[Illustration: 'Still he cried to his men, "Fight on, fight on!"']
Before dawn the Spaniards, weary of the fight that had raged for fifteen
hours, that had cost them fifteen ships and fifteen hundred men, had
drawn off to a little distance, and lay around her in a ring.
Daylight discovered the little 'Revenge' a mere water-logged hulk, with
rigging and tackle shot away, her masts overboard, her upper works
riddled, her pikes broken, all her powder spent, and forty of her best
men slain.
The glow that heralded sunrise shot over the sky and stained the placid
waters beneath to crimson. In this sea of blood the wreck lay, her decks
ruddy with the stain of blood sacrificed for honour.
She lay alone at the mercy of the waves, and unable to move save by
their rise and fall, alone with her wounded and dying and her dead to
whom could come no help.
Then Sir Richard Grenville called for the master gunner, whom he knew to
be both brave and trusty, and told him to sink the ship, so that the
Spaniards might have no glory in their conquest. He besought his sailors
to trust themselves to the mercy of God, and not to the mercy of men,
telling them that for the honour of their country the greater glory
would be theirs if they would consent to die with him.
The gunner and many others cried, 'Ay, ay, sir,' and consented to the
sinking of the ship.
But the captain and master would not agree to it: they told Sir Richard
that the Spanish admiral would be glad to listen to a composition, as
themselves were willing to do. Moreover there were still some men left
who were not mortally wounded, and who might yet live to do their
country good service. They told him too that the Spaniard could never
glory in having taken the ship, for she had six feet of water in the
hold already, as well as three leaks from shot under water, that could
not be stopped to resist a heavy sea.
But Sir Richard would not listen to any of their reasoning. Meanwhile
the master had gone to the general of the Armada, Don Alfonso Baffan,
who, knowing Grenville's determination to fight to the last, was afraid
to send any of his men on board the 'Revenge' again, lest they should be
blown up or sink on board of her.
The general yielded that 'all their lives should be saved, the companie
sent for England, and the better sorte to pay such reasonable ransome as
their estate would beare, and in the meane season to be free from galley
or imprisonment.'
After the men had heard what the captain said they became unwilling to
die, and with these honourable terms for surrender they drew back from
Sir Richard and the master gunner. 'The maister gunner, finding himselfe
prevented and maistered by the greater number, would have slaine
himselfe with a sword had he not beene by force withhold and locked into
his cabben.'
Then the Spanish general sent to the 'Revenge' to bring Sir Richard to
his own ship; for he greatly admired his wonderful courage.
Sir Richard told him they might do what they chose with his body, for he
did not care for it; and as he was being carried from his ship in a
fainting state, he asked those of his men near him to pray for him.
He only lived for three days after this, but was treated with the
greatest courtesy and kindness by the Spaniards. He did not speak again
until he was dying, when he said:
'Here am I, Richard Grenville, with a joyful and quiet mind, for that I
have ended my life as a true soldier ought to do, that hath fought for
his country, Queen, religion, and honour. Whereby my soul most joyfully
departeth out of this body, and shall always leave behind it an
everlasting fame of a valiant and true soldier, that hath done his dutie
as he was bound to do.'
_THE STORY OF MOLLY PITCHER_
IT is a strange and interesting thing to see how history repeats itself
in a series of noble and picturesque incidents which are so much alike
that they might be easily mistaken for one another. Perhaps in the years
to come they will be mistaken for one another, and then those learned
scholars who love to deny all the things that are worth believing will
say, as they say now of William Tell and the apple: 'Whenever an event
is represented as happening in different countries and among different
nations, we may be sure that it never happened at all.' Yet to Spain
belongs Augustina, the Maid of Saragossa; to England, brave Mary Ambree;
and to America, Molly Pitcher, the stout-hearted heroine of Monmouth;
and these three women won for themselves honour and renown by the same
valorous exploits. Augustina is the most to be envied, for her praises
have been sung by a great poet; Mary Ambree has a noble ballad to
perpetuate her fame; Molly Pitcher is still without the tribute of a
verse to remind her countrymen occasionally of her splendid courage in
the field.
The Spanish girl was of humble birth, young, poor, and very handsome.
When Saragossa was besieged by the French during the Peninsular War, she
carried food every afternoon to the soldiers who were defending the
batteries. One day the attack was so fierce, and the fire so deadly,
that by the gate of Portillo not a single man was left alive to repulse
the terrible enemy. When Augustina reached the spot with her basket of
coarse and scanty provisions, she saw the last gunner fall bleeding on
the walls. Not for an instant did she hesitate; but springing over a
pile of dead bodies, she snatched the match from his stiffening fingers
and fired the gun herself. Then calling on her countrymen to rally their
broken ranks, she led them back so unflinchingly to the charge that the
French were driven from the gate they had so nearly captured, and the
honour of Spain was saved. When the siege was lifted and the city free
a pension was settled on Augustina, together with the daily pay of an
artilleryman, and she was permitted to wear upon her sleeve an
embroidered shield bearing the arms of Saragossa. Lord Byron, in his
poem 'Childe Harold,' has described her beauty her heroism, and the
desperate courage with which she defended the breach:
'Who can avenge so well a leader's fall?
What maid retrieve when man's flushed hope is lost!
Who hang so fiercely on the flying Gaul,
Foiled by a woman's hand before a battered wall?'
For the story of Mary Ambree we must leave the chroniclers--who to their
own loss and shame never mention her at all--and take refuge with the
poets. From them we learn all we need to know, and it is quickly told.
Her lover was slain treacherously in the war between Spain and Holland,
the English being then allies of the Dutch; and, vowing to avenge his
death, she put on his armour and marched to the siege of Ghent, where
she fought with reckless courage on its walls. Fortune favours the
brave, and wherever the maiden turned her arms the enemy was repulsed,
until at last the gallant Spanish soldiers vied with the English in
admiration of this valorous foe:
'If England doth yield such brave lassies as thee.
Full well may she conquer, faire Mary Ambree.'
Even the Great Prince of Parma desired to see this dauntless young girl,
and finding her as chaste as she was courageous and beautiful, he
permitted her to sail for home without any molestation from his army.
'Then to her own country she back did returne,
Still holding the foes of faire England in scorne;
Therefore English captaines of every degree
Sing forth the brave valours of Mary Ambree.'
[Illustration: Molly takes her husband's place]
And now for Molly Pitcher, who, unsung and almost unremembered, should
nevertheless share in the honours heaped so liberally upon the Spanish
and English heroines. 'A red-haired, freckled-faced young Irishwoman,'
without beauty and without distinction, she was the newly-wedded wife of
an artilleryman in Washington's little army. On June 28, 1778, was
fought the battle of Monmouth, famous for the admirable tactics by which
Washington regained the advantages lost through the negligence of
General Charles Lee, and also for the splendid charge and gallant death
of Captain Moneton, an officer of the English grenadiers. It was a
Sunday morning, close and sultry. As the day advanced, the soldiers on
both sides suffered terribly from that fierce, unrelenting heat in which
America rivals India. The thermometer stood at 96 in the shade. Men fell
dead in their ranks without a wound, smitten by sunstroke, and the sight
of them filled their comrades with dismay. Molly Pitcher, regardless of
everything save the anguish of the sweltering, thirsty troops, carried
buckets of water from a neighbouring spring, and passed them along the
line. Back and forward she trudged, this strong, brave, patient young
woman, while the sweat poured down her freckled face, and her bare arms
blistered in the sun. She was a long time in reaching her husband--so
many soldiers begged for drink as she toiled by--but at last she saw
him, parched, grimy, spent with heat, and she quickened her lagging
steps. Then suddenly a ball whizzed past, and he fell dead by the side
of his gun before ever the coveted water had touched his blackened lips.
Molly dropped her bucket, and for one dazed moment stood staring at the
bleeding corpse. Only for a moment, for, amid the turmoil of battle, she
heard the order given to drag her husband's cannon from the field. The
words roused her to life and purpose. She seized the rammer from the
trodden grass, and hurried to the gunner's post. There was nothing
strange in the work to her. She was too well versed in the ways of war
for either ignorance or alarm. Strong, skilful, and fearless, she stood
by the weapon and directed its deadly fire until the fall of Moneton
turned the tide of victory. The British troops under Clinton were beaten
back after a desperate struggle, the Americans took possession of the
field, and the battle of Monmouth was won.
On the following day, poor Molly, no longer a furious Amazon, but a
sad-faced widow, with swollen eyes, and a scanty bit of crape pinned on
her broad young bosom, was presented to Washington, and received a
sergeant's commission with half-pay for life. It is said that the French
officers, then fighting for the freedom of the colonies, that is,
against the English, were so delighted with her courage that they added
to this reward a cocked hat full of gold pieces, and christened her 'La
Capitaine.' What befell her in after-years has never been told. She
lived and died obscurely, and her name has well-nigh been forgotten in
the land she served. But the memory of brave deeds can never wholly
perish, and Molly Pitcher has won for herself a little niche in the
temple of Fame, where her companions are fair Mary Ambree and the
dauntless Maid of Saragossa.
_THE VOYAGES, DANGEROUS ADVENTURES, AND IMMINENT ESCAPES OF CAPTAIN
RICHARD FALCONER_[31]
I WAS born at a town called Bruton, in Somersetshire, and my parents
were well-to-do people. My mother died when I was very young; my father,
who had been a great traveller in his days, often told me of his
adventures, which gave me a strong desire for a roving life. I used to
beg my father to let me go to sea with some captain of his acquaintance;
but he only warned me solemnly against the dangers to which sailors were
exposed, and told me I should soon wish to be at home again.
But at last, through my father's misfortunes, my wish was gratified, for
he was robbed of a large sum of money, and found himself unable to
provide for me as he wished. Disaster followed disaster till he was
compelled to recommend to me the very life he had warned me against. I
left him for Bristol, carrying with me a letter he had written to a
captain there, begging him to give me all the help in his power, and
never saw him again. But Captain Pultney, his friend, welcomed me like a
son, and before long got me a berth on the 'Albion' frigate, in which I
set sail for Jamaica on May 2, 1699.
When we were in the Bay of Biscay a terrible storm came on; the billows
ran mountains high, and our vessel was the sport of the waves. A ship
that had overtaken and followed us the day before seemed to be in yet
worse distress, and signalled to us for aid; but we could not get very
near them without danger to ourselves. We sent out our long-boat, with
two of our men; but the rope that held her to the ship broke with the
violence of the waves, and she was carried away, nor did we ever hear
what became of our unhappy comrades. Very soon, in spite of the labour
of the crew, the vessel we were trying to help went down, and out of
fifty-four men, only four were saved who had the good fortune to catch
the ropes we threw out to them. When they told us their story, however,
we could not help wondering at the escape we had had, for the lost ship
belonged to a pirate, who had only been waiting till the storm was over
to attack us, and the men we had saved had, according to their own
account, been compelled against their will to serve the pirates.
Very soon the storm abated, and we continued our voyage. It was not long
before we had another adventure with pirates, and the next time they
caught us at midnight, and, hailing us, commanded us to come on board
their ship with our captain. We answered that we had no boat, and asked
them to wait till the morning. At this, the pirate captain threatened to
sink us, and therewith fired a gun at our vessel.
But we, being on our guard, had already mustered our guns and our
forces, thirty-eight men, counting the passengers, who were as ready to
fight as any of us. So we sent them back a broadside, which surprised
them and did them some damage. Then we tacked about, and with six of our
guns raked the enemy fore and aft; but we were answered very quickly
with a broadside that killed two of our men and wounded a third.
Presently they boarded us with about fourscore men, and we found all our
resistance idle, for they drove us into the forecastle, where we managed
to barricade ourselves, and threatened to turn our own guns against us
if we did not surrender immediately. But our captain being resolute,
ordered us to fire on them with our small-arms. Now close to our
steerage was a large cistern lined with tin, where several cartridges of
powder happened to be; and, happily for us, in the tumult of the firing
this powder took fire, and blew part of the quarter-deck and at least
thirty of the enemy into the air. On this we sallied out, and drove the
rest into their own vessel again with our cutlasses, killing several.
But, alas! with the explosion and the breach of the quarter-deck our
powder-room was quite blocked up, and we had to go on fighting with what
powder we had by us. Fight we did, nevertheless, for at least four
hours, when dawn broke, and to our great joy we saw another ship not far
away, and distinguished English colours. At this sight we gave a great
shout and fired our small-arms again; but our enemies very quickly cut
away their grappling irons, and did their best to make off. Their
rigging, however, was so shattered that they could not hoist sail, and
in the meantime up came the English ship, and without so much as hailing
the pirate, poured a broadside into her. Then followed a desperate
fight. As for us, we steered off, to clear away the lumber from our
powder-room, as we had nothing left to charge our guns with. In
half-an-hour we had loaded again, and returned to the fight; but as we
approached we saw the pirate sinking. The English ship had torn a hole
in her between wind and water, so that she sank in an instant, and only
eight men were saved. They told us that their captain was a pirate from
Guadaloupe, and when they sank they had not more than twenty men left
out of a hundred and fifty. On board our ship seven sailors and two
passengers were killed, while the Guernsey frigate that rescued us had
lost sixteen men and three wounded.
[Illustration: 'As we approached we saw the pirate sinking']
I need now relate no more of our adventures on the voyage till I come to
a very sad one which befell me in October. We were sailing towards
Jamaica, and one day I went into the boat astern which had been hoisted
overboard in the morning to look after a wreck we had seen on the water.
I pulled a book out of my pocket and sat reading in the boat; but before
I was aware, a storm began to rise, so that I could not get up the ship
side as usual, but called for the ladder of ropes in order to get back
that way. Now, whether the ladder was not properly fastened above, or
whether, being seldom used, it broke through rottenness, I cannot tell,
but down I fell into the sea, and though, as I heard afterwards, the
ship tacked about to take me up, I lost sight of it in the dusk of the
evening and the gathering storm.
Now my condition was terrible. I was forced to drive with the wind and
current, and after having kept myself above water for about four hours,
as near as I could guess in my fright, I felt my feet touch ground every
now and then, and at last a great wave flung me upon the sand. It was
quite dark, and I knew not what to do; but I got up and walked as well
as my tired limbs would carry me. For I could discover no trace of firm
land, and supposed I was on some sandbank which the sea would overflow
at high tide. But by-and-by I had to sit down out of sheer exhaustion,
though I only looked for death. All my sins came before me, and I prayed
earnestly, and at last recovered calm and courage.
In spite of all my efforts to keep awake, I fell fast asleep before dawn
came.
In the morning I was amazed to find myself among four or five very low
sandy islands, all separated half-a-mile or more, as I guessed, by the
sea. With that I became more cheerful, and walked about to see if I
could find anything eatable. To my grief I found nothing but a few eggs,
that I was obliged to eat raw, and this almost made me wish that the sea
had engulfed me rather than thrown me on this desert island, which
seemed to me inhabited only by rats and several kinds of birds.
A few bushes grew upon it, and under these I had to shelter at night,
but though I searched through the island, I could not find a drop of
fresh water. Nor could I have continued to live, having only the eggs I
found, if I had not succeeded in knocking down some birds with a stick,
which made me a grand banquet. This gave me heart to try to make a fire
after the fashion of the blacks by rubbing two sticks together, and I
managed to do this after a while, and cooked my birds on the fire I had
lit.
That night came a great storm, with the reddest lightning I had ever
seen, and rain that drenched me through. But in the morning I had the
joy of finding several pools of rain-water; and this put it into my mind
to make a kind of well, that I might keep a supply of water by me.
With my hands and a stick I dug a hollow place, large enough to hold a
hogshead of water, and when it was dug I paved it with stones, and,
getting in, stamped them down hard, and beat the sides close with my
stick so that the well would hold water a long time. But how to get it
there was a difficulty, till by soaking my shirt, which was pretty fine,
in water, I found that I could make it fairly water-tight, and with this
holland bucket carry two gallons at a time, which only leaked out about
a pint in two hundred yards. By this contrivance, in two days I had
filled my well.
[Illustration: Falconer knocks down a bird]
I next made myself a cupboard of earth by mixing water with it; but
unhappily it lasted only four days, the sun drying it so fast that it
cracked.
I had a small Ovid, printed by Elzevir, which fortunately I had put in
my pocket as I was going up the ladder of ropes. This was a great
solace, for I could entertain myself with it under a bush till I fell
asleep. Moreover, I had good health, though at first I was troubled with
headache for want of my hat, which I had lost in the water. But I made
myself a wooden cap of green sprigs, and lined it with one of the
sleeves of my shirt.
The island I was upon seemed about two miles round, and perfectly
deserted. Often did I wish to have companions in my misfortune, and
even--Heaven forgive me!--hoped for a wreck. I fancied that if I stayed
there long alone I should lose the power of speech, so I talked aloud,
asked myself questions, and answered them. If anybody had been by to
hear they would certainly have thought me bewitched, I used to ask
myself such odd questions!
But one morning a violent storm arose, which continued till noon, when I
caught sight of a ship labouring with the waves. At last, with the fury
of the tempest, it was completely thrown out of the water upon the
shore, a quarter of a mile from the place where I was watching. I ran to
see if there was anyone I could help, and found four men, all who were
in the vessel, trying to save what they could out of her. When I came up
and hailed them in English they were mightily surprised, and asked me
how I came there. I told them my story, and they were greatly distressed
for themselves as well as for me, since they found there was no hope of
getting their vessel off the sands; so we began to bemoan each other's
misfortunes. But I must confess that I was never more rejoiced in my
whole life, for they had on board plenty of everything for a
twelvemonth, and nothing spoiled. We worked as hard as we could, and got
out whatever would be useful to us before night. Then, taking off the
sails, we built a tent big enough to hold twenty men, and now I thought
myself in a palace.
The names of my four companions were Thomas Randal, Richard White,
William Musgrave, and Ralph Middleton. When we had been together some
time we began to be very easy, and to wait contentedly till we should
get out of this strait. But at last it came into our minds that a
determined effort might free us, and at once we set to work to clear the
sand from the ship. We laboured at the task for sixteen days, resting
only on Sundays, and by that time we had thrown up the sand on each
side, making a passage for our vessel right to the surface of the water
where it was lowest. We next got poles to put under the vessel to launch
her out, and resolved on the day following, God willing, to thrust her
into the water. But we were prevented by the illness of Mr. Randal, who
had been the guide and counsellor of our whole party. It soon became
evident that he could not recover, and the week after he died.
After this we succeeded in launching our vessel, but again a terrible
misfortune happened. We had made the ship fast with two anchors the
night before we intended to begin our voyage, and my companions resolved
to stay on shore, while I, as for some nights had been my custom, slept
on board.
I rested very contentedly, and in the morning went on deck ready to call
my companions. To my horror the sea surrounded the vessel; there was not
a glimpse of land! The shock was so terrible that I fell down on the
deck unconscious. How long I continued so I know not, but when I came to
myself a little reflection told me what had happened. A hurricane had
risen and torn away the vessel while I slept heavily, for the night
before we had all drunk too freely, and my remorse was the more bitter
for remembering Mr. Randal, the good man whose warnings, had he lived,
would have prevented this misfortune.
But fate was kinder to me than I deserved. For a fortnight I was tossed
upon the sea without discovering land, and with only the company of the
dog that had been poor Mr. Randal's. But three days later I saw land
right ahead, to my great joy, though joy was not unmixed with fear, as I
did not know into whose hands I might fall. It was on January 30 that I
reached the bay and town of Campeche, where I was met by two canoes,
with a Spaniard and six Indians, who, on learning something of my story,
I speaking in broken French, which the Spaniard understood, immediately
took me on shore to the Governor. He, on hearing of my arrival, sent for
me where he sat at dinner, and received me with the utmost kindness.
These generous Spaniards not only feasted me while I remained there, but
soon collected among themselves money enough to fit out my vessel ready
to go and rescue my poor companions left on the desert island. On
February 15 we sailed from Campeche Bay, after I, having nothing else to
give, had offered my Ovid to the Governor. He took it kindly, saying
that he should prize it very highly, not only for its own sake, but in
memory of my misfortunes.
Fifteen days after we reached the island, and found my three companions,
but in a miserable condition. For they were left without provisions and
with hardly any fresh water, every necessary being on board the ship;
and when we arrived they had been five days without eating or drinking,
and were too weak to crawl in search of food. But now, for the time
being, their misfortunes were ended, and I cannot describe the joy with
which they welcomed us after having almost despaired of any human help.
[Illustration: Falconer returns to his companions]
We soon set out again in the Spanish ship, and by-and-by, not without a
number of adventures on the way, we reached Jamaica, where I met with my
old shipmates, who were very much surprised to see me, thinking that I
had been lost in the sea many months ago. The ship had hung lights out
for several hours that I might know where to swim, but all to no
purpose, as I could see nothing through the darkness of the storm. I
found that the captain was very ill, and went to visit him on shore. He
told me that he did not expect to live long, and was glad I had come to
take charge of the ship, which would have sailed before if he had been
fit to command her. A week after he died, entrusting me with the
management of his affairs, and messages to his wife, who lived at
Bristol.
We set sail for England on June 1, 1700, and on August 21 we discovered
the Land's End. How rejoiced I was to see England once more, let them
judge that have escaped so many perils as I had done. My first task when
I reached Bristol was to inquire for my father; but a bitter
disappointment awaited me. He was dead, broken down before his time by
grief and misfortune. I could not bear to stay on shore, where
everything reminded me of him, and, for all my delight in coming back to
England, it was not long before I set sail again in quest of fresh
adventures.