Part 1

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THE SHIPWRECKED ORPHANS: A TRUE NARRATIVE OF THE SHIPWRECK AND SUFFERINGS OF JOHN IRELAND AND WILLIAM DOYLEY, WHO WERE WRECKED IN THE SHIP CHARLES EATON, ON AN ISLAND IN THE SOUTH SEAS.

WRITTEN BY JOHN IRELAND.

NEW HAVEN.

PUBLISHED BY S. BABCOCK.

_TO MY YOUNG READERS._

_My dear little Friends_:

For this volume of TELLER’S TALES, I have selected the “SHIPWRECKED ORPHANS, a True Narrative of the Sufferings of John Ireland” and a little child, named William Doyley, who were unfortunately wrecked in the ship Charles Eaton, of London, and lived for several years with the natives of the South Sea Islands. The remainder of the passengers and crew of this ill-fated ship, were most inhumanly murdered by the savages soon after they landed from the wreck. The Narrative was written by one of the Orphans, John Ireland, and I give it to you in nearly his own words, having made but few alterations in the style in which he tells the story of their sufferings.

The people of some of the South Sea Islands, are of a very cruel disposition; some of them are cannibals; that is, they eat the flesh of those unfortunate persons who may happen to be shipwrecked on their Islands, or whom they may take prisoners of war. Others, on the contrary, show the greatest kindness to strangers in distress. May the time soon come when civilization and the Christian religion shall reach all these benighted savages, and teach them to relieve the distressed, and to regard the unfortunate as their brethren.

As very little is yet known of the manners and customs of these savage tribes, I trust this Narrative will prove both interesting and instructive to you all; and I hope you will feel grateful that,—unlike the sufferers in this story,—you are surrounded with the comforts of life, and have kind parents and friends to watch over you and defend you from the dangers and miseries to which these poor Orphans were so long exposed.

Your old friend and well-wisher, THOMAS TELLER.

_Roseville Hall_, 1844.

THE SHIPWRECKED ORPHANS.

Having obtained a situation as assistant in the cabin of the ship Charles Eaton, I went on board on the 28th of September, 1833, to assist in preparing for the voyage. In the month of December following, I had the misfortune to fall into the dock, and not being able to swim, narrowly escaped drowning; but through the exertions of Mr. Clare, the chief officer of the ship, I was with difficulty saved.

About the 19th of December, we left the dock, with a cargo mostly of lead and calico. Our crew consisted of the following persons: Frederick Moore, commander; Robert Clare, chief mate; William Major, second mate, Messrs. Ching and Perry, midshipmen; Mr. Grant, surgeon: Mr. Williams, sail-maker; William Montgomery, steward; Lawrence Constantyne, carpenter; Thomas Everitt, boatswain; John Barry, George Lawn, James Millar, James Moore, John Carr, Francis Hower, William Jefferies, Samuel Baylett, Charles Robertson, and Francis Quill, seamen; and John Sexton, and myself, boys. The passengers were, Mr. Armstrong, a native of Ireland, and twenty-five male and female children from the Emigration Society, with some other steerage passengers.

We had a favorable passage down the river to Gravesend, where we took leave of our pilot. A pilot is a person who takes charge of the ships in those parts of rivers where they are dangerous. On the 23d of December we went on our voyage, passing Deal on the 25th, and arrived at Cowes, in the Isle of Wight, on the 27th.

The wind here proved contrary, and we were detained in the harbor until the 4th of January, 1834; when, as we were attempting to quit, a schooner ran against our vessel and broke off our bowsprit and jib-boom, and did other damage to her. The bowsprit is the mast that sticks out in front of the ship, and the jib-boom is the top joint of the bowsprit. We were therefore obliged to remain there until the repairing of the ship was completed; and on the 1st of February left Cowes.

This accident caused great alarm among the passengers, and more especially among the children; indeed it was well that we escaped as we did; for even in our own harbors in England, ships are often in great danger.

We arrived at Falmouth, near Land’s-end in Cornwall, on the 5th of February; and having on the 8th completed our cargo, left England with a good wind, and every prospect of a happy voyage.

About the latter end of March, we crossed the Equator; that is, that part of the world where the sun is over head and makes no shadow; here we went through the usual ceremony of paying tribute to Neptune, to the great amusement of the passengers.

We came to the Cape of Good Hope, which is in Africa, on the 1st of May, and here we landed several of our passengers; we again set sail, on the 4th, for Hobart’s Town, in Australia, upwards of twenty thousand miles from England, where we arrived on the 16th of June; at this place we bade farewell to our young emigrants, and some of the passengers.

On the 8th of July, Captain and Mrs. Doyley, with their two sons, George and William, the one about seven or eight years old, and the other about fourteen months, came on board as passengers to Sourabaya, intending to go from thence to Calcutta, in the East Indies. William, the youngest, was my unfortunate companion.

Nothing particular occurred after our leaving Hobart’s Town, till we arrived in Sidney, in New South Wales, on the 13th of July. There we took in some ballast; that is, heavy articles which are put in the bottom of the ship to keep it from turning over with the wind. Our boatswain, Mr. Everitt, left us at Sidney, and we took on board in his stead Mr. Pigot, and two or three seamen.

We set sail for China on the 29th. An accident happened two or three days after leaving the town, which almost caused the death of our excellent chief officer, Mr. Clare. An anchor is an iron instrument affixed to the end of a long chain, and is used to keep ships in one place. It generally hangs at the bows, or fore part of the vessel. The men were getting the anchor in its proper place, and Mr. Clare was helping them; on a sudden, the wood of the implement which he was using broke, and he fell into the sea. We immediately stopped work, and let down the boat, and he being an excellent swimmer, was able to keep up till the boat reached him. We were at that time going about six miles an hour.

We sailed this time with fine weather and good winds, and made the entrance to Torres Straits, a narrow passage between two islands in the Southern Ocean, on the 14th of August, in the evening.

The wind now began to blow rather hard; so much so that the captain thought it necessary to take in some of the sails, and would not attempt to go on during the dark. However, at daylight on the next morning we again set sail, although the wind was very high, and the water getting rough, that is, forming itself into large waves.

The wind continued to increase till about ten o’clock in the morning, when the ship struck on a reef called the “Detached Reef.” A reef is a number of rocks in the water, at a short distance from the land, over which the water just rises, without leaving room enough for a ship to pass. The Detached Reef was near the entrance of Torres Straits.

So violent was the shock, that the rudder (that by which a ship is guided,) and the keel, (that ledge which runs along the bottom of the ship,) were both knocked off, and the captain gave it as his opinion that nothing could save the ship.

The chief mate cut away the masts, in order to lighten her; but without effect, and we then found that the bottom was broken in, at which place the water soon made an entrance, and completely spoiled every thing she contained. The high and swelling waves broke completely over her, and in a short time the vessel was a perfect wreck.

It was happy for us that the upper part kept together as it did, though there was so much danger, from the water rising, that every one expected to be washed over. There was plainly to be heard above the din of the wind and sea, the horrible groaning of the planks forming the sides of the ship, between which the water rushed as through a sieve; and as they were one by one broken away from the ill-fated vessel, we felt that we were approaching nearer to a death from which we could not hope to escape, unless by some merciful interposition of Divine Goodness we should be rescued from our watery enemy.

Nor were these thoughts lessened by seeing that ours was not the only vessel that had cause to repent the dangerous and almost unknown navigation of these straits. About three or four miles from us, to the windward, or that side from which the wind blows, we observed a ship high and dry, that is, lying out of water, upon the reefs; she had her masts standing, her royal yards across, and her sails set; in which state she had seemingly been left by her crew.

At the time of the vessel striking, Mrs. Doyley was taking coffee in the cabin, and her infant was asleep in one of the berths, little dreaming to what future ills his weak and helpless frame was to be exposed.

The distracted mother instantly ran on deck in alarm; and I went into the cabin, where I saw the poor child washed out of its berth, and crying on the floor. I took him to Mrs. Doyley, who, after that time, for the seven long days which were occupied in making the raft, could not by any means be persuaded to give up her dear charge.

Upon finding how the ship was situated, Captain Moore ordered the boats to be got ready, and furnished with provisions, in order, if possible, to save the ship’s company, and reach the island of Timor, regretting the stern necessity which urged him to such a step in such a sea.

I once heard Captain Moore declare that he was sorry he had not made use of his own chart, instead of one that he bought at Sidney, lest there might be any mistake in his own.

We were in possession of four boats; the long boat, two cutters, and a small boat called a dingy. Three of the seamen seized one of the cutters; and two others got on board of it next morning by swimming across the reef at the imminent peril of their lives. A little biscuit, a ham, and a keg of water, with some carpenters’ tools, had been placed in the boat on its leaving the ship. As soon as the two men had got into the boat, they rowed away, and I have never heard any tidings of them since.

The persons remaining on board the wreck now held a consultation as to what was best to be done in this miserable state of their affairs. There were about thirty persons, without sufficient provisions to sustain life, much less satisfy the cravings of hunger, for a month, without any fresh water, and with no prospect of escape from their forlorn condition.

Every care was requisite to prevent the least excess or extravagance. We were all put upon allowance of a few damaged pieces of biscuit and two wine-glassfuls of water per day, during the seven days of making the raft, which was our only hope, and on which we went to work with all the energy our desperate state allowed us. A raft is formed of pieces of wood roughly fastened together, so that it will float on the water; some have been made large enough to hold a hundred and fifty people.

The poop, or raised part of the deck, and one side of the forecastle, or front part, being washed away, the small part of it that remained was so crowded that we were almost always in one another’s way, although as many as could were working at the raft. All the provision that we could save, and that was very little, and all the materials wanted for our work, were obliged to be put on this small space, for the water rose four feet higher than the deck below, and broke away some of the planks and timbers every time the tide rose.

As the tide went down, we dived into the body of the ship, to try to get some of the ship’s stores, and with the hopeless idea of getting something to satisfy our hunger; but the bottom was so washed away that the hold could not contain any thing which might have been in it at the time of the storm.

Mrs. Doyley and her husband gave every stimulus to exertion; and the kind manner in which they requested us to make use of any of their clothes, part of which were the only ones saved, I shall ever remember with gratitude.

We managed, however, to distil a small quantity of water, of which a cask and a few bottles were saved for the raft, by boiling it in the ship’s coppers, and leading the steam by means of a pipe, through the quarter galley cistern, and catching the water thus made in a cask. The supply of this valuable article thus procured, small as it was, we found to be one of our greatest helps during our stay upon the wreck.

The raft was completed, as well as the difficulties that we had to overcome would permit, in seven days; and the water, with a cask of pork and some biscuit, being put upon it, we all followed; but it was not sufficiently buoyant for all; that is, it was not light enough to keep us up; so the greater part of us returned to the wreck, leaving upon the raft, the captain, Mr. Moore; the surgeon, Mr. Grant; Captain and Mrs. Doyley, and their two children; their black nurse, a native of India; and Mr. Armstrong, with two seamen, named Lowine and Berry; who determined to remain on it all night.

In the morning, however, we found the rope by which the raft had been made fast to the stern or back part of the vessel was cut, and we could see nothing of our late companions.

It is probable that the uncomfortable situation in which they were placed, up to their waists in water, induced Captain Moore to cut the rope, and trust to the wind and sea to carry them to a place of safety. The gale had abated, and the sea lulled, during the time we were making the raft.

Those who had returned on board set to work to make another raft of the ship’s topmasts, lashed or tightly tied together with rope. A topmast is the top joint of a mast. We also made a sail of some of the cloth of the ship’s cargo.

We worked with the greatest diligence, but did not complete it for about a week. We then got upon it, with all the food we could get, which was only a few pieces of damaged biscuit; we cut the rope, and bade adieu to the wreck of the Charles Eaton.

What our feelings were at that time, I can scarcely describe. The fear that the adventure we had undertaken would not turn out to advantage; the certainty of death if we remained; the hope of again reaching our native country, were each brought in turn to mind, and acting upon our already half-starved condition, made us almost incapable of using the little strength of which we had not been deprived, and we took our places on the raft in a silence which showed the height of our despair.

The vessel that we saw with her masts standing, was too far off to windward for us to reach; I do not think a boat could have been rowed up to her, against the wind and tide, which were both against us, and the current running very strong, so we gave up the idea as hopeless.

As soon as we had cast off, we set our sail, and steered along with the wind; but our raft was so heavy and deep that the progress we made was very slow. We drifted, rather than sailed, and that at a rate of not more than a mile or a mile and a half an hour.

We came to a reef, upon which we stayed all night; the next morning we again set sail on our perilous voyage before the wind, but saw no more reefs. We were two more days and nights upon the raft, up to our waists in water, and with a very small allowance of food. This was soon all eaten. We then passed an island, and saw several more ahead.

Soon after we had passed the first island, we saw a canoe paddling towards us, containing ten or twelve native Indians. A canoe is a rude kind of Indian boat. As they came towards us, they extended their arms, which we supposed meant that they were unarmed, and wished to be friendly.

On their reaching the raft, several of them got upon it, and were gently put back by Mr. Clare; he at the same time saying that he thought from their manners that they were not to be trusted. They were very stout men, and quite naked.

An event happened, which, at another time, would have afforded much amusement, but now, was a serious loss. One of the Indians, attracted no doubt by a piece of white cloth that was hanging to the top of our mast, climbed up it; when the desired cloth was within his reach, the mast broke, and he was thrown into the sea, without receiving any injury.

We gave the natives a looking glass and a piece of red cloth, with which they appeared very much pleased, and began to make signs to us to get into their canoe. We at first hesitated to do so, until Mr. Ching, the midshipman, said he would go; as he thought by that means to get sooner to England; at any rate, he said, he could not be worse off.

Upon his going into the canoe, we all agreed to go too, and left the raft; on which the Indians commenced a strict search for iron and tools; but could find nothing but a few old hoops. These they collected and put into the canoe.

It was about four in the afternoon when we left the raft; and after passing three islands on our right, and one on our left, we landed on an island which I afterwards found the natives called Boydan. We could plainly see the main land, about fourteen or fifteen miles distant. The island was very small.

As soon as we landed, we made signs that we were hungry. The natives went with us round the island in search of food and water. We were unsuccessful; not having found so much as a drop of water. When we returned to the place where we landed, hunger and fatigue had so completely exhausted us that we could scarcely walk.

The Indians now began to show signs of their ferocious disposition. They stood around us, grinning and yelling in a most hideous manner, as though delighting in the success of their schemes, and feeling fresh delight at our showing how great was our increasing pain.

Mr. Clare now said we had better prepare for the worst; indeed it was very plain that the Indians were only watching an opportunity to kill us. He read some prayers from a book which he had brought from the wreck; and we all most heartily joined with him in supplication. We felt that probably it would be our last and only opportunity while here on earth.

How true is the admonition which warns us that “in the midst of life we are in death.” But little did the wanderers who set out in the frail vessel, in all the gaiety of health and strength, imagine what was to be their melancholy fate, what would be their sufferings, or what the horrible termination of their existence.

After having spent some time in prayer, we threw ourselves on the ground, in expectation of being killed. Although it will readily be imagined we were little in heart disposed to slumber, yet such was the state to which we were reduced, that most of us fell almost immediately into a sound sleep. The natives, seeing us lying down, appeared anxious that we should go to sleep; which they signified to us by putting their head on one shoulder, and closing their eyes.

I felt quite sure, from one thing, that mischief was intended. I saw one of the natives advance from a canoe in a strange manner; stealing cautiously along with a club in his hand, hid as he thought from our sight, behind his back, and which he dropped upon the beach. I told this to the seaman, Carr, who was lying next to me; but he, being very sleepy, seem to take no notice of it, and soon after was in a deep sleep. Not long after this, I observed with dread, that as the people fell asleep, a native placed himself between every two of us; yet I was so overcome with weariness and weakness, I fell asleep too. This I have no doubt, was for the more easy execution of the horrid purpose they intended, that of murdering us, without giving us a chance for escape or defence. It was utterly out of our power to resist; as we had not so much as a staff or stick to defend ourselves with; and our exhaustion was too great to allow us to quit the place where we then were.

About as near as I can guess, an hour after I had been asleep, I was awoke by a terrible shouting and noise. I instantly arose, and on looking round, I saw the natives killing my companions by dashing out their brains with clubs. The first that was killed was Mr. Ching, and after him his companion, Mr. Perry; the next victim was Mr. Major, the second officer.

The confusion now became terrible, and my agitation at beholding the horrid scene was so great that do I not distinctly remember what passed after this. The last person that I recollect seeing alive was Mr. Clare; who in an attempt to escape, was overtaken and immediately murdered by a blow on the head.

Myself and John Sexton were now the only two remaining alive. An Indian came to me with a carving knife in his hand, which I could see belonged to the cabin, and recollected its being put on the first raft. He seized me, and tried to cut my throat; but I grasped the blade of the knife in my right hand, and held it fast. I struggled hard for my life. He at last threw me down, and placing his knee upon my breast, tried to wrench the knife out of my hand; but I still kept it, though one of my fingers was cut to the bone. I at last succeeded in getting upon him, and then I let go my hold, and ran into the sea.

I swam out a little way; but the only chance for my life being to return to shore, I landed again, expecting to be killed on the spot. The same Indian then came towards me in a furious manner, and shot an arrow at me, which struck me in my right breast. On a sudden, however, he, very much to my surprise, became quite calm, and led, or rather dragged me to a little distance, and offered me some fish. This, hungry as I was, I was afraid to eat lest it should be poisoned.

During my stay with these people, I have frequently seen them fly into a violent rage, and recover themselves in a moment, becoming quite calm, as was the case with the man who had tried to take my life.

Whilst struggling with the Indian, I saw Sexton, who was held by another, bite a piece out of his arm. After that, I knew nothing of him, until I found that his life was spared in a manner something similar to my own.

Not very far off, the other savages were dancing round a large fire, before which they had placed in a row, the heads of our unfortunate companions, whose bodies, after being stripped of their clothes, were left on the beach, and I should think the tide soon washed them away, for I never saw them afterwards. From these heads, I saw the savages, every now and then, cut pieces of flesh from the cheeks, and pluck out the eyes, and eat them, shouting most hideously. This, I afterwards learned, it was the custom of these islanders to do with their prisoners; they think that it will give them courage, and excite them to revenge themselves upon their enemies.