CHAPTER XVIII.

“WRECKING” AS A PROFESSION.

Probable Fate of a rich Vessel in the Middle Ages—Maritime Laws of the Period—The King’s Privileges—Cœur de Lion and his Enactments—The Rôles d’Oleron—False Pilots and Wicked Lords—Stringent Laws of George II.—The Homeward-bound Vessel—Plotting Wreckers—Lured Ashore—“Dead Men Tell no Tales”—A Series of Facts—Brutality to a Captain and his Wife—Fate of a Plunderer—Defence of a Ship against Hundreds of Wreckers—Another Example—Ship Boarded by Peasantry—Police Attacked by Thousands—Cavalry Charge the Wreckers—Hundreds of Drunken Plunderers—A Curious Tract of the Last Century—A Professional Wrecker’s Arguments—A Candid Bahama Pilot.

The great historian, Hallam, says: “In the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries a rich vessel was never secure from attack, and neither restitution nor punishment of the criminals was to be obtained from Government, who sometimes feared the plunderer, and sometimes connived at the offence.” As we have seen before, some of the greatest names of the Elizabethan and later days were often not much better than legalised pirates. But the poor sailors and owners were not merely the prey of these sea wolves; there were then and for centuries afterwards, nearly to our own days, “land-rats” ashore, who were to the pirates what sneak-thieves were to the highwaymen of romance. Those “good old days,” when “wrecking” was considered a legitimate pursuit!

In preceding chapters the maritime laws and customs of successive ages have been briefly traced. Piracy was almost openly recognised in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, and a foreign ship with a rich cargo was too often regarded as rightful prey. There was a constant petty warfare between maritime nations, and frequently even between towns of the same nation. Thus, in the year 1254 some Winchelsea mariners attacked a Yarmouth vessel, and killed some of her crew.

Prior to the reign of Henry I. _all_ wrecked property belonged to the king. Whether it was found necessary to make the king the owner of wreckage, in order to lessen the temptation to wreck vessels and murder the crews—no unfrequent occurrence, even in the last century—or “however it was,” says Gilmore, “the law existed, and the shipwrecked merchant might come struggling ashore upon a broken spar, and find the coast strewn with scattered but still valuable goods so lately his, but now by law his no longer any more than they belonged to the half-dozen rude fishermen who stood watching the torn wreck and dispersed cargo being wave-lifted high upon the beach.” Henry I. decreed that neither wreck nor cargo should become the property of the Crown if any man of the crew escaped with life to shore. It is to be feared that this well-meant law led to many a heartless murder. His successor expanded the law to the extent that if even a beast came ashore alive, the wreck and goods should belong to the original owners. Even the proverbial cat with nine lives might thus save a vessel.

Richard Cœur de Lion, always truly chivalrous, would have nought to do with plundering the plundered, and he decreed “that all persons escaping alive from a wreck should retain their goods; that wreck or wreckage should only be considered the property of the king when neither an owner nor the heir of a late owner could be found for it.” Some authorities will not couple the name of Richard with the “Rôles d’Oleron,” but it is certain that they were first promulgated in or about his time. They afford us some idea of the terrible system of wrecking then prevalent; such laws would not have been promulgated without good reason. Note their stringency.

“An accursed custom prevailing in some parts; inasmuch as a third or fourth part of the wrecks that come ashore belong to the lord of the manor where the wrecks take place, and that pilots, for profit from these lords and from the wrecks, like faithless and treacherous villains, do purposely run the ships under their care upon the rocks,” the law declares “that all false pilots shall suffer a most rigorous and merciless death, and be hung on high gibbets;” while “the wicked lords are to be tied to a post in the middle of their own houses, which shall be set on fire at all four corners, and burnt, with all that shall be therein, the goods being first confiscated for the benefit of the persons injured, and the site of the houses shall be converted into places for the sale of hogs and swine.” And again, “If people, more barbarous, cruel, and inhuman than mad dogs, murdered shipwrecked folk, they were to be plunged into the sea until half dead, and then drawn out and stoned to death.” The pilot who negligently caused shipwreck was to make good the losses or lose his head; but the master and sailors were, as a saving clause (principally for the owners!), to be persuaded that he had not the means to make good the loss _before they cut off his head_.

And so, without much change, the laws stood till the reign of George II.; and, alas! it does not seem that human nature, on our coasts at least, had greatly improved, for otherwise there would hardly have been necessity for a new Act, bristling with threats. The preamble states:—“That notwithstanding the good and salutary laws now in being against plundering and destroying vessels in distress, and against taking away shipwrecked, lost, and stranded goods, that still many wicked enormities had been committed, to the disgrace of the nation;” and it was therefore enacted that death should be the punishment for hanging out false lights to lure vessels to their destruction; death for those who killed shipwrecked persons; and death for stealing cargo or wreckage, whether any one on board remained alive or not.

Every now and again some fearful tragedy, reported in our ever-vigilant press, opens our eyes to the possibilities of human degradation and depravity; but, in spite of all, thank God! these examples are few and far between. Does this not tend, at least, to show that the world now-a-days _is_ better and kinder, and, in a word, more Christian-like, than in former days? Let the reader think—aye, and ponder, and think again—over the preceding paragraph. Could men—aye, and women too—assist not merely in robbery and plunder, but in first causing the wreck, and then, to cover up all, in murdering the few poor survivors? A writer from whom we have already quoted says:—

“Imagine a homeward-bound vessel, some two hundred and fifty years ago, clumsy in build, awkward in rig, little fitted for battling with the gales of our stormy coast, but yet manned with strong, stout-hearted men, who made their sturdy courage compensate for deficiency of other means; think of many perils overcome, a long weary voyage nearly ended, the crew rejoicing in thoughts of home, of home-love and home-rest, the headlands of dear Old England—loved by her sons no less then than now—lying a dark line upon the horizon, the night growing apace, the breeze freshening, ever freshening, adding each moment a hoarser swell to the deep murmurs of its swift-following blasts, the ship scudding on, breasting the seas with her bluff bows, rising and pitching with the running waves, which cover her with foam!

“Look on land! Keen eyes have watched the signs of the coming storm; men, more greedy than the foulest vulture, ‘more inhuman than mad dogs,’ have cast most cruel and wistful glances seaward! Yes, their eyes light up with the very light of hell as they see in the dim distance the white sail of a struggling ship making towards the land!

“And now try to imagine the scene as the night falls and the storm gathers. Two or three ill-looking fellows drop in, say, to a low tavern standing in a bye-lane that leads from the cliff to the beach in some village on our south-western coast. Soon muttered hints take form, and in low whispers the men talk over the chances of a wreck this wild night. They remember former gains; they talk over disappointments, when, on similar nights of darkness, wildness, and storm, vessels discovered their danger too soon for them, and managed to weather the headlands of the bay.

“The plot takes form; with many a deep and muttered curse the murderous decision is taken that if a vessel can be trapped to destruction it shall be.

“There is an old man of the party whose brow is furrowed with dread lines; he does not say much, but every now and then his eyes glare, and his features work as if convulsed. His comrades look at him—twice—and, as a terrific squall shakes the house, a third time. Silently he rises, and leaves the inn.... Now in the pitch darkness of the night, with bowed head, and faltering steps battling against the storm, the old man leads a white horse along the edge of the cliff. To the top of the horse’s tail a lantern is tied, and the light sways with the movement of the horse, and in its movements seems not unlike the masthead light of a vessel rocked by the motion of the sea. A whisper has gone through the village of a chance of something happening during the night, and most of the men and many of the women are on the alert, lurking in the caves beneath the cliff, or sheltered behind jutting pieces of rock.

“The vessel makes in steadily for the land; the captain grows uneasy, and fears running into danger; he will put the vessel round, and try and battle his way out to sea.

“The look-out man reports a dim light ahead. What kind? and Whither away? He can make out that it is a ship’s light, for it is in motion. Yes, she must be a vessel standing on in the same course as that which they are on. It is all safe, then; the captain will stand in a little longer; when suddenly, in the lull of the storm, a hoarse murmur is heard—surely the sound of the sea beating upon rocks! Yes! look! a white gleam upon the water! Breakers ahead! breakers ahead! Oh, a very knell of doom! The cry rings through the ship, ‘Down, down with helm—round her to!’ Too late, too late! A crash, a shudder from stem to stern of the stout ship, the shriek of many voices in their agony, green seas sweeping over the vessel, and soon broken timbers, bales of cargo, and lifeless bodies scattered along the beach, while the shattered remnant of the hull is torn still further to pieces with each insweep of the mighty seas as they roll it to and fro among the rocks. Fearful and crafty the smile that darkened the dark face of the willing murderer who was leading the horse with the false light as he heard the crash of the vessel and the shrieks of the drowning crew! Fearful the smile that darkened the faces of the men and women waiting on the beach as they came out from their places, ready to struggle and fight among themselves for any spoil that might come ashore! A homeward-bound ship from the Indies! Great good fortune—rich spoil! Bale after bale is seized upon by the wreckers, and dragged high upon the beach out of the way of the surf. But, see! a sailor clinging to a bit of broken mast! With his last conscious effort he gains a footing on the shore, staggers forward, and falls. Is he alive? Not now! Why did that fearful old woman kneel upon his chest and cover his mouth with her cloak? Dead men tell no tales—claim no property!”

Alas! the above is no imaginary or exaggerated statement of facts.

A few examples, which have occurred for the most part within the last hundred years or so, are appended. They have been culled from that most rigidly correct chronicler, the _Annual Register_:—

_Lent Circuit, 1774._—At Shrewsbury Assizes, bills of indictment were preferred by Captain Chilcot, late of the _Charming Jenny_, against three opulent inhabitants of the Isle of Anglesea, one of whom is said to be possessed of a considerable estate, and to have offered five thousand pounds bail in order to their being tried at the next assizes on a charge of piracy, when the bills were found. It appeared that on the 11th September, 1773, in very bad weather, in consequence of false lights being discovered, the captain bore for shore, when his vessel, whose cargo was valued at £19,000, went to pieces, and all the crew, except the captain and his wife, perished, the latter being brought on shore on a portion of the wreck. Nearly exhausted, they lay for some time, till the savages of the adjacent places rushed down upon them. The lady was just able to lift a handkerchief up to her head when her husband was torn from her side. They cut the buckles from his shoes, and deprived him of every covering. Happy to escape with his life, he hasted to the beach in search of his wife, when, horrible to relate, her half-naked and plundered corpse presented itself to his view. What to do Captain Chilcot was at a loss. Providence, however, conducted him to the roof of a venerable pair, who bestowed upon him every assistance. The captain’s wife, it seems, at the time the ship went to pieces, had two bank bills of a considerable value and seventy guineas in her pocket. At the Summer Assizes at Salop, Roberts and Parry, two of the above-named, were found guilty of plundering the _Charming Jenny_, but their counsel pleading an arrest of judgment, sentence was suspended. Eventually one was executed, and one had his sentence commuted.

On the 7th September, 1782, one John Webb was executed at Hereford for having plundered a Venetian vessel drawn on shore on the coast of Glamorganshire by stress of weather. No mention is made of hurting or molesting the crew, and it is evident that the laws were, about this time, stringently carried out. “This,” said the _Annual Register_, “it is hoped, will put a final stop to that inhuman practice of plundering ships wrecked upon the coast.”

Next follows an example in the present century:—“_Jany. 8, 1811._—Another daring attempt (says the _Register_) was made by a party of country-people at Clonderalaw Bay to take possession of the American ship _Romulus_ on this day. They assembled at about ten in the evening, to the amount of about two or three hundred, and commenced a firing of musketry, which they kept up at intervals for three hours; when, finding a steady resistance from the crew, and guard of yeomanry which had been put on the vessel on her first going on shore, they retired. The shot they fired appeared to be cut from square bars of lead, about half an inch in diameter. One of these miscreants dropped, and was carried away by his companions.”

The following is an extract from a letter:—“On Friday, the 27th of October, 1811, the galliot _Anna Hulk Klas Boyr_, Meinerty master, from Christian Sound, laden with deals, for Killalu, was driven on shore at a place called Porturlin, between Killalu and Broadhaven. The captain and crew providentially saved their lives by jumping on shore on a small island or rock. At this time the stern and quarter were stove in. The crew remained two hours on the rock, when they were taken off by a boat and brought to the mainland. Shortly after, the captain’s trunk, with all the sailors’ clothes in general, came on shore, when the country-people immediately began to plunder, leaving the unfortunate sufferers nothing but what they had on their backs. The plunderers repaired to the wreck, and cut away everything they could come at of the sails, rigging, &c., while hundreds were taking away the deals to all parts of the country. Though the captain spoke good English, and most pitifully inquired to whom he might apply for assistance, yet he could not hear of any for fourteen hours, when he was told that Major Denis Bingham was the nearest and only person he could apply to. With much difficulty he procured a guide, and proceeded to Mr. Bingham’s, a distance of twenty miles through the mountains. In the meantime, after thirty-six hours’ concealment of this very melancholy circumstance, Captain Morris, of the _Townshend_ cruiser, who lay at Broadhaven, a distance of about ten miles from the wreck, heard of it, and, approaching it, landed with twenty men, well armed. In coming near the wreck he first fired in the air, in order to disperse the peasantry, which had no effect; he therefore ordered his men to fire close, which had the desired effect, when he immediately pursued them into the interior, from three to five miles distance, dividing his party in different directions, when, by great exertion and fatigue, they saved about 1,800 deals and a remnant of the wreck. Captain Morris had some of the robbers taken, but his party being so scattered, they were rescued by a large mob of the country. The unfortunate captain and crew were taken by Captain Morris on board his cutter, where they got a change of clothing, and were taken every possible care of.”

The following particulars of the wreck and plunder of the _Inverness_, in the river Shannon, loaded at Limerick with a cargo of provisions, under contract for the Victualling Board, and bound to London, will be found interesting:—

“From Captain Miller to Mr. Spaight, Merchant, Limerick. “Kilrush, Feb. 24, 1817.

“DEAR SPAIGHT,—As I am now in possession of most of the particulars of the wreck of the _Inverness_, I shall detail them to you as follows:—

“She went on shore on Wednesday night, the 19th instant, mistaking Rinevaha for Carrigaholt, and would have got off by the next spring-tide had the peasantry not boarded her, and rendered her not seaworthy by scuttling her and tearing away all her rigging; they then robbed the crew of all their clothes, tore their shirts, which they made bags of to carry away the plunder, and then broached the tierces of pork, and distributed the contents to people on shore, who assisted to convey them up the country. The alarm having reached this on Thursday, a sergeant and twelve of the police were sent down, with the chief constable at their head, and they succeeded in re-taking some of the provisions and securing them, driving the mob from the wreck. The police kept possession of what they had got during the night; but very early on Friday morning the people collected in some thousands, and went down to the beach, where they formed into three bodies, and cheered each other with hats off, advancing with threats, declaring that they defied the police, and would possess themselves again of what had been taken from them, and of the arms of the police. The police formed into one body, and, showing three fronts, endeavoured to keep them at bay, but in vain; they assailed them with stones, sticks, scythes, and axes, and gave some of our men some severe blows, which exasperated them so much that they were under the necessity of firing in self-defence, and four of the assailants fell victims, two of whom were buried yesterday. During their skirmishing, which began about seven o’clock, one of the men, mounted, was despatched to this town for a reinforcement, when Major Warburton, in half an hour, with twenty cavalry, and a few infantry mounted behind them, left this, and in one hour and a half were on board the wreck, and took twelve men in the act of cutting up the wreck. One of them made a blow of a hatchet at Major Warburton, which he warded off, and snapped a pistol at him; the fellow immediately threw himself overboard, when —— Troy charged him on horseback, up to the horse’s knees in water, and cut him down. The fellows then flew in every direction, pursued by our men, who took many of them, and wounded several. Nine tierces of pork had been saved. Her bowsprit, gaff, and spars are all gone, with every stitch of canvas and all the running rigging. The shrouds are still left; two anchors and their cables are gone, and even the ship’s pump. A more complete plunder has seldom been witnessed. Yesterday the revenue wherry went down to Rinevaha, and returned in the evening with the Major and a small party, with thirty-five prisoners, who now are all lodged in Bridewell. The women in multitudes assembled to supply the men with whisky to encourage them. Nothing could exceed the coolness of —— Balfice and his party, who certainly made a masterly retreat to the slated store at Carrigaholt, where I found them. He and Fitzgerald were wounded, but not severely. Fitzgerald had a miraculous escape, and would have been murdered, but was preserved by a man he knew from Kerry, who put him under his bed.

“J. MILLER.“

A late case of plundering on a large scale occurred the 26th September, 1817. The Norwegian brig _Bergetta_, Captain Peterson, was wrecked on the Cefu-Sidau sands, in Carmarthen Bay. She was bound from Barcelona for Stettin, with a cargo of wine, spirits, &c., when the master, losing his reckoning, owing to a thick fog, fell into the fatal error of taking the coast of Devon for that of France, and acted under that persuasion. So circumstanced, a violent gale, together with the tide, drove the vessel into the Bristol Channel, and she struck upon the above sands, and in the space of two or three hours went to pieces. The master and crew, with great difficulty, got into the boat, and were all happily saved. Notwithstanding the greatest exertions on the part of the officers of the Customs, supported by several gentlemen and others, acts of plunder were committed to a considerable extent. Of 266 pipes and casks of wine, &c., not above 100 were saved. Hundreds of men and women were reduced to nearly a state of insensibility through intoxication.

A scarce and curious tract, published in 1796, exists in the library of the British Museum, and a few extracts from it will show the arguments by which the wreckers of the last century salved their consciences. It is supposed to be a dialogue between one Richard Sparkes, a chandler by trade, but a professional wrecker also, and John Trueman, “an honest taylor.”

“‘Good news! good news, neighbour!’ said Richard Sparkes, the chandler, as he entered a shop where John Trueman, an honest taylor, was at work. ‘The vessel which has been these three hours fighting with the surge and winds for the harbour has at last bulged. It is a trader from Amsterdam, they say, and faith! two thumping casks were floating before I left the beach. Rare sport, Master Trueman, rare sport, let me tell you! A good blustering wind and a high surf is no bad thing for a seaport.’

“Honest Trueman, who had not been long an inhabitant of the place, and was quite unacquainted with this language—which, to the disgrace of humanity, is too often used by the unfeeling on such occasions in seaport towns—suspended his work, and listened to this harangue with too much surprise to interrupt it. At length, said he, ‘Do you call this rare sport? Do you call this good news?’

“SPARKES. ‘To be sure I do. I mean to be out all night; the tide will return in about three hours, and I warrant it will bring us something worth looking after. But mayhap, as you are a new-comer, Master Trueman, you do not know the go at these seasons, so I will tell you. You must know that when a vessel strikes it is catch as catch can for her lading: one has as good a right as another, and he is the luckiest who can get most. We call it _going a wrecking_; and let me tell you it is no bad business. There is my neighbour Perkins, the pilot, got the Lord knows what by the smuggling cutter that was wrecked about three leagues from hence two months ago. Ay, cask upon cask of the best French brandy, and tea, and I cannot tell you what he got; but he has held his head pretty high ever since, for, as good luck would have it, she struck upon a shoal of rock where the Custom-house officers would not venture, so Perkins and a few more knowing ones had it all to themselves. As I told you before, Master Trueman, this _going a wrecking_ is no bad business, so look about you.’”

Trueman upbraids the first speaker with dishonesty and want of humanity.

“‘Humanity,’ says Sparkes, ‘odds my life! neighbour, there’s not a more tenderhearted fellow alive. Many is the life my boat, when I was in the fishing trade, has saved from pure good-will; but as to the matter of the _wrecking_, every man must take care of his own interest. Charity, you know, Master Trueman, should begin at home.’” And he goes on to say that it was no fault of his that the vessel bulged, or that the master or cabin-boy were drowned; that it is all the chance of war, and that one vessel was the same to him as another, provided it were well laden. He added that he did not pretend to be better than his grandfather, and that wrecking was in fashion in his days and in those of his good old father before him.

Mr. D. Mackinnen, who made a tour through the West Indies early in the present century, particularly mentions the Bahamas as the home of wreckers. He says that the immense variety of banks, shallows, and unknown passages between the hundreds of islands which form the group render the chances of shipwreck frequent. In order to save the crews and property so constantly exposed to danger, the Governor of the Bahamas, about the commencement of this century, licensed a number of daring adventurers to ply up and down and assist ships in peril, and there could not have been collected a more skilful and hardy set of men. But, unfortunately, the governor’s good intentions were baulked by the larger part of them becoming wreckers. Mr. Mackinnen asking one of these men what success he had lately had, was told that there had been about forty sail of pilots along the Florida coast for four months. He remarked that they must have rendered great service to the crews wrecked in that dangerous passage. The pilot said, “No; they generally _went on_ in the night.” “But could not you light up beacons on shore?” “No, no,” said the man, laughing, “we always put them out for a better chance by night.” “But it would have been more humane——” “I did not go there for humanity; I went _racking_!”