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

If the expression had not been used already so many thousand times, one might well say of the following story that truth is indeed stranger than fiction. Had you read the yarn which is here to be related you would, at its conclusion, have remarked that it was certainly most interesting and exciting, but it was too exaggerated, too full of coincidences, too full of narrow escapes ever to have occurred in real life. But I would assure the reader at the outset that Smith’s experiences were actual and not fictional, and that his story was carefully examined at the time by the High Court of Admiralty. The prelude, the climax and the conclusion of this drama with its exciting incidents, its love interest and its happy ending; the romantic atmosphere, the picturesque characters, the colours and the symmetry of the narrative are so much in accord with certain models such as one used to read in mere story-books of one’s boyhood, that it is well the reader should be fully assured that what is here set forth did in very truth happen. In some respects the narrative reads like pages from one of Robert Louis Stevenson’s novels, and yet though I have, by the limits of the space at my disposal, been compelled to omit many of the incidents which centred around Smith and his pirate associates, yet the facts which are set forth have been taken from contemporary data and can be relied upon implicitly.

The story opens in the year 1821, and the hero is an English seaman named Aaron Smith. In the month of June, Smith departed from England and embarked on the merchant ship Harrington, which carried him safely over the Atlantic to the West Indies. Subsequent events induced him to resign his billet on that vessel, and as he found that the West Indian climate was impairing his health, he made arrangements to get back home to England. Being then at Kingston in the island of Jamaica, he interviewed the captain of the British merchant ship Zephyr and was appointed first mate. The Zephyr, like many of the ships of the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, was rigged as a brig, that is to say with square sails on each of her two masts, with triangular headsails and a quadrilateral sail abaft the second mast much like the mainsail of a cutter-rigged craft. Brigs nowadays are practically obsolete, but at the time we are speaking of they were immensely popular in the merchant service and for carrying coals from Newcastle-on-Tyne to London.

The Zephyr, after taking on board her West Indian cargo together with a few passengers, weighed anchor in the month of June 1822—just a year after Smith had left Europe—and set sail for England. From the very first Smith saw that things were not quite as they should be. The pilot who took the ship out into the open sea was a very incapable man, but his duties were soon ended and he left the ship. The name of the Zephyr’s captain was Lumsden, and even he was far from being the capable mariner which one would have expected in a man whose duty it was to take a ship across the broad Atlantic. Presently, before they had left Kingston far astern, a strong breeze sprang up from the north-east, and a heavy easterly swell got up, which made the brig somewhat lively. Most people are aware that the navigation among the islands and in the tricky channels of the West Indies needs both great care and much knowledge, such as ought to have been possessed by a man in Lumsden’s position. Judge of Smith’s surprise, therefore, when the latter found his captain asking his advice as to which passage he ought to take.

Whatever else Smith had in his character, he was certainly extremely shrewd and cautious, and he replied in a non-committal answer to the effect that the “windward” passage might prolong the voyage but that the “leeward” one would expose the ship to the risk of being plundered by the pirates, which in those days were far from rare. Lumsden weighed the pros and cons in his mind, and at last resolved to choose the “leeward” passage. About two o’clock one afternoon Smith was pacing up and down deck when he suddenly espied a schooner of a very suspicious appearance standing out from the land. Not quite happy as to her character, he then went aloft with his telescope and examined her closely. In the case of a man of his sea experience it did not take long for him to realise that the schooner was a pirate-ship. Lumsden was below at the time, so Smith called him on deck and, pointing out the strange vessel, suggested to the captain that it would be best to alter the brig’s course to avoid her. But Lumsden, like most ignorant men, was exceedingly obstinate, and stoutly declined the proffered advice. With characteristic British sentiment he opined that “because he bore the English flag no one would dare to molest him.” The skipper of the schooner, as we shall presently see, did not think of the matter in that way.

Half an hour passed by, the brig held on her original course, and the two ships drawing closer together it was observed that the schooner’s deck was full of men. Clearly, too, she was about to hoist out her boats. This gave cause for alarm even in the stubborn breast of Lumsden, and now he gave orders for the course to be altered a couple of points. But the decision had been arrived at too leisurely, for the stranger was already within gunshot. Before much time had sped on, the sound of voices was heard from the schooner, and short, sharp orders came across the heaving sea, ordering the Zephyr to lower her stern boat and to send the captain aboard the schooner. Lumsden pretended not to understand, but a brisk volley of musketry from the stranger instantly quickened the skipper’s comprehension, and he promptly gave orders to lay the mainyard aback and heave-to.

The boat which had been lowered from the schooner was quickly rowed alongside the brig, and nine or ten men, ferocious of appearance and well-armed with knives, cutlasses and muskets, now leapt aboard. It was obvious before they had left the schooner’s deck that these were desperate pirates, such as had many a dark, cruel deed to their consciences. With no wasting of formality they at once took charge of the brig and ordered Lumsden, Smith, the ship’s carpenter, and also a Captain Cowper who was travelling as a passenger, to proceed on board the schooner without delay. In order to hurry them on, the pirates gave them repeated blows over the back from the flat part of their cutlasses, accompanying these strokes with threats of shooting them. So the company got into the schooner’s boat and were rowed off; Lumsden recollected having left on the cabin table of the Zephyr the ship’s books containing an account of all the money aboard the brig.

Arrived alongside the schooner, the prisoners were ordered on deck. It was the pirate captain who now issued the commands, a man of repulsive appearance with his savage expression, his short, stout stature. His age was not more than about thirty-two, his appearance denoted that in his veins ran Indian blood. Standing not more than five and a half feet high, he had an aquiline nose, high cheek bones, a large mouth, big full eyes, sallow complexion and black hair. The son of a Spanish father and a Yucatan squaw, there was nothing in him that suggested anything but the downright brigand of the sea.

But with all this savage temperament there was nothing in him of the fool, and his wits and eyes were ever on the alert. Already he had observed a cluster of vessels in the distance, and he questioned Lumsden as to what kind of craft they might be. On being informed that probably they were French merchantmen, the pirate captain gave orders for all hands to get the schooner ready to give chase. Meanwhile the Zephyr, with part of the pirate crew on board, made sail and stood in towards the land in the direction of Cape Roman, some eighteen miles away. And as the schooner pushed on, cleaving her way through the warm sea, the pirate applied himself to questioning the skipper of the brig. What was his cargo? Lumsden answered that it consisted of sugars, rum, coffee, arrowroot, and so on. But what money had he on board? Lumsden replied that there was no money. Such an answer only infuriated the pirate. “Don’t imagine I’m a fool, sir,” he roared at him. “I know that all vessels going to Europe have specie on board, and”—he added—“if you will give up what you have, you shall proceed on your voyage without further molestation.” But Lumsden still continued in his protestations that money there was none: to which the pirate remarked that if the money were not forthcoming he would throw the Zephyr’s cargo overboard.

Night was rapidly approaching, and the breeze was certainly dying down, so that although the schooner had done fairly well through the water, yet the pirate despaired of ever coming up with the Frenchmen. Disappointed at his lack of success, he was compelled to abandon the chase, and altered his course to stand in the direction of the Zephyr. When night had fallen the pirates began to prepare supper, and offered spirits to their captives, which the latter declined. The pirate captain now turned his attention to Smith, and observed that as he was in bad health, and none of the schooner’s crew understood navigation, it was his intention to detain Smith to navigate her. We need not attempt to suggest the feelings of dismay with which Smith received this information. To resist forceably was obviously out of the question, though he did his best to be allowed to forego the doubtful honour of being appointed navigating officer to a pirate-ship. Lumsden, too, uneasy at the thought of being bereft of a man indispensable to the safety of his brig, expressed a nervous hope that Smith might not be detained. But the pirate’s reply to the last request came prompt and plain. “If I do not keep him,” he growled at Lumsden, “I shall keep you.” That sufficiently alarmed the brig’s master to subdue him to silence.

The captives sat down to supper with their pirate captain and the latter’s six officers. The meal consisted of garlic and onions chopped up into fine pieces and mixed with bread in a bowl. From this every one helped himself as he pleased with his fingers, and the coarse manners of the schooner’s company were in keeping with the brutality of their profession. A breeze had sprung up in the meanwhile and they began fast to approach the Zephyr. When at length the two vessels were within a short distance, the pirate ordered a musket to be fired and then proceeded to tack shorewards. This signal was answered immediately by the pirates on board the brig, and the Zephyr then proceeded to follow the schooner. One of the brig’s crew who had been brought aboard the schooner at the time when Lumsden and Smith were taken, was now ordered to heave the lead and to give warning as soon as the schooner got into soundings. It is significant that whatever else these pirates may have been, they were brigands first and sailormen only a bad second, who had taken to roving less through nautical enthusiasm than from a greed for gain and a means of indulging their savage tastes. Thus, although on waylaying a merchant ship their first object was to pillage, yet they made it also their aim to carry off any useful members of the trader’s crew who were expert in the arts of seamanship or navigation.

As soon as the leadsman, then, found bottom at fourteen fathoms, the pirate commanded a boat to be lowered and therein were placed Lumsden and some of the crew which had belonged to the Zephyr. Smith, however, and with him the brig’s carpenter, were detained on the schooner. The pirate captain himself accompanied Lumsden, left the latter on board the brig and brought back the crew of the pirate, who in the first instance had been left to take charge of the Zephyr. They also brought away to the schooner a number of articles, including Cowper’s watch, the brig’s spy-glass, Smith’s own telescope, some clothes belonging to the latter and a goat. To show what kind of cruel rascals Smith had now become shipmate with may be seen from the fact that as soon as the animal had been brought aboard, one of the pirate’s crew instantly cut the goat’s throat with his knife, flayed the poor creature alive, and promised the same kind of treatment to his friends if no money were found in the Zephyr. Even the most stalwart British sailor could not help his heart beating the more rapidly at such cowardly and bullying treatment.

By now the schooner had stood so near to the shore that she was in four fathoms and the anchor was let go. The Zephyr also let go and brought up about fifty yards away. Relieved from work, the pirates now began to exult and to congratulate each other on their fine capture. Night came on again and a watch was set. Smith and Cowper, still in the schooner, were ordered to sleep in the companion-way, but with the fearful anxiety imminent and the possibility of never being allowed to wake again, they never relapsed into unconsciousness. Conversation was kept up stealthily between them, and Cowper, knowing that the Zephyr carried a quantity of specie and that Lumsden had hoodwinked the pirate captain, dreaded lest this should be found out. With the certain assurance in his mind of being put to death, a horrible night of suspense and fear was passed by the two seamen.

When daylight came, some of the pirates were seen on the brig’s deck beating the Zephyr’s crew with their cutlasses. Great activity of a most business-like nature was being manifested on the English ship, boats were being hoisted out, a rope cable—those were still the days of hemp—was being coiled on deck, the hatches were being removed and all was being made ready for taking out the Zephyr’s cargo. The pirate commanded Smith to go aboard the brig and fetch everything that might be essential for the purposes of navigation, for the former was most determined to retain the former mate of the English merchantman. To accentuate his determination the half-caste brute raised his arm into the air and, brandishing a cutlass over poor Smith’s head, threatened him with instant death if he showed any reluctance. “Mind and you obey me,” he taunted, “or I will take off your skin.”

We need not stop to depict Smith’s feelings, nor to suggest with what dismay he found himself compelled to obey the behests of a coarse, ignorant freebooter. It was humiliating to the last degree for a man who had been mate and served under the red ensign thus to have to submit to such abominable treatment. But there was no choice between submission and death, though from what eventually followed it was obvious that Smith was not a coward and was not so proud of his skin as to fear death. He proceeded aboard the brig, discovered that she had been well ransacked and with a heavy heart began to collect his belongings. He brought off his gold watch and sextant, packed his clothes and then returned to the schooner. But before doing so he acted as a man about to pass out of the world and anxious to dispose of his remaining effects. With almost humorous pathos, one might remark, he set about this last duty. “My books, parrot and various other articles I gave in charge to Mr. Lumsden, who engaged to deliver them safely into the hands of my friends, should he reach England:” and it needs no very gifted imagination to see the sentimental sailor of the great sailing-ship age painfully taking a last look at these cherished possessions.

The cargo having been transferred to the schooner, the pirates indulged themselves in liquor and became intoxicated. But meanwhile the crew of the brig were not allowed to stand idle. The pirate captain was going to get all that he could from his capture, and ordered the Zephyr’s fore t’gallant mast and yard to be sent down, and these, together with whatever other spars might seem useful, were to be sent on board the schooner. The merchant ship was positively gutted of everything the pirates fancied. There was not left even so much as a bed or a blanket: even the ear-rings on the ears of the children passengers were snatched from the latter. In addition to this the whole of the live stock such as an ocean-going ship carried in those days prior to the invention of refrigerating rooms and tinned food was transferred to the schooner and a certain amount of drinking water.

But the pirates had not yet concluded their dastardly work. Lumsden and Cowper were warned that unless they produced the money, which the pirate was convinced still remained, the Zephyr, with all her people in her, should be burnt to the water’s edge. It is to the credit of these two men that they strenuously declined to oblige the pirate. This only served as fuel to the latter’s temper, and he sent them below and began a series of heartless tortures which were more in keeping with some of the worst features of the Middle Ages than the nineteenth century. Determined to attain his object, no matter what the cost, he caused the two men to be locked to the ship’s pumps and proceeded to carry out the threat which he had just promised. Every preparation was made for starting a fire, combustibles were piled round about the unfortunate men, and the light was just about to be applied when Lumsden, unable to endure the torture any longer, confessed that there was money. He was accordingly released, and rummaging about produced a small box of doubloons.

This, however, far from satisfying the pirate’s thirst, merely increased his desire for more. Lumsden protested that that was all. So again the skipper was lashed to the pumps, again fire was ordered to be put to the fuel, and again the victim was about to be immolated. Once more, at the last minute, Lumsden yielded and offered to surrender all that he had. Thereupon, for the second time he was released, and producing nine more doubloons declared that this money had been entrusted to his care on behalf of a poor woman. Such human sentiments, however, rarely fell on more unsympathetic ears. “Don’t speak to me of poor people,” howled the pirate. “I am poor, and your countrymen and the Americans have made me so. I know there is more money, and I will either have it or burn you and the vessel.”

Following up his threat with deeds, he once more ordered Lumsden below, yet again had the combustibles laid around. But the Englishman stood his torture well: his being was becoming accustomed to the treatment and for a while he never flinched. Then the monsters of iniquity applied a light to the fire, and the red and yellow flames leapt forward and already began to lick the skipper’s body. For a time he endured the grievous pain as the fire burnt into his flesh. With agonising cries and heartrending shouts he begged to be relieved of his tortures—to be cut adrift in a boat and left solitary on the wide open ocean—anything rather than this. Money he had not: already he had given up all that he possessed. And after this slow murder had continued for some time the stubborn dulled intellect of the pirate captain began to work, and seeing that not even fire could call forth more money from a suffering man, he was inclined to believe that the last coin had now been yielded up. Then turning to some of his own crew, he ordered them to throw water on to the flames, and the long-suffering Lumsden, more dead than alive, racked by physical and mental tortures, was released and allowed to regain his freedom. As if to accentuate their own bestial natures the pirates then proceeded to carouse once more and to exult again in their ill-gotten treasures.

But even in the most villainous criminal there is always at least one small trait of human nature left, and it is often surprising how this manifests itself when circumstances had seemed to deny its very existence. It was so in the case of this pirate captain. Everything so far had indicated the most unmitigated bully and murderer without one single redeeming feature of any sort whatever. And yet, in spite of all the vain entreaties of Lumsden for mercy, the pirate showed that the last spark of human kindness was not yet quenched. The reader will remember that among the articles which Smith had brought away from the brig was his gold watch. The pirate took this in his hands, examined it, and instead of promptly annexing the same, threw out a strong hint that he would like to retain it. Such moderation from one who had not hesitated to burn a man at the stake was in itself curious. But his inconsistency did not stop at that. Smith remarked that the watch was a gift from his aged mother, whom he now never expected to see again, adding that he would like to be allowed to send it to her by Lumsden, but was afraid that the pirates would take it away from the English captain if it were entrusted to him. It was then that the pirate manifested the extraordinary contradiction which his character possessed. “Your people,” he began, “have a very bad opinion of us, but I will convince you that we are not so bad as we are represented to be; come along with me, and your watch shall go safely home.” And with this he took Smith on board the Zephyr once more, handed the watch into Lumsden’s keeping and gave strict orders that on no account was any one to take it away from the English captain.

Smith now took a final farewell of his old messmates, but lest he should take advantage of the indulgence which had been just granted him, the pirate captain instantly ordered him back to the schooner, and even impelled him forward at the point of his murderous knife. All this time the two ships had been lying alongside lashed together by warps. Being at last content with the ample cargo which he had extracted from the Zephyr, and being convinced that there was nothing else aboard of much value, the pirate now ordered the warps to be cast loose and informed Lumsden that he might consider himself free to resume his voyage. But, he insisted, on no account was he to steer for Havannah. Should he do so, the schooner would pursue him, and on being overtaken Lumsden and his ship should be destroyed without further consideration.

So at last the brig Zephyr, robbed of most of her valuables, lacking some of her gear and minus her mate, and with a tortured skipper, hove up her anchor, let loose her canvas and cleared out into the open sea.

Printed by Morrison & Gibb Limited, Edinburgh, 1917