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FOURTH EDITION
--------------------
History of
Economic Thought
FOURTH EDITION
--------------------
History of
Economic Thought
Harry Landreth
Centre College
David C. Colander
Middlebury College
Important Writers 27
Some Broad Generalizations 28
Non-Western Economic Thought 29
Greek Thought 31
Hesiod and Xemophone 31
Aristotle 32
Arab-Islamic Thought 33
Abu Hamid al-Ghazali 34
Ibn Khaldun 35
Scholasticism 35
The Feudal Foundation of Scholastic Thought 35
St. Thomas Aquinas 37
Summary 40
Key terms 42
Questions for Review and Discussion 42
Suggested Readings 43
Summary 68
Key terms 70
Questions for Review and Discussion 70
Suggested Readings 71
Important Writers
74
Classical Political Economy
76
Marx’s Political Economy
78
4 Adam Smith 80
Summary 108
Key terms 110
Questions for Review and Discussion 110
Suggested Readings 111
Summary 159
Key terms 160
Questions for Review and Discussion 161
Suggested Readings 162
Summary 190
Key terms 192
Questions for Review and Discussion 193
Suggested Readings 194
Summary 223
Key terms 224
Questions for Review and Discussion 224
Suggested Readings 225
Summary 250
Key terms 251
Questions for Review and Discussion 251
Suggested Readings 252
x Contents
Summary 280
Key terms 281
Questions for Review and Discussion 281
Suggested Readings 282
Summary 311
Key terms 313
Questions for Review and Discussion 314
Suggested Readings 315
Summary 332
Key terms 332
Questions for Review and Discussion 332
Suggested Readings 333
Summary 365
Key terms 366
Questions for Review and Discussion 367
Suggested Readings 368
Summary 392
Key terms 391
Questions for Review and Discussion 391
Suggested Readings 392
Contents xiii
Summary 419
Key terms 419
Questions for Review and Discussion 419
Suggested Readings 420
Summary 448
Key terms 449
Questions for Review and Discussion 450
Suggested Readings 450
Summary 482
Key terms 483
Questions for Review and Discussion 483
Suggested Readings 484
Summary 516
Key terms 517
Questions for Review and Discussion 518
Suggested Readings 518
Index 520
Introduction 1
1
Introduction
“The beginnings and endings
of all human undertakings are untidy ...”
—John Galsworthy
The aim of this work is to chart the development of economics through the ages, primarily
demonstrating how past mainstream thought has contributed to the scope and content
of modern economics, but also discussing deviations from orthodoxy that have helped to
shape contemporary economic thought. The book considers major methodological issues,
explains the relationships between the development of a theory and the prevailing economic
conditions, and examines the internal working of theories that provide particularly useful
insights. It also explains the significance of particular ideas to the development of theory
and the broader implications of theory for the formulation of economic and social policy.
In doing so, it recognizes that economic thought consists of both a vision and a formal
theory. The vision is the broad perception with which individuals look at the world. The
theory comprises the specific models that capture the vision. To understand the thought of
individual economists, one must understand both their vision and their model.
Economics is a social science. It examines the problems that societies face because individuals
desire to consume more goods and services than are available, creating a condition of relative
scarcity. Perceived wants are generally unlimited and apparently insatiable, whereas resources
(which are often subdivided into land, labor, capital, and entrepreneurship) are limited. To
2 Chapter 1
meet the problem of scarcity, a social mechanism is required for allocating limited resources
among unlimited alternatives. One aspect of this process involves restricting individual
wants and increasing the willingness to supply resources.
Historically, four mechanisms have been used to deal with the problem of scarcity. The
oldest is brute force, which was common in some early societies and is still used today. Next
came tradition, which emphasized past ways of allocating resources. With civilization came
another societal mechanism for resource allocation: namely authority, in the form of the
institutions of government and church. The fourth resource-allocating social institution
is the market, which developed over time. This became the primary allocator in Western
Europe as feudalism waned and industrial, market-oriented societies developed.
Modern economic theory examines the ways in which contemporary societies cope
with the problems that flow from relative scarcity. It focuses largely on market processes,
which have replaced the church, tradition, and the state as the primary resource-allocating
mechanism. However, these mechanisms are not mutually exclusive, nor has the movement
from tradition-state-church economies to market economies been linear, with all societies
in the world participating. Some areas, almost entire continents, are still locked in
economic activity dominated by the past. Some societies have turned from premarket feudal
economies to modern command economies, in which the state allocates resources. For
example, in the early 1900s a number of societies moved toward central planning, which
involved governmental control of allocation. In Eastern Europe one finds movements,
whose outcomes are unknown, from command economies toward market orientation.
To say that the market is the primary allocation mechanism is not to say that it is the
only mechanism. Modern market societies use force, tradition, and authority as well as
markets. In Europe and North America, market allocation is continually being influenced
by social and political forces.
Modern economic theory is still trying to come to grips with the interrelationships
between economic, social, and political forces. It has focused on how market forces operate,
concentrating on how markets allocate scarce resources and on the forces that determine the
level and growth of economic output. But economic thought goes beyond such questions.
Our study of the antecedents of modern economic theory starts before markets were highly
developed. Beginning with this earlier period enables us to see approaches to the broader
questions. As you will see, many of the questions raised by early premarket writers addressed
broader philosophical and ethical issues that help provide perspective for modern economic
thought.
Regardless of what mechanism society uses to allocate resources, the harsh reality of
scarcity requires that some wants remain unmet; thus, issues of equity, justice, and fairness
are embedded in the problem of scarcity. Resource allocation mechanisms determine who
gets, and who does not get, resources.
Introduction 3
Divisions of Modern Economic Theory
In modern economic thought, the problems associated with relative scarcity are commonly
divided into micro- and macroeconomics. Microeconomics considers questions of
allocation and distribution. Macroeconomics considers questions of stability and growth.
The allocation problem (what to produce and how to produce) and the distribution
problem (how real income is divided among the members of a society) generally fall under
microeconomic theory. Microeconomic theory begins with an analysis of an individual and
builds up to an analysis of society. The major theoretical tools of modern microeconomic
analysis are demand and supply, which are applied at the level of the household, firm,
and industry. A primary purpose of microeconomic theory is to explain the forces that
determine relative prices, which economists believe are the essential forces in allocating
resources and distributing income.
The other approach used in modern economics is macroeconomic theory. It begins with
an analysis of society as a whole and works downward to the individual. Macroeconomics
focuses on the stability and growth of an economy, utilizing aggregate variables for the
entire economy: the level of income and employment, the general level of prices, and the
rate of economic growth.
Modern orthodox economic theory consists of a body of knowledge that includes both
micro- and macroeconomics. A history of economic thought must examine the development
of concepts and tools that culminated in this body of knowledge.
Although mainstream modern economics focuses on the use of markets to cope with
the problems associated with relative scarcity, there have always been economists who are
interested in different aspects of society. A number of these writers are concerned with
broader philosophical issues; often their writings do not fall neatly into any single field of
study. Some writers straddle disciplines within the social sciences (economics and political
science, for example); others lie between the social sciences and the humanities.
Writing a textbook such as this necessitates some classification of economists into groups,
or schools. Classifying is not for the faint of heart or the perfectionist: it requires you to mix
what, in a deeper sense, is unmixable, to blend into composites that which does not blend.
What we hope is that, with simplifying these classifications, those students who don’t go on
to further studies will have a better understanding than they would have had without such
classifications, and those students who continue their studies will become familiar with
classification problems, transcend them, and forgive us our compromises.
The classifications that a profession uses often have developed serendipitously. A term
is used and repeated by a couple of people, and suddenly it is “in use.” Such terminology
generally is far from perfect. For example, the term classical economics is not especially
4 Chapter 1
descriptive, and in many ways it is not very helpful. The term neoclassical is similarly
nondescriptive and even misleading, since in many ways neoclassical economics was a
major step away from classical thinking rather than a renewal of it or a smooth progression
from it. So while we use classifications, be warned that they often hide subtle distinctions,
and that your understanding of the place of individual works and authors in the history of
economic thought should go beyond simply knowing their central classifications and chief
characteristics.
Many of the problems confronting a historian of economic thought are faced by all
historians. A history of economic thought must be selective; otherwise it would overwhelm
the reader and serve little purpose. Selection requires interpretation; therefore, hidden in the
selection process are the historian’s biases, prejudices, and value system. One of our biases
is a love of controversy; we find controversy more interesting than agreement. Another is a
“let 1,000 flowers bloom” approach to life: you never know what beauty might come from a
small seed. These biases are reflected in the book and make it slightly different from others.
Can one formulate a theory to explain the development of economic theory—a sociology
of knowledge for economics? How does economic theory arise? There are two approaches
to answering this question: the relativist approach and the absolutist approach.
Relativist historians concern themselves (1) with the historical, economic, sociological,
and political forces that brought men and women to examine certain economic questions
and (2) with the ways in which these forces shape the content of emerging theory. They hold
that history plays a part in the development of every economic theory. A relativist would
emphasize, for example, the relationships between the emergence and content of classical
economics and the industrialization of England, between Ricardian economics and the
conflict between English landlords and businessmen, and between Keynesian economics
and the Great Depression of the 1930s.
Absolutist writers (in this context called Whigs by some) stress internal forces, such as
the increasing professionalism in economics, to account for the development of economic
theory. The absolutists claim that the progress of theory does not merely reflect historical
circumstances but depends on the discovery and explanation of unsolved problems
or paradoxes by trained professionals reacting to intellectual developments within the
profession. According to this view, it is possible to rank theories absolutely according to
Introduction 5
their worth; the most recent theory is likely to contain less error and be closer to the truth
than earlier theories.
Prior to the 1950s, the most influential historians of economic theory took a relativist
position. Beginning in the 1950s, the absolutist position was forcefully stated. This provoked
discussion of these issues among historians of economic thought.
In our view, neither the absolutist nor the relativist position is convincing in and of itself.
A more fruitful approach is to view the history of economic thought as a dynamic process
of interaction between forces external and internal to the discipline that bring about new
theoretical developments. In some cases these developments can be explained as proceeding
from an intellectual reaction within the profession, but in others an examination of the
economic and political issues of the times will give a better insight. In a number of cases
the mixture of forces bringing about new developments is so complex that it is difficult to
explain the emergence of theory satisfactorily by emphasizing either absolutist or relativist
causes.
A desire to use an understanding of the past to better comprehend the present does not mean
that one follows a Whig approach to history—that all economic thought is a progression of
ideas toward the grand finale of present-day thought. Far from it. Although there is some
progression, there is also some regression. In reading earlier thinkers, we are often impressed
with the depth of their understanding, which at times seems to transcend modern thought.
This view reflects our “let 1,000 flowers bloom” bias.
In this book we go beyond the mainstream thinking of a period and view the diversity
of thought within the profession. Thus, the more important and interesting proponents of
heterodox economic theory, past and present, appear along with the major orthodox thinkers.
Among the modern heterodox schools that are included are the Austrians, institutionalists,
post-Keynesians, and radicals; each of these shares some history with the mainstream but
differs in its perception of which previous economists deserve to be remembered and which
forgotten.
We believe that studying the history of thought gives us a much better understanding
of these modern heterodox economists. It shows their history and demonstrates that they
are not simply malcontents but are the carriers of traditions that the modern mainstream
has lost. For example, heterodox economists have often ventured beyond the boundaries of
orthodox economic theory into a no man’s land among economics, sociology, anthropology,
psychology, political science, history, and ethics. Modern economics is only now beginning
to see the need to do that.
One way to understand the issues separating orthodox and heterodox writers is by
examining the questions they were trying to answer. Whereas modern orthodox theorists
have largely focused on the four problems of allocation, distribution, stability, and growth,
6 Chapter 1
heterodox economists have studied the forces that produce changes in the society and
economy. Whereas orthodox writers have taken as given (something they are not interested
in explaining) the specific social, political, and economic institutions and have studied
economic behavior in the context of these institutions, heterodox writers have focused on
the forces leading to the development of these institutions. Often what orthodox writers
take as given, heterodox writers try to explain; and what heterodox writers take as given,
orthodox economists try to explain. Thus, the differences between heterodox and orthodox
economists are often differences in focus, not diametrically opposed theories.
Throughout the book, as we trace the unfolding of economic thought, we concentrate
on mainstream, orthodox economic thinking, but also present the heterodox views of
a period. In assessing heterodox ideas, it is important to remember that the heterodox
of today might become the mainstream of tomorrow. Some heterodox ideas are rejected
by prevailing opinion and remain forever outside theory. Other theories, however, may
be rejected at first but finally, sometimes long after their introduction, accepted because
they are introduced in a new context or by an economist who has impeccable orthodox
credentials. For example, the view that capitalism internally generates fluctuations in the
level of economic activity took at least one hundred years to find its way into orthodoxy via
Keynesian and real business cycle theory.
It is difficult to appreciate fully the development of economic thought without an examina-
tion of both orthodox and heterodox economic ideas. Thus, we have found it important to
look at Malthus’s underconsumptionist views, to discover how even orthodox economists
such as J. S. Mill strayed from the fold, and to devote a complete chapter to the economic
thought of Karl Marx.
Before we can discuss heterodox economics, we must establish a criterion for heterodoxy.
Because empirical testing is difficult, the mainstream of economics itself includes divergent
approaches. For example, in modern mainstream microeconomics of the 1980s and 1990s,
two types of economic thought were generally included, one characteristic of the University
of Chicago and the other, of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and Harvard
University. Both these approaches were classified as mainstream because most mainstream
economists regarded both as legitimate; in fact, graduate schools often tried to have some
representation from both groups to maintain a “balanced” program. That attempt to balance
the two approaches has led to a merging of the two in the early twenty-first century, and
today there is little difference among top graduate schools.
Conversely, one defining characteristic of a heterodox school is “revealed illegitimacy.” If
the mainstream sees little or no value in a group’s views, we define that group as heterodox.
This does not mean that a heterodox economist cannot teach at a mainstream school;
but most who do so either have done some mainstream work and later been converted
to heterodoxy or have a foot in both camps. The revealed illegitimacy criterion is not
unambiguous. For example, mainstream graduate schools tend to take a narrower view
of allowable mainstream thought than do undergraduate liberal arts schools, which are
more likely to value diversity of thought. Nonetheless, the criterion of revealed illegitimacy
provides some guidance in identifying heterodoxy.
One way to appreciate the role of the dissenting economists is to consider a segment of
the history of economic thought. A history of economic thought is a history of change,
and what is heterodox in one time period can find a place in the mainstream in another.
For example, the heterodox views of Malthus, Tugan-Baranowsky, and Marx were partially
reflected in the Keynesian revolution. These shifts occurred because some economists were
willing to take a heterodox stance and then to convince others of its correctness. As they did
so, sometimes their views became integrated into the mainstream.
Nonmainstream schools play important roles in the evolution of a discipline: they
pollinate the mainstream view and keep it honest by pointing out its shortcomings or
inconsistencies. An example of the interaction between heterodox thinking and mainstream
developments can be seen in the development of the economics of Alfred Marshall, who
was able to found neoclassical economics by wrestling with the competing claims of
historically oriented economists and abstract theorists. But Marshallian economics was too
formal and abstract for most American economists in the late nineteenth century; and
8 Chapter 1
when the American Economic Association was formed in 1885, it was largely controlled by
economists sympathetic to the German historical school. There was open hostility between
those who advocated historical-institutional methodological approaches and those who
insisted that the future of economics lay in abstract-mathematical modes of analysis; their
conflict has played an important role in shaping modern economics. The importance of the
historical- institutional approach in American universities decreased during the first half of
the twentieth century, and neoclassical economics (first Marshallian and finally Walrasian)
emerged as the American mainstream.
It is not easy being a heterodox economist. The profession does little to encourage heterodoxy
and questions the legitimacy of heterodox views. Because of this, heterodox economists
generally tend to focus on methodology, since through methodology they can question the
legitimacy of the assumptions, scope, and methods that mainstream economists take as given.
A problem faced by almost all heterodox groups is that of moving beyond methodology to
establish their own analysis and provide a viable competing research program. There is truth
in the saying that a theory can be replaced only by another theory.
Another problem faced by heterodox groups is that people attracted to heterodox
theory are often individualistic; they are as little prone to compromise with their heterodox
colleagues as with mainstream economists. Consequently, the body of heterodoxy is almost
inevitably riddled with dissension. Heterodox thinkers, in fact, often save their most
vituperative invective for their fellow heterodox economists.
Some heterodox economists tend to have “a chip on the shoulder”; contending that the
mainstream has been unfair to them, they lose their ability or desire to communicate with
the rest of the profession. That chip may well be warranted, because mainstream economists
often do unfairly reject heterodox arguments. However, without communication there can
be no hope that mainstream economics will ever seriously consider heterodox thought.
Presenting the diversity of thought included in this text poses a number of problems.
The history of the economic thought that has helped to shape current economics is a
multidimensional history composed of many interwoven strands, like the electrical wires
in the wiring harness of a car. Separating the sources and effects of the various strands is
about as difficult as finding an electrical malfunction somewhere in the harness. In order to
condense the contributions of like-minded writers, we have grouped them into schools. But
this causes problems. We hesitate, for example, to summarize some 250 years of economic
theory from 1500 to 1750 under the general term of mercantilism, but time and space
Introduction 9
oblige us to do so. We must stress, however, that to truly know the history of economic
thought, one must read the original texts. We hope merely to whet your appetite for the
works of the many creative minds to which this work introduces you.*
Where the diversity of a school is too great to allow us to discuss all its members,
we have selected one or more members as representative, although we realize that no
single writer’s views are likely to correspond exactly to the views imputed to the school. In
selecting such representative authors, we emphasize those who most influenced subsequent
thought rather than those who originated economic ideas. We do so for two reasons. First,
it is very difficult to separate the original contributions of economic writers from those
of their predecessors. Second, it often happens that the actual originators of ideas have
little influence on subsequent thinking because their contemporaries ignore or reject their
contributions.
Two examples illustrate this point. Richard Cantillon’s (c. 1680-1734) Essai sur la nature
du commerce en général, written between 1730 and 1734, was not published until 1755.
What little influence it had was limited almost exclusively to Western Europe and chiefly
to France, where it circulated before publication. But this book anticipates both Adam
Smith’s Wealth of Nations (1776) and the notion of an interrelated economy developed in
Francois Quesnay’s Tableau economique (1758). Though Quesnay and Smith may well have
been influenced by Cantillon, he was ignored by the majority of his contemporaries. It was
not until W S. Jevons rediscovered Cantillon’s work in 1881 that Cantillon received the
recognition he deserved for his seminal contributions. An entire chapter could be devoted
to each of these thinkers, but as a result of space constraints, we devote a separate chapter
only to Smith because his work had the greatest influence on subsequent thought.
The case of H. H. Gossen provides a similar example. In the early 1870s three
independently published books appeared, asserting that classical economists had erred in
explaining the forces determining relative prices by exclusively emphasizing supply. The
three works, all of which maintained that relative prices were better explained by the forces
of marginal utility, or demand, were Theory of Political Economy (1871), by W S. Jevons
(1835-1882); Grundsatze de Volfwirt- schaftslehre (1871), by Carl Menger (1840-1921); and
Elements d’economique politique pure (1874), by Leon Walras (1834-1910). In the second
edition of Theory of Political Economy (1879), Jevons reported that he had become aware
of a book by H. H. Gossen published in 1854 that completely anticipated his own. But
even though Gossen’s work clearly antedated that of Jevons, Menger, and Walras, it did
not influence subsequent theory as theirs later did; therefore, he is not included in our
discussions of marginal utility.
* To encourage you to look at original sources, one end-of-chapter question in each chap-
ter is a “library research” question. It asks you to find a bibliographical reference for an ab-
sent-minded professor. Our website, located at http://www.college.hmco.com, has a guide
to original texts on the web.
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squadron is sailing up the Delaware! They have chased two English
ships up the bay! Their crews landed at Lewes, burned the town,
plundered and pillaged, and carried off prisoners and cattle! To
arms, lest we share the same fate! To arms, to defend our homes
and families! Get your arms and make ready to obey the orders I
shall issue later!" He drew his sword and pointed it toward the
Delaware. "Let us show the enemy we are ready for him!"
There was a moment's silence, then a few shouts, then the crowd
began to make away by the side-streets, talking excitedly,
gesticulating, very much startled at the governor's news. They knew
that the English and Dutch settlements along the Atlantic Ocean had
often had to defend themselves against enemies, both white and
red, but here in Pennsylvania there had practically been no need of
defense; they had always been on good terms with their Indian
neighbors, and no other enemies had appeared. Now the French
privateers meant to treat their town as they had already treated
Lewes. Burn, plunder, and pillage! There was no good reason for
such an attack. They had done nothing to harm the French. They
couldn't understand why any one should wish to make war on them
when they were such peaceable people, always strictly minding their
own business. Yet there were the governor's words that the French
frigates were sailing up the Delaware, and word had already reached
the town through other channels telling of the attack on Lewes,
though the other reports hadn't made the matter out as bad as had
the governor's messenger. Well, it looked as though, Quakers or not,
they would have to do as Governor Evans bade.
Jack ran all the way home. Everywhere people were telling each
other the news. Even in front of the meeting-house there was an
excited group. Philadelphia was no longer peaceful; there was an
entirely new thrill in the air.
Jack's family had not yet returned. He hurried into the house, and
up to the attic where his father's musket hung on the wall. He took it
down, he found a powder-horn in a chest, he pulled out a sword
from behind some boxes in a corner. With musket and sword and
powder-horn in his arms he went down-stairs. The family were just
coming in from the street. He held out sword and musket. "Here are
our arms, father!" he exclaimed.
Mr. Felton could not help smiling at the excited face of his son. "You
don't intend to be caught napping, do you, Jack?" said he. "Well, I
don't think the French will attack us before dinner. You'd better put
the weapons away for a while."
II
There were not many people in Philadelphia who took the governor's
call to arms as lightly as did Mr. Felton. Most of them were scared
half out of their wits, and pictured to themselves the French raiders
marching into their houses and carrying off all their valuables, to say
nothing of ill-treating themselves. They did not stop to consider that
the men of Philadelphia must greatly outnumber the raiders, and
that, properly armed, they ought to have little trouble in keeping the
enemy at bay. All they appeared to think of was that the enemy
were fierce, fighting men, and that they must hand over their
precious household goods at the pirates' demand.
Many households had no firearms at all, for the province had had
small need of them. But even where there were muskets the men
seemed very little disposed to make them ready for use. The
Quakers didn't want to fight, that was the long and short of it.
Wherever men did get out their muskets and prepare to obey the
governor's summons to defense they were in almost all cases men
who were not Quakers. But the Quakers did not intend to hand over
their valuables if they could possibly help it.
Some bundled their silver and other prized possessions into
carriages and wagons and drove their families out into the country,
far from the Delaware. They took shelter in farmhouses and even in
barns, intending to stay there until the French frigates should have
come and gone. Others simply took their possessions out of town
and hid them in the woods, returning to their homes in town. Every
one seemed to be busy hiding whatever they could; much more
concerned about that than about preparing for defense, as Governor
Evans wanted.
Though his father was inclined to go slowly both in arming and in
hiding their valuables, Jack Felton was not. The boy who lived in the
next house, Peter Black, had a talk with Jack right after dinner. Peter
Black's mother was a widow, and Peter felt that it was his duty to
save the family heirlooms, as he saw the neighbors planning to save
theirs. So Peter and Jack hurried out into the country north of
Philadelphia. Since the French ships would come from the south they
thought the northern country would be the safer. Their road took
them by Gregory Diggs' shop, on the outskirts of town, and they
stopped there for a few minutes.
The little shoemaker had his gun lying on the table. "Well, Master
Jack," he said, grinning, "I hear the governor's given the alarm. I got
out my gun so as not to disappoint Mr. Hackett if he comes along."
"We're going to look for a good place to hide things," said Jack.
"What are you going to do with the things in your house?"
Gregory looked round his shop, at the unplastered walls, the plain,
home-made furniture, the few pots and pans that stood near his
hearth. "I don't think there's much here for me to hide," said he.
"The French can take all my goods if they want to. I could make
boots out under a tree if they care to burn my house. You see that's
one of the advantages of being poor, you don't lose any sleep
thinking about robbers."
"Peter's mother has a lot of things the raiders might take," explained
Jack. "Do you know a good hiding-place?"
"There's a place up in the woods, along a creek, that ought to be
pretty safe," said Gregory. "I'll go along to show you."
Shouldering his musket, which seemed to be his one valuable
possession, the shoemaker led the two boys along the road to the
woods. There he took a path that presently brought them to a little
stream. The banks were covered with violets right down to the
water's edge. "There's a cave in the bank a little farther up-stream,"
he said. "I'll show you some stepping-stones."
They crossed by the stones and found the place where the bank
revealed an opening. It was quite large enough to hold all that Peter
wanted to stow away. "I'll make a door so no one will suspect it's
there," said Gregory.
He took out his knife, and hunting among the trees found several
where the bark was covered with gray-green lichens. Stripping off
these pieces of bark he brought them back to the cave. Then he
took some narrow strips of leather from his pocket, such strips as
shoemakers use for lacing, and making eyelets near the edges of the
bark, he fastened them together with the lacings. This made a bark
cover more than big enough to close the opening in the bank.
Gregory set it in place, then trimmed the edges so that it fitted
neatly. He dug up some of the clumps of violets and replanted them
at the base of the bark door. "Now I'll defy any one to find that
cave," he said. "It's the safest hiding-place in the province of
Pennsylvania."
"I'll mark a couple of trees so I can find it again," said Peter. With his
knife he cut some notches in a couple of willows that bordered the
stream. As they went back through the woods both boys noted the
trail carefully, so that they might readily find it another time.
On the road wagons and carriages passed them, people flying out of
town through fear of the enemy. The shoemaker, his musket perched
on his shoulder, in spite of his small size was the most martial figure
to be seen. "I'm afraid our good folk are more bent on hiding than
on fighting," Gregory said with a chuckle. "Well, perhaps I'd be the
same if I had something to hide."
"Do you think Mr. Hackett was right about our people not being
ready to fight?" Jack asked.
"I think it looks very much that way," said Gregory. "I've seen a lot
of people on this road to-day, but not one with a gun."
Leaving Gregory at his house, Jack and Peter walked east to the
river and followed the foot-path along the Delaware. Skiffs, filled
with household goods, were being rowed up-stream. Families were
seeking refuge in the country north of town. Men and boys along the
shore were calling words of advice or derision to the rivercraft. At
one place a man was shouting, "There's the French frigates coming
up on the Jersey side!" The rowers paddled faster, glancing back
over their shoulders to see if the alarm was true. The man who had
shouted and the others within hearing on the bank laughed at the
rowers. The only boats on the Delaware appeared to be those
manned by frightened householders.
"Nobody's doing anything to build defenses in case the French
frigates do come," said Jack. And indeed there was not a sign of
defense anywhere along the shore. If the frigates came they could
fire at Philadelphia without an answering shot.
When they reached the center of the town the boys found the same
confusion. People were talking on street-corners; some were reading
the notices that Governor Evans had posted, calling on the men to
meet him next day with arms and ammunition. He stated that he
wanted to organize a well-equipped militia in case there should be
any need of defense. But the boys heard none speak with
enthusiasm of the governor's plan.
When he got home Jack told his father what he and Peter had done.
"Would you like me to take some of our things there too?" he asked.
"I'm sure no one could possibly find the place."
"No," said Mr. Felton, "I think we'll keep our things in our own
house. I'm not going to be driven into hiding just because of a
rumor." Even Mr. Felton, intelligent man though he was, did not
seem inclined to look with favor on the notion of armed defense.
After supper Jack saw the man who lived across the street putting
some boxes into a cart before his door. Jack watched him cord and
strap the boxes in the cart. "I'm taking my wife and baby into the
country for a few days," the neighbor explained.
"And you're coming back yourself?" Jack asked.
"I don't think so." The neighbor shook his head. "I'm not a fighting
man; I don't believe in shedding blood. I'm sure no good Quaker
could approve of warfare. I'll stay away till the town's quiet again."
"But suppose the French take the town and hold on to it," said Jack.
"Perhaps you couldn't get your house again."
"Well, there's plenty of country for us all," answered the other.
"I suppose you're right," said Jack. "Most people seem to think as
you do. But somehow I can't understand how so many people are
willing to give in to so few. Aren't our men in Philadelphia as big and
strong as the Frenchmen?"
"Why yes, of course they are, Jack. But the French come with
firearms, and we don't approve of firearms. We'd be glad to reason
with them, if they'd listen to us. But men with guns don't generally
want to listen to reason."
"And because they won't listen we run away," said Jack. "I can't
understand that."
"You will when you're older," said the man, and went indoors for
another box.
Jack went to Peter Black's, and helped him put his mother's
silverware and valuables, securely tied in a sack, into a small hand-
cart. Together the boys pushed the cart through the town and in the
direction of the hiding-place. They secreted the sack in the cave
beside the brook, and trundled the cart back to Gregory's shop. The
night was fair and warm, and the shoemaker was sitting outside his
house. "The town must be pretty empty by now," he said. "I've seen
so many people hurrying away. Soon there'll be nothing left there
but the governor and some stray cats and dogs. All our good citizens
seem to prefer to spend the spring in the country."
"Come down to the Delaware with us, Mr. Diggs," urged Jack. "We
wanted to leave Peter's cart here and go back by the river. It's fine
at night."
"I know what you want," said Gregory, nodding very wisely. "You
want to catch the first sight of the French frigates. Very well, I'll go
along with you. Only you must let me get my pistol. I'm not going to
be caught unarmed by the enemy."
The shoemaker, his pistol stuck in his belt, and the two boys struck
across for the river. The sky was full of stars, and when they reached
the bank they could easily make out the low-lying Jersey shore
across the Delaware. All shipping, except a few small skiffs, had
disappeared. "The big boats have run before the storm," said
Gregory, "and the little ones are ready to make for the creeks at the
first alarm. The French won't find any shipping here at any rate."
They went along the shore until they came to the southern end of
the town. Even on the wharves there were very few men. "I think
we'll have to be the lookouts," said Gregory, with a chuckle. "Here's
a pile of logs. Let's sit here and watch for the frigates."
Down the three sat, the little shoemaker in the middle. "I think,"
said Jack thoughtfully, "that you're the only person in town who'd
want to fight the enemy, unless perhaps Governor Evans would. I
think I'd hate to run away as soon as we saw his ships. Wouldn't you
hate to, Peter?"
"Now we've hid those things," said Peter, "I'd like to stay and see the
fun."
"Of course you would," agreed Gregory. "I'll tell you how it is, my
lads. There aren't many adventurers in this sober town of ours, only
a few boys and an old shoemaker."
Jack glanced at the little man, and caught the glint of starlight on
the barrel of his pistol. "I shouldn't think you'd care for adventures
as much as some other people would,—well, as my father would or
the man who lives across the street from us."
Gregory clapped his hand on Jack's knee. "That's just the puzzle of
it," he said. "You never can tell who are the real adventurers. Most
boys are; but when they grow up they forget the taste and smell of
adventure. They don't want to think of any pirates stealing up the
Delaware. They don't want to have any pirates anywhere."
"I like pirates," announced Peter.
"Of course you do," said Gregory, clapping his free hand on Peter's
knee. "So do I. I like to think there's a chance of those frigates
pointing up the river any minute. But most of the people in town
would say I was mad if I told them that. They'd say it was because I
hadn't anything to lose. It's riches that make folks cautious."
"I see a light down there!" exclaimed Peter, pointing down the shore.
All three jumped up and peered through the darkness. The light
proved to be a lantern in the bow of a small skiff skirting the bank.
"That's not the frigates," said Gregory. "I almost hoped it was. Well,
I don't suppose the safety of Philadelphia depends on our keeping
watch any longer to-night. It's getting late. Come on, my brave
adventurers."
Back to town they went, and said good-night to Gregory. As Jack
passed the governor's house he saw a familiar figure standing at the
front gate. The stout Mr. Hackett likewise recognized Jack. "So
you've not fled from town like the rest?" said the man from
Maryland. "The governor's called the men to meet him to-morrow in
the field on Locust Street; but I misdoubt if there'll be many left to
join him."
"There's one who will be there," answered Jack, pointing down the
street after Gregory.
"Who's that?" inquired Mr. Hackett.
"Gregory Diggs, the shoemaker. He's got a gun and a pistol, and he
won't run away."
"The little shoemaker?" said Mr. Hackett. "So he's a fighting man, is
he? I've always liked him, but I didn't know he had so much spirit."
"He's a real adventurer," declared Jack. "He thinks it may be because
he's poor and hasn't any family; but I don't think that's it. I think he
couldn't help being that way anyhow. I want to be like him when I
grow up."
"Good for you!" exclaimed Mr. Hackett. "Then I suppose we may
count on having you at the governor's muster to-morrow."
"I'll be there," said Jack. "I'm big enough to handle a gun."
"I'll be there too," put in Peter, who had been listening to the talk
with the greatest interest.
"Good enough," said Mr. Hackett. "Gregory and you boys ought to
put some of these smug people to shame. I'll look for you at the
meeting in the morning."
III
Jack and Peter were at the meeting-place on Locust Street next
morning, although each only brought a heavy stick as his weapon of
defense. Jack's father had refused to let his son have the musket,
saying that he would be much more apt to harm himself with it than
to injure an enemy. Mrs. Black had not only forbidden Peter to
handle anything that would shoot, but had intimated that she
thought Governor Evans and all the people who went to his militia
meeting were behaving much more like savages than like good
Christians. So the boys had to put up with the hickory sticks for
weapons, though each carried a sling and a pocketful of pebbles,
which might be useful for long-distance fighting.
Gregory was there with his gun, and the three friends stood under
the shade of a maple and waited for the rest of the volunteer army
to appear. A few men and boys were lounging out in the road,
apparently more interested in watching what was going to happen
than in taking part in it. "Where are our gallant soldiers?" said
Gregory, with a grin.
Jack counted the men who had come, with their muskets, into the
field. "Six besides us," he announced.
"That'll make a good-sized army," said Gregory, a twinkle in his eye.
There were only the six others at the meeting-place when Governor
Evans, his secretary, and Mr. Hackett arrived. The governor looked
disgusted. He muttered to his two companions. Then he beckoned
the seven men and the two boys toward him. "So this is
Philadelphia's volunteer militia, is it?" he said. "These are the troops
I could count on to defend our homes from an enemy?" Then his
angry brow softened. "I don't blame you, my good friends. You are
doing your best. But I shouldn't like to express my opinion of your
fellow-townsfolk."
The governor turned to Hackett "I might as well disband the militia,
eh? The night-watchmen of the town will furnish as good defense."
"Unless you choose to keep your army of seven men and two boys
to shame the worthy citizens," suggested Hackett.
"You can't shame them!" snorted Governor Evans. "Their heads are
made of pillow-slips stuffed with feathers; and goose-feathers at
that!" He looked again at the volunteer soldiers. "My secretary will
take your names," he said, "and I'll know who to call on if I need
help. Many thanks to you all."
As they were leaving the field Hackett came over to Gregory and the
two boys. "I suspected your good people would act like this," said
he. "Though I'd no idea that only seven men would put in an
appearance. I'll have to wash my hands of your Quaker colony. I
never saw anything to equal it. The Saints keep you from trouble! I
doubt if you'll be able to keep yourselves out of it."
Now Gregory was a little nettled at the other's superior manner.
"We've been able to keep out of it so far," he retorted, "and I don't
see but what charity toward others mayn't keep us out of it in the
future. William Penn is a just man, and has bade us act justly toward
all others. We hoped to leave fighting and all warlike things behind
us when we left Europe. Because there's been fighting in
Massachusetts and Virginia is no reason why there should be such
matters here."
"So you think Penn's colony is different from the others, do you?"
asked Hackett.
"I think you and your Cavalier friends in Maryland are more eager to
draw your swords than we are here," said the shrewd shoemaker.
"Now, by Jupiter, I think you're right!" agreed Hackett, with a laugh.
"Every man to his own kind. I much prefer Lord Baltimore to your
good William Penn. I've seen enough of your worthy Quaker
tradesmen. I must get back to Chesapeake Bay."
Jack and Peter, sitting on the steps of Mr. Felton's house that
afternoon, saw a number of men who worked on the river-front go
past in the street, guns in their hands. There were five or six in the
first group, then a few more, then a larger number. There were small
farmers from the southern side of the town, there were servants,
there were negroes. None of those who went by appeared to be of
the wealthy, Quaker class. "Where are they going?" Jack asked
presently.
"Let's go find out," suggested Peter.
The boys followed the groups, which grew in size as men from other
streets joined in the current. They went to Society Hill on the
outskirts of the town. There a crowd had already gathered, some
with firearms, some without. The boys pushed their way through the
crowd until they reached the front edge. There they heard one
speaker after another addressing the throng. The speakers all
declared that they would go to the governor, ask for weapons, and
tell him they were ready to march against the enemy whenever he
should give the order.
Nearly seven hundred men met on Society Hill that day and
volunteered for military service. Perhaps the word had gone around
that the leading men of the colony had failed to meet the governor,
and these men meant to show that there were some at least he
could rely on. However that was, this gathering shamed the other
meeting, and when it broke up it sent its delegates to report to
Governor Evans.
The boys stopped to tell Gregory Diggs what they had seen.
"Aye," said Gregory, when he had heard the type of men who made
up this second meeting, "wealth and position make men timid. And
then Quakers are over-cautious folk. I know how it is. I found it hard
enough to shoulder my gun and make up my mind to join the militia.
Like as not I wouldn't have volunteered at all if you two boys hadn't
seemed to shame me into it. But that's the way it is, our good,
respectable folk won't fight, and the only ones the governor can rely
on are the poor and the down-at-heels, and a penniless shoemaker
and two boys. Master Hackett was right about Penn's province."
At his home Jack told his father of the day's happenings. "And I'm
very much surprised our friends and neighbors didn't help Governor
Evans better," he concluded.
"Only seven at one meeting, and a great many at the other?" said
Mr. Felton. "Well, that shows our friends aren't very warlike, doesn't
it, Jack?"
"But I think they ought to be," protested the boy.
"So does Governor Evans," agreed Mr. Felton. "And it's my opinion
that he and that truculent friend of his, Charles Hackett, planned this
whole scare just to see how warlike the people of Philadelphia are. I
think he arranged to have that messenger arrive from Maryland with
that story about the French frigates. It's true enough they landed at
Lewes, but they did little harm there beyond taking a few cattle and
some wood and water they needed. I don't believe they had the
slightest intention of coming up the river to Philadelphia. But it gave
the governor a good chance to see what the people would do if the
French had been coming."
"Most of the people believed it, or they wouldn't have hidden their
valuables, and so many of them run away," said Jack.
"Oh, yes, they believed it," assented Mr. Felton. "And I guess the
governor is thoroughly out of temper with most of us. But as a
matter of fact he didn't need any militia to protect us from a raid."
That was the truth of the situation, as Philadelphia found out a few
days later. The governor had laid a plot to find out what the people
would do if their town were threatened with attack by an enemy. He
thought that the Delaware River was insufficiently protected. He
wanted to form a strong militia. His ruse had worked; but to his
disgust he found that the more respectable and wealthy part of the
community, the Quaker portion, had no wish either to strengthen the
defenses of the Delaware or to enroll in a militia. His stratagem had
at least taught him that much about them.
The Quakers brought the goods they had hidden back to town;
those who had gone into the country returned to their homes as
soon as it was known that the French frigates had sailed down the
Delaware to the sea instead of up it to Philadelphia. They did not like
Governor Evans for the trick he had played on them. As the governor
himself said, "For weeks afterward they would stand on the other
side of the street and make faces at me as I passed by."
As a result of the governor's stratagem most of the Quakers in
Philadelphia signed a petition to William Penn, who was then in
England, urging him to remove Evans from the governorship. William
Penn did not like to do this. He had appointed Evans at the
suggestion of some very powerful men at the English Court, and he
did not want to antagonize them, or Evans himself for that matter,
for so slight a cause. He wrote a letter to Evans, however, mildly
reproving him for the trick he had played, and making it clear that
he himself was no more in favor of warlike measures than were the
Quakers in his colony. Governor Evans held his office for almost
three years after this event, and was finally called back to England
for very different reasons.
Penn's province did have less warfare than the neighboring colonies,
partly because of the just way in which Penn and his settlers dealt
with the Indians, partly by good fortune. No enemy attacked
Philadelphia. But as men pushed out into the country west of the
Delaware they began to come into conflict with the Indians. Often
these settlers were able to protect themselves, but sometimes they
felt that the men living securely in Philadelphia ought to help them in
their effort to enlarge the province. After the defeat of the English
General Braddock by French and Indians in western Pennsylvania the
settlers found the Indians more difficult to handle. So the men of the
frontier formed independent companies of riflemen and fought in
their own fashion. They demanded, however, that the governor and
General Assembly at Philadelphia should aid them with supplies, if
they were unwilling to furnish soldiers.
The Assembly in Philadelphia refused to send the supplies. The news
spread along the border, and the settlers, the mountaineers and
trappers, set out for the Quaker city on the Delaware. Four or five
hundred of them marched into town, men clad in buckskin, their hair
worn long, armed with rifles, powder-horns, bullet-pouches, hunting-
knives, and even tomahawks they had taken from Indians.
Philadelphia was used to seeing a few of such hunters on her
streets, but the good people grew uneasy at the appearance of so
many of them at one time. The mountaineers swaggered and
blustered as they passed the quiet Quakers. They let it be known
that if the Assembly refused to vote them the supplies they wanted
they would take supplies wherever they could find them.
Pressed by the frontiersmen, the Assembly finally voted the supplies.
Then the men in buckskin went back to hold the borders against the
Indians.
Later, however, Philadelphia received another visit from much more
unruly mountaineers. A large number of these men, known as the
Paxton boys, met a battalion of British regulars at Lancaster,
demanded the latter's horses and ammunition wagons, and told
them that "if they fired so much as one shot their scalps would
ornament every cabin from the Susquehanna to the Ohio."
The regulars didn't fire, and the mountaineers helped themselves to
everything they wanted and set out for Philadelphia. Some Indians
were being held as prisoners in the town, and the Paxton boys,
growing insolent with power as they saw British regulars and Quaker
farmers yielding to their orders, determined to make the people of
Philadelphia give the Indians to them. The mountaineers marched to
the high ground of Germantown, north of the town, nearly a
thousand in number, and sent their envoys to the town officers. The
officers knew, quite as well as Governor Evans had known before,
that there was no militia sufficient to take the field against the
frontiersmen, and that the citizens would never arm against them.
The leading people of the town went to talk with the Paxton boys,
trying to persuade them to leave peacefully. Finally by agreeing to
give the mountaineers everything they asked, except only the
opportunity to massacre the captive Indians, the townspeople
succeeded in persuading their unwelcome visitors to leave. For long,
however, the men of the frontiers and the mountains looked on the
people who dwelt along the Delaware as a cowardly race, who had
to be bullied before they would do their share in protecting the
province.
The governors of Pennsylvania were not always as fair in dealing
with their neighbors as the people were. When John Penn, grandson
of William Penn, held the office of governor he sent a gang of
rascals to attack men from Connecticut who had settled in the
Wyoming Valley, which was claimed by Penn as part of his province.
The settlers had built homes and planted crops in the Wyoming
Valley, and they had no intention of letting John Penn's mercenary
troopers despoil them without a fight. They built a fort, and defied
the governor's soldiers. John Penn's men had finally to retreat before
their stubborn resistance.
The attack on the Wyoming settlers was in 1770, and only five years
later the men of Lexington and Concord fired the shots that were to
echo from New Hampshire to Georgia. In the war that followed
Pennsylvania did her part. Philadelphia, then the leading city of the
colonies, became the home of the new government. In the very
street where Governor Evans had urged the townsfolk to organize a
militia to fight a few French frigates, men went to Independence Hall
to proclaim a Declaration of Independence against the king of
England. No one could have accused Philadelphia in July, 1776, of a
lack of patriotic spirit. The Liberty Bell rang out its message to all, to
the Quaker descendants of William Penn's first settlers as well as to
those of other faiths who had come to his province since, and all
alike responded to its appeal to proclaim liberty throughout the
world.
VIII
THE PIRATES OF CHARLES TOWN HARBOR
I
Antony Evans was rowing slowly round the southern point of Charles
Town, the bow of his boat pointing out across the broad expanse of
water that lay to the east. It was early morning of a bright summer
day, and the harbor looked very inviting, the breeze freshening it
with little dancing waves of deep blue, tipped with silver, and
bringing the salt fragrance of the ocean to the sunlit town. Deep
woods ringed the bay; here and there tall, stately palmettos
standing out on little headlands, looking like sentries stationed along
the shore to keep all enemies away.
Antony loosened his shirt at the throat and rolled his sleeves higher
up on his sunburned arms. He had finished school a few days
before, and was to have a fortnight's holiday before starting work in
his father's warehouse. He loved the water, the two rivers that held
his home-town in their wide-stretched arms; the little creeks that
wound into the wilderness, teeming with fish and game; the wide
bay, and the open ocean. His idea of a holiday was to fish or swim,
row or sail, and he meant to spend every day of his vacation on the
water. In the bow of his boat was a tin box, and in that box were
bread and cold meat and cake, and a bottle of milk—his lunch, and
possibly his supper too.
Slowly the town receded across the gleaming water. It grew smaller
and smaller as Antony watched it from his boat, until it looked to
him like a mere handful of toy houses instead of the largest
settlement in His Majesty's colony of South Carolina. He half-shut his
eyes and rested on his oars, letting the wind and the waves gently
rock his boat. Now Charles Town became a mere point, a spot of
color on the long, level stretch of green. He opened his eyes and
looked over his shoulder at the wide expanse of blue. Then he pulled
toward the southern shore, planning to follow it for a time. There
would be more shade there as the sun grew warmer.
The depths of the woods looked very cool and inviting as he rowed
along close to them. Great festoons of gray moss hung from the
boughs of the live-oaks, festoons that were pink or pale lavender
where the sun shone on them. He paddled along slowly, letting the
water drip from the blades of his oars, until the town had
disappeared around the curve of the forest and he was alone with
the waves and the trees.
The sun, almost directly overhead, and his appetite, presently
suggested to him that it was time for lunch. He chose a little bay
with a sandy beach, and running his boat aground, landed, carrying
the precious tin box with him. There was a comfortable mossy seat
under a big palmetto, and here he ate part of his provisions, and
then, rolling his coat into a pillow, prepared to take a nap. The air
was full of spices from the woods, warm and sleep-beguiling; he had
slept an hour before he waked, stretched his rested muscles, and
went back to the boat.
He had a mind to do a little exploring along this southern shore. The
water was smooth, and he felt like rowing. Rapidly he traveled along
the shore, peering into bays and inlets, covering long stretches of
thick forest, while the sun made his westward journey, the air grew
cooler, and the shade stretched farther across the sea. There would
be a moon to see him home again, and he was weatherwise enough
to know that he had nothing to fear from the wind.
The sun was almost setting when the rowboat rounded a wooded
point and swung into a bay. Antony was following the shore-line, so
he did not bother to look around, but pulled steadily ahead, keeping
about the same distance from the bank. Then, to his great surprise,
a voice directly ahead hailed him. "Look where you're going, son!
Ease up a bit on your oars, and you'll get to us without bumping."
He looked around and saw three men fishing from a boat. They
must have kept very quiet not to have attracted his attention. He
slowed the speed of his boat by dragging his oars in the water, but
even so he swept pretty close to the fishermen, and one of them,
with a quick turn of his own oar, brought the larger boat side-on to
Antony's.
"Pull in your oar," the man ordered. To avoid a collision Antony
obeyed. The man caught the gunwale of Antony's boat, bringing the
two side by side.
All three of the men were grinning. "Well, now, lad," said the man at
the oars, "where were ye bound at such a pace? Going to row across
the ocean or down to St. Augustine? Bound out from Charles Town,
weren't ye?"
Antony smiled. "I was doing a little exploring," he answered. "I
didn't know there were any fishermen down along here."
The man's grin widened. "Ye didn't, eh? Well, there's quite a lot of
us fishermen down along here. Take a look." He gestured over his
shoulder with his thumb. Antony turned and saw that at the other
end of the bay were a number of boats, men on the beach, and that
the hull and spars of a good-sized ship stood out beyond the trees of
the next headland.
The man in the bow of the other boat, a slim, dark fellow with a
straggling black mustache, pulled in his fishing-line. "An' now you've
done your exploring, you'll make us a little visit. It wouldn't do to go
right back to Charles Town to-night." He stood up, and with the
agility of a cat stepped from his boat to Antony's and sat down on
the stern-seat.
Antony had plenty of nerve, but somehow neither the words of the
man at the oars nor the performance of the dark fellow was
altogether reassuring. The two men now in the other boat were big
swarthy chaps, with many strange designs tattooed on their brawny
arms; and the one who sat in the stern wore gilded earrings and had
a good-sized sheath-knife fastened to his belt. They didn't look like
the men he was used to seeing about Charles Town.
They weren't disagreeable, however. The man at the oars gave
Antony's boat a slight shove, which sent them some distance apart,
and then dropped his fishing-line into the water again. "See you two
later," he said, still grinning. "Keep an eye on the lad, Nick."
Nick sat leaning forward, his arms on his knees, his black eyes
twinkling at Antony. "Don't you be feared of this nest," said he. "I
don't say that some mightn't well be, but not a lively young limb like
you. What's your name?"
Antony told him. "And why might some be afraid?" he asked, his
curiosity rising.
"Because," said Nick, "that sloop round the point belongs to old man
Teach, and she flies a most uncommon flag at her masthead."
"Blackbeard!" exclaimed the boy, his eyes wide with surprise and
sudden fear.
"Now don't be scared," said Nick. "Some do call him Blackbeard, but
he don't make trouble if he's handled right."
"They said he was down around the Indies, after Spanish ships,"
said Antony.
"He's been in a good many places," said the other. "Spanish galleys
pay well, but trade's trade, wherever you find it."
This Nick was a pleasant fellow, with nothing piratical-looking about
him, unless you considered the skull and crossbones tattooed on his
right forearm as a sign of his trade. He smiled in a very friendly
fashion. "We've got a little matter on hand now that brings us up to
Charles Town. Some of the crew's sick, and we want drugs and other
things for 'em." He chuckled, as though the notion was amusing.
"Pirates get sick just like other folks sometimes," he added. He
pointed to the beach ahead of him. "Row us up there, Tony."
There was nothing for Antony to do but obey, and somewhat
assured by the mild manner of Nick, he pulled at his oars until the
boat grounded in shallow water. "Don't mind a little wetting, do ye?"
said Nick, stepping over the side. Antony followed, and they drew
the boat high and dry on the shore. "Come along," said Nick, and he
turned to lead the way.
Nick Turned to Lead the Way
Men were working on a couple of overturned skiffs, men were
lounging about doing nothing, men who looked nowise different from
the fellows Antony saw in his own town. They paid no particular
attention to him, and Nick led him along the shore through the woods
that covered the headland, and out on the other side. Here was a
snug harbor, with a good-sized ship at anchor, men on the shore and
more men on the ship's deck.
Nick shoved a small boat into the water, motioned to Antony to climb
in, and with a few strokes brought them to the ship's side. He made
the boat fast, and climbed a short rope-ladder to the deck. "Don't be
scared," he muttered; "he don't eat boys." He led the way to where a
stocky man with a heavy black beard sat in a chair smoking a long
pipe.
"Here's a lad," said Nick, nodding to the chief, "we picked up as he
was rowing down along the coast from Charles Town. He wanted a
taste of salt air, and something better to do than what he'd been
doing. And we didn't want him to go back home and tell what he'd
seen down here."
Blackbeard was certainly black, and there was a scar on one side of
his face that didn't add to the beauty of his appearance, but he
wasn't ferocious-looking, not as fierce in fact as several men Antony
knew at home. He puffed at his pipe a minute before he spoke.
"We're going up to the town to-morrow morning," he said. "What's
the talk about us there?"
"They thought you were chasing Spanish ships from Cuba and St.
Augustine," answered Antony, "and I think they were pretty glad you
were doing it."
"They were, eh?" snorted Blackbeard. "That's always the way of it!
Fight the enemy and you're a hero, but don't for the love of Heaven
come near us. Smooth-faced rascals all! Keep an eye on him, Nick,"
and he jerked his head to show that the audience was over.
"Not so terrible, was he?" said Nick, as they went aft. "Now I'll show
you some folks you know." They came to the window of the cabin,
and he indicated that he wanted Antony to look inside. Half a dozen
men and a couple of small boys were in the cabin, a most
disconsolate-looking lot. To his great surprise Antony recognized the
nearest as Mr. Samuel Wragg, a prominent merchant of Charles
Town. The faces of all the others were familiar to him. "What's Mr.
Wragg doing there?" he demanded. "He isn't a pirate, too?"
"No, he's no pirate," chuckled Nick. "He's what you might call a
hostage. You see, all that merry-looking crowd sailed from your town
a few days ago, bound for England, but we met their ship when she
reached the bar and we asked 'em to come on board us. Thought we
might be able to accommodate 'em better, you see. We overhauled
eight ships within a week out there, and that's pretty good business,
better than what we've done with your Spanish Dons lately. But
there's no denying the Dons do carry the richer cargoes."
"And what are you going to do with them?" asked Antony.
"That's for old Teach, the chief there, to make out. I've a notion your
friend Mr. Wragg and the others in there are going to help us get that
store of drugs and supplies I was telling you of. Let's be going
ashore. I don't want those mates of mine to eat all the fresh fish
before we get back to 'em."
Blackbeard's men—pirates and desperadoes though they were—
seemed no rougher to Antony than any other seafaring men he had
met at Charles Town. They carried more pistols and knives perhaps
than such men, but though he listened eagerly he heard no strange
ear-splitting oaths nor frightening tales of evil deeds they had
committed. Nick looked after him almost like an older brother, saw
that he had plenty to eat, helped him gather up wood for the fire
they lighted on the shore after supper. There were a number of these
small fires, each with a group of swarthy-faced men round it. As Big
Bill, the man who had first hailed Antony and caught the gunwale of
his boat, explained, "Blackbeard's men were glad to stretch their legs
ashore whenever they got the chance."
Their pipes lighted, the pirates sat about the campfires as the moon
flooded the sea with sparkling silver. Nick told Antony how he had run
away from his English home in Devon when he was a boy, and had
shipped on board a merchantman out of Bristol. He had followed the
sea year in, year out, until one day the captain of his ship had
suddenly given up being a peaceful merchantman and had begun to
hold up and rob any well-laden vessels he happened to meet. There
was more profit in such a life, he said, and a great deal more
excitement. Then he went on to tell Antony that many great sea-
captains had really been pirates, and that both the people in England
and the American colonists really liked the pirates as long as they
preyed on Spanish commerce and the ships of enemies. King Charles
the Second of England, he said, though he pretended to frown on
piracy, had actually made Morgan, the greatest pirate of them all, a
knight, and appointed him governor of his island of Jamaica. "In most
seaport towns," said Nick, "the townsfolk are glad enough to have us
walk their streets, spend our Mexican doubloons, and sell them the
silks and wine we bring in, without asking any questions about where
we got 'em. We're as good as any other traders then; maybe better,
because we don't haggle so over a bargain. But when we hold up one
o' their own precious ships they sing a song about us from t'other
side their mouths."
So he talked on, boastfully enough, about the doings of the sea-
rovers; but the boy, listening intently, thought that every now and
then it sounded as if the dark man were making excuses for himself
and his mates.
The fires burned down, and most of the men hunted soft beds under
the forest trees. The summer night was warm, and the air was
fresher here than in the close bunks on the ship. Big Bill and Nick and
Antony found a comfortable place for themselves. "You might take it
into your head to run away," said Nick, "but Big Bill and I always
sleep with one eye open, and there's a couple of men by the boats
that'll see anything stirring, and there's a big marsh through the
woods, so you'll do better to stay where you be. And if they should
catch you trying to take French leave, I'm afraid they'd put you in
that stuffy cabin along with your friend Mr. Wragg and the others. So
my advice to ye is, get a good night's sleep."
Antony took the advice so far as lying still went, though it was not
nearly so easy to fall asleep. He watched the moon through the tree-
tops, he listened to the lapping of the water on the shore, and he
thought how strange it was that he should actually be a prisoner of
the pirates. He thought of his father and mother and hoped they
weren't worried about him; he had stayed away from home overnight
before, camping out in the woods, and probably they wouldn't begin
to worry about him until next day. Then he fell asleep, and when he
woke the sun was rising over the water, and the woods were full of
the early morning songs of birds.
"Yeo ho for a swim!" cried Nick, jumping up. He and Antony plunged
into the water, swam for half an hour, came out and lay in the sun,
drying off, put on their clothes, and went on board the ship, where, in
the galley, they found the cooks had breakfast ready.
Soon afterward there was work to be done preparatory to weighing
anchor. The small boats were brought on board, the crew set the
sails, orders rang from bow to stern. Blackbeard was no longer a
quiet man smoking a pipe in a chair. He was very alert and active,
overseeing everything, and when he snapped out a word, or even
jerked his thumb this way or that, men jumped to do his bidding. The
anchor was hoisted aboard, the ship slowly turned from her harbor
and sought the channel.
With a fresh favoring wind the ship set in toward Charles Town.
Antony, on the forward deck with Nick, watched the shore-line until
the bright roofs of the little settlement began to stand out from the
green and blue. Farther and farther on Blackbeard sailed until they
were in full view of the town. Then he called a half-dozen men by
name, among them Nick, and gave them his orders. "Man the long-
boat," said he, "and row ashore. Send this note to the governor. It's a
list of drugs I want for my crew. And tell the governor and Council
that if the drugs don't come back to me in three hours I'll send
another boat ashore with the heads of Samuel Wragg and his son
and a dozen other men of Charles Town. Their heads or the drugs!
Look to the priming of your pistols." Blackbeard was a man of few
words, but every word he spoke told.
As the others swung the long-boat overboard Nick stepped up to the
chief. "I'll take the boy along," said he. "He might help us ashore, as
he knows the people there." Blackbeard nodded.
An idea occurred to Antony, and whispering to Nick, he darted to the
galley. He found a scrap of paper there, and scrawled a couple of
lines to his father, saying he was well, and begging his parents not to
worry about him. As he ran back by the cabin he couldn't help
glancing in at the window, and saw Samuel Wragg and the other
prisoners whispering together, their frightened faces seeming to show
that they had heard what was in the wind, and knew that Blackbeard
meant to have their heads in case their friends in Charles Town
should refuse to let him have the drugs he wanted.
The long-boat was now manned and floating lightly on the bay. At a
word from Nick, Antony swung himself over the side of the ship by a
rope and dropped into the boat, "You steer us," said Nick, "and mind
you don't get us into any trouble, or overboard you go as sure as my
name's Nicholas Carter."
The harbor was smooth as glass and the long-boat, pulled by its lusty
crew, shot along rapidly. Nick was pulling the stroke oar, and
presently Antony, who sat opposite him, took the little note he had
written from his pocket. "If you go ashore, won't you give this paper
to somebody?" he begged. "My father's name's on the outside, and
everybody knows him. It'll make his mind easier about me."
Nick bobbed his head. "Slip it into my pocket," he murmured,
nodding to where his jacket lay on the bottom of the boat.
The town was right before them now, its quays busy with the usual
morning life of the water-front. To Antony, however, it seemed that
more men and boys than usual were standing there, some watching
the long-boat, and others looking past her at the big ship far down
the bay. He saw faces he knew, he saw men staring at him
wonderingly, he even felt rather proud at the strange position he had
so unexpectedly fallen into.
"Easy now, mates," sang out Nick, looking over his shoulder at the
near water-front. He gave a few orders, and the long-boat swung
gently up to an empty float, and he and the man next to him,
slipping on their jackets and making sure that their pistols slid easily
from their belts, stepped lightly to the float.
By now a large crowd had gathered on the shore, all staring at the
strangers. Nick and his fellow-pirate, cool as cucumbers, walked up
the plank that led from the float to the dock. There Nick made a little
mocking bow to the men and boys of Charles Town. "Who's governor
here?" he demanded, with the assurance of an envoy from some
mighty state.
Several voices answered, "Robert Johnson is the governor."
Nick took from an inner pocket the paper Blackbeard had given him.
"One of you take this message to Governor Robert Johnson. It comes
from Captain Teach, sometimes known as Captain Blackbeard. He
entertains certain merchants of your town on board his ship, Mr.
Samuel Wragg and others. And should any of you harm me or my
mates while we wait for the governor's answer Captain Teach will feel
obliged, much to his regret, to do the same to your worthy townsmen
on his ship."
There were murmurs and exclamations from the crowd, and whispers
of "It's Blackbeard!" "It's the pirates!" and the like.
As no one stepped forward Nick now pointed to a man in a blue coat
who stood fronting him. "Take this message," he said, and spoke so
commandingly that the man stepped forward and took it. Then he
beckoned a boy to him and gave him Antony's note. "For Mr. Jonas
Evans," he said. "Make sure he gets it." After that he sat down on a
bale of cotton, pulled out a pipe, filled it with tobacco, and lighted it.
The other pirate did the same. The bright sun shone on the brace of
pistols each man wore in his belt.
The man in the blue coat hurried to Governor Johnson with the
message from the pirate chief. The governor read the message,
demanding certain drugs at once, on pain of Samuel Wragg and the
other merchants of Charles Town losing their heads. The governor
sent for the Council and read the message to them. They would all
have liked to tear the message to shreds and go out at once to
capture this insolent sea-robber, but there was danger that if they
tried to do that their worthy fellow-citizens would instantly lose their
heads.
Meantime the news had spread through the town, and there was the
greatest excitement. The people longed to get their hands on
Blackbeard and pay him for this insult. But they dared not stir now;
they dared not even lay finger on the two insolent rascals who sat on
the bales of cotton on the water-front, smiling at the crowd. The
families and friends of Samuel Wragg and the other prisoners, all of
whom were named in Blackbeard's message to the governor, hurried
to the house where the Council was meeting, and demanded that the
drugs should be sent out to Blackbeard at once.
The governor and Council argued the matter up and down. They
hated to yield to such a command, and yet it would be monstrous to
sacrifice their friends for a few drugs. Then Governor Johnson made
his decision. He reminded them that he had time and again urged the
Proprietors and the Board of Trade to send out a frigate to protect
the commerce of Charles Town from just such perils as this; and
added that it was his duty to protect the lives of all the citizens. He
would send the drugs, and then the Council must see to it that such
a situation shouldn't occur again.
All the medicines on Blackbeard's list were carried down to the float
and put on board the long-boat under Nicholas Carter's supervision.
"I thank you all in the name of Captain Teach," Nick said, smiling and
bowing in his best manner. Among the crowd on shore Antony had
caught the faces of his father and mother, and waved to them, and
called out that he would soon be back.
The long-boat left the shore amid angry mutterings from the people.
The tide was low now, and presently Antony, by mischance, mistook
the course of the channel, and ran the boat aground. He showed so
plainly, however, that he hadn't meant to do it, that Nick forgave him,
and said he wouldn't throw him overboard. It took some time for the
crew to get the boat afloat again, and when they finally reached the
ship they found Blackbeard in a terrible rage at the delay and almost
on the point of beheading Mr. Wragg and the other prisoners.
The sight of the drugs calmed his anger somewhat, and he ordered
his captives brought out on deck. There he had them searched, and
took everything of value they had with them, among other things a
large amount of gold from Mr. Wragg. Some of their clothes he took
also, so that it was hard to say whether the poor merchants were
shivering more from fright or from cold. Then he had them rowed in
the long-boat to a neighboring point of land, where they were left to
make their way home as best they could.
Antony had asked Nick if he couldn't be set on shore with the others,
but Nick, drawing him away from the rest of the crew, had
whispered, "Stay with me a day or two more. I'm going to leave the
ship myself. I'm tired of this way of living, and I'd like to have a
friend to speak a good word for me when I land. I'll see no harm
comes to you, boy. I got that note to your father, and—one good turn
deserves another. We'll leave old Blackbeard soon."
Antony liked the dark man. "All right," said he. "I think we can get
into Charles Town without any one knowing who you are. I'll look out
for you."
"Much obliged to you, Tony," said Nick, with a grin.
So when the pirate ship sailed out to sea again, Antony was still on
board her.
II
Five days Antony stayed on board the pirate ship, while Blackbeard
doctored the sick men of his crew with the medicines he had
obtained in Charles Town. The boy was well treated, for it was
understood that he was under Nick's protection, and moreover,
although the pirates could show their teeth and snarl savagely
enough in a fight, they were friendly and easy-going among
themselves. It was a pleasant cruise for Antony, for the weather held
good, and Nick taught him much about the handling of a ship. Then,
after five days of sailing, Blackbeard anchored off one of the long
sandy islands that dot that coast, and those of his men who were
tired of their small quarters on the ship went ashore and spent the
night there. Among them were Nick and Antony, and, as on that
other night ashore, they made their beds at a little distance from the
others.
Just before dawn Antony was waked by some one pulling his
shoulder. It was Nick, who signaled to him that he should rise
noiselessly and follow him. The boy obeyed, and the two went
silently through the woods and came out on another beach as the
sun was rising. They walked for some time, watching the wonderful
colors the sun was sending over sea and sky. Then said Nick, "We're
far enough away from them now. They won't hunt for us; they've
more than enough crew, and old Teach ain't the man to bother his
head about a couple of runaways. Five minutes of curses, and he'll be
up and away again, with never a thought of us. I'll beat you to the
water, Tony," and Nick started to pull his shirt over his head.
They swam as long as they wanted, and then they followed the
shore, growing more and more hungry as they went along. "There
must be fishermen somewhere," said Nick. "A little farther south, and
we'd have fruit for the taking; but here"—he shrugged his shoulders
—"nothing but a few berries that rattle around in one like peas in a
pail."
After an hour, however, they came to a fisherman's shanty, and found
the owner working with his nets and lines on the shore. He was a big
man, with reddish hair and beard, and clothes that had been so often
soaked in salt water that they had almost all the colors of the
rainbow. "We'll work all day for food and drink," said Nick, grinning.
The fisherman grinned in return. "Help yourselves," said he, waving
his hand toward his shanty. "You're welcome to what you find; I got
my gold and silver safe hid away."
They found dried fish and corn-meal cakes and water in an earthen
jar. When they came out to the beach again they told the man their
names, and learned in turn that his was Simeon Park. They went out
with him in his sailing-smack, and fished all day, and when they came
back they felt like old friends, as men do who spend a day together
on the sea.
There followed a week of fishing with Simeon, varied by mornings
when they went hunting ducks and wild turkeys and geese with him
over the marshes and the long flats that lay along the coast. Antony
had never had a better time; he liked both of his new friends, and,
except for his father and mother, he was in no hurry to go back to
Charles Town and work in the warehouse there. At the end of the
week Simeon Park suggested that they should take the smack for a
cruise, fishing and gunning as chance offered. So they put to sea
again, this time in a much smaller vessel than Blackbeard's
merchantman.
They met with one small gale, but after that came favoring winds.
Presently they found themselves near Charles Town harbor again.
They camped on shore one night, and Antony told Nick that he must
be heading for home shortly.
Next morning the boy was waked by the big fisherman, who pointed
out to sea. Three big ships were standing off the coast, and even at
that distance they could see that the "Jolly Roger" of a pirate, the
skull and crossbones, flew from the masthead of the biggest vessel.
Guns boomed across the water. "The two sloops are after the big
fellow," exclaimed Simeon Park. "Let's put out in our boat, and have
a look at the game."
They put off in their smack, and with the skilful fisherman at the
helm, stood off and on, tacked and ran before the wind, until they
came to a point where they were out of shot and yet near enough to
see all that was taking place.
"I can read the names of the sloops," said Park, squinting across at
their sterns; "one's called Sea Nymph and t'other the Henry, and they
both hail from Charles Town."
Nick chuckled. "That governor of yours," he said to Antony, "didn't
lose much time. He's got two sloops of war now for certain, and he
means to try a tussle with the rovers." He too squinted at the vessels.
"I don't think she's Blackbeard's, howsomever. No, there's her name."
And he spelled out the words Royal James.
The two sloops, each mounting eight guns, had swept down on the
pirate, evidently planning to catch her in a narrow strait formed by
two spits of land. But the pirate ship, undaunted, had sought to sail
past the sloops, and by her greater speed to gain the open sea. Then
the two sloops bore in close, and before the Royal James knew what
she was about she had sailed out of the channel and was stuck fast
on a shoal of sand. Then the Henry, too, grounded in shoal water,
and some distance further, her mate, the Sea Nymph.
This was a pretty situation, all three ships aground, and only the little
fishing-smack able to sail about as she liked. "Lucky we don't draw
more'n a couple of feet of water," said Simeon Park, at the helm. "If
we only had a gun of our own aboard we could hop about and
pepper first one, then t'other."
"And have one good round shot send us to the bottom as easy as a
man crushes a pesky mosquito," observed Nick. "No, thankee. If it's
all the same to you I'd rather keep out of gun-fire of both sides to
this little controversy."
Antony, crouched on the small deck forward, was too busy watching
what was going on to consider the likelihood of his boat going
aground.
The tide was at the ebb, and there was no likelihood of any of the
three fighting-ships getting off the shoals for hours. The Royal James
and the Henry had listed the same way, and now lay almost in line
with each other, so that the hull of the pirate ship was turned directly
toward the Charles Town sloop, while the deck of the latter was in full
view of the pirate, and only a pistol-shot away.
"They're more like two forts now than ships," said Nick. "There she
goes!"
Antony was yelling. The Henry had opened fire on the pirate ship. But
instantly the Royal James returned the fire with a broadside, which,
on account of its position, raked the open deck of the Henry.
"Those lads have got grit to stick to their guns!" cried Park, keeping
his smack bobbing on the waves at a safe distance. "They're using
their muskets, too!" Antony cheered every time shots blazed from the
Henry and held his breath to see what damage the answering fire of
the pirate did to his own townsmen.
The other Charles Town sloop, the Sea Nymph, was aground too far
down-stream to be of any help to her mate. Her crew, like the crew
of three in the fishing-smack, could only watch from a distance, and
cheer as the battle was waged back and forth.
And waged back and forth it was for a long time, while men were
shot down at the guns, and parts of each ship shot away, and the sea
scattered with wreckage, and the air filled with smoke and the heavy,
acrid odor of powder. "The pirate's getting the best of it," shouted
Simeon Park, after some time of fighting. It looked that way; her
crew were yelling exultantly, and her captain had called to the sloop,
demanding that the latter's crew haul down their flag in surrender.
At length, however, the tide began to turn, and with it the chance of
victory for the pirates. The Henry floated from the shoal first, and her
captain prepared to grapple with his enemy and board her. Then the
Sea Nymph floated, and headed up to aid her consort. The pirate
chief, seeing the chances now two to one against him, yelled to his
crew to fight harder than ever; and the Royal James blazed again and
again with broadsides, making a desperate stand, like a wild animal
brought to bay. The rail of the Henry was carried overboard, and to
the three in the fishing-smack it looked as if some of the crew had
gone over with it.
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