Goodridge, and the rest, but it was not possible to return the same
day; and during the night a violent gale of wind sprang up, and the
boat having been hauled up in an exposed situation, the wind caught
her, carried her to a distance of seventy yards, and so damaged her
as to render her unseaworthy, the stern being completely beat in. This
disaster produced consternation; for the other boat, that left on
the eastern isle, had been ripped up to line the ship that had been
constructed.
On the 21st, “about noon, whilst most of us were employed in preparing
for our meal, Dominic Spesinick, who was an elderly man, left us to
take a walk; he had proceeded to a high point of land about three parts
of a mile distant from our hut, and saw a vessel passing round the next
point. He immediately came running towards us in great agitation, and
for some time could do nothing but gesticulate, excess of joy having
completely deprived him of the power of utterance. Capt. Veale, who
was with me, asked what the foolish fellow was at, and he having by
this time a little recovered himself, told us that he had certainly
seen a vessel pass round the point of the island. We had so often been
deceived by the appearance of large birds sitting on the water, which
we had mistaken for vessels at a distance, that we were slow to believe
his story; however, it was agreed that John Soper should go with him,
taking a direction across the island, so that they might, if possible,
intercept the vessel; and being supplied with a tinder-box, in order to
light a fire, to attract the notice of the crew should they gain sight
of her, off they started.
“The hours passed very slowly during their absence, and when night
approached, and they were not returned, a thousand conjectures were
started to account for their stay. Morning at length came, after a
tedious night. Some had not closed their eyes, whilst the others who
had caught a few minutes sleep had been disturbed by frightful dreams,
and wakened only to disappointed hopes.
“Our two companions had been fortunate enough to reach that part of
the island in which the vessel was still in sight; and by finding
the remains of a sea-elephant that had been recently killed, they
ascertained that the crew had been on shore, and they hastened to
kindle a fire; but finding they could not attract the attention of
those in the vessel from the beach, they proceeded with all haste to
ascend a hill in the direction she was still steering. Spesinick,
however, became exhausted, and was unable to proceed further. Soper
went on, but had to descend into a valley before he could gain another
elevated spot to make a signal from. Spesinick, returning to the beach
where they had kindled the fire, to his great joy, saw a boat from the
vessel coming on shore. The crew had reached the beach before Spesinick
got to it; but his voice was drowned by the noise of a rookery of
macaroonys he had disturbed on the hill. Seeing the fire, the smoke of
which had first attracted their attention, they were convinced that
there were human beings on the island, and had commenced a search. In
the interim, Spesinick had made for the boat, and having reached it
clung to it in a fit of desperate joy that gave him the appearance of
a maniac; and the crew, on returning, found him in such questionable
guise that they hailed him before approaching. Dressed in shaggy fur
skins, with a cap of the same material, and beard of nearly two years’
growth, it was not probable that they should take him for a civilized
being. They soon, however, became better acquainted, and he gave them
an outline of the shipwreck, the number of men on the island, and that
Soper was not far off.
“The vessel proved to be an American schooner called the _Philo_, Isaac
Perceval, master, on a sealing and trading voyage.
“Soper, being still unaware of the boat having gone ashore, as it must
have done so, while he was crossing the valley, on coming to a place
where, on a foraging excursion, we had erected a shelter at the opening
of a cave, he set the place on fire, and the boat which had returned
with Spesinick put off and took him on board also, much to his joy.
By this time it was nearly dark, and too late to send or make any
communication to us on that evening, but on the following morning, 22
January, the captain of the schooner sent his boat to fetch off the
remaining ten.
“We had by this time almost given up all hopes of our expected
deliverance, and had gone to a neighbouring rookery to gather all
the eggs we could collect. Shortly after ten a shout from one of our
companions, Millichant, aroused our attention, and we soon perceived
the American schooner’s boat coming round the point. Down went the
eggs. Some capered, some ran, some shouted, and three loud cheers from
us were quickly answered by those in the boat.
“Here I cannot help breaking off in my narrative to remark on the
providential nature of our succour. The damage done to our boat had
caused us much distress, but now how different were our views of the
accident; for had our boat _not_ been damaged, our return to the
other island would have followed as a matter of course; and, in all
probability, we should never have seen the vessel that now proved the
means of our deliverance.”
On 23 January, Captain Perceval steered for the east island, and took
off the remainder of the shipwrecked men.
“The day of departure now arrived, and after remaining on those islands
one year, ten months, and five days, we bade them adieu--shall I say
with great joy? Certainly; and yet I felt a mixture of regret. Whether
from the perverseness of my nature, or from any other cause, I can only
say--so it was.”
The American captain was bent on collecting seal-skins, and it was
his purpose to visit the islands of Amsterdam and St. Paul’s, and
then make his way to the Mauritius, where he would leave those whom
he had rescued. Meanwhile, he required them, like a shrewd, not
to say grasping Yankee, to work for him at the seal fishery; and
this they did till the 1st April, when he was at St. Paul’s. There
dissatisfaction broke out among those he had rescued. He had kept
them working hard for him during two months, and had not given them
even a change of clothing. The Italian Mazora spoke out, and Captain
Perceval was furious and ordered him to be set on shore; he would take
him no further in his ship. At this his comrades in misfortune spoke
out also. Having suffered so long together they would not desert a
comrade, and they all resented the way in which Captain Perceval was
taking an unfair advantage of them. They had, in fact, secured for
him five thousand seal-skins and three hundred quintals of fish. The
Yankee captain having now got out of them all he could, did not trouble
himself about taking them any further, and sent ten of them ashore:
only three--Captain Veale, his brother, and Petherbridge--went on with
the American ship. Two others, Soper and Newbee, had remained at their
own wish at Amsterdam, which they could leave when they wished, as it
lay in the direct track of all ships going from the Cape of Good Hope
to New South Wales.
The American captain gave a cask of bread and some necessaries to those
he put ashore on St. Paul’s.
Here they remained, renewing their hardships on the Crozets, but in a
better climate, till the first week in June, when a sloop, a tender to
the _King George_ whaler, arrived, looking for her consort in vain. The
sloop was only twenty-eight tons and could not accommodate more than
three, and the lot decided that Goodridge should be one of these three.
Then the sloop sailed for Van Diemen’s Land, and after a rough passage
of thirty-six days reached Hobart Town on 7 July.
We need not follow Goodridge’s narrative further, though what remains
is interesting: his observations on the condition of the convicts,
the settlers, and so forth. He there got into trouble, being arrested
and thrown into prison on the suspicion that he was a runaway sailor
from the _King George_, and he had great difficulty in obtaining his
discharge. He was also attacked and nearly murdered by bushrangers.
At length, in the beginning of 1831, he was able to start for home. He
embarked on 15 February. “On Sunday morning, 31st July, we came off
Torbay, and now I anxiously looked out for some conveyance to land: I
was in sight of my native village--my heart beat high. The venerable
tower of Paignton, forming as it does one of the most conspicuous
objects in the bay, was full in view, and with my glass I could trace
many well-remembered objects, even the very dwelling of my childhood
and the home of my parents.” On 2 August, Goodridge reached home
to find his parents still alive, though the old man was infirm and
failing. He had been away eleven years; but of these a good many had
been spent by him in business in Van Diemen’s Land.
JOHN DAVY
John Davy was born at Upton Hellions, and was an illegitimate child,
baptized as Davie on Christmas Day, 1763. When he was about three years
old, he entered the room one day where his uncle, a blacksmith in the
same parish, was playing a psalm tune on the violoncello; but the
moment he heard the instrument he ran away crying, and was so terrified
that it was thought he would have a fit. For several weeks his uncle
repeatedly tried to reconcile him to the instrument; and at last, after
much coaxing and encouragement, he effected it by taking the child’s
fingers and making him strike the strings. The sound thus produced
startled him considerably at first, but in a few days he became so
passionately fond of the amusement, that he took every opportunity
of scraping a better acquaintance with the monster. With a little
attention he was soon able to produce such notes from the violoncello
as greatly delighted him.
Soon after this Davy’s uncle frequently took him to Crediton, where
a company of soldiers was quartered, and one day at the roll-call
he was greatly delighted at the music of the fifes; so much was he
pleased that he borrowed one, and very soon taught himself to play
several tunes decently. After this he began to make fifes from the
tubular reeds growing on the banks of the Creedy, and commonly called
“billers.” With these he made several imitations of the fife, and
bartered them to his playmates.
At the age of four or five years, his ear was so correct that he
could play any easy tune after once hearing it. Before he was quite
six years old, a neighbouring blacksmith, into whose house he went
frequently, lost twenty or thirty horseshoes. Diligent search was made
for them during many days. But one evening the blacksmith, John Davy’s
uncle, heard faint chimes, like those of Crediton Church, sounding
from the garret of his house, and having listened a sufficient time
to be convinced that his ears did not deceive him, he ascended to the
attic, and there found the boy with the horseshoes, or so many of them
as would form an octave, hung clear of the wall to nails, and he was
striking them with a hammer or iron rod, playing the chimes of Crediton
Church bells.
The story coming to the ears of Chancellor Carrington, then rector
of Upton Hellions, he felt interested in the child, and showed him a
harpsichord, on which he speedily acquired some proficiency. He applied
himself likewise to the violin, on which his uncle, who played in the
orchestra of the church choir, was able to give him some instruction,
and he found little difficulty in surmounting the preliminaries.
When eleven years old the Chancellor introduced him to the Rev. Mr.
Eastcott, who possessed a pianoforte, then an instrument of recent
introduction, at least in the west. With this also the boy soon became
familiar, and so impressed Mr. Eastcott with his intuitive genius for
music, that he advised his friends to place him with some musician of
eminence, under whom he would have free access to a good instrument,
and might learn the rules of composition. They applied to Mr. William
Jackson, the organist of Exeter Cathedral, and when John was about
twelve years of age, he was articled as a pupil and apprentice to this
able man.
His progress in the study of composition, and especially of church
music, was rapid. He also became an admirable performer on the organ,
and often took the place of Jackson in the cathedral. The first of his
compositions that appear to have attained any degree of celebrity were
some vocal quartettes.
Having completed his studies with Jackson, Davy went to London, where
he obtained a situation in the orchestra at Covent Garden; and he
employed his time in teaching, and soon had a considerable number of
pupils. He composed some dramatic pieces for the theatre at Sadler’s
Wells, and wrote the music to Mr. Holman’s opera of _What a Blunder_,
which was performed at the little theatre in the Haymarket in 1800.
In the following year, he was engaged with Moorhead in the music of
_Perouse_, and with Mountain in _The Brazen Mask_, for Covent Garden.
He was greatly lionized in Town, owing to the éclat attending his early
efforts, and was retained as composer of music by the managers of the
Theatres Royal until infirmities, rather than age, rendered him almost
incapable of exertion, unhappily a victim to drink. He died, before he
was sixty-two, in February, 1824, without a friend, and was buried in
St. Martin’s churchyard at the expense of two London tradesmen, one of
whom, Mr. Thomas, was a native of Crediton.
Davy at one time had an ambition to shine as an actor, and he actually
made his debut on the stage at Exeter, but failed.
Although Davy’s end was so wretched, many of his compositions will
never cease to be recollected and sung; notably that delicately
beautiful ballad, “Just Like Love”; others, more boisterous in
character, are, “May We Never Want a Friend,” “The Death of the
Smuggler,” and “The Bay of Biscay.”
For the life of Davy, see dictionaries of Musical Biography, and an
article by Dr. Edwards on “Crediton Musicians” in the _Transactions_ of
the Devonshire Association, 1882.
RICHARD PARKER, THE MUTINEER
For the story of Richard Parker, I shall quote almost verbatim the
account, which is very detailed, by Camden Pelham in _Chronicles of
Crime_, London, 1840.
In the year 1797, when the threatening aspect of affairs abroad made
the condition of the naval force a matter of vital importance to
Britain, several alarming mutinies broke out among the various fleets
stationed around the shores of the country. In April of the year
mentioned, the seamen of the grand fleet lying at Portsmouth disowned
the authority of their officers, seized upon the ships, hoisted the
red flag, and declared their determination not to lift an anchor, or
obey any orders whatsoever, until certain grievances of which they
complained were redressed.
There is no denying or concealing the fact--the men had been ill-paid,
ill-fed, shamefully neglected by the country, which depended upon them
for its all, and, in many instances, harshly and brutally treated by
their officers, and belly-pinched and plundered by their pursers. They
behaved with exemplary moderation. The mutineers allowed all frigates
with convoys to sail, in order not to injure the commerce of the
country. The delegates of the vessels drew up and signed a petition to
Parliament and another to the Admiralty; their language was respectful,
and their demands were very far from exorbitant.
After some delay, satisfactory concessions were made to them by
Government, and the men returned to their duty. But the spirit of
insubordination had spread among other squadrons in the service, and
about the middle of May, immediately after the Portsmouth fleet had
sailed peaceably for the Bay of Biscay, the seamen of the large fleet
lying at the Nore broke out also into open mutiny. The most conspicuous
personage in the insurrection was one Richard Parker, a native of
Exeter, privately baptized, in St. Mary Major parish, 24 April, 1767.
His father was a baker in that parish, and had his shop near the
turnstile. It was afterwards burnt down. He rented it of the dean and
chapter, from 1761 to 1793, and acquired a little land near to Exeter
as his own. Young Parker received a good education, and at the age
of twelve went to sea. He served in the Royal Navy as midshipman and
master’s mate. But he threw up his profession on his marriage with Anne
McHardy, a young woman resident in Exeter, but of Scottish origin, a
member of a respectable family in Aberdeen.
This connexion led Parker to remove to Scotland, where he embarked
in some mercantile speculations that proved unsuccessful. The issue
was that before long he found himself in embarrassed circumstances,
and unable to maintain his wife and two children. In Edinburgh, where
these difficulties arose, he had no friends to whom he could apply
for assistance, and in a moment of desperation he took the King’s
bounty, and became a common sailor on board a tender at Leith. When he
announced to his wife the steps he had taken, she hastened to Aberdeen
in great distress to procure from her brother the means of hiring two
seamen as substitutes for her husband. But when she returned with the
money from Aberdeen it was too late, for the tender had just sailed
with her husband on board. Her grief was aggravated at this time by
the loss of one of her children. Parker’s sufferings were shown to be
equally acute by his conduct when the vessel sailed, crying out that he
saw the body of his child floating upon the waves; he leaped overboard,
and was with difficulty rescued and restored to life.
[Illustration: /Richard Parker/
_Who was executed on board the Sandwich off Sheerness on Friday Jun
30^{th} 1797 pursuant to the sentence of a Court Martial for having
been the Principal in a most daring Mutiny on board several of his
Majesty’s Ships at the Nore & which created a dreadful alarm through
the whole Nation_]
In the early days of May, 1797, Parker reached the Nore, a point of
land dividing the mouth of the Thames and the Medway. Probably on
account of his former experience as a seaman, he was drafted on board
the _Sandwich_, the guardship that bore the flag of Admiral Buckner,
the Port Admiral. The mutinous spirit which afterwards broke out
certainly existed on board the Nore squadron before Parker’s arrival.
Communications were kept up in secret between the various crews, and
the mischief was gradually drawing to a head. But though he did not
originate the feeling of insubordination, the ardent temper, boldness,
and superior intelligence of Parker soon became known to his comrades,
and he became a prominent man among them. Their plans being at last
matured, the seamen rose simultaneously against their officers, and
deprived them of their arms, as well as of all command in the ships,
though behaving respectfully to them in all other ways. Each vessel
was put under the government of a committee of twelve men, and, to
represent the whole body of seamen, every man-of-war appointed two
delegates and each gunboat one to act for the common good. Of these
delegates Richard Parker was chosen president, and in an unhappy hour
for himself he accepted the office. The representative body drew up a
list of grievances, of which they demanded the removal, offering return
immediately after to their duty. The demands were for increased pay,
better and more abundant food, a more equal division of prize-money,
liberty to go on shore, and prompt payment of arrears. A committee of
naval inquiry subsequently granted almost all their demands, thereby
acknowledging their justice. Parker signed these documents, and they
were published over the whole kingdom with his name attached, as well
as presented to Port Admiral Buckner, through whom they were sent to
the Government. When these proceedings commenced the mutineers were
suffered to go on shore, and they paraded the streets of Sheerness,
where lay a part of the fleet, with music and the red flag flying.
But on the 22nd of May, troops were sent to Sheerness to put a stop
to these demonstrations. Being thus confined to their ships, the
mutineers, having come to no agreement with Admiral Buckner, began
to take more decisive measures for extorting compliance with their
demands, as well as for securing their own safety. The vessels at
Sheerness moved down to the Nore, and the combined force of the
insurgents, which consisted of twenty-five sail, proceeded to block
up the Thames, by refusing a free passage, up or down, to the London
trade. Foreign vessels, and a few small craft, were suffered to go
by, after having received a passport, signed by Richard Parker, as
president of the delegates.
In a day or two the mutineers had an immense number of vessels under
detention. The mode in which they kept them was as follows: The ships
of war were ranged in a line, at considerable distances from each
other, and in the interspaces were placed the merchant vessels, having
the broadsides of the men-of-war pointed to them. The appearance of
the whole assemblage is described as having been at once grand and
appalling. The red flag floated from the mast-head of every one of the
mutineer ships.
The Government, however, though unable at the moment to quell the
mutiny by force, remained firm in their demand of “unconditional
surrender as a necessary preliminary to any intercourse.” This was,
perhaps, the best line of conduct that could have been adopted. The
seamen, to their great honour, never seemed to think of assuming an
offensive attitude, and were thereby left in quiet to meditate on
the dangerous position in which they stood in hostility to their own
country. Disunion began to manifest itself, and Parker’s efforts
to revive the cooling ardour of the mutineers resulted in rousing
particular hostility against himself.
Meanwhile, formidable preparations had been made by the Government for
the protection of the coast against a boat attack by the mutineers,
and to prevent the fleet advancing up the Thames and menacing London.
All the buoys and beacons in the three channels giving entrance to
the Thames had been removed. Batteries with furnaces for red-hot shot
were constructed at several points. Sheerness was filled with troops,
and at more distant places outposts were established to prevent the
landing of parties of the mutineers. Two ships of the line, some
frigates, and between twenty and thirty gunboats lying higher up the
river were fitted out in great haste, to co-operate, in the event of
an attack by the mutinous fleet, with the squadron from Spithead, that
had been summoned. Alarm and perplexity disorganized the council of
the mutineers. The supply of provisions had for some time been running
short.
A price had been set on Parker’s head--£500. It was thought that
he might attempt to escape, and therefore a description of him was
published: “Richard Parker is about thirty years of age, wears his
own hair, which is black, untied, though not cropt; about five feet
nine or ten inches high; has a rather prominent nose, dark eyes and
complexion, and thin visage; is generally slovenly dressed, in a plain
blue half-worn coat and a whitish or light coloured waistcoat and
half-boots.”
But Parker made no attempt to escape. The mutineering vessels held
together till the 30th May, when the _Clyde_ frigate was carried off
by a combination of its officers and some of the seamen, and was
followed by the _S. Fiorenzo_. These vessels were fired upon by the
mutineers, but escaped up the river. The loss was, however, more than
counterbalanced by the arrival of eight ships from the mutinous fleet
of Admiral Duncan, anchored in Yarmouth Roads.
On the 4th June, the King’s birthday, the Nore fleet showed that their
loyalty to their Sovereign was undisturbed by firing a general salute.
On the 6th June two more ships deserted under the fire of the whole
fleet, but the same evening four more arrived from Admiral Duncan’s
fleet. On this day Lord Northesk, having been summoned on board the
_Sandwich_, found the council, comprising sixty delegates, sitting in
the state cabin, with Parker at its head. After receiving a letter
containing proposals of accommodation to which the unfortunate Parker
still put his name as president, Lord Northesk left, charged to deliver
this letter to the King. The answer was a refusal to all concessions
till the mutineers had surrendered unconditionally. Disunion thereupon
became more accentuated, and on 10 June, Parker was compelled to shift
his flag to the _Montague_ and the council removed with him.