OF MY SECOND VOYAGE IN THE BOSCOBEL, AND OF THE ENDING THEREOF.
Now we talking in this wise, there come on board of us the skipper
of a Dutch ship that lay near at hand, and told Captain Freeman that
the Morattys were beat off for the present, but that the town was in
an uproar for the escape of one of the prisoners sentenced to be burnt
by the Inquisition, and that a search should be made for this person
throughout the city, and also among the shipping lying in the river.
And the captain returning to the cabin, and telling this news to me,
we consulted together what we should do. And first the captain sent
his mate on shore, bearing a message to the captain of the guard of
that part of the city nearest us, offering to land some of his crew
for to aid in defending the wall against the Morattys, but the mate
was bid also to watch and see whether the search was yet begun, and
how far it was come. And he returning presently told us that the
captain of the guard had sworn at him for an impudent rascal, vowing
that his majesty the King of Portingale and the Brasils had soldiers
enough for to defend his cities without seeking the aid of English
braggarts, but with regard to the matter nearest our minds, the mate
had seen naught of any search, and believed that it should not begin
until the morrow. And this being confirmed by one of the crew of a
country ship that came to buy bread from us, I lay in the cabin that
night, and slept there peacefully.
Now in the morning, while we still lay at anchor in the river, an
Englishman on board of a Venice ship that was departing, calls out to
us that they had been searched already, and that the captain of the
port’s boat was visiting every ship in turn, and commanding all on
board to be mustered on deck. Then were Captain Freeman and I in some
affright, for he desired neither to perjure himself by denying my
presence on board, nor yet to yield me up to my enemies, so that he
begged of me to resort to a disguise that he would show me.
“For,” says he, “my apprentice is dead since leaving Surat, so that
his name is still on the ship’s books, and you must needs take his
place.”
And telling this to the seamen, they did lend very willingly certain
of their clothes, so that I was dressed in a sailor’s shirt and slops,
the which Captain Freeman was at the pains to pad and stuff out with
rags and suchlike, that I might not, said he, look so nearly like a
scare-the-crows. And because my close-cropped hair should have
betrayed me in a moment, he brought out a great periwig that he was
wont to wear to church when on shore, and hacked and jagged with his
knife at the curls thereof until it was as untidy and ragged as a
ship-boy’s hair was like to be, and so put it on my head. And I dare
to say that the good man has that periwig yet, laid up among his
chiefest treasures, and shows it with great pride to his grandchildren
for the memorial of a marvellous deliverance. And next, because my
hands was white and soft from so long idleness, he bid me dip them in
the tar-bucket, and with tar and other such things besmeared my face
and neck. Then he bade me call myself by the name of Samuel Needham of
Deptford (this was the dead apprentice), and so sent me to the galley
to wash the dishes for the cook.
Now almost before all this was done, we saw the Dutch ship boarded
that lay next us, and her crew mustered and questioned, but finding
nothing on board of her, they came on to us. And mounting the side, I
trembled greatly when I saw them, for beside the captain of the port,
in all his armour and feathers, there was there the _alcaide_ of the
Inquisition and one of his fellows, wearing those ghostly black gowns
and hoods I have before mentioned. Now when these stood on the deck,
and we were called to muster before them, my heart failed me, so that
I stood looking upon them from the shelter of the galley, a dish-clout
in my hand, and unable to move through fear. Then our good captain,
seeing me thus astounded, did send a seaman for to fetch me forth, and
finding me still gazing upon the visitors, gave me a blow on the head
that sent me reeling, and bade me leave staring at the gentlemen, and
go back to my work when I had answered to my name. And at this the
Portugals laughed mightily, and counselled him to get a better
apprentice, and so read out the names of the men, that all answered in
their turn, and allowed us to depart. And after this great escape I
thanked God, and wondered what could now hurt me, since I was
delivered from so pressing danger. Truly (says I to myself), if I have
the like good fortune in my adventures in the time to come, not
Ferdinando Mendez Pinto himself will near match my traveller’s tales.
And all being now ready, we weighed our anchor, and the Boscobel stood
down the river. Now when we come abreast of the fort that is called
Marmagoun, and again of those four forts that guard the mouth of the
river, my heart was in my mouth for fear, for (thought I), what if
they have discovered our trick, and should be preparing to sink us
with their cannons? But by good fortune, no such evil hap befell us,
though I saw the captain look pale and fearful so long as we were
under the guns of the forts. But when we were once gat past ’em, and
steering for the south upon a favouring breeze, his countenance waxed
cheerful once more, and he whistled lustily while he tramped to and
fro upon the deck. Then coming to me, who was gazing with a joy and
gratitude I had little thought ever to have the chance to feel, upon
the disappearing of the stately towers and marble palaces of that most
wicked and cruel city, he bade me lay aside that disguise I wore, and
dress myself more seemly in such clothes as he should lend me. And
this I did the more gladly that the seaman’s clothes I wore were not
at all to my liking neither for appearance nor yet for comfort. And
having put on a spare suit of the good skipper’s, I walked up and down
upon the deck with him, and as we walked I asked of him whether he had
heard aught touching my father since my starting for Goa, or no.
“Why,” says he in answer, “I ha’ heard something, but not much. For Mr
Martin told me, one day when as he and I was speaking together
concerning you, that he had wrote to Sir Harry Carlyon telling him of
the misfortune that had overtook his son, and reminding him that ’twas
possible he might never see you more, but there come such an answer as
surprised him.”
“And pray, what was that?” says I.
“Why, sir, ’twas to say that the good gentleman knew that his son was
engaged as he had bid him, and doing his best to fulfil the plan he
had set before him, and that he should therefore come to no harm, nor
would Sir Harry believe the same of him until he had spoke with one
that had seen it.”
“Methinks there an’t many fathers that would speak thus,” said I, “and
even with them, how seldom should their confidence in God be thus
signally justified!”
“Ay,” says Captain Freeman, “’twas a narrow escape, Master Ned, and
not even your good father’s trust in the integrity of your cause
should maybe have availed to uphold him had he known how little was
between you and death.”
“Tell me,” says I, “how you compassed my deliverance, for I know
nothing but that ’twas done by means of the warning of Father
Theodorus.”
“Why,” says he, “having heard him speak, we come back to the ship in
great grief and heaviness, for no man could think to devise any plan
for the saving you, save that the boatswain, that was over deep in his
liquor, would fain have had us storm the Holy House and release all
the prisoners there, and not you only. But the rest, of their own
selves, saw that this was beyond our powers, and could only lead to
our destruction as well as yours. Then as we went down to the ship,
there fell in with us an Englishman, that is brother to my mate, and
clerk to a trader in Goa, one that hath journeyed through all the
Portuguese Indies, and seen many marvellous things. And chiefly he
spake to us touching the Morattys, how prodigious fierce they are, and
how warlike, and that the Portugals and their Indians here do fear ’em
as the very devil, so that ’tis said the shadow of one Moratty will
put to flight three Portugals. Likewise he told us that one of their
captains was took prisoner a month ago and brought into Goa, and that
their king, Seva Gi, as they call him, had sworn that he would take
the Viceroy himself and hold him to ransom if so be as this his
servant wan’t given up to him unharmed. And he said moreover that the
Indians was saying that they had seen the spies of the Morattys
creeping round about the city o’ nights more than once of late, but no
credence was given to ’em, these Indians being timid and fearful in
their minds. Now all this gave to us much food for thought, and so
back to the ship, where we spent full half the night in making out our
plan. And in the morning, having consented together upon what we
should do, we left only some three or four men with the ship, and went
upon our appointed ways. For I, with all the stoutest of the seamen,
went to the burning-place, and there set ourselves in array, or as I
might say, in ambush, close to that stake the priest had told us was
yours, and waited there until the procession was arrived. But the
mate, with four or five of the seamen, went and hired certain lads and
men of the baser sort, such as would stick at nothing that was to earn
’em money, and ask no questions withal. And going outside the city
with these, and waiting until the time was come for the burning, he
bid ’em do even as he did, and rushed from the plantations into the
road, crying, ‘Seva Gi! Seva Gi and the Morattys!’ Which when the
multitude heard, that was come in for to see the sight, they were
seized with fear, and rushed the other way into the town, crying out
that the Morattys were coming. And thus, what with the men the mate
had with him, and those he hired, and the crowd all crying out at
once, the alarm was well spread, and you know how that in the panic
terror and confusion we brought you away.”
“But what of the Morattys?” I asked.
“Ah, that I can’t tell,” says he. “I can scarce believe now that the
devil raised ’em up, for to punish us for our false news, but that was
the thought in my mind, seeing ’em at first. Howsoever it be, they
took back their captain, that, as I heard from the skipper of the
Dutch ship, was prisoned only in a block-house by the river, and I
don’t know whether they have the more reason to thank us, or we them,
for their coming. Yet tis now my belief that those tales of the
Indians concerning spies and suchlike were true, and that the Morattys
was hid in the plantations (it being a feast-day, and no work done),
with the intent to fall upon the city that night, but that our men’s
coming and crying disturbed ’em and made ’em see they were as well
make what they might from the tumult. But I tell you, Master Ned, when
I found they was truly there, you might have knocked me down with a
feather, so astonished was I to behold ’em.”
“’Twas a mighty strange escape,” says I.
“Ay,” says he, “and a doubly lucky one, since it gives me your
company, sir, on my voyage. And this I may say, that you need not to
grieve over the interruption to your sojourning in Goa, for I can
speak the Portuguese as well as most men, and you should by rights
have learned something on’t during these three years, so that we will
speak it together, if you so desire it. And moreover, sir, in so far
as I have any skill, whether in matters touching cargoes and
merchandises, or in things pertaining to the sea and the winds and the
sailing of a ship, ’tis all at your service, and I shall account it an
honour to impart to you of the same. And so long as it shall please
you to abide on board of my ship, so long shall it please me if you
will mess with me and share the cabin, and there must be no word said
of passage-money, for the favour of your company answers that.”
I could not make a fitting answer to an offer made with so much
delicacy and kindness, but I grasped my good friend by the hand,
assuring him that I counted myself only too highly favoured, that I
should enjoy the happiness of a voyage with him, and begged of him to
teach me whatsoever he knew. And this pleasing him, as I was well
assured it should (for I never met a seaman yet that did not love to
teach others out of his own skill and experience), we agreed that I
should be considered as supercargo, and I was thus entered on the
ship’s books, instead of in the name of Samuel Needham of Deptford.
And ’twas thus that I embarked upon a voyage that bid fair to be one
of the happiest times of my life, but yet led me into grievous sorrow
and peril, by the will of God, and as I cannot but think, by the hard
disposition of man as well. But that you may understand my meaning in
saying this, I must needs explain myself.
For there was on board of the Boscobel a seaman named Darrell, an
ancient person, and one that had travelled in many seas and was much
looked up to by Captain Freeman and the rest. And this man I was wont
to hear arguing and exhorting his fellows with great diligence, but
what he said to ’em I never troubled myself to learn, thinking that he
was but declaring to them the perils and dangers through which he had
passed in his many voyages. But one day, coming near where Darrell was
discoursing to the rest, I saw that he had a great Bible upon his
knee, and listening, heard him as it were preaching. Now this in
itself stirred my mind, but when I heard his words, I began to be very
wrathful. For the fellow was speaking most boldly and naughtily
against his majesty the king and all his court, and declaring that
such a sink of iniquity had ought to be swept away from off the face
of the earth, and that before God should destroy the whole nation by
reason on’t. And this I could by no means stomach, that a mean person
of this sort should set up himself as a judge over the king and the
nobility, and stepping before him, I bade him speak to his fellows of
their own sins, but to leave his majesty’s alone.
“Ay so,” saith he, regarding me sternly, “that is what you and your
like are alway wont to say, Master Carlyon. _Prophesy unto us smooth
things_, say naught, though vice sit in high places, and Popery go
unrebuked, yea, encouraged. But shall we say naught? shall we hold our
peace? Han’t this keeping silence brought upon us already two of the
Lord’s sore judgments, namely, the sword of the Dutch and the
pestilence? and shall the other two on ’em be long delayed? Nay, sir,
for so long as life be in me will I be among those that sigh and that
cry for the abominations that are done in the land, until the Lord
come to our help and drive out from before us that evil family once
more and for ever.”
“Do you dare speak thus of your king’s house?” asked I.
“I do, sir, even of that wicked and bloody house of Stewart,[80] that
is drunk with the blood of the saints and of the martyrs of Jesus.
’Twas an evil day when it returned among us, and God send that it may
soon leave us again.”
“Are you so bold as to desire another rebellion?” I cried.
“Is rebellion worse than all that passes in England now?” asked he.
“But sure it an’t any concernment of yours,” says I. “You are here,
and may stay away until there be a king to your mind.”
“Whence shall he come?” cried the old man. “One there was, even in
this wicked family, in whom some good thing was found towards the God
of Israel, and he was took away from the evil to come. Who is there
beside?”
“But who is he of whom you speak?” I asked him.
“The men of this world called him Henry, Duke of Gloucester, but to us
he was the young Josias, raised up for to destroy the idols of his
fathers and the tombs of their false priests. But the Lord intended
the overthrow of the house of Stewart, and left to it only those that
to the wickedness of their fathers would add yet more.”
“Man,” says I, “you are prodigious bold to speak thus impudently of
the royal house. I thank God that I and mine have never ceased to
uphold his majesty’s cause, and will do so still. But ’tis you and
your like that have brought God’s judgments upon Britain by that
shameful deed of slaying the Lord’s anointed, that blessed martyr the
late king.”
“Nay,” said he, “I had no hand in the well-merited death of that
bloody and deceitful man, for I was far away from England at that
time,--and even had I been at home, I don’t know that I had dared to
counsel the taking of his life.”
“But ’tis to that point that your opinions lead you,” said I.
“Maybe,” says he, “but men should lead their opinions, not be led by
’em. And had I been then in England, and not aboard the good ship
Covenant (Captain Godly-Fear Johnson, master), a-sailing the seas with
that fleet whereof Colonel Blake took the command not long
thereafter----”
“How?” says I, “did you sail with Blake?” For in very truth I had
heard much concerning this famous admiral and obstinate rebel, and was
minded to hear more. But this old man Darrell was not inclined to
further my desires.
“Ay,” says he, “I sailed with Blake, sure enough; and look you, Master
Carlyon, there was a ship and a ship’s company for you! Worship
publicly conducted mornings and evenings, and all day of a Sabbath any
man that felt himself moved thereto might open the Scriptures and
exhort the rest. There was some difference betwixt free spiritual
exercise of this sort, and the skipper here, reading on the
Sabbath-day from the Prayer-book and the Homily against Rebellion!”
This he said with a prodigious scorn.
“Nay,” said I, “doubtless he considered the homily as more profitable
to you than the exercise you would prefer.”
But at this the old man waxed very wroth, and rose up and left me,
saying that I was no better than a scoffer, and that Captain Freeman
was yet in the gall of bitterness and in the bond of iniquity, and
that ’twas not for him to judge what were profitable or not.
“What preacher of sedition have you on board here, captain?” says I,
when I saw my friend next. “I looked not to find pestilent sectaries
aboard the Boscobel.”
“’Tis old Substitution Darrell you would say,” said he. “A marvellous
gift of exhortation he hath, and would sit up all the night arguing,
so long as his fellows would hear him, and longer. But he is our best
hand, and so staunch in his duty and punctual in the performing on’t
as no one would ever believe. I have been near him in a storm, when
all thought our last hour was come, but he was as cheerful as you may
see him now. ’Twas one of his conditions of service that I should
suffer him to expound the Scriptures to the rest of the crew, so long
as he and they desired, and the Company’s occasions took no damage
thereby, and I have heard him discourse so movingly concerning the
love of God as that I was fain to depart so as he might not see me
weep.”
“But sure you an’t at one with him in his opinions?” I asked.
“Nay,” says the skipper. “Darrell has told me once and again that I am
in Babylon, by the which, as I take it, he signifieth the Church of
England, and bids me come out therefrom, saying that God hath sent to
me by his means for to warn me concerning my danger. And I seem to him
to be a wilful sinner, thus contemning this saving grace. But yet,
when I was once took sick with that evil disease of the plague of
Egypt, Darrell stayed beside me for to tend me when all others fled
from the very sight of me; yea, he also read to me divers most
comfortable promises from his Bible, and in very deed saved my life.
Yet he hath his strange points, for he holds to certain of the
doctrines of that outlandish sect of the Fifth Monarchy Men, that will
have it we are all Jews.”
“Doubtless he is mad concerning one or two points,” says I. “In fine,
captain, I had rather that you had him always of your company than I.”
And so we, laughing, to dinner. But I was not yet done with this old
man Darrell. For we were beset, as it chanced, on this voyage of ours,
with many odious calms and contrary and baffling winds, so that we
were sore impeded in our going. Then on the occasion of one of these
calms the old man addressed himself to me once more.
“I fear lest I failed in my duty to you, sir, the t’other day,” says
he, “for ’twas in my heart to declare to you divers inconsistencies in
your walk and conversation,[81] and I refrained myself from so
doing.”
“You were better do it now, then,” said I, somewhat angry that he
asked no pardon for his presuming, and yet diverted by his words. He
looked upon me sadly enough.
“Sir,” said he, “when you come on board I looked upon you as one whom
the Lord had rid of great danger and peril that you might show forth
His glory. But since we have left Goa I have observed in you a levity
and a hardness of heart that hath given me much concernment. You have
showed no signs of grace, and have displayed much sympathy with the
wicked and a culpable laxity with regard to the Papistry and lewdness
that abound in our unhappy country. I fear, young sir, that there is a
grievous fall before you. The pride of your heart hath maybe kept you
firm when your Protestant faith was threatened with force, but the
devil can work with promises and allurements as well as with
threatenings. If you be so minded, I am willing to show you more
particularly wherein I think you err, to your profiting in the
future.”
Now I won’t deny that I was much nettled by the boldness of his words,
neither anticipating in my youth and vainglory that fall whereof he
spake, nor yet foreseeing that in my later life I should confess that
both in his rebukes and his prophecies this old man was wiser than I
thought him, but still I made shift to answer him peaceably.
“My good man,” says I, “I have thanked God daily for my deliverance,
and prayed of Him to keep me staunch in the future. What more I can do
I don’t see, having an eye to the difference between your age and
mine, which would make it strange were I in all things like unto you.”
“Nay,” says he, “I have known many young persons that showed forth in
their lives the fruits of grace in a soberness of walk and a meekness
of carriage that edified all about ’em. But of these you an’t one, and
rejecting the counsel I offer you, will go your way to your own
destruction.”
And with that he departed, and I, as you may well suppose, sought not
his company overmuch thereafter. But it so chanced that time and the
course of events placed it in his power to hurt me, though I don’t
say, nor yet believe, that this was with his intention. For we were
now passing into the Sea of Bengall, and having been so greatly
delayed by the wind’s being contrary to us, were arriving at what they
call in these seas the _hurracan_ season, that is, the time when these
tempestuous winds do most commonly use to blow. And although during
some time we met with no _hurracan_, yet were we assailed and buffeted
by divers fierce gales, that did much damage to the upper works of the
ship, and served still further to delay us in our voyage. And on the
account of these things I did condole with the captain, I myself also
finding the delay irksome to me, but thought nothing in especial
touching the gales until I heard one day the old seaman Darrell, that
sat with his Bible on his knees, say to his fellows--
“It may be that aboard this ship also we have a Jonah among us,” and
it seemed to me that he cast a look my way. Now I am ashamed to tell
that at first I could not recall what Jonah should have to do with our
present plight, but anon the old man himself come up to me, saying--
“Have you considered these gales that meet us so often of late, Master
Carlyon?”
“I have,” said I, “since indeed they keep me back when I desire to
reach Bengall, but what of that?”
“I don’t know,” says he, “what your past life may have been, but I
counsel you to try yourself and see whether you have left any sins
unrepented or unamended, for whose sake God is even now punishing this
ship and all that are in her.”
“And if so,” said I, “am I to throw myself overboard?”
“Nay,” says he, “that must be settled by the decision of all of us,
together with your own conscience.”
“But prythee tell me,” says I, “why you should single me out to be the
cause of your misfortunes?”
“What but misfortune has befell us ever since our taking you on
board?” asked he. “I dare not say that it wan’t the Lord’s will you
should be released from the hands of the Inquisition, but if He did so
intend it He is trying the faith of His servants very sorely.”
“I think you will scarce suffer for a deed of mercy,” said I. “I have
done many sinful acts, as I must sorrowfully confess, but I can’t
charge myself with any such unrepented crime as you speak of, nor do I
perceive why you should all fasten upon me to be your Jonah, and no
other person in the ship.”
But in spite of this discourse I had with him, the old man held very
firm to his opinion, and the gales continuing, the other seamen began
to believe him, so that I saw them casting black looks at me several
times. The captain also, as I perceived, was sad and anxious of
countenance, and I saw that he had his pistols ready charged in his
cabin. ’Twas not until long time afterwards that I learned that the
crew had demanded of him to set me on shore in some convenient place,
for to live or die as I might, that their ill-fortune might thus be
reversed, and that he refusing, they were wellnigh ready to fall upon
him. But at last there come a favouring breeze, and for two days we
sailed northward with good speed. But on the evening of the second day
was there a mighty strange sunset, all of a fiery and copperish red,
and as we looked upon it, there sailed between us and it, from the
side where the land lay, a whole fleet of great ships, whereat we
marvelled greatly.
“That,” says Captain Freeman, “must needs be the Dutch fleet that is
besieging the Frenchmen in St Thomas,[82] for there an’t no other
that I have heard on in these waters. But why are they putting out to
sea? Sure they, coming from the shore, must see signs of an _hurracan_
that we can’t perceive.”
“But are there Frenchmen in these seas?” says I.
“Ay so,” says he, “and at Surat too, where indeed their Factory is
better stocked with _mounseers_ than with cash. But what troubles me
now is the putting forth of these Hollanders. I dare be bound we shall
have an _hurracan_ upon us before the night be over.”
And away he went to take counsel with the mate for the better
preparing of the ship, whose head was quickly turned out to sea and
away from the land, and divers changes made in the ordering of her
spars and rigging, such as after this long lapse of time I won’t try
to recount, lest I awaken laughter by my ignorance. But this I
observed--viz., that every man looked upon me with scowls and hatred,
regarding me as the cause of this new misfortune, and my friend the
captain perceived this also, for he bade me fasten myself with cords
to a part of the bulwarks close beside him, and remain with him
through all that might chance to happen.
Now by this time the wind was whistling and moaning most pitifully in
our rigging, and the light of the moon and stars was waxed pale and
sickly. Looking from the deck towards the west, in which quarter the
land lay, we could see as it were a great wall of blackness resting
there, that then began to move, and advanced towards us. The air was
prodigious hot, as though it came from the mouth of a furnace, so that
until I had asked Captain Freeman, it seemed to me that the ship
herself must needs be on fire. Then almost before our crew could furl
all the sails, there come down upon us a great and mighty wind, so
fierce that the ship only missed being turned over thereby; and this
wind howling and roaring, there come also great flashes of lightning,
now in one place, now in another, faster than a man could count, and
brighter also than he could behold without shading of his eyes, but no
thunder. The sea also wrought mightily, the waves being very great,
and black channels of waters between, most tremendous to behold. And
moreover the direction of the wind did so chop and change as we might
almost believe we were carried round in a circle. And this continuing,
and the waves rising higher and higher, Captain Freeman gave command
that the masts should be cut away, the ship now rolling very much, and
their heaviness imperilling her.
Now one of the masts, as it fell, brake away a part of the bulwarks
close by where I was, so that I untied myself and fastened the cords
again to a certain great spar that was held fast on the deck by a rope
that belonged to it. And by this time the storm was so terrible that
men had given up all hope, and I saw, by the flash of the lightning,
old Darrell praying and calling upon God, though I might not hear
aught that he said, from the noise of the waves and the wind. But in
the light of the same flash I saw another seaman that shook his fist
against me, and shouted certain words that I could not hear. Then I
saw a greater wave than any before coming upon us, and I shut my eyes
and gripped fast hold of my spar. Though the tumult all around was so
great, yet I heard the sound of that great hill of water bursting over
the ship, and then I felt myself swept away, with the spar to which I
was tied, into the sea. But whether the rope that held the spar was
broke by the prodigious force of the water, or cut by that seaman that
shouted at me, I have never been able certainly to discover.