1681-1691
DAMPIER'S FIRST VOYAGE ROUND THE WORLD[8]
“April 17, 1681,” writes Dampier, “about Ten a Clock in the morning
being 12 leagues N.-W. from the Island _Plata_, we left Captain _Sharp_
and those who were willing to go with him in the Ship, and imbarqued
into our Launch and Canoas, designing for the River of _Santa Maria_ in
the Gulf of _St. Michael_, which is about 200 leagues from the Isle of
_Plata_.” The boats which carried them were a launch and two canoes;
and their provisions consisted of a quantity of flour mixed with twenty
or thirty pounds of powdered chocolate. That no man should venture the
crossing of the Isthmus on foot who, by health or feebleness of will,
might prove unequal to the march, it was settled at the start that
any one who faltered on the journey overland should be at once shot to
death: “For,” says Dampier, “we knew that the Spaniards would soon be
after us, and one man falling into their hands might be the ruin of
us all by giving an account of our strength and condition; yet this
would not deter 'em from going with us.” When abreast of Cape Passao
they captured a small vessel and sailed to Cape St. Lorenzo, where they
disembarked, after removing their provisions and clothes and scuttling
their little ship. It was now May 1st, 1681.
The march of Dampier and his companions across the Isthmus of Panama
is a feat that ranks amongst the most memorable of the traditions of
travel and adventure. The qualities of the climate of that part of
the world have found emphasis in our time in published accounts of
the mortality among the people employed out there on the great French
engineer's scheme of a canal. The land is watered by numbers of rivers
filled with alligators; it is darkened and often rendered impenetrable
by dense growths of tropical vegetation crowded with snakes; and in
many places it is blocked by barriers of hills and mountains belted
with miasmatic vapours. Our little company of buccaneers crossed the
Isthmus in twenty-three days, in which time, according to Dampier's
account, they travelled one hundred and ten miles. Their adventures
were few, but the hardships constant and severe. For the most part they
slept all night in the open, and repeatedly arose in the morning from
their beds of mire with clothes saturated by storms of rain. Their
surgeon, Lionel Wafer, was badly hurt in the knee by the explosion
of a parcel of gunpowder,—an accident that gave his companions much
anxiety, “being lyable ourselves every moment to misfortune,” says
Dampier, “and none to look after us but him.” On several occasions
many of them were nearly drowned whilst fording rivers swollen with
rains. The difficulties in the road of their progress may be gathered
from a single incident. They had arrived at the banks of a river which
they were obliged to cross. The water was deep and the current ran
swiftly. It was proposed that those who could swim should assist those
who were helpless in this way to the opposite bank; but then, how were
they to transport the guns, provisions, and other articles that they
carried? They decided to send a man over with a line, who, by means of
it, would be able to haul the goods across, and then drag those ashore
who could not swim. A fellow named Gayny secured the end of the line
around his neck and plunged into the river, but the current kinked and
entangled the rope in some way and threw the swimmer on his back. He
had slung a bag containing three hundred dollars over his shoulder, and
this weight, helped by the drag of the line, drew the unfortunate man
under, and he was seen no more. They finally succeeded in crossing by
felling a tall tree, which happily spanned the river and served them
as a bridge. Their food consisted of fish and such animals as they
could contrive to shoot, particularly monkeys, whose flesh they ate
with relish. It was not until May 23rd that they came in sight of the
Atlantic, which it was then the custom to speak of as the North Sea,
and the next day they went on board a French privateer commanded by
a Captain Tristian. Some of their comrades had died by the way, and
some had been left behind. Amongst the latter was Wafer, the surgeon,
who a few weeks afterwards was met by Dampier while cruising in the
neighbourhood of La Sound's Key. Some Indians came aboard, and brought
with them the surgeon and survivors of the others who had been left on
the Isthmus. “Mr. Wafer,” says Dampier, “wore a clout about him, and
was painted like an Indian; and he was some time aboard before I knew
him.”[9]
Captain Tristian, having Dampier and his comrades in the ship, set
sail, and arrived in two days at Springer's Quay, where they found
eight privateers lying at anchor. Four of them were English; two of ten
guns each, and both carrying one hundred men; a third of four guns and
forty men. The others were less formidable. The Dutch vessel mounted
four guns and carried sixty men, and was commanded by one Captain
Yanky. The Frenchmen were respectively of eight guns and forty men, and
six guns and seventy men. Here, by guessing at the crews of the smaller
ships, we arrive at a body of pirates numbering between five and six
hundred fearless, determined, ferocious ruffians! It is conceivable
that the Spaniards in those waters should have lived in a state of
terror. The wonder is that the swarms of miscreants who preyed upon
them should have left them a house to dwell in or a ducat to conceal.
After many debates it was agreed amongst the masters and crews of
these vessels to attack a town the name of which Dampier says he has
forgotten. The vessel into which our hero found himself drafted was
a French craft of eight guns and forty men, commanded by a man named
Archemboe. The fleet weighed, but during the night they were scattered
by a hard gale, and when day broke Archemboe's ship was alone. Dampier,
with others of his comrades who were with Archemboe, speedily learnt
to hate their French associates. The sailors were utterly worthless
in bad, and lazy, lounging loafers in fine, weather: “The saddest
creatures that I was ever among,” writes Dampier, “but though we had
bad weather that required many hands aloft, yet the biggest part of
them never stirred out of their hammocks but to eat.” Later on they
fell in with Captain Wright, who belonged to the fleet, and Dampier's
English shipmates induced this man to fit out a prize of his for them;
Dampier himself joining Wright, whose vessel, a _barco longo_, mounted
four guns and carried fifty men. Shortly after this Wright, in company
with the Dutchman, Captain Yanky, started on a cruise along the coast
of Cartagena.
Dampier's narrative here is a very close, curious, and interesting
description of the islands of this part of the sea and of the shores
of the mainland. He also prints pages of notes about the birds common
to those parts, the pearl-fishery, and other matters of a like kind.
The charm of a sailor-like simplicity is in everything he says. “I have
not been curious,” he writes in his preface to a _New Voyage Round the
World_, “as to the spelling of the Names of Places, Plants, Fruits,
Animals, etc., which in many of the remoter parts are given at the
pleasure of Travellers, and vary according to their different Humours:
Neither have I confined myself to such names as are given by Learned
Authors, or so much as enquired after them. I write for my Countrymen,
and have therefore for the most part used such names as are familiar
to our English Seamen and those of our Colonies abroad, yet without
neglecting others that occur'd.”
Let Dampier's literary defects be what they may, assuredly
unintelligibility is not one of them.
The cruise, in a buccaneering sense, was not a profitable one. They
captured a few small vessels, but their prizes yielded them little more
than some tons of sugar, marmalade, cocoa, hides, and earthenware. They
then resolved to separate, and after dividing the plunder they parted
company, having enough vessels in the shape of prizes to carry them
wherever they might choose to go. Twenty of them, amongst whom was
Dampier, putting their share of the booty into a small bark, set sail
for Virginia and arrived there after an uneventful passage in July,
1682. In this country Dampier lived for thirteen months, but of his
life he tells nothing, merely hinting that a great many troubles befell
him.
Amongst the crew of the vessel commanded by the Dutchman, Captain
Yanky—one of the piratical commanders with whom Dampier was associated
after crossing the Isthmus—there had been a quartermaster named John
Cooke, a Creole. On Yanky capturing a Spanish prize, Cooke, by virtue
of his position according to the practice of the buccaneers, claimed
and obtained command of her. But the privateersmen were of mixed
nationalities, and the French, growing jealous of the Englishmen,
plundered and stripped the men who had been their shipmates and
companions-in-arms, and turned them naked ashore. Captain Tristian,
however, whose ship, it will be remembered, Dampier and his comrades
boarded on the Darien coast, took pity upon the English, and carried
ten of them, one of whom was Cooke, to the Island of Tortuga. Whilst
they lay there at anchor the English rose, seized Tristian's vessel,
and sailing away with her made two captures of importance, one of
which they navigated to Virginia, where they arrived in April, 1683.
Having sold the cargo of this prize they fitted her out as a privateer,
mounting her, Captain Cowley says in his _Voyage_, with eight guns,
though Dampier makes the number eighteen. They called her the
_Revenge_. Dampier with many others volunteered to sign articles for
her, and when she set sail her crew, according to Cowley, consisted of
fifty-two, but according to Dampier of seventy men.
The voyage of the _Revenge_ was written by Cowley as well as by
Dampier—that is to say, a large portion of this voyage is included in
Dampier's first volume of his Travels. Cowley's account is very full,
wanting indeed the flavour of Dampier's style, and the vitality and
archness of his descriptive powers; but in one sense Cowley is more
interesting than the other—I mean, that as a freebooter he writes with
far more candour than Dampier, whose narratives everywhere repeat by
implication the direct apology he makes in the preface to his first
volume:
“As for the Actions of the Company, among whom I made the greatest
part of this voyage, a Thread of which I have carried on thro' it,
'tis not to divert the Reader with them that I mention them, much
less that I take any pleasure in relating them: but for method's sake
and for the Reader's satisfaction; who could not so well acquiesce
in my Description of Places, etc., without knowing the particular
Traverses I made among them: nor in these, without an Account of the
Concomitant Circumstances. Besides that, I would not prejudice the
truth and sincerity of my Relation, tho' by omissions only. And as
for the Traverses themselves, they make for the Reader's advantage;
however little for mine, since thereby I have been the better inabled
to gratify his Curiosity; as one who rambles about a Country can give
usually a better account of it, than a Carrier who jogs on to his Inn,
without ever going out of his Road.”
Cowley had not Dampier's sensitiveness; indeed, he might not have
considered his conscience as a buccaneer unduly burdened. It is
manifest that as he wrote he was still smarting under the trick that
had been put upon him, and to gratify his resentment he related
baldly all the truth he could recollect. He had been prevailed upon
by Cooke to sail as master in the privateer, which was professedly
bound to San Domingo, that her commander might at that island obtain a
commission to legalise his acts at sea; but in reality Cooke's first,
real, and only design was wholly one of piracy, and nothing was said
to Cowley about it until the ship was well clear of the land, when,
of course, he was forced to fall in with the scheme.[10] This was in
the year 1683. Dampier was now thirty-one years of age, and fairly,
but unconsciously, started on the first of those voyages which
were to make him in his day and to succeeding times one of the most
distinguished of the circumnavigators of the globe.
The _Revenge_ sailed from Achamack on August 23rd in the year just
named. Nothing for many weeks broke the monotony of the passage save
the incident of a heavy gale of wind which the vessel encountered off
the Cape Verd Islands. Cowley dwells lightly upon this storm as if
he would make little or nothing of it, but Dampier insists upon its
being the most violent he had ever experienced in any part of the
world. Indeed he has preserved an account of it in those chapters in
the second volume of his Voyages, which he entitles, “A Discourse of
Winds, Breezes, Storms, Tides, and Currents.” The nautical reader will,
I hope, thank me for transcribing a passage that is more curiously
illustrative of the seamanship and sea-technicalities of the period of
history to which this narrative belongs than any like account by other
hands that I can call to mind.
“If after the Mizan is hall'd up and furled, if then the ship will
not wear, we must do it with some Headsail, which yet sometimes puts
us to our shifts. As I was once in a very violent storm sailing from
_Virginia_, mentioned in my _Voyage Round the World_, we scudded before
the Wind and Sea some time, with only our bare Poles; and the ship,
by the mistake of him that con'd, broched too, and lay in the Trough
of the Sea; which then went so high that every Wave threatn'd to
over-whelm us. And indeed if any one of them had broke in on our Deck
it might have foundered us. The master,[11] whose fault this was, rav'd
like a Mad Man and called for an Axe to cut the Mizan Shrouds, and turn
the Mizan mast overboard: which indeed might have been an expedient
to bring her to her course: The Captain was also of his Mind. Now our
Main-yard and Fore-yard were lowered upon a Port-last, as we call it,
that is down pretty nigh the Deck, and the Wind blew so fierce that we
did not dare to shew any Head-Sail, for they must have blown away if
we had, neither could all the men in the ship have furled them again;
therefore we had no hopes of doing it that way. I was at this time on
the Deck with some others of our Men; and among the rest one Mr. _John
Smallbone_, who was the Main instrument at that time of saving us.
Come! said he to me, let us go a little way up the Fore-shrouds, it may
be that that may make the Ship wear: for I have been doing it before
now. He never tarried for an Answer, but run forward presently, and I
followed him. We went up the Shrouds Half-mast up, and there we spread
abroad the Flaps of our Coats, and presently the Ship wore. I think we
did not stay there above 3 Minutes before we gain'd our Point and came
down again; but in this time the Wind was got into our Mainsail, and
had blown it loose; and tho' the Main-yard was down a Port-last and our
Men were got on deck as many as could lye one by another, besides the
deck full of Men, and all striving to furl that Sail, yet could we not
do it, but were forced to cut it all along by the Head-rope, and so let
it fall down on the Deck.”
A noticeable thing of their outward run is that they took above five
months to sail from the coast of Virginia to abreast of Cape Horn. They
got no sights after making Staten Island until they had entered the
South Sea, and were obliged to grope their way in their square-built,
round-bowed, and clumsy old craft past the stormiest headland in the
world, through weather blind with snow and black with cloud, and over
seas running in mountains to the pressure of five hundred leagues of
gale. When to the westward of the Cape they encountered one Captain
Eaton in a privateer that had been equipped and despatched from London
to plunder the Western American coast, and proceeded with him to Juan
Fernandez, where they arrived eight months after leaving Achamack.
Their first act was to send a canoe ashore to obtain news of the
Mosquito Indian who had been left on the island three years before by
Captain Watling. This Indian, who proved to be alive, is a figure in
the history of romantic adventure scarce less conspicuous in his way
than Alexander Selkirk or Peter Serrano. He was in the woods hunting
for goats when Captain Watling and his men, alarmed by the apparition
of three Spanish ships, slipped their cable and sailed away, and all
that he had with him at the time consisted of a gun and a knife, a
small horn of powder, and a handful of shot. Afterwards, by notching
his knife to the condition of a saw, he contrived to cut the barrel of
his gun into pieces, out of which he manufactured harpoons, lances,
hooks, and a long knife. He was thus enabled to provide himself with
food, such as flesh of goats, fish, etc. He built himself a hut a
short distance from the sea, and lined it with goat-skins. His apparel
consisted of a skin wrapped about his waist. There was another Mosquito
Indian amongst the buccaneers, a man named Robin, who was the first
to leap ashore to greet his brother black. Dampier tells us that
first Robin threw himself flat on his face at the feet of the other,
who, helping him up and embracing him, fell flat on the ground at
Robin's feet, and was by him taken up also. “We stood,” he says, “with
pleasure to behold the surprise and tenderness and solemnity of this
Interview, which was exceedingly affectionate on both Sides; and when
their ceremonies of civility were over, we also, who stood gazing at
them, drew near, each of us embracing him we had found here, who was
overjoyed to see so many of his old friends come hither, as he thought,
purposely to fetch him.”
They sailed from Juan Fernandez on April 8th, still in company with
Eaton's ship. During the month of May they captured several vessels,
in one of which, besides a quantity of marmalade, they found a stately
and handsome mule designed as a gift for the President of Panama,
and an immense wooden image of the Virgin Mary. They were, however,
unfortunate enough to miss what would have better pleased them than
mules and images; for when this ship started from Lima she had eight
hundred thousand dollars on board, but on her arrival at Guanchaco news
of a privateersman then hovering off the port of Valdivia came to the
ears of the merchants, who thereupon instantly removed every stiver out
of the vessel.
The recital, even in an abbreviated form, of the adventures of these
buccaneers upon the Western American seaboard would make a book of
nearly half the thickness of Dampier's first volume. As a mere journal
of exploits perhaps the narrative grows after a while a little tedious.
One sea-fight is like another; the assaults by land lead to nothing;
the prizes captured at sea are insignificant. Yet Dampier's page
continues to charm us by the vivacity of his descriptions of coasts, of
storms, of the corposant, of the turtle, and by a hundred unlaboured
and unconscious felicities of phrase.
When off Cape Blanco Captain Cooke died. He was ill when at Juan
Fernandez, and continued so till within two or three leagues of the
Cape, when he suddenly expired, though Dampier tells us he seemed that
morning to be as likely to live as he had been some weeks before; “But
it is usual for sick Men coming from the Sea, where they have nothing
but the Sea-Air, to die off as soon as ever they come within view of
the Land.”
The command devolved upon Edward Davis, the quartermaster of the
ship. Cooke's body was taken ashore, and whilst some of the crew were
burying it three Indians approached, believing the men to be Spaniards,
and were made prisoners, though one of them shortly after escaped.
The others told the buccaneers of a farm where there was plenty of
cattle to be had; and the attempt to steal the bullocks is marked by
one of those incidents which convey a fuller idea of the resolved and
desperate character of the freebooters, their perils, expedients,
and astonishing escapes, than could be communicated by volumes of
descriptions of their battles by sea and attacks by land. Twelve men
slept ashore, intending when the morning came to drive the bulls and
cows which were feeding in the savannas down to the beach; but when the
afternoon of the next day arrived they were still ashore, and their
shipmates aboard the vessel growing uneasy, ten men were sent in a boat
to see what had become of them. On entering the bay they observed the
twelve fellows on a small rock half a mile from the shore standing
in water to above their waists. It seems that, having slept through
the night, they had risen betimes to catch the cattle, when they were
suddenly surprised by forty or fifty armed Spaniards. The privateersmen
drew together in a body, and retreated without disorder or confusion
to the beach, but on arriving there they found their boat, which they
had dragged out of the water, in flames. The Spaniards now made sure
of them, and being numerous, ventured upon several sneers and scoffs
before attacking them, asking them, for instance, if they would be so
good as to do them the honour to walk to their plantation and steal
their cattle and take whatever else they had a mind to, and so forth;
to all which menacing and savagely deriding flouts the buccaneers
answered never a word. The tide was at half-ebb; a privateersman
catching sight of a rock a good distance from the shore, just then
showing its head above water, whispered to the others that it would
be as good as a castle to them if they could get there. Meanwhile the
Spaniards were beginning to whistle a shot amongst them now and then.
One of the tallest of the buccaneers waded into the water to try if the
distance to the rock could be forded. The depth proved nowhere great;
so the twelve marched over to the little distant stronghold, and there
remained till their shipmates came for them. They stood about seven
hours in all, and must have perished had the boat not then arrived, for
the water was flowing, and the tide thereabouts rose to eight feet. The
enemy watched them from the shore, but always from behind the bushes,
where they had first planted themselves. “The _Spaniards_,” says
Dampier contemptuously, “in these parts are very expert in heaving
or darting the Lance; with which upon occasion they will do great
Feats, especially in Ambuscades: And by their good Will they care not
for fighting otherwise, but content themselves with standing a loof,
threatening and calling Names, at which they are as expert as the
other; so that if their Tongues be quiet we always take it for granted
they have laid some Ambush.”
Not very long after this Captain Davis and Captain Eaton separated,
bringing the date to the second day of September 1684, and on the 24th
Dampier's ship arrived at La Plata and anchored. Whilst lying at this
island the privateers were joined by Captain Swan in a vessel named the
_Cygnet_. This ship had been freighted by certain London merchants for
honourable traffic with the Spaniards in the South Seas, but when she
was at Nicoya there arrived a troop of privateersmen from overland,
and Swan's men, bringing the pirates aboard, forced their captain to
go a-buccaneering. That Swan was as reluctant to oblige them as he
afterwards represented himself to have been to Dampier, is possible; it
is certain, however, that on meeting with Davis he threw most of the
goods he had been freighted to trade with overboard, that his ship,
by being “clear,” as it is called, might be the fitter to fight and
chase. He seems to have been a man of some foresight. Anticipating
a time when there might happen such a scarcity of provisions as to
force them out of those seas, he taught his men not only to eat, but
actually to relish the oily, salt, and rancid flesh of penguins and
boobys. “He would commend it,” says Dampier, “for extraordinary good
food, comparing the seal to a roasting pig, the boobys to hens, and the
penguins to ducks.”
The only land-attack of consequence was the attempt on Guayaquil by
Swan and Davis. It was badly concerted and half-heartedly undertaken.
They landed at about two miles from the town, and being unable to push
their way through the tangled growths by night, sat down to wait for
daylight. An Indian, who offered to pilot them, was attached to one
of Davis's men by a string. The privateersman losing heart, secretly
cut the string, and, when the guide had gone some distance, bawled out
that the Indian was off and that somebody had cut the cord! What there
was in this to terrify the others is not easily seen, but it is true,
nevertheless, that their consternation was so great, not a man would
venture a step farther. It was not long before they returned to their
ship, and so ended their attempt on Guayaquil. The only material issue
of this cheap adventure was their capture of three vessels, on board of
which were no less than one thousand negroes,—“all lusty young men and
women,” says Dampier, who laments that they did not convey the whole
of them to the Isthmus of Panama, and employ them in digging for gold
in the mines at Santa Maria. His idea might seem full of promise to
him, but it takes another complexion when examined by the light of the
experience of the twelve hundred men who embarked at Leith for Darien
on July 26th, 1698.
On December 23rd, 1684, they sailed for the Bay of Panama, and nine
days later, whilst proceeding from Tomaco towards Gallo, one of their
canoes captured a pacquet-boat sailing from Panama to Lima. The
Spaniards buoyed the bag of letters and threw it overboard, but it
was picked up by the buccaneers, who gathered from the despatches
that the President of Panama had sent the mail-boat they had seized to
hasten the sailing of the Plate Fleet from Lima. Dampier says that the
privateersmen “were very joyful of this news,” which is intelligible
enough when we consider that the King of Spain's treasure alone on
board this fleet was commonly valued at twenty-four millions of
dollars, whilst the worth of the galleons was still further increased
by their carrying a vast amount in what was termed merchants' money,
besides rich commodities of all sorts. It was at once settled that the
buccaneers should intercept this fleet. They were in number now two
vessels and three barks, and on February 14th, 1685, having finished
the business of careening, cleaning, and watering their craft, they
stood away for the Bay of Panama. Whilst they lay off the Island of
Tobago they were nearly destroyed by a singular stratagem. A man
feigning to be a merchant came to them from Panama. He professed to act
as by stealth, in which the buccaneers found no cause for suspicion,
for it was common enough for Spanish merchants to traffic privately
with them, notwithstanding the prohibition of the governors. It was
arranged that this merchant should fill his vessel with goods, and
bring her by night to the English, who were to shift their berth to
receive her. He came, but with a fire-ship instead of a cargo-boat,
and approaching the English close, hailed them with the watchword that
had been settled upon. The privateers growing suspicious, ordered the
vessel to bring to, and on her not doing so, fired into her. Her crew
instantly jumped into their boats, after firing the ship, which blew
up and burnt close alongside of the privateersmen, “so that,” says
Dampier, “we were forced to cut our cables in all haste, and scamper
away as well as we could.” Swan was also imperilled by another Spanish
device. His ship lay about a mile distant, with a canoe made fast to
his anchor-buoy. Just as the fire-ship blew up, Swan noticed something
floating on the water close aboard of him. He peered, and discerned
a man upon it softly paddling the contrivance towards his vessel.
Probably the fellow suspected he was discovered, for he suddenly dived
and disappeared.
Nothing particular happened till the 24th, when, being again at anchor
off the Island of Tobago, about eighteen miles south of the city of
Panama, they observed a number of canoes filled with men. They kept
still, watching them the while; then lifting their anchors, approached
and hailed them. They proved to be English and French privateers
who had marched across the Isthmus; two hundred French and eighty
Englishmen distributed amongst twenty-eight canoes under the command of
Captain Grognet and Captain Lequie. These men stated that there still
remained on the Isthmus at least one hundred and eighty Englishmen,
commanded by Captain Townley, who when last heard of were busily
employed in the construction of canoes to convey them to the South Sea.
All the English of the party were immediately taken into the service
of Captain Davis and Captain Swan, whilst one of the prizes was given
to the Frenchmen. They were now a strong company of men. First of all
there was Captain Davis in his ship of thirty-six guns, with a crew of
one hundred and fifty-six determined rogues, chiefly English; Captain
Swan, sixteen guns and one hundred and forty men, all English; Captain
Townley, one hundred and ten men; Captain Grognet, three hundred
and eight men, all French; Captain Harris, one hundred men, chiefly
English; Captain Branly, thirty-six men; besides three barks serving
as tenders, and a small bark for a fire-ship—in all, nine hundred and
sixty men. Formidable as this force looks, however, on paper, there
were but two of the vessels—namely, Swan's and Davis's—which mounted
guns. The rest had only small arms. On the 28th the Spanish fleet hove
in sight: fourteen sail, besides periaguas rowing twelve and fourteen
oars apiece. The admiral's ship carried forty-eight guns and four
hundred and fifty men; the vice-admiral, forty guns and four hundred
and fifty men; the others were only a little less powerfully armed and
manned. Here we have the materials of a terrible fight, and we look
with confidence to the buccaneers for a glorious victory. But never was
failure completer. Nothing was done till the afternoon had darkened
into evening, and then a few shots were exchanged. When the night
came down the Spaniards anchored, and the buccaneers observed a light
flaming in the admiral's top. It remained stationary for half an hour
and was then extinguished. Soon afterwards it was again exposed, and
the buccaneers, believing it to be still aboard the admiral, flattered
themselves with having the weather-gage. But when the morning broke
they found, to their disgust, that this light had been a stratagem, and
that they were to leeward. The Spaniards sighting them, immediately
bore down under a press of sail, and the buccaneers ran for it. “Thus,”
says Dampier, “ended this day's work, and with it all that we had been
projecting for five or six months; when instead of making ourselves
masters of the Spanish fleet and treasure, we were glad to escape
them; and owed that too in a great measure to their want of courage to
pursue their advantage.” He adds that the failure was largely owing to
the cowardice of Captain Grognet and his men, whose only part in the
manœuvring was running away.[12]
The buccaneers were now growing disheartened by their ill-luck.
On August 25th, 1685, Davis and Swan separated, and Dampier, who
had heretofore served under Davis, joined Swan, not, as he assures
us, from any dislike of his old captain, but because he understood
that it was Swan's intention before long to go to the East Indies,
“which,” he exclaims, “was a way very agreeable to my inclination.”
It was not, however, until March 1st, 1686, that they took leave of
the Mexican coast and started on that voyage which led to Dampier's
circumnavigation of the globe. They went in two ships, one commanded
by Swan, and the other by a man named Teat. In number they were one
hundred and fifty men—one hundred aboard Swan, and fifty, exclusive
of some slaves, in the other vessel. Their start was for Guam, one
of the Ladrone Islands, and the vagueness and uncertainty of the
navigation of those days finds a singular illustration in Dampier's
surmise as to the actual distance between Cape Corrientes and their
destination. He tells us that the Spaniards reckoned the distance about
two thousand three hundred and fifty leagues, whereas the English
calculations reduced it to less than two thousand leagues. The truth
being unknown to the crews, they entered upon the voyage with something
of that despondency and apprehension which the mariners of Columbus
felt after they had lost sight of land. The hope of plunder heartened
them somewhat, for Swan talked to them of the Acapulco ship and of a
profitable cruise off the Philippines; but in sober truth with but
little conscience in his assurances and exhortations, for the man had
long since grown sick of privateering, and his main object in sailing
for the East Indies was the desire to find an opportunity to escape
from a calling which he was honest enough to consider dishonourable.
They sighted Guam on May 20th, 1686, and it was fortunate both for
Swan and Dampier that the land hove in sight when it did, for they had
scarcely enough provisions to last them another three days; and Dampier
declares, “I was afterwards informed the Men had contrived first to
kill Captain Swan and eat him when the Victuals was gone, and after
him all of us who were accessary in promoting the undertaking of this
Voyage. This made Captain Swan say to me after our arrival at Guam,
_Ah!_ Dampier, _you would have made them but a poor Meal_, for I was
as Lean as the Captain was lusty and fleshy.” Dampier's chapters are
now wholly made up of description. He is copious in his accounts of the
natives, of the cocoa-nut, the lime-tree, and the bread-fruit; and then
carrying us on to Mindanao, he fills many pages with lively remarks on
the trade of the Dutch, the climate, winds, tornadoes, and rains. It
is manifest throughout that he is very unsettled, without any scheme
of life, without a ghost of an idea as regards his future. He waits
patiently but with a vigilant eye upon fortune, and is ready to address
himself to any adventure, no matter how slender of promise. Just as
he would have carried the thousand negroes to Darien to dig gold for
himself and his associates, so whilst at the Philippines would he have
been glad to settle down among the Mindanayans. There were sawyers, he
tells us, carpenters, brickmakers, shoemakers, tailors, and the like,
amongst the men, who were also well provided with all sorts of tools.
They had a good ship, too, and he conceives that had they established
themselves in that island they might have ended as a very flourishing
and wealthy community. But his schemes served no other purpose than
to enable him to digress in his narrative when he came to relate his
adventures.
The ship lay so long at Mindanao that the men grew weary and mutinous;
some of them ran away into the country, others purchased a canoe
designing to proceed to Borneo. Those of the ship's company who had
money lived ashore, but there were many (Dampier amongst them) who were
without a halfpenny, and who were therefore obliged to remain on board
and subsist on the wretched stores of the vessel. These fellows became
very troublesome; they stole iron out of the ship and exchanged it for
spirits and honey, of which they made punch, so that there was a great
deal of drunkenness and ill-blood amongst them. Finding that Swan paid
no heed to their request that he would start on further adventures,
and discovering certain entries in the captain's journal which greatly
incensed them, they resolved to run away with the ship; a threat there
is every reason to suppose Swan secretly wished them to carry out. He
knew that the crew were bent on piracy, and that their next step must
prove nothing but another buccaneering cruise. He had previously told
Dampier that he was forced into this business by his people, and that
he only sought or awaited an opportunity to escape from it, adding
bitterly, “That there was no Prince on Earth able to wipe off the stain
of such Actions.” He was apprised of his men's design, but does not
appear to have lifted a finger to hinder them. On January 14th, 1687,
early in the morning, Dampier being on board, the crew weighed anchor
and fired a gun, being yet willing to receive Captain Swan and others
of their shipmates who were on shore. No answer was returned, whereupon
without further ado they filled their topsails and started, leaving the
commander and thirty-six men behind them.
The subsequent fate of Swan and his men is worth a brief reference.
They remained for some considerable time on the island, and then some
of them managed to obtain a passage to Batavia. Captain Swan and
his surgeon, whilst rowing to a Dutch ship that was to convey them
to Europe, were overset in their canoe by some natives, who stabbed
them whilst they were swimming for their lives. Others of the men who
remained at Mindanao were poisoned.
By this time Dampier was as heartily weary as ever Swan had been of the
voyage, if not of privateering, and waited for a chance to give his
comrades the slip. Meanwhile the vessel, after cruising off Manila,
where they took a couple of Spanish craft, proceeded from one island
to another, from one port to another, until, the monsoon being close
at hand, they decided to skirt the Philippine Islands, and, heading
southwards towards what was then known as the Spice Islands, enter
the Indian Ocean by way of Timor. The object of all this roundabout
navigation is not very plain. Dampier asserts that the crew were
in great fear of meeting with English or Dutch ships; still it is
difficult to understand their motive in straying so wide afield from
the common maritime highways of that period. They were now on the
Australian parallels, in the shadow of a world lying dark upon the
face of the ocean. As privateersmen they had little to hope or expect
from pushing into regions full of mystery and peril. Dampier says that
being clear of the islands they stood off south, intending to touch
at New Holland “to see what that country would afford us.” One would
wish for his dignity as a navigator that he had avowed, on his own
part at least, a higher motive for the exploration. It does not seem
to enter his head, at this point of his career at all events, that
the discovery of the true character and area of the Terra Australis
Incognita might bring to the marine explorer of its rocky coasts
honours scarcely less glorious, renown certainly not less enduring,
than were won by the mightiest of the old navigators. It is proper to
remember, however, that Dampier was but a common sailor in this ship
that had been run away with, and that his expectations, and perhaps
his ambition, scarcely rose above those of a privateersman; though how
far he resembled his shipmates in other directions we may gather from
his narrative, which he builds wholly upon the journal he faithfully
kept throughout; never remitting his strict practice of laborious
observation whether in storm or in shine, whether amidst the bustle and
activity of a chase, or the languor and listlessness of a long spell of
tropical calm.
“New Holland,” he says, “is a very large tract of land. It is not
yet determined whether it is an island or a main continent; but I am
certain that it joyns neither to Africa, Asia, or America.” Why he is
certain he does not tell us, but he is too sagacious to err, though
whilst he thus thinks, all that he sees of the vast territory is “low
land with sandy banks against the sea.” He devotes several pages to
descriptions of the natives, telling us that they have no houses, that
they go armed with a piece of wood shaped like a cutlass, that their
speech is guttural, that in consequence of the flies which tease and
sting their faces, they keep their eyelids half closed; and so forth.
One extract from several pages of most admirable, quaint description
will, I trust, be permitted.
“After we had been here a little while, the Men began to be familiar,
and we cloathed some of them, designing to have had some service from
them for it: for we found some Wells of Water here, and intended to
carry 2 or 3 barrels of it aboard. But it being somewhat troublesome to
carry to the Canaos, we thought to have made these men to have carry'd
it for us, and therefore we gave them some Cloathes; to one an old
pair of Breeches, to another a ragged Shirt, to a third a Jacket that
was scarce worth owning; which yet would have been very acceptable at
some places where we had been, and so we thought they might have been
with these People. We put them on, thinking that this finery would have
brought them to work heartily for us; and our Water being filled in
small long Barrels, about 6 gallons in each, which were made purposely
to carry Water in, we brought these our new Servants to the Wells, and
put a Barrel on each of their Shoulders for them to carry to the Canao.
But all the signs we could make were to no purpose, for they stood like
Statues, without motion, but grinn'd like so many monkeys, staring one
upon another: For these poor Creatures seem'd not accustomed to carry
Burdens: and I believe that one of our Ship Boys of 10 Years old, would
carry as much as one of them. So we were forced to carry our Water
ourselves; and they very fairly put the Cloaths off again, and laid
them down, as if the Cloaths were only to work in. I did not perceive
that they had any liking to them at first; neither did they seem to
admire anything that we had.”
To the part of New Holland these privateers touched at they gave no
name. Dampier speaks of the latitude of it being 16° 50', but his
reckonings are not to be trusted. To judge by the tracings of the map
of this portion of the world in his first volume, the coast which they
first sighted was that of North Australia, and they probably anchored
off either Bathurst or Melville Island. Be this as it may, they did
not linger long. Dampier endeavoured to persuade the men to sail to
some English factory, but in return for his advice they threatened to
leave him ashore on the sands of New Holland, “which,” says he, “made
me desist.” They soon saw as much of Terra Incognita as satisfied
them, and on March 12th, 1688, they weighed with the wind at north
north-west and steered their ship northwards. They arrived at Nicobar
on May 5th, and here Dampier resolved to leave the vessel. Obtaining
leave to go ashore, he was landed on the sandy beach of a small bay
where stood two untenanted houses; but he had not enjoyed an hour of
liberty when some armed men came from the ship to fetch him aboard
again. Resistance was as idle as entreaties, and he was forced to
return; but on his arrival he found the vessel in an uproar. Others,
taking courage by his example, had also determined to leave the ship.
Amongst them was the surgeon. This man the captain flatly refused to
part with, and the hubbub was great. All this confusion and quarrelling
seems to have helped Dampier, for, after a deal of squabbling, we find
him and two others obtaining permission to quit the ship. They were
put ashore with their effects, and entering one of the unoccupied
houses, hung up their hammocks to prepare for the night. Presently more
men arrived, and they were now numerous enough to protect themselves
against the natives. It was a fine clear, moonlight night, and the
little company of buccaneers walked down to the beach to wait until the
ship should weigh and be gone, fearing their liberty whilst she stayed.
At twelve o'clock they heard her getting her anchor and making sail,
and presently she was gliding slowly and silently seawards, glistening
white against the ocean darkness to the rays of the high moon.
Next day Dampier and his associates purchased a canoe, and passed over
to the south end of the island, where they victualled their little
boat with fruit loaves, cocoa-nuts, and fresh water, so that when the
monsoon came on to blow they might be in readiness to sail for Acheen.
It is consistent that a man who had traversed on foot the dangerous
and poisonous Isthmus of Panama should parallel that accomplishment
by a remarkable boat-voyage. The craft was a canoe of the size of a
London wherry, deeper but not so broad, sharp after the whaling pattern
at both ends, and so thin and light that when empty four men could
lift her. She carried a mat-sail, and outriggers to prevent her from
capsizing. In this little ark Dampier and his shipmates embarked—eight
men, four of whom were Malays—and started for Acheen on May 15th, 1688.
The breezes were light, the atmosphere sultry. Sometimes they rowed,
sometimes left the sail to do its work, but at the end of two days, to
their great mortification, they found the Island of Nicobar still in
sight a little over twenty miles distant. On the 18th they remarked
a great circle round the sun, an appearance that caused Dampier to
suppose that bad weather was at hand. His foreboding was true; wind and
sea rose, and but for the outriggers the canoe must have been swamped.
Still the gale freshened, and there was nothing for it but to scud.
There occurs here a characteristic passage. It reads like an extract
from _Robinson Crusoe_, and nothing in all Dampier so conclusively
proves the source whence Defoe drew the colours which he employed in
the composition of his chief and most engaging work.
“The Evening of this 18th day was very dismal. The Sky looked very
black, being covered with dark Clouds, the Wind blew very hard, and
the Seas ran very high. The Sea was already roaring in a white foam
about us; a dark night coming on and no Land in sight to shelter us,
and our little Ark in danger to be swallowed by every Wave; and what
was worse for us all, none of us thought ourselves prepared for another
World. The Reader may better guess, than I can express, the Confusion
that we were all in. I have been in many eminent Dangers before now,
some of which I have already related, but the worst of them all was
but a Play-Game in comparison with this. I must confess that I was in
great Conflicts of Mind at this time. Other Dangers came not upon me
with such a leisurely and dreadful Solemnity: A Sudden Skirmish or
Engagement, or so, was nothing when one's Blood was up, and push'd
forward with eager expectations. But here I had a lingering view of
approaching Death, and little or no hopes of escaping it; and I must
confess that my Courage which I had hitherto kept up, failed me here;
and I made very sad Reflections on my former life; and looked back
with Horrour and Detestation on actions which before I disliked, but
now I trembled at the remembrance of. I had long before this repented
me of that roving course of my life, of which kind, I believe, few Men
have met with the like. For all these I returned Thanks in a peculiar
manner, and this once more desir'd God's assistance, and Composed my
Mind as well as I could, in the hopes of it, and as the Event shew'd, I
was not disappointed of my hopes.”
But Dampier was a thoroughbred seaman. The canoe was superbly handled,
and after a terrible time of violent storms the low land of Sumatra was
descried on the morning of the 20th. Fever-stricken by the excessive
hardships and fatigues they had endured, insomuch that they were
too weak to stand up in their canoe, our adventurers drifted into a
river, and were supported by some natives to an adjacent village.
Here Dampier stayed for ten or twelve days in the hope of recovering
his health, but finding that he did not improve, he made his way to
Acheen, where he was so dosed by a Malay doctor that he came very near
to expiring. On regaining his health, he entered with Captain Weldon
of the ship _Curtana_ for a voyage to Tonquin. The first part of his
second volume is devoted to a description of his travels in Tonquin,
Acheen, Malacca, and other places.[13] There is but little narrative,
nevertheless the work is singularly interesting, and as literally
accurate as a Chinese painting.
Dampier was very willing to accept Captain Weldon's offer of this
voyage, as the vessel carried a surgeon whose advice he was in great
need of. Moreover Weldon promised to purchase a sloop at Tonquin and
make him master of her for a trading voyage to Cochin China. Nothing
noteworthy marked their passage. On their arrival at the Bay of Tonquin
they navigated the ship about twenty miles up the river and anchored.
The chief markets and trade of the country were then at Cachao, a
city eighty miles distant from the highest point at which the river
is navigable by vessels of burthen. Dampier, in company with the
captains of other ships, proceeded in large boats towards Cachao.
It was scarcely more than a jaunt for our hero, whose main business
in going the journey was to talk over the proposed voyage to Cochin
China with the chief of the English factory. Dampier remained for a
week with the Englishmen at the factory, and then returned to his own
ship, “where,” says he, “I lay on board for a great while, and sickly
for the most part; yet not so but that I took a boat and went ashoar
one where or other almost every day.” The result of this intrepid
observation is a full and interesting account of Tonquin, the habits
and customs of the people, their attire, sports, punishments, religion,
and literature. His health hindered him from several undertakings which
he might have pursued with advantage. For example, rice being dear at
Cachao, Weldon hired a vessel to procure that commodity at adjacent
places to supply the markets. It was a speculation by which Dampier
might have got money, but he was too ill to bear a part in it. He lay
five or six weeks in a miserable condition, then flattered himself
that he was sufficiently recovered to go on a walking tour through
the country. To this end he hired a native guide, who charged him a
dollar for his services, “which,” he says, “tho' but a small matter,
was a great deal out of my Pocket, who had not above 2 Dollars in all,
which I had gotten on board by teaching some of our young Seamen Plain
Sailing.” He started about the end of November 1688, and the proverbial
heedlessness of the seaman is not less suggested by his poverty than by
his resolution to attempt such a trip as this. He has but a dollar in
his pocket with which not only to bear his own but his guide's charges,
and yet he is fully aware that his weakness is bound to increase the
cost of his travels by obliging him to proceed by short stages. He says
he was weary of lying still and impatient to see something that might
further gratify his curiosity. They took the east side of the river,
and trudged along mutely enough, as we may suppose, since the guide
could not speak a word of English, whilst Dampier did not understand
a syllable of Tonquinese. At the villages they arrived at they were
sufficiently fortunate to procure rooms to sleep in and a couch of
split bamboos to lie on. The people treated Dampier very civilly; they
cooked his repasts of rice for him, and lent him whatever they had
that was serviceable to him. His practice was to ramble about all day,
and return to his lodging when it was too dark to see anything more.
His luggage was small—limited to what he terms a “sea-gown,” which his
guide carried, and which served him as a blanket at night, whilst his
pillow was often a log of wood. “But,” he says, “I slept very well,
though the weakness of my body did now require better accommodation.”
On the afternoon of the third day of his travels he arrived in view of
a small wooden tower such as the Tonquinese erect as funeral pyres to
persons of distinction. He had never seen such a thing before, and as
his guide could not talk to him, he continued ignorant of its meaning.
There was a crowd of men and boys near it, and he also noticed a number
of stalls covered with meat and fruit. He very naturally concluded that
it was a market-place, and entered the crowd partly with the intention
of inspecting the tower, and partly with the idea of purchasing a dish
of meat for his supper. After satisfying his curiosity he approached
the stalls and laid hold of a joint of meat, motioning to a person
whom he supposed was the salesman to cut off a piece that should weigh
two or three pounds. In an instant the crowd fell upon him. They
struck out at him right and left, tore his clothes and ran away with
his hat. The guide, shrieking unintelligible protests and apologies,
dragged Dampier away, but they were followed for some distance by a
number of surly-looking fellows whose cries and gesticulations were
full of menace. It was not until long afterwards that Dampier gathered
the meaning of all this; when he was informed that what he had taken
to be a market was a funeral feast, and that the tower was a tomb
which was to be consumed along with the body in it after the feast was
over. “This,” says he, “was the only Funeral Feast that ever I was at
amongst them, and they gave me cause to remember it: but this was the
worst usage I received from any of them all the time that I was in the
Country.”
Two days later he arrived at a town called Hean, where he was received
in a very friendly manner by a priest attached to the French bishop;
this place, it seems, being the headquarters of the missionaries. After
some conversation the priest inquired if any of the English ships would
sell him some gunpowder. Dampier answered that he believed none of them
had powder to spare. The father then inquired if he knew how gunpowder
was made. On Dampier answering in the affirmative he begged him to
try his hand. The priest had all the ingredients with the necessary
machinery for mixing them, so after drinking a few glasses of wine
Dampier went to work. “The priest,” he says, “brought me Sulphur and
Salt-Peter, and I weighed a portion of each of these, and of Coals I
gathered up in the Hearth and beat to powder. While his man mixed these
in a little Engine, I made a small Sieve of Parchment, which I pricked
full of holes with a small Iron made hot, and this was to corn it.
When it was dry we proved it, and it answered our expectation.” There
is something not a little odd and impressive in this picture of the
buccaneer manufacturing gunpowder at the request of a holy father, who
watches him with the utmost anxiety as if he were sensible that the
propagation of his faith amongst the mustard-coloured masses of Tonquin
must depend a good deal upon the success of Dampier's experiment. It
was fish-day at the palace, but the priest was so well pleased with
Dampier and his gunpowder and his conversation that he ordered a fowl
to be broiled for his dinner, and when the night came procured a
lodging for him in a house kept by a Tonquinese Christian hard by.
Next morning Dampier dismissed his guide and started for Cachao by
water. He describes the boat as of the size of a Gravesend wherry,
with a kind of awning to shelter the passengers when it rained. The
sailors rowed all night, turn and turn about. At midnight everybody
went ashore to sup at some houses by the river-side; the owners of
which waited for them with lighted candles, arrack, and tea, dishes
of meat and other provisions ready cooked. Here they stayed an hour,
then entered the boat afresh and pushed onwards. The passengers were a
merry lot. They laughed incessantly and sang heartily, though Dampier
says their singing resembled the noise of people crying. Ignorant of
the language, he sat mute amongst these jolly travellers. Next morning
he was put ashore a few miles short of Cachao. There was a good path,
and stepping out briskly he entered the city by noon. He immediately
repaired to the house of an English merchant with whom Captain Weldon
lodged, and stayed with him a few days, but he was so enfeebled by a
wasting disorder which had fastened upon him that he was scarcely able
to crawl about. His illness was exasperated by disappointment, for
he now discovered that he had made his walking journey only to learn
that Weldon had abandoned his scheme to purchase a sloop to trade to
Cochin China. The moment he felt strong enough to travel he returned
to his ship, and Captain Weldon shortly afterwards joining the vessel,
they weighed anchor and sailed from Tonquin. It was now February,
1689. Nothing of moment happened during the passage to the Straits
of Malacca. The ship arrived at Acheen about the beginning of March,
where Dampier took leave of Weldon and went ashore. He gives in this
volume of his travels a long and interesting account of Acheen, and in
describing the soil of the country prints the following brief passage
of recollection. “The Champion Land, such as I have seen, is some
black, some grey, some reddish, and all of a deep mold. But to be very
particular in these things, especially in my Travels, is more than I
can pretend to, tho' it may be I took as much notice of the difference
of Soil as I met with it as most Travellers have done, having been bred
in my youth in _Somersetshire_, at a place called _East Coker_, near
_Yeovil_ or _Evil_: in which Parish there is a great variety of Soil
as I have ordinarily met with anywhere, _viz._ black, red, yellow,
sandy, stony, clay, morass, or swampy, etc. I had the more reason to
take notice of this, because this Village in a great measure is Let
out in small Leases for Lives of 20, 30, 40 or 50 Pound _per Ann._,
under Coll. _Helliar_, the Lord of the Mannor: and most, if not all
these Tenants, had their own Land scattered in small pieces up and down
several sorts of Land in the Parish; so that every one had piece of
every sort of Land, his Black ground, his Sandy, Clay, and some of 20,
30, or 40 Shillings an Acre. My Mother, being possest of one of these
Leases, and having all these sorts of Land, I came acquainted with them
all, and knew what each sort would produce (_viz._) Wheat, Barley,
Maslin, Rice, Beans, Peas, Oats, Fetches, Flax, or Hemp: in all which I
had a more than useful knowledge for one so young, taking a particular
delight in observing it.” Vague as is this reference to his shore-going
life, it is the only passage of the kind that I have met in his books,
and for this reason therefore I reproduce it at length.
Whilst he was at Acheen some of the people rebelled against the choice
that had been made of a queen. Dampier, with others, hastened to take
shelter in the ships in the road, fearing that if the rebels obtained
the upper hand they would imprison him. He had indeed good cause
to dread the effects of a prison upon his constitution, shaken and
almost shattered as it was by long illness. There were two vessels at
anchor, one of them fresh from England and short of provisions. He in
consequence boarded the other, whose stores were tolerably plentiful,
but she was so crowded with cargo that he could not find space to
swing his hammock in; and as repose was absolutely essential to him,
he carried his bed into the boat that had brought him off and lay in
her for three or four days, fed by the people of the ship. He could
obtain no rest. There happened a total eclipse of the moon, at which
he gazed from the bottom of his boat, but he says: “I was so little
curious that I remembered not so much as what Day of the Month it was,
and I kept no journal of this Voyage as I did of my other; but only
kept an account of several particular Remarks and Observations as they
occurred to me.” When the disturbance ashore was quieted he returned
to his lodging, and learning that the natives regarded the water of
their river as charged with medicinal virtues, he determined to bathe
in it, and after a few baths was so much benefited that he was able
to get about again. In May, 1689, he took charge of a sloop that had
been purchased by one Captain Tyler; but when the craft was loaded, the
owner changed his mind and gave the command to a man named Minchin,
who offered Dampier the post of mate. “I was forced to submit,” he
says bitterly, “and accepted a Mate's employ under Captain Minchin.”
They sailed in the middle of September for Malacca, at which place
some of the people left Minchin to join another vessel that had been
in company, so that Dampier and the captain were the only two white
sailors on board. Shortly after starting they carried away their
foreyard and brought up off a small island owned by the Dutch. Dampier
called upon the governor to request his permission to cut down a tree.
Our hero, as an old Campeché man, was not likely to be at a loss; and
leaving the tree ready to be carried to the ship, he returned to the
fort, dined with the governor, and then went aboard. Shortly afterwards
his captain, together with a passenger and his wife, came ashore. The
fare of the fort was exceedingly meagre, and the governor, to entertain
his guests, sent a boat to catch a dish of fish. The fish, on being
cooked, was served in dishes of solid silver, and eaten from plates of
the same metal; whilst in the centre of the table was placed a great
silver bowl full of punch. It was to prove but little better than a
Barmecide's feast. The governor, his guests, and several officers
attached to the fort seated themselves, but as they were about to begin
a soldier outside roared, “The Malays!” The governor, starting from
his chair, leapt out of one of the windows, the officers followed, and
all was consternation and uproar. “Every one of them,” says Dampier,
“took the nearest way, some out of the Windows, others out of the
Doors, leaving the three Guests by themselves, who soon followed with
all the haste they could make, without knowing the meaning of this
sudden consternation of the Governor and his people.” All being in
the fort, the door was bolted, and several volleys fired to let the
Malays know that the Dutch were in readiness for them. The alarm was
real enough. A large Malay canoe, filled with men armed to the teeth,
had been noticed skulking under the island close to the shore. The
captain and the passengers hastened on board, the vessel's guns were
loaded and primed for service, and a bright look-out kept all night.
Dampier, however, was not very much frightened. It rained heavily, and
he knew from experience that the Malays seldom or never made any attack
in wet weather. Next morning nothing was to be seen of the enemy, and
having rigged up the foreyard, Dampier and his companions set sail
for Acheen. Here he was seized with a fever, which confined him to
his bed for a fortnight. On regaining his health he returned to the
vessel with orders to take charge of her, and on New Year's Day, 1690,
sailed for Fort St. George with a cargo of pepper and other produce.
His description of Madras as it then showed, now two hundred years ago,
is interesting. “I was much pleased,” he says, “with the beautiful
prospect this Place makes off at Sea. For it stands in a plain Sandy
spot of Ground, close by the shore, the Sea sometimes washing its
Walls; which are of Stone and high, with Half-Moons and Flankers and
a great many Guns mounted on the Battlements: so that what with the
Walls and fine buildings within the Fort, the large town of _Maderas_
without it, the Pyramids of the English Tombs, Houses, and Gardens
adjacent, and the variety of fine Trees scatter'd up and down, it makes
as agreeable a Landskip as I have anywhere seen.” He tells us that he
stayed at this place for some months, where he met with a Mr. Moody,
who had purchased what Dampier calls a painted prince named Jeoly. Then
in July he sailed with a Captain Howel for Sumatra.
He arrived at Acheen in April, 1689, and afterwards obtained a berth
as gunner at Bencoolen, then an English factory. After some further
adventures of no importance, we find him again gunner of the fort at
Bencoolen, at a salary of twenty-four dollars a month. But it was not
long before he grew dissatisfied with the conduct of the governor,
and asked to be released. He was also eager to return to England.
First of all he had been a long time absent from his native country,
and next, he was in possession of the painted prince whom Mr. Moody
had purchased at Mindanao for sixty dollars, and he expected on his
return to England to make a good deal of money by exhibiting this
unhappy black, of whose tatooings he gives a very minute account. It
seems strange that such a man as Dampier should have been unable to
hit upon a better way of gaining a livelihood than by proposing to
turn showman in his own country, with nothing better to exhibit than
a poor, miserable black man, whose only wonder lay in having rings
and bracelets, crosses, and a variety of unmeaning flourishes pricked
into his skin. The governor was, however, by no means willing to let
him go, and Dampier at last was obliged to obtain by a stratagem
what was denied him as a right. On January 2nd, 1691, a ship named
the _Defence_, bound for England, dropped anchor in Bencoolen Road.
Dampier made the acquaintance of her master, a man named Heath, who
readily complied with his request to receive him on board. Jeoly was
first carefully shipped, and then one midnight Dampier crept through
a porthole of the fort and ran to the beach, where he found a boat
waiting to convey him to the _Defence_. Nothing that is noteworthy
happened during the passage home. The ship entered the English Channel
in September, 1691, and on the 16th of the same month “we lufft in,”
says Dampier, “for the Downs, where we anchored.”
Thus terminated William Dampier's first voyage round the world. Dating
from Virginia, August 22nd, 1683, his circumnavigation had occupied
eight years; but his previous seafaring experiences, counting from the
period of his starting from England in the _Loyal Merchant_ in 1679,
enlarged his absence to the long space of twelve years. Beyond greatly
extending his knowledge, his travels had done nothing for him. He had
started in quest of Fortune, and had found her as phantasmal as the St.
Elmo's fire at which he had gazed with wonder at the masthead. And all
that he brought home in the shape of property was the unhappy Prince
Jeoly, whom he sold after his arrival in the Thames, being in want of
money—to such a pass had buccaneering and the circumnavigation of the
globe brought him.