THE sea has always been the cradle of the English race, and over six hundred years ago an old chronicler wrote of our great sea tradition that “English ships visited every coast,” and that “English sailors excelled all others both in the arts of navigation and in fighting.” In this respect, the west of England has probably played a greater part in our maritime development than any other portion of the United Kingdom, and the names of her most famous seamen—Drake, Raleigh, and Hawkins among others—are now almost household words. There are, however, many other nautical celebrities among her sons, whose names deserve a more prominent place in our naval annals, and such an one is Captain Woodes Rogers. Not only does he rank as a splendid navigator and magnificent seaman, but he also filled an important rÔle as a colonial administrator and governor, and was one of the pioneers in the development of our colonial empire. He is, indeed, one of the most picturesque and romantic figures of the first half of the eighteenth century, and his rescue and account of Alexander Selkirk’s privations on the uninhabited island of Juan Fernandez undoubtedly provided Defoe with materials for “Robinson Crusoe.” It is not too much to assume that had there been no Woodes Rogers, Defoe’s charming and immortal romance, which has delighted millions of readers, might never have been written.

Nevertheless, Rogers is rather an elusive personage, and the writer of the appreciative article on him in the “Dictionary of National Biography” was unable to glean any particulars of his birth, parentage, or marriage. Thanks to recent research it is now possible to supply some of these details. It is certain that his ancestors had been settled at the old seaport of Poole, Dorset, since the beginning of the sixteenth century, and among the mayors of Poole the name is prominent during the reign of Elizabeth. His great-grandfather, John Rogers of Poole, married Ann Woods, and from this union the name of Woods (afterwards spelt Woodes) Rogers was perpetuated for at least three generations, until the death of Woodes Rogers’s infant son in 1713. Woodes Rogers the second, the father of the subject of this book, was a sea-captain, born at Poole in 1650. He eventually removed to Bristol, where his family consisted of two daughters and two sons, the eldest[Pg ] of whom, Captain Woodes Rogers, was probably born there in 1679, but the precise date is uncertain.[1] All that we know is that Rogers, like his father, followed a sea career, and in the records of Bristol he is described as a “mariner,” from which we may assume that he was connected with the Merchant Venturers of that Port. He is probably to be identified with the Captain Rogers whom the famous navigator Captain William Dampier mentions in his “Voyages” published in 1699, as “my worthy friend,” and from whom he included three contributions in his book:[2] (i) A long letter on the African hippopotamus as he (Rogers) had seen them in the “River Natal”; (ii) A description of the trade winds from the Cape of Good Hope to the Red Sea; (iii) An account of “Natal in Africk as I received it from my ingenious friend Captain Rogers, who is lately gone to that place, and hath been there several times before.” This gives a lively account of the manners and customs of the natives, and the natural history of the country.

It is evident that at this period the Rogers family occupied a prominent position both in the industrial and social life of Bristol, and in January, 1705, the marriage of Woodes Rogers to the daughter of Admiral Sir William Whetstone, of Bristol, the Commander-in-Chief in the West Indies, took place at St. Mary Magdalen, Old Fish Street, London.[3] This marriage proved a stepping stone to Rogers’s future career, and in consequence of the union between these two old families Rogers was made a freeman of his native place, as the following entry from the city records, under the date of 16th March, 1704/5, shows:—“Woodes Rogers junior, Mariner, is admitted to the liberties of this city for that he married Sarah, daughter of Sir William Whettstone, knight.”[4]

We now come to the year 1708, in many respects the most eventful of Woodes Rogers’s career. He had long been impressed by the way in which both France and Spain monopolised the whole of the trade to the South Sea, and he determined, if possible, to remedy the evil. In 1698 M. de Beauchesne Gouin, a captain in the French navy, went[Pg ] there with two ships for the purpose of establishing trade, and an account of that voyage, in the shape of the commander’s “Journal” coming into the hands of Rogers, he eagerly perused and digested it. Elated by the success of Beauchesne Gouin, the French had carried on a vast trade ever since, and in one year, Rogers informs us, no less than seventeen warships and merchantmen had been sent to the South Sea. In the first year it was estimated that their ships carried home above 100 millions of dollars, or nearly 25 millions sterling, besides which they convoyed the Spanish galleons and treasure ships to and from the West Indies. By this means they had become absolute masters of all the valuable trade in those parts, and the riches thus amassed had enabled them, according to Rogers, “to carry on the war against most of the Potentates of Europe.”

This war, known as the War of the Spanish Succession, in which the forces of Great Britain, Austria, and Holland were allied against those of France and Spain, lasted from 1702 till 1713, and Rogers, as befitted a seaman of sound knowledge and wisdom, realised the truth of the old saying that he who commands the sea commands the trade. Not only did he wish to see the English take a share in this vast trade of the South Sea, but he realised that it would be a fitting opportunity to attack the enemies’ commerce there, and so by cutting off her resources it would help to shorten the war, and enrich his own country. To quote his own words “necessity has frequently put private men on noble takings.” This was indeed a noble undertaking, and in the belief that it was both necessary and profitable to undertake such an expedition, he drew up a scheme which he presented to his friends, the merchants of his native Bristol. The time was particularly opportune for such a venture, for an Act[5] had recently been passed by Parliament which marks a crucial and important point in the history of privateering. In this Act an effort was made to restore to privateering all the old spirit of adventure which permeated our sea story in the reign of Elizabeth. Previously the Crown had reserved to itself one fifth of all prizes taken by privateers; now the whole interest was transferred to the owner and crew. This Act marks the close of the period of decline, and the opening of a period of great activity. The Crown now sanctioned privateering solely for the benefit which it was hoped to derive from injury inflicted on the enemy.[6]

Under these circumstances it was only natural that the scheme which Rogers propounded should have been looked on in a most favourable light, and the expedition was duly financed and fitted out. Rogers dedicates his book to his “surviving owners,” and among them it is of particular interest to note the following:

Sir John Hawkins, Mayor of Bristol in 1701; Christopher Shuter, Mayor in 1711; James Hollidge, Mayor in 1709; Captain Freake and Thomas Clements, Sheriffs of Bristol; John Romsey, Town Clerk of Bristol, and Thomas Goldney, a leading Quaker of Bristol.[7] It will be seen from this that during the voyage (1708-11) the whole of the Corporation at one time or another were interested in the venture.

The money being forthcoming, two merchant ships, or “private Men of War” were fitted out. These were the Duke of 320 tons, with a crew of 117 men and mounting 30 guns, and the Dutchess, a slightly smaller ship of 260 tons, with a crew of 108 men, and 26 guns. How these two small ships (the equivalent of a 6th-rate ship of the Royal Navy of the day, with a keel length of about 80 ft. and a breadth of about 25 ft.) helped to make history, the readers of Woodes Rogers’s “Cruising Voyage” will be able to judge. Each ship had a commission from the Lord High Admiral to wage war against the French and the Spaniards, and in order that those who sailed with him should not be forgotten Rogers has left us the names of all the officers in the two ships, and among them may be noted the following:—Captain Stephen Courtney, Commander of the Dutchess, “a man of birth, fortune, and of very amiable qualities,” who contributed to the expense of the voyage; Thomas Dover, second Captain of the Duke, President of the Council, and Captain of the Marines, whose appointment appears to have been due to his financial interest in the voyage. By profession “a Doctor of Physick,” he is remembered to posterity as the inventor of “Dover’s Powder”[8]; Captain Edward Cooke,[9] who was second to Captain Courtney, had been twice taken prisoner by the French.

The most noteworthy was undoubtedly Captain William Dampier,[10] then in his fifty-sixth year, who sailed under Rogers as “Pilot for the South Seas.” The choice was a wise one, for probably no man living had a wider experience in those waters, having been there three times before, and twice round the world. To the Spaniards his name was second only to that of Drake, a formidable asset in a voyage of this kind. That he should have consented to serve under a much younger man is sufficient testimony of the regard and esteem in which he held Woodes Rogers.

Among the officers of the Duke were three lieutenants and three mates. Of the latter, John Ballet, third mate, was designated surgeon if occasion arose, he having been “Captain Dampier’s Doctor in his last unfortunate voyage round the world.” This department was further strengthened by the inclusion of Dover’s kinsman, Samuel Hopkins, an Apothecary, who was to act as Dover’s lieutenant “if we landed a party.” In addition two young lawyers, George Underhill and John Parker, were borne upon the ship’s books, “designed to act as midshipmen.” Among the officers of the Dutchess under Captain Courtney, was Rogers’s young brother, John, who sailed as second-lieutenant.

The instructions given by the owners were embodied in a document, which Rogers solemnly calls the “Constitution,” which was signed and sealed at Bristol on the 14th of July, 1708. This document not only stipulated the exact powers of the various officers, but laid down a definite rule that “all attempts, attacks, and designs upon the enemy” should at first be debated by a general council of the officers, and the same applied to all “discontents, differences, or misbehaviour.” The wisdom of this procedure was apparent from the first, and Rogers states that without this method “we could never have performed the voyage.”

And so, within three weeks of the signing of the Constitution, Rogers and his merry men sailed from the King Road, near Bristol, on August the 2nd, on what proved to be one of the most successful voyages that ever left the shores of Great Britain. His crew consisted for the most part of “Tinkers, Taylors, Hay-makers, Pedlers, Fiddlers, etc.,” not forgetting John Finch “late wholesale oilman of London,” as ship’s steward, and the ship’s mascot, a fine specimen of an English bull-dog. Though the composition of the crew was Gilbertian in the extreme, its spirit, as we shall see, was in the main, Elizabethan.

“Most of us, the chief officers,” says Rogers, “embraced this trip of privateering round the world, to retrieve the losses we had sustained by the enemy,” and the opportunity soon offered itself. Proceeding down the Bristol Channel with a fair wind and bound for Cork, they saw a large ship, but after three hours’ chase lost sight of her. This was probably fortunate for Rogers, for he records that his ships were “out of trim,” and that in his own ship there were “not twenty sailors.” After several minor adventures Cork was reached on the 6th, where the provisioning of the ships was completed by Mr. Noblett Rogers, brother of one of the owners. Here Rogers succeeded in shipping some good sailors, and clearing out the useless ones, “being ordinary fellows, and not fit for our employment.” The defects in the rigging of the ships were now made good, and they were also careened and cleaned. During this enforced stay in Cork Harbour, we get a glimpse of the lighter side of a sailor’s life. Though they expected to sail immediately, the crew we are informed “were continually marrying.” Among others, Rogers tells an amusing story of a Danish seaman who married an Irish woman, “without understanding a word of each other’s language, so that they were forced to use an interpreter.” While the rest “drank their Cans of flip till the last minute” and “parted unconcerned,” the Dane “continued melancholy for several days” after the ships sailed. Sweethearts and wives were finally left behind on September 1st, when the Duke and Dutchess in company with about 20 merchant ships, and escorted by the Hastings man-of-war, under the command of Captain Paul,[11] shaped their course for the Canary Islands.

And now having left British waters, with a “mixed gang,” as Rogers dubbed his crew, “we hope to be well manned, as soon as they have learnt the use of arms, and got their sea legs, which we doubted not soon to teach them, and bring them to discipline.” The holds of both the Duke and Dutchess were full of provisions; the between decks were crowded with cables, bread, and water-casks, and whereas on leaving Bristol they had only a crew of 225 all told, they now had a total of 334, so we can quite agree with Rogers when he says they were “very much crowded and pestered ships.” Under such circumstances Rogers was no doubt glad to sail under the protection of a man-of-war.

Strange as it may seem things were not so bad as Rogers thought, and after chasing a small vessel he records with evident satisfaction, that the Duke and Dutchess “sailed as well as any in the fleet, not excepting the man-of-war.” Prior to parting company with Captain Paul the crews were mustered in order to acquaint them with the design of the expedition, and to give an opportunity of sending home any “malcontents” in the Hastings. All professed themselves satisfied, excepting one poor fellow on the Duke, who expected to have been “the Tything-man that year in his parish,” and whose lament was that his wife “would be obliged to pay forty shillings in his absence.” However, when he saw all the rest willing, and knew the prospect of plunder, he became “easily quieted,” and in common with the others drank heartily to the success of the voyage.

Six days after leaving Cork the ships parted company with the Hastings, and as a farewell gift Captain Paul gave them “Scrubbers, Iron Scrapers for our ship’s bottom, a speaking trumpet, and other things that we wanted.” By this time Rogers was beginning to get his ships into trim and all provisions, etc., properly stowed, they hitherto “having been in some confusion, as is usual in Privateers at first setting out.” Taking into consideration the length of the voyage, the different climates they would pass, and the excessive cold “going about Cape Horne,” it was resolved to stop at Madeira to replenish their slender stock of “liquor.” It was Pepys who wrote that “seamen love their bellies above anything else,” and Rogers was of the opinion that “good liquor to sailors is preferable to clothing.”

In spite of the assurances of his crew a few days earlier, a mutiny now occurred on board his ship. He and his consort had chased and overhauled a vessel flying Swedish colours, believed to be carrying contraband goods. Nothing however was found to prove her a prize, and Rogers let her go “without the least embezzlement,” for which courtesy the master gave him “two hams, and some ruff-dryed beef,” and the compliment was returned with “a dozen bottles of red-streak Cyder.” This much incensed the crews of the Duke and Dutchess who had no idea of the perils of privateering without the sweets of plunder, and under the leadership of the boatswain of the Duke several of them mutinied. The situation looked ugly, but Rogers, who was a born commander, quickly quelled it, putting ten of the mutineers in irons, while the boatswain, “the most dangerous fellow,” was shipped in the Crown galley, then in company, to be carried to Madeira in irons. Five days later the prisoners were “discharged from their irons,” upon their humble submission and strict promises for their future good behaviour.

Contrary to arrangements it was decided to pass by Madeira, there being “little wind,” and to “cruise a little among the Canary Islands for liquor.” On the 18th of September they chased and captured a small Spanish bark with forty-five passengers on board, who were relieved when they found that their captors were English and not Turks. Among them were four friars, one of whom, “a good honest fellow,” Rogers and his officers made “heartily merry, drinking King Charles III’s health”: the rest he tersely records “were of the wrong sort.”

The prize was carried into Oratava, where after some delay, and a threatened bombardment of the town, the Spaniards eventually ransomed her. The transaction, however, seemed to have ended to Rogers’s satisfaction, and his ships sailed away “well stocked with liquor, the better able to endure the cold when we get the length of Cape Horn.” On the 25th of September the ships passed the “tropick,” when according to the ritual of the sea, the fresh-water sailors were ducked from the yard-arm, or forced to pay a fine of half a crown.

The next place of call was the Cape Verde Islands and on the last day of September the two ships dropped anchor in the harbour of St. Vincent. Here they wooded and watered, and their casks, which had been oil casks, were hauled ashore, burnt and cleaned—the water in them having “stunk insufferably.” By bartering with the inhabitants they were also able to obtain fresh provisions in the shape of “Cattel, Goats, Hogs, Fowls, Melons, Potatoes, Limes, Brandy, Tobacco, Indian Corn, etc.” Here Rogers had the misfortune to lose one of his crew, Joseph Alexander “a good linguist,” who had been sent ashore with a respectful letter to the Governor. This man seems to have found life more attractive on the island than the uncertainties and hardships of life aboard a privateer. After waiting a week for him Rogers reluctantly came to the conclusion that he had deserted, and “it was unanimously agreed, that we had better leave him behind, than to wait with two ships for one man that had not followed his orders.”

Rogers was extremely scrupulous in all his undertakings; everything relating to the proceedings of his squadron and the affairs of both officers and men was carefully recorded in his journal. On the eve of sailing from the Bay of St. Vincent a council was held on board the Dutchess “to prevent embezzlement in prizes, and to hinder feuds and disorders amongst our officers and men for the future.” An agreement was arrived at whereby each man was to have the following shares in the plunder. A sailor or landsman, £10; any officer below the Carpenter, £20; a Mate, Gunner, Boatswain, and Carpenter, £40; a Lieutenant or Master, £80; And the Captains £100 over and above the gratuity promised by the owners to such as shall signalise themselves.” It was also agreed that both Rogers and Courtney should have 5 per cent. over and above their respective shares, and that a reward of twenty pieces-of-eight would be given “to him that first sees a prize of good value, or exceeding 50 tons in burden.” This was signed by the officers and men of both ships on the 8th of October.

On the same day the ships weighed and steered for the coast of Brazil. By this time the men had found their sea legs and were more amenable to discipline, and only one act of insubordination is recorded on the voyage to Brazil.

The spiritual needs of the men were not neglected, and it is pleasing to note that from the 28th of October, when the ships crossed the line, “prayers were read in both ships, morning or evening, as opportunity would permit, according to the Church of England.[12] On the 19th of November they made the coast of Brazil, anchoring off the Island of Grande. The opportunity was now taken to replenish the water casks, and careen the ships. The depredations of the French corsairs had made the Brazilians suspicious of strangers, and Rogers states that his boat was fired on several times when trying to land “with a present for the Governor of Angre de Reys.” On learning that they were English, Rogers and his men were welcomed by the Friars and the Governor, who treated them “very handsomely.” Rogers’s account of a religious procession in which he and his men, assisted by the ships’ band, took part, is one of the most amusing episodes in his book. Another amusing incident was an attempt by two Irish sailors to desert, but they were so frightened by the monkeys and baboons in the woods, that they were glad to return to the ship. In the afternoon of December 3rd, the ships bade adieu to the hospitalities of the island of Grande, and commenced their long and arduous voyage to Juan Fernandez, a distance of nearly 6,000 miles.

A succession of gales now followed and on the 13th of December the Dutchess was forced to reef her mainsail for the first time since leaving England. In spite of “strong gales, with squalls from the south to the west,” when nearing Cape Horn, the new year was fitly ushered in. According to the custom of the sea there was “a large tub of punch hot upon the Quarter Deck, where every man in the ship had above a pint to his share, and drank our owners and our friends healths in Great Britain.” After which, Rogers records, “we bore down to our Consort, and gave him three Huzza’s, wishing them the like.” In anticipation of the excessive cold in “going about Cape Horn” six tailors were hard at work for several weeks making warm clothing for the men, and every officer handed over such items as he could spare from his own kit. The actual passage of the Horn is vividly described by Rogers, and although the Dutchess was for some hours in considerable danger, good seamanship brought her and her consort safely through. Having got as far south as latitude 61°53´, “the furthest for aught we know that anyone as yet has been to Southward, we now account ourselves in the South Sea,” says Rogers.

In fact Dampier as pilot had carried them so far south that many of the men in both ships were nearly frozen to death, and some were down with the scurvy. The pressing need was to find a harbour in order that the sick might be recruited ashore, and for this purpose the Island of Juan Fernandez was decided upon. Unfortunately all the charts differed, and for a time grave doubts were entertained of “striking it.” Thanks to the skill of Dampier, who had been there before, the island was sighted on the last day of January, but by that time they had slightly overshot it, for it bore “W.S.W. distant about 7 leagues.”[13] With this famous landfall lay not only the destinies of the crews of the Duke and Dutchess, but also of the solitary inhabitant of the island who was anxiously scanning the horizon.

That same afternoon the pinnace was hoisted out and a boat’s crew under the command of Dover went in her to go ashore. When the pinnace was about a league from the island, it being then nightfall, Rogers, from the deck of the Duke, suddenly saw a light blaze up from the shore. The pinnace immediately made haste to return, and believing that a French squadron was lying at anchor, Rogers ordered the decks to be cleared for action. At daybreak on the following day the ships stood in to engage, but not a single sail was to be seen. A yawl, with two officers and six men all armed, was sent forward to reconnoitre, and as it neared the shore a man “clothed in goat-skins” was seen gesticulating wildly to them. This was Alexander Selkirk, late master of the Cinque Ports, who through some quarrel with his captain had been on the island four years and four months. This was the first time that an English ship had called at the island since, and his joy at seeing the English flag again and hearing the voices of his own countryman can better be imagined than described. Though his actions reflected his gratitude, his speech “for want of use” failed him, “he seemed to speak his words by halves.” His adventures and privations are vividly described by Rogers, and it is not proposed to dwell on them here. Suffice it to say that Selkirk’s story was first communicated to the world in the pages of Woodes Rogers’s “Cruising Voyage,” and that his adventures formed the basis of the romance of Robinson Crusoe.[14]

Two days after their arrival at the island all was bustle and excitement. A ship’s forge was set up ashore; sail-makers were busy repairing the sails; coopers were hard at work on the casks; and tents were pitched to receive the sick men. In the words of Rogers “we have a little town of our own here, and every body is employed.” The time was indeed precious, for while at the Canaries they had heard that five large French ships were coming to search for them, and Rogers was anxious to get away as soon as possible. Thanks to the “goodness of the air” and the “help of the greens,” and to the fact that the “Governour,” as Rogers dubbed Selkirk, caught two or three goats every day for them, the crew soon recovered from their distemper, and only two died. The ships were quickly wooded and watered, and about eighty gallons of sea-lions’ oil was boiled down to be used as oil for the lamps in order to save the candles. By the 12th of February the sick men were re-embarked, and two days later the little squadron weighed with “a fair pleasant gale,” with Selkirk duly installed as second mate of the Duke. The voyage was continued to the northward off the coasts of Chile and Peru with the intention of getting across the track of the great Spanish galleons from Manila to Acapulco. On the 16th of March they captured a little vessel of about 16 tons belonging to Payta, and on the following day arrived with their prize at the Island of Lobos. Here it was resolved to fit out the prize as a privateer, “she being well built for sailing.” This was carried out with the greatest expedition, and with a crew of 32 men and four swivel guns, she was renamed the Beginning and placed under the command of Captain Cooke.

While the Duke was being cleaned and tallowed, the Beginning in company with the Dutchess was sent a-cruising, and on the morning of the 26th they captured another Spanish vessel. Among other things they found a store of tobacco on board, a very welcome article which was distributed among the men. After being cleaned and refitted she was christened the Increase and Selkirk was appointed to command her. The ships continued cruising on this station till the 5th of April, and among other prizes they took the Spanish galleon Ascension of 500 tons, bound from Panama to Lima.

So far the financial results of the expedition had been disappointing, but spurred on by the glowing accounts given by their prisoners of richly laden ships that were expected with the “widow of the Viceroy of Peru with her family and riches,” and the wealth of the Spanish South American cities, they resolved to attack the city of Guiaquil, and exact a ransom. This resolution was arrived at on the morning of April 12th and a council was held on board the Duke to discuss the project, when regulations were drawn up regarding the landing parties and other details. In order that his “mixed gang of most European nations,” should have “good discipline” and “needful encouragement,” minute regulations were drawn up by Rogers and his officers concerning what was to be termed plunder. Although everything portable seems to have been considered as such, it is amusing to learn that Rogers with his customary civility to the fair sex, resolved “that money and women’s ear-rings, with loose diamonds, pearls, and precious stones” should “be excepted.” The plunder of Guiaquil being thus comfortably and amicably arranged beforehand, the ships headed for the Island of Puna, at the entrance to Guiaquil River.

On the 15th of April, when nearing their intended anchorage, an unfortunate incident occurred. In an attack on a French-built ship belonging to Lima, Rogers’s younger brother John was killed in attempting to board her. Though we must sympathise with Rogers when he speaks of his “unspeakable sorrow” on this occasion, we cannot but admire his pluck when he philosophically adds that “the greatest misfortune or obstacle shall not deter” him from the object that he had in view. Within twenty-four hours Rogers had captured the ship, eventually naming her the Marquis, and increasing her armament from 12 to 20 guns.

On the 19th a landing was effected on the Island of Puna, and at midnight on the 22nd, the ships’ boats with 110 men arrived in sight of the town of Guiaquil. On the top of an adjoining hill a blazing beacon showed that an alarum had been raised. Bells were violently rung, and muskets and guns were discharged to awake the inhabitants. A hurried consultation was now held between Rogers and his chief officers, and both Dampier and Dover were against proceeding with the attack. Cautious counsels prevailed, and the plan for taking the town by surprise having failed, negotiations were opened with the governor for its ransom. A sum of 50,000 pieces-of-eight[15] was demanded, but the town could only raise 30,000. Rogers thereupon broke off the negotiations and while the ships bombarded the town he landed a force of 70 men and guns. Rogers has minutely described the attack, and space forbids dwelling on it here; suffice it to say that within an hour the enemy were in full retreat and the English were masters of the city. Other reinforcements were now landed and strategic points in the city occupied, while parties were told off to plunder. An agreement was eventually drawn up for the payment of 30,000 pieces-of-eight as ransom, to be paid within six days. On the 27th of April Rogers and his men marched down to the boats with colours flying, and the plunder was safely stowed aboard. At 8 o’clock the next morning they sailed with “drums beating, trumpets sounding, and guns booming,” and thus took leave of the Spaniards “very cheerfully.”

It was now decided to make the “utmost despatch” for the Galapagos Islands off the coast of Peru. In the passage there a malignant fever contracted at Guiaquil, broke out among the crews of both ships, and on the morning of the 17th when in sight of the Galapagos no less than 60 were down on the Duke, and upwards of 80 on the Dutchess.

On arrival at the island it was agreed to separate in order to search for fresh water, but none was discovered. Finding that punch preserved his own health, Rogers records that he “prescribed it freely among such of the ship’s company as were well.” Though it was thought when setting out from Bristol that they had sufficient medicines aboard, Rogers now laments that with so many sick in both ships the supplies were inadequate.

Owing to the absence of water it was decided to steer for the island of Gorgona, near the mainland. Here a supply of fresh water was available, and the sick were brought ashore and placed in tents to recruit their health. The opportunity was now taken to caulk and careen the ships and examine the prizes. In discharging the cargo of the galleon, which Rogers had named the Marquis, he found in her, to his amazement, “500 Bales of Pope’s Bulls, 16 reams in a Bale,” and a quantity of bones in small boxes “ticketed with the names of Romish Saints, some of which had been dead 7 or 800 years.” A more inconvenient cargo for a privateer would be difficult to imagine, and as they took up such a lot of room in the ship, Rogers records that he threw most of them overboard “to make room for better goods,” except some of the Papal Bulls which he used “to burn the pitch off our ships’ bottoms when we careened them.” In extenuation for what may seem an impious act, Rogers states that it was impossible to read them as the print “looked worse than any of our old ballads.”

After two months’ stay at Gorgona the crew had sufficiently recuperated to continue the cruise, and on the 7th of August the ships sailed from the island, bound southward. On board the Duke were 35 negroes, “lusty fellows,” selected from some of the Spanish prizes. Rogers called them together, and explained his plan of campaign, telling them that if they fought and behaved themselves well in the face of an enemy they should be free men, upon which “32 of them immediately promised to stand to it as long as the best Englishman, and desired they might be improved in the use of arms.” To confirm the contract, Rogers gave them a suit of “Bays,” and “made them drink a dram all round” to the success of the voyage. In order that nothing should be wanting he staged a sham fight to exercise them “in the use of our great guns and small arms,” and in the heat of the engagement “to imitate business,” red-lead mixed with water, was liberally sprinkled over them; “a very agreeable diversion,” comments Rogers.

And so for the real business, the capture of the Manila ship. All the romance of buccaneering and privateering hangs round these great treasure galleons, the annual ships from Manila to Acapulco, and the sister ships from Acapulco to Manila. It was the golden dream of every sailor who sailed these seas to capture one of them, but although many had made the attempt, only one prior to this, that famous Elizabethan seaman Thomas Cavendish, had actually done so, in 1587.[16] Here was a feat worthy of emulation, and so, in the November of 1709, we find Rogers and his little squadron cruising off Cape St. Lucas waiting and watching in the “very place” and in the same month where Cavendish “took the Manila ship” one hundred and twenty-two years earlier. It was a long and weary watch which tested both the temper and the mettle of the men to the extreme. Through the whole of November no sign of the treasure ship was to be seen; several of the men mutinied and were confined in irons, and two others broke open the store room and stole from the fast diminishing stock of victuals. By the 20th of December provisions were at such a low ebb that Rogers records “we all looked very melancholy and dispirited,” and after consultation with his officers it was agreed to make for the Island of Guam “with the utmost dispatch” in order to revictual. All hope of falling in with the Manila ship had been practically abandoned, when at 9 o’clock on the following morning a man at the masthead of the Duke cried out that he saw a sail distant about 7 leagues “bearing West half south of us.”

At this “great and joyful surprize” the English ensign was immediately hoisted, and both the Duke and Dutchess “bore away after her.” The weather had now “fallen calm,” and all through that day and the next Rogers hung on to his prey, with his two pinnaces tending her “all night,” and showing “false fires” that they might keep in touch. Before nightfall on the 22nd, both the Duke and Dutchess cleared for action, and everything was made ready to engage the ship at daybreak. As day dawned the chase was observed upon the Duke’s weather bow, about a league away, while the Dutchess was ahead of her “to leeward near about half as far.” The ships were now becalmed, and Rogers was forced to get “out 8 of our ships oars, and rowed above an hour.” A light breeze then sprang up and carried them gently towards the enemy. There was no time to be lost; not a dram of liquor was in the ship to fortify the spirits of the men, so a large kettle of chocolate was boiled and served out to the crew, who when they had emptied their pannikins, went to prayers like true British sailors. Ere long their devotions were disturbed by the enemy’s gunfire, and about eight o’clock the Duke began to engage the Spaniard single-handed; the Dutchess “being to leeward, and having little wind, could not get up in time.” The enemy presented a most formidable aspect with powder barrels hanging at each yard-arm, “to deter us from boarding.”

As the Duke approached she received the fire of the enemy’s stern-chasers, to which she was only able to reply with her fore-chasers. Holding on her course she soon ranged alongside the great galleon, and gave her several broadsides. The precision and rapidity of the English gunners was apparent from the first, and after a little while the Duke “shot a little ahead” and placing herself across the bows of the galleon, plied her guns with such good effect that the Spaniard hauled her colours “two thirds down” and surrendered.[17] The fight, which was hotly contested, according to Rogers, lasted “about three glasses,” and on board the Spaniard 9 men were killed and several wounded. On the English side only two were wounded, Rogers and an Irish landsman. Rogers’s wound was a serious one; he was shot in the left cheek, the bullet carrying away part of his upper jaw. As he lay on the deck writhing in agony, he pluckily delivered his orders in writing.

Two days later, although he had “much ado to swallow any sort of liquids,” and was obviously very ill, it was decided to cruise for a larger ship which the prisoners stated had sailed from Manila at the same time. On Christmas eve the Dutchess and the Marquis sailed out of the harbour of Port Segura to search for the larger ship. The inability of the former to engage the other Spanish ship in time had caused “some reflections amongst the sailors,” and it was decided by a majority of the Council that Rogers with the Duke and the prize should wait in harbour to refit—much “against our will.” However, Rogers was not to be put aside. He placed two men on an adjoining hilltop to signal as soon as the Spanish ship was sighted, and on the 26th he stood out to sea to join his consorts. By 9 o’clock in the morning the Dutchess was observed engaging the Spaniard, and the Marquis “standing to them with all the sail she could crowd.” Unfortunately at this moment the Duke was some twelve miles to leeward, and as the wind was light she made little way. By the afternoon the Dutchess was joined in the attack by the Marquis, but the latter soon fell to leeward out of cannon shot, being apparently temporarily disabled. Fortunately she soon recovered, and renewed the attack with great vigour “for 4 glasses and upwards.” The brunt of the fighting having fallen on the Dutchess she now “stretched ahead to windward” of the enemy, to repair her rigging and stop a leak. In the meantime the Marquis kept firing several broadsides until the Dutchess “bore down again,” when the fight was renewed until nightfall. All this time Rogers in the Duke was crowding on all sail to come to his consorts’ assistance. At daybreak the wind shifted, and Rogers was able to bring his guns to bear. The Dutchess being now “thwart the Spaniards hawse,” and plying her guns very fast, those that missed their target, exposed the Duke to a serious risk “if we had lain on her quarters and across her stem, as I had designed.” Rogers now ranged his ship alongside the Spaniard, and for 4 glasses continued pouring broadsides into her. The Duke now received two shots in her mainmast, which disabled her, and a fire ball lighting on her quarter-deck blew up a chest of gunpowder, and nearly fired the ship. The Dutchess was in much the same plight, and “having our rigging shattered very much,” Rogers records, “we sheered off, and brought to.”

A Council was now held on board the Duke, and taking into consideration the damage that the ships had received, coupled with the fact that their ammunition was nearly exhausted, it was unanimously agreed “to forbear any further attempts” on the Spaniard. The loss of such a valuable prize caused great disappointment, and it was Rogers’s opinion, that had the Duke been allowed to accompany the Dutchess and Marquis on their first setting out “we all believe we might then have carried this great ship.” However, Rogers had reason to be proud of the way in which his ships had acquitted themselves. The lofty Spaniard was the Admiral of Manila, named Bigonia, a new ship of 900 tons, with a crew of 450 and mounting 60 brass guns. It was estimated that the English fired no less than 500 shot (6 pounders) into her hull. From first to last the English had fought her for seven hours, and the casualties on the Duke were 11 wounded, while the Dutchess had about 20 killed and wounded, and the Marquis 2 scorched with powder. Among the wounded was Rogers, who had part of his ankle carried away when the Spaniards’ fireball blew up on the quarter-deck. To the end of the action he lay on his back where he fell, encouraging the men, and refusing to be carried below.

It was now resolved to return to Port Segura on the Californian coast to look after the prize already taken, and on the 1st day of January they were again in harbour. The Acapulco galleon was now named the Batchelor in honour of Alderman Batchelor of Bristol, one of the financiers of the expedition.[18] By a majority the Council decided to appoint Dover to command her, and Rogers, ill as he was, strongly protested against the appointment. Dover was not a seaman; he was absolutely incapable of commanding and navigating the prize to England. Moreover his temper was such that most of the seamen refused to serve under him. Finally a compromise was arrived at, and Captains Frye and Stretton were entrusted with the “navigation, sailing, and engaging” of the ship, and Selkirk was appointed Master. Dover, though nominally in command, was not to “molest, hinder, or contradict them in their business.”

During the evening of the 10th of January, 1710, the four ships Duke, Dutchess, Marquis and Batchelor, all heavily laden, left the coast of California for the Island of Guam, one of the Ladrones, that being the first stage on their journey home to Great Britain. Provisions were now extremely short, and 5 men were forced to subsist on 1-1/2 lb. of flour, and 1 small piece of meat between them per day, with 3 pints of water each “for drink and dressing their victuals.” Stern measures were therefore necessary, and a seaman who stole several pieces of pork was punished with the cat-o’-nine tails by his mess-mates. During this extreme scarcity, Rogers was forced to adopt a measure which is perhaps rather a humiliating episode in his career. To his Negro sailors, whom he had promised to treat as Englishmen, and who had behaved themselves well, he could only allow 6 in a mess to have “the same allowance as 5 of our own men, which will but just keep those that are in health alive.”

The long voyage to Guam, a distance of over 6,000 miles, occupied two months, during which the best day’s run was 168 miles, and the worst 41. Nothing of importance occurred until the 14th of February, when “in commemoration of the ancient custom of chusing Valentines,” Rogers drew up a list of all “the fair ladies in Bristol” who were in any way related or known to them. Assembling his officers in the cabin of the Duke “every one drew, and drank the lady’s health in a cup of Punch, and to a happy sight of them all.” Three days later Rogers was troubled with a swelling in his throat “which incommoded” him very much, and he succeeded in getting out a piece of his jaw-bone that had lodged there “since I was wounded.” On March the 11th they arrived at Guam, where Rogers after a little diplomatic dealing with the Spanish governor succeeded in getting such provisions as he wanted for his depleted stores. In return the governor and others were entertained on board the Duke, the crew “diverting them with musick, and our sailors dancing till night.” On the 21st of March they sailed from Guam for the Moluccas, encountering very stormy weather, and owing to the unseaworthy nature of the Duke, the crew were “wearied almost to death with continual pumping.” By the 15th of May provisions had again reached a low ebb, and “with the shortest allowance” it was estimated that they could only “subsist at sea 3 weeks longer.” A fortnight later the four ships were safely anchored at the island of Bouton, by which time the Dutchess was using her last butt of water. Here the King of Bouton supplied them with various commodities, all of which “were very dear.” Nevertheless, as some return for the hospitality received Rogers made the King a present of a “Bishop’s Cap,” which it is of interest to note “he highly esteemed and gratefully accepted.” Being now “pretty well supplied” with provisions “for a fortnight or three weeks,” the ships left the island on the 8th of June en route for Batavia, having taken on board a pilot who promised to carry them “through the Channel the great Dutch ships generally went.”

On the 17th, near the north coast of Java, they met a Dutch ship of 600 tons—the first eastward-bound merchantman they had seen for nearly two years. From her they had their first items of home news, the death of Prince George of Denmark, the Consort of Queen Anne, and the continuation of the wars in Europe. Three days later they anchored safely in the roadstead of Batavia “betwixt 30 and 40 sail, great and small.”

After such a long and perilous voyage the crew were naturally overjoyed at being in port. To them Batavia was a perfect paradise. They hugged each other, and thanked their lucky stars that they had found “such a glorious place for Punch, where they could have Arrack for 8d. per gallon, and sugar for 1 penny a pound.” In spite of the humours of his ship’s company Rogers was still very ill, the doctor having recently cut a large musket shot out of his mouth, and while at Batavia several pieces of his heel bone were also removed. As the Marquis was found unfit to proceed to Europe, she was sold for 575 Dutch dollars, “an extraordinary bargain,” remarks Rogers.

On October the 12th, after a stay of nearly four months, they sailed from Batavia and proceeded direct to the Cape of Good Hope. The Duke was in such a leaky condition that she was kept afloat with the greatest difficulty. By the end of October she had 3 feet of water in the hold, “and our pumps being choaked,” says Rogers, “we were in such danger, that we made signals, and fired guns for our consorts to come to our relief, but had just sucked her (i.e. pumped her dry) as the Dutchess came up.” On the 28th of December the three ships arrived at the Cape, and 16 sick men were sent ashore. Several days were now spent in watering and re-fitting, and on the 18th of January, 1711, it was agreed that some of the plate and gold from the ships should be sold to buy “several necessaries and provisions.”

On account of his valuable cargo Rogers deferred his departure until a number of homeward-bound ships collected, and it was not before April the 6th that the combined fleet, numbering 16 Dutch and 9 English ships, sailed for Europe. On the 14th of May the Duke and Dutchess crossed the line for the eighth time. A course was now steered to the westward of the Azores, and from thence north-eastward round the Shetlands to the Texel, where the whole fleet anchored on the 23rd of July. Here Rogers remained some little while, having received orders from the owners that the East India Company resolved to trouble us, “on pretence we had encroached upon their liberties in India.” Finally all difficulties were amicably settled, and at the end of September the Duke, Dutchess, and Marquis sailed from Holland, convoyed by four English men-of-war. On the 1st of October they arrived in the Downs, and on the 14th came to an anchor at Erith, which finished their “long and fatiguing voyage” of over three years.

Thus ended one of the most remarkable expeditions that ever left the shores of Great Britain. The cost of fitting it out was less than £14,000 and the net profits amounted to at least £170,000.[19] Of this sum, two-thirds went to the owners, and the other third was divided, according to their rating, among the officers and men. The prizes taken, including the ships and barks ransomed at Guiaquil, amounted to twenty sail.[20]

A rousing welcome must have been accorded Rogers and his plucky crew when they arrived home in Bristol. By their daring and skill they had ranged the seas in defiance of the enemy, and by their superb seamanship and courage they had added a brilliant page to our naval history. Their voyage was epoch making. In the words of a contemporary writer “there never was any voyage of this nature so happily adjusted.” Once and for all it stripped distant and tedious navigations of those terrors which haunted them through the incapacity of their commanders, and it opened a door to the great South Sea which was never to be closed again.[21] Rogers was a born leader, besides being a magnificent seaman. He had a way of maintaining authority over his men, which Dampier and others before him sadly lacked, and whenever the occasion arose he had a happy knack of ingratiating himself with the various authorities ashore. Whether friend or foe he invariably parted with them cheerfully.

In many respects the voyage of Woodes Rogers is more noteworthy than that of Anson thirty years later. Rogers had only two small merchant ships fitted out by private enterprise, whereas Anson’s squadron was fitted, manned, and armed, by the Admiralty. It comprised six ships of the Royal Navy (with 236 guns and 2,000 men), in addition to two victualling ships of the size of the Duke and Dutchess. Rogers was able to bring both his ships safely home, but fate was not so kind to Anson, and only one, his flagship the Centurion, succeeded in reaching England.

The success of the expedition naturally stimulated public interest, and at the request of his many friends, Rogers agreed to publish his “journal,”[22] which appeared in the following year under the title of “A Cruising Voyage round the World.” It is written, as its author informs us, in “the language of the sea,” and as such it is a picturesque human document, enlivened with a quaint humour which makes it delightful reading. During the eighteenth century the book was widely read; three editions appeared within the space of fourteen years, and it was also translated into French and German. It was used as a model by later voyagers, and it is interesting to note that when Anson sailed on a similar expedition thirty years later a copy of the “Cruising Voyage,” found a prominent place in his cabin.

On returning to England Rogers took up his residence at a house in Queen Square, Bristol, which had been built for him about 1708. His share of the plunder taken by the Duke and Dutchess must have amounted to about £14,000, and he was thus able to live in ease and retirement during the next few years. At this period of his life he formed some important and influential friendships, and among his correspondents we find such well-known names as Addison, Steele, and Sir Hans Sloane.

To a man of Rogers’s disposition an inactive life must have been particularly irksome, and his ever restless nature was continually looking for some outlet where the spirit of adventure was combined with service to the state. In the years following his expedition round the world the Government had under consideration various schemes for the settlements of Madagascar and the Bahama Islands, both of which had become strongholds for the pirates and were a dangerous menace to the trade and navigation in those waters. That Rogers had his own ideas on the matter is shown in the following letter to Sir Hans Sloane, dated 7th May, 1716, which in its way is a model of brevity[23]:—

Sir,

I being ambitious to promote a settlement on Madagascar, beg you’ll (be) pleased to send me what accounts you have of that island, which will be a particular favour done

Your most obliged humble servant,
Woodes Rogers.