University of Virginia Library

43. CHAPTER XLIII.
THE TIGER BREAKS THE TRAP.

There is always a latent infirmity in crime, that serves finally
to defeat the efforts and designs of the most vigorous sort of manhood.
Crime, in fact, presupposes a defect of mind, as it does of
character. The most vigorous and thinking criminal shall yet be
a victim to certain shortcomings of calculation, or some qualifying
weaknesses, which shall operate to the ultimate defeat of all his
purposes. And if this be the fact in the case of those who are
really well and vigorously endowed, what must be the defect in
the case of a coarse ruffian like our old pirate, Sam Fowler?
This wretch had been lapped in crime and suckled on infamy.
He had been made callous by brawls and bloodshed; reckless by
self-indulgence and drunkenness. Yet he could conceive great
purposes of outlawry, had his ambition for rule, and aimed at a
certain control and supremacy over his fellow-men. But, even
while he planned conspiracy, which required the utmost prudence
as well as the utmost resolution, he was so little capable of restraining
his licentious habits, that, though the success of his
projects required the greatest sobriety — and while in a hostile
city, where a reward was offered for his head — he had not the
necessary strength which should keep from drunkenness, nor the
degree of caution which might shelter from detection.

So, accordingly, while the vanities of his colleague and superior,

Molyneaux, led him to exhibit his legs at the bal costume of Madam
Anderson, he (Fowler) regaled himself at Sproulls's, with a
villanously low circle, on the strongest potations and the heaviest
meats.

Sproulls was in quasi alliance with the keen and cunning Sylvester,
alias Stillwater. It is needless to try and fathom the secret
between these two persons. But it is certain that Sproulls
was much more decidedly the agent of Stillwater than the friend
of Fowler. Whether he wished to acquire a claim on the favors
of Stillwater, or that he desired to obtain a clue to the hiding-place
of the rover Calvert, matters nothing to us. His motive
need not tax our inquiry. Enough that he fancies Molyneaux to
be Calvert. He has contrived so to report to Sylvester, and to
furnish all the clues to the present employment of the lieutenant.
The next matter is to secure Fowler.

This required management. Fowler is an old sea-dog, of vigorous
frame, well armed, and of determined courage. A city police
is not always equal to a hand-and-hand encounter with a desperado,
and it requires a very considerable superiority of force
before the attempt will be made. But the preliminaries have
been overcome. There is a hot supper — steaks, oysters, and
other good things — at Sproulls's den, the locality of which may
yet be designated, somewhere in the purlieus of Queen street and
the bay. Hot rum-punch is in abundance, and no better beverage
is asked for until the period arrives when, the taste silenced, the
appetite calls for something more potent still, and the naked rum
throws upon his back that champion whose heels the sweetened
liquor only served to trip.

Four or five stout fellows have consented to meet Sproulls and
his friend in good fellowship. The steaks and oysters smoked
from separate dishes. The foaming liquors, hot and cold, went
freely round. Sam Fowler sat as sovereign, well satisfied. He
had impudence, and a ruffian-like humor; was fond of horse-play;
and dealt out the most brutal oaths, as boys fling cherry-stones
about. The demureness of his companions, at first, seemed to
him the natural tribute of inexperience and inferior spirits to his
own superiority. Every brute has his vanity. He found this
sort of tribute grateful.

“You 'll git bolder, fellows, when you 've ploughed the seas for

twenty-five years; when you 've tasted the salt of a lee shore;
when you 've split every sail in a `norther;' and been so far up
in the wind's eye, that you 'd only got to stretch out your hand
to take the man in the moon by the beard! A week's maroon,
now, would make men of you all. A desarted island, without a
tree or shrub, and nothin' but a pocketful of biscuit, a gun without
a lock, and no way to git your grub but by listening when a turtle
grunts, as she 's a-marchin' up the sands to drop her eggs! That 's
the sort of schoolin', to take the pip off a man-chicken's tongue!
A week of that sort of idication, my lads, would make something
of you all, and bring out the pluck. It 's life you wants; and ef
you 've the heart to l'arn, say so, fellows, and ship with me, outward
bound and return v'yage, with shares of eights upon the
venture. What do you say to that?”

The cue was to humor the ruffian.

“Well,” said one, and then another. “It 's monstrous poor
sort of life that we lives here — hardly gits our grub, and more
salt than sugar in it. I 'm clear for any venture that 'll give us
a chance at a better sort of life.”

“Shill have it, my lads. I 'll be ready for you. You 'll have
to sign articles, lads — not much — only to have an understandin'
of the tarms, and the rest 's easy, and the money sure. I 've known
three hundred pounds starling per man, out of a single v'yage of
two months. Bales always ready for our cargo, and markets right
and left, east, west, north, south — everywhere, jest like here in
Charlestoun, where the folks sing night and day, even when they 're
a-prayin'.

“But — fellows! am I to do all the drinkin'? I say drink,
though it blows a harricane! You 'll never be up to a spankin'
breeze ef you do n't l'arn the uses of a bottle. Grog 's the whole
secret of all that 's good and lucky: grog 's courage; grog 's good
luck; grog 's sense and sperit; grog makes the cargo, and grog
knows how to spend it. Drink, I say! By the holy pipers, I 'll
lay my cutlash over the first nose that I see holdin' off from the

punch-bowl! Up with it, fellows — down with it — let 's hear it
give an honest guggle as it goes down a wide swallow!”

Suppose, in this speech, the action suited to the word. The
burly ruffian actually stood up, tankard in one hand and naked
cutlass in the other; and, while quaffing the contents of the cup,
he flourished the weapon over the heads of his companions.

Now, Sproulls's assistants, though not exactly of the class of
Dogberrys, were yet very far from being familiar with the sharp,
prompt practice of our ancient buccaneer; and their heads shyed,
from side to side, as the gleaming cutlass waved to and fro. They
eagerly filled their cups and swallowed.

“No heeltaps, you milksops! Drink deep as death and d—nation!
I 'm not goin' to palaver over punch. Drink, I say! —
swallow like a suckfish — swallow, and be gentlemen-rovers, fit
for the high-seas, and a ready market! Ef you do n't, I 'll make
a short swipe of you! Ef you does, I 'll know you to be men
of good, warm blood — able to write your names under a `Jolly
Roger!'”

He had his will of them; and he laughed in half scorn, half
merriment, to see the avidity with which they swallowed — the
alacrity with which they obeyed him.

“That 's goin' it honest! I like a free drinker. The fellow
that skulks his liquor ain't honest. I say, now, write down yer
names on that paper! You 're entered for a cruise.”

And he cast down a paper before them. The fellows looked
blank — looked at one another. The task now put before them
seemed to promise more peril than the punch.

“What 's this for?” said one.

“What 's that to you, blast me! Sign!”

And again the cutlass was flourished over the heads of the
party. They signed, not daring to stop to read what was written
— signed to a man! And the old pirate coolly gathered up
the paper, and pocketed it away, as if it had been a deed of value;
though he was now evidently too drunk to reason correctly upon
any subject. It was habit and instinct that governed his actions.

He chuckled, with all the self-complacency of an ancient despot,
when he found them so submissive.

“That 's it! all right!” said he; “you 're bound for the v'yage.
No backin' out now. Sworn to the Jolly Roger. But it 's a free

life, fellows — pleasure all the time! Nothin' but fun, and fightin',
and plenty of liquor; and lots of fine gals at New Providence
and all along the keys. It 's a glorious life. Fill up, now, I say,
and let 's drink to the Jolly Roger!”

They filled! he filled! the cutlass flourishing in fearful proximity
to every head, and Fowler walking to and fro, as he spoke,
with the air of a commander upon the quarter-deck, ready to
board the enemy. But, as they carried the cups to their mouths,
he stopped:—

“Where 's that blasted son of a yardstick? where 's Sproulls?”

“He 's jest gone for a minute. He 'll be back soon.”

“He 's skulked a matter of five glasses. I 'll take the d—d
fellows ears off, close to his top! What 's he, that he should
skulk? Why ain't he here, I say? Who 's here to answer for
him? Does I come to visit him, and he sneak off and leave me
to take care of myself! Nobody to ax me to liquor! I 'm a decent
man, and can 't ax myself: it 's for him to ax. I won't drink
of any d—d, blasted liquor, when the right owner do n't ax me.
I 'll shave his ears off, blast me!”

The desperado fairly overawed the proper men around him.
The cutlass again flourished about in terrible closeness to their
heads. One of them, more bold than the rest, endeavored to
pacify him. He said:—

“Sproulls is my friend. He 's a good fellow. Do n't mean
anything oncivil — would n't for the world. He said he had to
go. Begged me to do the purlite; and I ax you, captain — I ax
you, in his name — take a pull — take a pull with me!”

“D—n his name! Who 's he? I 'll take a pull with you, in
your own name. What 's your name?”

“Jim Atkinson.”

“Jim Atkinson? Ah! you 've signed” — taking out and trying
to examine the paper. “Well, stand up, old fellow; you 're a
man of size; you 've got the inches! I 'll take a pull with you.
Fill up all, fellows. A pull all round with Jim Atkinson. Hurrah
for the Jolly Roger! Drink that, boys, ef you wants to be
blest.”

They drank.

“I 've got the benefits! I must be off now. See to the boat.
See to the lieutenant. He 's a fool! Footin' it with women,

when he ought to be drivin' along the coast, and down for the
gulf! But, no matter: life 's a long day. So long as the liquor
lasts, and there 's good feedin', no need to hurry. But you 're all
booked, and we must be off soon. I count on you as my fellows.
You shall have a glorious swing of it. Not in your shoes, you
boobies! do n't think that! No man need fear the gallows who 's
got the sense to die a wet death. We 'll do it in stockin'-feet!
Another pull, my beauties, and then I 'm off! I 've eat a'most
too many of them d—d 'ysters! They 're watery. But the
punch ain't! Another pull, all round, and hurrah for the Jolly
Roger! You 'll be all ready at mess-call!”

And every hand grasped the noggin, though possibly none but
Fowler emptied the vessel. He did this to the last drop. Then,
thrusting his cutlass home, he strode off toward the door.

“I 'll give you the sign when it 's time to go aboard; not quite
ready yit. Git stores in the locker; work the ship round first.
You shall know when the time comes. Hard a-port, I say! Hey,
there! — a cup! One more cup; and then, a free sheet and a
flowin' sea!”

It was with some disquiet that his companions beheld him prepared
to depart, and resolved upon it. It was against their instructions
that he should be suffered to go. Sproulls's secret
words had been emphatic:—

“You 'll have no trouble with him so long as the liquor lasts.
He 'll stop till daylight. Ply him fast. Drink with him, man by
man. But keep him till I get back. We must have him fast by
the heels. It 's a hundred pounds sterling in our pockets; and
every man shall have his five pounds, remember that! I 'll bring
a proper officer, and we can fix him fast when I get back. But
should he offer to go, jump upon him, all of you, and get him
down, and rope him. You 're strong enough, each of you, and
there 's four of you. Keep him, fair or foul — see that you keep
him till I get back.”

The instructions seemed quite natural and easy to the hearers
when first delivered; but, since then, their humors had cooled.
The course of Fowler had been so decidedly desperate, that what
seemed to promise so feasibly at the outset, became now quite a
hazardous measure. So far from taking the initiative, in keeping
him at his liquor, he had rather forced it upon them; and his fearful

cutlass-flourishes had not suffered them to prevaricate at their
punch. They could not play him, and sham their own drinking;
and each felt that his potations had done something toward disturbing
his own equilibrium.

Besides, the reckless demeanor of the ruffian; his physical proportions;
the dexterity with which he flourished his weapon; and
the discovery which they made of the mahogany-butts of pistols
protruding from his breast — all combined to beget an extreme
degree of prudence on the part of these valiant citizens, which did
not argue any great promptitude, should it become necessary for
them to jump upon him, as one man, and lay him out like a turtle,
on his back.

Still, something must be done. He was evidently resolved on
his departure; and the fellow who had played spokesman before,
now taking the parole, as if warmed by his beverages to eloquence,
began his work as insidiously as he could.

“Sorry, captain, that Sproulls hain't got back time enough to
do his honest drinkin' with you—”

“D—n Sproulls, for a sneak!”

“So say I, too! D—n Sproulls! But so long as his liquor
lasts, I 'm for it. So, what say you, boys, to a pull all round? I
say, captain, this punch is glorious, and there 's a smart chance in
the bowl yet.”

“D—n punch! The sweet 's too snakish. Give me the naked
Jamaica!”

The rum was placed before him — a huge, square, black bottle,
containing a gallon. The pirate filled, taking his rum this time
in puris naturalibus. But the rest began filling from the punch-bowl.

“H-ll!” he cried; “am I to take the naked creetur, and you
be swizzin' out of the sweetened sarpent? And you wants to sail
under the `Jolly Roger,' too! Blast my peepers, if they shall
look on and see sich infarnal hypocrisy! There 's for your d—d
wash!”

And, with a tremendous sweep of the arm, he hurled the punch-bowl
from the table, sending the beverage in every direction, and
shattering the vessel into a thousand pieces.

“The naked sinner, fellows! Kiss the black jug, and show that
you 've got the strength for a fair wrestle with the naked sperit!”

The demonstration was sufficient, and they drank with him.
The drunken despot would not allow them to water the liquor;
they must take it raw. Luckily for them, his eyes were quite
too humid to suffer him to see whether they filled to the brim or
not. The former spokesman, in still more subdued accents, though
affecting a frank good-humor which he did not feel, cried out —

“That 's right! The sweetened liquor do n't do after the short
hours come on. Here 's to the good ship, captain, and a glorious
cruise, a rich cargo, and a ready market!”

“Good!” was the answer, with a gruff complacency. “But
what did you say about the short hours? How late do you call
it, fellows?”

“Oh! it 's not late: somewhere 'twixt twelve and one.”

“Twelve and one! I must be off — must see to that d—d
peacock! We shall soon be on the ebb of tide. Must be off. Well,
fellows, you shall hear my signal soon. Keep your ears on the
stretch, and your fingers and feet free. You 're good fellows, I
see; know when rum ought to be taken naked; l'arn you, ef you
do n't know. And so, the devil's blessings upon you, my kittens!
I 'll come for you before he does, and we 'll both be sartain!”

And, without waiting any answer, he strode to the door. They
all rose, and approached him. The spokesman on previous occasions,
Atkinson, gave the rest the wink. He had contrived to
whisper them —

“When you see us shakin' hands, then jump upon him, all at
once, and bring him down!”

But Fowler had reached the door before Jim Atkinson could
reach him. He found it closed, and locked on the outside! So
slyly had Sproulls done this, that it had passed unnoticed by all
the party. The effect upon Fowler was to endow the ruffian with
all his resolution, and some of his habitual readiness and decision.
In an instant the effects of the liquor seemed to disappear. He
confronted the party, his back to the door, which opened on the
outside, and drew a brace of pistols from his bosom.

“What bloody lubber has done this?”

“Done what, captain?” said Atkinson, approaching.

“Done what! Do you ask, you blackguard? Stand off, or
I 'll feed you on bullets which shall last you to the grave!”

And he cocked his pistols. Atkinson stopped short, his hand

extended as for leave-taking. His comrades, meanwhile, were
slowly gliding round the table, like himself irresolute. They all
had weapons, but produced none.

“Caught in a trap! and of your settin', you d—d fresh-water
sneaks! You would harness a shark with spider-webs, would
you!”

And, keeping his eyes steadily upon them, and his pistols extended
with deliberate aim, he lifted his foot and drove it behind
him, with all his force, against the door. The slight fabric yielded
at the first blow, and was sent free from bolt and hinges. The
way was clear.

“Now move one step toward me, and I 'll plaster the wall with
your bloody brains! Ho! ho! ho! — a pretty trap! Say to
Sproulls, I 've taken his measure: I 'll cut out his garmints for
him! I 'll paint 'em red, do you hear! I 'll make the sign of the
cross on him, so deep, that the priest won't have anything to do!
And all that won't save him. I 'll — oh, blast him! He sha' n't
know what hurts him!”

And he strode forth into the highway, pistols in hand, coolly
resolute, steady with the sobriety of desperation; and none of the
party dared to follow him. They looked at one another with
somewhat of the philosophy of Dogberry:—

“Take no note of him. Let him go, and thank God you are
rid of a knave.”

Atkinson said, apologetically:—

“I would have taken hold of him, though I died for it; but I 've
got a wife and children. But why did n't you all jump upon him,
fellows, when you seed me offer him my hand?”

“But you was to take his hand, you know, and then we was to
jump on him. That was what you told us.”

“But when you seed that he would n't shake hands?”

“Then we waited to see what you would do. You was nearest
to him.”

“But why did n't you git up? Ef you had only pressed about
him, I 'd ha' jumped on him anyhow.”

“And ef you 'd ha' jumped on him, we 'd been up fast enough.”

“And you wanted me to face his two pistols by myself, did
you? and I with a wife and three young children!”

“And ain't my life as dear to me as your 'n, no matter ef you

had fifty wives and children? And when I consider 't was only a
poor five pounds that we was to git, after all, I do n't see the sense
of runnin' ag'in a brace of bullets from the biggest-mouthed pistols
I ever laid eyes on!”

“They were monstratious big,” said a third party. “They
looked like young cannon. A bullet from them muzzles would
take off a man's head clean!”

“Well,” responded Atkinson, “it 's agreed we all did our best
We tried all we could to stop him. We made him drunk — I
thought we had him dead drunk. You seed how he reeled about
when he first got up from the table!”

“But, Lord, how sudden he got quite sober, soon as he found
the door was locked!”

“He 's a most powerful villain; he 'd be a match for any five
men I ever seed. I thank God we 're well rid of him, and no life
lost! I do n't feel like takin' up and seein' hung an honest rover
that we 've been dealin' with so long. I 'm glad he 's off, and we
have n't had the sheddin' of his blood.”

“And he the sheddin' of your 'n, Bonney.”

“Well, I consent! I do n't want to burrow in a dog's hole before
the Lord calls me!”

And the party soon persuaded themselves that their proceedings
had been marked equally by courage and judgment, and would
have been quite successful but for the unexpected and brutal obstinacy
of Fowler, who in no degree would contribute to the triumph
of their operations.

They had logically reached this result, when Sproulls reappeared,
bringing with him another party. His eye beheld the
wreck of the door; and, as he failed to see Fowler, he at once
conjectured the failure of his scheme. He listened impatiently to
the narrative of Atkinson, but did not quite agree with him in his
estimate of the courage and conduct they had shown.

“But why did you not follow him and see where he burrows now?”

“Follow six pistols, with mouths as big as a blunderbuss, and
stuffed to the muzzle with bullets!”

“We must be after him,” said Sproulls to his companion, “and
see if we can 't do what these fellows failed in.”

“No!” replied the other; “we have n't time. We 've to see
after higher game: we must take care and not lose both.”

“You 're right! Look you, boys, you 've lost a matter of twenty
pounds apiece, lettin' the pirate git off!”

“You only said five apiece; and was I to risk my life for a
poor, pitiful five pounds, and I have a wife and three children
lookin' to me for all they git?”

“Never mind that, my good fellows,” said the stranger; “go
with us now, and see that you do better! I 'll lead you, and not
ask any of you to face a danger that I 'm not willing to face the
first. We 've got to make another capture; and if we succeed, and
he 's the person we look for, you shall have your twenty pounds
apiece yet! You know me, I think, and know that I 'm not going
to ask you to do that which I won't attempt myself.”

They at once expressed their alacrity. They knew the speaker.
He had, even then, quite a local celebrity; and was destined to
make himself still more notorious in after-days, in the colonial
régime of Carolina. He spoke with a decided Irish accent; was
a fine-looking, stalwart fellow, in a sort of undress uniform; had
rich, rosy cheeks, fair complexion, blue eyes; and carried himself
like a knight of chivalry. This was Florence O'Sullivan, then in
command of the two-gun battery, on the southwest point of the
town; afterward in command of the first palmetto battery, or log-castle,
on Sullivan's island, which takes its name from this very
personage.

He led the way, and all the party followed him into the street.

Note. — We have suffered our old pirate to deliver himself freely in his
habitually brutal language; preferring that he should revolt the instincts of
the young, whose more elegant forms of speech, in the dialect of the flibustier,
might be apt to persuade. It is better, perhaps, that we should suffer brutality
to disgust the tastes — even as the Spartans exhibited their slaves when
in a state of drunkenness — than, by a solicitous forbearance to offend the
tastes, to endanger the morals. It is the just objection to many of our romancers
and poets, that they drew the portraits of their corsairs and brigands
in such artful colors (suppressing all that might offend the tastes) as to convert
the criminal into the hero, and, by appealing to the fancies and mere
instincts, succeeded too surely in corrupting the soul. Having thus far suffered
our ruffian to show himself in his true colors, we shall clap a stopper on
him hereafter.