ADVENTURES ON A DESERT ISLAND
The Story of Some Castaways—and a Scoundrel
IN October, 1628, there sailed from the Texel a Dutch ship, the Batavia, under the command of Captain Francis Pelsart. Now Pelsart wasn’t the best of navigators, and after having been at sea for nine months he lost his way on a trackless ocean, and, though he did not know it, he was close to the islands known as Houtman’s Abrohos, or Houtman’s Rocks, off the west coast of Australia—the seas in that quarter of the globe not being, as every schoolboy knows, the best known in those far-off days. As a matter of fact, Captain Pelsart was having a run of hard luck—lost, sick, and with a coming wreck in front of him, and not far off, either. While Pelsart lay in his cabin, without warning of any kind except the booming of the breakers, the Batavia went pounding on a shoal off Houtman’s Rocks, where she stuck fast.
Jumping out of his cabin, Pelsart rushed on deck, and, seeing the position of things, soundly rated the master for his neglect; whereupon that worthy pointed out, quite convincingly, that he wasn’t to blame, seeing that as the place where they were had not been visited by anyone else before—so far as he knew—how was he to know the reefs and shoals? This argument, of course, commended itself to Pelsart, who, realising that the best must be made of a bad job, bethought himself of getting the Batavia off the shoal. He had the cannon with which the ship was armed pitched overboard, in the hope that this would lighten her sufficiently to float her. But the Batavia refused to be floated, and when a sudden and heavy squall came down on her Pelsart really thought everything was over; but the Batavia weathered it all right, and, taking a last desperate chance, the captain ordered the mainmast to be cut away. This was done, but in such a way that, instead of going clear over, it fell on the deck.
Convinced finally that there was no chance of getting his ship off, Pelsart wondered what was to be done for the safety of his passengers and crew. Just a little distance away, in the bright moonlight, he could see two small islands, while some three leagues off lay a larger island. He resolved to have the islands inspected to see what they were like, and therefore sent the master of the ship on that errand. Meanwhile, on board the Batavia reigned a miniature pandemonium; women were shrieking, children crying, grown men were raving; and the ship was beginning to break up, so that altogether poor Pelsart had his hands full, and was relieved when the master returned and reported favourably on the islands. There were, all told, 230 people on board, and, women and children going first, 120 were landed on the large island and forty on the smaller one near at hand, leaving seventy still to be landed. These also would have been rescued but for the fact that the crew behaved as no sailors ever should; they began to drink heavily, and got out of hand, for which reason only a very few barrels of water were landed, and twenty barrels of bread. Now, one would imagine that a castaway crowd’s first thought would be to conserve the food they had got, but this particular crowd did quite the other thing, and began to waste both food and water, with the result that one of the crew went back to the ship, by which Pelsart was still standing, telling him not to send any more provisions for a while. Pelsart therefore went ashore, leaving an officer and seventy men on the ship.
Arrived on shore, the captain discovered that the tale brought to him was quite correct; scarcely any water was left. Resolved to make this good, he tried to return to the ship to supervise the sending of further barrels; but the weather had become too rough for him to venture, and he had to hold back. Meanwhile, the ship’s carpenter, taking his life in his hands, swam ashore with the news that the ship’s crew on board were in a pretty bad way, and that unless something were done they would be all flung headlong into the sea when the ship broke up. Pelsart, unable to go himself, prevailed upon the carpenter to go back and tell the crew to hold on a while, and busy themselves with making rafts on which to float to shore. But the crew, although they did all they could, were unable to get to shore because the sea was now running heavier than ever, and to trust oneself on the pounding waves was to court disaster. Therefore they had to remain on the wreck, while Pelsart fumed and fretted at the thought of not being able to do anything for them.
Neither the larger island nor the smaller one, on which Pelsart himself was stranded, had any water besides that which had been brought; and this was little enough, in all conscience. The people who had been so prodigal of it at the beginning now came to see that without water they would surely perish. What was to be done? Water they must have; and they urged Pelsart to go to some of the neighbouring islands in quest of it.
With a captain’s loyalty to his ship’s company, Pelsart refused to go without the consent of all. Why should he take the main chance of being able to get away to safety while all the others remained stranded, cast away without means of sustenance? No, if he went at all, everyone must agree to his going. The folk on the small island argued with him, but argued in vain.
“I’ll go over there,” he said, pointing to the larger island, with its 120 poor souls, “and get their consent; or else I’ll go back to the ship and perish with her.”
There was no gainsaying that, anyway; and so they let him push off the boat, taking in her a crew sufficient to work her. They were a wily clique, that crew! When the captain got well away from the island they refused to take him to the other island. They feared, no doubt, that the people there would not agree to Pelsart’s going, and they knew that out at sea Pelsart was helpless against them. The captain raved, threatened; but raved and threatened in vain. They would not let him go, and when he jumped up and made as though he would fling himself overboard and swim back, they none too gently grabbed at him and held him down by force.
Pelsart scowled and growled at his mutinous crew; but neither black looks nor hard words moved them, and eventually Pelsart had to come to an arrangement whereby he agreed to go in search of water, provided he received a manifesto, signed by all his men, approving of this. Things being fixed up thus, the captain at last set out on his quest; and a long, long quest it proved to be.
Day after day he sailed amongst the islands, seeking water, but finding none; and all the time the supplies were running short. At last he resolved to go farther afield, and struck off across the trackless sea, and in a little while found himself off the coast of Australia, then a continent without a shred of civilisation. He hit the coast at the spot where Geraldton now stands, and tried to put in at a small cove; surf, however, romped at the boat, and flung her back each time she pushed her nose shorewards. Pelsart at last gave up in despair and sailed to the northwards, following the coast, looking for a likely spot to land. In due course this was found; but when they did land the men found no water, and only succeeded in frightening a few natives, who fled for their lives at the sight of the strange white men. Off again, to land, probably, at the North-West Cape, where they found water—rain water! This was not at all hopeful, and, as the coast had been trending away to the east, Pelsart determined to strike north-east, where he knew lay Batavia, in Java.
Twenty-two days after leaving his shipwrecked company Pelsart found himself at Batavia, having sailed nearly sixteen hundred miles in an open boat. At Batavia, in due course, Pelsart was able to obtain a frigate, with which he set out to return for his castaways.
Meanwhile, however, things were happening on the islands away down south. And such things!
The men whom Pelsart had left on the wreck had succeeded in getting off in safety after many days of anxious waiting, and the last man to leave was the supercargo, an ex-apothecary of Haarlem who rejoiced in the name of Jerom Cornelis, and who had ambitions. He wanted to be a pirate, and thought that he had found a splendid opportunity. He worked out his plans with delightful thoroughness. First he would kill off all the honest men of the company, and then, having formed his pirate crew, take the captain by surprise when he came back, as he firmly believed he would. Probably Cornelis’s further plans allowed for seizing Pelsart’s boat, and sailing away with it until he came up with some large vessel, whose crew his piratical company would eventually succeed in overpowering, when they would find themselves in possession of a ship suitable for their purpose of scouring the seas.
But the first step was to get rid of the true men; and as there seemed to be more of this calibre than Cornelis felt he could deal with at one operation, he resorted to an artful ruse. Forty men, under the chaplain and a Mr. Weybhays, were dispatched to another island in search of water, with instructions to light three fires as a signal of success. The little band were successful, and lighted their beacons as agreed. But there was no answer!
What had happened? They were soon to know. Even at the fair distance he was away Mr. Weybhays could see that something untoward was taking place on the island, and presently several men sprang into the sea and began swimming towards him for dear life. What a tale they told when they reached the island! Hardly had Weybhays left when Cornelis and his scoundrelly crew had begun to butcher the honest men left behind, and had succeeded in killing nearly forty! Now Weybhays knew why he had not received the answering signal; he had evidently been sent off merely to get rid of him and his company while the ex-apothecary did his fell work, after which, no doubt, their turn would come.
In this latter surmise Weybhays was right; but first Pirate Cornelis had other fish to fry. Away on the smaller island were some forty men who had been landed before Pelsart departed, and Cornelis decided to go over and wipe out all those who would not throw in their lot with him. What he was afraid of was that either party might be able to warn Pelsart on his return, and thus frustrate Cornelis’s evil plan. So, without loss of time, the pirates rowed over to the small island, landed, and after a little trouble with the men, who did not really want to die, succeeded in killing them off, saving only seven youngsters and five women. On the island, also, they found a number of chests which had been washed ashore from the wreck, and these they broke open. They were filled with rich apparel, and the pirates bedecked themselves in wonderful attire, Cornelis incidentally forming a bodyguard clothed in scarlet livery. He felt almost a king, I’ll wager!
For some days the pirates had a gorgeous time, drinking and rioting, for some of the rum casks had been washed ashore. Then, considering it time he got to pirate’s business again, the captain-general, as he called himself, decided to tackle Weybhays and the forty odd men he had with him. Gathering all the arms he could find, Cornelis took twenty-two men with him in two light shallops, and went over to settle accounts with Weybhays.
Weybhays very nearly settled Cornelis, whose crew got a good thrashing and put back to their island, a sadder and angrier crowd. The pirate-in-chief, however, refused to be scared, and, arming thirty-seven men, went back to the attack. He wondered vaguely why he had got beaten before, for Weybhays’ men were unarmed, except for roughly fashioned clubs, fitted with long nails. Cornelis felt that it was a bad start for a pirate gang, and determined to wipe the stain out. Instead of which, when the second expedition got near the island, Weybhays and his men, dashing out into the water, fell upon the pirates with vigour, and, after a fine scrimmage, succeeded in driving them back, beaten a second time.
“Weybhays and his men fell upon the pirates”
Cornelis felt hurt. He could see his plans being altogether upset unless he could cope with Weybhays, and clearly he and his dastardly crew were no match for that fearless man and his gallant company when it came to fighting. He must try other means; and try them quickly, lest Pelsart return and Weybhays be able to warn him.
Cornelis therefore thought of a scheme to outwit Weybhays. Amongst the latter’s party were two French soldiers, whom the pirate thought might be willing to come to terms with him and play the traitor—if he could but get into communication with them. He opened up negotiations with Weybhays, hoping thereby to be able to correspond with the Frenchmen.
He promised Weybhays that, if the latter would return the boat he had, his party should not again be attacked, and that some of the salvage from the Batavia should be given up. Weybhays agreed to this after a while, and Cornelis hugged himself as he thought that, without a boat, Weybhays could not warn Pelsart when he appeared; and he hugged himself more when, during the negotiations, he succeeded in smuggling letters to the Frenchmen, offering them six thousand livres each if they would turn traitor to Weybhays, who had insisted upon the treaty being drawn up in proper order and being signed by both parties.
The captain-general, sure in his own mind that the Frenchmen could not resist the temptation of his gold, waited serenely for the morning to come, when he was to go over to Weybhays’ island and sign the treaty; but in the meantime the gallant French soldiers had decided that it was better to be honest than to be pirates, and they therefore warned Weybhays.
Morning came, and with it Cornelis and three or four of his men. He was in high spirits, anticipating that he was about to get the better of Weybhays. Instead, he received a shock. Weybhays, making no sign that he knew aught of Cornelis’s stratagem, went down to the beach and helped him run his boat up; and then, before Cornelis knew what had happened, Weybhays and his men fell upon him, knocked him on the head, and put hors de combat two of his companions, the others succeeding in escaping in the boat.
Poor old Cornelis! When he came round he found himself trussed like a fowl for the cooking. Gone all his lofty hopes, shattered all his ambitions. Weybhays had triumphed.
But away on the other island Cornelis’s ruffianly crew were plotting and planning on his behalf—also on their own, by the way, for they felt that Cornelis was the corner-stone of their own safety, and that unless he were free they did not know how to cope with Pelsart, should he return. So without delay they tumbled into their boats and went over to Weybhays’ island, intending to do great deeds and rescue Cornelis. Weybhays was ready for them, and sent them scuttling off again—soundly beaten!
And then a frigate appeared on the horizon; and though the pirates did not know it, albeit they made a very good guess, Pelsart was standing on her deck, looking across at the islands he had left so many days ago. He was wondering what had happened during his absence, whether his company were still alive, or whether they had starved to death or died of thirst. He little knew that there had been worse foes than hunger and thirst at work!
Presently a column of smoke lifted its filmy head over one of the islands, and Pelsart realised that some at least still lived. A boat was lowered immediately, filled with provisions, and Pelsart embarked in her and started to make for the island. At the same instant a small boat sped out from Weybhays’ island; in her was Weybhays, who, when he reached Pelsart’s boat, hastily told the captain his story, and urged him to return to the frigate, named the Sardam, lest the pirates put out and overpower him.
Pelsart looked at Weybhays as though he were bereft of his senses; but confirmation of his words was soon forthcoming, for suddenly a couple of boats shot out from the larger island, and began speeding towards Pelsart’s boat. That was enough. Off went Pelsart to the frigate, followed hard by Weybhays. It was a race for life; and Pelsart won. Just as he had scrambled aboard the pirate boats drew alongside.
And a gallant-looking crowd they were! Their fanciful costumes showed signs of bad handling by Weybhays, but their weapons—swords and pistols—looked very workmanlike, and when Pelsart asked them what they meant by daring to come near the ship in such a condition, they replied that they would very soon show him. And they began trying to board the frigate.
Pelsart’s answer was quick and to the point.
“You see that gun?” he cried, pointing to one of the frigate’s cannons, frowning down at them. “If you don’t surrender—and at once—I’ll have it sink you where you lay!”
There was no arguing with that gun. The pirates laid down their arms, very soon to be joined by their whilom captain-general, and in a little while were on board the Sardam—in irons. Their piracy had come to an inglorious end.
That night the frigate lay off the islands, and next day a boat was sent off to try conclusions with the remainder of the mutineers, who, however, seeing that the game was up, flung down their arms and surrendered.
There is little more to be told. The wreck was salved of all that was valuable in her; the gold and silver that Cornelis and his ruffians had purloined was collected and taken on board the Sardam, where, of course, the remainder of Weybhays’ company had already found quarters. And then Pelsart held a court. Cornelis and his would-be pirates were tried, and executed on the spot. It was no time for delay, because the Sardam contained a goodly treasure, and to keep Cornelis would be to run the risk of the ambitious scoundrel breaking out again. Then Pelsart weighed anchor and went his way, after a series of adventures such as seldom fall to a man’s lot.