It was Adams’s job, as pilot of the
Liefde
, to navigate a safe passage through these hazardous waters. He was anxious to negotiate
the straits immediately, for winter was advancing with alarming speed and it was only a matter of time before the waters would freeze solid. But the sight of thousands of penguins, “which are fowles greater than a ducke,” proved too great a temptation for the hungry crews. The fleet dropped anchor and the men clambered ashore; within minutes, they had clubbed to death more than 1,400 of the unfortunate birds.
Adams had been right to show concern for the weather, for over the coming days there was “wonderful much snow and ice.” One of the ships lost her anchor when the cable snapped in a storm; shortly afterward, a thick sea mist descended on the fleet and hindered its progress. When the mist lifted, the winds had changed direction, now blowing from the south and bringing hail and snow. De Weert retired to his cabin and noted in his journal that he and his men were trapped in “a perpetual stormie winter … always the storme found them worke, and miserable was their toile without any furtherance to their intended voyage.“Soon, he was too cold to continue his diary and simply wrote a list of his grievances:”raine, winde, snow, haile, hunger, losses of anchors, spoiles of ship and tackling, sicknesse, death, savages, want of store and store of wants conspired a fulnesse of miseries.”
from De Ries van Mahu en de Cordes, Lindschoten Society, 1923
.
Adams’s ship had almost run out of food when a lookout sighted penguins on an island in the Magellan Straits. Within minutes of landing, the crew had clubbed to death more than 1,400 of the birds.
Adams remained confident that he could negotiate a passage through the ice-choked waters, recording that “many times in the winter we had the wind good to go through the straights.” But with several anchors lost and an inaccurate chart of the seabed, it was deemed too dangerous to press on to the Pacific.
Food supplies soon ran short and so did the stockpile of firewood. The severe frost made life a misery, for it “increased their appetite and this decreased their provision.” Simon de Cordes ordered six tons of dried beans to be distributed, but it was not enough to stave off hunger. Some of the crew tried to profiteer from the desperation of the sick, selling their portions and living off raw mussels. Two men on the
Blijde Boodschop
were sentenced to death for stealing oil. A gallows was constructed on the shore and one of them was hanged. The other escaped death by showing deep remorse, but a few days later he was once again found stealing oil. This time, he was whipped until his flesh was raw. The captains were obliged to stand guard at mealtimes, wielding sticks and beating the riotous and unruly.
The crews’ first encounter with the native “savages” occurred at the beginning of May when a group of tribesmen rowed toward the fleet. The crews were astonished to note that “[they] were ten or eleven foot high … of a reddish colour, and with long hair.” These “wilde men” hurled rocks at the mariners, shouted abuse, and then rowed away. Some three weeks later, a small group of sailors stumbled upon “a company of savages” while they were ashore. These “savages” managed to capture five of the Dutchmen and “tore in pieces the first three,” ripping them apart limb by limb. The other two were rescued by Simon de Cordes, who
landed with a platoon of guards. The men were horrified by the indigenous tribes of southern America: “these savages were all naked, except one, who had a sea-dog [sea lion] skin about his shoulders.” They carried wooden spears with a deadly arrowhead, which “would run so far into the flesh that it was almost impossible to draw out.” In one attack, these harpoons passed “through four layers of clothing and ended deep inside the chest.” Others sank so deep into the flesh “that they had to be pushed through.”
from De Ries van Mahu en de Cordes, Lindschoten Society, 1923
.
The tribesmen of southern America were gigantic. “[They] were ten or eleven foot high … of a reddish colour, and with long hair.”They proved formidable adversaries in combat.
With the straits choked with ice and the shoreline thick with hostile savages, the men had little option but to remain on board their ships. Simon de Cordes attempted to raise morale with a little pageantry. He formed a guild “to perpetuate the memory of so dangerous and extraordinary a voyage” and made his captains knights of this guild, which he called the Order of the Furious Lion. They swore oaths of loyalty, and then the entire company was armed and rowed ashore to a fanfare of trumpets. The tribesmen
melted away and, with a great cheer, the men promised to use all their endeavor “to conquer the Spanish dominions.” De Cordes then ordered a pillar to be erected in memory of the occasion, with a plaque bearing the names of his knights. He ordered that the dead be buried at the foot of this pillar.
It was a splendid monument and the ceremonies proved a tremendous boost to morale. But the men’s spirits were not raised for long. The monument was smashed to pieces “by the savages, who also plucked out the corpses from the graves and dismembered them and carried one away.” The body of Simon de Cordes’s barber was particularly badly mutilated; his head was smashed with clubs, his heart lay on some rocks and his genitals had been hacked off. The men hastily reburied his body along with all the other pieces they could find.
Winter began to slacken in the last week of August, as the snow turned to sleet and then to rain. At the beginning of September the fleet at last raised its anchors and continued through the straits, toward the Pacific Ocean. Although there is no exact record of the death toll during their enforced stay in the straits, it must have been well into three figures. The “snow and ice” had claimed many victims, and Adams recalled that “many of our men died with hunger.” De Weert added that his own ship, the
Geloof,
had lost “by diseases and otherwise, so many of his men that of an hundred and ten, there were left but eight and thirtie.”
Just a few days after weighing anchor, the lookouts caught their first glimpse of the Pacific Ocean. This was the moment of which they had long dreamed, and it should have been a cause for congratulation. But there was no time for festivities. “We came into the South Sea,” wrote Adams, “[and] were, sixe or seven dayes after, in a greater storme.” The fleet was scattered “one from another” and blown in separate directions. One ship was flung far into the Pacific; others were driven back into the straits. After more than a year in each other’s company, each vessel found itself on its own.
Simon de Cordes had anticipated this event and had arranged a rendezvous on the shores of Peru. But after all the hardship and suffering, this enforced separation broke the spirit of many of the mariners and very nearly broke the ships as well. The
Blijde Boodschop
was hit by an enormous wave that smashed her bowsprit, together with her foremast and sails. Helpless and alone, she drifted for many weeks until eventually she was captured by the Spanish. Her crew was imprisoned, interrogated, and chastised for sailing into waters claimed by Spain. Only a handful of her crew would ever make it home.
The crew of the
Geloof
decided that they had experienced more than enough suffering and elected to abandon their voyage. They reentered the straits and eventually reached Rotterdam in July 1600, by which time only thirty-six of the original one hundred and nine crew members were left alive.
The
Trouw
’s crew were made of sterner stuff. Throwing caution to the winds, they pointed their vessel west and headed for the East Indies. This proved an unwise decision, for the ship was captured by the Portuguese on her arrival in the Spice Islands. Her crew, reduced from eighty-six to twenty-four men, were either shackled and imprisoned or executed. Six eventually escaped their dungeons and reached their families in the Netherlands. The one Scot who sailed with the fleet, William Lyon, was still a prisoner in 1606.
The
Liefde
was driven wildly off course by the tempest. “We had many hard stormes,” wrote Adams, “being driven to the southward in 54 degrees.” It took the crew almost three weeks to regain their position, only to find themselves once again pushed southward. “Eight or ten dayes after, in the night, having very much wind, our fore-saile flew away.” The storm eventually ended, and “we fownde reasonable windes and weather, with which we followed on our pretended voyage towardes the coast of Peru.”
The fleet’s captains had agreed to wait at the rendezvous for
thirty days. Adams hoped to use the intervening weeks to stock up on fresh victuals, exchanging food for trinkets with native tribesmen. After briefly calling at the offshore islands of Mocha and Santa Maria, in November 1599 the
Liefde
dropped anchor in “a faire sandy bay” and the men rowed ashore “to parley with the people of the lande.”
When a few of Drake’s men had attempted this two decades earlier, they had met with a particularly nasty end. They were captured by savages, who worked “with knives upon their bodies, [and] cutt the flesh away by gubbets.” These chunks of flesh were tossed into the air while the tribesmen danced themselves into a frenzy. Then, “like doggs, [they] devoured it in most monstrous and unnatural manner.”
On this occasion, the natives were no more happy to see the arrival of the
Liefde
than they had been the
Golden Hind
. “They would not suffer us to come a-land,” wrote Adams, “shooting a great store of arrows at us.” The crew were deterred by this hostility but quickly realized that they must either fight for their food or starve. “Having no victualles in our shipp, and hoping to finde refreshing, by force we landed twenty-seven or thirty of our men and drove the wilde people from the waterside.” Many of the crew sustained injuries in the landing, and their wounds made them even more determined to return to their ship with food. “So we made them signes [that] our desire was for victualles, showing them iron, silver and clothe, which we would give them in ex-chaunge for the same.”
When the natives saw the beads and trinkets aboard the
Liefde
, they threw down their bows and decided to trade: “They gave our people wine, with potatoes, to eate and drincke, with other fruit.” It was not enough to fill the men’s empty bellies, but the tribesmen “bid our men by signes and tokens to go aboard and the next day to returne againe, and that they would bring good store of refreshing.”
For the first time in months, there was a feeling of optimism
aboard the
Liefde.
The crew now believed that these Indians had enough food to fill the hold of their ship and were relieved that they had not encountered any Spaniards. Captain van Beuningen decided to row ashore the following morning, along with his officers, in order to gather as many supplies as possible. “The capten himself did go in one of the boates,” wrote Adams, “with all the force that we could make.” Van Beuningen hoped the natives would bring their wares to the foreshore where he could easily load them onto his boat, but they seemed not to understand his sign language and signaled that he should land. The captain was wary. He was an experienced soldier and his instinct led him to be naturally cautious. To step ashore would expose him and his men to real danger and he had no wish to enter a trap. But the Indians repeatedly refused to come to the shoreline, leaving him with little option. He “resolved to lande, contrary to that which was concluded abord our shipp.”
Van Beuningen took no chances. He landed with twenty-three of his finest foot soldiers, including Adams’s brother, Thomas, and instructed the men to make a great show of strength. What none of them realized was that “about a muskett-shott from the boates, the Indians lay in ambush, more than 1,000.” They were waiting with their bows drawn; when the prearranged signal for the attack was sounded, they “immediately fell upon our men with such weapons as they had and slewe all our men, to our knowledge.”