Lost ships and lonely seas

by Ralph Delahaye Paine

An’ they done it, the Jollies—’Er Majesty’s Jollies—soldier an’ sailor too.

The wretched voyage of the Wager’s barge was so delayed by head winds and battering seas and the necessity of landing often in search of food that all hope of reaching a Spanish port was relinquished, and finally they put about and trailed wearily back to the island and the wreck of the Wager after two months of futile endeavor. The superstition of the sea perturbed these childish sailormen, who laid their distresses to the fact that one of the crew who was murdered on the island had never been given burial. Therefore the first errand when they tottered ashore at their old camp was to dig a grave and say a prayer.

They were so tormented with famine that they talked, or rather whispered, of choosing one of their number by lot, that dreadful old expedient, and boiling him for a square meal; but the discovery of some rotten beef cast up from the wreck averted this procedure. They existed for a fortnight, and then a party of Indians appeared, among them a chief. He spoke a little Spanish, and an officer of the Wager managed to convey to him that they desired guidance to the nearest white settlement. The promise of the barge as a gift persuaded the mercenary Patagonian to lead them out of the wilderness. Thirteen survivors were left of the twenty who had attempted to fare to the northward. The four marines had been left to their heroic fate, and three others had later died of hunger.

The Indian chief had not bound himself to furnish food, and it soon appeared as though the castaways would all perish to a man before they came to the end of the journey. They were trying to pull the barge up a turbulent river with a rapid current, and there occurred an incident or two which illumined the characters of Midshipman Byron and Captain Cheap and showed what very different men they were. I quote the old record:

Mr. Byron had hitherto steered the boat; but one of the men dropping down, and dying of fatigue, he was obliged to take his oar. While thus engaged, John Bosman, who was considered the stoutest man among them, fell from his seat under the thwarts, complaining that his strength was quite exhausted from want of food and that he should soon expire. While he lay in this manner, he would, every now and then, break out into the most pathetic wishes for some little sustenance, expressing that two or three mouthfuls might be the means of saving his life.

At this time, the captain had a large piece of boiled seal by him and was the only one in possession of anything like a meal. But they were become so hardened to the sufferings of others and so much familiarized to similar scenes of misery that the poor man’s dying entreaties were in vain. Mr. Byron sat next him when he dropped, and having about five or six dried shell-fish in his pocket, put one from time to time in his mouth, which only served to prolong his misery. From this, however, death released him soon after his benefactor’s little supply was exhausted. For him, and the other man, a grave was made in the sand.

It would have greatly redounded to the tenderness and humanity of Captain Cheap if he had remitted somewhat of that attention which he testified to self-preservation and spared in those exigencies what might have been wanted, consistently with his own necessities. He had better opportunities of recruiting his stock than the others, for his rank was an inducement to the Indian guide to supply him when not a bit of anything could be found for the rest. On the evening of the same day, Captain Cheap produced a large piece of boiled seal, of which he permitted no one, excepting the surgeon, to partake. His fellow-sufferers did not expect it, as they had a few small mussels and herbs to eat, but the men could not suppress the greatest indignation at his neglect of the deceased, saying that he deserved to be deserted for such savage conduct.

If one may hazard a personal conjecture, it seems plausible to assume that Captain Cheap was the Jonah of the Wager expedition and that the spell might have been lifted if he had been thrown overboard much earlier in the adventure. Be that as it may, the curse was still potent, for as the next mishap six sailors and one of the Indians stole the barge and made off to sea with it. This left the others stranded and bereft of everything that belonged to them. Besides this affliction, the Patagonian chief was disgruntled because the barge was to have been his reward for befriending them. He was for killing them at once as the easiest way to settle the account, but it was Midshipman Byron, of course, who cajoled him out of his mood and pleased him with the gift of a fowling-piece. The six seamen who stole the barge passed into oblivion at the same time, and so were justly punished for their perfidy. They joined the great majority of the Wager’s company who never saw port again.

Over the rocks and through the swamps panted and staggered the few survivors, hauling and paddling canoes like galley-slaves and abused immoderately by their Indian guides, or captors. They were cold and wet and famished, and at last the surgeon died, and the others were little more than shadows. Captain Cheap grew more selfish and pompous, and adversity had no power to chasten him. One more picture and we are almost done with him.

The canoes were taken to pieces and each man and Indian woman of the party, except Captain Cheap, had something to carry. Mr. Byron had a piece of wet heavy canvas to carry for the captain, in which was wrapped a piece of seal which had that morning been given to him by some of the Indians. The way was through a thick wood and quagmire, often taking them up to the knees, and stumps of trees in the water obstructing their progress. Their feet were wounded, besides, with the ruggedness of the ground. Mr. Byron, whose load was equal to what a strong healthy man might have carried, was left behind by two Indians who accompanied him. Alarmed lest the whole should be too far advanced for him to overtake them, he strove to get up; and in his exertions fell off a tree crossing the road in a deep swamp, where he narrowly escaped drowning.