EVERY man develops during the period of his growth a certain amount of nerve-power. This energy or life in his system will usually last him, with ordinary care, twoscore or more years before it fails. Sometimes it is used prodigally, and the man suffers the consequence by becoming a debtor to nature. It is this that makes the ending of many overbold men out of keeping with their lives. Some religious enthusiasts would have it that they are repentant towards the end of their careers,—that is, if they have not led conventional lives,—and that accounts for their general break-down from the high courage shown during their prime. Among sailors, soldiers, hunters, and others who live hard lives of exposure, the strain is sometimes peculiarly apparent.

It is often the case that the man of hard life dies before his life-flame burns low, and then he is sometimes classed as a hero. For instance, the captain of the Penguin, who ran his ship ashore on the North Head of San Francisco Bay, was the most notorious desperado in the whole Cape Horn fleet. Many men who sailed with him never saw the land again. Their names appeared upon his log as “missing,” “lost overboard in heavy weather,” etc. Investigation of such matters resulted in nothing but expense to the courts and the development of the ruffian’s sinister character and reputation. Yet when he ran the Penguin ashore with the terrible southeast sea rolling behind her, he maintained his rigid discipline to the last and saved his passengers and part of his crew. He died as a brave man should, never flinching from his post until his life was crushed out.

There were some who said he dared not come ashore, as he had overrun his distance through carelessness, and that without the backing of his ship’s owners he would have been stranded in a bad way upon the beach. But the majority were willing to forget his record in his gallant end, and he will be known in the future by the men who follow deep-water as a hero.

Craven, the pirate, was a much bolder and desperate man, yet his end was different. He hailed from the same port as the skipper of the Penguin, and sailed with the Cape Horn fleet in its early days.

He retired from the sea at the age of thirty-five and settled on the southern coast of California, taking to farming with that peculiar zeal shown by all deep-water sailors. He fell desperately in love, married, and the following year shot and killed a man who was less pious than polite in his behavior towards Craven’s wife.

After this affair he fled. Nothing was heard of him again for several years, but as he was an expert navigator it was supposed he took to the sea for safety.

One day an American trader was standing in the Hoogla River, China, when a junk appeared heading for her under all sail. Behind the junk, about a mile to windward, came a trading schooner. The Chinese on the junk made desperate efforts to overtake the American ship. When they came within hailing distance they begged to be allowed alongside.

The skipper of the Yankee warned them off with his guns, and ten minutes later the schooner had laid the junk aboard. There was some sharp firing for a few minutes, and then the Americans saw the men from the schooner swarm over the junk’s deck. After that Chinamen were dropped overboard in twos and threes, and before they had drawn out of sight ahead the schooner was standing away again, leaving the junk a burning wreck. When the ship made harbor they learned that Craven had appeared on the coast. He had been there the preceding year and had been recognized. Altogether it was said he had taken over five hundred junks and put their crews overboard. The captain of the American ship reported the incident he had just witnessed to the English gunboat Sovereign, but no action was taken in the matter. There was no treaty between the United States and China, and, as Craven was an American, it was a case for the Chinese to settle.

Craven had been on the coast several times. He had a rendezvous to the eastward somewhere among the numerous coral reefs, and from this den he would sally forth in his schooner, armed with six twelve-pounders, and swoop down upon some unsuspecting Chinese town. His boldness was remarkable.

Once he held a whole village in check single-handed while his men carried a boat-load of young maidens aboard the schooner, and then returned for the rest of their booty left upon the sand. It was said that had the emperor himself been within a day’s journey of the coast, Craven would have had him aboard his vessel to gratify his sinister humor.

His cruelty was phenomenal. A favorite amusement of his being to tie two Chinamen together by their pigtails and sling them across a spring-stay. Then he would offer freedom to the one who would demolish the other the quicker. It was seldom that he failed to produce a horrible spectacle.

On one occasion when he captured a prominent mandarin he asked an enormous ransom. Not getting it within the time specified, he had the unfortunate man skinned and stuffed. Then he was carried ashore and left standing for his friends to greet.

Craven’s crew numbered less than twenty-five men, and they were all white, except two or three who acted as servants to the rest, taking a hand in the fracases only when ordered to.

It might be supposed that the pirate wasted much time and energy for little gain taking junks. He dared not touch a white trader, and the junks were the easiest to handle. There was little left for him to prey upon, so he went along the Chinese coast like a ravenous shark, leaving a smoking wake behind, strewn with the blackened timbers of burned junks and dotted with the corpses of murdered men. Everything Chinese was game for his crew, and what he lost in quality of plunder he made up in quantity.

While the American ship lay in the Hoogla an accident occurred aboard which delayed her departure. During the time spent in making some of the necessary repairs Craven appeared at the mouth of the river, and was so bold that the English gunboat was at last prevailed upon to drive him away. The Sovereign met him some twenty miles off shore in the act of scuttling a captured junk. This was too much for the Englishman, and he fired a shot to drive him off. To his surprise Craven returned the fire. That settled the matter. The heavy Blakely rifle on the gunboat’s forecastle was trained upon the schooner, and it sent a shell that cut both masts out of her and left her helpless. Craven returned the fire with vigor, landing several telling shots. A heavy shell from the rifle was then fired at half a mile range, and struck the schooner in the stern above the water-line. It ranged forward, raking her whole length, and left her a burning wreck. She began settling rapidly by the head, and the gunboat, firing a parting broadside, which destroyed the schooner’s two boats, drew slowly away. The Englishman waited within sight until the schooner disappeared beneath the sea, and then, thinking it would be more merciful to let the crew remain in the water than to bring them ashore, steamed away for the river.

A few weeks after this a Spanish brig came in. She was a trader bound south, and the mate of the American ship made arrangements to take passage on her as far as Singapore to get some necessary supplies for his vessel.

The first person he met on rowing over to the brig to secure a passage was a small, peculiarly yellow man with a Spanish cast of features, who met him at the gangway and asked him his business before allowing him to come aboard. On telling his desire to secure a passage to the southward, he was peremptorily refused; but when he explained his business was urgent and that he had many necessary supplies to secure, the man at the gangway reconsidered the matter, and bade him wait alongside until he could consult his skipper, who was below suffering from an attack of gout in his leg.

In a little while he reappeared at the brig’s side and announced gruffly that he might bring his things aboard the following morning, as that was the time set for the brig’s sailing.

The next day the mate, Mr. Camp, came aboard the brig, and soon afterwards she was standing out to sea. There were two passengers besides himself aboard, Manila traders, who had come over from the Philippines and who wished to get to the southward.

When the brig had made an offing, Camp was surprised at the appearance of a most peculiar looking colored man, who limped up the companion-way to the poop. His skin was an orange-yellow, and appeared dry and dark in spots. His right leg was swathed in bloody rags, and he limped as if in some pain. He had an eye that glinted strangely as the mate came within its range of vision, and his face wore the determined look of a fighter who is making a desperate stand against heavy odds. In a quiet voice he addressed the man who had made the arrangement with the mate, Mr. Camp.

“Collins,” said he, “get me the glass. I believe I see a couple of birds making in along the beach for the harbor.” This he said in good English, with a slight Yankee accent, and Camp turned in astonishment to look at him more closely.

The man Collins, who was the mate of the brig, handed him the glass, and after a moment Craven laid it down with an oath.

“The two fellows we missed last week. They’ll loose off at having seen us, and that gunboat will be hard in our wake before night. You might send a few men aft to get to work on our passengers. They are poor whelps.”

Camp went towards him.

“I don’t understand what you mean by that last remark,” said he. “I am an American and wish a certain amount of civility aboard here.”

The skipper smiled grimly at him and sat upon the poop-rail.

“You’ll get the best the coast affords, my boy,” said he. “You’ll be a gentleman of leisure after you quit this hooker. This is the brig Cristobal, Captain Craven; and now you can make up your mind whether you will be a member of the ship’s company or try and float a twelve-pound shot. It’s piracy, says you? Well, it’s swim, then, says we, and good luck to you,” and he chuckled hoarsely, while several men came aft and stood by the mate for further orders.

Camp saw that it was death in a hideous form to disobey. Both he and the two Manila men were led below, where they swore allegiance to Craven and joined his crew. In a crisis of this nature a man even of strong mould is apt to think twice before accepting the inevitable. Time is valuable when one has but a few moments to live, and to gain it these three innocent men were glad to accept any terms. They were sent forward with the men and joined the crew, which now numbered fourteen hands. Here they learned how Craven and four men had clung to some of the wreck of his schooner for two days. Then the brig Cristobal picked them up in an exhausted state. Two days later Craven and his fellows quietly dropped the skipper overboard and announced to the crew their intention of taking charge of the brig. All who wished to could join. There were six unarmed men against five desperadoes armed to the teeth, and in a short time matters were settled satisfactorily. Craven was in command of a vessel and crew bound for China from the Philippines, and it was his humor to keep her on her course and have a look at things in the harbor. This he did to his satisfaction, and no opportunity offering for him to revenge himself upon the gunboat there, he took on some supplies and put to sea. When he met Camp at the break of the poop after the latter had joined, he became more communicative than usual.

“This color we have will soon wear off, my boy,” said he. “Collins there thought he knew something about medicine, and he broke open the medicine chest to get this iodine to paint us with. He’s a clown. The infernal stuff burned half the skin off, and that accounts for his looks. Where’s the skipper of this hooker, says you? Well, that depends somewhat on his morals. I don’t call to mind any island trader as will go to the heaven some old women pray for. A trader’s life is always a hard one, so I don’t think we did any harm in helping the fellow to something different, although he did struggle mighty hard to stay. Some religious people would call it bad to put yellow-skinned heathen overboard, but we don’t look at it that way. Most of these junk-men are no better than animals, and we do them a clean favor by ending their sufferings. Yes, sir, that’s the way to look at the matter, my son. There isn’t a man alive who can look back and see anything in his life worth living for and suffering for. It’s all in his mind’s eye that something will be better in the future. We know that’s all blamed nonsense, for that something better never comes, so in helping him to what’s coming to all of us we just do him a favor. Now, you are a likely chap, Camp, and I hope you’ll see the reason of things. Go below and tell one of the girls we got yesterday to give you your grog. Collins has the key. Then you want to bear a hand and get our little battery in working order. We’ll raise half a dozen junks before night and we’ve got a little business with the first one.”

In a short time all hands were hard at work getting the brig’s twelve-pounders in working order. In the late afternoon a lateen-sail showed above the horizon, and everything was ready for action. By night the junk ahead was still out of range, and the watch was set, and half the men went below to get some rest.

At two in the morning Camp was turned out, and the smudge on the lee bow showed that the brig would soon have the wind of the unsuspecting Chinaman. In half an hour Craven had him under his lee, and he paid off gradually until he brought him fair on his lee broadside, not two hundred feet distant. Then he swung up his ports and let go his battery, serving it with remarkable accuracy and rapidity.

The astonished Chinaman let go everything in the way of running gear, and the junk, which was running free, broached to and lay helpless, wallowing in the swell, with her deck crowded with screaming men. Craven then brought the Cristobal to, and taking the boat with four men, carried a line to the junk, and soon had her alongside.

The Chinamen were bound hand and foot after several who showed fight were killed. Then Craven had them transferred to the Cristobal, and with untiring energy went to work to transfer his ammunition and guns to the junk. It was noon before this was accomplished, and then he told the Chinaman who was the junk’s captain that he really owed him much for swapping such a fine Spanish brig for his worthless old hulk. In consideration of this debt he requested him to keep the brig on her course to the Peninsula, and crowd on all sail if he saw an English gunboat in his wake. If he failed, and showed such ingratitude as to disobey this request during the next twenty-four hours, he hinted in a mild way that he would overhaul him, and then fry him in whale-oil and serve him to his shipmates. As Craven was never known to make an idle threat, the conversation had its desired effect. The Cristobal stood away on her course with a Chinese crew, and Craven, bracing his lateen-sail sharp on the wind, headed slowly back again over the course he had just run.

About eight bells in the afternoon the Sovereign was sighted dead ahead. She was driving along full speed with a bone in her teeth. That is, with the bow wave roaring off on either side in a snowy-white smother, looking like a great white streak against her dark cut-water.

She passed within hailing distance, and Craven kept below the rail and rubbed his wounded leg while he smiled grimly.

“I’ve a notion to let go at her,” said he to Camp. “We could slap a couple of twelves into her before she knew what was up. I’d like to see her skipper with a couple of shot through his teakettle before he knew where he was at. Jim, suppose you lay the port guns on her.”

But Collins had sense enough not to get the guns trained in time. In ten minutes the gunboat was a speck on the horizon.

Craven knew she would overhaul the brig in a few hours, but hoped his merciful attack on the junk’s crew would lessen the heat of the chase. He might have sunk her and escaped, but his fancy took a different turn, and he played his game out.

Before sundown he was rapidly nearing the China coast and several junks were made out ahead. All hands, tired as they were, turned out and stood by for a fracas. It was not long in coming.

The nearest junk was laid close under Craven’s lee and the Chinamen could be seen crowding about her decks. He was so close a conversation could be carried on with the men on the junk, and the rush of the foam under her forefoot sounded loud upon Camp’s ears.

Craven let go his port broadside into her without warning. In five minutes he had her alongside. Several of her crew were dead, but he lost no time in transferring the living to his junk and making them lend a hand to shift his guns again. Then he sailed away with his battery transferred for the second time.

Craven fought his way up the coast, shifting his guns and ammunition from vessel to vessel at every available opportunity. Towns that had been warned of his approach in a junk, would see a peaceful trading schooner come quietly into the harbor at dusk. Nothing would be thought of this until in the early hours of the morning a heavy cannonade would arouse his victims, and those who survived would see the finest vessel there standing out to sea in tow of a schooner that fairly disappeared in the smoke of her own guns. The pirate had ammunition in plenty within three days’ sail of Hong-Kong, and he dodged everything sent after him for nearly a year. He kept the sea with remarkable cunning, and his absolute fearlessness won him many recruits.

Once he was heard from far down the Straits of Malacca, where he engaged a Malay pirate for several hours whose crew outnumbered his ten to one. He finally sank her with all hands.

A few months after this he again fell in with the gunboat Sovereign. He was sailing a huge junk at this time, and under this disguise came near escaping again. He was recognized, however, and captured with his entire crew. They were taken to Hong-Kong. Here he was confined for nearly a year, an object of curiosity, until they were ready to cut off his head.

He and his men were led out every day or two and held in line while the swordsman walked along them with upraised blade. When this grim executioner had chosen a man, which he did at random, he would bring the weapon down suddenly upon the back of his neck. This was trying on the nerves of those of the crew who had to look on. No one knew just when his turn would come.

Craven, however, stood it well for a month or two and was apparently indifferent to the sight of death, but the long strain of hunting his fellow-men and of being hunted in turn by them had done its work. His nervous energy had been pretty well used up. One day a trader came into the harbor and brought a woman to the English consul’s. She claimed to be Craven’s wife. It took some time before she could get to see her husband, but through the consul’s influence she finally did. Then came the break in the man’s nerve.

From that time on he trembled when the sword struck. At the end of a week he was hysterical, and they had to hold him when they brought him out. His sole idea now was to live to see the woman who had caused his ruin. This he struggled and cried for, and the idea of separating from her again caused him more agony than one can well conceive.

The Chinese are always particular that great criminals of theirs shall get great punishments. Craven’s sufferings were prolonged as much as possible. There were forty men of his crew taken with him, and he had seen the heads of nearly all cut off. When his turn came, and it was next the last, he screamed shrilly as the swordsman swung up the blade two or three times over the victim’s head before giving the final stroke. Craven was trembling all over. He cried and begged for a little delay. His horror of death was terrible, and he pleaded to see his wife once more. The idea of separating from her now forever was more than he could stand, and it caused the greatest possible amusement to the on-lookers. They laughed and drew their long pigtails upward, meaningly, in derision. When the sword fell, Craven had gone entirely to pieces and died the death of a most pitiable coward.

Camp, who was the only man left, finally managed to get the English consul to intercede in his behalf. He was afterwards released, but his sufferings had been so great during his imprisonment that he died soon afterwards.