Enterprise and Adventure/Admiral Byron's Return
ADMIRAL BYRON'S RETURN.
In these days of telegraph and railway, it is difficult to imagine the time in which such a history could be possible as that of the Honourable John Byron's return to England, as told by himself in his account of his voyage and shipwreck. Byron's narrative is one of terrible hardships suffered by himself and his companions on the coast of Patagonia, from the year 1740, the time of the loss of the "Wager" man-of-war, one of Admiral Anson's squadron, until his arrival in this country in 1746. Of one hundred and forty of the crew who escaped from the unfortunate vessel, scarcely a dozen survived the privations which they endured upon that inhospitable coast. It was in the year following their shipwreck that a miserable remnant of the wreck, consisting of Byron himself, Captain Cheap, and Mr. Hamilton, the surgeon, arrived, after many months of wanderings, at the town of Castro, a Spanish settlement on the eastern coast of South America. Hence in January, 1743, they were sent to Valparaiso, from which city they embarked in a French ship, and finally anchored in Brest roads on the 27th of October, 1745. England being then still at war with Spain, as well as with France, the three Englishmen were detained near Brest, on parole, for some months, when an order arrived from the court of Spain to permit them to return home by the first ship that offered. This proved to be a Dutch vessel at Morlaix, the commander of which agreed to land them at Dover. Having been paid beforehand, however, the brutal skipper refused to keep his promise, and actually carried them to the coast of France, where, fortunately, a British man-of-war having overhauled him, he gave up his passengers. The captain of the man-of-war then ordered them to be landed at Dover in one of his cutters.
Arrived safely at Dover, with a little money with which a kind-hearted Frenchman had provided them, they found no one to give them further help. During all the six years they had been absent, no news had reached England of these remnants of the unfortunate "Wager," and the recollection of her voyage had long passed away. The wanderers had nothing to do but to go on to London, and there make themselves known. Accordingly they started for Canterbury on post horses, but having arrived here, Captain Cheap, the commander of the "Wager," whose health had been grievously impaired by his sufferings, was unable to proceed, and they were compelled to find a lodging. The next day the captain proved too ill to ride further, and it was therefore agreed that he and the surgeon, Mr. Hamilton, should take a post chaise, while Byron continued to ride; but here an unfortunate difficulty was started, for upon sharing the little money which they had, it was found to be insufficient to defray the charges of the journey, while Byron's proportion fell so much short that it was barely enough to pay for the horses, without refreshment, on the road, or even for the turnpikes. The latter difficulty was got over by the device of riding, as Byron says, "as hard as I could through them all," not paying the least regard to the men who called out to stop him, and who probably took him for a highwayman, and were thankful that he did not, besides defrauding them, insist on carrying off their little treasury of tolls. The want of refreshment was a minor evil. Having arrived in the Borough, Byron continues, "I took a coach and drove to Marlborough Street, where my friends had lived, but when I came there I found the house shut up. Having been absent so many years, and in all that time never having heard a word from home, I knew not who was dead or who was living, or where to go next, or even how to pay the coachman;" but, fortunately, he remembered a linendraper, not far distant, with whom his family had dealt, and who kindly relieved him from this difficulty.
He then inquired of some persons after his family, and there learnt that his sister, Lady Isabella Byron, had married, three years before, the Earl of Carlisle, and he was directed to their house—a fine old red brick mansion, which still stands in the neighbourhood of Soho Square. He immediately walked to this house and knocked at the door; but the footman refused to take in his name or believe in his pretended relationship to the family. In fact, there was not much in his appearance which denoted aristocratic connections. His dress was a strange medley of worn-out clothing, half French and half Spanish, and he wore a huge pair of boots, picked up in his travels, which were now covered with dirt. Altogether, Robinson Crusoe himself could scarcely have been a more unlikely person to present himself at the door of an English nobleman's mansion, or announce himself as the brother of my lady the Countess. The man was about to shut the door in his face, when the earnestness of the intruder's manner finally induced him to admit him. "I need not acquaint my readers," adds Byron, "with what surprise and joy my sister received me. She immediately furnished me with money sufficient to appear like the rest of my countrymen, till which time I could not be properly said to have finished all the extraordinary scenes which a series of unfortunate adventures had kept me in for the space of five years and upwards." In fact, although the wanderers included the captain of the lost man-of-war and the brother of an English nobleman, and although their story had been for several years known in various cities of South America, and also for some time in Brest, they were themselves the first to bring to the Admiralty tidings of their marvellous escape. Byron became afterwards distinguished in his profession, in which he rose to the rank of vice-admiral; but his evil fortune at sea pursued him, until the superstitious sailors gave him the nickname of "Foulweather Jack;" by which the poet Byron, who was a grandson of the vice-admiral, alludes to him in a note to one of his poems.