into every corner of the ragged coast-line. Their
trade was hampered, their ships compelled to remain in port, or--if
they ventured out--they were inevitably captured. The situation was
unbearable.

"My! My!" said one of the red-faced merchants. "My! My! We must have a
remedy for this. My! My! We must have our own privateers!"

"Well spoken," cried another. "And I know the very man to help us out.
He is living here, now, and his name is Fortunatus Wright. Gentlemen!
I tell you he is a true sea-dog! He is the fellow to cripple these
saucy, French bushwhackers of the sea."

"Hear! Hear!" cried others.

And thus Mr. Fortunatus Wright was sought for, and was asked:

"Will you take charge of a privateer for the British merchants of
Leghorn? Will you chase these rascally Frenchmen? Will you cripple
their operations? Will you chastise these sea-robbers?"

To this Mr. Fortunatus Wright, being a true seaman with the love of
the salt water tugging at his heart strings, is said to have remarked,

"Whoop-ee!"

Which being interpreted means:

"Gentlemen, I'm dee-lighted!"

As luck would have it, there was a vessel lying in the harbor which
was directly available. She was a brigantine called the _Fame_, and,
although we know little about her tonnage and the number of stout
sea-dogs whom she could carry, it is apparent that Fortunatus Wright
considered her most admirably suited for his venture. At any rate he
soon boarded her, swore in a crew of stalwart seamen, and saw that
plenty of gunpowder, cutlasses, boarding-pikes and muskets were
aboard.

It was September, 1746, and, before the close of the month of
December, the _Fame_ had captured eighteen prizes, one of which was a
hulking, French privateer with twenty guns and one hundred and fifty
men, especially fitted out to put an end to the career of the vessel
of Fortunatus Wright. They had met off the port of Messina and had had
a roaring, little scrimmage, but--seeing that matters were going ill
with him--the French captain had cried:

"Run for the shore! Run our ship aground! We will fix her so that this
English hound cannot make a prize of us!"

"Voila! Voila!" his men had shouted. "Oui! We will f-e-e-x th-e-es
Eengleesh chien! Oui! Au revoir, Monsieur Wright!"

So saying, the privateer had been run upon the sandy beach, bows on,
where her crew took to the brush, yelling derisively at the _Fame_ as
she came up within hail,--sails snug down so as to move cautiou