by Derek Wilson
While the other vessels encountered all manner of difficulties, the flagship eventually cleared the Horn. Anson made for Juan Fernandez and anchored there, hoping that the rest of his fleet would rejoin him. Between 12 June and 17 August the Tryall, the Gloucester and the Anna reached the island. They were in a pitiable state. The storeship was almost completely rotten below the waterline and had to be burnt. Dead bodies lay all over the decks of the sloop, ‘it being impossible to conceive the stench and filthiness which men lay in or the condition that the ship was in between decks’.9* When the Gloucester appeared a boat was put out to her with provisions. She was found to be in ‘a most deplorable condition, nearly two-thirds of her men being dead but very few of the rest able to perform their duty.’10 Rats were everywhere, feeding on the corpses and even gnawing toes and fingers from the sick. The Gloucester’s crew was so weak that, although they had brought their ship within a couple of miles of the anchorage, they could not prevent her being carried offshore by winds and current. It took them another six days to wear back into the harbour.
The pleasant island which had succoured Alexander Selkirk for four years now restored the health and spirits of such of Anson’s men as had been tough enough or lucky enough to survive thus far. Philip Saumarez was anxious to see the island which had already gained a place in the mythology of the sea:
On the first appearance, [he recorded] strangers would naturally conclude it to be a barren inhospitable island affording a prospect of broken inaccessible mountains and rocky precipices, but on nearer approach are easily reconciled to it when surprised with the discovery of trees and verdure with which it is clothed, with several streams of water discharging themselves from below into the seas and forming agreeable cascades in their falls . . .
For the desperate crewmen the principal attraction of Juan Fernandez was fresh food:
We found great relief from our feeding on fish which this bay is plentiful stored with in great variety. There are cod of prodigious size, cavallies, groupers, large bream, silver fishes, congers, albacores with many others, and a black fish, somewhat resembling a carp, called by our predecessors a ‘chimney sweeper’, with great quantities of big fish of a voracious kind which often interrupted our fishing, it being observable that no fish would approach the baits while they were near to these, and I may also add sharks of an enormous largeness which often accompanied our boats and seemed exceedingly ravenous. The craw fish was likewise found in the greatest plenty conceivable and beyond any like I ever saw in largeness or goodness. We generally caught close to the sea side, often striking them with our boat hooks. Nor were the sea lion and seals excluded from our table. Through satiety or wantonness or depraved appetites we found them excellent food. The former bearing some affinity with beef and the latter not to be distinguished from mutton . . .12
Sometimes the travellers enjoyed the rare luxury of goat meat, which to their deprived palates tasted like venison. The remnants of the little herd introduced by the first Spanish colonists had bred freely and would by 1742 have covered much of the island had another species of animal not been introduced by some passing ship:
The place is covered with dogs of an enormous size resembling . . . grey hounds. These with the advantage of level surface have effectually destroyed the goats on this side, whose refuge consists of steep rocks and precipices, and probably in time will destroy them on the other, the dogs likewise having contracted an agility and swiftness almost equal to the goats.13
Foraging parties found it difficult to track down and shoot the nimble goats and Saumarez calculated that there were only about a hundred and fifty left.
The most important element in the diet, however, was not fish or flesh, but vegetables. As we have seen, mariners had long since observed that fresh-grown produce was one remedy for scurvy. In 1734 the Dutch writer, John Backstrom, went so far as to suggest that vegetable deficiency was the only cause of this appalling disease. Anyone who had made a long sea voyage could not have failed to notice the near-miraculous recovery sick men made as soon as their diet could be properly regulated. This makes it all the more astonishing that naval authorities did so little to promote dietary regulations on board their ships. Throughout the eighteenth century when British naval vessels were committed for the first time to frequent long voyages, more men died of scurvy than were killed in action. Yet old-fashioned ideas, such as the belief that citrus fruit caused enteritis and fever, persisted. Anson, for all the suffering of his men, made no attempt at a landfall on the Patagonian coast in search of more fresh produce. Some of his officers even seemed to share a quarter-deck conviction that scurvy was essentially a disciplinary problem, an opinion challenged by one member of the expedition:
I shall endeavour to remove a very great prejudice from which persons who labour under this affliction have most unjustly suffered which is that none but the indolent are ever sick of this disease. This mistaken opinion has caused many poor sufferers to endure more from their commanding officers than from the distemper itself; being drubbed to do their duty, when incapable of it. Our experience has abundantly testified that the most active, stirring persons are oftenest seized with this disease; and the continuation of their labour only helps to kill them the sooner.14
It was, undoubtedly, the natural vegetation on Juan Fernandez which saved Anson’s expedition from total disaster.
As to what regards the refreshments it seems providentially calculated for the relief of distressed adventurers who find such vegetables as are particularly adapted for curing the distempers contracted on long voyages and bad diets, especially those of the scorbutic kind; it abounding in great quantities of water and wood cresses, excellent wild sorrell, a great profusion of turnips, the tops of which we generally preferred to the roots, with great quantities of clover and oats . . .15
The emaciated sailors began to put on weight. Aching limbs and limp muscles regained their strength. Soon the men were working eagerly recaulking their vessels and making good damaged spars and torn sails.
It was not just the appalling sufferings of the previous two years which made Juan Fernandez appear so delectable. Anson’s men were neither the first nor the last to be captivated by its wooded valleys, open grassland and varied foliage. Even in the southern winter the island, lying close to the thirty-third parallel enjoys a mild climate. Dampier had estimated that it would easily support four or five hundred families and another visitor a hundred and fifty years later would eulogise, ‘Blessed island of Juan Fernandez! Why Alexander Selkirk ever left you was more than I could make out.’16
The commodore noted its qualities and, on his return, urged the government to set up a British settlement and garrison there. In view of the problems which have beset the Falkland Islands perhaps it is as well that no one in London took up his suggestion.
With three ships at least partially serviceable and a body of men who, though greatly reduced in number (the Centurion alone had lost 280 men out of a total complement of 531) were for the most part restored to health and vigour, Anson now embarked on what was the strategic objective of the voyage: marauding Spanish settlements and shipping. The Admiralty’s plan had been to clamp the Isthmus of Panama between the two jaws of a naval vice but Anson soon discovered, to his immense chagrin, that the plan had failed. Vernon’s well-equipped Caribbean fleet was supposed to have established a strong British presence on the Atlantic coast of Darien and opened up a corridor across the Isthmus along which men and supplies could be sent for activities in the South Sea. Anson now learned from Spanish captives that the whole operation had been bungled (thanks to incompetent leadership of the land forces, as we now know) and that the British army, more than halved by fever, had given up and gone home over a year before. Anson’s three ships were, thus, all alone and the commodore was faced with the prospect which had confronted Drake over a century and a half before: he had to inflict as much damage on the Spanish empire as possible and then return home, either by going back or by going on.
> Another similarity between Anson and El Draco was the terror both men inspired along the Pacific seaboard. Anyone who successfully braved the terrors of the Horn had to be in league with the devil. How could mere men survive against those who had spat in the face of death? Wildly exaggerated tales of the Englishmen’s exploits flew before them along the coast of Chile and Peru. Merchant vessels yielded almost without a struggle. The Chilean town of Payta put up no resistance and, over three days, was systematically and unhurriedly looted. By the time Anson’s convoy reached the Mexican coast it consisted of five vessels of which three were Spanish prizes (the Tryall had by now been scuttled). All were laden with food, wine, livestock, naval supplies and an assortment of merchandise, including a large amount of bullion. But the best was yet to come.
Anson hoped to emulate his illustrious predecessor in yet another way; by capturing a treasure galleon off the Mexican coast. It was not to be. The vessel he stalked, outward bound for Manila, took refuge in Acapulco harbour and stayed there till the sailing season was so well advanced that Anson had to make haste and embark on the Pacific crossing. It was Hobson’s choice. His ships were in no fit state to face Cape Horn again. Furthermore, his orders were to go on and invest Manila. Anson knew that with his depleted force he could achieve little in the Philippines but he also knew what happened to commanders who wilfully deviated from their instructions. He had no intention of ending up, like other ‘failed’ captains, removed from the active list and whiling his time away ashore on half pay or no pay. So he now put his vessels into the best possible trim for the westward voyage.
He made for Chequeton, further up the coast because Dampier had reported, ‘A mile and a half from the shore there is a small key and within it a very good harbour where ships may careen. There is also a small river of fresh water and wood enough.’17 For the last time before embarking on the empty Pacific the men availed themselves of fresh meat (mainly from birds shot in woodland close to the shore) and limes and other antiscorbutic fruits. They filled the water butts and carried out all possible repairs. Ropes, sails, spars and tackle were brought from the prize ships to the Centurion and Gloucester for Anson decided to scuttle the Spanish vessels and take from them whatever was usable for his men-of-war. The decision was not well received by his officers. Cutting down the fleet deprived some of them of command and that, in turn, deprived them of major shares of prize money. In fact, the commodore had no alternative. The total complement was now so depleted that he had scarcely enough men left to man two ships, let alone five.
Seven thousand miles lay between the voyagers and the Marianas when they set sail on 6 May 1742. It was a frightening prospect. One traveller had described the Pacific crossing as ‘enough to destroy a man or make him unfit for anything as long as he lives’.18 With favourable winds and good weather they could have made the crossing in seven or eight weeks. In fact, they were at sea for 114 days. Once again it was ignorance which was their worst enemy. Anson had calculated on picking up the NE trade winds. What he did not know was that the anticyclonic pattern producing these winds moves with the seasons. In the northern summer it shifts to the north, leaving the equatorial region in the grip of the doldrums. The Centurion and the Gloucester made course virtually due west in about 13°N. and soon ran into the depressing region of light airs, sultry heat and occasional thunderstorms. Within a month scurvy and fever had returned and the log once more became a mournful catalogue of deaths. By July it was only just possible to maintain the routine running of the ship. No one had the energy to cope with emergencies. Thus, when the Gloucester’s rotten foremast splintered she had to be taken in tow. And when the top of the Centurion’s mainmast snapped, it was left hanging in a tangle of ropes and broken wood.
On 14 August Saumarez recorded:
. . . ½ past noon the Gloucester came under our stern, when Captain Mitchell acquainted the Commodore that his ship had sprung a leak and had then seven foot of water in her hold, his men with incessant pumping being all fatigued, as were likewise the officers and no longer able to hold out, having had 9½ feet of water within her; all the full water casks were entirely covered and the people had no water to drink. The ship rolled and laboured and was under no command of the helm . . .19
The 866-ton, 50-gun ship was only five years old but sun, wind and wave had prematurely aged her. She was literally falling apart. The next two days were spent ferrying her crew and stores to the flagship. Saumarez recorded that when a boatload of forty-six sick men arrived at the Centurion, three died while trying to drag themselves aboard. Then fires were laid on the Gloucester, and Anson’s ship drew away to a safe distance while her men watched the warship’s end. She burned for several hours before the flames reached her magazine and blew her to pieces. The silent sailors could only regard the warship’s end as an omen. Half a world away from home, one ship left out of the eight which had left Portsmouth, nearly all their comrades dead: it could only be a matter of time before they, too, were in Davy Jones’s locker. No wonder Saumarez described the spectacle as, ‘as melancholy a scene as ever I observed since I have been in the navy’.20 Then, her decks littered with casks and lumber hastily brought from the Gloucester, and dead and dying men who fouled the running lines, Centurion hoisted sail and lumbered westwards.
Ten days later she anchored off Tinian in the Marianas with only seventy-one men still fit for duty. Although this area was frequently patrolled by Spanish warships, the voyagers were obliged to spend another seven weeks reviving the sick and patching up their leaky vessel. But at last Anson had every reason to hope that the worst was now behind him. If he could make the Portuguese trading post of Macao on the China coast he doubted not that he could see his ship properly repaired in a well-equipped dockyard, buy all the provisions he needed and, through the good offices of the resident British agent, hire men to bring his depleted crew up to strength. Everyone aboard the Centurion was excited at the prospect of meeting some of their fellow countrymen for the first time in over three years, looked forward to hearing news of home, and expected to receive a warm welcome in Macao.
The reception they received when they dropped anchor in the Canton river in mid-November, therefore, came as a shock. The arrival of a British warship filled the commercial and diplomatic community with alarm. Chinese officials, the Portuguese governor and East India Company factors were united in their urgent desire to be rid of the Centurion as quickly as possible. They flatly refused Anson’s request for stores, repairs and men and brought every pressure to bear to persuade him to depart. The commodore was dismayed and angry. Only slowly did he come to appreciate the reasons why his arrival had caused such alarm. Peaceful trade at Macao was enormously profitable to all concerned but it depended upon a very delicate balance of interests. China was still a closed country. She tolerated the western trading community as long as it gave no trouble. The appearance of a British warship, even one in an obviously distressed state, meant trouble. If Anson’s requests were granted there was little doubt that the Centurion would soon be looking for Spanish prizes. The residents at Macao were horrified at the prospect of naval engagements in Chinese waters. It took weeks of argument, bribery and threats for Anson to get what he wanted. At last he succeeded, through frightened interpreters, in making his reluctant hosts realise that they would not be rid of him until he had a seaworthy, well-provisioned, properly-manned ship under his command.
In mid-January a hundred Chinese workmen came aboard and, at long last, the Centurion had the complete overhaul she so desperately needed. She was beached for careening. Rotten planks were replaced. She was completely recaulked and resheathed. New masts, spars, rigging and sails had to be made. The boats needed to be repaired. Anchors, chain and cable lost during storms had to be replaced. Anson made sure that the refit was thorough. He left nothing to chance. The work took two months, during which the Centurion’s crew, cargo, cannon and movables were lodged in huts specially constructed nearby. When she was ready the commodore had her fully prov
isioned. But in one respect he failed: he could not obtain the men he needed. The East India Company captains refused to part with any of their sailors and strenuous recruiting ashore resulted only in a motley bunch of twenty-three Indians, Dutchmen and Lascars. These brought the Centurion’s strength up to 237 officers and men. She should have carried a complement of 400.
By the beginning of April the nervous authorities were growing very impatient:
April 3rd 1743 . . . Two Mandarin’s boats anchored here from Macao, being very urgent with us to go away and refusing to assist us with any more necessaries or refreshments, forbidding all the Chinese from coming on board or even selling us anything in the market . . .21
But Anson had his reasons for waiting and it was another eight days before the Centurion weighed anchor. She was a ‘new’ ship and her crew was in better spirits than they had been at any time since leaving England. They were now on the way home and there actually seemed to be some prospect of reaching their journey’s end. Only when they were safely at sea did Anson assemble the crew and tell them that they were not going home – not immediately. They had some unfinished business to attend to: the little matter of the Manila galleon. Having failed to take her at Acapulco, they would lie in wait for her off the Philippines. This was the plan that had been forming in the commander’s mind as he put his ship into the best possible trim at Macao. He knew the route the annual treasure ship took through the Philippine channels to reach Manila. He knew she usually arrived around mid-June. He therefore had an excellent chance of intercepting her.
The Centurion sailed south-eastwards and gunnery practice became a part of every day’s routine. By 20 May she had taken up station in the straits to the south of Luzon. Now all she had to do was wait. Exactly one calendar month later the lookout reported a sail coming up from the south-east. It was the Nuestra Señora de Cobadonga, the unescorted galleon from Mexico, carrying a treasure in bullion, plate and specie worth (as was later revealed) over £50,000,000 in modern terms. The two vessels sighted each other at dawn and closed steadily. The Spanish captain knew the identity of the approaching ship; he had been warned that the Centurion was skulking in Philippine waters. But not for a moment did he seek to evade the conflict. He had at his command 530 men and a 60-gun armament. His latest intelligence about Anson’s ship was that she was in poor condition and manned by a dwindling, dying crew. He, therefore, felt more than able to look after himself. Certainly, the Cobadonga should have been more than a match for her adversary. What made the difference was that aboard the Centurion every man was possessed of a determination, fine-honed by suffering. Before the crew was a prize that would make them all rich. To find her they had come through every manner of earthly hell. Nothing would induce them to let her escape.