Chapter 31

After the sails were taken down, Whitelocke also ordered them to sound and try what water and bottom they had. About ten o'clock in the evening sounding, they found eighteen fathom water; the next sounding they had but fifteen fathom, and so lessened every sounding till they came to eight fathom, which startled them, and made them endeavour to tack about. But it was too late, for within less than a quarter of an hour after they had eighteen fathom water, the ship struck upon a bank of sand, and there stuck fast. Whitelocke was sitting with some of the gentlemen in the steerage-room when this happened, and felt a strange motion of the frigate, as if she had leaped, and not unlike the curveting of a great horse; and the violence of the striking threw several of the gentlemen from off their seats into the midst of the room. The condition they were in was quickly understood, and both seamen and landsmen discovered it by the wonderful terror and amazement which had seized on them, and more upon the seamen than others who knew less of the danger.

It pleased his good God to keep up the spirits and faith of Whitelocke in this great extremity; and when nothing would be done but what he in person ordered, in this frightful confusion God gave him extraordinary fixedness and assistance, a temper and constancy of spirit beyond what was usual with him. He ordered the master-gunner presently to fire some pieces of ordnance, after the custom at sea, to signify their being in distress. But the gunner was so amazed with the danger, that he forgot to unbrace the guns, and shot away the main-sheet; and had not the ship been strong and staunch, the guns being fired when they were close braced, they had broke the sides of her. Whitelocke caused the guns to be unbraced and divers of them fired, to give notice to the 'Elizabeth,' or any other ship that might be within hearing, to come in to their assistance; but they heard no guns again to answer theirs, though they longed for it, hoping that the 'Elizabeth,' or any other ship coming in to them, by their boats might save the lives of some of them. Whitelocke also caused lights to be set up in the top-gallant, used at sea by those in distress to invite help; but the lights were not answered again by any other ship or vessel; particularly they wondered that nothing was heard or seen from the 'Elizabeth.'

Whitelocke then ordered the sails of the ship to be reversed, that the wind, being high, might so help them off; but no help was by it, nor by all the people's coming together to the stern, then to the head, then to the sides of the ship, all in a heap together; nothing would help them. Then Whitelocke ordered the mariners to hoist out one of the boats, in which some of the company would have persuaded Whitelocke to put himself and to leave the rest, and seek to preserve his own life by trusting to the seas in this boat; and they that advised this, offered willingly to go with him.

But Whitelocke knew that if he should go into the boat, besides the dishonour of leaving his people in this distress, so many would strive to enter into the boat with him (a life knows no ceremony) that probably the boat would be sunk by the crowding; and there was little hope of escaping in such a boat, though he should get well off from the ship and the boat not be overladen. He therefore ordered the captain to take a few of the seamen into the boat with him, and to go round the ship and sound what water was on each side of her, and what hopes they could find, and by what means to get her off, himself resolving to abide the same fortune with his followers.

The captain found it very shallow to windward, and very deep to leeward, but no hopes of help; and at his return the master advised to lighten the ship by casting overboard the goods in her. Whitelocke held it best to begin with the ordnance, and gave order for it. Mr. Earle was contriving how to save his master's jewels, which were of some value; his master took more care to save his papers, to him more precious jewels; but there was no hope of saving any goods or lives. Whitelocke put in his pocket a tablet of gold of his wife's picture, that this, being found about his dead body when it should be taken up, might show him to have been a gentleman, and satisfy for his burial. One was designing to get upon a plank, others upon the masts, others upon other fancies, any way to preserve life; but no way was left whereby they could have the least shadow or hopes of a deliverance.

The captain went up to the quarter-deck, saying, there he lived and there he would die. All the officers, sadly enough, concluded that there was not the least show of any hopes of preservation, but that they were all dead men, and that upon the return of the tide the ship would questionless be dashed in pieces. Some lay crying in one corner, others lamenting in another; some, who vaunted most in time of safety, were now most dejected. The tears and sighs and wailings in all parts of the ship would have melted a stony heart into pity; every swelling wave seemed great in expectation of its booty; the raging waves foamed as if their prey were too long detained from them; every billow threatened present death, who every moment stared in their faces for almost two hours together.

[SN: Exhorts his sons.]

In this condition Whitelocke encouraged his two sons to undergo the pleasure of God with all submission. He was sorry for them, being young men, who might have lived many years to do God and their country service, that they now should be snatched away so untimely; but he told them, that if father and sons must now die together, he doubted not but they should go together to that happiness which admits no change; that he did not so much lament his own condition, being an old man, in the course of nature much nearer the grave than they: but he besought God to bless them and yet to appear for their deliverance, if it were His will, or else to give him and them, and all the company, hearts willing to submit to His good pleasure.

[SN: Discourse with the boatswain.]

Walking on the decks to see his orders executed for throwing the ordnance overboard, the boatswain met him and spake to him in his language:--

_Boatswain._ My Lord, what do you mean to do?

_Whitelocke._ Wherein dost thou ask my meaning?

_Bo._ You have commanded the ordnance to be cast overboard.

_Wh._ It is for our preservation.

_Bo._ If it be done, we are all destroyed.

_Wh._ What reason have you to be of this opinion? Must we not lighten the ship? and can we do it better than to begin with the ordnance?

_Bo._ It may do well to lighten the ship, but not by throwing overboard the ordnance; for you can but drop them close to the ship's side, and where the water is shallow they will lie up against the side of the ship and fret it, and with the working of the sea make her to spring leaks presently.

_Wh._ I think thou speakest good reason, and I will try a little longer before it be done.

_Bo._ My Lord, do not doubt but God will show Himself, and bring you off by His own hand from this danger.

_Wh._ Hast thou any ground to judge so, or dost thou see any probability of it?

_Bo._ I confess there is no probability for it; but God hath put it into my heart to tell your Excellence that He will appear our Deliverer when all other hopes and helps fail us, and He will save us by His own power; and let us trust in Him.

Upon this discourse with the honest boatswain, who walked up and down as quite unconcerned, Whitelocke forbade the throwing of the ordnance overboard; and as he was sitting on the deck, Mr. Ingelo, one of his chaplains, came to him, and said that he was glad to see him in so good a temper.

_Whitelocke._ I bless God, who keeps up my spirit.

_Ingelo._ My Lord, such composedness, and not being daunted in this distress, is a testimony of God's presence with you.

_Wh._ I have cause to thank God, whose presence hath been with me in all my dangers, and most in this greatest, which I hope and pray that He would fit us all to submit unto.

_Ing._ I hope He will; and I am glad to see your sons and others to have so much courage left in so high a danger.

_Wh._ God hath not suffered me, nor them, nor yourself, to be dejected in this great trial; and it gives me comfort at this time to observe it, nor doth it leave me without some hopes that God hath yet a mercy in store for us.

_Ing._ There is little hopes of continuance in this life, it is good to prepare ourselves for a better life; and therefore, if you please that the company may be called together into your cabin, it will be good to join in prayer, and recommending our souls to Him that gave them; I believe they are not to remain long in these bodies of clay.

_Wh._ I hope every one doth this apart, and it is very fit likewise to join together in doing it; therefore I pray send and call the people into my cabin to prayer.

Whilst Mr. Ingelo was gone to call the people together, a mariner came from the head of the ship, running hastily towards Whitelocke, and crying out to him, which caused Whitelocke to suspect that the ship had sprung a leak or was sinking. The mariner called out:--

[SN: The ship moves,]

_Mariner._ My Lord! my Lord! my Lord!

_Whitelocke._ What's the matter, mariner?

_Mar._ She wags! she wags!

_Wh._ Which way doth she wag?

_Mar._ To leeward.

_Wh._ I pray God that be true; and it is the best news that ever I heard in my life.

_Mar._ My Lord, upon my life the ship did wag; I saw her move.

_Wh._ Mr. Ingelo, I pray stay awhile before you call the people; it may be God will give us occasion to change the style of our prayers. Fellow-seaman, show me where thou sawest her move.

_Mar._ My Lord, here, at the head of the frigate, I saw her move, and she moves now,--now she moves! you may see it.

_Wh._ My old eyes cannot discern it.

_Mar._ I see it plain, and so do others.

[SN: and rights.]

Whilst they were thus speaking and looking, within less than half a quarter of an hour, the ship herself came off from the sand, and miraculously floated on the water. The ship being thus by the wonderful immediate hand of God, again floating on the sea, the mariners would have been hoisting of their sails, but Whitelocke forbade it, and said he would sail no more that night. But as soon as the ship had floated a good way from the bank of sand, he caused them to let fall their anchors, that they might stay till morning, to see where they were, and spend the rest of the night in giving thanks to God for his most eminent, most miraculous deliverance.

Being driven by the wind about a mile from the sand, there they cast anchor, and fell into discourse of the providences and goodness of God to them in this unhoped-for preservation. One observed, that if Whitelocke had not positively overruled the seamen, and made them, contrary to their own opinions, to take down their sails, but that the ship had run with all her sails spread, and with that force had struck into the sand, it had been impossible for her ever to have come off again, but they must all have perished. Another observed, that the ship did strike so upon the bank of sand, that the wind was on that side of her where the bank was highest, and so the strength of the wind lay to drive the ship from the bank towards the deep water.

Another supposed, that the ship did strike on the shelving part of the bank of sand, and the wind blowing from the higher part of the bank, the weight of the ship thus pressed by the wind, and working towards the lower part of the shelving of the bank, the sand crumbled away from the ship, and thereby and with the wind she was set on-float again. Another observed, that if the ship had struck higher on the bank or deeper, when her sails had been spread, with the force of her way, they could not in the least probability have been saved.

Another observed, that through the goodness of God the wind rose higher, and came more to that side of the ship where the bank of sand was highest, after the ship was struck, which was a great means of her coming off; and that, as soon as she was floated, the wind was laid and came about again to another quarter. Another observed, that it being at that time ebbing water was a great means of their preservation; because the ship being so far struck into the sand, and so great a ship, a flowing water could not have raised her; but upon the coming in of the tide she would questionless have been broke in pieces.

The mariners said, that if God had not loved the landmen more than the seamen they should never have come off from this danger. Every one made his observations. Whitelocke concluded them to this purpose:

[SN: Whitelocke orders a thanksgiving to God.]

"Gentlemen,

"I desire that we may all join together in applying these observations and mercies to the praise of God, and to the good of our own souls. Let me exhort you never to forget this deliverance and this signal mercy. While the love of God is warm upon our hearts, let us resolve to retain a thankful memory of it to our lives' end, and, for the time to come, to employ those lives, which God hath now given to us and renewed to us, to the honour and praise of Him, who hath thus most wonderfully and most mercifully revived us, and as it were new created us. Let us become new creatures; forsake your former lusts in your ignorance, and follow that God fully, who hath so eminently appeared for us, to save us out of our distress; and as God hath given us new lives, so let us live in newness of life and holiness of conversation."

Whitelocke caused his people to come into his cabin, where Mr. Ingelo prayed with them, and returned praises to the Lord for this deliverance: an occasion sufficient to elevate his spirit, and, meeting with his affections and abilities, tended the more to the setting forth His glory, whose name they had so much cause more than others to advance and honour.

Many of the seamen came in to prayers, and Whitelocke talked with divers of them upon the mercy they had received, who seemed to be much moved with the goodness of God to them; and Whitelocke sought to make them and all the company sensible of God's gracious dealings, and to bring it home to the hearts of them. He also held it a duty to leave to his own family this large relation, and remembrance of the Lord's signal mercy to him and his; whereby they might be induced the more to serve the God of their fathers, to trust in Him who never fails those that seek Him, and to love that God entirely who hath manifested so much love to them, and that in their greatest extremities; and hereby to endeavour that a grateful acknowledgment of the goodness and unspeakable love of God might be transmitted to his children's children; that as God never forgets to be gracious, so his servants may never forget to be thankful, but to express the thankfulness of their hearts by the actions of their lives.

Whitelocke spent this night in discourses upon this happy subject, and went not to bed at all, but expected the return of day; and, the more to express cheerfulness to the seamen, he promised that as soon as light did appear, if they would up to the shrouds and top, he that could first descry land should have his reward, and a bottle of good sack advantage.

_June 29, 1654._

[SN: They make the coast of Norfolk.]

As soon as day appeared, the mariners claimed many rewards and bottles of sack, sundry of them pretending to have first discovered land; and Whitelocke endeavoured to give them all content in this day of rejoicing, God having been pleased to turn their sorrow into joy, by preserving them in their great danger, and presently after by showing them their longed-for native country; making them, when they were in their highest expectation of joy to arrive in their beloved country, then to disappoint their hopes by casting them into the extremest danger--thus making them sensible of the uncertainty of this world's condition, and checking perhaps their too much earthly confidence, to let them see His power to control it, and to change their immoderate expectation of joy into a bitter doubt of present death. Yet again, when He had made them sensible thereof, to make his equal power appear for their deliverance when vain was the help of man, and to bring them to depend more on him, then was He pleased to rescue them by his own hand out of the jaws of death, and to restore them with a great addition to their former hopes of rejoicing, by showing them their native coast,--the first thing made known to them after their deliverance from perishing.

The day being clear, they found themselves upon the coast of Norfolk, and, as they guessed, about eight leagues from Yarmouth, where they supposed their guns might be heard the last night. The wind being good, Whitelocke ordered to weigh anchor, and they sailed along the coast, sometimes within half a league of it, until they passed Orfordness and came to Oseley Bay, where they again anchored, the weather being so thick with a great fog and much rain that they could not discern the marks and buoys to avoid the sands, and to conduct them to the mouth of the river. A short time after, the weather began to clear again, which invited them to weigh anchor and put the ship under sail; but they made little way, that they might not hinder their sounding, which Whitelocke directed, the better to avoid the danger of the sands, whereof this coast is full.

Near the road of Harwich the 'Elizabeth' appeared under sail on-head of the 'President,' who overtaking her, Captain Minnes came on board to Whitelocke, who told him the condition they had been in the last night, and expostulated with him to this purpose.

_Whitelocke._ Being in this distress, we fired divers guns, hoping that you, Captain Minnes, could not but hear us and come in to our relief, knowing this to be the order of the sea in such cases.

_Minnes._ My Lord, I had not the least imagination of your being in distress; but I confess I heard your cannon, and believed them to be fired by reason of the fog, which is the custom of the sea in such weather, to advertise one another where they are.

_Wh._ Upon such an occasion as the fog, seamen use to give notice to one another by two or three guns, but I caused many more to be fired.

_Minnes._ I heard but four or five in all, and I answered your guns by firing some of mine.

_Wh._ We heard not one of your guns.

_Minnes._ That might be by reason we were to windward of you three leagues.

_Wh._ Why then did you not answer the lights which I caused to be set up?

_Minnes._ My Lord, those in my ship can witness that I set up lights again, and caused squibs and fireworks to be cast up into the air, that you might thereby discern whereabouts we were.

_Wh._ It was strange that we could neither see yours nor you our lights.

_Minnes._ The greatness of the fog might occasion it.

_Wh._ The lights would appear through the fog as well as in the night.

_Minnes._ My Lord, I did all this.

_Wh._ It was contrary to my orders for you to keep so far off from me, and to be on-stern of me three leagues; but this hath been your practice since we first came out to sea together; and if you had been under the command of some others, as you were under mine, they would have expected more obedience than you have given to my orders, or have taken another course with you, which I can do likewise.

_Minnes._ My Lord, I endeavoured to get the wind of you, that I might thereby be able to keep in your company, which otherwise I could not have done, you being so much fleeter than the 'Elizabeth;' but in the evenings I constantly came up to your Excellence.

_Wh._ Why did you not so the last night?

_Minnes._ The fog rose about five o'clock, and was so thick that we could not see two ships' length before us. In that fog I lost you, and, fearing there might be danger in the night to fall upon the coast, I went off to sea, supposing you had done so likewise, as, under favour, your captain ought to have done; and for my obedience to your Excellency's commands, it hath been and shall be as full and as willing as to any person living.

_Wh._ When you found by my guns that you were so far from me to the windward, you might fear that I was fallen into that danger which you had avoided by keeping yourself under the wind more at large at sea.

_Minnes._ If I had in the least imagined your Excellence to have been in danger, we had been worse than Turks if we had not endeavoured to come in to your succour; and though it was impossible, as we lay, for our ship to come up to your Excellence, yet I should have adventured with my boats to have sought you out. But that you were in any danger was never in our thoughts; and three hours after your guns fired, sounding, I found by the lead the red sand, which made me think both your Excellence and we might be in the more danger, and I lay the further off from them, but knew not where your Excellence was, nor how to come to you.

After much more discourse upon this subject, Captain Parkes pressing it against Minnes, who answered well for himself, and showed that he was the better seaman in this action and in most others, and in regard of the cause of rejoicing which God had given them, and that they now were near the end of their voyage, Whitelocke held it not so good to continue the expostulation as to part friends with Captain Minnes and with all his fellow-seamen, and so they proceeded together lovingly and friendly in their voyage.

The wind not blowing at all, but being a high calm, they could advance no further than the tide would carry them, the which failed them when they came to a place called Shoe, about four leagues from the mouth of Thames. Having, through the goodness of God, passed by and avoided many banks of sands and dangerous places, the wind failing them and the tide quite spent, they were forced about seven o'clock in the evening to come to an anchor, Captain Minnes hard by the 'President,' where, to make some pastime and diversion, he caused many squibs and fireworks to be cast up into the air from the 'Elizabeth,' in which Minnes was very ingenious, and gave recreation thereby to Whitelocke and to his company.

_June 30, 1654._

[SN: Reach the Nore and Gravesend.]

Friday, the last of this month, was the fifth and last day of Whitelocke's voyage by sea from the mouth of the Elbe to the mouth of the Thames. About twelve o'clock the last night the wind began to blow very strong in the south-west, and by daybreak they had weighed anchor; and though the wind was extreme high and a great tempest, yet such was their desire of getting into the harbour, that, taking the benefit of the tide and by often tacking about, they yet advanced three leagues in their course; and when the tide failed, they were forced to cast anchor at the buoy in the Nore, the same place where Whitelocke first anchored when he came from England. The pilots and mariners had much ado to manage their sails in this tempestuous weather; and it was a great favour of God that they were not out at sea in these storms, but returned in safety to the place where the kindness of God had before appeared to them.

In the afternoon the wind began to fall, and they weighed anchor, putting themselves under sail and pursuing their course, till for want of day and of tide they were fain to cast anchor a little above Gravesend, and it being very late, Whitelocke thought it would be too troublesome to go on shore; but to keep his people together, and that they might all be the readier to take the morning tide, he lay this night also on ship-board, but sent Earle and some others that night to shore, to learn the news, and to provide boats against the morning for transportation of Whitelocke and his company the next day to London.