Flynn’s Weekly Detective Fiction. Vol. 18, No. 3, September 18, 1926

Unique in history is the lawlessness of Misson and Tew, warriors and dreamers, who founded an empire on crime

This true tale will bewilder youngsters and many a grown-up. What, moral pirates? Men who with cannon, cutlass, and pistol capture treasure galleons on the Spanish Main and then capture the hearts of their prisoners by the royal treatment they accord them? Pirates who fly the skull and crossbones and at the same time preach brotherly love?

Pirate chiefs who can slash and shoot with the best, but who will not tolerate drunkenness or even profanity on board their ships? Men who sack and plunder seaboard towns and with the loot found tiny republics on a dark continent, Utopias where men actually live in liberty, fraternity, and equality?

Freebooters who fight like fiends and live like great-hearted missionaries? Why not rather make us believe in white blackbirds, I can hear some of my readers exclaim. Moral pirates! Bewildering; no, worse, incredible! Well, life and truth are so often bewildering and incredible. But let the story of Francois Misson and Thomas Tew speak for itself.

Francois Misson was the youngest of a brood of children born to a none too prosperous French family in Provence. In such circumstances a boy if he is the youngest will find himself at the bottom of the heap, or he will develop fighting qualities.

The Misson children liked to play at soldiering. Their forbears were soldiers. And always Francois, the youngest, was general.

There was never any dispute among them as to who was to lead the valiant Misson army against the fire-belching dragon who guarded the luscious orchards of Marquis de Braie. For it was Francois who created the dragon, made him seem almost real to his brothers and sisters, fired them with the sense of their mission to slay the wicked monster, and made their mouths water with promises of delicious apricots and grapes that would be theirs as the reward of the adventure.

Then, born captain that he was, he would outline the battle tactics, lead the assault, set examples of high valor, and crown the enterprise with ringing victory.

The only thing his troops didn’t like about their general was his habit of making long-winded speeches about liberty, brotherhood, fraternity, love of one’s neighbor, sharing one’s possessions with the whole world, and so forth and so on interminably. But as he permitted his loyal troops to gorge themselves on their loot while he talked they didn’t mind it so much.

Francois had the physique of a wrestler with the face of a poet. At sixteen he had the body and strength of a young man. His glossy brown hair was long and wild; he had great, brown, glowing eyes; his fine skin was always bronzed with wind and sun. His was the broad-boned square face of the man born to withstand the battering of storms and circumstance.

He had a strong mouth alive with sensibility, gleaming teeth, and vivid lips; whether set grimly in fighting or flashing with eloquence it was mightily convincing mouth.

Home and the village soon became too small to hold Francois. He was like a wild colt in a stable. It was hard on both the young and his narrow environment for them to remain together. So the family proposed to make a soldier of him.

But that meant living in barracks, traveling on foot, and although the period did not lack in wars and fighting, inevitably in a soldier’s life there are long periods of inactivity. That didn’t suit the temper of Francois.

He wanted action even when there was nothing to do; and the sea is the only element that provides a storm to rock you even when you are asleep. So to the sea went Francois as naturally as a gull goes to salt water.

He had a cousin, Captain Fourbin, who commanded the frigate Victoire, fighting for the Grand Monarch. Francois joined his cousin on board the ship not as an ordinary sailor, but as a sort of gentleman volunteer, who could go with the ship or leave it as he pleased.

The Victoire was sent on a cruise in the Mediterranean. France was at war with England at that time and the cruise of the Victoire was a highly colorful affair, full of fighting and plundering of the enemy.

No Lack of Fighting

The captain’s job was replete with exigencies that called for all the talent a man had, both for seamanship and fighting. Captain Fourbin was a master at both. And always at his side in the press of storm or battle stood young Francois, learning the art.

He was a glutton for learning, whether from books, men, or life. It was not long before the voracious youngster could, so to speak, steer a ship with one hand and wield a cutlass with the other. And the more able he grew the more impatient he became to use his talents.

There was no lack of fighting for any one with the Victoire. She was pierced for forty guns; she carried only thirty; but Captain Fourbin always acted as though he had the full complement. For instance, off Sicily they encountered two Sallee rovers, the Lion and the Dragon, both Englishmen, therefore enemies.

The Lion carried twenty guns, the Dragon twenty-four, forty-four against the Victoire’s thirty. But Captain Fourbin shut his eyes to mathematics and pitched into the fight.

The Lion got to one side of the Victoire, the Dragon on the other and then they let fly from every porthole. They aimed not at men, but up at the rigging of the Victoire. Their idea was first to disable the Frenchman and then board him.

But the French at the guns fed them, as though they were modern stokers feeding an ocean liner’s fires and their mates pointed them with eyes as keen as hawks’. Every shot bit into the hull of the Lion just below the water line.

The result was the Lion found itself so badly hulled that it began to list heavily. Fearing capsize the captain of the Lion ordered guns and cargo to be shifted to the other side so as to careen his vessel and keep the shot holes above water. Answering to the maneuver the ship began to tilt over. Up above the water showed the wounds in her hull. So far so good.

But to the horror of all on board the Lion the ship kept on careening. Down and down went her ports, freighted by all the guns on board her. Would she never stop? Suddenly with a sickening lurch the Lion completely capsized, keel in the air; then sank.

Now the Victoire had only the Dragon to deal with.

The latter, although it had shot to pieces the Victoire’s rigging and raked its decks with gunfire, now decided for discretion, and turned to run. But Captain Fourbin had become too interested in the fight to call it a draw. So he gave chase and steadily gained.

Misson, the Leader

It would be only a question of minutes now before one could leap from the deck of the Victoire to that of the Dragon. And at the rail of the Victoire poised for the leap stood young Francois Misson at the head of a boarding party.

His long, brown hair was whipping in the wind; his shirt was torn by a bullet and discolored with sweat and blood; he was actually laughing aloud with the exultation of fighting; his right hand held a cutlass, the left a pistol.

Mere yards now separated the two ships. The decks of the Dragon were simply swarming with dark-faced Moors. The Frenchman had lost heavily under the cannonading from the two ships. Captain Fourbin had concentrated his guns on the now vanished Lion and the heavily manned Dragon had as yet suffered little loss. The odds in man power were against young Francois and his followers.

Now the two ships ground their timbers against each other and onto the deck of the Dragon leaped young Misson and his crew. Instantly they found themselves in the thick of the fight of their lives.

One French blade had to parry the thrusts of two and three Moors. Slashing and cutting, yelling exultantly, young Misson fought as miraculously as against the dragon he himself had created in his childhood’s exploits.

Agonies of Remorse

But the scores of fighting Moors led by English pluck and brains were no figments of a boy’s imagination; and back to the rail were pressed Francois and his men. Some of them were hacked to pieces. Some were thrown down the hatches or into the sea. Some fought on partly disabled. But those who survived went as mad as their young leader and for every man they lost their cutlasses and pistols took usurious toll.

Then from the Victoire to the Dragon leaped another boarding crew, and back this time went the Moors, firing and slashing, on the defense. The decks were treacherous with blood and cluttered with dead and wounded. The fighters stumbled and plunged like stampeded cattle.

The roar of guns and the yells of battle-crazed men, the shrieks of the wounded and the cries of the dying were to young Francois like the trumpeting of a storm to one who loves the sea at its maddest. He was in his element, and as he was leading the fight he led his men to victory.

Cut to pieces the Moor crew threw up their hands in surrender. Francois saw one Moslem leap down the main hatch. One would think that occupied as he was Francois would not have an eye for such a detail at a time when men leaped and fell into the sea literally by the score. But in the Moslem’s hand Francois saw a lighted fuse. Down into the hatch after him went the youth.

The Moslem was running three bounds ahead of Francois. Down through the dark passages in the hold went the pursuit. Francois had a fair idea where his man was headed. And it was with a furious effort that he threw himself on the man and cut him down with his cutlass just as the Moslem had thrown open the door to the powder magazine and was about to thrust into it the lighted match.

The danger of being blown to shreds now averted, the men of the Victoire gave the Moors the quarter and mercy they would not themselves have received had they lost. And deep down below the water line in the foulest conceivable of holes were found fifteen Christian captives who were led up to the deck.

“White for bliss and blind for sun and stunned for liberty.”

Into the port of Leghorn went the Victoire with prisoners and prize. Young Francois went ashore to spend part of his prize money and to go to confessional. There was a side to the youth which was as different from the cutlass-slashing fighter in him as oil is different from water.

The deepest passion in him was love of man. If along with it went a talent for fighting to the death it is not my job to explain the contradiction. Men often are that way; and we must take Francois Misson as we find him. But now that the lust of battle was over the youth felt agonies of remorse.

Two of a Kidney

So he went to confessional to purge his conscience of murderous memories. The priest to whom he confessed was little older than himself. Caraccioli was a fiery-eyed young Italian who had made the mistake of his life when he chose a career that would confine him to a priest’s cell. As Francois told of the battles he had been through, instead of filling the priest with the sense of Francois’s guilt he infected him with restlessness.

Caraccioli was as predestined to the sea and fighting, to untrammelled thinking and restless roving as was Francois himself. The confession became instead a lure. The young Italian heard the wild music of battle, he visioned the glint of the sea and its limitless surges — and his little white-washed cell became a prison to him. Then, too, in the youth confessing to him he sensed a kinship in spirit, a comradeship it would take more than a lifetime to exhaust.

The upshot was that Caraccioli put away forever his cassock and went along with Francois back to the Victoire. The ship returned to Marseilles. Here the two young men spent a restless month while the Victoire underwent repairs.

Then the ship was ordered to Rochelle to escort a merchant fleet to Martinique. At Rochelle the two young men found that the convoy was not yet ready; that it would be perhaps another month or two before they would move.

A month or two of waiting on top of already two months of inaction was more than the two friends could endure. So they volunteered for a cruise in the English Channel on the Triomphe under Captain Le Blanc.

The Dream of Francois

It was, of course, not a pleasure cruise, this scouting around of a French frigate in the English Channel at a time when France was at war with England. Francois and Caraccioli got all the action they wanted.

First, they chased and pounded to pieces a Jamaica freighter. Here Francois saw an action on the part of Captain Le Blanc which dropped into his nature like a seed in fertile soil.

The Frenchmen had boarded the sinking Britisher and took every bit of booty they could lay hands upon. Then the search by the French crew extended to the personal belongings of the British sailors. But peremptorily the captain stopped it.

“We are not pirates,” he said, “but servants of the Grand Monarch. We do not rob the poor!”

Where the soil is deep and rich the bounty of a cornfield flows over and flowers into bluets and poppies and other gay little blooms. So it seems to me that in the hearts of great fighters there is enough richness to give soil to the bloom of chivalry, magnanimity.

Captain Le Blanc’s decent act in not letting his crew plunder the poor belongings of their prisoners chimed in Francois’s nature and woke reverberations. That was the way to treat a conquered opponent!

Two things had drawn Père Caraccioli to Francois — the man of action and the dreamer. For in rare men the two do meet and re-enforce each other; Francois was such a man.

At a time when the first of our modem democracies was yet unborn by a hundred years, when kings and despots were the rule and slaves in chains were as familiar a phenomenon as dogs on leashes to-day, Francois dreamed of a state in which all men had equal rights, shared everything like brothers, in which one race was as good as another and men would prefer living in peace together to slaughtering each other for gain.

To all this Caraccioli, with the fervency of a young Italian and a one-time priest, said a loud amen. If ever they came to power, the youths promised each other, they would bring these beautiful dreams to realization. We shall see whether they kept this promise.

When their former ship, the Victoire, was ready for its cruise the two friends rejoined it. The frigate safely delivered the merchantmen at Martinique and Guadeloupe. Then it set out to hunt down whatever British ships it should meet.

They had no difficulty in meeting their first Britisher; the difficulty lay in getting away from it. For into sight hove the Winchelsea, a mammoth warship carrying forty great guns and equipment to match. It was more than big enough to blow the Victoire out of the water; and Captain Fourbin had bitten off more than he could chew.

Victory or Death

But having started it there was no alternative but to press the fight as strongly as possible. The two ships hove broadside to each other and let fly. The Victoire had only fifteen guns on that side and the Winchelsea twenty.

When the roar of the British broadside answered the Victoire it was like a lion replying to a wild cat. At the first blast from the Britisher the tornado of lead swept the Frenchman’s deck with terrible havoc.

Among the first to be killed was Captain Fourbin himself and his three lieutenants. That left only the ship’s master alive as the commanding officer. Plunged suddenly into supreme responsibility by a catastrophe that had swept off his superiors and threatened to wipe out the rest of the crew the master laid his hands on a rope to run up a flag of surrender.

His hand never reached its destination. A strong young hand knocked it aside. Young Francois, cousin to the dead captain, and born leader that he was calmly thrust the master from his position in command.

“By your intention you lose your post!” Francois cried. “Only the man willing to lead this ship to victory or to death is entitled to command. Men!” he cried to the crew about him. “Will you follow me on with the fight?”

A Bolt from Heaven

He had to make himself heard above the roar of the Winchelsea’s cannon and his own. But they had no trouble understanding him and certainly he had no difficulty in hearing their thundering assent.

Then the Victoire proceeded apparently to commit suicide. For instead of standing away from the Winchelsea Francois steered his ship up to the Britisher. Down among his cannoneers he went keying them up to still higher pitch.

Ramming and firing for their very lives yet keeping their brains cool and eyes clear for the deadliest precision they could summon the men of the Victoire made every gun do the work of two; and every shot went home. Meanwhile, of course, the other ship was riddling the Victoire and playing havoc with it.

The brave have a faith that even in the midst of blackest misfortune they can count on the grace of good luck. Perhaps never was this faith so well borne out as in this fight.

For one of the shots from the Victoire shrewdly found its way into the very bowels of the Winchelsea. Where the shot struck timber took fire and iron broke into sparks. And one of the sparks lit on the powder magazine.

To the desperate men on board the Victoire it seemed as if a timely bolt from the heavens had struck. One moment the Winchelsea was belching flame at them from the muzzles of its cannon. The next moment and with a roar mightier than all its forty cannon together the great warship broke in two, a bursting volcano in its midst.

Even those on board the Victoire were shaken by the explosion. Still more were they shaken by the unexpected turn of destiny’s whirligig. Between black despair to radiant hope only the flicker of an eyelash intervened.

What became of the Winchelsea has remained one of the mysteries of marine history. For reasons we shall amply learn the Victoire never reported the loss of the Britisher. From what we know of the explosion the ship must have broken in two. But some time later at the end of a great storm the head of the ship floated ashore at Antigua.

On board the Victoire her new commander and what was left of the crew, were still stunned with the unexpectedness of their salvation. Then Francois turned to his men:

“Ours is the victory! And ours is the Victoire! It is by your consent that I am in command, and it is your consent I ask to make my comrade, Caraccioli, my lieutenant!”

Captain, Supreme

Caraccioli was lying in a pool of his own blood. One of the Winchelsea cannon balls had carried away his left leg. With rough sea surgery a man was binding up the stump as best he could. Even when he was down Caraccioli had helped direct the fighting. So it was with unanimous acclaim that the crew gave Francois the lieutenant for which he asked.

It was a curious, momentous speech of acceptance that Caraccioli made. His face was drawn with pain, but when he spoke it was as if some other man had just lost his leg, so little did his thoughts run on himself. He thanked Francois for the honor of the appointment. He thanked the men for their hearty endorsement of him. Then he proceeded to propose a plan as bold as had been the fight they had so unexpectedly won.

He pointed out to Francois that they were now masters of their own fate. “If we go back to Martinique to our superiors, the most that you, Francois, can hope for is a lieutenant’s commission. Whereas now you are captain, supreme.

“And all that you, my comrades of the crew, may expect is perhaps a pat on the back and a continuance of your lives as common ordinary sailors subject to the orders of a captain who obeys an admiral, who obeys a minister, who obeys a monarch! All these have a power of life and death over us.”

A Deo a Libertate

“But as yet we are free men. We can still dispose of our lives and fortunes as we will. Shall we keep this freedom? Or shall we return it to our masters?”

Francois was shaken to the heart by this challenge. And among the crew an agitated murmur ran. Caraccioli pressed his advantage.

“You, Francois, and you, my friends, have often spoken idly of wanting to be not subjects to a king, but free citizens in a better world, in which liberty and equality of rights prevailed. You have wished for an ideal republic. Well, here it is, the republic of the Victoire! What say you, Captain Misson? Shall we raise the flag of our own little republic and remain free, defending it against the world?”

“Yes!” roared Francois passionately.

“Yes!” roared the crew. “Long live our little republic! Long live our Captain Misson! Long live our Lieutenant Caraccioli!”

The other officers of the little republic were chosen by the crew with inspiring unanimity. Misson then put the question as to whither the republic literally was to go. It was decided for the Spanish West Indies.

The question next came up what was to be the flag. To most of the men there was but one alternative. They knew that a ship flew either the flag of its country or the black flag of piracy. So that a cry arose for the skull and crossbones on the field of black. But Caraccioli objected.

“We are not pirates, but lovers of liberty! We are not fighting to amass loot, but to put down tyranny!”

To all this the young captain more than agreed. And it was at his suggestion that there was adopted as their flag a white field on which the motto was inscribed A Deo a Libertate — for God and Liberty.

Then followed perhaps the most amazing scene in the annals of what I suppose must be called piracy, since most readers will agree with most of the Victoire’s crew as putting the color of piracy on the expedition. The ship’s money was brought up from the cabin and put into a great chest.

“This money, my friends,” announced the captain, “belongs to us all in common. It shall be divided, with equal share to every man on board, be he captain or cabin boy. To this money I add the silver of the captain’s plate service. Everything we have on board belongs to every one of you!”

But the crew objected. A spokesman for them presented their point of view. “The captain’s plate service must remain part of the captain’s cabin furnishings. His cabin must be worthy of the post and the man we honor!”

Thus the question of possession was dismissed as settled. Misson went on to address his crew, urging them to live in harmony among themselves.

The Republic of the Sea

“But you will have to fight the whole world, I am afraid. For society will declare us to be pirates, and not only close its ports to us, but will send its warships to destroy us if they can. That means war and we shall not be the unprepared victims. I now, hereby, in the name of the Republic of the Sea, declare war against all nations who will so judge us!

“At the same time I recommend to you, my brothers, a humane and generous behavior toward all prisoners you will take. We cannot expect to meet the same treatment from others should we encounter ill fortune. But all the more compulsory is it upon us to show a nobility greater than those on whom we wage war!”

A muster of the crew showed two hundred fit for duty and thirty-five sick and wounded. Then the Republic of the Sea set out on its cruise of conquest. In the Windward Channel they came on a becalmed Boston schooner from which they took a supply of sugar.

The captain, thinking the Victoire still a French man-of-war, declared later that he had never been more civilly treated. Later a Jamaica privateersman fell into their hands. From this they took only ammunition and allowed it to proceed otherwise unmolested.

But their next encounter was a less polite one. They came on two Dutch traders, one with twenty-two guns, the other with twenty-four. The Dutchmen refused to surrender. One on each side of the Victoire they kept up a stubborn defense until Misson lost his patience.

The Cornerstone Slips

Regardless of the Dutchmen’s belching guns he ran his ship alongside one of them, tied up to it, then pressing the muzzles of his cannon against her side, he gave the order to fire. With great holes rent in her hull the Dutchman went down to the bottom of the sea, carrying every living person along with her.

Its consort, seeing the disaster, asked for quarter; and the Dutchmen were more than surprised not only to have quarter promised, but the promise kept. The surviving ship had a cargo on board of fine goods, gold and silver, lace, brocades, and the like.

The citizens of the little floating republic then voted to take the captured ship into Carthagena and sell it as the prize taken by a French warship. This was done, and Misson used the name of the dead Captain Fourbin to avert suspicion.

Caraccioli was sent ashore with a letter signed Fourbin, “explaining” the capture of the Dutchman and asking the governor, Don Josef de la Zerda, to send the merchants on board the ship to buy the captured wares.

The governor graciously acceded to the request, and not only received the prisoners, but sent the French captain a gift of fresh provisions. The goods brought fifty thousand “pieces of eight.” In return the governor received as a gift a fine piece of brocade.

In his apparently innocent heart the governor was touched. He then wrote “Captain Fourbin” that the galleon St. Josef would sail from Puerto Bello in eight or ten days for Havana and that she had on board silver and gold bars to the value of eight hundred thousand “pieces of eight.” Would “Captain Fourbin” be gracious enough to escort with the Victoire the treasure ship and see that it did not fall into the hands of pirates?

Then it was that Misson and his crew saw the reason for the governor’s surprising kindness. He had an ax to grind. He had been angling for services to which he was not entitled. But magnanimously, even enthusiastically, Misson and his crew decided to accept the governor’s touching commission.

The Victoire hurried off to Puerto Bello. It looked as if the Republic of the Sea would start off with an ample treasury. For, of course, while the republic was founded on sentiments of brotherhood within its borders — or shall we call them sides — its citizens were far from being sentimentalists.

They knew that if the governor had learned of their real identity he would have trained his cannon on them. So that they felt the Spanish galleon would be rightly theirs when it fell into their hands.

But when the Victoire, all avid for its expected prize, hove into Puerto Bello, there was no St. Josef there. The galleon had already set sail. The cornerstone of the new republic’s treasury had slipped away!

“Black Brothers, I Set You Free!”

To have one’s mouth water in anticipation of a Lucullian banquet and then to have it vanish into thin air before one has touched a crumb would be mild disappointment compared to Misson’s when he found that the galleon with eight hundred thousand pieces of eight which he was to escort, had escaped him. So he turned elsewhere for consolation.

He began to pick up crumbs of comfort. A London ship bound for Jamaica cost him but little fighting and yielded four thousand “pieces of eight,” some rum and much sugar. Also there were on board twelve French prisoners. These were only too delighted to join the Republic of the Sea.

Then north of Cuba he captured the Nieuwstadt, a Dutchman carrying eighteen guns. So overawed was Captain Blaes, the commander, at the Victoire bristling with its thirty guns, that he, too, offered but little fight; and the Nieuwstadt became consort ship to the Victoire. Also she had two thousand in gold dust and seventeen black slaves.

Misson rounded up the Dutch captain, crew, and their slaves and proceeded to deliver a long harangue denouncing the institution of slavery.

“Men who sell other men like beasts prove that their religion is nothing more than a grimace! No man is worthy enough to have power over another! You, my poor black brothers, I set you free! I offer you sincerely your choice of life. If you so wish I will set you on shore and let you take your way wherever you please. Or, if you so wish, I shall welcome you to join us as equals in the Republic of the Sea!”

Lectured By the Pirate Chief

To a man the blacks chose to enter as citizens of his republic.

Caraccioli became captain of the Nieuwstadt and the two ships ran into the river Lagoa for cleaning and repairs. Here in the languor of a semitropical climate, in a land where man had no need to toil for fruit, and food grew literally for the mere picking, the citizens of the Republic of the Sea — or if you choose to call them so, the pirates — leisurely enjoyed the taste of life ashore.

In spite of all the sentiments of brotherhood and equality that sincerely prevailed in the Republic of the Sea decorum and man-of-war discipline were strictly maintained. But now they had in their midst Dutch prisoners, who were not part of the republic. There was no check upon them; for although Misson did not consider them brothers, he did treat them as human beings.

But the Dutchmen were tough tars. They had enormous capacity for liquor and corresponding thirst. As Misson, consistently with his humaneness, put little check upon them, the Dutchmen soon hit their full drinking stride. The result was that the most common sight in the daily life of the republic was a drunken carouse.

Then, too, the Dutchmen had a style of their own in profanity. Now, profanity like capacity for liquor, is considered by many men as a talent and become tempting to exhibit. The more soberly speaking citizens of the republic began to envy the Dutchmen’s magnificence of swearing. They began to emulate their style.

What followed seems a little hard to believe; but I could lay before my readers dusty, but impressive documents to prove what I am about to relate. Captain Misson, master pirate, called a meeting of the deep-drinking, free-swearing Dutchmen, and preached them a sermon on the vileness of profanity and drunkenness!

He had to use the Dutch captain as interpreter. But he managed to get every syllable of his sermon understood. His ears, he told them, had been little offended by bad language until they had come on board. His sight had not been annoyed by sottish drunkenness until they had come.

“These practices minister neither to profit nor to pleasure,” he went on.

The leathery Dutchmen could scarcely believe their ears. They began to show their intense amusement. They, hard-drinking, gin-pickled, sea-toughened mariners, were being lectured by a pirate chief in the language and spirit of a small town minister scolding his congregation for drinking and bad language!

“These New-fashioned Pirates”

One more sentence remained to the sermon; and the grins of the congregation were broadening.

“I have only this to add,” Misson concluded. “The next man I see drunk or from whose lips I hear profanity will be tied to a grating and severely whipped. Into the welts on his flesh salt will be rubbed. For every time the offense is repeated the punishment will be doubled.”

Then he stepped down from his pulpit and went about his work. Most of the grins disappeared. And after three Dutchmen had occasion to realize that Misson meant every word he ever uttered, drunkenness and profanity died natural deaths in the Republic of the Sea.

When the two ships were spick and span again the republic took to the sea once more. Off Angola a second Dutch merchant was taken. She had much cloth on board, which gave the citizens of the republic a new wardrobe.

But now there were ninety prisoners to handle; too many for comfort. So all the prisoners were put on board the new prize and allowed to sail away unmolested. It is interesting to read part of the report written by these prisoners of their former captors:

“We were not a little surprised at the regularity, tranquillity, and humanity which we found among these new-fashioned pirates. Indeed eleven of our men, including two sailmakers, one carpenter and an armorer, chose to remain with the pirates rather than go free with us.”

For a Newer and Better World

In Saldanha Bay, ten leagues north of the Cape of Good Hope, an English ship fell into their clutches. She put up a stiff fight, but it cost her the loss of her captain and fourteen men, the Victoire losing only twelve. In return the republic was the gainer by some sixty thousand pounds and much broadcloth.

The slain captain was buried by Misson with all the honors of war. He was sent to the bottom of the sea like the good mariner that he was. But the romantic Misson was not content with giving him the ordinary burial. In his ship’s company was a stonecutter. Somewhere on board ship they found a small block of granite. Misson ordered the stonecutter to hew out a gravestone on which was carved:

Then he sent the tombstone down to the bottom of the ocean to tell the fishes where lay “a brave Englishman.”

Thirty of the English decided to remain with the republic. Their ship was added as the third of the fleet.

I want to repeat that full half of Misson, alongside of the man of action, was the dreamer. So far the republic had had only the stability of the ocean to rest upon. Now Misson began to dream of founding a republic on land. So his eyes turned to the green shore of East Africa.

Here were dazzling white beaches with an emerald sea breaking lazily over a land sleeping in the sunlight. Palms and fruit trees bowed their heads benignly and offered unstinted bounty to man. Birds of brilliant plumage darted through the air. The soil was rich beyond the dreams of any tiller in more niggardly lands.

Misson remembered from his rich store of reading how many times republics had been founded by pirates. He, who with considerable justice felt himself far above a mere robber, had vaster dreams for his republic than any pirate band ever had in going to live on shore.

Why should not the Republic of the Sea become a republic on land and begin a newer and a better world? So Misson hoisted the signal to his little fleet to make for the nearest land. It proved to be an island in the Comoro group between Madagascar and the east coast of Africa.

As the crews landed on the coral-tinted white beach, out of the green jungle came a black queen and her councilors. Behind them was a strong party of warriors, hideously painted and armed to the teeth. For some moments the two parties looked at each other, wondering whether it was to be blood or peace. Then the African queen with a woman’s intuition read aright the heart of the young man at the head of the whites.

The Mingling of Bloods

A smile of welcome was her greeting. At once the two parties grounded their arms and freely mingled in peace. In the motley collection of races and nationalities of the republic there were several who managed to fulfill the role of interpreter between Misson and the queen. And through them both parties soon evolved a “pidgin” language.

Between the heads of the republic and the feminine members of African royalty there soon developed ties closer than political. Misson became attracted to the queen’s sister, a slender specimen of primitive womanhood.

In his profoundly friendly feeling toward all races Misson dreamed of a humanity mingled of the bloods of all the races, whose genius would be all the more splendid because it comprised the gifts of all humanity, and whose vitality would be the greater because the culture of civilization and the freshness of a primitive people would be thus united.

Caraccioli also became interested in her majesty’s niece. There was then held a gorgeous double wedding, the first of a series of marriages between the citizens of the republic and the subjects of her majesty, the queen of Johanna.

Meanwhile on the mainland tire African king of Mohilla had been planning the capture of the queen and her desirable domain. He was, of course, ignorant of her new ally. Nevertheless the war-party he brought down was a powerful one. Attacking the queen’s island empire by a descent in war-canoes, the king of Mohilla looked to a fairly agreeable conclusion.

An Idealist Outraged

To his amazement came the queen’s warriors headed by hundreds of whites, all commanded by a white youth. To the king’s horror instead of the familiar and anticipated attack with bows, arrows, and javelins, there broke out from the defenders the roar of musketry and of cannon.

The king’s war-canoes were smashed like children’s toys, and he saw scores of his fighters drown in the sea. The Issue was only too easy to foresee. Wisely the king made the sign of surrender.

Only one hundred warriors remained to him when the battle ceased. With these as prisoners the king went ashore and delivered himself up to the mercy of the queen and her subjects. Gallantly Misson permitted the queen and her warriors to behave as if the victory were solely due to them.

But soon he saw that they meant to treat their hundred prisoners according to the practice prevailing among savages. To the victor belonged the lives of the vanquished, and the queen’s warriors licked their chops at the prospect of a juicy massacre.

That didn’t meet with Misson’s sentiments. He was too understanding to try to reform with a single stroke what was perhaps an elemental emotion on the part of his allies. So he took the hundred prisoners on board his ships.

With his customary chivalry he had sent back the king of Mohilla to his stronghold on the mainland. Now he managed to convince the queen that it would be good policy to live in amity with the king and to send the hundred prisoners to him as a peace offering.

She was easily convinced, and Misson sent a detachment of his men as an escort to the prisoners and to deliver his message of good will. But the king of Mohilla was a savage, and not a very intelligent one. All his mind could grasp was that he was, so to speak, back in his home town with his own gang about him. Back, too, were one hundred of his best fighters.

In his clutch were a dozen whites who had inflicted such a humiliating beating on him. This was as far as he could see. So he seized the messengers of good will, stripped them, maltreated them and sent back only one of them with an insolent message to Misson.

The young idealist was outraged and tire man of action, very warm as to temper, unlimbered. Boarding one of his ships and taking with him an ample supply of ammunition Misson set sail for the mainland.

A Double-crossing King

In front of the king of Mohilla’s town Misson proceeded to pound daylight into the king’s thick skull. He said it with cannon. Shell after shell dropped on the horrified blacks and tore their proudest strongholds into so many handfuls of grass and bits of mud.

It was not long before the king, a sadder if not a wiser man, was down at the seashore on his knees, his hands aloft pleading for mercy.

This was a plea to which the heart of Misson always responded. But never did his head part company with his heart. Having once experienced the king’s capacity for treachery Misson now demanded that he send two of his children and ten of his nobles as hostages. The king accepted only too readily, and sent the twelve people, presumably most dear to him, on board Misson’s ship.

In return Misson and his comrade Caraccioli with only a boat-crew in attendance went to dine with the king, in token of amity. The dinner went off with surface smoothness. But as the handful of whites were returning to their boat, from the bushes there came a shower of arrows. Out of seven of the boat-crew three were killed outright, two more were wounded.

Misson himself took out his pistol and fired into the bushes. But an arrow lodged in his side and put an end, for the time being, to his fighting. And as though fortune meant them ever to share equally, Caraccioli was similarly wounded.

The Preordained Home

Then from the ship came rescuing parties. With Misson temporarily removed from command the others were not checked by any of his humane considerations. They descended on the king of Mohilla with guns blazing, and the torch ran wild.

The foolish savage received what I suppose must be called another lesson. After the guns got through speaking and fire had sated its gluttony, there were neither king_ nor Subjects left to benefit by what wisdom they may have got in the lesson.

Returned to Johanna, Misson and Caraccioli and their men were tenderly nursed by their wives. It took them six weeks to recover from their wounds and get back their tireless energy. The enforced wait awoke again their restlessness for the freedom on the seas, the hourly chance that adventure and riches may heave in sight. So the fleet of three ships sailed forth again. Ten days after leaving Johanna they met game worthy of their valor.

It was a great Portuguese ship, carrying sixty cannon. Neither side hesitated to engage. The three ships formed a triangle, whose fire was concentrated on the Portuguese. But the latter was no helpless victim. She was equipped for sturdy fighting, and fight she did.

Her cannon ripped into the republic’s fleet and sowed disaster on its decks. Part of Caraccioli’s remaining leg was carried away by a cannon ball. Twenty of Misson’s Englishmen gave up their ghost in the battle. But the odds against the Portuguese in cannon and men were too great; and she finally struck her colors.

I just spoke of Misson’s cannon and men. In fairness I should add women. For both his wife and Caraccioli’s accompanied their husbands on the cruise.

When eventually the three ships closed in on the Portuguese and the fighting became hand to hand, the two women armed themselves with cutlasses and threw themselves into the fight, neither asking nor giving consideration on the ground of sex. Misson’s wife got a nasty slash in the shoulder from a cutlass, and Caraccioli’s got a bullet in her side. But they accepted these as part of their marital fortune.

The Portuguese was taken in tow by the fleet, and in a bay ten leagues north of Diego Suarez Misson cast anchor. Here was the land holding out two arms of welcome to him. Here was a natural harbor and enticing interior. And it was as if destiny had pointed out to a wanderer his preordained home.

Misson announced to his republic that they would now “have a place they might call their own.” Not a human being was visible on shore. It was as though they had come on a new world waiting for the advent of man.

The whole republic went on shore, and fired by Misson’s dream and their own zest, they fell to chopping down trees, clearing ground and preparing habitations. It may be remembered that the republic’s flagship, the Victoire, was pierced for forty guns, but carried only thirty.

The Colony Crowe

From the Portuguese armament the ten empty portholes were now filled with cannon. The remaining thirty Portuguese guns were so placed on shore that the crescent of harbor became strongly fortified.

Then leaving most of his men at work Misson returned to Johanna and notified the queen of his purpose of founding a settlement so near to her. At first she and her councilors were alarmed at the coming of a new power so near by which might soon threaten their own existence.

But no one could for long doubt Misson’s sincerity; and when he pointed out that a neighbor may mean an ally as easily as an enemy, the queen again capitulated.

She furnished him with forty of her subjects to act as laborers for the new colony, the only stipulation being that they were to be returned to her after the passing of the fourth moon.

With the addition of laborers the building of the colony took on increased momentum. The Portuguese ship was tom apart and what was once her deck now became a dock. Her guns, as I have said, commanded the bay.

The Realization of a Faith

Houses combining native architecture with what the whites could add to building from their own architecture, began to outline a town. The queen of Johanna now encouraged many of her women to join the colony as wives. Land was tilled in common. Property was shared by all in general.

Overlooking the town was a plateau, which, in turn, was topped by a natural amphitheater of little hills. Here Misson encouraged his subjects each to set up his fane to whatever God he wished.

One hillock was a Catholic altar; its neighbor was preempted by the Moslems; the natives worshiped on another hillock; three Chinamen made an attempt to sketch out a little temple of their own; and those who believed in no god were free to indulge in their lack of belief so long as they did not intrude it on the worshipers.

It was in the midst of this little amphitheater and surrounded by the smoking altars of many faiths that Misson held the ceremony of naming his republic.

“Here comes into being to-day the Republic of Libertatia!” he cried. “You, my people, are the Liberi. We dedicate ourselves to the spread of liberty and the love of liberty, toleration, and love of humanity under whatever faith and whatever skin. May our fortune equal the greatness of our hope!”

It will be seen how much sincerity and strength of purpose had gone into the idealistic talk and speeches of young Francois and Caraccioli they made first as midshipmen in the hold of the Victoire under Captain Fourbin. For here in building and street, in harbor and tilled soil was the realization of what had once been only the generous words of youth.

A party of Misson’s hunters went into the jungle for fresh meat. Up to then, as I have said, they felt as though they had come upon a fresh, unpeopled world. But now they saw a lone native looking with startled eyes on their hunting party.

They well knew in what spirit their leader, Misson, would have greeted the shy wonder and anxiety of this native; and the hunting party acted truly in his spirit. They showed themselves so friendly and so cordially urged him to come with them that the native did so.

He was brought to Misson. The chief called for a bolt of scarlet cloth, an ax, and trinkets. Draping the cloth about the native, Misson hung trinkets on his person and put into his hand the ax, a wonderful instrument to one used only to implements of primitive make. Then he sent the native back to his village.

It was not long before the native reappeared with a number of the chiefs of the tribe, bearing flowers, fruits and gifts. They entreated the white chiefs to honor them by coming to visit their village.

A Two-sided Nature

Gladly Misson, Caraccioli and several of the leaders of the colony acceded. They were royally entertained and a holiday was declared in their honor. A strong party of picked warriors escorted them back to Libertatia.

My excuse for dwelling on this incident, devoid of drama or melodrama though it may seem, is the thrilling contrast it offers to the usual story when one strange tribe encounters the encroach of another.

Thus at peace with its neighbors and in the bosom of a fecund land and climate Libertatia leisurely developed. But much as Misson dreamed of peace and quiet there was that in him which grew tired of mere dreaming.

And whatever made him restless also animated the others. It was not long before the glittering sea beckoned to them again and the clangor of fighting sounded in their imagination like a siren’s call.

It was a tribute to the high loyalty of the two friends that Caraccioli, restive though he himself was for the sea and action again, consented to remain in charge of Libertatia while Misson in the Victoire and the pick of their men went roving again.

This time they sailed toward Zanzibar and if fighting was what they yearned for then fortune smiled upon them. For across their path heaved the great sides of a Portuguese ship showing twenty-five guns on each side. Such an armament meant rich treasure to guard.

So that both adventure and appetite decided Misson for battle. Running up his white flag with its device, A Deo a Libertate, he opened fire. The Portuguese didn’t stop to decipher the flag, but replied with more guns than the Victoire.

Enter Thomas Tew

Under the blistering sun of a tropical sea the two ships spouted fire and death at each other. Misson knew that so long as they stayed at a distance the duel would go against him, for the Portuguese had more guns.

He also could see on the decks of the enemy twice as many men as he had. But whereas one cannon is about as good as another of equal caliber, one man may be worth more than his number once he can come to grips with the enemy. So in the face of a galling cannonade the Victoire closed in with the Portuguese, and from one deck to the other leaped a boarding party.

The approach had cost Misson men enough. Now the hand-to-hand fight against superior numbers was taking still greater toll. But, like the good psychologist and valiant fighter that he was, Misson cut his way through to the captain of the Portuguese.

Him he engaged in single-handed duel with cutlasses. The captain was a good seaman and a fair fighter. But Misson was a picked man, destined to stand out in his generation; and fighting was one of his great talents. So down to death went the captain of the Portuguese.

They had fought their duel at the edge of a companionway on an upper deck. When Misson’s cutlass finally clove the captain from collar to breast the dead man toppled down the steps into the midst of his own men.

Every one saw him fall, and his hacked body carried with it the psychology of defeat. Misson’s men were, after all, picked fighters and, mistaken or not, they had something in their hearts to fight for; whereas the crew of the Portuguese were serving only for wages. So, not long after the death of the captain, the crew surrendered.

Into the captain’s cabin went Misson and his lieutenants to discover what reward was theirs* In great copper-bound chests they found the greatest prize their cruising had as yet brought them. In bullion and in coin they found two hundred thousand pounds in gold.

Laden with more treasure than they could spend in the uncivilized land they now called their home, yet fully appreciating all that gold would buy to make Libertatia the more livable, Misson returned to his haven. The guns on shore boomed a welcome and the guns on board the Victoire echoed the greeting.

A festival was held at the reunion. Then Misson gave Caraccioli a pleasant holiday on the sea by sending him in the Victoire, accompanied by a consort, down the coast to the Cape, there to buy with gold many of the comforts civilization had to offer.

And here, for the time being, let us leave the Liberi in their charming Utopia while we go to Bermuda on the Atlantic to make the acquaintance of Thomas Tew, who was to play such a vital role in the careers of Misson, Caraccioli, and Libertatia.

The Rhode Island Yankes

He was a spare-framed Rhode Island Yankee, tormented habitually by a lust for change and action. His mind was as restless as his body and was forever forging ahead of him, in imagination exploring dark continents, hewing roads through the jungle to new lands of treasure, charting out new sea routes for lanes of rich trade.

Madagascar had fired his imagination as a land of raw riches. And New York, with its great warehouses, enticed him as the other end of a route which he could ply, growing richer with each voyage. The fact that no one had thought of this combination before made the project only the more attractive to Tew.

As capital for his scheme he had little more than his burning imagination and considerable skill as a mariner. Of money he had little or none. What he needed was first of all a ship, second a fit crew for his enterprise.

A Golden Chain or Hempen Rope

Then he heard that in Bermuda, Governor Ritchie was fitting out two sloops to go to the mouth of the river Gambia on the west coast of Africa, there to attack and pillage the stations established by French traders in competition with the English. Tew applied for the captaincy of one of the sloops, and got it.

Once on the high seas he permitted the other sloop to lose sight of him.

Then calling his crew together he addressed them to this effect: He pointed out that the mission on which they were sent would benefit nobody but a handful of private traders. There was danger in the expedition, but not the least prospect of booty or public good.

He had a better scheme to propose, one which would lead them to ease and plenty and enable them to spend the rest of their days masters of themselves and with gold in their pockets. Instead of pulling chestnuts out of the fire for others, why not do it for themselves?

The crew were more than ready for his proposal.

“A gold chain or a hempen rope!” they cried. “We’ll stand by you! Lead us!”

His response was as generous as theirs. “I accept. But you shall have your say in the conduct of our enterprise. Let you choose a quartermaster who will represent you in all matters of general concern and without whose consent, as your agent, I shall do nothing. Then you, my crew, and I, your captain, will rise or fall together.”

With a roar of approval the crew of the Jezebel, instead of proceeding north, rounded Cape Horn to that Madagascar of which Tew had so long dreamed. But it was to the sea that he looked for the fulfillment of his dream of riches — to the sea, to his good cannon and the better men under him.

And just as the Jezebel came abreast of Madagascar there hove into sight a gallant, prosperous looking ship, fairly reeking with suggestion of good looting. “Our first prize, my lads!” cried Tew, pointing to the stranger. “Let’s show them our colors and speak the first word!”

Then to the masthead of the Jezebel ran up the black flag and the skull and cross-bones of piracy. And Tew’s biggest gun fired to the windward, demanding surrender of the stranger.

But the stranger ran up a white flag with an inscription dedicated to God and liberty and sent an answering gun to the leeward of the Jezebel. The answer was as eager as the challenge, and the crews of both ships prepared for battle with the avidity of beasts of prey in sight of succulent game.

As I picture to myself Francois Misson on his Victoire and Thomas Tew on his ship, each unlimbering his cannon to open fire on the other, I cannot help visioning some figure of destiny brooding over their ships at that moment and calling upon its infinite resources to stop at the last instant the two men from slaughtering each other, they who were to mean so much to one another.

The Finger of Destiny

Just as the battle was about to break out there came from over the horizon the mastheads of a great ship flying the colors of a British man-of-war. The same thought must have occurred at that moment to Misson as well as to Tew. Here they were about to let fly at each other, protagonists of equal strength.

After either of them had disabled the other that British man-of-war would come in and lick the platter clean. For each ship knew itself to be quarry to the Britisher. Tew would be hunted down for his black flag. Misson, in spite of his white flag with its pious motto, was as unequivocally known for a pirate.

On each ship the captain looked at the other and at the man-of-war and hesitated which to take on first. Then each man recognized something kindred in the hesitation of the other to fire. Misson, with his characteristic impulse to trust people, took a chance. Signaling to Tew for a parley he got into a boat with his lieutenant and rowed over to Tew’s ship. He was allowed to board and was received civilly by Tew.

“Look here, captain,” said Misson. “I have a feeling that you and I have more in common than either of us have with that British man-of-war. Suppose we first settle with him?”

How Brotherhood Worked

“Right!” said Tew.

Misson went back to his ship and both craft turned a united front on the slowly approaching Britisher. The warship was bigger than either the Victoire or the other. It was not big enough to tackle them jointly. So the Britisher showed discretion and, putting about, gave the smaller craft a long stern chase and finally escaped them.

Then the two captains held a parley to decide what next.

“Before we fight each other,” suggested Misson. “Suppose you come to Libertatia and see if you don’t want to join us instead.”

The two men had already recognized in each other spirits profoundly akin. So Tew readily agreed to accompany Misson. The two ships put about and made for the harbor of Libertatia.

Caraccioli, who had come back from his shopping voyage before Misson set out on this cruise, was on shore to greet Misson. He saw coming in with the Victoire another ship and fired a salute of nine guns. Tew replied with a salute from his own guns. And all Libertatia came down to the shore to greet the newcomers.

I have said that in the restless Yankee Tew there was a spirit kindred to Misson’s; which means that there was a strain of the visionary in him. When Tew saw Misson’s little Utopia with its citizenry of all races, owning everything in common and flying as its colors the emblem of liberty and universal brotherhood, he became enamoured.

He threw himself so headlong into the scheme that some of his crew, headed by the quartermaster they had elected, could not, and would not, follow him. They understood the desirability of having a little settlement of their own near by, which they would use as a base for their pirating. And this they decided to bring about.

But all the rest about universal brotherhood and community of ownership seemed childishness to them. So they let Tew and half the crew remain in Libertatia, while they sailed down the African coast and, picking out a favorable spot, made a settlement based on purely practical and piratical considerations.

Stimulated by the arrival of new and able recruits the citizens of Libertatia went ahead with renewed vigor developing their beloved land. More ground was cleared. More soil was tilled. More vegetable farms and grain fields were sown and harvested.

But not everybody laboring there worked in the spirit of Libertatia. It must be remembered that there were about a hundred and fifty Portuguese and other prisoners who were no more converted to the ideals of Libertatia than were those of the crew of Tew, who had sailed away. These men were exceedingly unwilling laborers.

A Word of Honor

At first Misson applied the pressure of the rudimentary justice that those who do not toil do not deserve to eat. But that astonishing streak of kind-heartedness in him which we have encountered before kept him from pushing this remedy to the limit. Besides he was so sincerely a lover of liberty and a hater of slavery that it went against his principles to force men to labor who did not wish to.

In all this Tew and Caraccioli heartily agreed with Misson.

But there still remained the problem of what to do with these unwilling elements in Libertatia. Misson proposed to put them on board the Bijou, to provision the ship, and land them at Zanzibar. Tew heatedly protested. “Do you want these men to tell the Portuguese or the British navy where Libertatia is and have them come and blow you off the face of the earth?”

Misson recognized the weight of this objection. But he countered it by proposing to make the prisoners give their word of honor that they would not reveal the location of Libertatia to any enemy, or serve against them.

“ ‘Word of honor!’ ” Tew cried. “Would you entrust our lives to the word of honor given you by your prisoners?”

There are two kinds of “hard-boiled men.” There is the man who knows that many street beggars are frauds and will not give a plugged penny to the most pathetic-looking mendicant. Then there is the man of Misson’s caliber.

He, too, knows that many beggars are professional frauds. But prefers to retain his faith in men and would rather give money to ninety-nine beggars he suspects of fraud than to deprive the hundredth genuine unfortunate of his needed alms.

Friends of the Slaves

Misson preferred to act on his faith in men and run the grave risk that this faith would be imposed upon. His will prevailed.

He called his prisoners before him and addressed them. He told them that they would be released and sent to Zanzibar on the condition that they give their word of honor they would not serve against him in any way. “Do you promise?”

There was a unanimous affirmative. But in the forefront of the prisoners were two Portuguese who had been petty officers on board their ship. Caraccioli had been observing them. They were over effusive in giving their word of honor as they had been over pleasant whenever any one in authority was looking in their direction. Caraccioli did not put much faith in their word of honor. But loyally he supported Misson.

The Bijou with one hundred and thirty-seven prisoners and ten loyal Liberi set sail for Zanzibar, where the prisoners were put on shore. The ship with its loyal crew returned to Libertatia.

The inland sentinels now reported that a strong war-party of Malagasy blacks and many slaves they had captured in native warfare were coming. The Malagasy offered the slaves for sale to Misson. They were subjects of the queen of Johanna, these slaves.

Misson bought them. Then he made it clear to the Malagasies that he was opposed to slavery, and proposed to send those he had bought back to their queen. Neither the Malagasies nor the slaves understood the spirit of the speech. But the latter were delighted to be sent back unharmed to their queen.

Tew, with his enthusiasm for Libertatia, proposed that he go out on a cruise to capture treasure; and what was more important, secure recruits for their republic. He and a crew of thirty-seven blacks, forty Portuguese, thirty English, and about a hundred Frenchmen set out, and off Angola captured an English slaver. The ship put up no fight and Tew, followed by his blacks, boarded the captive.

With his hatred of the institution of slavery Tew took great pleasure in throwing open the hatches and releasing from the hold the two hundred and forty shackled negro slaves who had been inhabiting their indescribable hell below decks.

As these now came up into the sunlight and saw their shackles struck off, their only thought was that only a greater misfortune was to follow what they had already been through. Grown men with the minds of savage children, they had been living through one hell after another. And to a man they sank cowering to the deck, their bloodshot eyes wildly looking to see what new terror was coming to them.

Battalions of Fighters

But from the well-dressed blacks of Tew’s crew came shouts of recognition, messages of cheer. Kinsmen were recognized. And in their own tongue they heard that so far from having to fear anything they were now set free, and would be taken to some sort of paradise on earth.

And sure enough they were taken back to land and with every token of kindness assured that they had but to choose. They could either stay there and settle down in this comfortable colony, learn their language and their ways, be treated as equals with the whites, and allowed to share equally in the wealth of the colony. Or they would be given safe escort back to their tribes.

So universal a language does the heart speak that what Misson said touched the blacks. They decided for citizenship in Libertatia. Whereupon the Frenchmen taught them their language. The other whites taught them to till the soil and build.

Misson trained them into a battalion of fighters with firearms. This was not because fighting seemed to him the highest good. But being a realist as well as a dreamer he knew that his republic was threatened by the white world from over the sea, as well as by the great black continent at his back.

He mounted many a time to the little plateau overlooking his colony, and looking down on the hundreds of his men of all races and nationalities, he must have dreamed greatly.

The Portuguese Armada

If his Frenchmen, Portuguese, Dutchmen, Chinamen, and other Europeans and Asiatics lived together in brotherhood and amity as they were now doing, could not hundreds of others like them — thousands — and later hundreds of thousands — find it possible to do likewise?

If he could get two hundred and forty Angola blacks to agree to a man to become Liberi; if his ideals could so easily appeal to primitive minds; if he was so easily able to teach them the language and husbandry of white civilization, why could he not eventually convert more and more of the dark continent to Libertatia?

Knowing on what swift wings dreams will soar, to what great heights and with what wide sweep they encompass the invisible, we can be sure that Misson envisioned a republic of brotherhood commencing with Libertatia, taking in all of Africa, sweeping over to Europe and finally embracing the whole world of man.

Even as he dreamed he saw from his plateau five Portuguese men-of-war bearing down on his reality. They were each carrying fifty guns. And there was no mistaking their intent. They had come to wipe out a pirate’s lair.

Their two hundred and fifty guns made an armament that exceeded those of the land batteries. It took Misson an instant to come out of his dreams and plunge into reality. The alarm had already been sounded.

The guns in the little fort were manned. By the time Misson was at the shore Tew stood at the head of the whites, armed and prepared to repel the invaders. Misson’s own battalion of drilled and disciplined blacks was waiting for their commander.

On came the Portuguese armada, their guns spraying the crescent harbor. But the little forts on shore had been cleverly concealed, somewhat in the manner of modern warfare camouflage. While the land batteries had distinct marks to shoot at, the invader could only take a continent for target. The result was that although the Portuguese had more guns, the little forts wasted less powder.

Every shot from the land found its target. And soon the foremost of the oncoming ships began to careen. On its decks wild confusion was visible. Then a wail came over the water as the ship rolled over on its side like some sick thing, and sank.

But the four survivors were now inside the inner harbor, their guns sending lightning and thunder onto the land. For every three shots from the Portuguese only one replied from the land. But now another of the invaders lurched heavily and began to settle in the water.

The Pick of the Seven Seas

It was sinking out of sight, when still another of the armada got its death-wound. Again the wail of trapped men in a wooden ship sinking into shark-infested waters reached those on shore.

Now only two ships remained. The shore batteries sounded a deeper note as each gunner redoubled his efforts. Down to the dock where the Victoire and the Bijou were moored now poured Tew’s white regiments and Misson’s black battalion, rabid not to defend, but to pursue the foe.

For the two surviving Portuguese, catching a turning tide, were now trying to run for it. Then followed what has been reported as one of the fiercest fights in sea history. Twice Misson and Tew managed to board one of the Portuguese. But the latter carried a crew of picked fighting men; and twice Misson and Tew were thrown back with losses to the decks of their own vessels.

However, if the crew of the Portuguese were champions of their country’s navy, behind Misson and Tew were the pick of the seven seas. And finally the captain of the Portuguese was crowded to the rail and threw up his hands for quarter.

The remaining ship managed to get away. But the captured Portuguese was taken back to the harbor.

The captain and all but two of his crew were treated with the utmost kindness and courtesy by the Liberi. The two exceptions were the petty officers whom Caraccioli recognized as among those who had given Misson their word of honor that they would not serve against him.

A Community Without a Law

He brought them before Misson. “Didn’t I tell you, Francois, that you were a dreaming fool to trust these dogs?” he demanded bitterly.

“I didn’t trust them,” Francois replied quietly. “I know a thief by his face as well as you do. But if it has cost us something to act on our faiths rather than to live in fear and to follow only the light of suspicion, I prefer to pay the price. The question now is what we shall do with these two?”

Caraccioli interrupted curtly. “It is a question, Francois, which I shall take the liberty of taking out of your hands!”

He marched his two men into the square of the settlement. There he ordered the building of something new and exceedingly unpleasant to the eyes of the Liberi. It was the gallows. Most of those looking on felt an unpleasant tautness about their own throats even as they helped to erect the grim structure.

Murmurs arose in protest. It was a protest which Misson would support, and even Tew agreed with. But Caraccioli, the practical, did not give this protest time to grow.

With his own hands he twitched a rope and up into the air went the two men, whose word of honor had meant nothing. There they hung, a warning as to how some idealists meet grim reality when it threatens their dreams.

It would be a mistake, of course, to suppose that all the Liberi partook of the breadth of vision of their leaders. And between Tew’s Englishmen and Misson’s Frenchmen there soon developed friction. Now, friction between men of their caliber meant something sterner than words. Nor did words allay the friction.

Tew, Misson and Caraccioli labored to overcome the racial antagonism which had been stirred up; but they labored in vain. Finally the impatient Yankee lost his temper.

“If they are fools it will be no great loss if they kill each other off!” Tew said. “I propose that we give them guns and let them settle their argument!”

Caraccioli took a more civilized view. His suggestion was that each company should choose a captain and that the spokesmen decide on some basis of peace other than violence.

Again Misson took the long view, the most difficult course, the way of the creative visionary. “No,” said he, “neither of your suggestions goes far enough. And I am glad this difficulty has come up. We are as yet a community without law.”

Government Is Organized

“We are as yet no better than the jungle in which the strongest survives because he can kill the weaker. We must have something greater than brute force prevail in Libertatia. Law must be born. The will of man must be expressed in a civilized way.”

He then called a meeting of the whole colony. He proposed that regardless of race, color or nationality the whole colony be divided into groups of ten. Each group was to elect a representative to an assembly which would meet and make laws for their republic.

As usual Misson’s vision had its way. The whole colony fell to enthusiastically and built a state house for their legislature, every man and woman in the colony having some share in the labor, regarding that share a privilege.

When the assembly met, Caraccioli, presiding, made a handsome oration, proposing that Misson be elected as “Conservator” or chief of the colony. The thunder of unanimous assent overflowed the house of legislature and was taken up by the enthusiastic crowd outside.

Misson accepted the post and appointed Tew admiral of the republic, and Caraccioli secretary of state. Caraccioli selected from among the colonists a council of the ablest who were designated as the cabinet.

Then the legislature proceeded to pass laws. From one of the ships captured by Misson had been brought ashore a printing press and type. This enabled the legislature to have their laws printed, and thus attain the dignity of a — written constitution.

Wives for the Colonists

To take in fully the thrill that lies in this perhaps staid chapter, which I have just recorded, I must remind my readers that these proceedings were, after all, those of, what most people would consider, only a band of pirates building a lair on the coast of a savage continent in an age more than two centuries removed from ours.

Freebooters and pillagers of the sea though they were, here was the founding and the making of a state; and many a proud state to-day had as humble and less picturesque an origin.

Tew, as admiral, urged the building of an arsenal and the augmenting of the fleet. He succeeded to the extent that Misson did build several small sloops, mounting them with eight guns each from the various ships the colony had captured. These proved to be “not only shapely vessels, but excellent sailers.”

But, like most war department heads, Tew was opposed by those who felt that he was taking away too much from the peaceful energies of the republic. A compromise was agreed upon; and the impatient admiral was more than satisfied when Misson consented to a cruise with himself in command of one ship, the Liberty, and Tew in charge of another, Childhood.

The latter would seem a surprising name for a ship in such a setting. But there was much meaning behind it. The colonists realized that if Libertatia was not to die out in a few years, children must soon make their appearance there. So it was largely to answer the colony’s elemental need for wives that the cruise was undertaken.

The two ships set out for Arabia Felix, where they expected to meet and did meet one of many Mogul ships filled with sixteen hundred men and women bound on a pilgrimage to Mecca. The vessel bearing this huge human cargo was little better than a vast ark.

It was carrying one hundred and ten guns for protection. But so poor was the fighting ability on board that when the Liberty and the Childhood bore down on the ship the pilgrims fired one volley of small arms and abandoned the decks.

Misson and Tew landed on the ship without the loss of a single man. It was resolved to put all the males and married women ashore. One hundred girls were then taken on board the two captor ships as a human levy. Scenes of heartrending lamentation ensued as they were torn from their families. Misson’s kindness of heart pleaded for them. But the other dreamers with more granite will prevailed.

Then the two ships with their precious prizes turned back and soon entered the harbor of Libertatia. I am strongly tempted to dilate on the scenes that ensued at the distribution of the hundred wives among the colonists. But it would take genius and more space than I have at my disposal to do justice to the theme.

Rumors in the Jungles

Meanwhile through the dim jungles of the continent a disturbing rumor was spreading. White people had landed. They had come not for a raid for slaves, not to hunt for ivory and gold, and for once their greed was not to be sated with a handful of riches after which they would sail away.

No, these whites had come to plant an empire. They had magic weapons that spoke with thunder and lightning and carried devastation invisibly over a range far beyond the hardest thrown javelin, swifter than the truest arrow.

They had leaders of wisdom, whose words carried magic. Under their banner even men and women of their own continent changed their gods and instead of being stricken for it they flourished. They learned the ways of white men and fought side by side with them. Women had come to join the colony. Their offspring was appearing. Every month the strength and boundaries of that colony increased.

Would not one day this colony arise and invade and overwhelm the rest of the continent? This was not a question these primitives asked themselves so much as a doom they visioned. Or it would be, unless the thousands of tribes now warring among themselves realized their danger in common, and arising in mighty numbers overwhelmed the new colony before it was too late.

While Tew Was Away

So while Libertatia began to hear the prattle of children within its borders, throughout the eastern continent there spread the sound of “dim drums throbbing in the hills half heard.” Painted black couriers hurried from village to village, from tribe to tribe.

War-parties came to parley with other war-parties between whom only recently there had been savage war. Like some thundercloud forming below the horizon, but with a gathering storm behind it, events were developing in the jungle, of which the colonists in Libertatia little dreamed.

So little aware were they of all this that when Tew proposed another cruise with a considerable number of men and several ships, Misson consented. Away sailed Tew with the pick of the colony, while Misson and the rest settled down to the peaceful tasks of civilization.

From heights along the coast hidden spies marked the departure of Tew and his ships. Through the jungle they slipped bearing the tidings. Tom-toms began their ominous mutter.

Harvest time had come — the easy harvesting time of the tropics — and yielded such a golden plenty to the colony that upon the plateau with its ring of altars to the various gods the smokes of worship went up in thank offerings. Peace was in the hearts of the worshipers.

Then from the jungle, which closed in like a dense wall on three sides of Libertatia, arose a vast rumor, mounting to a roar. The jungle began to crackle, and from the dense greenery there came a rain of arrows and javelins. Piercing savage yells from thousands of throats broke the Sabbath peace of the colony and sent its members leaping from their altars to their firearms.

Then the jungle opened and out burst from all sides wave upon wave of hideously painted savages. From behind rhinoceros skin shields they hurled darts of death at the colonists, and with sheer numbers threatened to overwhelm them.

Misson had theoretically considered such a disaster; and like the good commander that he was, had rehearsed his troops for such an eventuality. But it must be remembered that Tew was off on a cruise with the pick of the colony’s fighters.

Nevertheless Misson got every man behind his gun and let loose a barrage of fire and death at the oncoming hordes. But it was like trying to stop a tide by shooting at the waves. Row upon row of savages were mowed down by gunfire. And wave upon wave of blacks swept over them and on to slaughter, as if a whole continent were debouching on the scene.

Dreamers to the End

It was as much a slaughter of savages as of colonists. But even if one hundred blacks died for every colonist they killed, the outcome was inevitable. The swarming fecundity of Africa could stand decimation; the colony could not.

The lovingly tilled fields were trampled into mud. The houses erected with so much effort and care went up in smoke and flame. And by handfuls and scores the men, women, and infants of Libertatia went down to death from the arrows and javelins, the spears and warclubs of savages.

Misson soon saw that it was a case of either perish or fly.

Such women and children as were not slaughtered in the surprise of the attack were hurried down to the harbor and crowded on board the Childhood, the Bijou, and the Hope.

Then when fire and foe had laid the colony waste and threatened to sweep the survivors into the sea, Misson and some forty of his fighters, white and black, hurried on board the three remaining sloops and cast off, with Misson in command on board the Bijou.

Caraccioli, crippled though he was, had directed the whites under him in the fight as valiantly as Misson the blacks. Now he took charge of the Childhood in escape. The ships had barely cast off when the savages were down at the water front sending clouds of arrows at them.

Certainly the fates were with the Africans that day. For Caraccioli, who had lost two legs in battle with cannon, who had received several other wounds in the scores of fierce hand-to-hand conflicts on the sea, could reasonably have escaped hurt now that his ship had cleared by some fifty or sixty feet.

But of the thousands of arrows that flew from the shore in pursuit, one found a vital target and lodged in Caraccioli’s throat. He dropped to the deck dead.

Into such panic his death threw the rest of the hastily-organized crew that they bungled the handling of the ship and again headed for the land. In five minutes savages were swarming over its decks.

Helpless to aid them the Bijou and the Hope fled out of the harbor.

Misson’s body, throughout the whole battle, had not received so much as a scratch-. But he had not escaped harm. His followers scarcely recognized in their leader the young man who had seemed so nearly godlike to them.

For he had grown aged in a few hours. Something vital had snapped in him. He who had fired with courage, youth, and vitality every one about him, now crouched like an old woman before a feeble fire.

His splendid spirit had died when he saw Libertatia go up in flame. The continent on which he had hoped to found a new fair world had stamped to death and destruction his great effort and dream. His spirit was dead, as it developed, beyond recovery. And soon after came his merciful release from death-in-life.

Off the Guinea coast a typhoon caught the two little sloops. It crushed in their ribs. And down plunged every soul on board to the very depths of the churning seas.

Over the broken fields of Libertatia, dotted with smoking ruins, crept the fecund jungle. Vines and creepers, swordgrass, wild shrubbery, and young trees festooned with parasitic growth soon blurred the rectangles of once cultivated fields; and wild life again swarmed down to the water’s edge.

Where were once the voices of Utopians now sounded only the chattering of monkeys, the screaming of parrots and the mournful howl of predatory beasts. And the stillness of the blazing tropics over the spot to this very day.

Thomas Tew sailed back to Libertatia and found it gone. Even from afar he guessed its story. Without landing he ordered his ship to put about.

He went back to America and engaged in semi-respectable trading adventures in the South Seas. His dream, too, was shattered, and with it his great romance. Of adventures, however, he must have had many. For we can judge this from the brief, but horribly vivid account of his death, which has come down, as told, to this day.

Somewhere in the Indian Ocean the merchantman he commanded encountered a fighting Mogul ship. Says the log of that voyage:

“In the engagement with the Mogul ship a shot carried away the rim of Tew’s belly, who held his bowels in his hand some small space before he dropped dead. This struck such terror in his men that they suffered themselves to be taken prisoners.”

I have called Misson and Tew “moral pirates.” Now that you know something of their story you will characterize them according to your own conceptions of praise or blame. But few will deny them the laurels which are the just due of splendid dreamers and valiant adventurers.