“Imagine a homeward-bound vessel, some two hundred and fifty years ago, clumsy in build, awkward in rig, little fitted for battling with the gales of our stormy coast, but yet manned with strong, stout-hearted men, who made their sturdy courage compensate for deficiency of other means; think of many perils overcome, a long weary voyage nearly ended, the crew rejoicing in thoughts of home, of home-love and home-rest, the headlands of dear Old England—loved by her sons no less then than now—lying a dark line upon the horizon, the night growing apace, the breeze freshening, ever freshening, adding each moment a hoarser swell to the deep murmurs of its swift-following blasts, the ship scudding on, breasting the seas with her bluff bows, rising and pitching with the running waves, which cover her with foam!
“Look on land! Keen eyes have watched the signs of the coming storm; men, more greedy than the foulest vulture, ‘more inhuman than mad dogs,’ have cast most cruel and wistful glances seaward! Yes, their eyes light up with the very light of hell as they see in the dim distance the white sail of a struggling ship making towards the land!
“And now try to imagine the scene as the night falls and the storm gathers. Two or three ill-looking fellows drop in, say, to a low tavern standing in a bye-lane that leads from the cliff to the beach in some village on our south-western coast. Soon muttered hints take form, and in low whispers the men talk over the chances of a wreck this wild night. They remember former gains; they talk over disappointments, when, on similar nights of darkness, wildness, and storm, vessels discovered their danger too soon for them, and managed to weather the headlands of the bay.
“The plot takes form; with many a deep and muttered curse the murderous decision is taken that if a vessel can be trapped to destruction it shall be.
“There is an old man of the party whose brow is furrowed with dread lines; he does not say much, but every now and then his eyes glare, and his features work as if convulsed. His comrades look at him—twice—and, as a terrific squall shakes the house, a third time. Silently he rises, and leaves the inn.... Now in the pitch darkness of the night, with bowed head, and faltering steps battling against the storm, the old man leads a white horse along the edge of the cliff. To the top of the horse’s tail a lantern is tied, and the light sways with the movement of the horse, and in its movements seems not unlike the masthead light of a vessel rocked by the motion of the sea. A whisper has gone through the village of a chance of something happening during the night, and [pg 239]most of the men and many of the women are on the alert, lurking in the caves beneath the cliff, or sheltered behind jutting pieces of rock.
“The vessel makes in steadily for the land; the captain grows uneasy, and fears running into danger; he will put the vessel round, and try and battle his way out to sea.
“The look-out man reports a dim light ahead. What kind? and Whither away? He can make out that it is a ship’s light, for it is in motion. Yes, she must be a vessel standing on in the same course as that which they are on. It is all safe, then; the captain will stand in a little longer; when suddenly, in the lull of the storm, a hoarse murmur is heard—surely the sound of the sea beating upon rocks! Yes! look! a white gleam upon the water! Breakers ahead! breakers ahead! Oh, a very knell of doom! The cry rings through the ship, ‘Down, down with helm—round her to!’ Too late, too late! A crash, a shudder from stem to stern of the stout ship, the shriek of many voices in their agony, green seas sweeping over the vessel, and soon broken timbers, bales of cargo, and lifeless bodies scattered along the beach, while the shattered remnant of the hull is torn still further to pieces with each insweep of the mighty seas as they roll it to and fro among the rocks. Fearful and crafty the smile that darkened the dark face of the willing murderer who was leading the horse with the false light as he heard the crash of the vessel and the shrieks of the drowning crew! Fearful the smile that darkened the faces of the men and women waiting on the beach as they came out from their places, ready to struggle and fight among themselves for any spoil that might come ashore! A homeward-bound ship from the Indies! Great good fortune—rich spoil! Bale after bale is seized upon by the wreckers, and dragged high upon the beach out of the way of the surf. But, see! a sailor clinging to a bit of broken mast! With his last conscious effort he gains a footing on the shore, staggers forward, and falls. Is he alive? Not now! Why did that fearful old woman kneel upon his chest and cover his mouth with her cloak? Dead men tell no tales—claim no property!”
Alas! the above is no imaginary or exaggerated statement of facts.
A few examples, which have occurred for the most part within the last hundred years or so, are appended. They have been culled from that most rigidly correct chronicler, the Annual Register:—
Lent Circuit, 1774.—At Shrewsbury Assizes, bills of indictment were preferred by Captain Chilcot, late of the Charming Jenny, against three opulent inhabitants of the Isle of Anglesea, one of whom is said to be possessed of a considerable estate, and to have offered five thousand pounds bail in order to their being tried at the next assizes on a charge of piracy, when the bills were found. It appeared that on the 11th September, 1773, in very bad weather, in consequence of false lights being discovered, the captain bore for shore, when his vessel, whose cargo was valued at £19,000, went to pieces, and all the crew, except the captain and his wife, perished, the latter being brought on shore on a portion of the wreck. Nearly exhausted, they lay for some time, till the savages of the adjacent places rushed down upon them. The lady was just able to lift a handkerchief up to her head when her husband was torn from her side. They cut the buckles from his shoes, and deprived him of every covering. Happy to escape with his life, he hasted to the beach in search of his wife, when, horrible to relate, her half-naked [pg 240]and plundered corpse presented itself to his view. What to do Captain Chilcot was at a loss. Providence, however, conducted him to the roof of a venerable pair, who bestowed upon him every assistance. The captain’s wife, it seems, at the time the ship went to pieces, had two bank bills of a considerable value and seventy guineas in her pocket. At the Summer Assizes at Salop, Roberts and Parry, two of the above-named, were found guilty of plundering the Charming Jenny, but their counsel pleading an arrest of judgment, sentence was suspended. Eventually one was executed, and one had his sentence commuted.