Cambiaso’s orders--We set sail--Wood’s Bay--The old French ship--A
drunken riot--The officer condemned--Garcia’s interference--Men
deserted at Wood’s Bay--The Eliza Cornish left behind--Stormy
weather--Sandy Bay again--The Indians--Cape Gregory--Interview with
Cambiaso--His promises--Conversation with Mr. Dunn--My determination.
The 2d of January saw us all ready for sea, and early in the morning
Cambiaso came on board. He called me into his state-room, and after
renewing his threats, in case he saw any signs of my disobeying his
orders, he gave me a written paper, on which were my directions for
navigating the vessel. I opened it before him, thinking that if I saw
the necessity of making any remarks about them, it would be better
to do it at once. The paper directed me to go westward through the
Straits to Cape Pillar; thence west-by-north 1-4 north to 82 deg. west
longitude; then northerly to the latitude of the island of Marica;
thence for that island, coming to anchor on the east side, and waiting
for further orders. The Eliza Cornish was to follow the Florida, and at
night both vessels were to display a signal lantern at mast head.
He remarked, when I had finished reading, that these were only my
general directions; that I must look to him for more particular orders
from day to day; and that while the vessels were within the Straits, he
should often want to anchor at different points.
At about ten o’clock in the morning, a signal gun was fired from the
Florida, and both vessels weighed anchor and got under way for the
westward. We made but slow work and little progress, both vessels being
somewhat out of repair from a month’s neglect, and the standing and
running rigging being very much chafed and worn. On Saturday, the 3d,
we reached Port Famine, and there were ordered to lay over till Monday
morning, during which time the men were employed in getting in more
wood and water, while I was fully occupied in stowing our numerous
passengers more closely, and if possible, more comfortably. In this
labor I received much assistance from Mr. Dunn and captain Avalos,
whose situation I endeavored to render as comfortable as possible, and
whose fare I supplied from my own mess.
Sunday evening, as I was standing on the deck, one of the men from the
hold passed me with a bundle under his arm, and approaching the side
of the vessel, was about to throw it over. I stopped him, asking what
it was. He carelessly turned down the covering and showed me the body
of a child who had been born the evening the colonists came on board,
and who had died that morning. The brute, who I suppose was the father,
had attached pieces of iron to the cloth which covered the poor little
thing, to insure its sinking. I compelled him to go on shore and bury
it, ordering him by my authority as captain of the ship. I took every
occasion to exercise this authority, thinking it might be of advantage
to me in the future. The mother died during our voyage.
We got under way again on Monday morning, and reached St. Nicholas Bay
by the evening of the 6th. Here we lay over all night, and on Wednesday
morning continued our course westward until Thursday afternoon, when
we came in sight of Wood’s Bay, Cape Holland. Cambiaso sent for me as
we neared the harbor, and informed me that he intended to lie in this
anchorage for some time. His object was to get some liquor out of an
old French ship which had been wrecked there some time ago, and which
still lay with the greater part above water. We came to anchor in the
evening, and the next morning the soldiers were sent on shore to unload
the wreck, and rescue what liquor was still untouched by the water.
Some barrels and casks were brought out whole, and immediately
transferred to the Florida; but many were stove in, either purposely
or by accident, and then commenced a scene of drunken rioting
and disorder which lasted for three or four days. Officers, men,
sailors,--all were intoxicated; and Cambiaso and Garcia seemed to have
as little control over them as I had. Indeed, the temptation sometimes
proved too strong for Cambiaso himself; and Mr. Dunn, Garcia, and
myself were almost the only men who preserved full possession of our
senses.
I remember one case in which I used my authority as master of the ship
somewhat rashly. The occupant of one of the state-rooms, the doctor of
the colony under governor Gamero, and a Frenchman, had drank enough to
make him noisily troublesome, both in the cabin and on deck. At last
he went out on the jib-boom, hallooing and shouting. I called to him
to come in, but finding he paid no attention to me, I sent the only
seaman I had on board out after him. This proved equally unavailing,
and, losing all patience, I sprang out myself, collared him, and thrust
him into his state-room. I fully expected that he would complain of me
to Cambiaso, and that I might have to suffer for my rash assumption of
authority; but I never heard from him again.
By Sunday night the rioting seemed to have worn itself out, and the
men, having slept off their intoxication, began to return to their
duty. That night, however, Cambiaso was in a terrible humor, swearing
at all around him, and giving most contradictory orders, which it was
impossible to observe. One of his officers unluckily offended him by
venturing to remonstrate, when Cambiaso in his half drunken passion,
ordered him to be put in irons and sent on board the Eliza Cornish,
accompanied by a file of soldiers, and at twelve at night to be tied
to the mast and shot down. The men obeyed; but I noticed the muttered
indignation of the other officers, and general Garcia, after Cambiaso
had retired to the cabin, stepped forward to the officer under whose
direction the removal was made, and who was to control the execution,
and, under the plea that Cambiaso was under the influence of liquor
and might alter his order, he gave the officer authority to delay the
execution for an hour or two, or at least till he heard again from
himself. I watched the countenance of the condemned man as he went
towards the boat, but could read nothing on it but sturdy, obstinate
defiance and indignation, until, just as he was leaving the deck, a
woman’s scream was heard. It was his wife, who, occupied in the hold
of the vessel, had heard nothing of what was going on until this
moment, and now rushed on deck with her children hanging round her. The
man’s face twitched as she flung herself into his arms, crying most
piteously; but the soldiers quickly took her away from him, and hurried
him on board the boat. I went up to the woman and endeavored to console
her, by telling her of general Garcia’s interference, but between my
broken Spanish and her sobs, I am afraid very little of what I said
reached her mind.
Garcia had left the deck and gone to Cambiaso’s state-room, where he
remained for about two hours, soothing Cambiaso and pleading for the
officer’s life. At last he came out successful. A boat was sent to the
Eliza Cornish, the officer brought back and restored to his wife. This
and other humane actions of general Garcia, made much impression on me
at the time, and inclined me to believe his assertions made afterwards,
that he had only joined Cambiaso on compulsion, and from fear for his
life.
Monday, the 12th, a terrible storm raged; but in the afternoon,
Cambiaso began to send some of the men on shore, as he said, to wash
their clothes. This seemed to me a strange proceeding, and I watched
his movements in some anxiety. By night about forty-four were landed,
and on the last return of the boat, it was hoisted up and put in its
place. Cambiaso then, under his own directions, had our four-pounders
and swivel gun loaded with two balls each--the swivel gun pointed
towards the stern. When this was accomplished, orders were sent to the
Eliza Cornish to weigh anchor and go in shore. The Eliza Cornish had
but two guns on board, and was not utterly defenceless. It was said by
Cambiaso that if the poor mate should attempt to follow the Florida,
his brig should be fired into and sunk, while I was ordered to get
under way and go to the eastward. I understood his plans now. The men
landed at Wood’s Bay were to be left behind to starve or fall a prey
to the Indians; the Eliza Cornish and her two hundred passengers were
to be left to their fate; while the Florida, (on board of which was
all the treasure and Cambiaso’s chief followers,) was to be used to
convey the pirates to some place of security. I shrank from being even
compelled to be accessory to such cruelty, and ventured to remonstrate
with Cambiaso; not, however, on his barbarity,--that, indeed, would
have been useless,--but on the risk the Florida would run in attempting
such dangerous navigation on a night so thick and murky, with the wind
blowing heavily in shore. I told him that it was not safe to start,
that I could not answer for our not being ashore before morning; but
he would not even listen to me, saying he believed I was a coward, and
angrily commanded me to obey orders.
It was, indeed, as much as I could do to keep the vessel from the
shore that night, the storm continuing till daylight, and I expected
every moment that we should be driven in shore. I do not know that I
dreaded it much. It seemed to me as well to fall into the hands of the
Indians, as to remain with these fellows, and our chances of escape
were as good on land as at sea.
Tuesday morning, however, saw us again opposite Sandy Bay, and at nine
o’clock I hove-to off the harbor, by Cambiaso’s orders. The boat was
then cleared away ready for lowering, and some of the men were ordered
to go ashore to bring off some provisions which had been left behind;
but they, perhaps mistrusting Cambiaso’s intentions, and fearing that
they would be abandoned, as their companions had been at Wood’s Bay,
refused to land, declaring that they saw some Indians prowling about
the barracks. I saw, by the help of my spy-glass, that what they took,
or pretended to take for Indians, were only barrels and stumps of
trees, but I prudently said nothing. Cambiaso stormed and threatened,
but the men were stubborn and immovable, and Garcia again interfering,
he sullenly ordered me to proceed, and retired to his state-room. That
evening I anchored under Cape Gregory.
Towards ten o’clock, when the night watch was set, and all was quiet on
the vessel, Mr. Dunn and myself were sent for to Cambiaso’s state-room.
Mr. Dunn had of late always been called upon to accompany me when
Cambiaso sent for me to deliver orders; my broken Spanish seeming to
irritate him, and Mr. Dunn serving as interpreter to render my orders
more clear to me. Cambiaso received us very cordially, asked us to be
seated, and began by expressing himself very well satisfied with the
skill I had shown in navigating the vessel. He was even jocose, asking
me if I was a good shot with a pistol, since he had an idea of fighting
a duel with me; then, pointing to a bottle of champaigne which stood
on the table, he said, “That is the pistol I mean we shall exchange
shots with;” and drawing the cork, he made us both drink with him. Then
turning to Mr. Dunn, he said, “My good friend Sir Captain is troubled
about the rascals I left at Wood’s Bay; he does not know, as you and
I do, that there’s only one way to get along with such men. They are
devils, and nothing is too hard for them. One must take care of himself
in this world.”
Mr. Dunn told him that I had hesitated about putting out from the
harbor because the night was so murky, and the navigation intricate;
and that I was afraid of running the vessel on the shore. Cambiaso
shook his head: “No, no; you are both of you tender-hearted as women.
I suppose you would be frightened now, if you saw blood shed, but one
can’t always get along without it.”
I answered that I could fight as well as another man, when I saw need
for it; but that I did not like leaving the English mate and crew, nor
even _his_ followers to starve, or fall into the hands of the Indians.
This made him laugh heartily; but suddenly changing the subject, he
asked me if I had a wife and children. “Yes,” I said, “in my own
country.” “How many little ones?” he rejoined; “and I suppose you
would like to see them again? Well, you must do without that for some
time yet; but if you will follow my orders, you shall go home with
money enough to stay with them always.”
I answered that I had obeyed his orders since I had agreed to, and
that I should continue to navigate the vessel as well as I could, if
that was what he wanted from me. “Yes,” replied he, when my friend had
interpreted this answer to him, “Yes, yes, that is what I want of you
for the present, and I promise you both that I will not give you any
fighting to do; all I ask of you is to stand by, and not be frightened
if you see any blood spilled.” We made no reply to this; when, after
pausing a moment, and glancing at us from under his long, veiling
lashes, he said, “I will make it worth your while, captain Brown, to
follow me, and yours too, Sir Secretary. If you obey my orders, and
land me safe at my destination, you shall go home to your wife and
little ones with twenty thousand dollars, captain; and you (to Mr.
Dunn,) shall have six thousand, if you interpret for me faithfully.” He
rose as he said this, and pointed out of the cabin, saying as we left
him, that all he wanted was that we should be true to him.
It was then late into the night, but instead of retiring, Mr. Dunn
and myself walked to the side of the vessel, out of hearing of the
watch and the few soldiers listening about the deck, to talk over our
interview with the general. We knew that those around us were aware
that we had been sent for by Cambiaso, and had been with him for some
time; therefore it would be natural for them to suppose that we would
wish to talk of what we had heard from him, and it was very seldom
that we had an opportunity of exchanging even a few words without
feeling that we were suspected by our watchful jailors.
I told Mr. Dunn at once that I did not like Cambiaso’s conversation;
I did not trust his apparent friendliness for a moment; indeed, I
believed that it was all assumed to deceive us, and hide his real
intentions.
“But,” replied Mr. Dunn, “he cannot do without you as long as he
remains on board the Florida, and now that he has abandoned the colony
and left the brig behind, he must have some port in view.” “Yes,” said
I, “he will use us as long as he wants us; but depend upon it, he will
never let us escape alive to any place where we can put the officers of
justice on his track. Depend upon it, all this was to blind us; he has
some devilish plan in his head; he will do something with us very soon.”
Mr. Dunn looked anxiously serious as he said, “I more than half agree
with you; the villain was half intoxicated this evening, and let out
more than he meant to. Did you see his face when he promised us the
money? But what plans can he have? What port does he intend to make?”
This brought to my mind a conversation I had held a few days before
with one of the officers, Cambiaso’s chief adviser and confidant,
and a man who before this had scarcely exchanged a word with me. He,
through the help of one of the sailors, a Chilian, but who talked
English tolerably well, had questioned me about the lay of the shore
around Rio Janeiro, and the approach to that port, the landing, and so
forth. This I repeated to Mr. Dunn, and putting that conversation with
Cambiaso’s entire change of orders since we first left the colony, his
evident intentions of continuing his course eastward, the amount of
food which he had stored in the Florida, and other slight indications
of the same sort, we felt that Rio Janeiro was his destination, and
that we had some clue to his plans.
Still, I was convinced, and at last succeeded in convincing Mr. Dunn,
that his friendly expressions towards us, and his offers of money were
entirely insincere; his bids were altogether too high. I knew that
all the treasure on the vessel did not amount to more than eighty
thousand dollars, and of that he would hardly give twenty-six thousand
to men whom he had entirely within his power; and give it, too, when
he had no longer any further use for them. Long afterwards, and on my
return to Valparaiso, I found that my suspicions were correct; for I
learned from Garcia and the other officer of Cambiaso, both of whom
were pardoned by the Chilian government, that Cambiaso’s plan had
been to take the Florida to some part of the Brazilian coast that was
uninhabited, probably on the inhospitable shores of the province of
Santa Catharina, there to compel most of his followers and prisoners to
land and shift for themselves; using some such stratagem as that which
had been so successful at Cape Holland; and to keep on the vessel only
his intimate friends, and myself and crew. On reaching the harbor of
Rio Janeiro, and coming near enough to gain the shore in the boats, he
and his companions were to murder myself and crew, scuttle the vessel,
and with the treasure, make their escape to the port; there, dividing
the booty, they were to disperse, Cambiaso himself intending to take
passage in the steamer for Europe, and his officers to seek whatever
foreign country might please them and seem a safe refuge for them.
Mr. Dunn and myself parted, with our distrust of Cambiaso confirmed,
and with a renewed determination to strain every nerve to escape
from his hands. After I reached my berth, and as I lay tossing and
revolving our perils, the thought struck me that it might be possible
to re-take the vessel. A thousand difficulties and dangers started up
to intimidate me, but the possibility of success seemed to overbalance
all uncertainties, and I spent the rest of the night in laying my
plans, in measuring the chances of resolution and fidelity amongst my
crew, and in estimating the probability of our being joined by any of
the released prisoners.
By the morning, I had made up my mind to the attempt, and rose with a
determination to lose no time, but to effect it, if possible, that very
day.