“No-one with any common sense can deny that the elements are controlled by witches and, at will, they can send down sleet, rain, storms, thunder and lightning. This simple little old lady tosses a flint towards the West over her left shoulder, or throws some sand into the sea, or dips her broomstick into the water and flicks it into the air around her, or digs a hole in the ground, fills it with water then stirs it up with her finger, or boils pig hairs, or places some sticks across a riverbed where no water ever flows, or buries sage leaves until they rot away. According to the witches and confirmed by writers, all these are methods by which witches can conjure up storms and rain. (Reginal Scott, Discoverie of Witchcraft).
One version of the story of the shipwreck of the Serpent is provided by the writer Ramón Allegue in his book, Mar Tenebroso (The Sinister Sea). According to the author, the English government needed to send a substantial amount of money to its colonial army and to appoint new sub-officials to secure the release of the crews of other boats in South Africa. In this mission, due to its invaluable cargo, the Serpent was to be protected by the Lapwing. Well established in the high society back at home and seeing the profitability of the job, the British wreckers (those who salvaged the wrecks of boats) advised their Galician counterparts. So the Galicians turned off the light in the Vilán lighthouse so that the Serpent crashed into Boi. The sea was so rough that not even the wreckers could reach the wreck of the ship. When it could no longer see the Serpent, the Lapwing, which was a few kilometers ahead, turned around. After the disaster occurred, the Mac Mahon stayed in the area around the wreckage of the ship. The Lapwing returned with another ship, the Sunfly, and they managed to salvage a chest full of gold coins. Several days later, on realizing that there was another chest, the Lapwing returned once again to Camariñas. The secretive nature of the British government meant that few people knew about the two chests and, with the second one not having been found, the people of Camariñas felt justified in visiting the shipwreck.
On the 11th February, 1890, onboard the English canonship, Lapwing, a survivor of the Serpent, made his way into La Coruña. He was called Burton and was on his was from Camariñas and he told the following story:
On the night of the shipwreck the Serpent was sailing along, uneventfully, at half speed, or approximately 14 miles per hour. We had left Plymouth at two o’clock on Saturday afternoon and we were making our way to Cape Finisterre. The sea was terrible and the waves were crashing down over the leeward side (the side of the boat which is protected from the wind), which in turn pushed us towards the coast. The disaster took place in an inlet formed by Cape Trece and Cape Villano and just like the middle line of a capital E, at the bottom of the inlet the reefs form a shallow area called Punta del Boi at about half a mile from land and about three miles from Cape Villano.
It was a terrible night, it was pouring with rain and mist was settling along the coast. The force of the waves was so strong that it turned the ship around, forcing it towards the coast, and towards the place where the disaster came about – Laja de Buey reef was the name given to it in the ship’s log. Due to the thick fog, the Serpent could not make out the lighthouse at Cape Villano and on passing close to Cape Trece, this is the place where the ship ran aground. The ship did not sink, but lodged itself on the rocks, where it remained for 45 minutes, during which time the crew managed to climb up on deck which was constantly being battered by the turbulent sea.
The great blow was just terrifying. Because of the storm and as the boat was sailing in such treacherous conditions, due to the strength of the wind, the commanding officer was positioned at the bridge. I was on watch so I was on deck and a further 80 or so crewmembers were close by at various positions on deck.
As soon as we felt the impact, the commanding officer, Commander Harry Leith Ross, official veteran of the Royal Navy after joining in 1862, ordered the lowering of the lifeboats. Thanks to the speed of the Commander, there was also time to fire the “launch cannon”. However, it was all in vain as the waves were so great that the projectile never reached land. At this point, with the exception of those in the sick bay, all the crew were on deck. When the lifeboats were lowered, a huge waved crashed over the deck and swept away both men and lifeboats, leaving the deck of the ship virtually empty. At this point I heard the Commander shout “Every man for himself!”.
Before these maneuvers began, some of us had managed to get our lifejackets on. The Serpent remained immobile, lodged on the rocks, the enormous waves crashing over it. Soon, nothing was remaining on deck – no crew, no lifeboats and none of the freeboard (the part of the ship which is above water). Luxton and some of the others who were swept away by the waves managed to grasp hold of some coastal rocks. Luxton was the only one who was able to withstand the force of the water and reached the sandy shore almost lifeless. A wave dragged me to the spot that Lacane had reached just a few moments after him. We crashed and slammed against each other as we tried to save ourselves and one another in the water which swarmed with bodies of men. With difficulty, Luxton and I managed to reach the parish of Javina. Gould remained struggling in the water for longer than us, swimming with an incredible energy and, almost naked, managed to reach land at the beach at Cabo Trece. In the morning we all met up in a police hut with the cargo guard of the English steam ship, Tumbridge, which was shipwrecked in the same spot some months earlier.
The Serpent broke in two. At dawn, with a low tide, you could see the deck, swept clean, just showing the six cannons. None of the freeboard was left. Shortly afterwards, the Serpent sank.
The following day, the corpses of the crew who had been wearing lifejackets appeared floating in the waters. All were horrendously mutilated and some were headless, having lost consciousness after crashing against the rocks which then tore their bodies to pieces.
The three remaining sailors were Frederick Gould (1st Corporal, 26 years old and lifeboat captain), Edwin Burton (First Seaman of the lifeboat crew) and Onesipherous Oney Luxton. The total number of bodies buried two days after the tragedy was forty-eight, amongst which was that of the Commander. The total number of victims rose to one hundred and seventy-six.
Written by Jesús Castro.
Translated by Rachael Harrison.
Sponsored by www.costaluzlawyers.es
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