CHAPTER I.

THE WRECK OF THE "GROSVENOR."

THE

WRECK OF THE "GROSVENOR:"

AN ACCOUNT OF

_THE MUTINY OF THE CREW AND THE

LOSS OF THE SHIP_

WHEN TRYING TO MAKE THE BERMUDAS.

_IN THREE VOLUMES._

VOL. II.

LONDON:

SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE & RIVINGTON,

CROWN BUILDINGS, 188, FLEET STREET.

1877.

(_All rights reserved._)

LONDON:

PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS,

STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.

THE WRECK OF THE "GROSVENOR."

CHAPTER I.

As the men had been up all night, I recommended the carpenter to go to

them and tell them that the watches would not be altered, and that the

watch whose spell it was below should turn in.

Some, it appeared, asked that rum should be served out to them; but

the carpenter answered that none should be given them until breakfast

time, and that if they got talking too much about the drink, he'd run

a bradawl into the casks and let the contents drain out; for if the

men fell to drinking, the ship was sure to get into a mess, in which

case they might be boarded by the crew of another vessel and carried to

England, where nothing less than hanging or transportation awaited them.

This substantial advice from the lips of the man who had been foremost

in planning the mutiny produced a good effect, and the fellows who had

asked for spirits were at once clamorously assailed by their mates;

so that, in their temper, had the carpenter proposed to fling the rum

casks overboard, most of the hands would have consented and the thing

being done.

All this I was told by the boatswain, who had left the poop with the

carpenter, but returned before him. I took this opportunity of being

alone with the man to ask him some questions relative to the mutiny,

and particularly inquired if he could tell me what was that intention

which the man named "Bill" had asked the carpenter to communicate

to me, but which he had refused to explain. The boatswain, who was

at bottom a very honest man, declared that he had no notion of the

intention the carpenter was concealing, but promised to try and worm

the secret out of Johnson or others who were in it, and impart it to me.

He now informed me that he had come into the mutiny because he saw the

men were resolved, and also because they thought he took the captain's

part, which was a belief full of peril to him. He said that he could

not foresee how this trouble would end; for though the idea of the men

to quit the ship and make for the shore in open boats was feasible,

yet they would run very heavy risks of capture any way; for if they

came across a ship while in the boats they could not refuse to allow

themselves to be taken on board, where, some of the mutineers being

very gross and ignorant men, the truth would certainly leak out; whilst

as to escaping on shore, it was fifty to one if the answers they made

to inquiries would not differ so widely one from another as to betray

them.

But at this point our conversation was interrupted by the carpenter

coming aft to ask me to keep watch whilst he and the boatswain turned

in, as he for one was "dead beat," and would not be of any service

until he had rested.

It was now broad daylight, the east filled with the silver splendours

of the rising sun. I descried a sail to windward, on the starboard

tack, heading eastward. I made her out through the glass to be a small

topsail schooner, but as we were going free with a fresh breeze we soon

sank her hull.

The sight of this vessel, however, set me thinking on my own position.

What would be thought and how should I be dealt with when (supposing I

should ever reach land) I should come to tell the story of this mutiny?

But this was a secondary consideration. My real anxiety was to foresee

how the men would act when I had brought them to the place they wished

to arrive at. Would they give such a witness against their murderous

dealings as I was, a chance to save my life?--I, whose plain testimony

could set justice on the hunt for every one of them. I could not place

confidence in their assurances. The oaths of such ruffians as many of

them undoubtedly were, were worthless. They would murder me without an

instant's scruple if by so doing they could improve their own chances

of escape; and I was fully persuaded that I should have shared the

fate of Coxon and Duckling in spite of the sympathy I had shown them,

and their declaration that they did not want my life, had they not

foreseen that they would stand in need of some competent person to

navigate the ship for them, and that I was more likely to come into

their projects than either of the men they had murdered.

My agitation was greater than I like to admit; and I turned over in my

mind all sorts of ideas for my escape, but never forgetting the two

helpless persons whose lives I considered wholly dependent on my own

preservation.

At one moment I thought of taking the boatswain into my confidence,

stealthily storing provisions in one of the quarter-boats, and watching

an opportunity to sneak off with him and our passengers under cover of

night.

Then I thought of getting him to sound the minds of the crew, to judge

if there were any who might assist us should we rise upon the more

desperate of the mutineers.

Another notion was to pretend to mistake the ship's whereabouts, and

run her into some port.

But such stratagems as these, easily invented, were in reality

impracticable.

To let the men see that I stood to my work, I never quitted the deck

until six o'clock. The morning was then very beautiful, with a rich and

warm aroma in the glorious southerly breeze, and the water as blue as

the heavens.

On arousing the carpenter in the cabin formerly occupied by me (I found

him in the bunk on my mattress with his boots on, and a pipe belonging

to me in his hand), I told him that the ship could now carry all plain

sail, and advised him to make it. He got out of the bunk in a pretty

good temper, and went along the cuddy; but as he was about to mount

the companion-ladder I called to know if he would see the steward, and

speak to him about serving out the cuddy stores, as I preferred that

he should give the man instructions, since they would best represent

the wishes of the crew. But the truth was, I wanted to pack all the

responsibility that I could upon him, so as to make myself as little

answerable as possible to the men.

"Yes, yes. Fetch him out. Where is he?" he replied, turning round.

"Steward!" I called.

After a pause the door of the captain's cabin opened, and the figure of

the steward stepped forth. Such a woebegone object, with bloodless face

and haggard expression, and red eyes and quivering mouth, hands hanging

like an idiot's, his hair matted, his knees knocking together as he

walked, I never wish to see again.

"Now, young feller," said the carpenter (the steward, by the way, was

about forty years old), "what do you think ought to be done to you,

hey? Is hangin' too mild, or is drownin' more to your fancy? or would

you like to be di-sected by the cook, who is reckoned a neat hand at

carvin'?"

The steward turned his bloodshot eyes upon me, and his white lips moved.

"Mr. Stevens is only joking," I exclaimed, feeling that I would give a

year's pay to strike the ruffian to the earth for his brutal playing

with the miserable creature's terror. "He wants to talk to you about

the cuddy provisions."

The carpenter stared at him grimly, out of a mean tyranny and relish

of his fears; and the poor creature said, "Yes, sir?" lifting his eyes

humbly to the carpenter's face, and folding his hands in an involuntary

attitude of supplication.

"You'll understand, young feller," said the carpenter, thrusting his

hands into his pockets and leaning against the mizzen-mast, "that we're

all equals aboard this here wessel now. No one's above t'other, barring

yourself, who's just nowheeres at all, owin' to your keeping in tow of

the skipper when he was pisoning us with the stores which you, d----

yer! took joy in sarving out! Now, you understand this: you're to turn

to and sarve out the cuddy stores to the men at the proper time, and

three tots o' grog every day to each man. Mr. Ryle 'll tell you how

long our passage 'll last, and you're to make a calkilation of the live

stock so as each watch gits a share of the pigs an' poultry. But you,"

he continued, squirting some tobacco juice from his mouth, "aren't

to touch no other provisions but the stores which the crew's been

eatin' of: mind that! If we catch you tastin' so much as half a cuddy

biscuit, by the living thunder! we'll run you up to the fore-yard-arm!"

He shook his fist in the steward's face, and addressing me, said--

"That's all to be said, ain't it?"

"That's all," I replied; and the steward went cringing and reeling

towards the pantry, whilst the carpenter mounted the companion-ladder.

I entered the cabin, which, to save confusion, I will continue to call

the captain's cabin, and seated myself in a chair screwed down to the

deck before a wide table. This cabin was comfortably furnished with

hanging bookshelves, a fine map of the world, a few coloured prints of

ships, a handsome cot, and mahogany lockers cushioned on top to serve

for seats.

Among some writing materials, a case of mathematical instruments, a

boat's compass, and a variety of other matters which covered the

table, I observed an American five-chambered revolver, which, on

examining, I found was loaded. I at once put this weapon in my pocket,

and after searching awhile, discovered a box of cartridges, which I

also pocketed.

This I considered a very lucky find, as I never knew the moment when

I might stand in need of such a weapon; and whether I should have

occasion to use it or not, it was certainly better in my possession

than in the hands of the men.

I now left my chair to examine the lockers, in the hopes of finding

other firearms; and I cannot express the eagerness with which I

prosecuted the search, because I considered that, should the boatswain

succeed in winning even one man over from the crew, three resolute men,

each armed with a revolver or firearm of any kind, might, by carefully

waiting their opportunity, kill or wound enough of the crew to render

the others an easy conquest.

However, to my unspeakable disappointment, my search proved fruitless;

all that I found in the lockers were clothes belonging to Captain

Coxon, a quantity of papers, old charts, and log-books, some parcels of

cigars, and a bag containing about £30 in silver.

Whilst engaged in these explorations, a knock fell on the door, and on

my replying, the girl came in. I bowed and asked her to be seated, and

inquired how her father did.

"He is still very weak," she answered; "but he is not worse this

morning. I heard your voice just now, and watched you enter this cabin.

I hope you will let me speak to you. I have so much to say."

"Indeed," I replied, "I have been waiting impatiently for this

opportunity. Will you first tell me your name?"

"Mary Robertson. My father is a Liverpool merchant, Mr. Royle, and the

ship in which we were wrecked was his own vessel. Oh!" she exclaimed,

pressing her hands to her face, "we were many hours expecting every

moment to die. I cannot believe that we are saved! and sometimes I

cannot believe that what has happened is real! I think I was going

mad when I saw your ship. I thought the boat was a phantom, and that

it would vanish suddenly. It was horrible to be imprisoned with the

dead body and that mad sailor! The sailor went mad on the first day,

and soon afterwards the passenger--for he was a passenger who lay dead

on the deck--sat up in his bed and uttered a dreadful cry, and fell

forward dead. The mad sailor pointed to him and howled! and neither

papa nor I could get out of the house, for the water washed against it

and would have swept us overboard."

She told me all this with her hands to her face, and her fair hair

flowing over her shoulders, and made a sweet and pathetic picture in

this attitude.

Suddenly she looked up with a smile of wonderful sweetness, and,

seizing my hand, cried--

"What do we not owe you for your noble efforts? How good and brave you

are!"

"You praise me too warmly, Miss Robertson. God knows there was nothing

noble in my efforts, nor any daring in them. Had I really risked my

life to save you, I should still have barely done my duty. How were you

treated yesterday? Well, I hope."

"Oh yes. The captain told the steward to give us what we wanted. I

think the wine he sent us saved papa's life. He was sinking, but

rallied after he had drunk a little of it. I am in a sad plight," she

exclaimed, while a faint tinge of red came into her cheeks. "I have not

even a piece of ribband to tie up my hair with."

She took her beautiful hair in her hands, and smiled.

"Is there nothing in this cabin that will be of use to you?" I said.

"Here is a hair-brush--and it looks a pretty good one. I don't know

whether we shall be able to muster a bit of ribband among us, but I

just now came across a roll of serge, and if you can do anything with

that and a needle and thread, which I'll easily get for you, I'll see

that they are put in your cabin. Here are enough clothes to rig out

your father, at all events, until his own are made ship-shape. But how

am I to help _you_? That has been on my mind."

"I can use the serge if I may have it," she replied, in the prettiest

way imaginable.

"Here it is," I said, hauling it out of the locker; "and I'll get

needles and thread for you presently. No sailor goes to sea without a

housewife, and you shall have mine. And if you will wait a moment I

think I can find something else that may be useful."

Saying which I hurried to my old cabin, unlocked my chest, and took out

a new pair of carpet slippers.

"A piece of bunting or serge fitted into these will make them sit on

your feet," I exclaimed, handing them to her. "And I have other ideas,

Miss Robertson, all which I hope will help to make you a little more

comfortable by-and-by. Leave a sailor alone to find out ways and means."

She took the slippers with a graceful little smile, and put them

alongside the roll of serge; and then, with a grave face, and in an

earnest voice, she asked me to tell her what the men meant to do with

the ship now that they had seized her.

I freely told her as much as I knew, but expressed no fears as to

my own, and hers, and her father's safety. Indeed, I took the most

cheerful view I could of our situation.

"My notion," said I, "is that when the time comes for the men to leave

the ship they will not allow us to go with them. They will oblige us

to remain in her, which is the best thing that could happen; for I am

sure that the boatswain will stay, and with his and the steward's help

there is nothing to prevent us taking the ship into the nearest port,

or lying to until we sight a vessel, and then signalling for help."

I fancy she was about to express her doubts of this result, but

exclaimed instead--

"No matter what comes, Mr. Royle, we shall feel safe with you." And

then, suddenly rising, she asked me to come and see her father.

I followed her at once into the cabin.

The old man lay in an upper bunk, with a blanket over him. He looked

like a dead man, with his white face rendered yet more death-like in

appearance by the dishevelled white hair upon his head, and the long

white beard. He was lying perfectly still, with his eyes closed, his

thin hands folded outside the blanket.

I thought he slept, and motioned to his daughter; but she stooped and

whispered, "Papa, here is Mr. Royle;" whereupon he opened his eyes

and looked at me. The sense of my presence appeared to be very slowly

conveyed to his mind, and then he extended his hand. I took it, and saw

with emotion that tears streamed from his eyes.

"Sir," he exclaimed, in a weak faltering voice, "I can only say, God

bless you!"

I answered cheerfully, "Pray say no more, Mr. Robertson. I want to see

you recover your strength. Thank God, your daughter has survived her

horrible trials, and will soon quite recover from the effects of them.

What now can I do for you? Have you slept?"

"Yes, yes, I have slept; a little, I thank you. Sir, I have witnessed

shocking scenes."

I whispered to Miss Robertson--

"Let me prescribe some medicine that will do you both good. What you

both require is support. I will be with you in a minute."

So saying, I quitted the cabin and entered the pantry. There I found

the steward sitting on the plate chest, with his hands to his temples.

"Now then, my lad," said I; "rouse up. You are not dead yet. Have you

any brandy here?"

He pointed in a mechanical way to a shelf, where were several bottles.

I found what I wanted, and gave him a dose to put heart into him, and

asked him for some eggs. Four or five, the gathering of yesterday from

the kindly hens under the long-boat, lay in the drawer, which he pulled

open. I proceeded to mix two tumblers of eggs and brandy, which I

carried to the next cabin.

"This is my physic, Miss Robertson," I exclaimed, putting one of the

tumblers into her hand; "oblige me by drinking it; and you, sir,"

I continued, addressing the old gentleman, "will not wait for her

example."

They both, to my great satisfaction, swallowed the contents of the

glasses, the effect of which, after some moments, upon Mr. Robertson

was decidedly beneficial, for he thanked me for my kindness in a much

stronger voice, and even made shift to prop himself up on his elbow.

"It is the best tonic in the world," said I, taking Miss Robertson's

glass, "and I am very much obliged to you for your obedience."

The look she gave me was more eloquent than any verbal reply; at

least, I found it so. Her face was so womanly and beautiful, so full

of pathos in its pallor, with something so brave and open in its whole

expression, that it was delightful to me to watch it.

"Now," said I to the old gentleman, "allow me to leave you for a

little. I want to see what the _Grosvenor_ can furnish in the shape of

linen and drapery. Isn't that what they call it ashore? We have found

some serge, and needles and thread are easily got; and I'll set what

wits the unfortunate steward has left in him to work to discover how

Miss Robertson may be made comfortable until we put you both ashore."

"Do not leave us!" cried the old man. "Your society does me good, sir.

It puts life into me. I want to tell you who we are, and about our

shipwreck, and where we were going. The _Cecilia_ was my own vessel. I

am a merchant, doing most of my trade with the Cape--the Cape of Good

Hope. I took my daughter--my only child, sir--to Cape Town, last year,

for a change of scene and air; and I should have stopped another year,

but Mary got tired and wanted to get home, and--and--well, as I was

telling you, Mr--Mr.----"

"Royle," said Miss Robertson.

"Mr. Royle, as I was telling you, Mary got tired; and as the _Cecilia_

was loading at Cape Town--she was a snug sound ship--yes, indeed; and

we went on board, we and a gentleman named--named----"

"Jameson," his daughter suggested.

"Ay, poor Jameson--poor, poor fellow!"

He hid his face, and was silent, I should say, a whole minute,

neither Miss Robertson nor myself speaking. Presently, looking up, he

continued--

"It came on to blow very heavily, most suddenly, a dreadful gale. It

caught the ship in a calm, and she was unprepared, and it snapped all

three masts away. Oh, God, what a night of horror! The men went mad,

and cried that the ship was going stern down, and crowded into the

boats. One went whirling away into the darkness, and one was capsized;

and then the captain said the ship was sinking, and my daughter and

I ran out of the cabin on to the deck. Well, sir," continued the old

man, swallowing convulsive sobs as he spoke, "the ship's side had

been pierced, the captain said, by one of the yards; and she was

slowly settling, and the water came over the deck, and we got into the

house where you found us, for shelter. I put my head to the window and

called the captain to come, and as he was coming the water hurled him

overboard; and there were only myself and my poor girl and Mr. Jameson

and--and--tell him the rest!" he suddenly cried, hiding his eyes and

stretching out his hand.

"Another time, Miss Robertson," I exclaimed, seeing the look of horror

that had come into her face during her father's recital of the story.

"Tell me where you live in England, and let us fancy ourselves in the

dear old country, which, so it please God, we shall all reach safely in

a little time."

But they were both too overcome to answer me. The old man kept his

face concealed, and the girl drew long sobbing breaths with dry eyes.

However, she plucked up presently, and answered that they lived just

out of Liverpool, but that her father had also an estate at Leamington,

near Warwick, where her mother died, and where she spent most of her

time, as she did not like Liverpool.

"Tell me, sir," cried Mr. Robertson, "did you bring the body of poor

Jameson with you? I forget."

"If that was Mr. Jameson whose body lay in the deck-house," I replied,

"I left him on the wreck. There was his coffin, Mr. Robertson, and I

dared not wait to bring off a dead man when living creatures stood in

peril of their lives."

"To be sure, sir!" exclaimed the old gentleman. "You were very right.

You acted with great nobleness, and are most kind to us now--most

kind, Mary, is he not? Let me see?" knitting his brows. "You are not

captain of this ship? I think, my dear, you said that this gentleman

was the mate? Who is the captain, sir?"

His daughter put her finger to her mouth, which puzzled me until

I considered that she either did not want him to know that the

captain was murdered, or, supposing he knew of the murder, that the

circumstance should not be revived in his memory, which was just now

very feeble.

He did not wait for his question to be answered, but asked me where the

ship was bound to?

"New Orleans," I answered, with a glance at his daughter.

"New Orleans!" he exclaimed. "Let me think--that is beyond the West

Indies." And with great eagerness he said, "Will you put into one of

the West India Islands? I am known at Kingston; I have shipped largely

to a firm there, Messieurs Raymondi and Company. Why, my dear, we shall

be very well received, and we shall be able to purchase fresh clothes,"

he continued, holding up his arm and looking at it with a melancholy

smile, "and go home in one of the fine mail packets. Ha! ha! ha! how

things come about!"

He lay back upon his pillow with this short mirthless laugh, and

remained silent. I do not say that his mind was unhinged, but his

intellect was unquestionably impaired by the horrors he had witnessed

and the sufferings he had endured. But then he was an old man--nearer

seventy than sixty, I took him to be; whilst his daughter, whom a

little rest had put upon the high road to recovery, did not appear to

be above twenty years old.

As the time was passing rapidly, I determined to seize the opportunity

of the carpenter being on deck to do what I could to make these

sufferers comfortable. I therefore left them and sang out to the

steward, who came with terrified promptitude, casting the while

and almost at every step, fearful glances in the direction of the

main-deck, where some of the hands were visible.

I gave him the captain's hair-brush to wash, and covered a tray with

the various toilet conveniences with which the ill-fated skipper had

provided himself. These I dispatched by the steward to Miss Robertson,

and I then made the man prepare a tray with a substantial breakfast,

consisting of cold fowl, fine white biscuit, ham, preserved fruit, and

some tea, which I boiled in the pantry by means of a spirit-lamp that

belonged to me.

I took an immense pleasure in supplying these new friends' wants, and

almost forgot the perilous situation I was in, in the agreeable labour

of devising means to comfort the girl, whose life and her father's,

thanks to God, I had been instrumental in preserving.

I made a thorough overhaul of Coxon's effects, holding myself fully

privileged to use them for the benefit of poor Mr. Robertson, and sent

to his cabin a good suit of clothes, some clean linen, and a warm

overcoat.

The steward obeyed me humbly and officiously. He considered his life

still in great danger, and that he must fall a sacrifice to the fury

of the crew if he quitted the cuddy. However, I found him very useful,

for he furnished me with some very good hints, and, among other things,

he, to my great delight, informed me that he had in the steerage a box

of woman's underclothing, which had been made by his wife's hand for

a sister living in Valparaiso, to whom he was taking out the box as a

gift, and that I was very welcome to the contents.

I requested him at once to descend with me and get the box out; but

this job took us over twenty minutes, for the box was right aft, and

we had to clear away upwards of five hundred bird-cages, and a mass of

light wooden packages of toys and dolls to come at it. We succeeded at

last in hauling it into the cuddy, and he fetched the key and raised

the lid; but burst into tears when he saw a letter from his wife,

addressed to his sister, lying on top of the linen.

I told him to put the letter in his pocket, and to be sure that his

sister would be liberally compensated, if all went well with us, for

this appropriation of her property.

"I am not thinking of the clothes, sir," whined the poor fellow, "but

of my wife and child, who I may never see again."

"Nonsense," I exclaimed; "try to understand that a man is never dead

until the breath is out of his body. You are as well off as I am, and

those poor people in the cabin there. What we have to do now is to

help each other, and put a bold face on our troubles. The worst hasn't

arrived yet, and it won't do to go mad with anticipating it. Wait till

it comes, and if there's a road out of it, I'll take it, trust me. Cock

this box under your arm, and take it to Miss Robertson."

I had now done everything that was possible, and to my perfect

satisfaction; for besides having furnished the old gentleman with a

complete change of clothes, I had supplied his daughter with what I

knew she would appreciate as a great luxury--a quantity of warm, dry

underclothing.

It may strike the reader as ludicrous to find me descending into such

trivialities, and perhaps I smiled myself when I thought over the

business that had kept me employed since six o'clock. But shipwreck is

a terrible leveller, and cold and hunger and misery know but little

dignity. How would it seem to Miss Robertson, the daughter of a man

obviously opulent, to find herself destitute of clothing, and accepting

with gratitude such rude articles of dress as one poor workwoman would

make for another of her condition? She, with the memory in her of

abundant wardrobes, of costly silks, and furs, and jewellery, of rich

attire, and the plentiful apparel of an heiress! But the sea pays but

little attention to such claims, and would as lief strip a monarch as a

poor sailor, and set him afloat naked to struggle awhile and drown.