Shipwrecked: the 18th-century looters who endured five months of hell

In the brutal world of 18th-century privateering, one remarkable expedition stands above the rest. The tumultuous voyage would lead to disaster, dissention, and one of the most desperate gambles in the annals of naval history. Matthew Doherty tells the tale...

Published: July 12, 2024 at 12:16 PM

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In the dying light of 25 May 1720, the 22-gun privateer ship Speedwell was trapped against a jagged, rocky coastline in the lonely waters of the Pacific. Anchored off the Juan Fernández Islands, its captain – George Shelvocke – had noted a “hard gale” developing out to sea. Before they could slip away there came “a great, tumbling swell” that threw the little wooden vessel hard into the rocks.

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The ship began to break to pieces – and Shelvocke had to hold fast to a scrap of rigging to avoid being thrown overboard. Struggling to shore, the bewildered crew collected just in time to witness all three masts of their ship collapse.

Shelvocke recalled poignantly that, “Words cannot express the wretched condition we were in, or the surprise we were under at being so unfortunately shipwrecked, or the dread we had upon us of starving on the uninhabited island we were thrown upon.”

The story of Speedwell’s wrecking began two years before. In 1718, a meeting took place in London between a cabal of less-than-reputable English merchants who saw a golden opportunity in the coming war with Spain. It was Spain that had control of South America, and Spain that regularly shipped wealth from its colonies back home. This cabal called themselves the Gentleman Adventurers. Headed up by Edward Hughes, a former Royal Navy man-turned-wealthy trader, they decided to finance a privateering expedition to the far side of the world.

What was privateering?

Privateering was legalised piracy. A ship’s captain would be granted a commission from a government to cruise against its nation’s enemies. But the line between privateering and piracy often blurred, especially in the lawless waters outside Europe. 

The aim of the Gentleman Adventurers’ expedition was simple – loot the Pacific side of Spanish America for all it was worth. This would involve seizing Spanish ships, raiding Spanish harbours, and, if possible, carrying off a great prize of the South Seas – one of the silver-laden La Nao de China, or Manila Galleon.

While the plan was ambitious, there was every reason to hope for success. Previous English sea dogs, including privateers Sir Francis Drake and Woodes Rogers, had made their fortunes raiding the same waters, with the latter returning to England in 1711 with loot worth 200,000 pounds (31 million dollars in today’s money).

Choosing a commander

The Gentleman Adventurers were quick to purchase two ships and hire crew. But the question of who should command the expedition plagued their discussions for months.

George Shelvocke was not the obvious choice for a privateer captain – at least at first glance. He was born around 1675 and entered the Royal Navy when he was just 15 years old. By 1703, he was the sailing master of HMS Scarborough. However, he was paid off and made redundant in 1713, having never commanded a vessel of his own.

For the Gentleman Adventurers, connection appears to have counted for far more than experience. Hughes and Shelvocke were on friendly terms, having both been shipmates during the recent War of Spanish Succession. A chance meeting in London led the pair to Hughes’ lavish country mansion. Shelvocke – who was living in poverty – was awed by the wealth of his former shipmate. When told that an expedition was to be launched, he jumped at the chance and immediately agreed to sail as a lowly boatswain’s mate, if necessary.

We can only imagine Shelvocke’s speechlessness when Hughes offered him command of the entire venture. Hughes likely thought that Shelvocke’s financial woes would keep him loyal to his backers – that he would, in effect, be a staunch 'company man'. How wrong he turned out to be.

The plan

Two ships would be sent on the expedition: the Success, under Captain John Clipperton, and the Speedwell, under Shelvocke.

Clipperton was a South Seas veteran with a volatile temper and a tendency to drink in front of his crew. He had previously led a mutiny with 20 other men on an earlier expedition commanded by William Dampier, a famous buccaneer and scientist.

Shelvocke and Clipperton were both extremely quarrelsome and mistrustful of one another. Clipperton deeply resented the fact that Shelvocke was well-regarded by Hughes; Shelvocke, meanwhile, believed Clipperton was little more than an incompetent alcoholic.

Shelvocke’s ship, the Speedwell of “200 tonnes, 22 guns, and 106 souls” had a mixed bag for a crew. Some were men like him – skilled ex-sailors out of work after the War of the Spanish Succession fought between 1701–14. Others were “wretched landsmen” who knew little of the sea and less of navy discipline. But all the key officers were veterans, including a sailing master named Blowfield Coldsea.

Early calamities

Before the expedition could begin, a series of misjudged decisions occurred. These included overlavish, brandy-fueled parties hosted by Shelvocke; the acceptance of a series of dubious privateering commissions from the Holy Roman emperor of Austria; and the unapproved hiring of 96 Flemish sailors.

Because of these alarming developments, the Gentleman Adventurers (Hughes included) decided to transfer command of the expedition from Shelvocke to Clipperton. Shelvocke would still captain the Speedwell, but he would do so under Clipperton’s orders. The growing resentment between the two captains subsequently deteriorated into mutual loathing.

In December 1718, Britain declared war on Spain in what would become known as the War of the Quadruple Alliance. English privateering commissions were quickly obtained for the Success and Speedwell, while the Flemings in the Speedwell were unceremoniously returned to Flanders.

None of this sorry affair boded well for the future of the expedition. But too much money was riding on Shelvocke and Clipperton to delay the scheme any further. On 13 February 1719, the ships set sail into the Channel.

Speedwell separates

Ferocious winter storms battered the privateers as they slowly fought against wind and tide. The landsmen in Speedwell performed particularly badly; many were seasick, while others were afraid to venture above deck, convinced the ship would break to pieces on the towering waves.

On Sunday, 15 February, Shelvocke brought Speedwell close to the Success and used a speaking trumpet to shout that his ship was “crank” – in this case meaning she was top-heavy and unseaworthy. Clipperton either did not hear the message or chose not to reply. Slowly but surely, Speedwell fell behind Success until around midnight of the 20th, when they lost sight of her altogether.

That Shelvocke, an experienced mariner, should have only then realised his ship was unseaworthy is probably unlikely. William Betagh, the Irish captain of marines on Speedwell, certainly believed that the ship was not so “crank” as Shelvocke made out, and that his captain was using Speedwell’s slowness as an excuse to separate from Clipperton. Matters came to a head one evening when Betagh proposed a toast to the Gentlemen Adventurers. Shelvocke, apparently drunk, flung a tankard at Betagh’s head and screamed, “Sir, you insult my authority! You can be sure that the precious owners will be cunning enough on our return to defraud us of our proper dividends!”

Whatever the truth of this incident, Betagh and Shelvocke remained on acrimonious terms throughout the rest of their lives.

A slow run across the Atlantic allowed Shelvocke to whip his landsmen into something resembling an organised body of sailors. At noon on Saturday 14 November, after a passage around Cape Horn marred by atrocious weather, Speedwell finally sighted the coast of Chile. Shelvocke and his band of gold-hungry raiders had just broken into the Spanish Pacific.

The next months brought some success. Minor Spanish vessels were taken, and valuable plunder gained. Shelvocke’s second in command, Simon Hatley, and marine captain William Betagh were both sent to crew prize ships, reducing Speedwell’s number of competent sailors. Before long, the whole of Spanish America was on the alert that an English ship was ranging along the coast.

Speedwell vs Peregrine

Speedwell’s most significant action during this time was the capture of the town of Payta. After Shelvocke’s small band of sailors (dressed in grenadier caps to make them look fiercer) stormed the beach, they put flight to the local Spanish militia. Most of Payta’s civilians had fled along with their valuables, so Shelvocke threatened to torch the town unless a ransom of 10,000 pieces of eight was paid. The governor pleaded with the privateers not to burn the Catholic churches, requesting time to come up with the money.

After the deadline elapsed, Shelvocke ordered the town (churches included) to be set ablaze. The wanton destruction was only cut short when the arrival of a 50-gun Spanish warship – the Peregrine – struck panic into Shelvocke’s privateers.

Sailing master Blowfield Coldsea had been left in command of Speedwell with just nine men. To make matters worse, a contrary wind had run Speedwell aground. Peregrine approached at speed, but Coldsea was ready, firing off six guns so smartly that the Spanish ship slowed, with many of her crew deserting their guns. Nevertheless, the Spanish captain eventually persuaded his men to return to their stations and let loose a thundering broadside.

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Shelvocke ferried his men back to the Speedwell as gun smoke obscured both ships. As the last man came aboard, Shelvocke cut his anchor, then engaged in an hour-long firefight with the Spanish behemoth. Speedwell finally managed to slip away, and despite sustaining severe damage to the hull and much of her rigging shot to pieces, not a single casualty had been sustained.

Speedwell now limped to the Juan Fernández Archipelago [off the coast of Chile] – one of the agreed rendezvous points with Clipperton. It was at Juan Fernández that the famous mariner Alexander Selkirk (the real-life inspiration for Robinson Crusoe) had been marooned.

Shelvocke hoped that Clipperton would already be there, ready to resupply him, but the Success was nowhere in sight. Further calamity occurred on the night of 25 May 1720, when a fierce gale blew Speedwell onto the rocks, breaking the ship to pieces and stranding the privateers ashore.

The Castaways

They managed to salvage little from the wreck, save one cask of beef, some rotten bread, and a few of the navigational instruments. The exhausted men attempted to rest their weary bodies “in a very wet, uncomfortable condition”.

Next morning the survivors collected on the beach. Shelvocke took a quick roll call and found only one man had died during the disaster – seaman John Hannah. Recriminations over the wrecking flared up immediately and Shelvocke noted the pessimistic attitude of his crew – many of whom now believed all was lost. He decided to consult the ship’s carpenter about the prospect of building a new vessel, but the man walked away “in a surly humour” replying that “he could not make brick without straw”.

However, the cruel necessity of their condition persuaded the crew to begin work on a new craft under Shelvocke’s direction. It would have to be a small vessel, and most of the materials would come from the half-submerged Speedwell. Men waded out to the wreck, working themselves into a stupor by prizing the very timbers of the ship apart.

A few days into the scheme, the carpenter told Shelvocke he would be no man’s slave and that he now thought of them as on equal footing. The incident prompted Shelvocke to beat the man “somewhat roughly” with his cane.

But the carpenter’s outburst was a precursor to a more serious rebellion against the captain’s authority. Shelvocke’s crew had assembled at a landmark they ominously named “the great tree” and were murmuring discontent. Eventually, they approached Shelvocke in an armed body and demanded new articles to be drawn up, regulating themselves “according to the Jamaica Discipline”.

Jamaica Discipline

The “Jamaica Discipline” was at the time synonymous with Caribbean pirates such as ‘Calico Jack’ Rackham, and Edward ‘Blackbeard’ Teach. These new articles proposed cutting the Gentleman Adventurers out of any future prize money and distributing it more evenly among the crew. Shelvocke would be granted a much larger share if he decided to continue as captain. If he did not agree, the mutineers would elect another man to lead them.

Shelvocke’s initial reaction to this was cold rage. If he agreed to the new articles, he would be responsible for defrauding the Adventurers (and Hughes) of prize money. If he did not agree, he would be immediately deposed as captain and none of them might ever get off the island. He reluctantly signed, declaring it an “indispensable necessity”.

Betagh later claimed that the captain had deliberately wrecked his own ship to achieve better terms of pay. But as the prospects for survival were grim in the extreme, Betagh’s accusation might seem almost deranged in its bitterness. (In fact, Shelvocke ultimately received a far greater share of prize money from the mutineers than he ever would had under the contract with the Gentleman Adventurers.)

But until the group – now starving – found a way off the island, talk of new terms and more equal shares was utterly pointless. Every day held the potential for a Spanish warship to visit Juan Fernandez. If that happened and the crew was captured, the best they could hope for was to be reduced to slavery. The rules of war were brutal outside of Europe. It was much more likely they would be imprisoned, tortured, and then executed.

On 15 August 1720, the castaways’ worst fears were realised when they caught sight of a large Spanish ship crossing the bay. Shelvocke determined it was the 50-gun Peregrine – their former opponent. Fires were doused and the Speedwell crew scrambled inland to hide, but fortunately Peregrine did not anchor and instead slipped away beyond the horizon.

Work on the crew’s new vessel now proceeded at a furious pace until the carpenter declared it was time to test her. They poured water into the vessel. Unfortunately it was not particularly well caulked and began to leak from stem to stern. Some in the group noted she was “a sieve!”

Over the next days, the hungry men worked to make the boat seaworthy, sealing gaps in the hull as best they could. The evening of 6 October saw everyone who wished to leave board the somewhat hopefully named Recovery – and push it out to sea.

A desperate gamble

A hellish cruise followed – more than 40 men were crammed into the tiny boat alongside rotting eels (the only preservable food source). To make matters worse, Recovery was still a “sieve”, and all hands had to continually bail water to keep her afloat.

Shelvocke set out for the Bay of Concepción on Chile’s coast, in the vague hope of coming across a Spanish vessel they could capture. Four days from Juan Fernandez, he spied a much larger warship. It was the Margarita (200 tonnes, 18–40 guns). Recovery – with her single cannon – was comically mismatched. When a volley of shots from the Margarita almost cut Recovery’s pitifully small mainmast in two, Shelvocke quickly diverted course.

It was only when Recovery sailed into the anchorage of Pisco they spied the Jesus Maria, a merchantman of 200 tonnes. Again, the odds were deplorable, but once more the men had little choice; they grabbed their remaining cutlasses and dragged the cannon forward, loading it with a collection of bolts, nails, and stones. Recovery then rowed as fast as she could straight at the Spanish vessel. The three working muskets were thrust in the hands of the best marksmen – and the solo cannon on board was used.

Shelvocke and his desperate band must have made for a truly terrifying sight because, on reaching the quarterdeck, they found the Spanish captain and all his officers “with their hats off, in the most submissive manner, asking for quarter”.

Seaworthy once more

Transferring to the Jesus Maria, Shelvocke and his men had many more adventures before they made it home. In California they discovered gold dust, at sea they had an extremely unfruitful meeting with Captain Clipperton, and in Canton they became involved in some particularly shady dealings with avaricious Chinese port officials.

Shelvocke himself managed to return to England in July 1722 on board an East India Company ship after a circumnavigation lasting almost three and a half years, his pockets allegedly laden with Spanish silver. But on entering London, he was immediately placed under arrest for piracy and fraud.

He proceeded to muddy the legal waters considerably, claiming (with some degree of truth) that he still officially held a commission from the Holy Roman emperor of Austria in addition to his English privateering commission. Even the judge had to admit that the case for proving piracy was both “intricate and doubtful”.

The trial became farcical when Shelvocke escaped from captivity and went into hiding, eventually publishing his own book in 1726 – A Voyage Round the World – which portrayed him as a loyal yet put-upon sailor.

At this point, nothing could stop Shelvocke from becoming a major London celebrity. His book was a bestseller, and he likely made a great deal of money from it. As for the Gentleman Adventurers – they never did make a profit on the expedition, continuing to bring unsuccessful lawsuits against their former employee for many years.

While George Shelvocke certainly had a talent for making enemies, even his most ardent critics would allow that his voyage around the world was a tale of resourceful men overcoming desperate odds – the very stuff of high adventure.

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Matthew Doherty is a writer, editor, and teacher, specializing in all things military history related. His work has been published in the UK Defence Journal and the Small Wars Journal.

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