Part 20

At daybreak I set out in search of the house to which I had been directed by the Pirates, and which I had the good fortune to reach in safety in about an hour and a half. It was a humble tenement thatched with canes, without any flooring but the ground, and was tenanted by a man and his wife only, from whom I met with a welcome reception, and by whom I was treated with much hospitality. Although Spaniards, the man could speak and understand enough English to converse with me, and to learn by what means I had been brought so unexpectedly alone and unprotected to his house. Though it was the same to which I had been directed by the Pirates, yet he declared that so far from being in any way connected with them in their Piratical robberies, or enjoying any portion of their ill-gotten gain, no one could hold them in greater abhorrence. Whether he was sincere in these declarations or not, is well known to Him whom the lying tongue cannot deceive--it is but justice to them to say that by both the man and his wife I was treated with kindness, and it was with apparent emotions of pity that they listened to the tale of my sufferings. By their earnest request I remained with them until the morning ensuing, when I set out on foot for Mantansies, accompanied by the Spaniard who had kindly offered to conduct me to that place, which we reached about seven in the evening of the same day.

At Mantansies I found many Americans and Europeans, by whom I was kindly treated, and who proffered their services to restore me to my friends, but as there were no vessels bound direct from thence to Antigua or St. Johns, I was persuaded to take passage for Jamaica, where it was the opinion of my friends I might obtain a passage more speedily for one or the other place, and where I safely arrived after a pleasant passage of four days.

The most remarkable and unexpected circumstance of my extraordinary adventures, I have yet, dear brother, to relate. Soon after my arrival at Jamaica, the Authority having been made acquainted with the circumstance of my recent capture by the Pirates, and the extraordinary circumstance which produced my liberation, requested that I might be conducted to the Prison, to see if I could among a number of Pirates recently committed, recognize any of those by whom I had been captured. I was accordingly attended by two or three gentlemen, and two young ladies (who had politely offered to accompany me) to the prison apartment, on entering which, I not only instantly recognized among a number therein confined, the identical savage monster of whom I have had so much occasion to speak (the Pirates' Chief) but the most of those who had composed his gang, and who were captured with him!

The sudden and unexpected introduction into their apartment of one, whom they had probably in their minds numbered with the victims of their wanton barbarity, produced unquestionably on their minds not an inconsiderable degree of horror as well as surprise! and, considering their condemnation now certain, they no doubt heaped curses upon their more fortunate companions, for sparing the life and setting at liberty one whom an all-wise Providence had conducted to and placed in a situation to bear witness to their unprecedented barbarity.

Government having through me obtained the necessary proof of the guilt of these merciless wretches, after a fair and impartial trial they were all condemned to suffer the punishment due to their crimes, and seven ordered for immediate execution, one of whom was the barbarian their chief. After the conviction and condemnation of this wretch, in hopes of eluding the course of justice, he made (as I was informed) an attempt upon his own life, by inflicting upon himself deep wounds with a knife which he had concealed for that purpose; but in this he was disappointed, the wounds not proving so fatal as he probably anticipated.

I never saw this hardened villain or any of his equally criminal companions after their condemnation, although strongly urged to witness their execution, and am therefore indebted to one who daily visited them, for the information of their behavior from that period until that of their execution; which, as regarded the former, I was informed was extremely impenitent--that while proceeding to the place of ignominy and death, he talked with shocking unconcern, hinting that by being instrumental in the destruction of so many lives, he had become too hardened and familiar with death to feel much intimidated at its approach! He was attended to the place of execution by a Roman Catholic Priest, who it was said labored to convince him of the atrociousness of his crimes, but he seemed deaf to all admonition or exhortation, and appeared insensible to the hope of happiness or fear of torment in a future state--and so far from exhibiting a single symptom of penitence, declared that he knew of but one thing for which he had cause to reproach himself, which was in sparing my life and not ordering me to be butchered as the others had been! How awful was the end of the life of this miserable criminal! He looked not with harmony, regard, or a single penitent feeling toward one human being in the last agonies of an ignominious death.

After remaining nine days at Jamaica, I was so fortunate as to obtain a passage with Capt. Ellsmore, direct for St. Johns--the thoughts of once more returning home and of so soon joining my anxious friends, when I could have an opportunity to communicate to my aged parents, to a beloved sister and a large circle of acquaintances, the sad tale of the misfortunes which had attended me since I bid them adieu, would have been productive of the most pleasing sensations, had they not been interrupted by the melancholy reflection that I was the bearer of tidings of the most heart-rending nature, to the bereaved families of those unfortunate husbands and parents who had in my presence fallen victims to Piratical barbarity. Thankful should I have been had the distressing duty fell to the lot of some one of less sensibility--but, unerring Providence had ordered otherwise. We arrived safe at our port of destination after a somewhat boisterous passage of 18 days. I found my friends all well, but the effects produced on their minds by the relation of the distressing incidents and adverse fortune that had attended me since my departure, I shall not attempt to describe--and much less can you expect, brother, that I should attempt a description of the feelings of the afflicted widow and fatherless child, who first received from me the melancholy tidings that they were so!

Thus, brother, have I furnished you with as minute a detail of the sad misfortunes that have attended me, in my intended passage to Antigua, in February and March last, as circumstances will admit of--and here permit me once more to repeat the enquiry--is it not sufficient to satisfy you and every reasonable person, that I owe my life and liberty to the interposition of a Divine Providence?--so fully persuaded am I of this, dear brother, and of my great obligations to that Supreme Being who turned not away my prayer nor his mercy from me, that I am determined to engage with my whole heart to serve Him the residue of my days on earth, by the aid of his heavenly grace--and invite all who profess to fear Him (should a single doubt remain on their minds) to come and hear what he hath done for me!

I am, dear brother, affectionately yours, LUCRETIA PARKER.

FOOTNOTES:

[26] From an Old Pamphlet, published in 1825.

THE PASSING OF MOGUL MACKENZIE

The Last of the North Atlantic Pirates[27]

ARTHUR HUNT CHUTE

In the farther end of the Bay of Fundy, about a mile off from the Nova Scotian coast, is the Isle of Haut. It is a strange rocky island that rises several hundred feet sheer out of the sea, without any bay or inlets. A landing can only be effected there in the calmest weather; and on account of the tremendous ebb of the Fundy tides, which rise and fall sixty feet every twelve hours, the venturesome explorer cannot long keep his boat moored against the precipitous cliffs.

Because of this inaccessibility little is known of the solitary island. Within its rampart walls of rock they say there is a green valley, and in its center is a fathomless lake, where the Micmac Indians used to bury their dead, and hence its dread appellation of the "Island of the Dead." Beyond these bare facts nothing more is certain about the secret valley and the haunted lake. Many wild and fabulous descriptions are current, but they are merely the weavings of fancy.

Sometimes on a stormy night the unhappy navigators of the North Channel miss the coast lights in the fog, and out from the Isle of Haut a gentle undertow flirts with their bewildered craft. Then little by little they are gathered into a mighty current against which all striving is in vain, and in the white foam among the iron cliffs their ship is pounded into splinters. The quarry which she gathers in so softly at first and so fiercely at last, however, is soon snatched away from the siren shore. The ebb-tide bears every sign of wreckage far out into the deeps of the Atlantic, and not a trace remains of the ill-starred vessel or her crew. But one of the boats in the fishing fleet never comes home, and from lonely huts on the coast reproachful eyes are cast upon the "Island of the Dead."

On the long winter nights, when the "boys" gather about the fire in Old Steele's General Stores at Hall's Harbor, their hard gray life becomes bright for a spell. When a keg of hard cider is flowing freely the grim fishermen forget their taciturnity, the ice is melted from their speech, and the floodgates of their souls pour forth. But ever in the background of their talk, unforgotten, like a haunting shadow, is the "Island of the Dead." Of their weirdest and most blood-curdling yarns it is always the center; and when at last, with uncertain steps, they leave the empty keg and the dying fire to turn homeward through the drifting snow, fearful and furtive glances are cast to where the island looms up like a ghostly sentinel from the sea. Across its high promontory the Northern Lights scintillate and blaze, and out of its moving brightness the terrified fishermen behold the war-canoes of dead Indians freighted with their redskin braves; the forms of _c[oe]ur de bois_ and desperate Frenchmen swinging down the sky-line in a ghastly snake-dance; the shapes and spars of ships long since forgotten from the "Missing List"; and always, most dread-inspiring of them all, the distress signals from the sinking ship of Mogul Mackenzie and his pirate crew.

Captain Mogul Mackenzie was the last of the pirates to scourge the North Atlantic seaboard. He came from that school of freebooters that was let loose by the American Civil War. With a letter of marque from the Confederate States, he sailed the seas to prey on Yankee shipping. He and his fellow-privateers were so thorough in their work of destruction, that the Mercantile Marine of the United States was ruined for a generation to come. When the war was over the defeated South called off her few remaining bloodhounds on the sea. But Mackenzie, who was still at large, had drunk too deeply of the wine of a wild, free life. He did not return to lay down his arms, but began on a course of shameless piracy. He lived only a few months under the black flag, until he went down on the Isle of Haut. The events of that brief and thrilling period are unfortunately obscure, with only a ray of light here and there. But the story of his passing is the most weird of all the strange yarns that are spun about the "Island of the Dead."

In May, 1865, a gruesome discovery was made off the coast of Maine, which sent a chill of fear through all the seaport towns of New England. A whaler bound for New Bedford was coming up Cape Cod one night long after dark. There was no fog, and the lights of approaching vessels could easily be discerned. The man on the lookout felt no uneasiness at his post, when, without any warning of bells or lights, the sharp bow of a brigantine suddenly loomed up, hardly a ship's length in front.

"What the blazes are you trying to do?" roared the mate from the bridge, enraged at this unheard-of violation of the right of way. But no voice answered his challenge, and the brigantine went swinging by, with all her sails set to a spanking breeze. She bore directly across the bow of the whaler, which just grazed her stern in passing.

"There's something rotten on board there," said the mate.

"Ay," said the captain, who had come on the bridge, "there's something rotten there right enough. Swing your helm to port, and get after the devils," he ordered.

"Ay, ay, sir!" came the ready response, and nothing loth the helmsman changed his course to follow the eccentric craft. She was evidently bound on some secret mission, for not otherwise would she thus tear through the darkness before the wind without the flicker of a light.

The whaler was the swifter of the two ships, and she could soon have overhauled the other; but fearing some treachery, the captain refrained from running her down until daylight. All night long she seemed to be veering her course, attempting to escape from her pursuer. In the morning, off the coast of Maine, she turned her nose directly out to sea. Then a boat was lowered from the whaler, and rowed out to intercept the oncoming vessel. When they were directly in her course, they lay on their oars and waited. The brigantine did not veer again, but came steadily on, and soon the whalemen were alongside, and made themselves fast to a dinghy which she had in tow. A few minutes of apprehensive waiting followed, and as nothing happened, one of the boldest swung himself up over the tow-rope on to the deck. He was followed by the others, and they advanced cautiously with drawn knives and pistols.

Not a soul was to be seen, and the men, who were brave enough before a charging whale, trembled with fear. The wheel and the lookout were alike deserted, and no sign of life could be discovered anywhere below. In the galley were the embers of a dead fire, and the table in the captain's cabin was spread out ready for a meal which had never been eaten. On deck everything was spick and span, and not the slightest evidence of a storm or any other disturbance could be found. The theory of a derelict was impossible. Apparently all had been well on board, and they had been sailing with good weather, when, without any warning, her crew had been suddenly snatched away by some dread power.

The sailors with one accord agreed that it was the work of a sea-serpent. But the mate had no place for the ordinary superstitions of the sea, and he still scoured the hold, expecting at any minute to encounter a dead body or some other evil evidence of foul play. Nothing more, however, was found, and the mate at length had to end his search with the unsatisfactory conclusion that the _St. Clare_, a brigantine registered from Hartpool, with cargo of lime, had been abandoned on the high seas for no apparent reason. Her skipper had taken with him the ship's papers, and had not left a single clue behind.

A crew was told off to stand by the _St. Clare_ to bring her into port, and the others climbed into the long-boat to row back to the whaler.

"Just see if there is a name on that there dinghy, before we go," said the mate.

An exclamation of horror broke from one of the men as he read on the bow of the dinghy the name, _Kanawha_.

The faces of all went white with a dire alarm as the facts of the mystery suddenly flashed before them. The _Kanawha_ was the ship in which Captain Mogul Mackenzie had made himself notorious as a privateersman. Every one had heard her awe-inspiring name, and every Yankee seafaring man prayed that he might never meet her on the seas. After the _Alabama_ was sunk, and the _Talahassee_ was withdrawn, the _Kanawha_ still remained to threaten the shipping of the North. For a long time her whereabouts had been unknown, and then she was discovered by a Federal gunboat, which gave chase and fired upon her. Without returning fire, she raced in for shelter amongst the dangerous islands off Cape Sable, and was lost in the fog. Rumor had it that she ran on the rocks off that perilous coast, and sank with all on board. As time went by, and there was no more sign of the corsair, the rumor was accepted as proven. Men began to spin yarns in the forecastle about Mogul Mackenzie, with an interest that was tinged with its former fear. Skippers were beginning to feel at ease again on the grim waters, when suddenly, like a bolt from the blue, came the awful news of the discovery of the _St. Clare_.

Gunboats put off to scour the coast-line; and again with fear and trembling the look-out began to eye suspiciously every new sail coming up on the horizon.

One afternoon, toward the end of May, a schooner came tearing into Portland harbor, with all her canvas, crowded on, and flying distress signals. Her skipper said that off the island of Campabello he had seen a long gray sailing-ship with auxiliary power sweeping down upon him. As the wind was blowing strong inshore, he had taken to his heels and made for Portland. He was chased all the way, and his pursuer did not drop him until he was just off the harbor bar.

Many doubted his story, however, saying that no one would dare to chase a peaceful craft so near to a great port in broad daylight. And, again, it was urged that an auxiliary vessel could easily have overhauled the schooner between Campabello and Portland. The fact that the captain of the schooner was as often drunk as sober, and that when he was under the influence of drink he was given to seeing visions, was pointed to as conclusive proof that his yarn was a lie. After the New Bedford whaler came into port with the abandoned _St. Clare_, it was known beyond doubt that the _Kanawha_ was still a real menace. But nobody cared to admit that Mogul Mackenzie was as bold as the schooner's report would imply, and hence countless arguments were put forward to allay such fears.

But a few days later the fact that the pirates were still haunting their coast was absolutely corroborated. A coastal packet from Boston arrived at Yarmouth with the news that she had not only sighted _Kanawha_ in the distance, but they had crossed each other's paths so near that the name could be discerned beyond question with a spyglass. She was heading up the Bay of Fundy, and did not pause or pay any heed to the other ship.

This news brought with it consternation, and every town and village along the Fundy was a-hum with stories and theories about the pirate ship. The interest, instead of being abated, was augmented as the days went by with no further report. In the public-houses and along the quays it was almost the only topic of conversation. The excitement became almost feverish when it was known that several captains, outward bound, had taken with them a supply of rifles and ammunition. The prospect of a fight seemed imminent.

About a week after the adventure of the Boston packet Her Majesty's ship _Buzzard_ appeared off Yarmouth harbor. The news of the _Kanawha_ had come to the Admiral at Halifax, and he had dispatched the warship to cruise about the troubled coast.

"That'll be the end of old Mogul Mackenzie, now that he's got an English ship on his trail," averred a Canadian as he sat drinking in the "Yarmouth Light" with a group of seafaring men of various nationalities. "It takes the British jack-tar to put the kibosh on this pirate game. One of them is worth a shipload of Yankees at the business."

"Well, don't you crow too loud now," replied a Boston skipper. "I reckon that that Nova Scotian booze-artist, who ran into Portland the other day scared of his shadow, would not do you fellows much credit."

"Yes; but what about your gunboats that have had the job of fixing the _Kanawha_ for the last three years, and haven't done it yet?" The feelings between Canada and the United States were none too good just after the Civil War, and the Canadian was bound not to lose this opportunity for horse-play. "You're a fine crowd of sea-dogs, you are, you fellows from the Boston Tea-Party. Three years after one little half-drowned rat, and haven't got him yet. Wouldn't Sir Francis Drake or Lord Nelson be proud of the record that you long-legged, slab-sided Yankees have made on the sea!"

"Shut your mouth! you blue-nosed, down-East herring-choker!" roared the Yankee skipper. "I reckon we've given you traitors that tried to stab us in the back a good enough licking; and if any more of your dirty dogs ever come nosing about down south of Mason and Dixon's Line, I bet they'll soon find out what our record is."

"Well, you fools can waste your tongue and wind," said a third man, raising his glass, "but for me here's good luck to the _Buzzard_."

"So say we all of us," chimed in the others, and the Yankee and the Canadian drank together to the success of the British ship, forgetting their petty jealousies before a common foe.

Everywhere the news of the arrival of the British warship was hailed with delight. All seemed to agree that her presence assured the speedy extermination of the pirate crew. But after several days of futile cruising about the coast, her commander, to escape from a coming storm, had to put into St. Mary's Bay, with the object of his search still eluding his vigilance. He only arrived in time to hear the last chapter of the _Kanawha's_ tale of horrors.

The night before, Dominic Lefountain, a farmer living alone at Meteighan, a little village on the French shore, had been awakened from his sleep by the moaning and wailing of a human voice. For days the imminent peril of an assault from the pirates had filled the people of the French coast with forebodings. And now, awakened thus in the dead of night, the lonely Frenchman was wellnigh paralyzed with terror. With his flesh creeping, and his eyes wide, he groped for his rifle, and waited in the darkness, while ever and anon came those unearthly cries from the beach. Nearly an hour passed before he could gather himself together sufficiently to investigate the cause of the alarm. At last, when the piteous wailing had grown weak and intermittent, the instinct of humanity mastered his fears, and he went forth to give a possible succor to the one in need.