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Down Along The Piney Ozarks Stories

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 Down Along The Piney
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.
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.
 CHAPTER IV
1699-1701
[14]
THE VOYAGE OF THE “ROEBUCK.”

Dampier tells us nothing of his private and home-going life after he

carries us to sea with him in the Loyal Merchant, and so little is
known of that side of his career that there is no means of supplying
his omissions except by conjecture. It is pretty certain that he was
very needy when he returned from his first voyage round the world.
The value of his Dorsetshire estate cannot be guessed, but even if
he still retained it, his views and endeavours are at this time those of
a poor man. In the first volume of his Travels, as we have seen, he
treats of New Holland as a privateersman would,—glances, to use
his own metaphor, at the fringe of the carpet without desire to
examine the texture or the body of it, and quickly shares the disgust
of his shipmates, whose dreams are wholly of plunder. But on
coming home and reflecting, whilst setting about the writing of his
Travels, on the land he had sighted in the distant southern ocean, it
is conceivable that ambitious thoughts should begin slowly to fill his
mind. The world at large at that time barely credited the existence of
a continent south of the East Indies. The draughts of Tasman, the
relations of De Quiros, Le Maire, and others, were regarded for the
most part as travellers' tales. Dampier might justly hope in an age
when the colonising instincts of the English were never keener, that
money and honour must be the reward of the man who should be
the first to open out a country fabulous yet in the judgment of
mankind, and, by the light of discovery, resolve what was still
visionary and dark into a magnificent reality.
His next step, at all events, was to seek ministerial and official
help for a voyage of discovery to New Holland. He lived in the days
of Dryden and of the patron, and his dedications exhibit him as
possessed in a high degree of the art of literary congeeing. This
undesirable but profitable capacity of cringing serviceably
supplemented the reputation he had made for himself as a traveller.
He found patrons in Charles Montague, afterwards Earl of Halifax,
President of the Royal Society, and one of the Lord Commissioners of
the Treasury; in Edward, Earl of Oxford, one of the principal Lords of
the Admiralty; and in Thomas Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, who filled
the office of Lord High Admiral. His representations were successful,
probably beyond his own expectations, and in the beginning of the
year 1699 he was appointed to the command of His Majesty's ship
Roebuck of twelve guns, manned by a crew of fifty men and boys,
and victualled for a twenty months' cruise. Confidence, such as this
trust implies, in the character and qualifications of a man whose
rating even as a privateersman was but that of an able seaman,
handsomely testifies to the very high opinion in which Dampier was
held.
The nature of the soil, climate, and the general character of Terra
Australis, Dampier could only conjecture. The ideas he had formed
of this unknown continent were, that it was a vast tract of land
situated in the richest climates in the world, having in it especially all
the advantage of the torrid zone, so that in coasting it the navigator
might be sure of meeting with broad areas productive of the rich
fruits, the drugs and spices, and perhaps the minerals discoverable
in other parts in, as he concluded, the same parallels of latitude. His
scheme was to narrowly survey all islands, shores, capes, bays,
creeks, and harbours, fit for shelter as well as defence, to take
careful soundings as he went, to note tides, currents, and wind, and
the character of the weather, with a special view to the settling of
the best districts. He also proposed to closely observe the disposition
and commodities of the natives, though he candidly admits that after
his experience of their neighbours “he expected no great matters
from them.” The course he originally designed to take was to the
westward by way of the Straits of Magellan, so as to strike the
eastern coast of Australia; and there is very little doubt that had he
pursued his first intention he would have anticipated nearly every
discovery of importance in those waters subsequently made by his
celebrated successor James Cook. Unhappily his judgment erred in
one essential direction. He was of opinion that the lands lying
nearest the equator would best repay the explorer. Nor perhaps
could he guess how far he would have to penetrate the high
latitudes if he stood south; and having passed the greater portion of
his seafaring life in Mexican, Pacific, and Indian seas, his love of the
sun, fortified by recollection of the cold of the Horn and of the one
bitter voyage he took to Newfoundland, might suffice to determine
him on pinning his faith as an explorer and on limiting his curiosity
as a sailor to the summer regions of the globe. Yet his great
knowledge of the equatorial climates should certainly have warned
him against a Northern Australian and New Guinea quest. Further,
there were the experiences of Tasman to help him, whose relations
are as finger-posts in the extracts of Dirk Rembrantz. Had he steered
westwards, the sighting of the New Zealand coast to the south, or of
the shining islands of the Paumotu and other groups to the north,
would have borne in the truth upon his ready and sagacious mind,
corrected his fears of cold weather, given him clear views as to the
southernmost extension of the Terra Incognita, and perhaps have
antedated the civilisation of Australia by half a century. In an evil
moment, intimidated by thoughts of the ice of Tierra del Fuego, and
worried by the murmurs and half-heartedness of a crew, the
majority of whom were quite young seamen, “only two in the ship
ever having passed the Line, and those two none of the oldest,” he
determined to prosecute his voyage to New Holland by way of the
Cape of Good Hope.
He sailed from the Downs on January 14th, 1699. His intention
was to proceed to Pernambuco, and thence directly to the coast of
New Guinea; but scarcely had a month elapsed when the crew
began to give trouble, to mutter their dislike of the proposed voyage,
and even to talk of obliging him to return to England. At
Pernambuco, owing to the distance of the anchorage from the town,
the men would have found it easy to slip the vessel's cables and run
away with her; and not choosing to venture any risk of this kind,
Dampier steered for Bahia de Todos los Santos. This was a
considerable trading-port in his time, formed of about two thousand
houses. He found upwards of thirty large ships lying in the bay, and
speaks of a busy traffic in linen and woollen goods, in hats and silk
stockings, in biscuit, wheat, flour, and port wine. His closeness of
observation is once again exhibited in all that he has to say about
this place. Nothing escapes him. He gives you a long catalogue of all
the vegetables and fruits of the district, of the birds, beasts of prey,
dogs, monkeys, hogs, and the like, and then comes to the sea, from
which he produces a list of twenty-three different kinds of fish. He
sailed on April 3rd, and made a fair course for the coast of New
Holland. The quality of the reckoning of even an expert mariner in
those days may be gathered from his telling us that, seeing a large
black bird flying near the ship, he suspected that he was much
nearer the Cape of Good Hope than he had imagined, since it was
well understood that this sort of bird is never to be met with farther
than ninety miles from land. By his own account, he was two
hundred and seventy miles from the Cape; but next day, meeting a
vessel named the Antelope, bound to the East Indies from Table Bay,
he found that L'Agulhas bore only twenty-five leagues distant. The
inaccuracy of the computations of those times must needs excite the
wonder of our own age of exact science. In Matthew Norwood's
System of Navigation, “teaching the whole Art in a way more
familiar, easie and practical than hath been hitherto done,” published
in 1692, though from internal evidence I gather it to have been
compiled in 1683-84, there is a catalogue of the longitudes and
latitudes “of the most principal places in the world, beginning from
the meridian of the Lizard of England.” The latitude, as a rule, is
tolerably approximate, but the longitude is very much otherwise. For
instance, the Cape of Good Hope is said to be in 34° 24´ S. latitude,
and in 25° 33´ E. longitude. Cape Frio is put down as in 22° 55´ S.
latitude, and 33° 59´ W. longitude. Cape Blanco is entered as 47° 30
´ S. latitude, 62° 52´ W. longitude! [15] These are representative of
the whole of this singular table of calculations. Yet Norwood was
greatly esteemed as a navigator, and his book was to be found in
most ships' cabins. It is amazing that the early mariners were not
perpetually blundering ashore. By what secret instincts they were
advised I know not; yet it is certain they made as little of being a
hundred miles out of their course without knowing it, as we should
in these days of an error of the length of a ship's cable.
Dampier continued to sail to the eastwards, and on July 25th signs
unmistakable of the neighbourhood of land were witnessed in the
form of quantities of floating seaweed and moss; but it was
apparently not until August 2nd that the coast hove into view, on
which date Dampier says, “We stood in towards the land to look for
an harbour to refresh ourselves, after a voyage of 114 degrees from
Brazil.” They coasted for a few days in vain search of a secure
anchorage, and then observing an opening of the land they made for
it, and brought up in two fathoms and a half of water. This opening
Dampier called Shark's Bay, a name it has ever since retained. [16]
He makes this bay to lie in 25° S. latitude and 87° longitude E. from
the Cape of Good Hope, “which is less,” he says, “by a hundred and
ninety-five leagues than is laid down in the common draughts.” He
paints a pretty picture of his first view of this place, telling us of
sweet-scented trees, of shrubs gay as the rainbow with blossoms
and berries, of a many-coloured vegetation, red, white, yellow, and
blue, the last preponderating, and all the air round about very
fragrant and delicious with the perfumes of the soil. The men caught
sharks and devoured them with relish,—a hint not only of very bad
stores, but of provisions growing scarce; for disgusting as the salt-
beef of the sea becomes after a long course of it, he must have a
singular stomach and a stranger appetite who will choose shark in
preference. One of the fish they captured was eleven feet long, and
inside of it they found the head and bones of a hippopotamus, the
hairy lips of which were still sound “and not putrefied.” The jaw was
full of teeth, two of them eight inches long and as big as a man's
thumb; “The flesh of it was divided among my Men, and they took
care that no Waste should be made of it, but thought it as things
stood, good Entertainment.”
 They remained in Shark's Bay till the 10th, fruitlessly searching for
fresh water; then coasting north-east, they fell in with a number of
small rocky isles called Dampier's Archipelago, in latitude south
about 20° 30´, and about 116° 30´ E. longitude. Here Dampier was
so much struck with the character of the tides that he concluded
there must be a passage to the south of New Holland and New
Guinea to the eastward into the Great South Sea. His meaning is not
clear, but then he is in the situation of a man who fires at a mark in
the night; he misses, but the ball speeds in the right direction. Their
pressing want was fresh water. Gangs of men were repeatedly sent
ashore to seek it, but to no purpose. Their first sight of the natives
was on August 31st. All sorts of signs of peace and friendship were
made, but their gesticulations were probably too violent, and might
even have grown alarming as contortions, and the wild men fled,
menacing Dampier and his people as they ran. The only sort of
intercourse they succeeded in establishing was a conflict. One of the
barbarians was shot dead and an English sailor wounded. Dampier
says, speaking of these natives, that they had the most unpleasant
looks and the worst features of any people he ever saw, “though,”
says he, “I have seen a great variety of Savages.” He judges that
these New Hollanders were of the same race as the people he had
previously met with in his first voyage round the globe, “for,” he
exclaims, “the Place I then touched at was not above forty or fifty
Leagues to the N.E. of this, and these were much the same blinking
Creatures; here being also abundance of the same kind of Flesh-flies
teasing them, and with the same black Skins and Hair frizzled, tall,
thin, etc., as these were; but we had not the Opportunity to see
whether these, as the former, wanted two of their fore Teeth.” It
seems to me that he blackened his portraits of these uncomely
people for the same reason that we find him later on describing the
country sourly as though there had been little or nothing to admire;
I mean with the wish to render the failure of his voyage less
disappointing to his patrons at home. In short, he writes as if he
would have people suppose that New Holland is a savage and
worthless land, inhabited by loathsome monsters. One of the native
princes he describes as painted with a circle of white pigment about
his eyes, and a white streak down his nose, from the forehead to the
tip of it. The breast and a portion of the arms were also whitened
with the same paint. If Dampier do not exaggerate, then these
embellishments which he portrays, supplementing the natural
hideousness of the savages, might well cause the youthful Jack Tars
who filled his forecastle to imagine themselves upon one of those
enchanted, demon-haunted lands, from which the ancient mariner of
the legends was wont to sail away with trembling despatch, his hair
on end and his eyes half out of his head.
“If it were not,” writes Dampier, “for that sort of pleasure which
results from the Discovery even of the barrenest spot upon the
Globe, this coast of New Holland would not have charmed me
much.” There is little of the enthusiasm of the explorer in this
avowal; all through his career, in fact, Dampier exhibits himself as a
man of caprices easily diverted from his first intentions, quickly
sickened by failure, though never discomfited by the harshest
sufferings or by the most formidable difficulties, so long as he can
keep himself in spirits by the assurance of some approach to good
fortune attending the issue of his adventure. Probably he was now
willing to believe of New Holland, despite the wise conjectures with
which he vitalised his early scheme, that all that remained to be
seen was no better than what he was now viewing. Or, the length of
time his voyage had already occupied had provided him with plenty
of leisure for the contemplation of his prospects, and he was
beginning to think that he had been misled by his original impulse,
and that there was neither dignity nor profit to be got out of a
toilsome survey of an obscure, remote, inhospitable coast. One
sometimes likes to think of the return amongst us of such a man as
this. If one could summon the dead from their sleep of centuries
that they might behold the issue of the labours of the generations
whose processions filled the time between their Then and our Now,
it would be such old navigators as Dampier whom one would best
like to arouse. Think of Cabot and Cartier going a tour through the
United States, of Columbus taking ship by an ocean mail-steamer to
the West Indies, of Bartholomew Diaz listening to the eloquence of
South African legislators in the House of Assembly at Cape Town, of
Mark de Niza at San Francisco, of Tasman at Hobart Town! As we
watch Dampier digging for water amid the sand-hills of the Western
Australian seaboard, the reality of the living present becomes a
wonder even to us who are familiar with it. The shining cities, the
flourishing towns, the radiant congregation of ships flying the flags
of twenty different nationalities, every fruitful, every busy condition
of commerce, manufacture, science, art, literature, entering into and
stimulating the life of the highest form of human civilisation, are as
miracles and as dreams to us standing in imagination by the side of
the lean figure of this buccaneer, quaintly apparelled in the boots,
belt, and broad hat of his old calling, and gazing with him upon a
land whose silence is broken only by the cries of unfamiliar
creatures, by the murmur of the wind among the leaves of a
nameless vegetation, and by the solemn wash of the ocean surge
arching in thunder upon a shore that, to the minds of hundreds and
thousands away in far-off Europe, is as unreal and illusive as the
islands of Plato and More. What heart would have come to our stout
navigator with but the briefest of all possible prophetic glimpses into
the future of that great continent on whose western sands he
searches for water, reluctant, dubious, half-dismayed!
There was much, however, it must be admitted, to dishearten him.
The behaviour of his crew was causing him anxiety; and about this
time the scurvy broke out amongst the men. Moreover, though his
people hunted diligently for fresh water, their labours were
unrewarded. So Dampier determined to shape a course for Timor, if,
to use his own language, he “met with no refreshment elsewhere.”
He had spent altogether about five weeks in cruising off the coast,
covering in all, as he calculates, a range of 900 miles, but without
making any sort of discovery that was in the least degree
satisfactory to himself. He started afresh with the intention to steer
north-east, keeping the land aboard, as sailors say. His chief and
perhaps only desire at that time was to fill his casks with fresh water.
They once again then lifted their anchor on December 5th, 1699, but
had not measured many miles when they discovered that the
numerous shoals along the coast would render an inshore voyage
impracticable. Dampier thereupon bore away seawards and
deepened his water from eleven to thirty-two fathoms. Next day but
the merest film of land was in sight, and on the 7th nothing of the
coast was visible, even from the masthead. By this time he was
heartily weary of New Holland. He confesses his disgust very
honestly, and laments the weeks he has wasted on the coast, which
he believes he could have employed with greater satisfaction to
himself and with larger promise of success had he pushed straight
on to New Guinea. His men were drooping; the scurvy was being
helped by the brackish water they were obliged to drink, and he
could think of no better remedy than to shift his helm and steer
away for the Island of Timor.
He gives a very close and interesting description of this island. He
had certainly plenty of leisure for inspection, for he did not get under
weigh again until December 12th, whence, though he does not date
his arrival at Timor, we may gather that he must have stayed there
for at least three months. He now headed on a straight course for
New Guinea—the coast of which he discovered in the form of very
high land on New Year's Day, 1700. Islands studded the water on all
sides, from one of which some days afterwards they saw smoke
rising. At sight of this Dampier bore away for it before a brisk gale,
and anchored in thirty-five fathoms of water at the distance of about
two leagues from what proved a large island. Thus they remained
during the night, whilst all through the hours of darkness they
observed many fires burning ashore. In the morning they weighed
again and sailed closer to the land, anchoring within a mile of the
beach; whereupon a couple of canoes came off to within speaking
distance of the ship. The savages called to them, but their language
was as unintelligible as their gestures. Dampier invited them by
motions to step on board, but this they declined to do, though they
approached so close that they were able to see the beads, knives,
hatchets, and the like, which were held up with the idea of tempting
them to enter the ship. Dampier then got into his pinnace and rowed
shorewards. He hailed the people there in the Malay language, but
they did not understand him. Numbers of the wild men lurked in
ambush behind the bushes, but on Dampier throwing some knives
and toys ashore they ran out, and, wading to the boat, poured water
on to their heads as a sign of friendship. He describes these people
as a sort of tawny Indians with long black hair, differing but slightly
from the inhabitants of Mindanao. He also noticed amongst them a
number of woolly-headed New Guinea negroes, most of whom he
suspected were slaves to the others. The crew gave them brandy,
which they drank with relish,—a behaviour that caused Dampier to
suppose that, let their religion be what it would, they were not
Mahometans. It is noteworthy that Tasman differs from Dampier to
the extent of describing these natives as resembling the savages of
New Zealand. He speaks of them as being armed with slings, darts,
and wooden swords, decorated with bracelets and rings of pearl,
with rings in their noses. Schouten had long previously found them a
very ferocious and intractable people, who would have made
themselves masters of his vessel if he had not fired upon them and
put them to flight. But as in these so in those days. The world was
somewhat kaleiodoscopic, and the combination of colours seen by
the peering traveller at one time was by no means the same
assemblage of hues viewed by other eyes at another time.
On February 4th the Roebuck was off the north-west coast of New
Guinea. Here Dampier found some very pleasant islands richly
wooded and full of wild pigeons, and sweetened to the sight by vast
spaces of white, purple, and yellow flowers, which so perfumed the
wind that the fragrance could be tasted at a great distance from the
shore. On one of them he stood surrounded by a portion of his crew,
and after drinking the king's health, christened the spot King
William's Island. Crossing the equator they proceeded to the
eastward, and then, partly with the idea of escaping the perils of a
navigation among shoals and islands, and partly with the hope of
being rewarded for their sufferings and disappointments by some
discovery of magnitude and importance, they steered the ship for
the mainland. They were now within sight of a high and
mountainous country, green and beautiful with tropical vegetation,
and dark with forests and groves of tall and stately trees. A number
of canoes came out to them, but the brief intercourse terminated in
the usual way: the intentions of the natives were misunderstood; a
gun was fired and several savages killed. Dampier's narrative at this
point deals for some pages chiefly with the natives of New Guinea,
though he shortly describes the islands and the aspect of the
mainland as he sails along. So far his tone is one of disappointment,
but nevertheless he keeps a very steady, honest eye upon the object
of his voyage to these unknown waters. “I could have wished,” he
says, “for some more favourable opportunities than had hitherto
offered themselves as well for penetrating into the heart of the New
discovered country as for opening a Trade with its inhabitants, both
of which I very well knew, could they be brought about, must prove
extremely beneficial to Great Britain.” Happily the conduct of his
officers and men had improved, and they seemed as willing as he to
explore the new land; but he writes with knowledge of the issue,
and it is impossible to miss in this narrative of his the subdued and
faltering language of a discouraged heart. On March 14th he was
within view of what he terms a well-cultivated country. He observed
numbers of cocoa-trees, plantations apparently well ordered, and
many houses. His method of opening communication with the
natives was by firing a shot over a fleet of canoes, which sent them
paddling away home as fast as their crews could drive them.
Presently three large boats put off, one of which had about forty
men in her. The Roebuck lay becalmed, and it looked as if the blacks
meant to attack the ship. A round shot was sent at the canoes, the
savages turned about, and a light breeze springing up, the ship
followed them into the bay. When close to the shore Dampier
noticed the eyes of innumerable dusky-faced people peeping at the
vessel from behind the rocks. A shot was fired to scare them, but
they continued peeping nevertheless. Dampier seems surprised after
this that the natives were unwilling to trade. The utmost they
consented to do was to climb the trees for cocoanuts, which they
contemptuously flung at the English with passionate signs to them to
be gone.
 The crew were now finding plenty of fresh water, and the ship's
casks were soon filled. In spite of the defiant posture of the savages,
it was agreed, after a consultation amongst the officers and men, to
remain where they were and attempt a better acquaintance with the
people of the coast. Next day whilst the boats were ashore, forty or
fifty men and women passed by; they moved on quietly without
offering any violence. Says Dampier, speaking of them: “I have
observed among all the wild Nations I have known that they make
the Women carry the burdens, while the Men walk before without
carrying any other load than their arms.” Extremes meet, and
assuredly in some respects the most polished nation in the world is
within a very measurable distance of the most savage. It does not
appear that the obligation of having occasionally to kill a few natives
greatly interfered with the friendly relations between them and
Dampier's men. The ship's company went ashore and slaughtered
and salted a good load of hogs, whilst the savages peered at them
from their houses. “None offered to hinder our Boats landing,” writes
Dampier; “but, on the contrary, were so Amicable, that one man
brought ten or twelve Cocoanuts, left them on the Shore, after he
had shewed them to our Men, and went out of sight. Our People,
finding nothing but nets and images, brought them away; these two
of my men brought in a small Canoe; and presently after, my Boats
came off. I ordered the Boatswain to take care of the nets, the
images I took into my own Custody.” Thus they requited the friendly
disposition of these poor savages by plundering them. Who can
doubt that most of the massacres of European crews by the
inhabitants of countries often as beautiful and radiant as earthly
paradises, the glory and sweetness of which might easily be deemed
to have subdued the human beings found upon them to the
tenderness and lovableness of the inspirations of the soil, the fruit,
the majestic forests, the shining birds, should be the effect of
traditions whose origin may be found in the barbarities practised by
the early mariner?
Dampier describes the country hereabouts as mountainous and
wooded, full of rich valleys and pleasant fresh-water brooks. He
named it Port Montague, in honour of the patron to whom he had
dedicated his first volume. The Roebuck sailed from this place on
March 22nd, and two days afterwards, in the evening, Dampier, who
was indisposed and lying down in his cabin, was hastily called on
deck to behold what the crew regarded as a miracle. The wonder
was no more than a burning mountain, but then those were days
when enchanted islands [17] were to be met with at sea, and this
great flaming scene was at once a prodigy and a terror to the sun-
tanned mariners, who stared at it over the rail with every
superstitious instinct in them astir. Tasman had viewed it, but the
honest old Batavian did not wield Dampier's pen. It was a grand
sight indeed,—a large pillar of fire crimsoning the north-west
blackness, rearing its blood-red blaze higher and higher for three or
four minutes at a time, then sinking till it seemed to have died, then
rising afresh flaming furiously. They got a better view of this volcano
a little later. “At every explosion we heard a dreadful noise like
thunder, and saw a flame of fire after it the most terrifying that ever
I beheld.” Streams of liquid light ran down to the foreshore and
overflowed the beach with incandescent lakes. The description of
this burning mountain is, I think, one of the finest passages in
Dampier's writings.
All this while he supposed that he was still off the coast of New
Guinea; but following the trend of the shore, he arrived at those
straits which still bear his name, and then discovered that the little
country whose seaboard he had been exploring was an island. This
land he called Nova Britannia, or, as we now know it, New Britain.
Happy would it have been for the reputation of Dampier if, instead of
steering east through his straits, he had continued to skirt the New
Guinea coast to the south-east, for by so doing he must have
rounded into the Gulf of Papua, struck the channel called Torres
Straits, and, catching sight of Cape York, have been encouraged to
pursue his exploration of the coast of New Holland on that side of
the great continent whose fruitfulness, beauty, and conveniency
have courted the civilisation of Europe. It is true that the Roebuck
was provisioned for twenty months only, but an ardent and