Across the Spanish Main by Harry Collingwood (uplifting novels .txt) đź“–
- Author: Harry Collingwood
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The stranger now approached and spoke to them, thanking them and applauding their bravery in coming away to save him, despite the threat of the gale that was by this time raging furiously. The man, it appeared, was an Englishman, and, in answer to a question put by Roger, he confessed that, as the captain had suggested on the deck of the flag-ship, he had been one of a crew of pirates, and, having incurred the displeasure of his captain and the enmity of his companions, had been marooned on the sand-bank with but a small stock of provisions and no means of obtaining more when those were exhausted; he had been allowed neither fishing-tackle nor musket with powder and shot, although the latter would not have been of very much use to him, for the island was small and so far away from the mainland that birds very seldom made their appearance there. It appeared that he had been on the sand-bank some thirty-six days, with the few provisions that they had been moved to give him, and nothing else beside but the clothing he stood up in.
“But,” concluded the poor fellow, who was emaciated and weak to the last degree, “I have made a bit of a shelter to leeward of the top of this bank; let us go there, since even it is better than nothing at all. Your boat’s smashed to pieces on the beach, and we shall be forced to remain here until the storm blows itself out before they can send another boat. I pray that it may not be long in doing so, for, although there is water here in plenty, my provisions are pitifully low; in fact, for the four of us, there is only enough for about two days with the strictest economy. But come round to my shelter and I will make some fire, so that you can get your clothes dried, and you will then be a bit more comfortable.”
They were turning to follow their new friend, when Roger once more cast his eyes out to seaward, and he came to a stand-still, remaining as if rooted to the spot. The others gazed at him for a moment in astonishment, not knowing what had come over the lad. As they looked, however, he raised his arm slowly and pointed to seaward; the other three, following the direction of his outstretched arm, at once saw the reason for the horror and despair depicted on the lad’s countenance. The flag-ship, which they had left stranded, lay broken in half by the terrific force of the sea, and the after-part of her was now being gradually driven shoreward, the fore-part remaining, as before, embedded in the sand; and, worse still for the poor castaways, the remaining three ships of the fleet had cut their cables and, setting what sail they dared, were heading away from the island before the gale. No wonder that Roger felt stunned with despair, as he realised that he was actually left on an island that was nothing more than a mere sand-bank, with three other men to bear him company, it is true, but with, between the four, only two days’ provisions, provided that they were used with the most rigid economy!
But he was roused from his reverie by Jake’s voice saying to him: “Never worry, Master Trevose, they ships ha’n’t forgotten us by no manner o’ means; but the skipper sees as how he can’t take us off while this ’ere gale lasts, so he’s cut his cables and run for it. The captain have lost one ship, and he don’t want to lose any more, so he’ve just bore up out of harm’s way until the gale have blowed itself out. And that, sir, with all submission, I calls good seamanship. Never you fear, sir; we ain’t forgotten; the skipper ain’t the man to forget his crew, nor no part of ’em; and as soon as this ’ere bit of a breeze is over, you’ll see they three ships come sailin’ back here to this sand-bank to take us off again. I knows Captain Cavendish, I do, and he ain’t the man to forget we’s here, and sail away and leave us. We’ll see ’em all back here to-morrow, or next day at the furdest. But I’m wonderin’ whether there were any poor fellers left aboard the Stag Royal when she parted in the middle!” And old Jake Irwin looked round, shading his eyes from the flying spindrift, to see if he could discover any trace of human being either in the sea or washed up on the beach. But none was visible.
“Yes, you are right, Jake,” said Roger. “I forgot for the moment that Captain Cavendish would be obliged to leave that anchorage or be blown on shore. But the captain will, of course, return as soon as he is able. As to there being any people aboard when the ship parted, Jake, I think all were taken off before that happened. And now, since we can do no more for the present, we had better go and take shelter as this man suggests. By the way, my man, what is your name?”
“My name, sir, is William Evans,” replied the marooned man.
“And mine,” said Roger, “is Roger Trevose; and these two men”—pointing to them in turn—“are Jake Irwin and Walter Bevan.”
“Thank you, sir!” answered Evans. “Yonder is my shelter, and when we reach it I will give you my history up to the present, if you care to listen to it, for I feel that I have not much longer to live; this last month has compassed my death, so great have been the hardships that I have been obliged to endure. After the storm has ceased somewhat we had better go along the beach and collect any wreckage that happens to come ashore. And I pray Heaven that some food may be washed up, for we have very little here to go on with!”
A few minutes later they came to the “shelter”, which was merely a deep hole dug in the sand, and roofed over with palm branches and grass, together with a few bits of plank and timber that had been washed up on the beach.
“Enter, sir, and fellow-seamen,” said Evans, “and to such poor hospitality as I can offer you, you are most heartily welcome.”
They went in, and the man made a fire with the help of his tinder-box and a few dry sticks that he routed out from a corner. The fire was soon blazing merrily, and they took off their clothes and held them before the flames to dry. Whilst this was being done, the marooned man, whose face even now bore the imprint of death, brought a little food out of his scanty store, and some water, and the party sat down to eat and drink. Then, when the meal was ended, they resumed their clothes, which were now dry, and prepared to listen to the history of the ex-pirate, which he gave to the accompaniment of the beating of rain over their heads, and the tumult of the gale around them.
Meanwhile Cavendish had not forgotten these poor waifs; but, having barely contrived to clear the shore with his squadron, was now being driven away fast to leeward of the island by the furious gale, which as yet gave no sign of blowing itself out.
Crouching over the fire, the marooned man proceeded to tell his story.
“Well,” he began, “I must tell you first that I was born in the year 1532, in the town of Monmouth, in Wales, of purely Welsh parents, bearing the ancient name of Evans. In my early youth I kept about the house and tended our flock of sheep, of which we had a great many, on the dear old Welsh mountains. This life suited me well, for I was of a studious frame of mind, fond of learning, and I read and studied much while out on the hills with the sheep. At this time our family was very prosperous; but not long afterwards England began to be torn by those religious struggles, which I doubt not you two older men will well remember, and we were unfortunate enough to have our lands confiscated by that tyrant, King Henry the Eighth, and, from a state of prosperity and the possession of all we could reasonably wish, my family found itself landless, without money, and even without a home. Besides myself, there were two other children, both girls; and what worried my poor parents most was the problem of what to do with us three children. Fortunately an uncle of my mother—a man whose religious convictions had a habit of changing with the times—had retained all his property, and he undertook to take my two young sisters and bring them up as his own children. This kindness on his part relieved my parents of much anxiety; but there was still the difficulty as to what to do with me. At last it was decided, in the absence of anything better, that I should go to sea; and accordingly, although I did not at all care for the idea, to sea I had to go, since no other course was open to me. My father secured me a berth as cabin-boy on board a vessel called the Delight, trading between London and ports on the Mediterranean, and commanded by a man named Thomas West. It had happened that my father, in the time of his prosperity, had been able to do this man a service, and that was the reason why he took me on board his ship; and I am bound to say that he was always very kind to me. The time for the next voyage came round only too quickly for my liking, and I bade a sad farewell to my father and mother, who somehow scraped up money enough to go to London with me to see me off, little dreaming, poor souls, that they would never see me again.”
The pirate’s voice shook slightly; he paused for a moment, and brushed the back of his hand across his eyes; then, clearing his throat, he resumed: “We left London in the latter part of the year 1547, when I was very nearly sixteen years of age, and, sailing down the English Channel, we entered the Bay of Biscay and touched at our first port, which was Bordeaux. From thence we sailed again, and—just before Christmas it was, I remember—we cleared the Straits of Jebel-al-Tarik, as the Moors call them, and entered the great inland sea. We coasted down its shores, touching first at Barcelona, for we were not then at war with Spain, and then at Marseilles, from which port we struck across for Sicily, intending to call at Palermo. But on the way there we fell in with a Barbary corsair. Our captain was a brave man, and determined to fight to the last, as he had a very valuable cargo on board. The fight began early in the morning, and the pirate tried at first to ram our ship with his sharp beak; but the wind was good, and our ship was so nimble, and answered her helm so well, that we were able to avoid the rushes of the corsair, although he nearly had us on one occasion. Finding that these tactics did not answer, he drew off and, turning his broadside to us, lacked us through and through with his ordnance until we were a mere floating wreck, and half our ship’s company lay dead on our decks. We replied as well as we could; but, being
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