The Wager Disaster

by C. H. Layman

  On board the ill-fated Wager with Captain Cheap were the sixteen-year-old Midshipman Byron, grandfather of the poet; two other midshipmen, Morris and Campbell; the austere and uncompromising Gunner, Mr Bulkeley; and the Cooper, Mr Young, a man with a perceptive wit and a fluent turn of phrase. These men, who took part in one of the most dramatic catastrophes in the history of the Royal Navy, now tell their story.

  A story well known in its time.

  Here are the original sources on which this book is based. In order of publication they are:

  Bulkeley & Cummins, 1743; Campbell, 1747; Anson’s Voyage, 1748; Young, 1751; Morris, 1751(?); Bulkeley & Cummins’s first American edition, 1757; Byron 1768.

  There are several unofficial accounts of the voyage of Anson’s squadron, some anonymous, some dubious, that appeared between 1744 and 1747. There are also many chap books (small, cheap and often fairly rough pirated editions) published at various dates. The last one here was printed in 1819.

  All these books, from different perspectives and with varying degrees of competence, tell the same best-selling story. It was a story that fascinated the public, and influenced naval and political thinking for a generation.

  1 This is Pacific, not Atlantic, Patagonia.

  2 A mountain range, part of the Andes chain.

  3 On parole.

  4 Rules or conditions.

  5 The Pacific Ocean.

  6 Vessels.

  7 Ships of the line were 1st, 2nd and 3rd rates; that is, ships of 70 guns or more.

  8 In fact, it is now known that the winds are often less unfavourable in the winter months, but neither Anson nor anyone else knew this at the time. March, when the squadron actually started its battle round Cape Horn, could well be the worst month of all.

  9 Pizarro’s squadron, which out-gunned Anson’s, left Spain as Anson was leaving the Channel. The two squadrons narrowly missed each other on two occasions. The Spanish ships were dispersed trying to round the Horn, and they suffered shipwreck, weather damage, mutiny, and disease. Only one, the flagship Asia, could be made sufficiently seaworthy to return home five years later, when her adventures will feature later in this story.

  10 The highest deck that runs the whole length of the ship.

  11 It is possible that the First Lord had originally nodded agreement to this arrangement.

  12 Written under Anson’s direction.

  Part 2

  Mayhem and Mutiny

  Chapter 3

  Shipwreck

  Byron is critical of the preparations made for the expedition, in particular of the clutter of stores which impedes the working of the ship. The Wager is damaged in the vicinity of Cape Horn and separated from the other ships. Many men become ill with scurvy. The Captain pays little heed to doubts expressed about the course steered, and presses on to make a rendezvous with the rest of the squadron. In exceptionally foul weather Wager is driven onto a lee-shore and wrecked on an extremely inhospitable coast. One hundred and forty survivors get ashore in boats.

  From Midshipman Byron’s narrative

  It may be necessary for the better understanding the disastrous fate of the Wager, the subject of the following pages, to repeat the remark that “a strange infatuation seemed to prevail in the whole conduct of this embarkation.” For though it was unaccountably detained till the season for its sailing was past, no proper use was made of that time, which should have been employed in providing a suitable force of sailors and soldiery; nor was there a due attention given to other requisites for so peculiar and extensive a destination.

  This neglect not only rendered the expedition abortive in its principal object, but most materially affected the condition of each particular ship; and none so fatally as the Wager, who being an old Indiaman brought into the service upon this occasion, was now fitted out as a man-of-war, but, being made to serve as a store-ship, was deeply laden with all kinds of careening gear, military, and other stores, for the use of the other ships; and, what is more, crowded with bale goods, and encumbered with merchandise.[1] A ship of this quality and condition could not be expected to work with that readiness and ease which was necessary for her security and preservation in those heavy seas which she was to encounter.

  Her crew consisted of men pressed from long voyages to be sent upon a distant and hazardous service; on the other hand, all her land forces were no more than a poor detachment of infirm and decrepit invalids from Chelsea Hospital, desponding under the apprehensions of a long voyage. It is not then to be wondered that Captain Kidd, under whose command this ship sailed out of the port, should in his last moments presage her ill success, though nothing very material happened during his command.

  At his death he was succeeded by Captain Cheap, who, still without any accident, kept company with the squadron, till we had almost gained the southernmost mouth of the Straits le Maire; when being the sternmost ship we were, by the sudden shifting of the wind to the southward and the turn of the tide, very near being wrecked upon the rocks of Staten Island; which notwithstanding, having weathered, contrary to the expectation of the rest of the squadron, we endeavoured all in our power to make up our lost way and regain our station. This we effected, and proceeded in our voyage, keeping company with the rest of the ships for some time; when, by a great roll of a hollow sea, we carried away our mizzen-mast, all the chain-plates[2] to windward being broken. Soon after, hard gales at west coming on with a prodigious swell, there broke a heavy sea in upon the ship, which stove our boats, and filled us for some time.

  These accidents were the more disheartening as our Carpenter was on board the Gloucester, and detained there by the incessant tempestuous weather and sea impracticable for boats. In a few days he returned, and supplied the loss of a mizzen-mast by a lower studding-sail boom; but this expedient, together with the patching up of our rigging, was a poor temporary relief to us. We were soon obliged to cut away our best bower anchor to ease the foremast,[3] the shrouds and chain-plates of which were all broken, and the ship in all parts in a most crazy condition.

  20th December 1740, Is. S. Caterina, Brazil.

  The squadron arrives, and Commodore Anson salutes the Portuguese Governor with eleven guns.

  Ships from left to right: Anna pink, Wager, Gloucester or Severn, Severn or Gloucester, Centurion firing the salute, Pearl, Tryall.

  This engraving is after a drawing by Lieutenant Peircy Brett of the Centurion.

  7th March 1741.

  The Squadron approaches the infamous Straits le Maire between Staten Island and Tierra del Fuego. Wager is on the left. Soon afterwards in worsening weather she nearly went aground on Staten Island. See chart on p47.

  Anson’s Voyage says: “We passed those memorable Streights, ignorant of the dreadful calamities which were then impending, and just ready to break upon us; ignorant that the time drew near, when the squadron would be separated never to unite again, and that this day of our passage was the last chearful day that the greatest part of us would ever live to enjoy.”

  After a drawing by Lieutenant Piercy Brett of the Centurion.

  HMS Wager (centre) proceeds to her anchor berth off Cape Virgin Mary at the northern entrance to the Magellan Straits. On the left is Centurion; on the right probably Pearl. The sketch is by the First Lieutenant of Centurion, Lieutenant Peircy Brett. This was the last spell of fair weather the Squadron would enjoy for a long, miserable time, and for the Wager this was the last time in company.

  Anson’s route, adapted from his A Voyage Round the World, 1748.

  Thus shattered and disabled, and a single ship (for we had now lost sight of our squadron), we had the additional mortification to find ourselves bearing for the land on a lee-shore, having thus far persevered in the course we held from an error in conjecture: for the weather was unfavourable for observation, and there are no charts of that part of the coast. When those officers who first perceived their mistake endeavoured to persuade the Captain to alter his course, and bear away for the greater surety to the westw
ard, he persisted in making directly, as he thought, for the island of Socorro;[4] and to such as dared from time to time to deliver their doubts of being entangled with the land stretching to the eastward, he replied that he thought himself in no case at liberty to deviate from his orders; and that the absence of his ship from the first place of rendezvous would entirely frustrate the whole squadron in the first object of their attack, and possibly decide upon the fortune of the whole expedition. For the better understanding the force of his reasoning, it is necessary to explain that the island of Socorro[5] is in the neighbourhood of Valdivia, the capture of which place could not be effected without the junction of that ship which carried the ordnance and military stores.

  This chart shows the difficulty of navigating round the Horn with no accurate means of determining longitude, scanty knowledge of a very strong current, and rudimentary charts. The dotted line shows Anson’s estimated track; the solid line his actual track.

  Note Pepys Island north of the Falkland Islands. Twenty-seven years later Byron, by then a Commodore, was sent out to find it, and was able to report that it did not exist.

  The knowledge of the great importance of giving so early and unexpected a blow to the Spaniards determined the Captain to make the shortest way to the point in view; and that rigid adherence to orders from which he thought himself in no case at liberty to depart, begot in him a stubborn defiance of all difficulties, and took away from him those apprehensions which so justly alarmed all such as, from ignorance of the orders, had nothing present to their minds but the dangers of a lee-shore.

  We had for some time been sensible of our approach to the land, from no other tokens than those of weeds and birds, which are the usual indication of nearing the coast; but at length we had an imperfect view of an eminence, which we conjectured to be one of the mountains of the Cordilleras. This, however, was not so distinctly seen but that many conceived it to be the effect of imagination. But if the Captain was persuaded of the nearness of our danger it was now too late to remedy it; for at this time the straps of the fore jeer blocks breaking, the fore-yard came down; and the greatest part of the men being disabled through fatigue and sickness, it was some time before it could be got up again.

  The few hands who were employed in this business now plainly saw the land on the larboard beam bearing NW upon which the ship was driving bodily.[6]

  Wager embayed.

  This is the track of the ship estimated from survivors’ reports. She tried desperately to claw off a lee-shore in a hurricane-force gale and escape from a perilous situation. The operation of wearing ship took three hours.

  Orders were then given immediately by the Captain to sway the foreyard up, and set the foresail; which done, we wore ship[7] with her head to the southward, and endeavoured to crowd her off from the land. But the weather, from being exceedingly tempestuous blowing now a perfect hurricane and right in upon the shore, rendered our endeavours (for we were now only twelve hands fit for duty) entirely fruitless. The night came on, dreadful beyond description, in which, attempting to throw out our topsails to claw off the shore, they were immediately blown from the yards.

  In the morning, about four o’clock, the ship struck. The shock we received upon this occasion, though very great, being not unlike a blow of a heavy sea, such as in the series of preceding storms we had often experienced, was taken for the same; but we were soon undeceived by her striking again more violently than before, which laid her upon her beam-ends, the sea making a fair breach over her. Every person that now could stir was presently upon the quarter-deck; and many even of those were alert upon this occasion that had not showed their faces upon deck for above two months before. Several poor wretches, who were in the last stage of the scurvy,[8] and who could not get out of their hammocks, were immediately drowned.

  In this dreadful situation she lay for some little time, every soul on board looking upon the present minute as his last; for there was nothing to be seen but breakers all around us. However, a mountainous sea hove her off from thence; but she presently struck again and broke her tiller. In this terrifying and critical juncture, to have observed all the various modes of horror operating according to the several characters and complexions amongst us, it was necessary that the observer himself should have been free from all impressions of danger. Instances there were, however, of behaviour so very remarkable, they could not escape the notice of any one who was not entirely bereaved of his senses; for some were in this condition to all intents and purposes, particularly one, in the ravings despair brought upon him, who was seen stalking about the deck, flourishing a cutlass over his head, and calling himself king of the country, and striking every body he came near, till his companions, seeing no other security against his tyranny, knocked him down. Some, reduced before by long sickness and the scurvy, became on this occasion as it were petrified and bereaved of all sense, like inanimate logs, and were bandied to and fro by the jerks and rolls of the ship, without exerting any efforts to help themselves.

  HMS Wager in extremis, 13th May 1741.

  She lost her mizzen some weeks ago when rounding the Horn. Her foreyard and foretop came down last night, incapacitating the Captain in the process. She is now embayed in a hurricane-force wind and a vicious sea on a hostile coast – a seaman’s worst nightmare. Painted by Charles Brooking, one of Britain’s finest marine artists, probably about 1744, with information based on Bulkeley’s published journal.

  So terrible was the scene of foaming breakers around us, that one of the bravest men we had could not help expressing his dismay at it, saying it was too shocking a sight to bear! And he would have thrown himself over the rails of the quarter-deck into the sea had he not been prevented. But at the same time there were not wanting those who preserved a presence of mind truly heroic. The man at the helm, though both rudder and tiller were gone, kept his station; and being asked by one of the officers if the ship would steer or not, first took his time to make trial by the wheel, and then answered with as much respect and coolness as if the ship had been in the greatest safety; and immediately after applied himself with his usual serenity to his duty, persuaded it did not become him to desert it as long as the ship kept together.

  Mr Jones, Mate, who now survives not only this wreck, but that of the Litchfield man-of-war upon the coast of Barbary,[9] at the time when the ship was in the most imminent danger not only showed himself undaunted, but endeavoured to inspire the same resolution in the men, saying, “My friends, let us not be discouraged: did you never see a ship amongst breakers before? Let us endeavour to push her through them. Come, lend a hand; here is a sheet, and here is a brace;[10] lay hold; I don’t doubt but we may stick her yet near enough to the land to save our lives.” This had so good an effect that many who before were half dead seemed active again, and now went to work in earnest. This Mr Jones did purely to keep up the spirits of the people as long as possible; for he often said afterwards, he thought there was not the least chance of a single man’s being saved.

  We now ran in between an opening of the breakers, steering by the sheets and braces, when providentially we stuck fast between two great rocks; that to windward sheltering us in some measure from the violence of the sea. We immediately cut away the main and foremast, but the ship kept beating in such a manner that we imagined she could hold together but a very little while.

  The day now broke, and the weather, that had been extremely thick, cleared away for a few moments and gave us a glimpse of the land not far from us. We now thought of nothing but saving our lives. To get the boats out, as our masts were gone, was a work of some time; which when accomplished, many were ready to jump into the first, by which means they narrowly escaped perishing before they reached the shore. I now went to Captain Cheap (who had the misfortune to dislocate his shoulder by a fall the day before, as he was going forward to get the foreyard swayed up) and asked him if he would not go on shore; but he told me, as he had done before, that he would be the last to leave the ship, and he ordered
me to assist in getting the men out as soon as possible. I had been with him very often from the time the ship first struck, as he desired I would, to acquaint him with every thing that passed; and I particularly remarked that he gave his orders at that time with as much coolness as ever he had done during the former part of the voyage.

  The scene was now greatly changed; for many who but a few minutes before had shown the strongest signs of despair, and were on their knees praying for mercy, imagining they were now not in that immediate danger grew very riotous, broke open every chest and box that was at hand, stove in the heads of casks of brandy and wine, as they were borne up to the hatch-ways, and got so drunk that some of them were drowned on board, and lay floating about the decks for some days after.

  The wreck of HMS Wager, by Charles Brooking (1723-1759).

  Before I left the ship, I went down to my chest, which was at the bulkhead of the wardroom, in order to save some little matters if possible; but whilst I was there the ship thumped with such violence, and the water came in so fast, that I was forced to get upon the quarter-deck again, without saving a single rag but what was upon my back. The Boatswain, and some of the people, would not leave the ship so long as there was any liquor to be got at; upon which Captain Cheap suffered himself to be helped out of his bed, put into the boat, and carried on shore.