Antony Waymouth; Or, The Gentlemen Adventurers

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“What ails it with thee?” asked the captain, concealing his own anxiety.

“An’ it please your honour, the casks which I deemed full of water have leaked till not a drop in most of them remains,” was the appalling answer. “We have not water for another three days.”

“Bad news indeed, Master Auger, but, ere three days are over, maybe we shall reach some green island where there will be no lack of water and other things to refresh the men,” answered the captain calmly. “Make not the news public, however. We must lessen the allowance, and trust that a good Providence will send us relief.”

More than ever was a breeze prayed for. All on board were placed on an allowance of water sufficient only to moisten their parched tongues; yet even thus, as the calm continued, it appeared too likely that it would altogether fail. Gladly would the hapless crew have given all the gold on board the Lion for a few casks of the precious fluid. Waymouth made every effort to keep them employed. A great object was to ascertain the situation of the chief leaks; and this by perseverance he was enabled to do, as well as to stop them. By making the men constantly bathe he prevented them feeling so much as they might have done the want of fresh water; but, in spite of all his watchful care, there were some bad hearts among the crew who did not cease to plot against him. For a time, notwithstanding all their trials and hardships, the bold Gentlemen Adventurers kept up a gallant appearance; but now, at length, their sufferings began to tell upon them, and their sunken eyes, hollow cheeks, and haggard looks told plainly what they endured. No longer in brave attire with elastic step they paced the deck, but unshaven and with unarranged garments they leaned against the bulwarks, or slowly dragged their feet for a few minutes where they were wont to walk so briskly.

With longing eyes the horizon was scanned for the signs of a coming breeze. The wind came at last from the west, and once more the ship moved slowly through the water. Hope revived. For two days she continued her course, towing after her the boat which had been launched during the calm in readiness for use. Again the fitful breeze ceased, and the ship lay motionless as before. A slight breeze came, and clouds assembled, and showers fell. The grateful rain was collected in sails and buckets, and saved by every means, and afforded important relief to all remaining on board. So light was the wind that it scarce moved the heavy ship through the water. Three more days passed, and once again the ship began to move. More and more rapidly she glided along towards the east.

“America will be reached at last, friends, and then it will be hard if some Spaniard fall not in our way whom we may compel to convoy us back to Old England,” observed Waymouth as he watched the progress of the ship through the water.

Once more the hearts of all on board revived; and well might they, for the sea was calm, the air pure, and the sun shone brightly from out of the blue firmament. Of provisions there were sufficient to last for some time, and the water, if husbanded with good care, might hold out till more rain should fall. The want, however, of fresh meat and vegetables began to tell, and that scourge of mariners, the scurvy, made its appearance. More than ever, therefore, did Waymouth desire to meet with some green island where his crew might refresh. The pleasant breeze continued, and wafted the ship along at moderate speed.

So limited was the number of officers that Waymouth took his watch like the rest. He had been on deck all the afternoon. Edward Raymond took the first night watch. He walked the deck thinking of home. Should he ever return there? Should he ever be united to her he loved? He believed in her truth and constancy, and until she received undoubted proof of his fate, she would not believe him lost. What a solace, what a pure delight was it to him to think of her, of her bright love, of all her noble qualities! He pitied his friend, and wished that he, too, had before he left England fixed his affections on one worthy of him. His watch at length was out, and he was relieved by Carlingford. The boatswain had appeared to be so completely contrite that he had been allowed to return to his duty, and was to have the morning watch.

Waymouth had slept longer than usual. He knew not how it was. More than once he had tried to arouse himself, and had again fallen off into slumber; while his cabin-boy had neglected to call him at the proper hour. At length he sprang up, and, dressing with the rapidity of a seaman, he hastened on deck. He gazed for a moment around with mute astonishment. No officer stood ready to receive him, not a man was to be seen on deck. The sails were lowered, and the ship lay motionless like a log upon the water. He looked astern; the boat was gone. A dreadful suspicion flashed across his mind: he was deserted. Yet could this be possible? Surely no. Raymond, his long-tried friend, the soul of honour—he would not have left him! Carlingford, the gallant seaman! Master Walker the minister, he surely was no hypocrite. Ap Reece, though hot-headed, was warm-hearted and true as steel. He shouted, again and again, “All hands on deck! all hands on deck! Your captain calls!” There was no reply. Was it fancy? A sound came forward. Before going there, he shouted once more down the after-hatchway. He had got down about half the length of the deck when Raymond’s voice arrested him. He for some moments could with difficulty comprehend what had happened. He, too, had likewise only just then awoke from an unusually sound sleep. Together they hastened forward. There lay, bound and gagged, Mr Carlingford, Dick Lizard, and several of the crew. They had all felt unusually drowsy on their watch. Suddenly they had been set upon by Hagger, Soper, and the wretches who had mutinied and been pardoned, and, before they could offer any resistance, they were all knocked down, prevented from crying out, and bound hand and foot. Several of the watch below were treated in the same manner, and without delay chests of treasure and provisions had been got up from the hold and placed in the boat, and the mutineers, leaping into her, after lowering the sails, had quitted the ship. For some time afterwards there had been a breeze, so that the sails in the boat must much have aided them in getting to a distance. Waymouth on hearing this at once suspected the whole plan of the treacherous plot which had been so successfully carried out. The mutineers had obtained some narcotic, with which he and his officers and the loyal part of the crew had been drugged, and thus the watch on deck had been easily overpowered, and allowed them time to load the boat with all they desired and to make their escape. The rest of the officers were found below, unconscious of what had happened; and Ap Reece, on awaking and examining his medicine stores, discovered that certain drugs had been abstracted which were calculated to produce sleep.

“Let the villains go. I wish them no further evil than their own deeds will assuredly produce,” said the captain.