THE BRISK YARN OF THE _SPEEDWELL_ PRIVATEER
Captain George Shelvocke was one of many seamen adventurers unknown to
fame who sought a quick and bloody road to fortune by laying violent
hands on the golden ingots in the Spanish galleons of Mexico and Peru.
A state of war made this a lawful pastime for lawless men, and such
were those that sailed from Plymouth on February 13, 1720, in the
little armed ship _Speedwell_, bound out from England to South America
with a privateering commission. She was of two hundred tons burden, and
there could have been no room to swing a cat by the tail, what with
eighteen six-pounders mounted between-decks, a fourteen-oar launch
stowed beneath the hatches, provisions for a long voyage, and a crew of
a hundred men. Most of these were landlubbers, wastrels of the taverns
and the waterside, who were so terrified by the first gale of wind that
seventy of them “were resolved on bearing away for England to make a
complaint against the ship. They alleged that she was so very crank
that she would never be able to encounter a voyage to the South Seas.”
The fact that the seventy objectors were unanimously seasick delayed
the mutiny; besides which, Captain Shelvocke talked to them, and he
was a persuasive man whenever he used a pair of flint-lock pistols to
make his meaning clear. With calmer weather the seventy recalcitrants
plucked up spirit to renew the argument, and went so far as to seize
the helm and trim the yards on a course toward England. The captain was
now seriously vexed. With a dozen officers behind him, he overruled
the majority, tied two of them in the rigging, and ordered them
handsomely flogged, and consented to forgive the others on promise of
good behavior. “Nevertheless,” remarks a commentator, “it occasioned
him great uneasiness to find himself with a ship’s company likely to
occasion such trouble and vexation.”
The _Speedwell_ almost foundered before she was a fortnight at sea, the
pumps going, crew praying, and some of her provisions and gunpowder
spoiled by salt water; but Captain George Shelvocke shoved her along
for the South Sea, half a world away, and set it down as all in the
day’s work. Seafaring in the early eighteenth century was not a
vocation for children or weaklings.
Seeking harbor on the coast of Brazil to obtain wood and water, the
_Speedwell_ fell in with a French man-of-war whose commander and
officers were invited aboard the privateer for dinner. The crew was
inconsiderate enough to touch off another mutiny, which interrupted
the pleasant party; but the French guests gallantly sailed into the
ruction, and their swords assisted in restoring order, after which
dinner was finished. Captain Shelvocke apologized for the behavior
of his crew, and explained that “it was the source of melancholy
reflection that he, who had been an officer thirty years in the service
should now be continually harassed by the mutiny of turbulent people.”
Most of them were for deserting, but he rounded them up ashore and
clubbed them into the boats, and the _Speedwell_ sailed to dare the
Cape Horn passage.
[Illustration: THE BRIG “OLINDA” OF SALEM, BUILT IN 1825
From the original by François Roux of Marseilles, in the Marine Room,
Peabody Museum, Salem]
For two long months she was beating off Terra del Fuego and fighting
her way into the Pacific, spars and rigging sheathed in ice, the
landlubbers benumbed and useless, decks swept by the Cape Horn combers;
but Captain George Shelvocke had never a thought in his head of putting
back and quitting the golden adventure. He finally made the coast of
Chile, at the island of Chiloé, and when the Spanish governor of the
little settlement refused to sell him provisions, he went ashore and
took them. All was fair in the enemy’s waters, and the _Speedwell_
began to look for ships to plunder. He snapped up two small ones, and
then captured the _Saint Firmin_, a three-hundred-ton merchant vessel
with a valuable cargo. A flag of truce came out from the nearest port
with proposals of ransom, and a Jesuit priest, as a messenger, begged
the captain to restore to him ten great silver candlesticks which had
been left as a legacy to the convent. The bargaining came to naught,
and the booty was sold to the crew at an auction “before the mast,”
after which the ship was burned.
The _Speedwell_ next captured the town of Payta and put the torch to
it after the governor had refused to contribute ten thousand pieces of
eight. While the crew was ashore, a heavily armed ship came sailing
in, and the flag at her yard proclaimed that a Spanish admiral was
in command. In the privateer were left only the sailing-master, Mr.
Coldsea, and nine men; but they served the guns with so much energy
that the admiral cleared for action and reckoned he had met up with a
tough antagonist. While they were banging away at each other, Captain
Shelvocke was hustling his men into the boats and pulling off from
shore; but before they had reached their own ship, the Spanish admiral
had ranged within pistol-shot and was letting go his broadside. The
situation was ticklish in the extreme, but the narrative explains it
quite calmly:
Captain Shelvocke then cut his cable, when the ship falling the
wrong way, he could just clear the admiral; but there was a great
damp cast on the spirits of his people, at seeing a ship mounting
fifty-six guns, with four hundred and twenty men, opposed to the
_Speedwell_ which had only twenty then mounted, with seventy-three
white men and eleven negroes. Some of them in coming off, were for
leaping into the water and swimming ashore, which one actually did.
Drifting under the admiral’s lee, the _Speedwell_ was becalmed for
an hour, while the powder-smoke obscured them both, the guns flamed,
and the round shot splintered the oak timbers. Captain Shelvocke’s
ensign was shot away, and the Spanish sailors swarmed upon their high
forecastle and cheered as they made ready to board; but another British
ensign soared aloft, and then a breeze drew the privateer clear, and
she bore for the open sea. Her rigging was mostly shot away, there
was a cannon-ball in the mainmast, the stern had been shattered, guns
were dismounted, and the launch had been blown to match-wood by the
explosion of a pile of powder-bags; but she clapped on sail somehow and
ran away from the Spanish flag-ship, which came lumbering out after
her.
The _Speedwell_ was chased next day by another man-of-war, but dodged
after nightfall by means of the expedient of setting a lighted lantern
adrift in a tub and so deluding the enemy. It was the sensible
conclusion of Captain Shelvocke that there might be better hunting
on the coast of Mexico. South American waters seemed to be rather
uncomfortable for gentlemen adventurers.
The privateer stood away for the island of Juan Fernandez to refit
and rest her crew. They needed a respite by the time the island was
sighted, for they were six weeks on the way, and the ship sprang a leak
where a Spanish shot had lodged in her bow, and they pumped until they
dropped in their tracks. Eleven years earlier Alexander Selkirk, who
was the real Robinson Crusoe, had been rescued from his solitary exile
on Juan Fernandez, where Captain Dampier’s expedition had marooned him.
With his garden and his flock of wild goats and his Holy Bible he had
passed four years of an existence so satisfactory
that he scarce ever had a moment hang heavy on his hands; his
nights were untroubled and his days joyous, from the practice of
temperance and exercise. It was his custom to use stated hours
and places for the exercise of devotion which he performed aloud
in order to keep up the faculties of speech.... When his powder
failed, he took the goats by speed of foot, for his way of living
and continual exercise of walking and running cleared him of all
gross humors, so that he ran with wonderful agility, through the
woods and up the rocks and hills.
When he arrived at his full vigor, he could take at full speed the
swiftest goat running up a promontory and never failed catching
them but on a descent.... The precaution he took against want,
in case of sickness and not being able to go abroad, was to lame
kids when very young, so that they might recover their health, but
never be capable of speed. These he kept in great numbers about his
habitation, and taught several of them and his cats, to dance and
sometimes, to divert himself he used to sing and dance with them.
He also diverted himself with contrivances to vary and increase his
stock of tools, and sometimes, in clear evenings, in counting the
stars.
So beneficial were the results that it might have improved the morals
and the manners of Alexander Selkirk’s shipmates if they had been
marooned with him. This was the fate, indeed, which happened to the
crew of the _Speedwell_. While they were filling the water-casks, a
gale drove the ship hard ashore. The disaster came so suddenly that
“their surprise at this unexpected event is not to be described; and
in a very few minutes the ship was full of water and almost everything
destroyed. All the people, however, except one man were saved.”
As was to be expected, Captain George Shelvocke proceeded to make
the best of it. He managed to raft ashore most of the gunpowder,
some bread and beef, the nautical instruments and compasses, and was
careful to see that his precious privateering commission was safely
in his pocket. It will be inferred from this that he had no intention
of letting so small a trifle as a shipwreck interfere with his plans
of disturbing the peace of the viceroys of Spain. A little village
of tents and huts was promptly built near a stream of fresh water,
and when the castaways had sufficiently rested their weary bones,
the captain called them together and announced that they would have
to build a small vessel if they did not wish to spend the rest of
their days on this desolate island. He was not one to be content with
devotional exercises and a household of dancing goats and cats. His
crew replied that they were anxious to build some sort of craft if
he would show them how, and accordingly they pulled the wreck of the
_Speedwell_ apart and piled the timbers on the beach.
Keel-blocks were set up, and they began to put together what they
called a bark. It was to be only forty feet long, with a depth of seven
feet, by no means large enough to hold a hundred men, but material was
difficult to obtain and skilled labor scarce. The armorer directed
the work, being a man of skill and industry; but after two months of
toil the fickle company tired of the job and sought entertainment
in mutiny. Captain Shelvocke was a harsh, masterful person, so a
conspiracy deposed him from the command, and a new set of articles was
drawn up which organized a company of free adventurers who purposed to
do things in their own way. They took possession of the muskets and
pistols and wandered off inland to waste the ammunition in shooting
goats.
The sight of a large Spanish ship in the offing put a check on this
nonsense. If captured, they would certainly be hanged; so they flocked
in to urge Captain Shelvocke to resume the command and prepare a scheme
of defense. As soon as the hostile ship disappeared, however, they were
brewing trouble afresh, one party voting to elect the first lieutenant
as captain, another standing by Captain Shelvocke, and a third, perhaps
a dozen in number, deciding to quit the crew and remain on the island.
This group of deserters drifted away and built a camp of their own and
were a good riddance. The captain got the upper hand of the rest, and
the labor of finishing the tiny bark was taken up again.
When it came to planking the bottom, the only material was what could
be ripped off the deck of the wrecked _Speedwell_. The stuff was so
old and brittle that it split into small pieces, and great pains were
required to fit it to the frames of the bark. Then the seams were
calked as tight as possible, and water poured in to test them. Alas!
there were leaks from stem to stern, and the discouraged seamen swore
to one another that she was no better than a damned sieve. They were
ready to abandon the enterprise, but Captain Shelvocke bullied and
coaxed them into picking up their tools again.
They patched and calked and tinkered until it was agreed that the bark
might possibly be kept afloat. The cooper made wooden buckets enough
for every man to have one to bale with, and one of the ship’s pumps
was mended and fitted into the hold. Two masts were set up and rigged,
canvas patched for sails, and a launching day set to catch the spring
tide of October. Meanwhile the cooper was getting casks ready for
provisions. These consisted of two thousand conger-eels which had been
dried in smoke, seal-oil to fry them in, one cask of beef, five or six
of flour, and half a dozen live hogs.
When they tried to launch the bark, the blocks gave way, and she fell
upon her side and stuck fast. Again the faint-hearted seamen were for
giving up the game as lost, but the competent armorer rigged purchases
and tackles and lifted the craft, and she slid into the water on the
next tide, Captain Shelvocke duly christening her the _Recovery_. For
an anchor and cable they had to use a large stone and a light rope; so
before she could drift ashore they stowed themselves aboard, leaving a
dozen who preferred to live on Juan Fernandez and several negroes who
could shift for themselves. There had been deaths enough to reduce the
number of officers and men to fifty as the complement of the forty-foot
bark, which ran up the British ensign and wallowed out into the wide
Pacific.
It was then found that one pump constantly working would keep the
vessel free. In distributing the provisions, one of the conger eels
was allowed to each man in twenty-four hours, which was cooked on a
fire made in a half tub filled with earth; and the water was sucked
out of a cask by means of a musket barrel. The people on board were
all uncomfortably crowded together and lying on the bundles of
eels, and in this manner was the voyage resumed.
The plans of Captain George Shelvocke were direct and simple--to steer
for the Bay of Concepción as the nearest port, in the hope of capturing
some vessel larger and more comfortable than his own. In a moderate sea
the bark “tumbled prodigiously,” and all hands were very wet because
the only deck above them was a grating covered with a tarpaulin; but
the captain refused to bear away and ease her. At some distance from
the South American coast a large ship was sighted in the moonlight. The
desperate circumstances had worn the line between privateering and
piracy very thin, but in the morning it was discovered that the ship
was Spanish and therefore a proper prize of war. She did not like the
looks of the little bark and its wild crew, and edged away with all
canvas set. Captain Shelvocke crowded the _Recovery_ in chase of her,
and when it fell calm, his men swung at the oars.
The audacious bark had no battery of guns, mind you, for they had been
left behind in the wreck of the _Speedwell_. One small cannon had been
hoisted aboard, but the men were unable to mount it, and were therefore
obliged to let it lie on deck and fire it, jumping clear of the recoil
and hitching it fast with hawsers to prevent it from hopping over the
side. For ammunition they had two round shot, a few chain-bolts and
bolt-heads, the clapper of the _Speedwell’s_ brass bell, and some bags
of stones which had been gathered on the beach. It appeared that they
would have to carry the big Spanish ship by boarding her, if they could
fetch close enough alongside, though they were also in a very bad way
for small arms. A third of the muskets lacked flints, and there were
only three cutlasses in the crew.
Captain Shelvocke ignored these odds, and held on after the ship until
a four-hour chase brought him within a few hundred feet of her, so near
that the Spanish sailors could be heard calling them English dogs and
defying them to come on board. Along with the curses flew a volley of
great and small shot, which killed the _Recovery’s_ gunner and almost
carried away her foremast.
So warm a reception staggered many of Captain Shelvocke’s men and
those who before seemed the most forward now lay upon their oars,
insomuch that he had difficulty to make them keep their way. But
recovering themselves, they rowed up and engaged the enemy until
all their small shot was expended, which done they fell astern to
whittle more leaden slugs.
In this manner they made three attempts, all equally unsuccessful;
and they found it impossible to board the ship, she was so lofty,
especially from the want of pistols and cutlasses which are the
only weapons for close fighting. It was calm the whole night during
which the people of the _Recovery_ were busy making slugs, and
having provided a great quantity against morning, they came to the
desperate resolution of either carrying the ship or of submitting
to her. At daybreak Captain Shelvocke ordered twenty men into the
yawl to lay athwart the ship’s hawse whilst he boarded in the dark.
The people in the boat put off, giving him repeated assurances of
their determination; but just at this very juncture of coming to
action, a breeze sprung up and the ship gained on them. As the
gale freshened, the captain expected the ship would have run him
down, which she could have easily done; however, she bore away,
probably for some port on the coast, Valparaiso or Coquimbo. The
_Recovery_ chased her all that day and the following night, and at
daylight of the succeeding morning saw her close to the land and
she continued her course along shore until out of sight.
With several officers and men wounded, the errant little bark wandered
northward, raiding the coast for provisions and riding out one gale
after another, until another large ship was encountered. This was the
stately merchantman, _St. Francisco Palacio_ of seven hundred tons. By
way of comparison, Captain Shelvocke estimated his bark as measuring
about twenty tons. The _Recovery_ rowed up to her in a calm and fought
her for six hours, when the sea roughened, and there was no hope of
closing in. It was a grievous disappointment, for the _St. Francisco
Palacio_ was so deeply laden with rich merchandise that as she rolled
the water ran through her scuppers across the upper deck, and her poop
towered like a wooden castle.
The second failure to take a prize made the unsteady crew discontented,
and several of them stole the best boat and ran away with it. Mutiny
was forestalled by an encounter with a Spanish vessel called the
_Jesus Maria_ in the roadstead of Pisco. Preparations were made to
carry her by storm, as Captain Shelvocke concluded that she would suit
his requirements very nicely and his bark was unfit to keep the sea
any longer. The _Recovery_ was jammed alongside after one blast of
scrap-iron and other junk from the prostrate cannon, and the boarders
tumbled over the bulwarks, armed with the three cutlasses and such
muskets as could be fired. The Spanish captain and his officers had
no stomach to resist such stubborn visitors as these. Doffing their
hats, they bowed low and asked for quarter, which Captain Shelvocke was
graciously pleased to grant. The _Jesus Maria_ was found to be laden
with pitch, tar, copper, and plank, and her captain offered to ransom
her for sixteen thousand dollars.
Captain Shelvocke needed the ship more than he did the money, so
he transferred his crew to the stout _Jesus Maria_ and bundled the
Spaniards into the _Recovery_ and wished them the best of luck.
The shipwreck at Juan Fernandez and all the other misfortunes were
forgotten. The adventurers were in as good a ship as the lost
_Speedwell_ and needed only more guns to make a first-class fighting
privateer of her. They now carried out the original intention of
cruising to Mexico, and in those waters captured a larger ship, the
_Sacra Familia_ of six guns and seventy men. Again Captain Shelvocke
shifted his flag and left the _Jesus Maria_ to his prisoners. On board
of his next capture, the _Holy Sacrament_, he placed a prize crew, but
the Spanish sailors rose and killed all the Englishmen, and the number
of those who had sailed from England in the _Speedwell_ was now reduced
to twenty-six.
Off the coast of California sickness raged among them until only six or
seven sailors were fit for duty. Then Captain Shelvocke did the boldest
thing of his career, sailing the _Holy Sacrament_ all the way across
the Pacific until he reached the China coast and found refuge in the
harbor of Macao. Then this short-handed crew worked the battered ship
to Canton, where the captains of the East Indiamen expressed their
amazement at the ragged sails, the feeble, sea-worn men, and the voyage
they had made. Captain George Shelvocke by this feat alone enrolled
himself among the great navigators of the eighteenth century. He had
found no Spanish galleons to plunder, and his adventure was a failure,
but as a master of men and circumstances he had won a singular success.
He saw that his few men were safely embarked in an East Indiaman bound
to London, and after a vacation in Canton he, too, went home as a
passenger, completing a journey around the globe. Three and a half
years had passed since he sailed from Plymouth in the _Speedwell_ with
a mutinous crew of landlubbers and high hopes of glittering fortune.
Almost every officer had died, including the sailing-master, the
first lieutenant, the gunner, the armorer, and the carpenter, and
of the original company, a hundred strong, no more than a dozen saw
England again. Nothing more is known of the seafaring career of Captain
Shelvocke, but he was no man to idle on a quay or loaf in a tap-room,
and it is safe to say that he lived other stories that would be vastly
entertaining.