Antony Waymouth; Or, The Gentlemen Adventurers

by William Henry Giles Kingston

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.”