Knowing, from our observations, that Newfoundland bore about north, we steered, as well as we could, to the northward. We judged of our course by taking notice of the sun, and of the time of the day from the captain’s watch. In the night, when we could see the north star, or any of the great Bear, we formed a knowledge of our course by them. We were in great hopes of seeing some ship or other to take us up.
The fourth or fifth night a man, Thomas Croniford, and the boy that unhappily set the ship on fire died; and in the afternoon of the next day three more men expired, all raving mad, crying out lamentably for water.
The weather now proved so foggy that it deprived us almost all day of the light of the sun, and of the moon and stars by night. We used frequently to halloo as loud as we could, in hopes of being heard by some ship. In the day time our deluded fancies often imagined ships so plain to us, that we have halloed to them a long time before we have been undeceived; and in the night, by the same delusion, we have thought we heard men talk, bells ringing, cocks crow &c. and have condemned the phantoms of our imagination, believing them to be real ships and men, for not answering and taking us up.
The seventh day our numbers were reduced by death to twelve. The next night the wind being about E.N.E. blew very hard, and the sea running high, we scudded right before it, with our small sail half down, expecting every moment to be swallowed up by the waves.
July the 5th Mr. Guishnot died, and on the 6th died Mr. Steward (son of Dr. Steward, of Spanish Town, in Jamaica) and his servant, both passengers. In the afternoon we found a dead duck, which looked green and not sweet. We ate it, however, very heartily, not without our thanks to the Almighty; and it is impossible for any, not in the like unhappy circumstances, to imagine how pleasant it was to our palate at that time, which at another would have been offensive both to our taste and smell.
On the 7th day of July, at one in the afternoon, we saw land about six leagues off. At four o’clock another man died, whom we threw overboard to lighten the boat. Our number was then reduced to seven. We had often taken thick fog-banks for land, which as often had given us great joy and hopes, that vanished with them at the same time; but when we really saw the land, it appeared so different from what we had so often taken for it, that we wondered how we could be so mistaken; and it is absolutely impossible for any man, not in our circumstances, to form any idea of the joy and pleasure it gave us when we were convinced of its reality. It gave us strength to row, which we had not had for four days before, and most, if not all of us, must infallibly have perished that very night, if we had not reached the land. Our souls exulted with joy and praises to our Almighty Preserver.
About six o’clock we saw several shallops fishing, for which we steered, having a fine gale of wind right on shore. We went, with sail and oars, about three or four knots; when we came so near, that we thought one of the shallops could hear us (being just under sail, and going in with their fish), we hallooed as loud as we could; they at length heard us, and lowered their sail. When we approached pretty near them they hoisted it again, and were going away from us; but we made such a dismal and melancholy noise that they brought to and took us in tow. They told us that our aspect was so dreadful that they were frightened at us. They gave us some bread and water; we chewed the bread small, and then, by mixing it with water, got it down with difficulty.
During our voyage in the boat, our mouths had been so dry, for want of moisture for several days, that we were obliged to wash them with salt water every two or three hours, to prevent our lips glueing together. We always drank our own water; and all the people drank salt water, excepting the captain, the surgeon, and myself. In foggy weather, the sail having imbibed some moisture, we used to wring it into a pewter bason, which we found in the boat. Having wrung it as dry as we could, we sucked it all over, and used to lick one another’s clothes with our tongues. At length we were obliged, by inexpressible hunger and thirst, to eat a part of the bodies of six men, and drink the blood of four, for since we left the ship we had saved at one time but about half a pint, and at another a wine glass full of water, each man, in our hats. A little food sufficing us and finding the flesh very disagreeable, we confined ourselves to the hearts only. Finding ourselves now perishing with thirst, we were reduced to the melancholy, distressful, horrid act of cutting the throats of our companions, an hour or two after they were dead, to procure their blood, which we caught in the pewter bason, each man producing about a quart. But let it be remembered in our defence, that, without the assistance this blood afforded to nature, it would not have been possible for us to have survived.
About eight o’clock at night we got on shore in Old St. Lawrence harbor, in Newfoundland, where we were kindly received by Captain Lecrass, of Guernsey or Jersey, then admiral of the harbor. We were cautioned to eat and drink but little at first; which injunction we observed as well as the infirmity of human nature, when so near starving, would allow. We could sleep but little, our transports of joy being too great to admit of it. Our captain, who had been speechless thirty-eight hours, died about five o’clock the next morning, and was buried with all the honors that could be conferred on him, at that place.
Thus, out of the unfortunate crew of the Luxborough, it appears that sixteen perished with the ship, sixteen died of hunger, and only seven lived to get on shore, one of whom, the captain, died a few hours afterwards.
The boat in which the survivors reached Newfoundland, after traversing a distance of above one hundred leagues, was only sixteen feet long, five feet three inches broad, and two feet three inches deep.
It is related of Captain Boyce, that from the year 1727 to his death, he annually observed a strict and solemn fast on the 7th of July, in commemoration of his arrival in Newfoundland, after the dreadful hardships he had endured in consequence of the destruction of the Luxborough. So rigid was he in this act of humiliation, that, when in the decline of life, he became settled at Greenwich, he not only abstained from food, but from day-light, and would not suffer any person whatever to converse with him, lest that time should be unseasonably interrupted, which, with becoming gratitude, he devoted to returning thanks to the Supreme Being, for his wonderful escape. Let those who may be so unhappy as to experience his sufferings, imitate his piety; for signal benefits ought to be repaid by exemplary devotion.
THE SUFFERINGS OF SIX DESERTERS DURING THEIR PASSAGE IN A WHALE BOAT FROM THE ISLAND OF ST. HELENA TO BRAZIL
THE following extraordinary and affecting narrative relates to six deserters from the artillery of the island of St. Helena, whose singular adventures produced a court of enquiry on the 12th of December 1799, when John Brown, one of the survivors, delivered the following account, upon oath, before Captain Desfountain, president; Lieutenant B. Hodson, and Ensign Young.
“In June, 1799, I belonged to the first company of artillery in the service of this garrison, and on the 10th of that month, about half an hour before parade-time, M’Kinnon, gunner, and orderly of the second company, asked me if I was willing to go with him on board of an American ship, called the Columbia, Captain Henry Lelar, the only ship then in the roads. After some conversation I agreed, and met him, about seven o’clock, at the playhouse, where I found one M’Quin, of Major Seale’s company, another man called Brighouse, another called Parr, and the sixth Matthew Conway.
“Parr was a good seaman, and said he would take us to the island of Ascension, or lie off the harbor till the Columbia could weigh anchor and come out.
“We went about eight o’clock to the West Rock, where the American boat, manned with three seamen, was waiting for us, and took us alongside the Columbia. We went aboard; Parr went down to the cabin, and we changed our clothes after having been on board half an hour.
“Brighouse and Conway proposed to cut a whale boat out of the harbor to prevent the Columbia from being suspected. This they accomplished, taking in her a coil of rope, five oars, and a large stone, by which she was moored. This happened about eleven at night.
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p; “We observed lanterns passing on a line towards the sea gate, and hearing a noise, thought we were missed and sought for. We immediately embarked in the whale boat, with about twenty-five pounds of bread in a bag, and a small keg of water supposed to contain about thirteen gallons, one compass, and one quadrant given to us by the commanding officer of the Columbia, but in our hurry the quadrant was either left behind or dropped overboard.
“We then left the ship, pulling with two oars only to get ahead of her: the boat was half full of water, and we had nothing to bale it out; in this condition we rode out to sea, and lay off the island at a great distance, in hourly expectation of the American ship.
“About twelve o’clock, the second day, no ship appearing, by Parr’s advice we bore away, steering N. by W. and then N.N.W. for the island of Ascension using our handkerchiefs as substitutes for sail. We met with a gale of wind which continued two days; the weather then became very fine, and we supposed we had run about ten miles an hour. McKinnon kept a reckoning with pen, ink, and paper with which, together with charts and maps, we were supplied by the Columbia.
“We continued our course till about the 18th in the morning, when we saw a number of birds, but no land. About twelve that day Parr said he was sure we must be past the island accounting it to be eight hundred miles from St. Helena. Each of us took off his shirt, and with them we made a small sprit-sail, lacing our jackets and trowsers together at the waist band to keep ourselves warm, and then altered our course to W. by N. thinking to make Rio de Janeiro, on the American coast. Provisions running very short, we allowed ourselves only one ounce of bread and two mouthfuls of water for twenty-four hours.
“On the 26th all our provisions were expended. On the 27th M’Quin put a piece of bamboo in his mouth to chew, and we all followed his example. On the night of that day it was my turn to steer the boat, and recollecting to have read of persons in our situation eating their shoes, I cut off a piece of one of mine; but being soaked with the salt water, I was obliged to spit it out, and eat the inside soal, of which I ate a part and distributed to the rest; but we found no benefit from it.
“On the 1st of July Parr caught a dolphin with a gaff that had been left in the boat. We all fell on our knees and thanked God for his goodness to us. We tore up our fish, and hung it to dry; about four we ate part of it, which agreed with us pretty well. On this fish we subsisted till the fourth about eleven o’clock, when finding the whole consumed bones and all, Parr, Brighouse, Conway, and myself, proposed to scuttle the boat and let her go down, to put us out of our misery; the other two objected, observing that God, who had made man, always found him something to eat.
“On the 5th, about eleven, M’Kinnon proposed it would be better to cast lots for one of us to die, in order to save the rest; to which we consented. William Parr, being seized two days before with the spotted fever, was excluded. He wrote the numbers and put them into a hat; we drew them out blindfolded and put them in our pockets. Parr then asked whose lot it was to die; none of us knowing what number we had in our pocket, and each praying to God that it might be his lot; it was agreed that No. 5 should die, and the lots being unfolded, M’Kinnon’s was No. 5.
“We had concluded, that he, on whom the lot fell, should bleed himself to death; for which purpose we had provided ourselves with sharpened nails, which we got from the boat. With one of these M’Kinnon cut himself in three places; in his foot, hand, and wrist; and praying God to forgive his sins, he died in about a quarter of an hour.
“Before he was quite cold, Brighouse, with one of the nails, cut a piece of flesh off his thigh, and hung it up, leaving his body in the boat. About three hours afterwards, we all ate of it, but only in very small quantity. This piece lasted us till the 7th. We dipped the body every two hours in the sea to preserve it. Parr having found a piece of slate in the bottom of the boat, he sharpened it on the other large stone, and with it cut another piece off the thigh, which lasted us till the 8th, when it being my watch, and observing the water about break of day, to change color, I called the rest, thinking we were near the shore, but saw no land, it being not quite day-light.
“As soon as day appeared we discovered land right ahead, and steered towards it. About eight in the morning we were close to the shore; there being heavy surf, we endeavoured to turn the boat’s head to it, but being very weak we were unable. Soon afterwards the boat upset, Parr, Conway, and myself, got on shore; M’Quin and Brighouse were drowned.
“We discovered a small hut on the beach in which were an Indian and his mother, who spoke Portuguese, and I, understanding that language, learned that there was a village, about three miles distant, called Belmont. The Indian went to the village, with the information that the French had landed, and in about two hours the governor of the village, a clergyman, with several armed men, took Conway and Parr, tied them by their hands and feet, and slinging them on a bamboo stick, conveyed them in that manner to the village. I, being very weak, remained in the hut some time, but was afterwards taken.
“On our telling them that we were English, we were immediately released, and three hammocks provided, in which we were taken to the governor’s house, who resigned to us his own bed, and gave us milk and rice to eat; but as we had taken no food for a considerable time we were lock-jawed, and continued so till the 23d. During this time our host wrote to the governor of St. Salvador, who sent a small schooner to Porto Seguto to take us to St. Salvador. We were conducted on horseback to Porto Seguto, passing through Santa Cruz, where we remained about ten days: we afterwards embarked, and on our arrival at St. Salvador, Parr, on being questioned by the governor, told him, that our ship had foundered at sea, and we had saved ourselves in the boat: that the ship’s name was the Sally, of Liverpool, that she belonged to his father, and was last from Cape Corfe Castle, on the coast of Africa, to touch at Ascension for turtle, and then bound to Jamaica. Parr likewise said he was the captain.
“We remained at St. Salvador about thirteen days, during which time the inhabitants made up a subscription of 200 l. each man. We then embarked in the Maria, a Portuguese ship, for Lisbon; Parr, as mate; Conway, boatswain’s mate, and myself, being sickly, as a passenger. In thirteen days we arrived at Rio de Janeiro. Parr and Conway sailed for Lisbon, and I was left in the hospital.
“In about three months, Captain Elphinstone, of the Diamond, pressed me into his Majesty’s service, giving me the choice of remaining on that station, or to proceed to the admiral at the Cape. I chose the latter, and was put with seven suspected deserters, on board the Ann, a Botany Bay ship, in irons, with the convicts. When I arrived at the Cape, I was put on board the Lancaster of 64 guns; I never entered, but, at length received my discharge, since which I engaged in the Duke of Clarence as a seaman. I was determined to surrender myself at the first opportunity, in order to relate my sufferings to the men of this garrison, to deter others from attempting so mad a scheme.”
In attending to the above narrative, as simple as it is affecting, we cannot help noticing the justice of Providence, so strikingly exemplified in the melancholy fate of M’Kinnon, the deluder of these unhappy men, and the victim of his own disgraceful scheme. May his fate prove a memento to soldiers and sailors, and a useful though awful lesson, to the encouragers and abettors of desertion!
From
FRA DENIS DE CARLI’S
A VOYAGE TO CONGO IN THE YEARS 1666 and 1667
TO satisfy the curiosity of several persons, who press me in such an obliging manner as I cannot easily withstand, to give them an exact account of what I have seen and learned during the long voyage, from which I am lately returned, I will write a relation of the kingdom of Congo and of Africk, where the duty of my mission made me acquainted with strange customs, and go through abundance of hardships, omitting at present to speak of Brasil, and some other parts of America, whither we were first carried, and of which I shall say but very little.
In the year 1666, Alexander the 7th being pope, fifteen Capuchin missioners, of which I was o
ne, were dispatched by the cardinals de propaganda fide, and received the commissions or patents at Bononia, where I then resided, at the hands of F. Stephen de Cesa, of the noble family of Clermont, whose virtue has been since rewarded with post of general of the said order. Our patents contained the following privileges: to dispense with any irregularity except incurred by bigamy, or wilful murder: to dispense and commute simple vows even to that of chastity, but not that of religion: to dispense with marriages within the second and third degrees, and for pagans converted to keep one of their wives: to absolve in cases reserved to the pope: to bless church-stuff, churches, and chalices: to give leave to eat flesh and whitemeats, and to say two masses a day in case of necessity: to grant plenary indulgences: to deliver a soul out of purgatory, according to the intention of the priest, in a mass for the dead said on monday and tuesday: to wear secular clothes in case of necessity: to say the rosary for want of a breviary, or any other impediment; to read forbidden books, except Macchiavel …
[The narrative takes them to Africa, describes their work and some of their difficulties.]