They were bound on a pilgrimage to Mecca, with the richest treasures to present at the shrine of Mohammed. They had costly silks, precious jewels, vessels of gold and silver, and large sums of money. The booty obtained from this prize was immense.

Having plundered the ship of everything they wanted, the pirates let her go. The Mogul, when he heard the tidings, was greatly enraged. He threatened to send an army, with fire and sword, utterly to exterminate the English in all their East-Indian colonies. The East India Company, in England, was greatly alarmed. They immediately dispatched an embassage to the Great Mogul to pacify him. They promised, in the name of the British Government, to pursue the pirates with the utmost vigor, and, if captured, to deliver them over into his hands.

In the mean time the successful buccaneers were making their way back to their rendezvous at Madagascar. There they intended to store their booty, erect a fortification for its defence, garrison it with men of desperate valor, and then to set out again on another cruise. As they were sailing along, with this design, each of the vessels having a portion of the plunder, the villanous Avery sent for the chief officers of each of the vessels to come on board the Duke. He then said to them:

“We have immense treasure, sufficient to enrich us all for life, if we can only get it to some secure place on shore. But we are in great danger of being separated by bad weather. In that case, should either of the sloops meet any ship of force, it would be captured. But the Duke, in build and armament, is superior to any ship to be encountered in these waters. My ship is so well manned that she can defy any foe; and moreover, she is such a swift sailer, that she can easily escape any other ship, if she does not wish to fight.

“I therefore propose, for our mutual safety, that we put all the treasure on board the Duke. We can seal up each chest with three seals, of which each vessel shall keep one. The chests shall not be opened until we open them together at the rendezvous.”

This proposal seemed so reasonable that they all agreed to it. All the treasure was transferred to the Duke. Avery then said to the villains who surrounded him:

“We have now the whole treasure at our own control. Let us, at night, give the rest a slip, and sail for unknown parts in North America. We can go ashore, divide our wealth, and with ample riches settle wherever we please.”

We have heard that there is honor among thieves. Among these thieves there was none. Not a dissentient voice was heard. All agreed to the plan. In the darkness of the ensuing night the ship changed her course, and in the morning the crews of the two sloops searched the horizon in vain for any sight of her. They knew by the fairness of the weather, and the course they were pursuing, that the flight had been intentional. The reader must be left to surmise the scenes of confusion and profanity which must have been witnessed on board these piratic crafts.

The first land the Duke made in America was the Island of Providence. Here Avery sold the ship, pretending that it had been fitted out as a privateer, but having been unsuccessful, the owners had ordered her to be dispose