not know it, albeit they made a very good guess, Pelsart was standing
on her deck, looking across at the islands he had left so many days
ago. He was wondering what had happened during his absence, whether his
company were still alive, or whether they had starved to death or died
of thirst. He little knew that there had been worse foes than hunger
and thirst at work!
Presently a column of smoke lifted its filmy head over one of the
islands, and Pelsart realised that some at least still lived. A boat
was lowered immediately, filled with provisions, and Pelsart embarked
in her and started to make for the island. At the same instant a small
boat sped out from Weybhays’ island; in her was Weybhays, who, when he
reached Pelsart’s boat, hastily told the captain his story, and urged
him to return to the frigate, named the _Sardam_, lest the pirates put
out and overpower him.
Pelsart looked at Weybhays as though he were bereft of his senses; but
confirmation of his words was soon forthcoming, for suddenly a couple
of boats shot out from the larger island, and began speeding towards
Pelsart’s boat. That was enough. Off went Pelsart to the frigate,
followed hard by Weybhays. It was a race for life; and Pelsart won.
Just as he had scrambled aboard the pirate boats drew alongside.
And a gallant-looking crowd they were! Their fanciful costumes showed
signs of bad handling by Weybhays, but their weapons--swords and
pistols--looked very workmanlike, and when Pelsart asked them what they
meant by daring to come near the ship in such a condition, they replied
that they would very soon show him. And they began trying to board the
frigate.
Pelsart’s answer was quick and to the point.
“You see that gun?” he cried, pointing to one of the frigate’s cannons,
frowning down at them. “If you don’t surrender--and at once--I’ll have
it sink you where you lay!”
There was no arguing with that gun. The pirates laid down their arms,
very soon to be joined by their whilom captain-general, and in a little
while were on board the _Sardam_--in irons. Their piracy had come to an
inglorious end.
That night the frigate lay off the islands, and next day a boat was
sent off to try conclusions with the remainder of the mutineers,
who, however, seeing that the game was up, flung down their arms and
surrendered.
There is little more to be told. The wreck was salved of all that was
valuable in her; the gold and silver that Cornelis and his ruffians
had purloined was collected and taken on board the _Sardam_, where, of
course, the remainder of Weybhays’ company had already found quarters.
And then Pelsart held a court. Cornelis and his would-be pirates were
tried, and executed on the spot. It was no time for delay, because the
_Sardam_ contained a goodly treasure, and to keep Cornelis would be
to run the risk of the ambitious scoundrel breaking out again. Then
Pelsart weighed anchor and went his way, after a series of adventures
such as seldom fall to a man’s lot.
ADRIFT WITH MADMEN
The Burning of the “Columbian,” and the Sequel
On May 3, 1914, there flashed across the ether a wireless message,
picked up at Sable Island, as brief as it was dramatic: “Hurry up! We
are on fire!” No ship’s name was given, nor indication as to position,
and the world held its breath and wondered.
Then, two days later, the Cunard liner _Franconia_ picked up a boat
containing thirteen survivors from the steamer _Columbian_; and as they
had been adrift since the 3rd, a connection was at once seen between
the faint, incoherent wireless message and the _Columbian_. A little
later the _Manhattan_ rescued fourteen more _Columbian_ survivors,
including Captain McDonald, from whom it was found that yet a third
boat, with sixteen men, was missing. Immediately all the ships round
about were notified, and a search was prosecuted; but it was not until
thirteen days after the disaster that the boat was found, and in her
were only five men. The rest had died.
Behind this epitome there is one of the great tragic stories of the sea.
It was during the night that, with startling suddenness, there was
a terrific explosion which shook the ship from stem to stern. First
Officer Tiere, whose watch it was, instantly gave the fire call,
and the crew--some of whom were asleep, others at their posts of
duty--rushed up on deck. Smoke issued from below, and told them what
had happened. Then there was another mighty explosion, in the coal
bunkers this time, and the whole deck was ripped up as though it had
been made of tin-foil. There followed clap after clap, as hatches were
burst open by other explosions, and in an incredibly short time the
whole ship was one blazing mass. So instantaneously had the calamity
fallen upon them that there was no time to lose, no time even to dress
or to put sufficient provisions into the boats, which were immediately
lowered. Men, scantily attired, some only in vests and pants, tumbled
into them, and strong backs bent to the oars, seeking to pull away from
the terrific heat and to get out of the range of danger from the ship,
which seemed as though she must soon go down.
What followed was a nightmare--especially for those in First Officer
Tiere’s boat, the story of which is to be told here. She carried
sixteen souls, with only a twenty-gallon cask of water and a tank of
biscuits to last them till--till they were picked up. In these days,
when the seas are ploughed by thousands of ships, it seems incredible
that a boat should be at the mercy of wind and wave for many days
before being picked up; but it is always the unlikely thing that
happens, and these castaways little realised how long it was to be
before they were rescued. Soon it seemed to them as though rescue would
never come. But that is anticipating.
When the boat pushed off from the flaming _Columbian_ there was a
strong southerly wind blowing, which carried them to the northward.
They had no navigating instruments on board, and the weather was misty;
they were thus helpless in their endeavours to keep in the track of
shipping, on which their sole chance of rescue depended.
Anxious eyes peered through the darkness to catch glimpses of passing
lights; at any moment they knew that some mighty leviathan might push
out of the blackness, and smash into their frail craft before they
could cry aloud, even if their voices would be heard above the noise.
Fortunately this did not happen, and towards morning their eyes were
gladdened by the gleam of lights in the distance, coming nearer and
nearer. Salvation was at hand, they told themselves, and hunted about,
seeking matches, so that they might give a feeble light to the racing
greyhound. But not a dry match could they find; a great sea had been
shipped as the boat was lowered, and every match was useless.
Torn with agony, those sixteen men stood up in their boat and screamed
themselves hoarse, hoping against hope that the sound would carry to
the big ship, which, because of her size, they believed was the liner
_Olympic_. But, though they yelled till their voices cracked and
they were exhausted, no sign came that they had been heard, and the
_Olympic_, a floating, gleaming palace, passed them by.
Despair now seized them; but, as the grey fingers of the dawn crept
up, they took heart again, believing that they could not be passed
by in daylight as they had been in the darkness. They were to be
disillusioned once more, for presently they saw, about six or seven
miles away, a large tramp steamer, to which they signalled frantically,
using Tiere’s raincoat on an oar to wave with. They waved till their
arms ached, taking it in turn; but the tramp passed on, and left them
despondent, crazed.
During the afternoon hope was born afresh; away--far away--they saw
a big liner heave in sight, and then come to a standstill. Eyes
strained across the water, and presently the castaways realised that
the new-comer was taking a boat on board; and they came to the only
conclusion possible, that one of the other lifeboats, more fortunate
than they, had been noticed. Strange as it may seem in the reading,
and tragic in the event to those who watched, the rescue ship saw them
not, although she steamed away in a circle, as though looking out for
any other waifs. She was the _Franconia_, and her human salvage was
thirteen souls, while within a few miles of her there tossed a boat
with sixteen men on board, who cried in their anguish as they saw her
steam off, their hopes dashed for the third time.
First Officer Tiere now found plenty of work to do. The sea was very
rough, and the lifeboat pitched and rolled dangerously. There was no
fear of her sinking, because she was fitted with air-tanks, but the
ever-present danger was that she would be overturned as the great seas
played shuttlecock with her. The men worked hard at baling her out;
and then, to give her some sort of steadiness, rigged up a sea anchor
out of oars and old canvas, and so held her head to the seas. All the
time a sharp look-out was kept for signs of vessels, but none was seen,
and Tiere, realising how serious things were getting, apportioned the
rations. The water was allotted out--a pint a day per man, with a
biscuit per meal; and for a week they subsisted on this fare, thinking
themselves fortunate. Then the water began to give out, and the
portion was reduced. But economy in this direction meant suffering;
the men, weak and faint from want of food, parched with thirst,
became delirious; and although there was some rain on Thursday, the
7th, and some more on the following Monday, it did not increase their
water-supply sufficiently to make any difference.
And some of the men, maddened with thirst, took to drinking sea-water.
It was the beginning of the end. One man died, mad, on the 11th, and
they dropped him overboard, Tiere saying what part of the burial
service he could remember. Next day another man died, and two more on
the following morning--all of them victims to their insatiable thirst,
which grew more maddening as, against all advice, they swallowed great
gulps of sea-water.
Tiere, fighting for their lives, when they would not fight themselves,
commandeered the sole dipper they had in the boat, so that they could
not drink so much; then, when, exhausted, he would lie down to snatch a
few hours’ sleep, they would creep round him and steal the dipper, and
drink the water that meant death until he awoke and fought for the cup.
Whereupon, with the pangs of thirst eating into their very vitals, the
raving men, shouting curses at him for his interference, and defying
him to stop them, would lean over the gunwales and lap up the water
like dogs.
Then came delirium; raving, cursing, struggling mad they went. And then
into the Great Unknown, singing in their madness.
Even the men who contented themselves with the small portion of fresh
water which Tiere had allotted to them, even these knew the agonies of
that dreadful voyage, which was leading nowhere; mists and fogs hung
around them all day; the cold winds of night blew upon them and, in
their weakened strength, sapped at the very roots of their life.
Thus the nightmare held on, with death and awful suffering to make
these unfortunate men sure that it was real. They were almost foodless
now, as well as waterless.
On the Friday there came the most tragic incident of all: Jakob, a
big Russian, an oiler of the _Columbian_, thrown off his balance by
thirst, had imbibed great quantities of salt water. The effects soon
began to show themselves, and Jakob, a raving maniac, sat in the bow of
the boat with an axe in his hand, vowing he would kill the whole crew.
“I’m going to shore--getta drink,” he cried, and the fear-stricken
men expected every moment to see him hurl himself overboard. Instead,
he sat muttering foolishly, toying with the axe they dreaded, leering
viciously at them, gesticulating savagely. Tiere, weakened, emaciated,
staggered along towards the six-foot Russian; he must get that axe
away. There was a mist before his eyes, a vagueness in his mind, and
a half-formed thought that somehow the Russian would bring the end
sooner were he not disarmed. He talked to him, hardly knowing what he
said, bullied him, coaxed him, humoured him, while the crew looked on
in anxiety; and the madman at last gave up the axe. Then Tiere made him
lie down, settled him as comfortably as possible, and himself went to
snatch a little sleep, of which he was sorely in need.
For a while all was still; darkness was now upon them; only the howl
of the wind and the lap, lap of the water against the sides broke the
silence. Then slowly along the boat there crept a dark form, with
madness in its eyes; it was Jakob, and in his hands he carried the boat
stretcher. He was making aft to where the other men were, intent on
killing them all. Fortunately someone saw him coming, and instantly all
were alert, ready for him.
Cursing in Russian and broken English, Jakob hurled himself upon them,
vowing to murder them all. He wanted the water that was left, and he
would have it. Aye, he would have it! The wretched men, gathering up
the remnants of their once full-blooded strength, tackled him bravely,
wrenching the stretcher away and seeking to tie him up. How they
fought, to the danger of being pitched overboard to death, and with the
prospect of being kicked to pulp by the Russian’s heavy boots! It was
like a scene from some book of wild adventure, that fight in so strange
a setting; yet to these men it was real, and life and death hung upon
its issue. There was no light by which to see whether one struck friend
or foe, only the curses of the Russian to show when a blow landed
upon him; and the night was made hideous by yells as the frenzied men
struggled madly for control. At last it was over: the giant lay inert
in the bottom of the boat, tied securely and lashed to a thwart, where
for five or six hours he lay screaming, cursing, struggling to release
himself, and then died.
Despair--it is a feeble word to describe their feelings--was now upon
the remaining men, who for another week were tossed about, hither and
thither, until they had lost all count of their bearings. The sun kept
behind the clouds, and fogs and mists enwrapped them in their wet, cold
folds. In one sense this was a blessing in disguise; it kept the pangs
of thirst under somewhat. But as they shivered in the bottom of the
boat, huddling together to keep each other warm, they were in no mood
to thank Heaven for fogs which they knew hid them from passing vessels.
By Saturday morning eleven men had died and been thrown overboard, and
the five survivors looked dumbly at each other, reading in bleared eyes
the question, “Whose turn next?”
It was the turn of Peter Preive, the mess-room steward, of whom a
strange story is told. Before he left Antwerp on the _Columbian_ he had
dreamed a dream--that he would be a fortnight adrift in an open boat
before he died. On the morning of the thirteenth day Preive lay at the
point of death, for the hundredth time telling his comrades his dream
and assuring them they would be picked up on the morrow.
It sounds like fiction, but it is solid fact, and those mariners took
heart of courage: if some parts of the dream had come true, why not
another? And so they lived on, as they had for some days past, with
Preive’s dream as encouragement, though they could not altogether look
with equanimity upon the prospect before them; ere the fourteenth day
dawned some of those five that remained might have gone to join their
comrades!
They had been reduced now to trying to make a paste out of the boot
leather and the remains of the biscuits--anything to stave off hunger.
But even their craving stomachs could not take kindly to the mixture,
and the men knew that they were now face to face with death at last.
They looked in the biscuit tank again, and found there--crumbs, simply
a few crumbs, which they scooped up in order to mix some more of the
unpalatable paste. And then, like a messenger of hope, they saw a
smudge on the horizon, watched it grow larger and denser, saw the hull
of a ship grow out of the mist. Four of them yelled themselves hoarse
again, waved their signal, took out their oars and tugged away at them
like mad. They bent their backs to the work, they pulled till their
arms ached, and got hardly any way on her; they were too weak to pull
against the sea effectively. Then the big ship stopped, and they saw
her taking some soundings. She got up steam again and moved forward;
and the castaways knew that they had been seen.
The reaction set in; the men who had borne up for thirteen days against
hunger, thirst, who had fought against madness and death, crumpled up
and fell in the bottom of their boat. They were done.
Meanwhile the big ship was punching her way towards them. She was the
_Seneca_ (Captain Johnson), who had been searching for the missing
lifeboat for many days, having crossed from the spot where the
_Columbian_ burnt out to Nova Scotia and back time after time without
sighting the unfortunate men. The captain had, indeed, given up hope
of ever finding them; and when the look-out sighted the boat, and the
_Seneca_ plunged towards her at full steam, Captain Johnson scarcely
believed it possible that anyone could be alive in her.
When they came up with her they saw the five men lying in the bottom
of the boat, helpless, emaciated, eyes sunken, bodies trembling.
Preive, alive when the _Seneca_ came up, died from the shock of the
sight of her; Tiere, who had commanded all through, and had done much
to encourage the others, tried to lift himself up, but fell back
exhausted, and the other four living men had to be helped out of their
boat.
Their cruise was at an end. They were saved; but the terror of it will
never leave them.
FRANCIS DRAKE’S RAID ON THE SPANISH MAIN
How Drake Took Toll for Spanish Treachery
In 1567 Francis Drake had accompanied John Hawkins on a slave-trading
expedition to the Spanish Main; the worthy pair had gone across to
Africa, where they had captured a number of Africans, whom they shipped
to the West to sell as slaves, seeing that the Spaniards were sorely
in need of labourers. Now, it was a maxim with the Dons that the
Wealthy West was for Spaniards only, and they very much resented the
coming of the Englishmen, so that, while professing the desire to trade
with them, they really played them false; and it was only by the skin
of their teeth that Hawkins and Drake managed to escape to England,
even then having to leave a number of their men in the hands of the
Spaniards.
Drake was angry. He vowed vengeance. Henceforth he determined not to go
on trading expeditions, but to sally forth to the Spanish Main to take
toll of the riches that the Spaniards were harvesting year by year. He
did nothing in a hurry; he worked things out, went on a voyage or so to
get the lie of the land, and in 1572 left Plymouth--bound for Panama!
On one of his previous voyages he had laid up stores at a place on the
mainland which he had called Port Pheasant, because he had seen a great
number of those birds flying about there. Arrived at Port Pheasant on
this new voyage, he received a mild sort of shock. Nailed to a tree was
a leaden letter:
“CAPTAIN DRAKE,
“_If you have fortune to come into the port, make haste away, for the
Spaniards which you had with you last year have betrayed this place,
and taken away all that you left here. I departed hence this present
7th of July, 1572._
“_Your loving friend_,
“JOHN GARRET.”
Now, although Drake knew the seriousness of the position, he refused
to be frightened away. He had work to do--the fitting up of his
pinnaces--and he resolved to do this before leaving. He therefore set
his men to work, and in a week was ready to sail for Nombre de Dios,
his first place of call on the Spaniards. Just as he was about to start
there came to the port an English barque commanded by Captain James
Rouse, who threw in his lot--and his thirty-eight men--with Drake; and
the company set sail for Nombre de Dios. At a small island called the
Isle of Pines they stopped a while, and Drake appealed to the cupidity
of his men, in the hope of making them even firmer than ever in their
determination to do their utmost.
“Comrades,” he cried, “before us lies the world’s treasure-house. You
are brave; and with your help I am confident of success. Follow me,
and yours shall be the Spaniard’s wealth; yours shall be the fame that
comes from great deeds, and we shall be able to take to your Queen much
treasure and have good stores for ourselves!”
That put good heart into his men, and when they came to Nombre de Dios
they were ready for anything, although they murmured, some of them,
against attacking in daylight, as was Drake’s intention. However, Drake
had to alter his plans, for when they came into the harbour they found
a big ship there. Someone aboard saw them, and the vessel was headed
for the shore to give the alarm. The English soon stopped her little
game; the pinnaces raced after her, headed her off to seaward, and
then, feeling safe, the men landed, fondly believing that they were
unnoticed.
They were mistaken. While the rest of the garrison slept or made merry,
or were on guard to landward against an attack from Cimaroons, one
gunner was at his post in the fort. One gunner, one shot, and the town
was in alarm; and away went the Spaniard racing into the town to tell
of the coming of the hated English. There ensued a hubbub in Nombre de
Dios; bells rang out their tocsin call, trumpets blared, drums rolled,
and men rallied up to withstand the foe. As for Drake, he grasped the
situation promptly, and had his plan working without delay. He divided
his men into two companies, leading one himself and sending the other
forward under his brother John and John Oxenham, hoping by this means
to delude the Spaniards into thinking that a large force had come
against them.
It was a queer scene. Every man Jack of Drake’s companies carried a
firepike, whose flaming torch lit up the place weirdly; they made
unearthly noises on trumpets, and rent the air with war-cries which
struck terror into the Spaniards. So much so that, hearing the advance
of men from two quarters, the Dons, forgetting all about the treasure
in their stores, took to their heels and ran for dear life.
It was all so easy, thought the Englishmen; and then found they had
counted their chickens before they were hatched, for when they reached
the market-place they saw that the Spaniards had taken new courage and
had massed themselves for a gallant fight. Moreover, they, too, had
resorted to a stratagem; they had strung a line of lights across the
dark street, and made it appear that there were many, many men with
torches awaiting the foe!
Nothing loath to accept a good fight, Drake’s men plunged in; and
although the Dons met them boldly and fought well, nothing could stop
the men out for treasure and revenge. Using their firepikes as weapons,
they charged the Spaniards, and although Drake and others were wounded,
and the trumpeter was killed, they put the Dons to flight, and found
themselves in possession of Nombre de Dios, with the treasure of King
Philip theirs for the taking!
They hurried to the governor’s house, where they saw much treasure in
the form of stacks of silver bars; they marched to the treasure-house,
which Drake ordered them to force open. They proceeded to do so. But
just then a terrific thunderstorm broke over the town; the men were
drenched to the skin, their bows, with which they had done good work
in the attack, were loosened and rendered useless, so that they began
to fear lest the Spaniards, whom they could hear massing on the hills
after their flight, should burst down upon them, when they would be
practically powerless against them.
They spoke of going back to the boats, but Drake, who heard them,
chaffed them for their cowardice. He knew it wasn’t that!
“You would fly!” he cried. “On the very threshold of the world’s
treasure-house you would fly! I have brought you to the mouth of the
treasury of the world, which if you do not gain none but yourselves
will be to blame! Break open the treasure-house!”
And without waiting to see if they followed he sprang at the door to
set them the example; but even as he did so his sight failed him, the
strength which had been ebbing with the flow of the blood from his
wound gave out, and he fell, a crumpled heap, at the threshold!