Within minutes, they came upon the boarding vessel, a Thames river hoy. The heavy sailing barge, about half the length of the Hudson, was attached to the looming sides of the packet with the grappling lines. They quietly tied up at the boat’s stern with the jolly boat’s painter, and without saying a word, the Spaniard clambered up the sides of the barge with his long knife in his hand. He had a fierce look on his face as if he felt he had a score to settle. The large form of Icelander followed closely behind, clutching a heavy, eight-inch-long capstan bar firmly with both hands.
Ochoa cut the grappling hook lines so the sailing barge now slowly drifted away from the packet. Both he and Icelander disappeared into the cabin house. Moments later through the gray mist, Morgan heard a man scream out in surprise, and then a gasp. This was followed by another man cursing loudly, and then the sound of a blow, a groan, and then silence. Morgan and Hiram looked at each other through the fog as they realized what they had just witnessed and heard.
Emerging from behind the cabin house, the Spaniard, his eyes glimmering with adrenaline, revealed his plan of action to the other three. They searched the ship and found the combustibles and gunpowder that they had expected to find. These river pirates were apparently planning to board the ship, and then burn it once they’d retrieved the more valuable cargo. Within five minutes, the Spaniard had lit a fire in the hold of the boat, and then jumped off into the Hudson’s jolly boat where the other three were waiting. They’d salvaged some guns, but everything else on board was now up in flames. The exploding fire on the barge lit up the water like a torch, creating an eerie glow through the fog.
It looked as though the Hudson’s sailors were holding off their attackers with a mixture of knives, kitchen cleavers, and belaying pins. The Spaniard’s plan soon became evident. The explosives on board the pirate’s barge went off in what sounded like dozens of cannons firing simultaneously. The two masts and the barge’s furled sails shot up in flames. The fighting on the deck of the Hudson stopped immediately, and the pirates, confused by the noise and the hypnotic sight of their burning vessel, momentarily seemed to lose the will to fight.
Sensing the tactical advantage, the captain ordered them to put their weapons down. The packet’s sailors easily outnumbered their attackers two to one, and they now formed a tight circle around them. The two sides were now just ten feet apart, and they seemed poised for a bloody close-in battle of stabbing and slashing. At that moment, a final huge explosion went off, and what remained of the fiery barge disappeared into the water, restoring a gray stillness to the fog-shrouded river.
“Put your weapons down,” Champlin reiterated. “Thrown ’em down or you will have breathed your last.”
One by one, the river thieves threw down their weapons.
When Morgan got back on board ship, the quarterdeck was a shocking sight, the white decks covered with blood, some of the Hudson’s crew nursing knife wounds. Three of the scuffle hunters were sprawled motionless on the blood-splattered deck. It looked like they were dead. Another three were down on their knees or squatting, clutching their wounds, grimacing in pain. Captain Champlin had received a blow on the head. The first officer’s shoulder was soaked in blood. All around him, Morgan could hear the cursing, the groaning, and the cries of pain. Scuttles emerged from the companionway with a bowl of hot water and an armful of bandages and began tending to the captain. Morgan eyed Mr. Brown briefly, but he was careful not to reveal any of his dark suspicions about the mate. Amazingly none of the Hudson’s sailors had been killed. The six men from the raiding party who were still standing were manacled and led forward into the steerage area, which was empty on this leg of the journey. Morgan and Icelander were ordered by the first mate to stand watch over them for the remainder of the trip up the Thames to London.
Under the flickering light of a lantern hung from the beams, Morgan studied his prisoners, who were squatting and clumped together in the center of the steerage compartment. Three of them were cut and bruised and needed medical attention. They were a rough group dressed in old trousers and patched shirts, their pale, haggard faces downcast. Morgan had seen this type before on the London docks. They looked like old, run-down sailors who had arrived at the end of the road and had nothing to lose.
“Why did you attack us?” Morgan angrily asked one of the pirates who seemed to be looking in his direction.
At first there was no response, and then the man grunted a reply.
“Cos yer bloody Yankees, that’s why.”
“What do you mean by that?” asked Morgan.