Crusoe's Island

by Andrew Lambert

  10 Saumarez, pp. 120–1.

  9

  Making Juan Fernández English

  ‘This Island was a happy haven to us’1

  With a veritable garden of delight unfolding beneath his feet, Anson had the luxury of occupying and enjoying the landscape, a pleasure he shared with some of his more observant companions. They were ‘captivated by the numerous beauties’, wooded hills, free from thick or spiny underbrush, waterfalls and rivulets descending through ‘romantic vallies’, rendered fragrant by aromatic trees possessing ‘such elegance and dignity as would with difficulty be rivalled by any other part of the globe’. Here nature elegantly triumphed over artifice. The squadron remained at Juan Fernández until September, slowly recruiting their health and refitting their shattered ships. Local foodstuffs lived up to the praises bestowed by previous English voyagers, while the striking mountainous landscape excited Anson’s artistic sensibilities. Indeed he chose to place his tent away from the workaday camp of the crew, in a beautiful valley that might have been created by Lancelot ‘Capability’ Brown, who would sculpt the grounds of the family seat at Shugborough. Distance and separation recreated the social space between classes that shaped eighteenth-century British society. The lawn lay at the end of a broad avenue cut through the trees, providing a gently sloping view down to the ships in the bay, some half a mile distant. Anson combined elegance with efficacy. Yet nothing was quite what it seemed. The ‘natural’ clearings and ideal lawns reflected earlier human invasions, tree-felling and camp-building, any clearing sustained by ever-hungry goats. The ‘lawns’ of Juan Fernández were no more ‘virgin’ than the Official Narrative’s striking vision of Tinian.

  From his cabin on the Centurion, schoolmaster Pascoe Thomas enviously detailed Anson’s ‘small square environ’d by a Grove of Myrtle trees, the passage to which was mostly natural, and something like to a labyrinth. Near it ran a fine large rivulet of water, to which a passage was cut thought the woods; the whole together forming a pretty romantic scene.’ All told, about a hundred men lived ashore. The official narrative echoed Thomas’s lyricism, and offered an engraving that Walter, or perhaps Anson himself, observed only gave ‘some faint conception of the elegance of this situation’.2 To enhance his enjoyment of the garden Anson had his men build useful features, including small bridges across ravines and rivulets.

  After the terrors of the voyage and the hard work of refitting, Pascoe Thomas devoted ten pages to a lyrical excursus on the island paradise. He began with the distant view of the northeast end, ‘a huge heap of irregular and craggy rocks and mountains, one of which known by the name of the Table Land [El Yunque], lying behind and above any of the rest’. This mountain opened out as ships entered the bay, revealing ‘a fair valley and gently ascending hills’. Thomas doubted anyone would ever climb to the top, and few enough have. The mountain tops were often shrouded in mist and cloud, while the hills were covered ‘with beautiful groves of trees, interspersed with many openings and ever-green valleys, which form a very agreeable prospect’. Small rivulets ran down the hills, often from ‘fine natural cascades; and the channels through which they afterwards run being generally pretty rugged, and sometimes much upon the descent, causes the murmuring of those rivulets to be very agreeable to a rural scene’. Once ashore, the savannahs and shady groves, mostly of aromatic myrtle trees, were in squares, circles and triangles, ‘far outdoing such as are made by art’. Suitably inspired, Thomas was moved to quote Paradise Lost, to convey his sense of the island as an English heaven:

  If we add to those beauties before us, the gentle murmuring of the neighbouring brooks, which are often near those bowers, and the musick of the Birds among the branches, I think there can scarce anywhere be found a more happy Seat for the Muses, and the Flights of Fancy, or Pleasures of the Imagination.3

  The combination of an ordered English world with a seemingly magical recovery from disease, a striking landscape, the euphoria of survivors and a well-stocked library provided Thomas with a sense of wonder, and the language with which to convey it.

  Smitten with his new abode the schoolmaster lambasted his predecessors for lacklustre ornithological research, they had missed most of the bird species, the buccaneers noted the easily caught, ground-dwelling pardelas, but ignored hummingbirds, hawks, blackbirds, thrushes and owls, as well as ‘a beautiful little red bird’ slightly smaller than a goldfinch. He also described another small bird, with a green back spotted with gold and a white belly, although he had not seen it himself. Well aware of the tastes of his audience, Thomas did not linger on the other half of the island, the barren ‘Goat Place’ of Sharp’s Waggoner. It was, he reported, ‘much more flat and level than this, and the goats more numerous, but wood scarcer; but not having been there, I can say nothing of it to the purpose’. Saumarez, who had been round the island, added that this area was ‘dry, stony, and destitute of trees’. Having little or no water and no anchorage, it was of no use to ships.4

  Voyage drawings, engraved for publication, captured this sense of wonder. Although he reckoned no description necessary, in view of the extensive literature, Saumarez was deeply moved by ‘the most romantic and pleasant place imaginable, abounding with myrtle tress, and covered with turnips and sorrel, its bays abounding with variety of fish, and seems calculated for the reception of distressed seamen’. Writing home from Macao, Lieutenant Peter Denis attributed their safe arrival at ‘the hospitable island’ of Juan Fernández to God, while the plentiful supply of food ensured the people recovered their health. Lawrence Millechamp of the Tryal was another moved to write despite the island having been ‘so well described by privateers and others who have resorted there’. Allowances must be made for the fact that the expedition carried most of the books that mentioned the island; Thomas, Saumarez, Walter and Millechamp may have had little else to read for two years.5 Little wonder texts about Anson’s time on Juan Fernández display a degree of similarity in subject matter, tone and judgement. While this may reflect the limited horizons that the island offered, the texts also suggest discussion among authors and copying.

  Thomas, entrusted with teaching the young gentleman their navigation, provided a detailed location, 87° 37' west from London, along with the magnetic variation in July. He also printed a captured Spanish manuscript list of all the ports and cities of the Pacific Coast, complete with magnetic variations. Saumarez claimed to have reached the same figures by ‘repeated observations’. Thomas reported the location was 105 leagues from the mainland, about 12 leagues around.6 It was also a very safe rendezvous. The weather was mild, with a few sharp offshore gusts dropping down off the mountains, twice parting cables, it seldom blew onshore, reducing the risk of wrecking, but it occasionally gusted along the shore for a day or two, when a heavy swell set into the bay, making it impossible to land from boats. Saumarez had the advantage of compiling the chart, circumnavigating the island and voyaging to Más Afuera.

  Anson followed up Gloucester’s involuntary visit to Más Afuera by sending Charles Saunders and Philip Saumarez in the Tryal to look for the rest of the squadron, and record the island in more detail. The British were aware of other island, if only from Spanish and Dutch accounts.7 Returning in late August, Saumarez reported that Más Afuera, some 22 leagues distant, west by south, was not the small, barren rock hitherto reported, but a substantial, well-wooded and watered mountainous island rather larger than Más a Tierra. The main drawback was the inability to moor; the only anchorage, on the north side, was small, close to the shore and exposed to most winds. Once ashore the island had much to offer, including ‘a peculiar sort of red earth whose brightness equal vermillion and with the proper management might furnish the composition for the potters of an extraordinary kind’. In contrast to its neighbour, the island ‘abounds with goats’, who were easy to catch, being unaccustomed to humans. There were no dogs, or European vegetables. Although far from ideal, Anson recognised Más Afuera could be a life-saving resource, ‘especially for a single ship,
who might apprehend meeting with a superior force at Fernandez’. The island having been ‘more particularly examined than I dare say it had ever been before, or perhaps ever will be again’, Anson published the information for future voyagers, with coastal perspectives of the northeastern and western sides of the island, ensuring it would be recognised.8

  By August the human toll had slowed to a trickle; there were only eight deaths that month, mostly from the Gloucester. Soon there would be ships to take and towns to raid, if they had the strength. After purchasing and stripping the leaky, worm-eaten Anna, it was found that broken deck beams rendered her unsafe for further navigation, providing additional resources to refit the warships. Shifting spars and setting up a temporary rope works ashore brought the three warships back to a serviceable condition, and the extra men were a god-send for the Gloucester, now reduced to a crew of 82. By early September the scorbutic invalids had either died or recovered, the ships were clean and seaworthy, the store rooms filled and the season for navigating on the Chilean and Peruvian coasts about to open. Saumarez believed Spanish ships scarcely looked out of port until late September, those heading south from Callao to Valparaiso generally passed within sight of the island.9

  Any hopes Anson had entertained of executing his orders evaporated on the 148-day voyage from Spithead. His three remaining warships had sailed with 961 men; they left Juan Fernández with only 335. Death struck the veteran soldiers and raw marines hardest, annihilating his tiny army, while his siege artillery had disappeared, along with HMS Wager. There were not enough men in the squadron to fight the guns of his flagship. However impressive his force may have seemed at a distance, the slow and stately manner in which the sails were handled would have revealed his weakness to experienced eyes. While the squadron remained desperately weak, the 100-day occupation of Juan Fernández had given Anson a chance.

  Anson considered heading north to link up with Admiral Sir Edward Vernon’s fleet in the Caribbean via the Isthmus of Panama, reversing the old buccaneer strategy of Sharp, Dampier and Ringrose. The British were surprised to see a sail away to the northeast late on the morning of 8 September. Assuming the ship, which came close enough to be identified as Spanish, must have spotted the squadron, Anson took Centurion in pursuit. Light winds left her becalmed until the following day, when the Spanish ship was long gone. Continuing on course for Valparaiso Anson spotted a ship on the 12th: the unarmed Monte Carmelo was easily taken. The ship spotted on the 8th had been sailing in company from Callao to Valparaiso, both carried passengers and valuable cargo. Of far greater worth was the intelligence that Pizarro had failed to round the Horn, and the Viceroy of Peru, following the advice of his officers, had concluded Anson had been lost in the same location. The weak British squadron was now the most powerful naval force in the Pacific, and coastal shipping would be unprotected. Anson switched his plan, copying the old-time buccaneer campaigns, raiding a largely defenceless coast, and sweeping up unarmed merchant shipping. He could keep ahead of any Spanish response, coasting north with the current.

  Returning to Juan Fernández on 14 September, Anson gave the other crews their first sight of a prize, re-energising the squadron before he sent Tryal and Gloucester to cruise off Paita and Valparaiso, leaving Centurion’s crew to refit the prize with guns from the Anna, and attempt to clean the flagship’s weed-infested hull.10 Anson sailed from Juan Fernández on 19 September, losing sight of the island on the 22nd.

  In July 1741 the London Magazine reported that as Anson had rounded Cape Horn, and Pizarro had been driven back to the River Plate, Vernon should attack Porto Bello and cross the Isthmus. Vernon had forwarded Spanish reports of the Pacific squadron’s proceedings, which he hoped would cheer the government. In early 1743 Lewis Lidger, hitherto Anson’s cook, arrived in London via Lisbon, having been captured ashore in Peru, providing slightly garbled corroboration of the facts. These brief reports only whetted the appetite for more.11

  Anson sacked Paita and captured many ships, and after a horrific voyage across the Pacific took the Manila galleon. He returned home in 1744 without hair, teeth, or much of his original crew, but rich beyond the dreams of avarice. His world-shattering circumnavigation was seized upon by a nation desperate for glory, and a world fascinated by human suffering, heroic feats of endurance, triumph and treasure. At the epicentre of the story lay the magical island of Juan Fernández, an earthly paradise where the sick suddenly became well, where nature surpassed art in the creation of romantic vistas, the waters were sweet and the sea teemed with life.

  NOTES

  1 Thomas, A True and Impartial Journal, p. 42.

  2 Thomas, A True and Impartial Journal, p. 42; Walter & Robins, Lord Anson’s Voyage Round the World, p. 116 (text and engraving are at p. 120).

  3 Thomas, A True and Impartial Journal, pp. 35–6; quote from Paradise Lost, book IV, verse 245; Williams, The Great South Sea, p. 233.

  4 Thomas, A True and Impartial Journal, pp. 38, 42; Saumarez, pp. 120–1.

  5 Saumarez; Denis to his brother, 1 December 1742, and Millechamp’s narrative in Williams, Documents Relating to Anson’s Voyage Round the World, pp. 166, 176–9, 66–82.

  6 Saumarez, p. 116; Thomas, A True and Impartial Journal, p. 42, & appendix, p. 29.

  7 Williams, Documents Relating to Anson’s Voyage Round the World, p. 82; Walter & Robins, Lord Anson’s Voyage Round the World, pp. 128–9.

  8 Saumarez, p. 121; Thomas, A True and Impartial Journal, p. 33; Walter & Robins, Lord Anson’s Voyage Round the World, pp. 113, 148–9, 156–7.

  9 Saumarez; Williams, Documents Relating to Anson’s Voyage Round the World, p. 166.

  10 Thomas, A True and Impartial Journal, pp. 43–4, 49.

  11 London Gazette (April 1743), pp. 202–3; Williams, Documents Relating to Anson’s Voyage Round the World, pp. 170–6.

  10

  Making Books

  This extraordinary expedition generated many books, crafted to suit all tastes, and all pockets. They referenced buccaneer literature, and Defoe’s insular hero: both had informed the planning and shaped the attitudes of the voyagers. In the years since Rogers and Dampier new tastes had rendered the uninhabited wilderness a more idyllic space than it may have appeared to previous generations. The books of the 1740s made Juan Fernández romantic, the better to imagine heroic Robinsonian narratives. Anson’s expedition cemented the identification of this island with Defoe’s hero, a process far from complete before the voyage sailed.

  Anson’s occupation of Juan Fernández was the culmination of an English project dating back to the 1660s, to an island first mentioned in an English book a generation earlier, some 120 years before the Centurion dragged her anchor into Windy Bay. The British had managed to locate the island, if not with any great precision, occupy it for discrete periods of time, and describe the food supply. By 1750 the ocean beyond Cape Horn and the Straits of Magellan had been opened, and Juan Fernández lay at the centre of a developing British world view, the ideal base from which to exploit the weak, moribund Spanish Empire.

  Voyage narratives began to appear soon after Centurion returned to Britain. The anonymous An Authentic and Genuine Journal of Commodore Anson’s Expedition of 1744 had enough internal evidence, not least a striking illustration of the camp above Bahía Pangal, to indicate the author had at least discussed the voyage with a survivor.1 This first rough sketch emphasised the importance of the voyage to leading professional author John Campbell, who followed his best-selling Lives of the Admirals with a multi-volume ‘complete collection of voyages’ based on Harris’s forty-year-old Navigantium atque Itinerantium Bibliotheca. He dedicated the book to ‘The Merchants of Great Britain’, a critical section of his intended audience, using the introduction to urge his countrymen to find new markets and develop new trade through discovery and industry. As English minds found examples more effective aids to understanding than theory he rehearsed the rise and fall of Genoa as a model of how to lose a sea empire. Luxury and idleness were bad en
ough, but ‘endless negotiations and fruitless alliances’ were worse, topped off by a shift to business and security models dominated by banking and allies, rather than manufacturing and national naval power, concluding: ‘may her fall prove a warning, not a precedent’. This was no mere impulse to trade; this was a national policy based on seapower, commerce and insular detachment from the travails of European politics.2

  Campbell spoke to a very specific British identity, a distinct culture wrapped up in the ocean. He pointed to a tiny, far-distant island, another Gibraltar that would open the Pacific to British enterprise. Defoe’s An Inquiry into the Pretensions of Spain to Gibraltar of 1729 demonstrated just how quickly newly-won possessions could be taken into British hearts. Conquered in 1704, the ‘Rock’ replaced Dover Castle as the icon of British security, power and aggressive commercial diplomacy, a British bastion controlling access to distant seas.3 The shift of focus from the Mediterranean to the Pacific reflected an expanding concept of British seapower, on which all such overseas possessions ultimately depended, and appealed to the commercial classes whose taxes sustained the fleet, and the global network of island bases that gave it strategic reach.

  To satisfy demand for Anson material, Campbell pasted a hastily compiled section into the Voyages, largely based on the Authentic Journal. Writing in the middle of a war that was hardly glorious, a year before the last Jacobite uprising, he followed Defoe’s argument that increased overseas trade would improve internal cohesion and political stability. To catch his public he placed the South Pacific, the current theatre of dreams, in the first volume. Spanish weakness and lethargy could no longer be obscured by disinformation. He advised the South Sea Company to occupy Juan Fernández as the base for trade and further exploration. ‘History’, he asserted, ‘affords us no example of a maritime power that remained long at a stay. If we do not go forward, we must necessarily go back.’ England must replace Spain as master of the Pacific.4