Bark Raleigh was the largest vessel of the expedition, two of the others being of forty, and one of twenty tons only. The number of those who embarked was about 260, and the list included carpenters, shipwrights, masons, and smiths; also “mineral men and refiners.” It is admitted that among them there were many “who had been taken as pirates in the narrow seas, instead of being hanged according to their deserts.” “For solace of our people,” says one of the captains under Gilbert, “and allurement of the savages, we were provided of music in good variety, not omitting the least toys, as morris-dancers, hobby-horse, and May-like conceits to delight the savage people, whom we intended to win by all fair means possible.” The period of starting being somewhat late in the season, it was determined to sail first for Newfoundland instead of Cape Florida, as at the former Gilbert knew that he could obtain abundant supplies from the numerous ships employed in the abundant cod-fisheries. The voyage was to commence in disaster. They sailed on June 11th, and two days later the men of the Bark Raleigh hailed their companions with the information that their captain and many on board were grievously sick. She left them that night and put back to Plymouth, where, it is stated, she arrived with a number of the crew prostrated by a contagious disease. Some mystery attaches to this defection; “the others proceeded on their way, not a little grieved with the loss of the most puissant ship in their fleet.” Two of the fleet parted company in a fog; one of them was found in the Bay of Conception, her men in new apparel and particularly well provided, the secret being that they had boarded an unfortunate Newfoundland ship on the way, and had pretty well rifled it, not even stopping at torture where the wretched sailors had objected to be stripped of their possessions. The other vessel was found lying off the harbour of St. John’s, where at first the English merchants objected to Gilbert’s entry, till he assured them that he came with a commission from her Majesty, and had no ill-intent. On the way in, his vessel struck on a rock, whereupon the other captains sent to the rescue, [pg 318]saved the ship, and fired a salute in his honour. His first act was to tax all the ships for his own supply; the Portuguese, in particular, contributed liberally, so that the crews were “presented, above their allowances, with wines, marmalades, most fine rusk or biscuit, sweet oil, and sundry delicacies.” Then the merchants and masters were assembled to hear his commission read, and possession of the harbour and country for 200 leagues every way was taken in the name of the queen. A wooden pillar was erected on the spot, and the arms of England, engraved on lead, were affixed. The lands lying by the water side were granted to certain of the adventurers and merchants, they covenanting to pay rent and service to Gilbert, his heirs and assigns for ever.
Some of the before-mentioned pirates of the expedition gave Sir Humphrey a considerable amount of trouble while at St. John’s, some deserting, and others plotting to steal away the shipping by night. A number of them stole a ship laden with fish, setting the crew on shore. When ready to sail, he found that there were not sufficient hands for all his vessels, and the Swallow was left for the purpose of transporting home a number of the sick. He selected for himself the smallest of his fleet, the Squirrel, described as a “frigate” of ten tons, as most suitable for exploring the coasts. But that which made him of good heart was a sample of silver ore which one of his miners had discovered; “he doubted not to borrow £10,000 of the queen, for his next voyage, upon the credit of this mine.”
For eight days they followed the coast towards Cape Breton, at the end of which time the wind rose, bringing thick fog and rain, so that they could not see a cable’s length before them. They were driven among shoals and breakers, and their largest ship was wrecked in a moment. “They in the other vessel,” says Hayes,[144] “saw her strike, and her stern presently beaten to pieces; whereupon the frigate in which was the general, and the Golden Hinde cast about, even for our lives, into the wind’s eye, because that way carried us to the seaward. Making out from this danger, we sounded one while seven fathoms, then five, then four, and less; again deeper, immediately four fathom, then but three, the sea going mightily and high. At last we recovered (God be thanked!) in some despair to sea room enough. All that day, and part of the night, we beat up and down as near unto the wreck as was possible, but all in vain. This was a heavy and grievous event to lose our chief ship, freighted with great provision; but worse was the loss of our men, to the number of almost a hundred souls; amongst whom was drowned a learned man, an Hungarian, born in the city of Buda, called thereof Budæus, who out of piety and zeal to good attempts, adventured in this action, minding to record in the Latin tongue, the gests and things worthy of remembrance happening in this discovery to the honour of our nation. Here, also, perished our Saxon refiner, and discoverer of inestimable riches. Maurice Brown, the captain, when advised to shift for his life in the pinnace, refused to quit the ship, lest it should be thought to have been lost through his default. With this mind he mounted upon the highest deck, where he attended imminent death and unavoidable,—how long, I leave it to God, who withdraweth not his comfort from his servants at such a time.” Of the company only ten were saved in a small pinnace which was piloted to Newfoundland.
Meantime, on board the remaining vessels, there was much suffering, and Sir Humphrey was obliged to yield to the general desire, and sail for England, having “compassion upon his poor men, in whom he saw no lack of good will, but of means fit to perform the action they came for.” He promised his subordinate officers to set them forth “royally the next spring,” if God should spare them. But it was not so to be.
THE DEATH OF SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT.
Sir Humphrey Gilbert was entreated, when one day he had come on board the Hinde, to remain there, instead of risking himself “in the frigate, which was overcharged with nettage, and small artillery,” to which he answered, “I will not forsake my little company going homewards, with whom I have passed so many storms and perils.” A short time afterwards, while experiencing “foul weather and terrible seas, breaking short and high, pyramidwise, men which all their life had occupied the sea never saw it more outrageous,” the frigate was nearly engulfed, but recovered. Gilbert, sitting abaft with a book in his hand, cried out to the crew of the Hinde in the following noble words, so often since recorded in poetry and prose: “Courage, my lads! We are as near to heaven by sea as by land!” That same night the lights of the little vessel were suddenly missed, and Gilbert and his gallant men were engulfed in the depths for ever. Of such men we may appropriately say with the poet Campbell—
“The deck it was their field of fame,
And Ocean was their grave.”
The Hinde reached Falmouth in safety, though sadly shattered and torn.