Immediately that the admiral had anchored, he made the signal for the commodore to repair on board, and taxed him with disobedience of orders in having left the fleet. The commodore did not deny that he had so done, but excused himself upon the plea of necessity, offering to lay the whole matter before the Court of Directors so soon as they returned; but the admiral was vested with most extensive powers, not only of the trial, but the condemnation and punishment of any person guilty of mutiny and insubordination in his fleet. In reply, he told the commodore that he was a prisoner, and to prove it, he confined him in irons under the half-deck.
A signal was then made for all the captains: they went on board, and of course Philip was of the number. On their arrival, the admiral held a summary court-martial, proving to them by his instructions that he was so warranted to do. The result of the court-martial could be but one—condemnation for a breach of discipline, to which Philip was obliged reluctantly to sign his name. The admiral then gave Philip the appointment of second in command, and the commodore’s pendant, much to the annoyance of the captains commanding the other vessels; but in this the admiral proved his judgment, as there was no one of them so fit for the task as Philip. Having so done, he dismissed them. Philip would have spoken to the late commodore, but the sentry opposed it, as against his orders; and with a friendly nod, Philip was obliged to leave him without the desired communication.
The fleet remained three weeks at the Falkland Islands, to recruit the ships’ companies. Although there was no fresh beef, there was plenty of scurvy-grass and penguins. These birds were in myriads on some parts of the island, which, from the propinquity of their nests, built of mud, went by the name of towns. There they sat close together (the whole area which they covered being bare of grass) hatching their eggs and rearing their young. The men had but to select as many eggs and birds as they pleased and so numerous were they, that when they had supplied themselves, there was no apparent diminution of the numbers. This food, although in a short time not very palatable to the seamen, had the effect of restoring them to health, and before the fleet sailed, there was not a man who was afflicted with the scurvy. In the mean time the commodore remained in irons, and many were the conjectures concerning his ultimate fate. The power of life and death was known to be in the admiral’s hands, but no one thought that such power would be exerted up on a delinquent of so high a grade. The other captains kept aloof from Philip, and he knew little of what was the general idea. Occasionally when on board of the admiral’s ship, he ventured to bring up the question, but was immediately silenced; and feeling that he might injure the late commodore (for whom he had a regard), he would risk nothing by importunity; and the fleet sailed for the Straits of Magellan without anybody being aware of what might be the result of the court-martial.
It was about a fortnight after they had left the Falkland Islands, that they entered the Straits. At first they had a leading wind which carried them half through, but this did not last, and they then had to contend not only against the wind, but against the current, and they daily lost ground. The crews of the ships also began to sicken from fatigue and cold. Whether the admiral had before made up his mind, or whether irritated by his fruitless endeavours to continue his voyage, it is impossible to say; but after three weeks’ useless struggle against the wind and currents, he hove to and ordered the captains on board, when he proposed that the prisoner should receive his punishment—and that punishment was—to be deserted; that is, to be sent on shore with a day’s food, where there was no means of obtaining support, so as to die miserably of hunger. This was a punishment frequently resorted to by the Dutch at that period, as will be seen by reading an account of their voyages; but at the same time seldom, if ever, awarded to one of so high a rank as that of commodore.
Philip immediately protested against it, and so did Krantz, although they were both aware, that by so doing, they would make the admiral their enemy; but the other captains, who viewed both of them with a jealous eye, and considered them as interlopers and interfering with their advancement, sided with the admiral. Notwithstanding this majority, Philip thought it his duty to expostulate.
“You know well, admiral,” said he, “that I joined in his condemnation for a breach of discipline: but at the same time there was much in extenuation. He committed a breach of discipline to save his ship’s company, but not an error in judgment, as you yourself proved, by taking the same measure to save your own men. Do not, therefore, visit an offence of so doubtful a nature with such cruelty. Let the Company decide the point when you send him home, which you can do so soon as you arrive in India. He is sufficiently punished by losing his command: to do what you propose will be ascribed to feelings of revenge more than to those of justice. What success can we deserve if we commit an act of such cruelty; and how can we expect a merciful Providence to protect us from the winds and waves, when we are thus barbarous towards each other?”
Philip’s arguments were of no avail. The admiral ordered him to return on board his ship, and had he been able to find an excuse, he would have deprived him of his command. This he could not well do; but Philip was aware that the admiral was now his inveterate enemy. The commodore was taken out of irons and brought into the cabin, and his sentence was made known to him.
“Be it so, admiral,” replied Avenhorn; “for to attempt to turn you from your purpose, I know would be unavailing. I am not punished for disobedience of orders, but for having, by my disobedience, pointed out to you your duty—a duty which you were forced to perform afterwards by necessity. Then be it so; let me perish on these black rocks, as I shall, and my bones be whitened by the chilly blasts which howl over their desolation. But mark me, cruel and vindictive man! I shall not be the only one whose bones will bleach there. I prophesy that many others will share my fate, and even you, admiral, may be of the number,—if I mistake not, we shall lie side by side.”
The admiral made no reply, but gave a sign for the prisoner to be removed. He then had a conference with the captains of the three smaller vessels; and, as they had been all along retarded by the heavier sailing of his own ship, and the Dort commanded by Philip, he decided that they should part company, and proceed on as fast as they could to the Indies—sending on board of the two larger vessels all the provisions they could spare, as they already began to run short.
Philip had left the cabin with Krantz after the prisoner had been removed. He then wrote a few lines upon a slip of paper—“Do not leave the beach when you are put on shore, until the vessels are out of sight;” and requesting Krantz to find an opportunity to deliver this to the commodore, he returned on board of his own ship.
When the crew of the Dort heard of the punishment about to be inflicted upon their old commander, they were much excited. They felt that he had sacrificed himself to save them, and they murmured much at the cruelty of the admiral.
About an hour after Philip’s return to his ship, the prisons was sent on shore and landed on the desolate and rocky coast, with a supply of provisions for two days. Not a single article of extra clothing, or the means of striking a light, was permitted him. When the boat’s keel grazed the beach, ha was ordered out. The boat shoved off, and the men were not permitted even to bid him farewell.
The fleet, as Philip had expected, remained hove to shifting the provisions, and it was not till after dark that everything was arranged. This opportunity was not lost. Philip was aware that it would be considered a breach of discipline, but to that he was indifferent; neither did he think it likely that it would come to the ears of the admiral, as the crew of the Dort were partial both to the commodore and to him. He had desired a seaman whom he could trust, to put into one of the boats a couple of muskets, and a quantity of ammunition, several blankets, and various other articles, besides provisions for two or three months for one person; and as soon as it was dark the men pulled on shore with the boat, found the commodore on the beach waiting for them, and supplied him with all these necessaries. They then rejoined their ship, without the admiral’s having the least suspicion of what had been done, and shortly after the fleet made sail on a wind, with their heads off shore. The next morning, the three smaller vessels parted company, and by sunset had gained many miles to windward, after which they were not again seen.
The admiral had sent for Philip to give him his instructions, which were very severe, and evidently framed so as to be able to afford him hereafter some excuse for depriving him of his command. Among others, his orders were, as the Dort drew much less water than the admiral’s ship, to sail ahead of him during the night, that if they approached too near the land as they beat across the Channel, timely notice might be given to the admiral, if in too shallow water. This responsibility was the occasion of Philip’s being always on deck when they approached the land on either side of the Straits. It was the second night after the fleet had separated that Philip had been summoned on deck as they were nearing the land of Terra del Fuego: he was watching the man in the chains heaving the head, when the officer of the watch reported to him that the admiral’s ship was ahead of them instead of astern. Philip made inquiry as to when he passed, but could not discover; he went forward, and saw the admiral’s ship with her poop-light, which, when the admiral was astern, was not visible. “What can be the admiral’s reason for this?” thought Philip; “has he run ahead for purpose to make a charge against me of neglect of duty? It must be so. Well, let him do as he pleases; he must wait now till we arrive in India, for I shall not allow him to desert me; and with the Company, I have as much, and I rather think, as a large proprietor, more interest than he has. Well as he has thought proper to go ahead, I have nothing to do but to follow. ‘You may come out of the chains there.’”
Philip went forward: they were now, as he imagined, very near to the land, but the night was dark and they could not distinguish it. For half an hour they continued their course, much to Philip’s surprise, for he now thought he could make out the loom of the land, dark as it was. His eyes were constantly fixed upon the ship ahead, expecting every minute that she would go about; but no, she continued her course, and Philip followed with his own vessel.
“We are very close to the land, sir,” observed Vander Hagen, the lieutenant, who was the officer of the watch.
“So it appears to me: but the admiral is closer and draws much more water than we do,” replied Philip.
“I think I see the rocks on the beam to leeward, sir.”
“I believe you are right,” replied Philip: “I cannot understand this. Ready about, and get a gun ready—they must suppose us to be ahead of them, depend up on it.”
Hardly had Philip given the order, when the vessel struck heavily on the rocks. Philip hastened aft; he found that the rudder had been unshipped, and the vessel was immovably fixed. His thoughts then reverted to the admiral. “Was he on shore?” He ran forward, and the admiral was still sailing on with his poop-light about two cables’ length ahead of him.
“Fire the gun, there,” cried Philip, perplexed beyond measure.
The gun was fired, and immediately followed up by the flash and report of another gun close astern of them. Philip looked with astonishment over the quarter, and perceived the admiral’s ship close astern to him, and evidently on shore as well as his own.
“Merciful Heaven!” exclaimed Philip, rushing forward, “what can this be?” He beheld the other vessel, with her light ahead, still sailing on and leaving them. The day was now dawning, and there was sufficient light to make out the land. The Dort was on shore not fifty yards from the beach, and surrounded by the high and barren rocks; yet the vessel ahead was apparently sailing on over the land. The seamen crowded on the forecastle, watching this strange phenomenon; at last it vanished from their sight.
“That’s the Flying Dutchman, by all that’s holy!” cried one of the seamen, jumping off the gun.
Hardly had the man uttered these words when the vessel disappeared.
Philip felt convinced that it was so, and he walked away aft in a very perturbed state. It must have been his father’s fatal ship which had decoyed them to probable destruction. He hardly knew how to act. The admiral’s wrath he did not wish, just at that moment, to encounter. He sent for the officer of the watch, and having desired him to select a crew for the boat, out of those men who had been on deck, and could substantiate his assertions, ordered him to go on board of the admiral, and state what had happened.
As soon as the boat had shoved off, Philip turned his attention to the state of his own vessel. The daylight had increased and Philip perceived that they were surrounded by rocks, and had run on shore between two reefs, which extended half a mile from the mainland. He sounded round his vessel, and discovered that she was fixed from forward to aft, and that without lightening her, there was no chance of getting her off. He then turned to where the admiral’s ship lay aground and found that, to all appearance, she was in even a worse plight, as the rocks to leeward of her were above the water, and she was much more exposed, should bad weather come on. Never, perhaps, was there a scene more cheerless and appalling: a dark wintry sea—a sky loaded with heavy clouds—the wind cold and piercing—the whole line of the coast one mass of barren rocks, without the slightest appearance of vegetation; the inland part of the country presented an equally sombre appearance, and the higher points were capped with snow, although it was not yet the winter season. Sweeping the coast with his eye, Philip perceived, not four miles to leeward of them (so little progress had they made), the spot where they had deserted the commodore.
“Surely this has been a judgment on him for his cruelty,” thought Philip, “and the prophecy of poor Avenhorn will come true—more bones than his will bleach on those rocks.” Philip, turned round again to where the admiral’s ship was on shore, and started back, as he beheld a sight even more dreadful than all that he had viewed—the body of Vander Hagen, the officer sent on board of the admiral hanging at the main-yard-arm. “My God! is it possible?” exclaimed Philip, stamping with sorrow and indignation.
His boat was returning on board, and Philip awaited it with impatience. The men hastened up the side, and breathlessly informed Philip that the admiral, as soon as he had heard the lieutenant’s report, and his acknowledgment that he was officer of the watch, had ordered him to be hung, and that he had sent them back with a summons for him to repair on board immediately, and that they had seen another rope preparing at the other yardarm.
