So saying, the privateer had been run upon the sandy beach, bows on, where her crew took to the brush, yelling derisively at the _Fame_ as she came up within hail,--sails snug down so as to move cautiously.
The Frenchmen had counted without their host.
"We"ll float her, my hearties!" cried Wright. "All hands ash.o.r.e in the small boats. Tie hawsers to her stern and pull her off!"
This they did, while the French captain, far back in the brush, saw it and fairly boiled with disappointment and rage.
"Zees Wright," he bl.u.s.tered. "One cannot outweet heem."
So the privateer was towed into the harbor of Leghorn, where all the English merchants cried:
"Good! Good! Now we have a true man to fight our battles! Huzzah for Fortunatus Wright!"
The French were furious, while at the island of Malta (where were numerous French, Spanish, Austrian and English traders) the feeling grew intense. Here the Austrians sided with the English and several duels were fought by angry officers, as crafty Fortunatus Wright continued to send in his prizes.
Finally the French merchants forwarded a missive to Ma.r.s.eilles, in France, which ran:
"Can the French be further humiliated by this corsair--this robber--Fortunatus Wright? Let our people fit out a privateer sufficiently large to cope with him, and let her defeat and cripple this fellow. Make haste, for he is doing much damage!"
An answer came back.
"Before a month is gone, Monsieur Wright will no more hara.s.s your privateers. What we have determined to do, we shall do!"
Word of this was brought to Captain Fortunatus Wright and he only smiled broadly. "There"ll be another ship to bring into Malta, care of F. Wright, Esq.," said he. "And it will be labelled Collect on Delivery."
Not three weeks later the French vessel came jauntily into the harbor of Malta. The captain was a man of considerable repute as a seaman and fighter, and he was warmly received by the French. They invited him to many dinners.
"Voila!" said they. "Here is the fellow to do the tr-e-e-k. Tenez!
There will soon be one b-e-eg mince pie we-eth Captain Wright eenside.
Ha! Ha!"
It is never well to count your chickens before they hatch or to pat a man upon the back before he has won a victory.
Eagerly the French captain cruised outside, continually upon the watch for slippery Skipper Wright. His vessel was superior to the _Fame_ in numbers of both guns and men. He was sure of victory. "If only the hated Englishman would appear!" he grumbled.
Meanwhile the excitement and expectation at Malta became intense.
Finally it was noised abroad that the terrible privateer had been sighted about five miles off the harbor. All factions were aroused: the Austrians and English slapping the French and Spaniards upon the back, and saying, "Now there will be a chance to sink bold Captain Wright, Messieurs!"
To which the irritable Frenchmen would answer, "Ah! Yes! He will be gobbled up like Jonah by the whale. Pouff!"
The French privateer sailed out to meet the foe, and soon her white canvas had disappeared from view around a jutting headland. The stranger ran off. The Frenchman pursued, and soon both were lost to the eager gaze of the population of Malta, which crowded every headland, eager and expectant for the b.l.o.o.d.y battle. The sh.o.r.e was black with people.
Hours pa.s.sed. Another day came and with it the news that two vessels had been sighted off the entrance to the harbor. Hundreds rushed to the headlands and cliffs in order to see the victor and the vanquished, for two cruisers were approaching, the one towing the other.
"Huzzah!" shouted an enthusiastic Frenchman. "We have won! See--up go the French colors upon the first vessel. The other--poof--eet ees a jelly. Eet ees pounded to ze shreds."
"Huzzah!" shouted all of his compatriots, and they danced about, shaking hands, embracing, and waving their hats and their handkerchiefs.
"Ce cher Wright!" cried they. "He ees een the soup, eh?"
And what of the Englishmen?
They--of course--said nothing, but bit their lips, looked at their Austrian friends, and hung their heads dejectedly.
Here is the most beautiful part of all this story, for Fortunatus Wright, my boys, was a joker--a real, true end man in a minstrel show--and he was having his fun with "the Frenchies." His vessel--indeed--had come off victorious, in spite of the fact that she had been much more shattered than the other contestant. Therefore, Wright had put her in tow of the captured Frenchman, which he, himself, was steering, with the crew of his opponent down in the hold, as prisoners of war.
Seeing the crowded headlands and swarming ramparts in the harbor, he could not resist the temptation of hoisting the flag of France. He chuckled as he saw the effect it produced upon the crowd, then--as the vessels rounded a fort at the entrance to the harbor--down came the colors of France and up went the English flag to the peak, with the French flag below.
And then--well, you can imagine how the Englishmen and Austrians yelled, and how the poor Frenchmen beat a hasty flight for their homes. Fortunatus Wright had had a sweet revenge. He laughed long and hard, while the Frenchmen said, "Curse heem! He ees a devil! A thousand curses upon the head of thees Wright! Sapristi!" And they did not open any more bottles of wine for their supposedly great captain from Ma.r.s.eilles.
As for Fortunatus Wright, he continued to hara.s.s the French and get into trouble, as the following anecdote well shows.
Not long after his famous battle, he was travelling in Italy with introductions to many of the n.o.bility, and arrived--one day--before the city gates of Lucca. Here was stationed a guard, and a sentinel scrutinized him with great care and deliberation.
Fortunatus Wright grew impatient.
"Can I not go by?" said he. "My pa.s.sports are correct!"
"No! No!" answered the soldier. "I no likea zose peestols in your belta. You must deeliver them to me before you can go to ze ceety."
The English sea-captain said nothing, but the color rose in his cheeks. In an instant he raised one of his pistols and pointed it at the head of the astonished sentry.
"The first man that endeavors to take my weapons from me," he yelled, "does so at the cost of his life!"
The guardsman was flabbergasted.
"Corporal of the Guard! Post Number Two!" he shouted, presenting his musket at the same instant, and pointing it at the head of the irascible Captain Wright.
Immediately a dozen soldiers came running to the spot. They surrounded the irate English traveller. He was ordered to "Throw up your hands!"
"You air one mad Englishmana!" said the Officer of the Guard. "Here.
Comea weeth usa! We weel feexa youa!"
Seeing that the odds were too much against him, Captain Wright allowed himself to be taken to the guard house, while a soldier was dispatched to the British Amba.s.sador in order to explain that "they had captured an Englishman as mad as a mad dog!"
Things looked bad for the great privateersman. But was his name not Fortunatus? And was not good fortune always with him?
A n.o.bleman to whom the bold mariner had a letter now intervened in his favor, and secured the release of the high-tempered man-of-the-sea. On the morning of the fourth day of his captivity, and at the early hour of four, a soldier waked Captain Fortunatus Wright, who was peacefully sleeping at a military prison. A missive was handed him, and he read:
"SEIGNEUR WRIGHT:--Since you have been so daring as to attempt to enter the town of Lucca by force, it is therefore ordered that you shall now leave the State and never presume to enter it again, without leave from the Republic. Post-horses, with a guard to see you over the border, are now ready for you. We trust that you shall have a safe journey.
"By order of the
"GOVERNOR OF LUCCA."
"These Italians are the most unreasonable people alive," growled Captain Wright. But he pocketed both his pride and his pistols, entered the post-chaise at the door, and was soon rolling forth for other parts. In spite of this order--he continued to reside in Italy, with the true independence of a privateersman.
In December, 1746, the bold seafarer made an exceptionally good capture: a French vessel on a voyage from Ma.r.s.eilles to Naples, with a rich cargo and the servants and luggage of a real potentate,--the Prince of Campo Florida.