Antony Waymouth: or, The Gentlemen Adventurers

The hours of darkness passed away. No foes had appeared. It was possible, however, that they might be watching in ambush in the neighbourhood to rush into the fort as soon as the little garrison were off their guard. Waymouth was not a commander to be thus taken by surprise. As soon as dawn had broke he sent out scouts to examine the thickets around. No foes were there concealed; they therefore advanced farther and farther. Gaining a height which commanded a valley along which the savages would probably approach, a party of them were seen advancing along it and examining the country on either side; some going first were evidently scouts, and tracing out the track made by the adventurers as they crossed the island. The savages were seen to halt, and they remained stationary till they were joined by a considerably larger body. The English scouts hurried back to the fort. They had not long reached it when the scouts of the enemy were seen emerging from the valley. They drew back when they caught sight of the fort, and evidently understood its object. One thing, however, it was very evident that they did not understand – the power of the guns mounted within it – for in a short time their whole army collected within range, so that it would have been in the power of the English to have destroyed a large number without giving them warning.

At Master Walker’s suggestion, Waymouth, before allowing a shot to be fired, resolved to try what negotiation might effect. A white flag was hoisted in the fort, but it was totally disregarded: the savages did not understand its meaning. Several then volunteered to go out and speak to them; but as no one comprehended their language, that would be of no use. Master Walker recommended that some presents should be carried and placed on the ground midway between them. This was done; but the savages, instead of placing others in their stead, rushing forward, carried them off with shouts of derisive laughter, taking the gifts more as a tribute than as a token of amity.

Another effort was to be made. Edward and Carlingford advanced, making signs of amity, but it seemed that they were not understood, for suddenly some hundreds of the savages, with fearful yells, rushed forward, with clubs uplifted as if to destroy them. Such evidently was their intention. Waymouth saw that there was but one way to save the lives of his friends, and he gave the order to the arquebusiers to open their fire to the right and left of the English and over their heads, while at the same time the great guns belched forth flame and shot on the advancing masses. The effect was magical. Numbers fell to the ground overpowered by fear rather than by wounds, some fled, others stood still, but none advanced. Before any had recovered from their panic, Edward and his companion were in the fort. The savages, after a short time regaining courage, collected in vast numbers on the land side of the fort, gazing with wonder at it, and at the ship, of which they could obtain a good view. The artillery had not done sufficient execution to show them its power; and once more flourishing their clubs, and leaping and shouting, they advanced towards the fort.

This was no time for trifling. Should they persevere in the face of the fire-arms, they might by their numbers alone overwhelm the little garrison. Waymouth ordered the guns to be fired this time directly at the foe. The effect exhibited when the smoke cleared off was indeed like the work of magic; the space lately filled with leaping, shouting beings was entirely emptied, except here and there a few dark forms which lay writhing or stretched at length and motionless on the ground. Not another savage was to be seen.

A shout was bursting from the lips of the adventurers at this speedy repulse of their foes, when there was a burst of flame, a terrific roar, the earth shook under their feet, earth, and rafters, and clods of grass came showering down on their heads, and the cries and groans of wounded men struck the ears of the rest with alarm. Their magazine had exploded, and every grain of powder, except such as was in the guns turned seaward and in the pouches of the arquebusiers, was destroyed. Two of their number had been killed by the explosion, and several were wounded by the falling fragments of the building. Even the bravest began to despair, and to believe that they were about to be slaughtered by the savages. The voice of Waymouth once more restored their confidence.

“What, lads I are we, who have for years past fought and conquered countless numbers of Portugals, Turks, and infidels of all sorts, to be downcast because a few casks of gunpowder blow up and a few score of naked savages are shrieking away in front of us?” he exclaimed. “Cheer up! What has happened is but the fortune of war. Probably the savages, having had a specimen of our prowess, will not venture again to molest us, and if they do we have still some powder and sharp swords with which to defend ourselves.”

These words had the effect intended. Ap Reece attended to the wounded. The two poor fellows who had been killed bringing out the powder were buried, and the adventurers waited with calmness for the return of the savages, should they again venture on an attack. Waymouth was certain that they still remained in the neighbourhood, as now and then a person could be seen passing in the far distance, and he was loath to send out a scout lest he might be set on by any natives lying in ambush and carried off.

Darkness returned. Strict watch was kept, and few of the adventurers closed their eyes in sleep. Long and dreary seemed the night. Would the savages pluck up courage and return to the attack? If they were of the same character as those who had destroyed the mutineers, more ferocious savages it would be hard to find. Sounds were heard during the night, but the stars were obscured by clouds and mist, and no object could be discerned at any distance from the fort.

Morning at length returned, and by the light of day it was discovered that both the dead and the wounded had been carried off. It was important to ascertain whether the enemy still lurked in the neighbourhood. Several of the party volunteered to go out for this object. Waymouth accepted the offer of Carlingford and young Martin. Their progress was anxiously watched from the fort. They at length disappeared among the trees. Their friends trembled lest the savages might set on them. Now two objects were seen moving on a hill in the distance: it might be them. Two hours passed away. They did not appear. Either the enemy having taken their departure, they had proceeded across the island, or they had been set upon and destroyed. Several wished to go out to search for their friends, but this Waymouth would not allow. Their fears were, however, banished when their lost friends were seen approaching. They brought the intelligence that the savages had embarked in their large canoes and had sailed away. This was satisfactory news.

In vain, however, did they endeavour to manufacture some powder instead of that which had been destroyed. Without saltpetre they could do nothing. For some time, also, they could make no progress with the ship. The carpenter and smith had both been injured by the explosion, and the two men killed had been among the best artificers. Often as Waymouth and Edward examined the work, they agreed that it might have been wiser to have built a new vessel altogether of much smaller dimensions. Still, notwithstanding all their disappointments and difficulties, they proved themselves to be true men by perseveringly labouring on. One error was allowed to be committed. When all fears of the return of the savages had subsided, the desire to obtain birds was so great that the powder was expended to shoot them, those on the rock having been mostly frightened away. Many more months passed away. Had it not been for good Master Walker, who ever reminded them of the Sabbath, and exhorted them on that day to refrain from work, they would have lost all note of time.

The hull was at length almost completed; the sails were manufactured, and a supply of cordage; the masts had next to be formed and got in, as also the spars. The larger trees best suited for the purpose were on the opposite side of the island, and a party had gone across to select some for the purpose required, when, after a time, they were seen hurrying back with looks of consternation. They had cause for alarm. A fleet of canoes twice as numerous as that of their former visitors was seen approaching the island, and would soon be on shore. Signals were made to recall all those at a distance into the fort. Every means which could be thought of was taken to strengthen the fortifications. An examination was made of the remaining powder. The error which had been committed was evident; there was not enough to load all the great guns, leaving none for the smaller pieces, and of that little which remained a considerable portion was damp, and would require to be dried before it could be used.

Waymouth, in this emergency, endeavoured as before to inspire his followers with courage. He ordered three guns to be loaded pointing in the direction by which it was expected the savages would approach if their purpose was to attack the fort. The rest was divided among the arquebusiers, who were charged not to throw a shot away. There were a few crossbows which were eagerly brought into requisition, and every man had besides a pike, battle-axe, and sword, so that, compared to the savages, they were well armed. Still it was fearful odds for eight and twenty men to contend against a thousand. The night was approaching. The sun went down in an angry mood, and the wind began to blow strongly, and went on increasing till it raged fearfully among the tall palm-trees, which bent like willow wands before its fury. Fiercer and fiercer it blew.

Sentinels were posted round the fort, for it was conjectured that the savages might make their approach during the darkness, in the hopes of taking the garrison by surprise. The grey dawn appeared. No foe was in sight. Just, however, before the sun should arise – for his beams could not penetrate through the dark canopy of clouds overhead – suddenly from every quarter on the land side appeared from among the trees large bodies of savages dressed with their war ornaments, and wildly flourishing their weapons, while, as they rushed on, they uttered the most fearful shrieks. Nearer they approached. At a signal from Waymouth the guns opened on them; but though many were laid low, this did not stop the rest. The guns no longer roared. The foe came on as before; like ants they swarmed round the fort. The arquebusiers reserved their fire till the enemy was close upon them. Now began the fierce strife. As the savages rushed on they were driven back with the bullets which hailed on them, with thrusts of pikes and blows of battle-axes. Still more came on. These were no ordinary savages. It was evident that they were well accustomed to scenes of bloodshed: they fought more like demons than men. They were driven back only to return with greater fury, like the waves of the stormy ocean.

Three of the adventurers lay dead, several more were wounded; still the brave band encouraged each other to persevere. They mostly fought with desperation, not expecting to escape, but resolved to sell their lives dearly. More savages were coming on, when suddenly they paused. Those who were fighting drew back with astonishment in their countenances. Waymouth, who was everywhere, rushing here and there to aid those the most hard pressed, turned his eyes seaward, and there he beheld a fine ship with her tacks aboard, endeavouring to beat off the island, which it was evident she had discovered at daybreak, when too late, close under her lee. She might escape the most dangerous reef, but there was a point of land on which he judged that she must inevitably strike. All the canvas she could carry was set, and heeling over to the gale she plunged furiously through the foaming seas. He shuddered to think what would be the fate of her crew should they fall into the hands of the savages, and he longed to be able to hurry to their assistance. The savages, meantime, it seemed, believed that she was some being sent to the assistance of those with whom they were fighting, and, calling loudly to each other, they sprang back out of the conflict, and the whole body rushed away into the cocoa-nut grove, and were soon hid from view.

Chapter Eleven

Beatrice Willoughby was seated, with her embroidery before her, in the withdrawing-room of the old hall where her childhood’s happier days had been passed. Her dress showed that she had lost some near relative. In truth, the Lady Willoughby, her mother, had been summoned to happier realms, and she and Hugh were left orphans, alone in the world, all in all to each other. Hugh had altered much for the better. He felt his responsibilities – that his dear sister was greatly dependent on him – and her happiness had become his chief care. She was not, however, dependent for support on him, for she had a handsome dower, which would enable her to live as became her rank. She was not alone; Hugh was there, seated at a window, engrossed in a book of travels, for to see the wide world had become the great desire of his heart. Unable himself to wander forth to foreign lands, he obtained every book in his power which described distant countries and the adventures of those who had visited them.

Beatrice had a more sociable companion than her brother in sweet Constance Raymond, who, having lost the old knight her father, had lately taken up her abode with her friend. Both girls were mistresses of themselves, and enjoyed no small satisfaction in feeling their independence. Hugh no longer affected Mistress Constance. He had been so long in her company that he had learned to look on her in the light of a sister whom it was his duty to protect and support as he felt that he should his own sister Beatrice. In truth, sweet Mistress Constance, being a year or more older than Hugh, and of a somewhat vehement if not imperious temper, had herself done much to cure him of the tender sentiment which at one time seemed about to spring up in his bosom.

The young people were not, however, without one who acted the part of a guardian, although he could not claim the legal right of being so. This was honest John Langton – Captain John Langton – a devoted friend and follower of their honoured father, Sir Hugh Willoughby. Sickness had prevented him from going that fatal voyage from which the brave knight never returned. Captain Langton was an experienced seaman; he had made many voyages to various regions, and was a man of great judgment and discretion. Although the snow of the winter of life had already sprinkled his head, his health and strength were unimpaired, while the spirit of adventure which had tempted him abroad in his younger days lay smouldering within his bosom, ready to burn up should occasion blow upon it. He lived in a small mansion close by the hall, where he was an almost daily visitor.

It may be supposed that the very constant subject of conversation between the two young maidens was the fate of him who had been so long absent, and of whom since they had last received tidings more than two years had passed – long, long years they had been to them. Still they lived on in hope of hearing of Edward, or some day of seeing him walk in, full of health and strength, and to hear him recount the adventures he had gone through. As to the wealth he had coveted, it mattered little to them whether he brought it or not, provided he was never again tempted to go in search of it. There was another, too, in whose fate, though he knew not of it, the lovely Constance was interested. When Edward had written home he had spoken little of his own deeds, but he had enlarged greatly on the gallantry of his friend Waymouth, and her enthusiastic imagination adding lustre to his acts, she had pictured him to herself as worthy of being a hero of romance, and had without hesitation encouraged that sentiment towards him, which, if not love, was nearly allied to it.

Hugh, who had come to the end of his book, and was gazing out of the window, wondering when he should have the opportunity of visiting the scenes described therein, suddenly exclaimed —

“There is a stranger coming along the paths. His dress, much the worse for wear, betokens him to be a seafaring man, and his features are dark and weather-beaten. Maybe he brings tidings from the distant Eastern seas.”

The hearts of his fair hearers beat quick as they heard these words. Who could this weather-beaten stranger be? They in the same breath entreated Hugh to hasten out and to bring in the seaman lest he should pass by, not that it was likely he would so do without stopping to ask an alms or the means of proceeding on his way. He was evidently footsore and weary, and probably hungry and poor, and as such alone claimed their compassion. Hugh gladly hurried out, and soon returned with the wayfarer. He was a man of middle age, and, though his countenance spoke of toil and torrid climes, he was stout of limb and broad of shoulder, and had no lack of work in him; and, though his garments were worn almost to tatters, they had once been of a rich description. He doffed his battered beaver as he entered the hall, and stood before the fair dames in a humble posture, waiting till they addressed him.

“Whence come you, stranger, and what brings you into these parts?” asked Beatrice in a gentle voice calculated to give encouragement to the person she addressed.

She spoke not without hesitation, and in truth she had no great expectation of hearing aught of him she loved.

“I come, lady, from far-distant regions; my calling is on the sea, my birthplace near Gloucester; and landing at Plymouth without rhino in my purse, food in my pouch, or friends to afford me any, I have been working my way as best I could to that home where I hope to find rest and quiet after all my toils,” answered the stranger bluntly.

“What took you to those foreign lands?” asked Beatrice, somewhat disappointed with the answer.

“My own folly, and, maybe, greed of gain,” he replied in the same tone. “I gained wisdom, and might have gained wealth had it not taken to itself wings and flown away.”

“But with whom did you sail to those far-distant realms? Surely you went not alone?” said Constance in a tone which showed that she might not be inclined to brook a saucy answer.

“Your pardon, fair ladies; I saw not the drift of your questions,” replied the seaman. “I sailed in the company of a brave admiral, Captain Lancaster, on board his tall ship the Red Dragon, with several other goodly ships, the Serpent, the Lion, the Lion’s Whelp – ”

“Can you give us tidings of any on board the Lion?” exclaimed Beatrice, eagerly interrupting him.

The stranger shook his head.

“Bad tidings only, I fear, sweet ladies,” he answered with some feeling. “Of all that gallant company, captains, and officers, and men, I am the only one, to the best of my belief, who yet breathes the air of heaven – except,” he added, seeing the effect his words were producing on his fair auditors, “one of the ships, storm-driven, found a haven of which I know nothing; the remainder of the brave squadron I saw go down into the ocean depths with all their gallant crews – ”

“What – what was the name of the ship which may have escaped that dreadful doom?” exclaimed both the fair girls at once in accents scarcely articulate from agitation.

“The Lion was the ship, once commanded by Captain Wood, and, when he became admiral, by Captain Antony Waymouth, as brave an officer as ever held a sword,” answered the seaman, evidently now wishing to speak to the purpose. “We had long been parted from him, I being still on board the Red Dragon, when a fierce tempest arose – so fierce I had never before encountered. One by one we saw consorts, long battered by the waves and shattered in battles innumerable, go down, all on board perishing. Scarcely could the Red Dragon keep afloat, much less render assistance to others. Her turn came. We had been driving to the east, hoping to find a haven where we might repair our damages, when, even in sight of land, the tempest still raging, a whole plank, it seemed, started, for, without many minutes for preparation, the big ship began to settle bodily down into the sea. There was no time to cut loose the boats – no time to form a raft. I felt the deck sink under me; shrieks and cries arose. I clutched a large spar which had been left unsecured on deck, and found myself floating amid the foaming waves. My companions in misfortune gradually disappeared. One by one they sank down till I was alone. The storm subsided. For nearly, two days I clung to the spar, and when my strength was well-nigh gone, a ship of the Hollanders, sailing from land, took me aboard. The gale had but sunk to rest for a season. It rose again, and the stout ship was driven before it far to the east amid islands with which no one on board was acquainted. We explored among them for a long time, but the hurricane season was not over. Our captain observed signs of a coming storm, and with a sagacity for which those Hollanders are justly famed he brought up inside a reef, where, sheltered from the sea, we might lie safely at anchor. While there, the gale continuing, I saw a ship approaching, and feared greatly that she might be dashed on the reef. Anxiously I watched her as she drew near. I knew her at once, having so long sailed in her company. She was the once tall ship the Lion, now sadly shattered and shorn of her beauty. She escaped the reef but by half a cable’s length, it seemed, and on she drove to the westward. As long as I could see her from the mast-head, to which I ascended, escaping all dangers, she drove in the same direction. Scarcely could I hope, however, with the numberless islands which besprinkle that ocean, she could drive clear of them all. Still she may have escaped. The gale continued for many days. Sometimes the wind dropped, but the skipper refused to leave the shelter of the reef, and sure enough before long the storm raged again more furiously than ever. It was his opinion, too, that the gale would continue blowing on towards the east, so that a ship might be driven half round the world by it before she would again find herself in a calm. But I weary you, fair ladies.”

“Go on, go on, good friend!” exclaimed Beatrice, her bosom heaving with agitation. “Didst ever gain further tidings of the Lion?”

“No, lady, not from that day to this,” answered the seaman. “All I know is that it was the Hollander’s opinion if any of her company survive they must be dwelling on one of the islands of the Pacific, on whose shore, undoubtedly, the ribs of the good ship are lying.”

“Beatrice! Hugh! let us go and search for them!” exclaimed Constance, springing up with her eyes streaming, and her hands clasped in an appealing attitude, first turning to one and then to the other. “Stranger, could you guide a ship in the direction in which you think they were driven? We would search every shore, we would visit every island in that mighty Pacific, till we found them. It were a shame if we were to allow my noble brother Edward and that gallant Captain Antony Waymouth to perish on some desert isle without making an effort to save them, and bring them back to their native shores. Hugh, the credit of your manhood is at stake an’ you decline to help us, and I know Beatrice too well to doubt that she will bear me company, and go I will round and round the world if I can find men to man the ship.”

“I promise you, sweet coz, that if you go I will bear you company, and I will answer for brother Hugh,” said Beatrice, taking her friend’s hand. “I would, however, that good Master John Langton could have a word with this stranger; he would understand far more of his account than, with our small knowledge of sea affairs, we can do. What is thy name, friend? We will ask Captain Langton to come up to the hall to see thee.”

The seaman looked somewhat puzzled as he replied —

“I am known, lady, as simple Josiah Weedon, and I will gladly talk with Master Langton, but I have an aged mother and sister, and a wife who was sorely displeased at my leaving her before, and I doubt that she will let me quit home again; yet to please two such sweet ladies as you are, and to bring back to the world two such gallant gentlemen as Captain Antony Waymouth, and his lieutenant Master Edward Raymond, I would again risk the dangers of the sea and part from my loving spouse, provided we were simply to make the voyage out and home, spending some fixed time in the search.”

“Thanks, Master Weedon, thanks!” exclaimed Constance enthusiastically; “we would join our prayers with yours to persuade your wife to let you come, if that would avail.”

“My better-half, ladies, is one woman in a thousand. If she will, she will, you may depend on’t; if she won’t, she won’t, and there’s an end on’t. I will hie me home, and should she consent I will send you word; if not, you will know that I am kept bound in the chains of matrimony.”

Suddenly Hugh recollected that probably the stranger was hungry, which he confessed to be the case. Refreshment was therefore placed for him in the dining-hall, to which he set himself to do ample justice, and while he was discussing it Beatrice sent a messenger to summon Master Langton. The old captain soon appeared. His astonishment at hearing the account given by Weedon was very great, but far greater was it on hearing of the resolution to which his fair friends had so suddenly arrived. He knew Constance too well by this time to attempt to combat it. Before he made any remark, however, he had a long conversation with the stranger. He seemed perfectly satisfied that he was honest and his statements true, though he doubted much the likelihood of the missing ship being found. It was not a matter to be settled in a hurry; much discussion would be required, and he could not find it in his heart to oppose the scheme altogether.

Pressed by Hugh, Master Weedon gladly consented to remain that night at the hall to rest, and if he ate and drank abundantly he deserved his provender in return for the way he plied his tongue for Hugh’s benefit. Hugh would scarcely have allowed him to sleep had he not cried out that his tongue could wag no more. Next morning, while discussing the ale and beef and wheaten bread placed before him at breakfast, he was compelled by the young man to begin again, and before he was permitted to go on his way he had given Hugh a large amount of information about those eastern seas and strange lands among which he had so long wandered. The ladies had filled a satchel with good food, and pressed on the seaman a purse with a store of coin to enable him with ease to reach his journey’s end. There was little doubt that the subject would be discussed by the two maidens and Hugh. In truth, morning, noon, and even, it was the only matter about which they could speak; even Captain Langton caught much of their enthusiasm. Hugh was fully as warm as his sister or Constance. Means would not be wanting between them to fit out a tall ship able to sail round the world. John Langton must be captain; they would take no refusal. Master Josiah Weedon should be pilot if his wife would let him go, and if not, no doubt he could give such directions to Captain Langton as would enable him to sail in the direction they desired, where they might perchance discover the Lion. At length their importunity, if not their reasoning, succeeded in overcoming all Master Langton’s scruples, and he consented to search for a suitable ship, to fit her out and store her, and to find the necessary officers and crew. Not many days had elapsed, and just as Captain Langton was about to set off for Plymouth, when Josiah Weedon arrived habited exactly as before.

“Fair ladies, Master Hugh, I am ready to sail with you to any part of the world you may desire,” he exclaimed as he entered the house. “Things are changed since I left home, and beshrew me I was an idiot to expect it to be otherwise. My good old mother is in her grave; had she been alive I should have had a different tale to tell. My sister is married and gone far away I know not whither, and my wife, why she has gone away with my sister and a new husband of her own into the bargain, and not a soul in the place would acknowledge me. My doublet is threadbare and tattered. Josiah Weedon was always the best-dressed man in the village. I was a wretched beggar. Josiah Weedon was to come back with a dozen packhorses laden with gold and precious stones. Many more bitter remarks were made, and finally I was kicked out of the village as a rogue and vagabond, and glad enough to hurry back that I may lay my sword and services at your feet, fair ladies, right willing to do your behests in any way you may command me.”

The young people did not doubt the truth of Master Weedon’s story, and, after he had fed, Hugh hurried him off to Captain Langton that he might accompany him the next morning to Plymouth. While the captain and pilot were selecting a ship and fitting her out, Hugh, with his sister and Constance, was engaged with those learned in the law in arranging for the necessary funds and the disposal of their estates, should they not live to return to the shores of Old England. Yet so sanguine is youth that not one of them ever for a moment believed that they should not return successful. Hugh was the least likely to be disappointed; he would, at all events, see much of the world, and would meet with many adventures. He forgot that it is possible to meet with disagreeable as well as agreeable adventures.

Before long Captain Langton wrote word that he had purchased a stout ship, which Constance insisted should be called the Esperanza, or Hope. Captain Langton was well known, and he had little difficulty in selecting a goodly company, especially when the object of the voyage was understood. Many young gallants offered their services on hearing that Mistress Beatrice Willoughby and Mistress Constance Raymond were themselves going on it, and were much disappointed on having them courteously refused. Captain Langton selected as his officers staid, steady, and trusty men, who were likely to keep one object in view – their duty – and not to depart from it.