 |
 | The first voyage of Robert Baker to Guinie, with the Minion, and Primrose, set out in October, 1562 |  |
The first voyage of Robert Baker to Guinie, with the Minion, and Primrose, set out in October, 1562. by Sir William Garrard, Sir William Chester, M. Thomas Lodge, Anthony Hickman, & Edward Castelin.
As men whose heads be fraughtwith care, have seldom rest:
(For through the head the body strait
with sorowes is opprest:)
So I that late on bed
lay wake, for that the watch
Pursued mine eye, and causde my hed
no sleepe at all to catch:
To thinke upon my chaunce
which hath me now betide,
To lie a prisoner here in France,
for raunsome where I bide:
And feeling still such thoughts
so thicke in head to runne,
As in the sommer day the moats
doe fall into the Sunne,
To walke then up I rose,
fansie to put to flight:
And thus a while I doe purpose
to passe away the night.
Morpheus I perceiv'd
had small regarde of me,
Therefore I should be but deceiv'd
on bed longer to lie.
And thus without delay
rising as voide of sleepe,
I horned Cynthia sawe streight way
in at my grate to peepe:
Who passing on her way,
eke knowing well my case,
How I in darke dungeon there lay
alwaies looking for grace:
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in darke withouten light,
She wipte her face, and straight did show
the best countnance she might:
Astonneth eke my head
and senses for a space,
And olde fansies away now fled
she putteth new in place.
Then leaning in my grate
wherein full bright she shinde,
And viewing her thus on her gate
she mazeth streight my minde:
And makes me thinke anon
how oft in Ginnie lande
She was my frend, when I have gone
all night upon the sande,
Walking and watching este
least any boate or ship
At any time, while we had slept
perhaps by us might slip.
And streight with ardent fire
my head inflameth shee,
Eke me inspires with whole desire
to put in memorie,
Those daungers I have bid
and Laberinth that I
Have past without the clue of threede,
eke harder ieopardie.
I then gin take in hand
straight way to put in rime,
Such travell, as in Ginnie lande
I have past in my time.
But having writte a while
I fall faint by the way,
And eke at night I lothe that stile
which I have writte that day.
And thinke my doings then
unworthy sure, to be
Set forth in print before all men,
for every one to see.
Eke with dispaire therefore
my pen I cast away,
And did intende this never more
hereafter to assay.
My fellow prisoner then
sir Edward Gages sonne
Willes me to take againe my pen
and ende that I begonne.
By this our friends (sayth he)
shall right well understande.
And knowe the great travels that we
have past in Heathen lande.
Take pen therefore againe
in hande, I you require,
And thinke (saith he) thereof no paine
to graunt this my desire.
Then once againe my hed
my hand a worke doth sette:
But first I fall upon my bed
and there deepe sighes I sette,
To see that this to talke
is given me silly wight:
And of Minerva helpe I aske
that she me teach aright.
Helpe now without delay,
helpe, helpe, ye Muses nine,
O Cleo, and Calliope,
shewe me how to define
In condigne stile and phrase
eche thing in every line,
To you I give loe all the praise
the travell only mine.
Give eare then ye that long
to know of my estate,
Which am in France in prison strong
as I wrote home of late:
Against all lawe or right
as I doe thinke in deede,
Sith that the warre is ended quite,
and peace is well agreed.
Yet least perchaunce you might
much marvell, how that I
Into a Frenchmans powre should light
in prison here to lie:
Give nowe attentive heede,
a straunge tale gin I tell,
How I this yeare have bene besteede,
scaping the gates of hell,
More harde I thinke truly,
in more daunger of life,
Than olde Orpheus did when he
through hell did seeke his wife,
Whose musike so did sounde
in pleasant play of string,
That Cerberus that hellish hounde
(who as the Poets sing
Having three huge heads great,
which doe continually
Still breath out firy flames of heate
most horrible to see)
Did give him leave to passe
in at the gates of Hell:
Of which gate he chiefe porter was
the Poets thus me tell.
And how he past alone
through great king Plutos Court
Yea ferried over with Charon
and yet he did no hurt.
Well to my purpose now,
in Hell what hurt had hee:
Perchance he might strange sights inow
and ugly sprits there see:
Perhaps eke Tantalus,
there making of his mone,
Who starv'd always: and Sysiphus
still rolling up the stone.
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and went still on his way,
There was no torment came him nigh
or heate to make him stay.
And I a Gods name woulde
at hazarde play my life
In Guinie lande, to seeke for golde,
as Orpheus sought his wife.
At which saide lande of Guinie
I was eke once before,
And scapt the death as narowly
as Orpheus did and more.
Which first ill lucke will I
recite, then iudge you plaine,
If Iove plagued me not now rightly
this yeare to goe againe.
The other yeere before
when Neptune us had brought
Safely unto that burning shore,
for which so long we sought
One day when shippe was fast
in sea at anker holde,
The sailes upfirll'd, all businesse past
the boteswaine then I tolde,
That he forthwith shoulde see
the small pinnesse well mande,
Eke all things therin prest to be
that we shoulde have a lande,
And gunner see that ye
want not bowe, pike, or bill,
Your ordinance well primed be
with lintstocks burning still.
With merchandize a shore,
we hied to traffike then,
Making the sea fome us before,
by force of nine good men.
And rowing long, at last
a river we espie,
In at the which we bare full fast
to see what there might be.
And entring in, we see
a number of blacke soules,
Whose likelinesse seem'd men to be,
but all as blacke as coles.
Their Captaine comes to me
as naked as my naile,
Not having witte or honestie
to cover once his taile.
By which I doe here gesse
and gather by the way,
That he from man and manlinesse
was voide and cleane astray.
And sitting in a trough,
a boate made of a logge,
The very same wherein you know
we use to serve a hogge.
Aloofe he staide at first,
put water to his cheeke,
A signe that he would not us trust
unlesse we did the like.
That signe we did likewise,
to put him out of feare,
And shewd him much brave marchandise
to make him come us neare.
The wilde man then did come,
by signes nowe crieth the fiend
Of those gay things to give him some
and I should be his friend.
I traffikt there that time
for such things as they had,
At night to ship I caried him,
where I with clothes him clad,
Yea, made him there good cheere,
and he by signes againe
Tolde us that he would fraight us then
after a day or twaine.
And eene thus as we were
in talke, looking about,
Our boate he sawe with wares that there
was tied at sterne without:
Which boate he viewing still,
as then well stuft with ware,
We thinking he had ment no ill,
had thereof little care.
And the next morne, againe
we caried him a shore,
Eke bartred there that day with them
as we had done before,
But when Phœbus began
some what for to draw neare
To Icarus his Court, the sonne
of Dedalus most deare,
(Whose chaunce it is to dwell
amids the Ocean flood,
Because that he observ'd not well
his fathers counsell good)
We then with saile and ore
to ship began to hie,
That we might fetch aboorde, before
the day had lost his eye.
To ship we come at last
which rid foure leagues from shore
Refresht us after travaile past,
taken that day before.
Then, as it was our guise,
our boate at sterne we tie,
Eke therein leave our marchandise,
as they were wont to be.
With troughes then twa or three
this Captaine comes by night
Aboord our boate, where he with wares
himselfe now fraighteth quight.
The watch nowe hearing this,
the boate they hal'd up fast:
But gone was all the marchandise,
and they escapte and past.
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againe we went to shore,
Amends to have for that which they
had stolne the night before.
But all in vaine was it,
our signes were now too bad,
They would not understand a whit
of any thing they had.
But as though they had wrong
for to revenged be,
As we row'd downe the streame along
after comes hee and hee.
A hundred boats come fro
the steremost towne I say,
At least meets us as many mo
before, to make us stay.
In every boat two men,
and great long targets twaine:
Most of their darts had long strings then
to picke and pull againe.
Now gunners to your charge,
give fier all arow,
Ech slave for feare forsakes his barge,
and ducks in water low.
We downe the streame amaine
do row to get the sea,
They overtake us soone againe,
and let us of our way.
Then did the slaves draw neere,
with dart and target thicke,
With divelish fired eyes they peere
where they their darts may sticke.
Now Mariners do push
with right good will the pike,
The haileshot of the harquebush
the naked slave doth strike.
Through targe and body right
that downe he falleth dead
His fellow then in heavie plight,
doth swimme away afraid.
To bathe in brutish bloud,
then fleeth the graygoose wing,
The halberders at hand be good,
and hew that all doth ring.
Yet gunner play thy part,
make haileshot walke againe,
And fellowes row with like good heart
that we may get the maine.
Our arrowes all now spent,
the Negros gan approch:
But pikes in hand already bent
the blacke beast fast doth broch.
Their captaine being wood,
a villaine long and large,
With pois'ned dart in hand doth shroud
himselfe under his targe.
And hard aboord he comes
to enter in our boat,
Our maisters mate, his pike eftsoones
strikes though his targe and throat.
The capteine now past charge
of this brutish blacke gard,
His pike he halde backe which in targe
alas was fixed hard:
And wresting it with might,
to pull it forth in hast,
A deadly dart strikes him too right
and in his flesh sticks fast,
He stands still like a man,
and shrinkes not once therfore,
But strikes him with his owne dart then
which shot at him before.
Then presse they on and shake
their darts on every side,
Which in our flesh doth light, and make
both deadly wounds and wide.
The gunner in that stound
with two darts strooke at last,
Shrinks not yet though the double wound
with streames of bloud out brast.
And eke the maisters mate,
of stomacke bolde and stout,
For all his wound receiv'd of late,
yet stirred not a foot.
But kept his standing still,
till that a deathfull dart
Did strike him though the ribs so ill,
that scarce it mist his hart.
The dart out hal'd quickly,
his guts came out withall,
And so great streames of bloud that he
for faintnesse downe gan fall.
The Negros seeing this,
how he for dead doth lie,
Who erst so valiant prov'd twis,
they gladly shout and crie:
And then do minde as there
to enter in his place,
They thinke so many wounded were
the rest would yeld for grace.
We then stand by the pike,and foure row on our boat,
Their darts among us fast they strike
that few were free I wot.
In legge and eke in thigh,
some wounded eke in th'arme,
Yea many darts stucke us hard by,
that mist and did no harme.
By little thus at last,
in great danger of life
We got the sea and almost past
the danger erst so rife.
Then gin they all retire
sith all their darts were spent
They had nought to revenge their ire,
and thus away they went,
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where two ores make soft way
Sixe of us nine were wounded so,
the seventh for dead there lay.
Lo, heare how cruelly
the fiends ment us to kill,
Causelesse you see, if they truly
on us might had their will.
And yet we gave before
much merchandise away.
Among those slaves, thinking therfore
to have friendship for aye.
And Orpheus past I wot
the passage quietly,
Among the soules in Charons boat,
and yet to say truly
I never read that he
paid for his passage there,
Who past and repast for to see
if that his wife there were.
Nor yet that he paid ought,
or any bribe there gave
To any office, while he sought
his wife againe to have.
Whereby I surely gesse
these men with whom that we
Have had to do are fiends more fierce
then those in hell that be.
Well we now scaping thus
the danger I have tolde,
Aboord we come, where few of us
could stand now being colde.
Our wounds now being drest,
to meat went they that list,
But I desired rather rest,
for this in minde I wist.
That if I might get once
a sleepe that were full sound,
I should not feele my weary bones
nor yet my smarting wound.
And lying long aloft
upon my bed in paine,
Unto Morpheus call'd I oft
that he would not disdaine
To heare me then poore wight,
but send me helpe with speed
That I might have good rest this night
of which I had great need.
Me thought then by and by,
there hung a heavie waight,
At ech eye lid, which clos'd mine eye,
and eke my head was fraight.
And being streight a sleepe,
I fell into a sweauen,
That of my wound I tooke no keepe
I dreamd'd I was in heaven.
Where as me thought I see
god Mars in armor bright,
His arming sword naked holdes he
in hand, ready to fight.
Castor and Pollux there
all complet stand him by,
Least if that Mars convinced were
they might revenged be.
Then came marching along
the great blacke smith Vulcan,
Having a staffe of yron strong,
and thus at last began:
O Mars, thou God of might,
what is the cause that thou
Hast chaleng'd me with thee to fight':
lo present am I now.
Wherfore if that thou hast
any great grudge to me,
Before this day be spent and past
it shall revenged be.
Then spake god Mars and said,
for that thou churlish wight,
Thy brutish blacke people hast made
with those white men to fight
Which cal'd on me for aid,
I bid thee warre for this.
Then answered Vulcan straight and said
that that coast sure was his.
And therefore he would still
his blacke burnt men defend,
And if he might, all other kill
which to that coast did wend,
Yea thus (said he) in boast
that we his men had slaine,
And ere that we should passe this coast
he would us kill againe.
Now marcheth Mars amaine
and fiercely gins to fight,
The sturdie smith strikes free againe
whose blowes dint where they light,
But Iupiter that sat
in his great royall throne
Hearing this noise marvell'd thereat,
and streight way sendeth one
To know the cause thereof:
but hearing them in fight,
Commandeth them for to leave off
by vertue of his might,
And of Vulcan demands
the cause: then answered he,
O mightie Iove whose power commands
and rules all things that be,
Who at a word hast power
all things to destroy cleane,
And in the moment of an houre,
canst them restore againe,
The same God licence me
to speake now here my minde:
It is not, Ioue, unknowne to thee,
how that I was assign'd,
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of all the Ginnie land,
A people lo is on my coast
which doth me now withstand.
They do my people strike.
they do this day them kill,
To whom I minde to do the like
if I may have my will.
Then Iupiter bespake:
O Vulcan then said he,
Let this thy rage and anger slake
for this time presently,
But if at any time
these men chance there againe,
Doe as thou list, the charge is thine
I will not meddle then.
I know them well (said he)
these men need not to seeke.
They have so fruitfull a countrey
that there is none the like.
But if they can not be
therewith content but still
Will seeke for golde so covetously,
worke then with them thy will.
And therewith straight doth send
a pursuiuant in post,
To whom (saith he) see that thou wend
unto the windie coast,
To Eolus, the king
command him thus from me,
That he straight way without lingring
do set at libertie,
His servant Zephirus,
which now is lockt so low,
Eke that he do command him thus,
that he straight way do go
To Vulcans coast in hast,
a ship where he shall finde,
Which ship he must with gentle blast
and eke with moderate winde,
Conduct safe to that coast
which Albion was hight,
And that no stormes do them withstand
by day or eke by night,
I sleeping all this space,
as it were in a trance,
The noise of them that hal'd apace
did waken me by chance.
Then looking out to know
what winde did blow in skie,
The maister straight came to me tho
and thus said by and by.
All our ill lucke is past,
we have a merie winde,
I hope England, if this winde last,
yet once againe to finde.
When this I understand,
to Iove I vowed then,
Forswearing cleane the Ginnie land
for comming there againe.
And passing on in post
with favorable windes,
We all arriv'd on Englands coast
with passing cheerefull mindes.
The second voyage to Guinie, and the riuer of Selto, set out in the Moneth of November 1563, by Sir William Gerrard, Sir William Chester, Sir Thomas Lodge, Maister Beniamin Goston, Maister William Winter, Maister Lionell Dueke, Anthonie Hickman, and Edward Castelin, with two ships, the one called the Iohn Baptist, wherein went for Maister, Laurence Rondellt: and the other the Marlin, wherein went also for Maister, Robert Revell, having for Factors, Robert Baker, Iustinian Goodwine, Iames Gleidell, and George Gage: and written in verse by the foresaid Robert Baker.
You heard before, that home I gotfrom Ginnie at the last,
But by and by, I quite forgot
the sorrowes I had past.
And ships rigged also,
with speed to ship againe,
I being then requir'd to go,
did not denie them plaine,
But granted them to go,
unhappie foolish wight,
When they command, eke there to do
the best service I might.
In fine, to go our way
now serveth time and tide,
We having nothing us to stay,
what should we longer bide:
The hempen band with helpe
of Mariners doth threat
To wey and reare that slouthfull whelpe
up from his mothers teat.
The Maister then gan cheere
with siluer whistle blast
His Mariners, which at the Ieere
are laboring wondrous fast.
Some other then againe,
the maineyard up to hoise,
The hard haler doth hale a maine,
while other at a trice
Cut saile without delay:
the rest that be below,
Both sheats abaft do hale straitway
and boleins all let go.
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in hand then strait way tooke,
The Pilot eke what course to stir
within his card did looke.
Againe with siluer blast,
the Maister doth not faile,
To cause his mates forth with in hast
abroad to put more saile.
We then lanch from the shore,
sith warre we knew it right,
And kept in sea aloofe therefore
two dayes and eke a night.
And, as it is the guise,
to toppe a man we send,
Who straight a saile or two espies,
with whom we then do wend.
Aloofe would some with one,
and roome ward would the rest:
But with the tallest ship we gone,
whom we thinke to be best.
At last, in comming neere
as captaines use to do,
I hale them, and of whence they were
I did desire to know:
Of France when they had said,
we weaved them a maine,
But they nothing therewith dismaid
did like to us againe.
We then ourselves advant
through hope of purchase here,
Amaine say we, ye iolly gallant
or you shall haue it dere.
To arme the maine top tho
the boatswaine goeth eke,
His mate to the foretop also
makes hast to do the like.
To top both stones and darts
good fellowes hoise apace:
The quarter maisters with glad hearts
to know ech one his place.
Our topsailes strike we tho
and fit our sailes to fight,
Our bulwarke at maine mast also
is made like wise aright.
Upon our poope eke then
right subtilly we lay
Pouder, to blow up all such men,
as enter theraway.
Our Trumpetter aloft
now sounds the feats of war,
The brasen pieces wring oft
fling forth both chaine and bar.
Some on the yardes againe
do weave with naked swoord,
And crying loud to them amaine
they did us come aboord.
To bath hir feet in bloud
the graigoose fleeth in hast:
And Mariners as Lions wood,
do crie aboord as fast.
Now firie Faulkons flie
right greedie of their pray,
And kils at first stone dead truely
ech thing within their way.
Alarme ye now my mates I say,
see that ye nothing lacke,
At every loope then gins straight way
a harquebush to cracke.
Their saile to burne, we shoot
our arrowes of wilde fire,
And pikes burning therewith about
lads tosse with like desire.
Eke straight way forth for wine
the steward call I then,
With fiery spice enough therein
I drinke unto my men,
And then even with a woord
our lime pot prest to fall,
This iolly gallant we clap aboord
and enter him withall.
Their nettings now gan teare
with dint of heavie stone,
And some mens heads witnesse did beare
who never could make mone.
The harquebush acroke
which hie on top doth lie,
Discharg'd full of haileshot doth smoke
to kill his enemie.
Which in his enemies top
doth fight, there it to keepe,
Yet he at last a deadly lope
is made from thence to lepe.
Then entreth one withall
into this Frenchmans top,
Who cuts ech rope, and makes to fall
his yard, withouten stop.
Then Mariners belowe,
as carelesse of the pike,
Do hew, and kill still as they goe,
and force not where they strike.
And still the trumpets sound
with pleasant blast doth cheare
Ech Mariner, so in that stound
that they nothing did feare.
The Maister then also,
his mates to cheare in fight,
His Whistle chearefully doth blow,
whereby strait every wight
So fierce begins to be,
that Frenchmen gin to stoe,
And English men as right worthy
do catch for pillage tho.
What would you more I say
but tell the truth alway:
We usde our matters so this day
we caried him away,
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which sure is call'd the Groine,
Whereas we for French lading plaine
received readie coine.
Well thus this good lucke past,
we through salt Seas did scoure,
To Ginney coast eke come at last,
O that unhappie houre.
My hand alas for feare
now shakes, of this to write,
Mine eye almost full fraught with teare,
eke lets me to indite.
What should I here recite
the miserie I had,
When none of you will scarce credit
that ere it was so bad':
Well, yet I would assay
to tell it, if I might,
But O Minerva, helpe me aye,
my wits astond be quite.
Yea helpe, ye muses nine,
let no thought me withstand,
Aid me this thing well to define,
which here I take in hand.
Well, thus it fortuned tho,
in Ginney now arriv'd,
Nine men in boat to shore we go,
where we traffike espide,
And parting at midday
from ship on good intent
In hope of traffike there I say
to shore away we went.
Our ships then riding fast
in sea at anker bight,
We minded to dispatch in hast,
eke to returne that night.
But being hard by land,
there suddenly doth rise
A mightie winde, where with it raind
and thundred, in such wise,
That we by shore did ride,
where we best Port might finde,
Our ships we thinke from anker slide,
a trice before the winde.
This night Vulcan begins
on us reveng'd to be,
And thunderbolts about he slings
most terrible to see,
Admixt with fierie flame
which cracks about our eares,
And thus gins he to play his game,
as now to him appeares.
He Eolus hath feed
herein to be his friend,
And all the whirling windes with speed
among as doth he send.
Thus hard by shore we lay,
this wet and weary night,
But on next morne and all the day
of ship we had no sight.
For Vulcan all this night
from fierie forge so fast
Sent thunder bolts with such great light,
that when the night was past,
The next day there remaind
so great smoke all about,
Much like a mist, eke there with raine,
that we were wet throughout.
And thus in smoke mindes he
to part us from our ship:
Thus nere a one ech other see,
and so have we the slip.
Our ships then backe againe,
thinking we were behinde,
Do saile by shore a day or twaine
in hope there us to finde.
And we the contrary,
do row along the shore
Forward, thinking our ships to be
still sailing us before.
They sailing thus two days or three,
and could not finde us than,
Do thinke that in that foule night we
were drowned every man.
Our ship then newes doth beare,
when she to England wends
That we nine surely drowned were,
and thus doth tell our frends:
While we thus being lost,
alive in miserie
Do row in hope yet on this coast,
our ships ta finde truly.
Well thus one day we spent,
the next and third like wise,
But all in vaine was our intent,
no man a saile espies:
Three dayes be now cleane past
since any of us nine,
Of any kinde of food hath tast,
and thus gan we to pine,
Till at the last bare need
bids us hale in with land,
That we might get some root or weed
our hunger to withstand:
And being come to shore,
with Negros we intreat.
That for our wares which we had there
they would give us to eat.
Then fetch they us of roots,
and such things as they had,
We gave to them our wares to boote
and were thereof right glad.
To sea go we againe,
in hope along the shore
To finde our ships, yet thinking plaine
that they had beene before.
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twelve days we went hard by
The strange uncomfortable shore
where we nothing espie,
But all thicke woods and bush
and mightie wildernesse,
Out of the which oft times do rush
strange beasts both wilde and fierse,
Whereof oft times we see,
at going downe of Sunne,
Divers descend in companie,
and to the sea they come.
Where as upon the sand
they lie, and chew the cud:
Sometime in water eke they stand
and wallow in the floud.
The Elephant we see,
a great unweldie beast,
With water fils his troonke right hie
and blowes it on the rest.
The Hart I saw likewise
delighted in the soile,
The wilde Bore eke after his guise
with snout in earth doth moile.
A great strange beast also,
the Antelope I weene
I there did see, and many mo,
which erst I have not seene.
And oftentimes we see
a man a shore or twaine,
Who strait brings out his Almadie
and rowes to us a maine.
Here let we anker fall,
of wares a shew we make,
We bid him choose among them all,
what wares that he will take
To bring to us some fish,
and fresh water therefore,
Or else of meat some daintie dish,
which their cookes dresse a shore.
They bring us by and by
great roots and beries eke,
Which grow upon the high palme tree,
such meat as they do like.
We drinke eke of their wine
much like our whey to see:
Which is the sappe as I have seene
that runnes out of a tree.
Thus do they bring ech thing
which they thinke to be good,
Sometime milde hony combes they bring
which they finde in the wood,
With roots and baggage eke
our corps we thus sustaine
From famine, though it be so weake,
that death was figurde plaine
In every wyse, for lacke
of sustenance and rest,
That still we thinke our hearts would breake
with sorowes so opprest.
We now alongst the coast
have saild so many a mile,
That sure we be our ships be lost,
what should we do this while:
In Heathen land we be,
impossible it is
That we should fetch our owne countrey
in such a boat as this.
We now gan to perceive
that we had overpast
The Melegete coast so much,
that we were come at last
Unto the coast of Myne,
for Niegros came aboord
With weights to poise their golde so fine,
yea speaking every woord
In Portugesse right well
demanding traffike there,
If we had any wares to sell,
and where our ships then were
We answered them againe,
we had two ships at sea,
The which would come traffike with thē
we thought within a day.
The cause why we thus said,
was hope to be well usde:
But seeing this, as men dismaid
away we went, and musde
Whither our ships were gone,
what way were best for us:
Shall we here perish now saith one':
no, let us not do thus:
We see all hope is past
our ships to finde againe,
And here our lives do shorten fast
in miserie and paine:
For why the raging heat
of Sunne, being so extreme,
Consumes our flesh away in sweat,
as dayly it is seene.
The Ternados againe
so often in a weeke,
With great lightnings, thunder and raine
with such abundance eke,
Doe so beat us by night,
that we sleepe not at all,
Whereby our strength is vaded quite,
no man an ore can hale.
How hard live we, alas:
three whole dayes oft be past,
Ere we poore men (a heavy case)
of any thing doe tast.
These twentie dayes ye see,
we have sit still ech one,
Which we do of necessitie,
for place to walke is none.
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swolne every ioint withall,
With this disease, which, by your leave,
the Scurvie men doe call.
We cannot long endure
in this case as we be,
To leave our boat I am right sure,
compeld we must agree.
Three wayes for us there is,
and this is my request,
That we may of these three devile,
to choose thereof the best.
The Castle of the Mine
is not farre hence, we know,
Tomorrow morne we there may be,
if thither you will goe.
There Portingals do lie,
and christened men they be:
If we dare trust their curtesie,
the worst is hanging glee.
Our miserie may make
them pitie us the more,
Nine such yong men great pains would take
for life to hale an ore.
Their Gallies may perhaps
lacke such yong men as we,
And thus it may fall in our laps,
all Galey slaves to be,
During our life, and this
we shall be sure to have,
Although we row, such meate as is
the allowance of a slave.
But here we rowe and sterve,
our misery is so sore:
The slave with meat inough they serve,
that he may teare his ore.
If this you will not like,
the next way is to goe:
Unto the Negros, and to seeke
what friendship they will shew.
But what favour would ye
of these men looke to have:
Who beastly savage people be,
farre worse then any slave:
If Cannibals they be
in kind, we doe not know,
But if they be, then welcome we,
to pot straight way we goe.
They naked goe likewise,
for shame we cannot so:
We cannot live after their guise,
thus naked for to go.
By rootes and leaves they live,
as beasts doe in the wood:
Among these heathen who can thrive,
with this so wilde a food:
The piercing heate againe,
that scorcheth with such strength,
Piercing our naked flesh with paine,
will us consume at length,
The third and last is this,
(if those two you refuse)
To die in miserable wise,
here in the boate you chuse.
And this iudge by the way,
more trust is to be given,
Unto the Portingals alway,
sith they be christned men,
Then to these brutish sort,
which beastly are ye see:
Who of our death will make a sport,
if Canibals they be.
We all with one consent,
now death despising plaine:
(Sith if we die as innocent,
the more it is our gaine)
Our sayle we hoyse in hast,
with speed we mind to go
Unto the castell, now not past
a twentie leagues us fro.
And sayling all this day,
we spied late in the night,
As we past by thus on our way,
upon the shore a light.
Then sayd our Boate swaine thus,
by this great light a shore,
Trafique there seemes, will you let us
anker this night therefore,
And trie if we may get,
this next morning by day,
Some kind of food for us to eate,
and then to goe our way':
We anker there that night,
the next morning to shore:
And in the place, where we the light
did see the night before,
A watch house now there stood,
upon a rocke without:
Hard by a great blacke crosse of wood,
which putteth us in doubt,
What place that this should be,
and looking to the shore,
A Castell there we gan espie,
this made us doubt the more.
Wherein we saw did stand
a Portingall or twaine:
Who held a white flag in his hand,
and waved us amaine.
Our flesh as fraile now shakes,
whereby we gan retire,
And he at us a shot then makes,
a Negro giving fire.
A piece discharged thus,
the hissing pellet lights,
I thinke within a yard of us,
but none of us it hits.
140
a good ship, eke or twaine,
But helplesse now, we rowe a shore
to know th'end of our paine.
The neerer that we went
to them unto the shore,
To yeld our selues, as first we ment
they still did shoot the more.
Now Canons loud gan rore,
and Culverins now crackt,
The Castell eke it thundred sore,
as though the wals weere sackt.
Some shot doth light hard by,
some over us againe:
But though the shot so thicke doth flie,
yet rowe we in a maine,
That now so neere we be
unto the castell wall,
That none of them at us we see,
can make a shot at all.
We ment a land to goe,
their curtesie to trie:
But from the wal great stones they throw,
and there with by and by,
The Negros marching downe,
in battell ray do come,
With dart and target from the towne,
and follow all a dromme.
A bowe in hand some hent,
with pois ned arrow prest,
To strike therewith they be full bent,
a pined English brest.
But stones come downe so fast
on us on every side,
We thinke our boats bottom would brast
if long we thus abide.
And arrowes flie so thicke,
hissing at every eare,
Which both in clothes and flesh do sticke,
that we, as men past feare,
Cry now, Launch launch in hast,
hale of the boate a maine:
Foure men in banke let them sit fast
and rowe to sea againe.
The other five like men,
do manfully in hand,
Take up each kind of weapon then,
these wolues here to withstand.
A harquebush takes one,
another bends his bowe,
Among the slaves then downe fals one,
and other hurt I trowe.
At those Portingals then shoot we,
upon the Fort which stand,
In long fine white shirts as we see,
and lintstocks in their hand.
And of these shirts so white
we painted some full red,
Striking their open corps in fight,
with dint of arrow head.
For we sawe they had there
no Gallies us to take,
Where threatnings thē could us not feare
or make us once to shake.
Then Canons loud gan rore,
and pellets flie about,
And each man haleth hard his ore
and mooved not a foote.
Yea, though the poulder sent
the pellets thicke away,
Yet spite of them cleane through we went
at last, and got the sea.
And pieces charging fast,
they shot after us so,
That wonder was it how we past
the furie of our foe.
The pined arme felt not
as now, the heavie ore:
With foure such ores was never boat,
I thinke, row'd so before.
To seaward scaping so,
three Negroes we see there,
Came rowing after us to know,
what countrey men we were':
We answered Englishmen,
and that thither we came,
With wares to trafique there with them,
if they had meant the same.
They Portuguse doe speake
right naturall iwis:
And of our ship to know they seeke,
how big and where she is.
We answered them againe
we had two ships at sea,
Right well appointed full of men,
that streight would take their way
Along the coast for gold,
they tary but for us,
Which came with wares there to have sold
but that they us'd us thus.
Then gan they us to pray,
if we lackt any thing,
To anker there all that whole day,
and they to us would bring
All things that we doe want,
they sory say they be:
But we their words yet trusting scant,
refuse their curtesie.
We aske them of this hold
what place that it should be,
Then they againe thus straight us told
that Portingals there lie.
And how that point they sayd,
which there hard by we see,
Was one of Cape three points, that lay
the Westernmost of three.
141
we hoise our saile to sea:
Minding a friendlier place to seech,
and thus we part our way.
We mind truly to proove
the Portingals no more:
But now t'assay rather what love
Negros will shew a shore.
We then with saile and ore,
went backe againe in hast:
A thirtie leagues I thinke, and more
from thence where we were chast.
And here we anker fall,
aboord the Negros come:
We gave gay things unto them all,
and thus their hearts we wonne.
At last aboord comes one,
that was the Kings chiefe sonne:
To whom by signes I made great mone,
how that I was undone,
Had lost our ships and eke
were almost starv'd for meate,
And knew not where our ships to seeke,
or any thing to eate.
I offred him our wares,
and bid him take them all:
But he perceiving now the teares,
which from our eyes did fall,
Had great pitie on us,
and sayd he would have nought,
But streight by signes he will'd us then,
that we should take no thought.
As one whom God had sent,
and kept for us in store,
To know in hall a way he went,
the Kings pleasure on shore.
And came foorthwith againe,
yea, bade us come a land:
Whereof God knowes we were ful faine,
when this we understand.
Each man bankes to his ore,
to hale the boate a land:
Where as we see upon the shore,
five hundred Negros stand.
Our men rowing in a maine,
the billow went so hie,
That straight a wave overwhelms us cleane
and there in sea we lie.
The Negros by and by,
came swimming us to save:
And brought us all to land quickly,
not one durst play the knave.
The Kings sonne after this,
a stout and valiant man,
In whom I thinke Nature iwis,
hath wrought all that she can,
He then I say commaunds
them straight to save our boate,
To worke forthwith goe many hands,
and bring the same a floate.
Some swimme to save an ore,
some dive for things be lost:
I thinke there helpt to hale a shore,
five hundred men almost.
Our boate thus halde up drie,
all things streight way were brought
The which we mist or could espie,
no man that durst keepe ought.
Then us they led a way,
knowing we wanted meate,
And gave to us, even such as they
themselves do daily eate.
Was never Owle in wood
halfe so much wondered at,
As we were then poore men, alas,
which there among them sat.
We feared yet our part,
and wisht a moneth were past,
For each man there went with his dart,
which made us oft agast.
We lay upon the ground,
with them there all that night:
But fearing still a deadly wound,
we could not sleepe a whit.
Two dayes thus past we well,
no man us offred wrong:
The cause thereof I gin you tell,
they thought this them among:
Our ships had bene at sea,
and would come there before
Two dayes to fetch us thence away,
and give them wares good store.
But when they thus heare tell
how that our ships be lost,
And that we know not very well,
when ships will come to coast:
They then ware wearie streight,
and they which did before
At sundry times give us to eate,
did give us now no more.
Our lowance wart so small,
that never nine I gesse,
Were seru'd the like, yet still withall,
it waxed lesse and lesse.
Some run now in the wood,
and there for rootes do seeke,
Base meat would here be counted good,
too bad that we mislike.
Our clothes now rot with sweat,
and from our backs do fall,
Save that whom nature wills for shame,
we cover nought at all.
One runs to seeke for clay
to fashion straight a pot,
And hardens it in Sunne all day:
an other faileth not
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and eke for fire sought,
That we our roots and things seeth might
if any home were brought.
The rest the wood doth seeke,
eke every bush and tree
For berries and such baggage like,
which should seeme meate to bee.
Our fingers serve in steed,
both of pickaxe and spade,
To dig and pull up every weed,
that grew within the shade.
Eke digd for rootes the ground,
and searcht on every brier
For berries, which if we had found,
then streight way to the fire:
Where we rost some of those,
the rest seeth in a pot,
And of this banket nought we lose,
nor fragment resteth not.
The night as beasts we lie
the bare hard earth upon,
And round by us a great fire light
to keepe wild beasts us from.
But what should I recite,
or covet to declare
My sorowes past, or eke t'endite
of my hard Ginnie fare':
I cease here to enlarge
my miserie in that land,
A toy in head doth now me charge,
as here to hold my hand,
In fine, what would ye more,
the heat did so exceed,
That wanting cloths it scorcht so sore,
no man could it abide,
The countrey eke so wilde,
and unhealthfull withall,
That hungry stomacks never fill'd,
doth cause faint bodies fall.
Our men fall sicke apace,
and cherishing have none:
That now of nine, within short space
we be left three alone.
Alas, what great agast
to us three living yet,
Was it to see, that death so fast
away our fellowes fet':
And then to love on hie
we call for helpe and grace,
And him beseech unfainedly,
to fetch us from this place.
From this wild heathen land,
to Christendome againe,
Or else to lay on us his hand,
and rid us from our paine.
Least that we overprest
with too much miserie,
Perhaps as weake breake our behest
which we owe God on high.
And least we living here,
among this heathen, might
Perchance for need do that which were
right hainous in his sight,
Well to my purpose then,
when we to love thus crie,
To helpe us hence poore silly men
from this our miserie.
He hearing us at length
how we to him doe call,
He helps us with his wonted strength,
and straight thither withall,
A French ship sends at last,
with whom we three go hence:
But six in earth there lie full fast,
and never like come thence.
This Frenchman as I say,
through salt and surging seas,
Us brought from Ginnie land, away
to France, the Lord we praise.
And warre he proves it plaine
when we entred his ship,
A prisner therefore I remaine,
and hence I cannot slip
Till that my ransome be
agreed upon, and paid,
Which being levied yet so hie,
no agreement can be made.
And such is lo my chance,
the meane time to abide
A prisner for ransome in France,
till God send time and tide.
From whence this idle rime
to England I doe send:
And thus till I have further time,
this Tragedie I end.
R. Baker.
| The first voyage of Robert Baker to Guinie, with the Minion, and Primrose, set out in October, 1562 | |