Enterprise and Adventure. Ralph Temple

      CLAPPERTON CARRYING THE DYING BOY.

      ​party, before reaching their destination, were terrible in the extreme. Their shoes were worn from their feet; their bodies woefully emaciated from their want of nourishment; while Clapperton, from the effects of the frost, and the long inaction of his left hand while carrying the boy on his back, lost the first joint of his thumb.

      The extraordinary energy and love of enterprise of Clapperton fitted him admirably for encountering those perils of African discovery which had consumed the lives of so many illustrious discoverers. The history of his entry into the navy is interesting. The youngest son of a Dumfries apothecary with a large family, Clapperton went to sea in a merchant ship when a boy, and was one day seized by a press-gang, and conveyed aboard a king's ship. Here he made the best of his position, and being remarkable for his great strength and agility, he was one of those who were selected to learn the new sword exercise, then taught by the famous Angelo, with a view to their afterwards teaching it to the sailors of the fleet. The boldness and decision displayed by him in his retreat from the Canadian blockhouse brought him into notice, and interesting the Admiralty in his favour, led to his promotion from the grade of midshipman to that of acting lieutenant, and finally to that of captain. Placed on half-pay by the termination of the war in 1817, his great delight was in shooting, fishing, and other out-door exercises; till, becoming acquainted in Edinburgh with Dr. Oudney, the African explorer, his mind became captivated with the idea of travel in that little-explored continent; and in 1823 he became employed by Lord Bathurst, in ​conjunction with Oudney and Major Denham, to make a journey to Timbuctoo. Dr. Oudney soon fell a victim to the climate; but Clapperton and his surviving companion kept on their way, and, in spite of incredible hardships, penetrated from Tripoli on the Mediterranean to Lake Tchad, and finally to Saccatoo. But he failed to discover the termination of the Niger, which was the chief object of the expedition.

      In his next journey, Clapperton started from the Bight of Benin, on the Atlantic coast, and proceeding northward, again reached Saccatoo, thus completing the journey across the heart of Africa. It is said that some of his Scottish friends, with the superstitious regard for family tradition which distinguishes their countrymen, remembered as an ominous fact that the traveller belonged to the Campbell family, a family on whom rested, in popular language, the curse of Glencoe, his grandmother having been a daughter of Colonel Campbell, of Glenlyon, the officer by whom the soldiers who committed the massacre of Glencoe were commanded. But assuredly if there was one man who ought to have been exempted from the ill fortune which the superstitious believed to wait upon the Campbells, it was the good, the heroic, and the kind hearted Clapperton. Nor was there anything in his end, though untimely, to justify the warnings of the old legend. His fate was the common one of African explorers. His friend and leader, Dr. Oudney, had died in his first expedition; and in his second expedition he had the misfortune to see his companions, Captain Pearce, Mr. Dickson, and Dr. Morrison, a naturalist, one by one succumb to the unwholesome climate. Left now with only the servants ​which accompanied the expedition, the indomitable Clapperton pursued his way, and had the happiness to reach the spot at which his previous journey, commenced from the other side of the continent, had ended. Here, as if the work allotted to him in this world was ended, this brave man gave way under the effects of toil and privation. Nothing can convey a more touching testimony to the character of Clapperton than the narrative of his end, given by his faithful serf ant, Richard Lander. Sleeping on the reedy banks of a stagnant stream had brought on dysentery. "Twenty days," says Lander, "my poor master remained in a low and distressed state. His body, from being robust and vigorous, became weak and emaciated, and indeed was little better than a skeleton."

      Lander himself was in a fever and almost unable to stir, but he was assisted by an old black slave. Meanwhile his patient's sleep was always short and disturbed, and troubled with frightful dreams. Lander read to him daily from the New Testament, till, one day calling him to his bedside, Clapperton told him that he should shortly be no more, and that he felt himself dying. "God forbid, my dear master!" exclaimed Lander; but the dying man only answered by bidding him not be so much affected, as it was the will of the Almighty. He then gave some minute directions for the return of the survivors, for the care of his journals and other things, and soon afterwards breathed his last. Lander obtained permission to bury the body, and himself performed the mournful task of reading over it the funeral service.

      "Then," continues Lander, in his beautiful narrative of this event, "I returned, disconsolate and oppressed, ​to my solitary habitation; and leaning my head on my hand, could not help being deeply affected with my lonesome and dangerous situation—a hundred and fifteen days' journey from the sea coast, surrounded by a selfish and cruel race of strangers, my only friend and protector mouldering in his grave, and myself suffering dreadfully from fever. I felt, indeed, as though I stood alone in the world, and earnestly wished I had been laid by the side of my dear master." Having, with the assistance of two slaves, erected a small house over the grave as a memorial of the spot, Lander was soon afterwards sufficiently recovered to take the command of what remained of the expedition. After a tedious journey, and numerous privations, he arrived at Cape Coast, where he embarked in a sloop-of-war, from which he landed in England in April, 1828.

      Admiral Byron's Return

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      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