Antony Waymouth: or, The Gentlemen Adventurers

In an instant every man, accustomed to the commanding voice of his chief, was actively employed. Ropes and broken spars were quickly severed, and the shattered masts and their heavy rigging were soon floating away astern. The huge foresail, which had hitherto threatened to tear the mast out of the ship, was skilfully reefed, and with somewhat diminished speed the Lion plunged onward through the foaming ocean. Still the rate at which she drove was far too great for safety, yet all had been done that could be done, and Waymouth and his followers resigned themselves like brave believing men to the rule of Him who rules the universe, and without whose will not a sparrow falls to the ground. As they tore on, the masts of a tall ship appeared ahead. Her more lofty spars and masts were snugly housed, and with the little sail she carried, evenly balanced, she rode hove to nearly head to wind. On, on drove the Lion. It was feared that she might strike the stranger. With difficulty this was avoided. People were seen on the stranger’s deck, but no assistance could be expected from them. No flag flew from her peak. Her nation could not be ascertained; she might be a Hollander or a Portugal – scarcely English, from the appearance of the people and her build; certainly not one of Admiral Wood’s squadron. The people on board waved and shouted, but their voices were unheard. A board was shown, but ere what was written on it could be deciphered the Lion had driven a long way by. Soon the stranger was lost to sight; no aid could be hoped for from her. On, on drove the once-gallant Lion, now, a helpless wreck on the waste of waters. Far from abating, the fury of the storm increased. Another damage was discovered; the wreck of the mast had struck the rudder, and now a sea carried it away. Dreadfully the battered ship laboured through the foaming seas. The well was sounded. Aghast, the carpenters declared that there were seven feet of water in the hold.

“To the pumps! to the pumps!” was the cry.

The diminished crew began to labour at the pumps, but weakened by disease they could hardly gain on the water. Buckets were employed, and those who could not work at the pumps passed them from hand to hand from below, but even thus but little progress was made in freeing the ship. All hands must work. The arch-mutineer Hagger was released from his shackles, and came to take his spell at the pumps. Without remonstrance he obeyed, though somewhat sulkily. The sick came from below, but soon sank overcome with the exertion. Others, too, who had hitherto escaped were struck by the fever. Those whom the sea had spared disease now grasped, and the numbers of the crew of the ill-fated Lion began again fearfully to diminish. Still the gale blew, and still the ship drove on. At last, the almost unknown Pacific was entered. What land would bring them up no one could tell.

They had no chart to guide – no knowledge of the unmeasured ocean across which they were driving. Thus the Lion helplessly pursued her course, the sport of the raging tempest, and vanished, as it were, into obscurity.

Chapter Nine

We left Antony Waymouth and his companions in misfortune on board the ill-starred Lion, which was driving at furious speed across the wide Pacific. For many days no observation had been taken, for neither sun nor stars had been visible. One compass alone remained uninjured, and that told them that their course was still easterly, and some began to assert that they would meet with no land till they struck on the vast continent of America. Would their crazy, battered bark float as long? Would their provisions and water hold out till they could reach some hospitable shore? No longer was the once docile ship under control; the rudder had been carried away, and with the scant materials at their disposal they could not construct a new one, nor while the sea ran so high could they attempt to rig it. The foresail still stood and dragged the ship forward, nor could it with safety be lowered, for without it she might have broached to, and all on board have been swept from the decks. By constant bailing and labouring at the pumps the leaks could with difficulty be kept under. Yet hope in the bosoms of Waymouth, Raymond, Ap Reece, and some of the braver spirits, was not extinct. The more ignorant men, however, began to despair, and would, had not strict watch been kept, have broken into the spirit-room and drunk till they became unconscious of all that was occurring around.

The fever caught at Bantam had not yet left the crew, and many still lay struck down by it in their berths, while one or more continued every day to be added to the list of victims. Not a day passed that one was not carried off. No one knew who would next be called away. Seldom that more than one died in the day, yet that circumstance seemed to create greater terror than had several died together. “Who has gone to-night?” was the question asked by the survivors as each morning they met on deck after their troubled rest below. Thus gradually the crew diminished in numbers. How valueless appeared the wealth they had with so much toil and danger collected! Of the officers, Waymouth, Raymond, Carlingford, and Ap Reece, with Master Walker and the two young cabin-boys, were the only ones who had hitherto escaped. All the rest whose names have not been mentioned in this chronicle had sunk under the fell disease. Honest Dick Lizard was among the survivors, and so likewise were Hagger and Soper, and several of the mutineers. Including them, of seamen, soldiers, and idlers or landsmen not a score and a half still lived. Master Walker had not exhorted in vain, and, abashed and confounded, many of the mutineers believed that they had by their crime brought down the vengeance of Heaven on their heads.

Still Hagger and others clung to the idea of possessing the gold, and, hoping that the ship would escape foundering, waited for an opportunity to make off with it, though not knowing whither they could go. They had set their hearts on the gold, though, like the miser gloating over his hoard, they did not recollect how utterly without value it would be unless it could be exchanged for objects they might require.

For many days the storm had continued without abating. With short intervals of rest, every one on board had laboured at the pumps, and the full, clear streams which flowed from the scuppers as the ship rolled from side to side showed the quantity of water which found an entrance between the planks. Now, as on she drove amidst mist and spray, dim outlines might be seen of land, or seeming land, often high as if composed of mountain-ranges, at other times low, like banks just rising above the water. Some, however, deemed the forms but those of clouds either floating high in the sky or resting on the ocean, and that could they have approached the spots where they were supposed to be, they would have vanished from the sight.

For several days no such appearances were observed; then, again, more were seen, and once more the ship drove on without a break in the circle of the horizon. At length the storm gave signs of breaking – the seas began to lessen in height, and the wind to howl less shrilly through the rigging of the remaining masts. Almost as suddenly as it had commenced, the tempest ceased, and the sea, no longer stirred by its power, went rapidly down.

Next day, as the sun rose brilliantly over the waste of waters, the wind fell altogether. Not a ripple broke the glass-like surface of the ocean; there was a perfect calm. Slowly at first the huge ship rolled from side to side, and then by degrees all movement ceased, and she lay like a log on the watery waste. No longer tossed to and fro, the planks between which the sea had found an entrance closed, and the pumps gained triumphantly on the leak. Waymouth, with his few surviving officers and friends, stood on the deck of the shattered bark; the crew lay or sat grouped about forward.

It was evident to the officers that no longer had they power to guide their ship, and it was proposed to build a boat and in her seek some island where at all events they might find food and water, and no longer be the sport of the elements.

Waymouth shook his head.

“I in no wise object, gentlemen and dear friends, to build a boat,” he observed. “By her means we may guide our ship into a port; but while a plank of her holds together, I, her captain, can by no means desert her. Others may do as they judge convenient – I will not counsel; but my maxim has ever been to stay by the ship to the last.”

“And I, dear friend, will stay by you!” exclaimed Raymond, stepping forward and grasping Waymouth’s hand. “We are in the power of Providence, and if it is thought fit that we die on some foreign strand why should we complain? Or, if not, the means will be found by which once more we may visit our native shores.”

“Well spoken and truly,” said Master Walker. “I, too, will abide with our brave captain and share his fortunes.”

“I never thought of doing otherwise,” cried Ap Reece, “for, to say the truth, I was sure that the knaves who would have deserted him would not be worth caring for.”

The two cabin-boys declared that their only wish was to remain with their brave captain.

A boat, however, must be built as the surest means of guiding the ship into a harbour or to an anchorage, and at once all hands set to work to accomplish the object. Planks, and ribs, and nails enough for the purpose were found, and all worked most diligently. There was no idleness now. No one showed greater zeal than Peter Hagger and his former associates. Waymouth, in the generosity of his heart, believed that he was desirous of making amends for his former misconduct.

The boat was of good size, so that she might, if it was required, carry all hands, either should the ship be about to sink, or be driven against rocks, or cast on shore. Masts and sails were fitted to her, and long sweeps, at each of which two men might pull. She was speedily ready, and with reason, for no one could tell at what moment she might be wanted.

“I hope that we may not want her to carry us all, for it would be a brave thing to take back the good ship, if so be we may find a harbour of refuge to refit,” observed the captain as he contemplated the boat just completed.

The storm had continued long, but it seemed as if the calm was about to continue for a still longer period. Day after day the sun rose and shed a hot glare over the glass-like surface of the ocean; but there the storm-battered ship lay like a deserted wreck, scarcely capable of holding human beings, so forlorn and helpless she looked. Hopeless was the attempt to rig jury-masts, for not a spar remained of a size sufficient to bear a sail. Exertions, however, were made to build a rudder, by which, when the breeze returned, the ship might be guided free from any dangers which might appear ahead, or steered towards a promising anchorage. Materials, however, were scanty, and little expectation was entertained that it would stand any rough usage of the sea. Death, in taking away so many of the crew, had left fewer mouths to feed, and thus there appeared to be a sufficiency of provisions to last for many months, and of water there were many casks full.

Strange to narrate, the fever at length, in spite of the calm, had quitted the ship; those who had last been taken ill were recovering, and the spirits of all somewhat revived. They expected deliverance of some sort, though they could not tell whence it might come. Some had spoken with seamen who had sailed with the famous Sir Francis Drake, and they told of beautiful islands with lofty hills, and fountains of bright waters, and groves of cocoa-nuts, and many trees with delicious fruits, and roots of various descriptions fit for food, so easy of cultivation that the happy natives lived at ease without the necessity of labour. They failed not, also, to tell of other advantages peculiarly attractive to the taste of seamen. It is not surprising that the delights offered by a life in one of these happy islands became the constant theme of conversation among the seamen, till they began to persuade themselves, that, although their gold might be of little value, they might pass their days with no small amount of contentment.

Few on board felt their situation more painfully than Edward Raymond. For the sake of one he dearly loved he had become an adventurer that he might make his fortune. He had obtained the wealth he coveted, and now it appeared that he was doomed never to enjoy it.

While the gale lasted the ship was driving onward, and might in reality be approaching home, but now she was motionless, and it seemed that thus she might remain till their food should be exhausted and all should die, and the rigging should rot, and the bulwarks and decks decay, and at length the ship herself go down into the depths of the sea. That such had been the fate of many a stout ship with her gallant crew there could be no doubt. Waymouth fully believing, however, that some island would be reached ere long where provisions and water could be obtained, had in no way stinted the crew of their usual allowance. One day, however, the carpenter desired to speak with him. His countenance, expressive of consternation, showed that something was very wrong.

“What ails it with thee?” asked the captain, concealing his own anxiety.

“An’ it please your honour, the casks which I deemed full of water have leaked till not a drop in most of them remains,” was the appalling answer. “We have not water for another three days.”

“Bad news indeed, Master Auger, but, ere three days are over, maybe we shall reach some green island where there will be no lack of water and other things to refresh the men,” answered the captain calmly. “Make not the news public, however. We must lessen the allowance, and trust that a good Providence will send us relief.”

More than ever was a breeze prayed for. All on board were placed on an allowance of water sufficient only to moisten their parched tongues; yet even thus, as the calm continued, it appeared too likely that it would altogether fail. Gladly would the hapless crew have given all the gold on board the Lion for a few casks of the precious fluid. Waymouth made every effort to keep them employed. A great object was to ascertain the situation of the chief leaks; and this by perseverance he was enabled to do, as well as to stop them. By making the men constantly bathe he prevented them feeling so much as they might have done the want of fresh water; but, in spite of all his watchful care, there were some bad hearts among the crew who did not cease to plot against him. For a time, notwithstanding all their trials and hardships, the bold Gentlemen Adventurers kept up a gallant appearance; but now, at length, their sufferings began to tell upon them, and their sunken eyes, hollow cheeks, and haggard looks told plainly what they endured. No longer in brave attire with elastic step they paced the deck, but unshaven and with unarranged garments they leaned against the bulwarks, or slowly dragged their feet for a few minutes where they were wont to walk so briskly.

With longing eyes the horizon was scanned for the signs of a coming breeze. The wind came at last from the west, and once more the ship moved slowly through the water. Hope revived. For two days she continued her course, towing after her the boat which had been launched during the calm in readiness for use. Again the fitful breeze ceased, and the ship lay motionless as before. A slight breeze came, and clouds assembled, and showers fell. The grateful rain was collected in sails and buckets, and saved by every means, and afforded important relief to all remaining on board. So light was the wind that it scarce moved the heavy ship through the water. Three more days passed, and once again the ship began to move. More and more rapidly she glided along towards the east.

“America will be reached at last, friends, and then it will be hard if some Spaniard fall not in our way whom we may compel to convoy us back to Old England,” observed Waymouth as he watched the progress of the ship through the water.

Once more the hearts of all on board revived; and well might they, for the sea was calm, the air pure, and the sun shone brightly from out of the blue firmament. Of provisions there were sufficient to last for some time, and the water, if husbanded with good care, might hold out till more rain should fall. The want, however, of fresh meat and vegetables began to tell, and that scourge of mariners, the scurvy, made its appearance. More than ever, therefore, did Waymouth desire to meet with some green island where his crew might refresh. The pleasant breeze continued, and wafted the ship along at moderate speed.

So limited was the number of officers that Waymouth took his watch like the rest. He had been on deck all the afternoon. Edward Raymond took the first night watch. He walked the deck thinking of home. Should he ever return there? Should he ever be united to her he loved? He believed in her truth and constancy, and until she received undoubted proof of his fate, she would not believe him lost. What a solace, what a pure delight was it to him to think of her, of her bright love, of all her noble qualities! He pitied his friend, and wished that he, too, had before he left England fixed his affections on one worthy of him. His watch at length was out, and he was relieved by Carlingford. The boatswain had appeared to be so completely contrite that he had been allowed to return to his duty, and was to have the morning watch.

Waymouth had slept longer than usual. He knew not how it was. More than once he had tried to arouse himself, and had again fallen off into slumber; while his cabin-boy had neglected to call him at the proper hour. At length he sprang up, and, dressing with the rapidity of a seaman, he hastened on deck. He gazed for a moment around with mute astonishment. No officer stood ready to receive him, not a man was to be seen on deck. The sails were lowered, and the ship lay motionless like a log upon the water. He looked astern; the boat was gone. A dreadful suspicion flashed across his mind: he was deserted. Yet could this be possible? Surely no. Raymond, his long-tried friend, the soul of honour – he would not have left him! Carlingford, the gallant seaman! Master Walker the minister, he surely was no hypocrite. Ap Reece, though hot-headed, was warm-hearted and true as steel. He shouted, again and again, “All hands on deck! all hands on deck! Your captain calls!” There was no reply. Was it fancy? A sound came forward. Before going there, he shouted once more down the after-hatchway. He had got down about half the length of the deck when Raymond’s voice arrested him. He for some moments could with difficulty comprehend what had happened. He, too, had likewise only just then awoke from an unusually sound sleep. Together they hastened forward. There lay, bound and gagged, Mr Carlingford, Dick Lizard, and several of the crew. They had all felt unusually drowsy on their watch. Suddenly they had been set upon by Hagger, Soper, and the wretches who had mutinied and been pardoned, and, before they could offer any resistance, they were all knocked down, prevented from crying out, and bound hand and foot. Several of the watch below were treated in the same manner, and without delay chests of treasure and provisions had been got up from the hold and placed in the boat, and the mutineers, leaping into her, after lowering the sails, had quitted the ship. For some time afterwards there had been a breeze, so that the sails in the boat must much have aided them in getting to a distance. Waymouth on hearing this at once suspected the whole plan of the treacherous plot which had been so successfully carried out. The mutineers had obtained some narcotic, with which he and his officers and the loyal part of the crew had been drugged, and thus the watch on deck had been easily overpowered, and allowed them time to load the boat with all they desired and to make their escape. The rest of the officers were found below, unconscious of what had happened; and Ap Reece, on awaking and examining his medicine stores, discovered that certain drugs had been abstracted which were calculated to produce sleep.

“Let the villains go. I wish them no further evil than their own deeds will assuredly produce,” said the captain.

“Add, my brother, that they may be led to see the error of their ways and repent,” said Master Walker. “They have souls, and those souls are precious; never let us forget that.”

A theft of far greater value than that of the gold was the two casks of water, one only, partly consumed, being left.

“It behooves us to husband this with even greater care than before, though we may be thankful that we have fewer mouths to consume it,” was the only remark made by the captain.

Still the truth must be said. The hearts of those left could not but burn with indignation at the treachery of their late shipmates. It was soon discovered to be even greater than at first supposed; for as soon as the sails were again set and hands were sent to the helm, it was found that the newly constructed rudder had been cut adrift, and that the ship was once more left without the means of being guided so as to escape a threatened danger or to enter a friendly port. Yet there was faith in the hearts of those brave men in God’s mercy, which had preserved them hitherto so long, not in their own strength and wisdom, which they had found so utterly to fail them, and they did not despair.

Towards evening a breeze arose, and once more they were wafted onward in the same direction as before. Such means as seamen have often used were employed to guide the ship, by towing several boards, weighted at one end, astern; but they only served to keep her head in one direction. All night long they sailed calmly on. When morning broke there was a cry, “Land, land on the larboard bow!” The sun arose, the blue sea sparkled brightly, and a lovely island appeared, with yellow sand fringed by palms and numerous graceful trees and shrubs, and picturesque hills covered with wood, and waterfalls dashing down amid rocks, and pure streams flowing towards the ocean, and blue mountains rising towards the sky in the distance. The ship glided on, nearing the shore. Should she cast anchor there? A boat was seen ahead. It was their own boat, carried off by the mutineers. There was a calm spot between the rocks; the boat ran in. The ship’s course would carry her clear of the land unless great efforts were made to guide her in. They watched with anxiety the proceedings of those in the boat. From amid the beautiful groves numerous bands of natives rushed out. Their skins were dark; their hair strangely dressed. They had bows and large clubs in their hands. Those in the boat made signs to show that they desired to be friendly, but the dark-skinned natives disregarded them. The seamen endeavoured to shove off, but the savages, sending a thick flight of arrows, rushed into the water and seized the boat. The hapless crew in vain endeavoured to defend themselves. The savages surrounded them, grappled with them, tore them from the boat with uplifted clubs, and ere many seconds had passed their brains were scattered on the sands. The remaining crew of the Lion gazed with horror on the scene. Not one of their late shipmates remained alive. Truly had retribution speedily overtaken them.

Quickly, however, the savages were seen to be launching canoes of large dimensions, each capable of containing three to five score of men. It was evident that pursuit was intended. The Lion’s guns might have put them to the rout, but her powder had been well-nigh expended, and the little that remained had been greatly damaged by the water.

Had the ship been under proper government, she might, it was supposed, have run down the canoes, or, at all events, have avoided them, and not allowed them to come alongside; but as it was, there appeared great probability that the fate of the mutineers might be theirs. Still, like brave men, they felt that they had to do their best and leave the rest to Providence. Thus, with the little powder they possessed fit for use, four of the after-guns and a number of the small arms were loaded, and they continued their course. Should any reef be in the way on which it should be their fate to strike, they knew that their fate must be sealed. They could see the black savages making violent and threatening gesticulations as they laboured at forcing their canoes into the water. Happily the operation was a long one. The canoes when afloat appeared even larger than on shore; they were like two large boats united by one wide deck or platform, with one mast. On this a vast sail of matting was set, and over the water they glided at a rapid rate. The warriors on board meantime were brandishing their weapons, and leaping, and dancing, and shouting. More and more canoes were launched till a whole fleet was in pursuit of the Lion, which glided on in silence as if unconscious of their presence. A fair breeze had been blowing – it began to increase. The farther the Lion got from the land the stronger it blew; the sea, too, became rougher and rougher. The canoes were closely approaching, for in the smooth water they sailed three times as fast as the Lion. Their numbers were overwhelming. Should they persevere, even the Lion’s shot would avail nothing against them. Waymouth ordered that not a gun should be fired till he should give the word. On came the foe. The leading canoes were almost up to the Lion, but, no longer steady, she began to roll and pitch in the rising sea. Still eager for their prey, the savages persevered. The headmost darted alongside. The Lion’s guns were depressed. “Fire, my brave men! Fire down into them!” cried Waymouth, setting the example and bringing down a savage, who, by his appearance and gestures, seemed to be a chief. Not a shot was thrown away. Some of the savages who were climbing up the ship’s sides were driven back, but others, as the canoes came up, succeeded them. More and more were coming on. Just then a heavy squall struck the ship. Like a restive steed she gave a plunge forward, then rolled from side to side, shaking herself clear of the canoes surrounding her. The savages were driven from their hold; the canoes were thrown one upon the other, and on sprang the gallant Lion free from her foes. Her after-guns played upon them for a few minutes, but when, baffled and confused, they showed no signs of pursuing, the English ceased firing, and the ship pursued her course unmolested. Grateful as they were for their preservation, it was tantalising to the crew to sail away from that seemingly lovely shore where water and the vegetables they so much needed might be procured in abundance.