Chile today and tomorrow

by L. E. Elliott Joyce

Spain being again at war with England in 1740, Commodore Anson was sent to the Pacific, as Vernon to the Atlantic, colonies of Spain on exactly the same principle as had prevailed in Elizabeth’s day—to touch the enemy in one of his tenderest spots.

The authority under which they sailed was not questioned; the rule of conduct on both sides was that of the “gallant enemy.” Britain’s Caribbean possessions date from that series of raids.

Lord Anson sailed from England in September, 1740, with the flagship Centurion, and the warships Gloucester, Pearl, Severn, Tryal and Wager, with two store-ships. The mission of the fleet was to harry the Spaniards in the Pacific, and the route was round the Horn. But when Anson reached Juan Fernandez Island in June, 1741, but three vessels remained, and his available crew was reduced from 1000 to 335.

Nevertheless he harassed the coast, and captured Paita; but was forced to sink two unseaworthy vessels, collecting the remainder of the crew on the Centurion, and remained cruising about the Pacific until in June, 1744, he took one of the treasure-ships on her way from Mexico with enormous wealth on board, and sailed home with the spoils. He is said to have brought back more than a million pounds’ worth of gold, and to have entered port with a big golden Spanish candlestick tied to every yardarm of his ship.

Of the Wager’s fate Anson did not know for several years; this vessel was cast away on an island off South Chile, a number of the crew escaping in various ways. The loss of the Wager and the subsequent fate of her crew not only forms a moving and almost incredible story with which Chilean colonial life is interwoven, but had a lasting effect upon international maritime law. For, following the desertion of the captain by the insubordinate leaders in the Speedwell longboat, an act of Parliament was passed which made such conduct mutiny in the eyes of justice. Until that time the pay of a crew ceased when their ship was wrecked, and they then had no employers nor commanders and the officers, in consequence, were without technical authority, although in practice this control was almost invariably conceded.

The Wager was an old East Indiaman. She set sail deeply laden with repairing gear and stores for the squadron, and was in no condition to withstand the fierce buffeting of the South Seas. She lost a mast after passing Le Maire Strait, failed to regain touch with the squadron, and while hastening in the teeth of terrible weather to reach the rendezvous at Socorro Island, south of Valdivia, she was wrecked off a desolate island lying between 47 and 48 degrees of south latitude. The names of Wager and Byron Islands, in the south of the Gulf of Peñas, commemorate the shipwreck and struggle for life of the survivors, and the name of that single-hearted and clear-headed midshipman, young John Byron, who wrote an account of the affair forty years afterwards, when he had become a Commodore of George IV’s fleet.

The wreck occurred on May 14, 1741. About 140 men of the crew and marines, the captain and officers, got ashore, were able to save a certain amount of salt pork, flour, wine, etc., from the Wager, but found nothing on the island that could serve as food but wild celery, the shell-fish of the wave-battered rocks, and a few sea-birds. Indians who visited them occasionally, almost as badly off as themselves, bartered a few mangy dogs and, once, three sheep, for ship’s merchandise, but both shelter and food were insufficient; rains and violent weather were continual, and to make matters worse quarrels broke out, a party withdrawing themselves from the authority of the captain, who alienated many others when he shot a turbulent midshipman. Forty men were dead, from drowning or their sufferings on the island, before a means of escape was ready with the repair and lengthening of the Wager’s longboat. In this little vessel Captain Cheap proposed to make his way north until he could fall in with and seize a coasting ship of the Spaniards, a capture which would permit him to search for and rejoin Anson’s squadron. But the disaffected crew, led by the carpenter and gunner, who had borrowed and taken to heart the book of Voyages of Narborough, now declared their intention of going south and making for Magellan’s Strait. The captain objected, was made prisoner, and at the last moment was left behind, with a lieutenant of marines and the surgeon, when the ringleaders realised the scant accommodation of the Speedwell. Byron, who had gone on board believing that all the survivors were being taken off, returned to his captain, with a few other men, in the barge. They had nothing to eat but sea-weed, fried in the tallow of candles, and wild herbs; there were no more shell-fish, and all the party were extremely weak; but the captain decided to attempt a northward journey and the starving men began to mend as well as they could the barge and little yawl left to them. A number of the first deserters from the nearby lagoon now rejoined them, and a total of twenty finally embarked on December 15. Encountering rain, cold and adverse winds, they crawled along the rocky, wooded and broken coast, frequently being forced to lie upon their oars all night, since the heavy breakers prevented a landing for rest and shelter. The yawl was sunk when they tried to round the headland of Tres Montes Peninsula, and hereabouts they were forced, since the barge could carry no more, to leave on shore four marines, giving them arms and what other provisions they could; these plucky men stood to watch the barge out of sight, giving three cheers and calling out “God Save the King.” With that gesture they disappeared from history, for when the barge had to put back again, and search was made for the marines, no trace was found but a musket thrown upon the beach.

Now and then they found a seal, and feasted; or berries, and lived for days upon them; and after two months of incessant struggle were driven back to the scene of the wreck. Here they were in the utmost extremities, and all must have died of starvation had not an Indian chief from the Chonos Islands, in contact with the Spanish and bearing the wand of office, visited the place a fortnight later. To him they offered the barge if he would conduct them to a Spanish settlement, and a few days later the thirteen English and the Indian “Martin” with his servant embarked, steering north. Some days later six men took the barge and deserted, and thenceforth the party made their way in an Indian canoe, with frequent portages, through the broken and inhospitable Chonos country. Byron speaks warmly of the kindness shown by Indian women to him, and his notes upon the country and the customs of the wild folk are of great interest; but the journey was terrible, and the surgeon soon succumbed of starvation. The only person to whom the Indian men showed respect was Captain Cheap, whose nature had become “soured,” as the loyal but plain-spoken Byron permitted himself to remark, and who was careless of the misery of his companions. Starving and in rags, covered with vermin, and exhausted with the constant work of rowing, they arrived at length at an island ninety miles south of Chiloé, and traversed the final stretch of water in the crazy canoe. Once upon Chiloé their worst wretchedness was over: the Chilote Indians “vied with each other who should take the most care of us,” fed them well, laid sheepskin beds by a blazing fire and went out at midnight to kill a sheep for their food. Next day women came from far and near to see the shipwrecked strangers, each bringing “a pipkin in her hand, containing either fowls or mutton made into broth, potatos, eggs or other eatables,” and Byron says that they did nothing but eat for the best part of the day, and in fact, all the time they stayed upon the island. The Spanish corregidor at Castro sent for them, and a formidable escort of soldiers with drawn swords, led by four officers, solemnly conducted them to the town, where their appearance made a great sensation. They were imprisoned in a Jesuit college for a week, and then taken to the Governor, being treated with consistent goodwill; when, some time later, this official, a Chilean-born, made his usual tour of the island he took his English prisoners with him. During the second sojourn in Castro young Byron was offered the hand of the pretty and accomplished niece of a rich priest; but excused himself, although sorely tempted by an offer of a piece of new linen to be made up into clothes to replace his rags. On January 2, 1743, the party were embarked upon a Spanish vessel bound for Valparaiso; the ship was country-built, of 250 tons, and was 40 years old, carrying a Spanish captain and Indian seamen. At Valparaiso they were put into prison, and would have fared badly but for the native kindness of the Chileans, who brought them food and money, their jailer spending half his own daily allowance to buy wine and fruit for them.

Last Hope Inlet (Ultima Esperanza).