It was late in the year 1431. The port of Venice was filled with ships
from all parts of the world, bringing to her their choicest stores, and
their most costly merchandise, and receiving from her and from her
Grecian possessions rich shiploads of wine and spices, and bales of
finest cotton.
It would have been a sight never to have been forgotten could we have
gazed then on that city of the sea, have watched the cumbrous barks, so
unlike our light-winged merchant ships, or our swift steamers, which
sailed heavily up and down the blue Adriatic, till they came in sight of
the famous city, the resort of all nations, in whose canals, and among
whose marts and palaces, might be seen the strange dress, and heard the
mingled speech of men from all parts of the civilized world.
One ship was just leaving the port. The vessel, rather a large one for
those days, seems but poorly manned, and rocks so greatly among the
short white waves, that it is plainly to be seen that she is short of
ballast and lading. She is a Venetian trading vessel, bound first to the
Isle of Candia, where she will complete her cargo and add to the number
of her crew. This Candia or Crete (the very Crete by which St. Paul
passed on his voyage to Italy) was at that time under the hard rule of
Venice, and its poor inhabitants did her service upon land and sea. The
ship stayed at Candia only so long as enabled her to complete her stores
of cotton and spice and wine, which were destined for some northern or
western market, some French or British port. She was deep enough in the
water now, and on her deck lay many an unstowed bale, many a cask of
wine, for which the sad-looking Cretan sailors, in their tunics and
short cloaks, had not yet been able to find room. Sixty-eight men were
now on board, including the patron or owner, Master Piero Quirini, and
Christoforo Fioravanti, the sailing-master. Quirini, in his quaint
Italian dress, looking strangely unlike a modern sailor, stood amid the
piles of merchandise, giving quick orders for its stowage, while the
sailing master made all ready for the long voyage which was just
beginning.
For in those days a voyage into the western sea was counted, specially
while boisterous autumn gales made sailing difficult, as a long and
hazardous undertaking. They all knew it must be many months ere they
could hope to see home again; but little did any of them guess the
strange sad fortunes which should befall them. The Cretan sailors looked
back wistfully at the groups of their friends, their wives and mothers
and children, whom they had left weeping on the shore, but they did not
think how many there were among them who would never return to tell the
story of their long voyage. But some at least among them knew and felt
that they were in the hands of God for life or for death, and that
nothing could really hurt them if they were "followers of that which is
good."
The ship at first sailed on prosperously enough. The sea was calm, and
the sky clear above them. The sailors sang their sweet Italian or
Grecian songs, as they hurried to and fro, or leant over the bulwarks,
watching the blue water.
Their course lay northward now, and wind and wave were sweeping them
toward the perilous northern seas. The days had been already growing
short when the ship left Candia, and now December, with its cold and
darkness, was upon them, and these southern sailors shivered as they met
the keen northern blasts.
The cold grew sharper than ever on one night toward the end of the year,
but on that very night Master Piero Quirini chose to remain on deck,
braving the winter wind, instead of taking shelter in his warm and
comfortable cabin below. He stood looking eastward with his keen eyes,
his hand shading his face.
"Come hither, Fioravanti," he called, and the sailing-master approached.
"There is a strange appearance in the sky which affrights me; I fear a
sudden, and violent storm, and then what will befall our ship, thus
heavily laden?" said Quirini.
The old sailor turned towards the part of the horizon which Quirini had
pointed out; and as he looked, his face changed. "Quick," said he,
calling to the sailors who were nearest, "bid them draw in the sails.
Let the rudder be bound firmly, for the tempest is well nigh on
us--alas! for these terrible northern storms."
Before he had well finished speaking, his Italian sailors had begun
their work, the slower and more apathetic Greeks needing, even in that
moment of danger, to be urged with many words before they would obey.
Thus it was but slowly that the heavy sails, creaking and swaying in the
wind, were drawn in and bound to the masts, and before half the work was
done, the storm in its full fury had struck the ship, and each man clung
for life to the nearest support, as the reeling vessel ploughed heavily
through the swollen seas.
"Master, the rudder is gone, the rudder is lost," cried many voices, as
after a sudden lurch forward the ship righted again, and as they cried
out, a fresh blast struck her, and the half-furled sails were torn into
ribbons, and hung useless over the ship's side.
The morning light found her still driving before the wind, and deep in
the sullen water which rose almost above her sides as she flew faster
than ever before the fierce wind. At length a sudden squall threw her on
her side, while the waters rushed in as if to fill and sink her in a
moment.
"Ho, men! an axe, an axe!" cried the master; "down with the main-mast!"
and seizing a hatchet which lay at hand, Piero Quirini struck the first
blow at the tall mast, whose weight was dragging down the vessel. Others
with sword, or axe, or any tool which they could snatch at the moment,
followed, and they were but just in time, for before another wave could
wash over the vessel, the mast was floating free, and the ship had
righted once more. The water was baled out with every vessel on which
the men could lay their hands; and this weary work was continued all
through the cold dark night, yet when the morning broke hours behind its
time, as it seemed to the despairing sailors, the water in the hold was
scarcely three inches lower.
The only hope for the crew lay in taking at once to their boats. There
were two boats belonging to the ship--the pinnace and the skiff; the
first was a long boat, but the skiff, which was considered the safer of
the two, would hold but a smaller number.
The master called the men round him on the deck, and told them his
decision. "Now, men," said he, "you shall choose your boat; there stands
the notary, Nicolo di Michiel, with his ink-horn and parchment; he shall
write down the names of all who would fain sail in the skiff."
"Master, there are forty-five for the skiff," said Nicolo, slowly
reckoning the long list of written names; "forty-five, and the skiff,
saith Christoforo Fioravanti, holds but twenty-one."
"Draw lots, men, we are brothers now in trouble, and none shall have
advantage over the other."
The lots were drawn, and then the master proceeded to divide between the
two crews the stores of the fast-sinking ship. Bread, cheese, bacon,
tallow and oil, and a little wine, as much as she could carry, were
given to the crew of the skiff, while the master, with forty-six men,
stored in the pinnace what remained on board, and one by one the men
passed over the ship's side, and the boats dropped off into the wide
sea.
It was calm, the terrible wind had sunk down, and the keen wintry sky
was clear once more, but yet the prospect before them was enough to
trouble the bravest heart.
They were adrift in the bitter cold in open boats, but ill-supplied for
a long voyage, and were, as they believed, five hundred miles from the
nearest shore. All night a heavy mist hung over them, and when it was
dispersed by the morning sun the crew of the pinnace looked round in
vain for their companions,--the skiff was nowhere to be seen.
Six days had passed, and all hope of seeing their companion boat had
grown faint, when another storm arose, and the pinnace, heavily laden,
shipped so much water over the sides that all feared she would sink.
"Mens' lives before wines and spices! precious and costly though they
be," said the master; "we must lighten the boat of all, save a little
needful food and water; linger not, my children, therein lies our only
hope."
But the days went on, and though the storm passed, and the pinnace still
rode safely on the waters, the hearts of the crew were heavy within
them. The boat was indeed lighter now, for of the forty-seven who had
embarked in her, twenty-six died, and their bodies had been solemnly
committed to the deep, there to wait till, at the voice of God's angel,
the sea shall give up her dead. Solemn indeed must have been the
thoughts of the survivors as they saw one after another of their
comrades summoned from their side to stand before God; no one of them
knew but that he might be called next, and all were sure that if help
did not reach them speedily, none would return home to tell the tale of
their sufferings. Some there were of that crew who, faint, weary, in
want of covering, tortured with thirst, yet held fast their trust in
their Father in Heaven, and cried to Him with agonized prayer to have
mercy on them for Christ's sake. And the prayer for deliverance was
heard.
It was on the third of January, and the first faint daylight was
stealing over the waters, when one of the crew, looking eagerly round as
he raised himself from uneasy sleep, saw far off a faint line which
seemed to be land. The sun rose higher and colored rose-red the
snow-hooded tops of lofty rocks around the unknown coast. All the hope
and desire of the shipwrecked crew was now to reach this shore, fearing
its unknown dangers but little, compared with the terrible suffering
they had long endured.
But, alas! the wind had died away, and in vain did they unfurl their
sails, and set their rudder. They must try the oars then, but the arms
of the starving sailors were too weak to move the boat, and they could
do nothing but trust to the force of the waves and the currents which
were bearing her along. It was the sixth of January when they reached
the land, and with great difficulty drew their boat to the beach. They
soon found that they had landed on an uninhabited island, which lay, as
they afterwards found, off the coast of Norway--a strange and foreign
land to the Venetians of those days.
No sooner did the wasted remnant of the crew set foot on shore than they
rushed to the rocks, climbing them with strength which they had not
thought they possessed, and eagerly gathering the pure white snow in
their hands, bathed their parched lips and dry tongues, drinking again
and again, as if they could never taste enough of this delicious
draught.
"Now, men, draw the boat higher on shore, ere the tide go out and float
her away," said the master; but when the pinnace was drawn to the dry
sand she was found to be so battered and so full of holes, that they all
saw at once that it was useless to hope that they could ever put to sea
in her again. "We will make her serve for a shelter at least," said
Christoforo, and so, dividing her into two parts, they, with the help of
her sails, made two huts, in which the twenty-one sailors, who alone
were left, might find some slight shelter from the winter wind.
"Our thirst have we slaked," said Nicolo, "and said grace, I trust, for
the draught; now, by your leave, good master, must we seek for food,
though what food this barren island should afford, I know not."
All the party dispersed at once in search of provisions, some climbing
the rocks, some wandering along the beach, and some seeking to penetrate
farther inland. Returning towards evening slowly and sadly to the huts,
they examined the store that had been found--a few periwinkles and
barnacles and some other small shell-fish, but a poor feast for so many
famished men. Their search, continued far and wide over the island,
discovered no other food, save a kind of small herb which grew under the
snow. This they ate day after day, and so were able to keep a little
life in them though they were always faint and hungry.
Five out of the little colony were already dead from cold and hunger and
exhaustion, when one day a sailor wandering farther than he had yet
been, came upon a little hut, empty and deserted, but giving a better
and more comfortable shelter than their sail-covered huts.
Six of the company determined to live in this new home, thinking that
the chances of finding food for the whole would be increased when they
were more widely scattered on the island. And scarcely had they taken up
their abode in their new quarters, when they were overjoyed by finding
on the beach, close at hand, a large dead fish. They did not know
whether it was a whale or a porpoise, but they saw that it was quite
fresh and fit for food, and every one of them believed that God had sent
this great deliverance in answer to their prayers for help. All hands
turned out to drag the fish to their hut, and no sooner was it safely
housed than a terrible storm broke over the island, which lasted nine
days. So fierce was the wind, so pitiless the tempest, that during all
that time not one of the sailors dare set foot outside the cottage, and
had it not been for the merciful provision which God had bidden the
waves to bring to them, they must all have perished with hunger.
The fish was at length eaten, not a fin, nor a morsel of flesh remained,
and once more the sailors were forced to seek along the shore for
shell-fish, which was now their only food. Christoforo was one day
seated in the cottage. He had grown white and thin, and his long lank
hair looked dry and rusty, as it hung over his sunken cheeks. He was
gazing listlessly on the dull sea, and on the distant, cloud-like lines
which told of other islands, or may be of the main land far off.
"If we could only reach those shores," he thought, "may be men dwell
thereon, and we might find food. But we have neither boat nor wood
whereof to make one, neither have we strength to row, so seemeth there
no choice but we must all perish here; the will of God be done."
Raising his eyes, which had sunk while he pursued these sad thoughts, he
suddenly sprang to his feet, and with a glad shout cried, "Rejoice,
behold two come to seek us," and as he spoke, his companions, looking
out, saw two shepherd lads climbing the hill-side.
The strangers turned and fled in terror at the sight of man on this
lonely island, and the sailors following to the shore found there a
little boat in charge of an old man. They had learnt some prudence now,
and they approached quietly, making signs of good-will and of humility,
and asking by look and gesture his pity on their great distress. The two
lads soon came down and joined their father, and though none of the
three could understand a word of the Italian speech, it chanced that
there was one among the sailors, Girado da Lione by name, who had learnt
a few words of Norwegian, and by means of this interpreter they managed
to tell the visitors of their terrible needs.
The little boat would hold but two besides its owners, and Girado da
Lione and Bernardo the pilot were chosen to accompany the shepherds to
their home, and to get help to bring off all who remained of the
shipwrecked crew. On their way they questioned the shepherd, as well as
they could, on the cause of his journey to the island.
"A strange reason was it, truly, my friends," answered the old man, "but
my son can tell you better than I. Speak, my son."
The younger of the two oarsmen, a lad of about sixteen, answered
bashfully: "It was a dream, strangers, that led our boat to that shore.
My father had lost two heifers, white were they, with black stars on
their forehead and there were none like them in the island where we
dwell. Long did we seek our missing kine, and great was our sorrow when
we found them not; but last night I dreamed that I saw them feeding upon
this island, the cliffs of which we can sometimes see from our home.
When I awakened I persuaded my father to take the boat and let us row to
the island."
"We found not our heifers," said the old fisherman, smiling, "but, thank
the good God, we found men. Doubtless it was God who sent my son this
dream, that so we might be in time to save you."
They were soon received by a crowd of eager peasants, who crowded down
to the beach, when the story of the rescue spread. They were in another
island now, far larger, and moreover cultivated and inhabited, and food
was given them, and shelter offered, and clean clothes brought to
replace their own ragged and dirty garments. But of course the first
anxiety of the two rescued sailors was to send relief to their
companions at the hut, and to those who might yet remain alive on the
other side of the island. The kind islanders prepared quite a fleet of
little boats in which to hasten to the rescue of these poor deserted
men, but at the huts which they had first built, only five were found
alive, and their new friends prepared with sad hearts to bury the dead
as well as to save the living.
The eleven survivors grasped each other's hands with feeling too deep
for words; they the only ones left of the sixty-eight who, in full
health and strength, had left the shores of Candia. "Truly," said one,
"we had been swallowed up of the sea, if our Lord Jesus Christ had not
been merciful to us, who forsaketh not them that religiously call upon
Him."
"Now we must part," said they among themselves, "and seek our way to
Venice on foot or by sea, as we may find means. Sad news bring we
thither, and many heavy hearts must we make. But God has spared us to
our dear ones, and let us few that remain remember that we live only to
commend to memory, and highly to exalt, the great power of God."
A WINTER IN THE NORTHERN SEAS;
OR,
CAPTAIN JAMES'S JOURNAL.
The following passages are taken from the journal kept by Captain James,
the commander of a vessel bound for the northern seas. His ship, having
on board a crew of twenty-two men, left England in May, 1631, to attempt
the discovery of the long-desired North-West Passage. After terrible
storms and disasters, the ship being fast-locked in ice the adventurers
were compelled to winter in the Arctic regions; and, as the journal
relates, proceeded to make preparations for passing the long months on
an uninhabited island near to the ship. The extracts from the diary tell
the story of those months, speaking in words which need no comment, of
high hope, of constant courage, and of a sincere and true-hearted
dependence on God. Throughout all the disappointments and perils of his
expedition, Captain James seems ever to have kept alive trust in God,
and a sure belief that all that could befall him and his, would be
directed by an All-wise hand; thus his heart did not fail even in the
midst of overwhelming perils and disasters.
These brave men were not ashamed to own their entire dependence on God's
help, and we find here, as elsewhere, that it is ever the strongest who
best know their own weakness--that the noblest are ever the most humble,
the most ready to acknowledge the Divine Source of all their courage.
And the heroes whom English boys love to remember, and desire to
imitate, have, in proportion as they were true heroes, unselfish,
generous, brave, been also the most true and faithful servants of that
God who is the source of all strength, all love, all tenderness and
truth.
"Oct. 7.--It snowed all day, so that we had to clear it off the decks
with shovels, and it blew a very storm withal. The sun did shine very
clear, and we tore the topsails out of the tops, which were hard frozen
in them into a lump, the sun not having power to thaw one drop of them.
Seeing therefore that we could no longer make use of our sails, it
raised many doubts in our minds that here we must stay and winter. The
sick men desired that some little house or hovel might be built ashore,
whereby they might be the better sheltered. I took the carpenter, and
choosing out a place, they went immediately to work upon it, while I
myself wandered up and down in the woods to see if we could discover any
signs of savages, but we found no appearance of any on this island.
Oct. 12.--We took our mainsail, which was hard frozen, and carried it
ashore to cover our house, first thawing it by a great fire; by night
they had covered it, and had almost hedged it about, and our six
builders desired they might travel up into the country to see what they
could discover.
Oct. 15.--This evening our hunters returned very weary, and brought with
them a small, lean deer, which rejoiced us all, hoping we should have
more of them to refresh our sick.
Nov. 10.--I urged the men to make traps to catch foxes, for we did daily
see many, and I promised that whosoever could take one of them should
have the skin for his reward.
Nov. 17.--I have lain ashore each night until now, all which time have
our miseries increased; and, looking from the shore towards the ship,
she doth look like a piece of ice in the fashion of a ship; the snow is
frozen all about her, and all her forepart is firm ice.
Nov. 25.--The wind shifted easterly, and we encouraged one another, and
to work we go, our endeavor being to put the ship to the shore. This
evening we broke through the ice, and put an anchor to keep her to shore
if possible. Here Sir Hugh Willoughby came into my mind, who without
doubt was driven out of his harbor in this manner, and so starved at
sea. But God was more merciful to us.
Nov. 20.--I resolved, for the greater safety of the ship, to sink her
right down, but she would not sink so fast as we would have her. At
noon-day the water rose and beat the bulk-heads of the bread-room,
powder-room, and forepiece, all to pieces; thus she continued till
three, and then the sea came up on the upper deck, and soon after she
began to settle. We were seventeen poor souls now in the boat, and we
now imagined that we had leaped out of the frying-pan into the fire, for
we thought assuredly the ebb would carry us away into the sea. We
therefore doubled-manned four oars, and so, with the help of God, we got
to the shore. Being there arrived, we greeted our fellows the best we
could; at which time they could not know us, nor we them by our habits
nor voices, so frozen all over we were, faces, hair, and apparel. I
comforted them the best I could, saying, "My masters and faithful
companions, be not dismayed for any of these disasters, but let us put
our whole trust in God; it is He that giveth and He that taketh away.
His will be done. If it be our fortunes to end our days here, we are as
near heaven as in England, and we are much bound to God Almighty for
giving us so large a time of repentance. I make no doubt but He will be
merciful to us both here on earth, and in His blessed kingdom."
Dec. 1.--To-day it is so cold that firm ice has formed over the
boat-track, and we can reach the ship on foot; we have brought over on
our backs five hundred fish, and much of our bedding and clothes, which
we had to dig out of the ice.
Dec. 10.--We have been busied this past week, save on Sunday, when we
rested and performed the Sabbath duties of a Christian, in bringing
hither stores from the ship--now bearing them over firm ice, and now
wading knee-deep in half-frozen water. I will here describe the house
which we have built to shelter us withal. It is among a tuft of thick
trees, under a south bank, about a bow-shot from the seaside; it is
square, and about twenty feet every way. First we drove strong stakes
into the earth round about, which we wattled with boughs as thick as
might be, beating them down very close. At the ends we left two holes
for the light to come in at, and the same way the smoke did pass out
also. Then we cut down trees into lengths of six feet, with which we
made a pile on both sides. We left a little low door to creep into, and
a porch was before that, made with piles of wood. We next fastened a
rough tree aloft over all, upon which we laid our rafters and our roof.
On the inside, we made fast our sails round about. Now have we driven in
stakes and made us bedstead frames, about three sides of the house. We
have made our hearth in the middle of the house, and on it our fire.
This house we propose to call our mansion, as we have built two smaller
near by for our kitchen and our store-house.
Dec. 31.--Our mansion is now covered thick with snow, almost to the very
roof of it; we do not go out save we first shovel away the snow, and
then by treading, make it somewhat hard under foot. We have got our boat
ashore, and fetched up some of our provisions from the beach, with
extremity of cold and labor; and thus we concluded the old year 1631.
Jan. 2, 1632.--I observed the sun to rise like an oval along the
horizon; I called three or four to see it, the better to confirm my
judgment; and we all agreed that it was twice as long as it was broad.
We plainly perceived withal, that by degrees as it rose higher it also
recovered its soundness.
Jan. 30.--But little worthy the writing has happened to us this month.
The men grow daily weaker, and our stores less. We have three sorts of
sick men--those that cannot move nor turn themselves in their beds, who
must be tended like infants; those that are as it were crippled; and
those that are something better, but afflicted with sore mouths. These
last make shift to work; they go to work through the snow to the ship,
and about their other business. Our cook doth order our food in this
manner. The beef which is to serve on Sunday night to supper, he doth
boil on Saturday night in a kettle full of water, with a quart of
oatmeal, about an hour. Then taking the beef out, he doth boil the rest
till it is thick, which we call porridge, which, with bread, we do eat
as hot as we may; and after this we have fish, and thus we have some
warm thing every supper.
But many of our sick eat nought save a little oatmeal or pease. Hitherto
we have taken but a dozen foxes in all our traps.
Feb. 10.--The cold is as extreme just now as at any time this year, and
many of our men complain heavily of sickness; two-thirds of our company
are under the surgeon's hand. And yet, nevertheless, they must work
daily, and go abroad to fetch wood and timber notwithstanding the most
of them have no shoes to put on. Their shoes, upon their coming to the
fire out of the snow, were burnt and scorched upon their feet, and they
were forced to bind old clothes about their feet. Our clock and watch,
though we have kept them ever by the fireside, yet they are so frozen
that they cannot go. The inside of our house is hanged with icicles, and
many a time when I put my hand into the brass kettle by the fire, I find
one side very warm, and the other side an inch frozen.
Mar. 15.--One of our men thinks that he has seen a deer, whereupon he
with two or three more desire that they may go and see if they can take
it, and I have given them leave.
Mar. 16.--Last evening did our hunters return, not having seen the deer,
but so disabled with cold, that they will not be well in a fortnight.
[Illustration: Return of the Hunters. (Page 40.)]
Mar. 31.--Our carpenter is now among our sick, his cutting tools are but
few, and these mostly broken and bound about with rope-yarn as fast as
may be. Thus our pinnace, on which lyeth so much of our hope of escape,
is but in an indifferent forwardness.
April 4.--To-day we have been sitting all about the fire, reasoning and
considering together about our estate. The time and season of the year
comes forward apace, and we have determined on this course. With the
first warm weather we will begin to clear the ship from the ice and
water, so that should the pinnace never be finished, as seemeth in doubt
through the sickness of our carpenter, we might yet have some hope in
our old ship to complete our enterprise, and to return home.
April 6.--This day is the deepest snow we have had all this year; it
hath filled up all our paths and ways.
April 16.--This is the most comfortable sunshine that hath come this
year, and I have put some to clear off the snow from the upper decks of
the ship, and to clear and dry the great cabin by making fire in it.
Others have I put to dig down through the ice to come by our anchor.
April 25.--Now have we labored so hard that we are mightily encouraged,
for the water doth rise without the ship, and yet doth not make its way
into the hold. I have bid the cook that he pour hot water into the
pumps, and so thaw them.
April 27.--One of the pumps is cleared, and by means of this we have
drawn two feet of water from the hold, and we find to our satisfaction
that it doth not rise again.
May 2.--It doth snow and blow so that we must keep house all day; our
sick men are so grieved at this unexpected cold that they grow worse and
worse.
May 3.--To-day some of the snow melted on the land, and some cranes and
geese have come to it. I and the surgeon have been with a couple of
fowling-pieces to see if we could kill any for our sick men, but never
did I see such wild-fowl; they would not endure to see anything move,
therefore we have been obliged to return empty-handed and wearied.
May 9.--We have at last come to and got up our five barrels of beef and
pork which were sunk in the hold, and we have also found four butts of
beer, which will be as a cordial to our sick men. God make us ever
thankful for the comforts that He gives us!
May 13.--This is the Sabbath day, which we have solemnized, giving God
thanks for those hopes and comforts which we daily have.
May 21.--This is the warmest day we have yet had. Two of my men have I
sent a fowling, and myself, the master, the surgeon, and one more with
our guns and our dogs, have been into the woods to see what comfort we
could find. We have wandered full eight miles from the house, and have
searched with all diligence, but returned comfortless; not an herb, no
leaf eatable, that we could find. Our fowlers have had as bad success.
The snow is by this time pretty well wasted in the woods. We have a high
tree on the highest part of the island which we call our watch-tree, and
from the top thereof we can see far over the seas, but we find no
appearance of breaking up yet.
May 24.--Very warm sunshine. The ice doth consume by the shore side, and
cracks all over the bay with a fearful noise. This morning I sent two to
search for the ship's rudder, which was buried among the ice, and a
fortunate fellow, one David Hammon, pecking between the broken blocks,
struck upon it, who crying out that he had found it, the rest came and
got it up on the ice, and so into the ship. O, this was a joyful day to
us all; and we gave God thanks for the hopes we had of it.
May 31.--We have found some vetches on the beach, which I have made the
men pick up, and boil for their sick comrades.
June 4.--These four days hath it snowed, hailed, and blown hard; and it
hath been so cold that the water in our cans did freeze in the very
house, our clothes also, that had been washed and hung out to dry, did
not thaw all day.
June 15.--This day I went to our watch-tree, but the sea was still firm
and frozen, and the bay we were in was full of ice.
June 16.--Here have there lately appeared divers sorts of flies, and
such an abundance of mosquitoes, that we are more tormented with them
than ever we were with the cold weather. Here be likewise ants, and
frogs in the ponds upon the land, but we durst not eat of them, they
looked so speckled like toads. By this time there are neither bears,
foxes, nor fowl, to be seen; they are all gone.
June 17.--At high water we did heave our ship with such good-will that
we heaved her through the sand into a foot and a half deeper water.
After we had moored her we went all to prayers, and gave God thanks that
had given us our ship again.
June 19.--There hath been the highest tide that we have known since we
have been here, and in a happy hour have we got our ship off. This
evening I went up to our watch-tree; and this was the first time I could
see any open water, anyway, except that little by the shore-side. This
sight gave us some comfort.
June 22.--We have sounded all about the ship, where she was sunken, and
find it very bad ground, with stones three feet high, and two of them
within a ship's breadth of the ship, wherein did more manifestly appear
God's mercies to us; for if when we forced her ashore she had stricken
one blow against these stones, it had broken her.
June 24.--The wind hath put all the ice upon us, so that for a while we
were in such apparent danger that I verily thought we should have lost
our ship. With poles and oars did we heave away and part the ice from
her. But it was God that did protect and preserve us; for it was past
any man's understanding how the ship could endure it, or we by our labor
save her.
June 26.--These have been indeed days of fear and of confusion, but
also, in the end, of comfort. Yesterday evening I went up to our
watch-tree, taking a man with me, who should make a fire on the highest
place of the island, to see if it would be answered. When I was come to
the tree I laid down my lance, and while I climbed up to the top of the
tree, I ordered him to set fire to some decayed wood thereabouts. He
unadvisedly set light to some trees that were to windward, so that they
and all the rest too, by reason it had been very hot weather, took fire
like flax or hemp; and the wind blowing the fire towards me, I made
haste down the tree. But before I was half way down, the fire reached
its stem, and blazed so fiercely upwards, that I had to leap off the
tree and down a steep hill, and in brief, with much ado escaped burning.
My companion at last came to me, and was joyful to see me, for he
thought verily I had been burned. And thus we went homewards together,
leaving the fire increasing, and still burning most furiously. I slept
but little all night; and at break of day I made all our powder and beef
to be carried aboard. This morning I went to the hills to look to the
fire, where I saw it did still burn most furiously, both to the westward
and northward. Leaving a man upon the hills to watch it, I came home
immediately and made the men take down our new set of sails immediately
and carry them to the seaside, ready to be cast in, if occasion were,
and to make ready to take down our houses. About noon the wind changed,
and our sentinel came running home, bringing us word that the fire did
follow him hard at his heels, like a train of powder. It was no need to
bid us take down and carry all away to the seaside. The fire came
towards us with a most terrible rattling noise, a full mile in breadth,
and by the time we had unroofed our houses, and laid hands on our last
things, the fire was come to our town, and seized on it, and burnt it
down to the ground. Our dogs howled, and then ran into the sea. To-night
shall we lie all aboard the ship, and give God thanks that he has
shipped us in her again.
[Illustration: Climbing the watch-tree. (Page 47)]
June 29.--These three days have we wrought hard in fetching our things
aboard, as likewise our water, and have been all about the eastern
point, searching for driftwood. Our pinnace, on which hath been spent so
much time and labor, we need not, having our ship afloat again,
wherefore I have commended her to be sawn in pieces and brought into the
ship.
June 30.--To-day have we most earnestly continued our labor, and by
eleven this night was our ship in readiness, for we have sought to
finish our business with the week and the month, that so we might the
better solemnize the Sabbath ashore to-morrow, and so take leave of our
wintering island.
July 1.--To-day, the first of the month, being Sunday, we were up
betimes. We went ashore, and first we marched up to the high cross we
had put up to mark the graves of our dead companions. There we had
morning prayer, and walked up and down till dinner-time. After dinner we
walked to the highest hills to see which way the fire had wafted. We saw
that it had consumed to the westward sixteen miles at least, and the
whole breadth of the island; near about our cross and our dead it could
not come, because it was a bare sandy hill. After evening prayer we went
up to take the last view of our dead, and then we presently took boat
and departed, and never put foot more on that island; but in our ship we
went to prayer, beseeching God to continue His mercies to us, and
rendering Him thanks for having thus restored us. Now go we on our
discovery, which achieved, I purpose surely to return to England, unless
it should please God to take us first into His heavenly kingdom. And so
desiring the happiness of all mankind in our general Saviour Jesus
Christ, I end this, my journal, written on the island."