If the Atlantic Ocean is associated with mystery and romance, it is associated with tragedy too. Alas! how many of its tragedies are unrecorded upon the pages of history! Until the sea gives up its dead, many of the deeds that have been perpetrated upon its bosom will remain as obscure as the treasures at the base of its restless waters.

Off the coast of Newfoundland many were the diabolical deeds of pirates in the days that are no more. Very few have found their way to the written page, but the fishermen have handed them down by word of mouth from generation to generation. The following tale of plunder and carnage by the pirates of the eighteenth century was given to the writer by a Newfoundlander, who received it from the lips of the grandson of the hero.

The hero was crossing the Atlantic as a cabin-boy on a vessel trading between England and Newfoundland. The vessel made excellent progress, and the crew were in jubilant spirits, anticipating a safe arrival at their destined haven, where they would discharge cargo and load up fish for the English market. But as they drew near to the shore of Newfoundland, they sighted a ship in the distance bearing down upon them. In a short time the black flag was run up on the approaching vessel, and all knew that a pirate bold was chasing them. To escape was impossible, as the pirate showed herself a much smarter vessel than the merchantman. There was no means of escape from the deadly ship. She was bound for plunder, and therefore neither property nor life would hinder her crew in their villainous work. They knew that the merchant ship was outward bound, and in her lockers would be gold wherewith to purchase her homeward cargo. They were after this gold, for the greed of their calling had entirely overcome them.

After a broadside or two from the pirate the merchant ship hove up, and was soon boarded by their enemies. Mercy there was none, and death and carnage were on every hand.

Our hero was the youngest of the crew, and he looked in horror at the butchery about him. His shipmates, who a few hours before were so hopeful and buoyant, were all murdered before his eyes, or had been made to walk the plank. Somehow his life was spared, and when the pirates left the ship, they took him as a living prize, in addition to the ill-gotten gold which they had plundered. Thus the young English sailor became one of a pirate’s crew, and for a year or two he witnessed much of their deadly doings. He began to wonder how long he would be held a prisoner, and would a chance offer whereby he would be rescued from his captivity. The ship by which he was captured had made calls at different ports during his stay on board, and the last place she visited was within the headlands of Conception Bay, where the proceeds of their ocean chase, in the form of money and plate, had been buried.

It was on one of these occasions that the daring pirate met her own doom, and, like the merchant ship which she had destroyed, she too went to the bottom. At the place mentioned the booty was hidden, and a few days were taken for the purpose of refitting. This done, the anchors were weighed, and sail was set for another cruise. Just as everything was in full swing a sail hove in sight, and the pirate thought that more prey was within her reach. But she very soon discovered her mistake, and realized her own danger, for as the ships neared each other their true colours were seen, and their opposite characters clearly known. One was a pirate, the other a British man-o’-war—a frigate. At once the frigate gave chase, and the pirate made a desperate effort to outsail her; but the odds were too great: the man-o’-war was too many guns for her, and so her doom was fixed.

The commander of the pirate, on seeing his predicament, called all the crew to the quarter, and told them that he would prefer death to capture, and that rather than be beaten he would blow up his ship. With this he took his stand near the powder magazine. Our young hero was well aft at the time, and, like all his companions, he saw death only a few minutes from him. Closer and closer the frigate came, and yet the bold pirate struck not his flag. To the last minute he bade defiance to his pursuers. The first shot from the frigate struck the pirate’s mizzen-mast and shattered it to pieces. Hope was now gone, and the bold pirate saw his doom was near at hand. He had waylaid many a ship and put to death many a brave crew, but now the tables were turned, and upon his own head his deeds were to be visited. Thus when the critical moment came he fired the magazine, and in a few minutes it was all over. The explosion was terrific. Shattered and blackened, the pirate heeled over, and, with most of her crew, found a resting-place at the bottom of the waters between Bell Island and the mainland.

The hero of our story, on seeing the captain fire the magazine, made a desperate effort to escape, and jumped off the ship’s stern as far as he could leap. This action gave him some space, as he had the leap from the taffrail, in addition to the little distance that the ship would sail in the few last minutes. Being able to swim, he had not much difficulty in keeping himself afloat until the boats from the frigate picked him up. He, of course, had nothing to fear. What meant death to his captors was life and freedom for him. Even if his ship had not been blown up, and they had all been captured, he would have escaped any blame whatever.

On being rescued and taken on board the frigate, he told his story—how the ship had been captured and her crew murdered. The frigate continued her course, and, running out of the bay, she scoured the ocean in quest of any other such ships as that she had so recently defeated.

At the expiration of her commission she returned to England, and in due time our sailor lad arrived at his home, after an absence of four years, during which time he had been mourned as lost. The English lad did not know exactly in what spot the treasure was buried, as he was not taken in the boat when it was hidden. He acquainted the captain of the frigate of its whereabouts, however; but as at that date all those places were thickly wooded, it was not likely that the spot could be located without much research. The ship, therefore, did not delay for any length of time in such an out-of-the-way place.

This is only one of the many pirate tales told by the fishermen of Newfoundland. In the long cold winter evenings, when the family gather around the stove in the kitchen, the grey-haired sea-rovers love to relate thrilling tales of the old pirate days, and the same tales, I suppose, will be handed down from generation to generation.