THE LOSS OF THE AUSTRALIA:
A NARRATIVE OF
THE LOSS OF THE BRIG AUSTRALIA, BY FIRE,
ON HER VOYAGE FROM LEITH TO SYDNEY.
WITH AN ACCOUNT OF
THE SUFFERINGS, RELIGIOUS EXERCISES, AND FINAL
RESCUE OF THE CREW AND PASSENGERS.
EDITED BY THE REV. JAMES R. M'GAVIN, DUNDEE.
NEW YORK:
ROBERT CARTER & BROTHERS,
285 BROADWAY.
1853.
CONTENTS.
Page
PREFACE, 5
LIST OF THE CREW AND PASSENGERS, 7
CHAPTER I.
THE VOYAGE AND CATASTROPHE, 9
CHAPTER II.
THE SUFFERINGS IN THE BOATS, 28
CHAPTER III.
THE FORLORN LANDING, 47
CHAPTER IV.
THE MELANCHOLY MARCH THROUGH THE WILDERNESS, 60
CHAPTER V.
THE RESCUE, 78
PREFACE BY THE EDITOR.
The short and simple narrative which is introduced to public notice
in the following pages, is a _plain statement of facts_; and is
submitted with unaffected diffidence, as an humble memorial of "the
loving kindness of the Lord, and his great goodness," in a season of
extremity. The only preface which can be necessary in a publication so
inconsiderable, is to certify its authenticity, by avowing the name and
affixing the responsibility of the author.
The following simple history of the narrative will, it is presumed,
be sufficient to remove all scruples as to its truthfulness and
reality. In the summer of 1844, Captain Adam Yule, of Dundee, committed
into my hands a large manuscript, containing the substance of the
following pages, with a request that I would use my utmost freedom
with the materials, and give them to the world in any form that was
most agreeable to myself. I learned that he had drawn up his account
at the Cape of Good Hope, immediately after the occurrences detailed
had happened, and that he had consigned it on his return to this
country, into the hands of a venerable friend, who had retained it
for two years, without finding the leisure necessary to correct and
prepare it for publication. In the execution of the trust reposed in
me, I considered it proper to reconstruct the narrative out of the
materials with which I was furnished; retaining, at the same time,
every important incident in its place, and in no case suppressing the
utterance of the devout experience of the writer. For the fidelity with
which I have adhered to the original facts, I hold myself responsible
alike to Captain Yule and to the Christian public; and I am happy to
acknowledge that I have received, both from himself and from several
of his fellow-survivors in that disastrous voyage, the most pleasing
assurances of the truthfulness of the statements. It is necessary
that, in such circumstances, I should exonerate Captain Yule from
all responsibility as to the _manner_ in which these facts are now
submitted to the public,--as I must be content, undividedly, to bear
whatever censure criticism may condescend to offer on the _literature_
of this publication.
The Editor dismisses his humble labours with satisfaction, that he
has been permitted to aid in rearing this simple tribute on behalf of
a class of men who must always hold a warm place in his interest and
affections; and whose perilous sacrifices of personal comfort and of
religious opportunities, in their calling, entitle them to the cordial
sympathy of all Christians. He accompanies the brief narrative with his
prayers, that it may be the instrument of spiritual benefit to many
souls, and may fulfil the only design in its publication, in promoting
piety among sailors, and confirming the promise of God, "that He is
nigh unto all them that call upon him, to all that call upon him in
truth."
JAMES R. M'GAVIN.
DUNDEE, December, 1845.
LIST OF THE CREW AND PASSENGERS.
Adam Yule, master; Alexander Wallace, mate; John Yule, second mate;
William Yule, carpenter; George Young, steward; Thomas Bisset, cook;
George Davidson, Thomas Souter, William Hay, John Allan, seamen;
Benjamin Aitken, Alexander Matthew, and James Hill, apprentices.
CABIN PASSENGERS.
Mr. Thomas Harris, London.
Mr. ---- ----, surgeon.
Miss Margaret Brown, Fife.
Miss Ann Sim, Edinburgh.
Miss Ann Knight, Turrif.
STEERAGE PASSENGERS.
John Henderson, miller.
Robert Elphinston.
James Elphinston.
James M'Lauchlan, farmer.
George Peat.
John Chisholm, }
George Chisholm, }
Jean Chisholm, } An orphan family.
Agnes Chisholm, }
Margery Chisholm, }
LOSS OF THE AUSTRALIA.
CHAPTER I.
THE VOYAGE AND CATASTROPHE.
"They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in
great waters, these men see the works of the Lord, and his
wonders in the deep."
The life of a sailor, beyond the lot of most other men, discloses to a
reflecting mind an impressive series of divine mercies and judgments.
In a calling so singularly chequered by varying scenes and changing
incidents, life is spent amidst remarkable adventures and romantic
deliverances, so as to invest its course with an unusual interest, and
to crowd its experience with the most solemn and memorable instructions
of Heaven.
The individual by whom the materials of the following narrative were
contributed, is himself a sailor; and has borne a prominent part in
the painful scenes which are here depicted. His life has been prolonged
by divine mercy through almost every scene of sea-faring experience,
and it has been preserved by scarcely less than miracle, amidst perils
to which not many sailors have been exposed. The following story, in
all its facts and experience, is properly his own; and, therefore,
throughout he is preserved as the speaker. Only in the matter of
construction and expression, another party must be held responsible,
into whose hands the full materials were committed to give them form.
It was the devout desire of the original party not to forget Jehovah's
benefits; _having_, like the Psalmist (Psalm lxvi. 12,) "gone through
fire and through water," he felt solicitous to say with the same holy
minstrel, (verse 16,) "Come and hear, all ye that fear God, and I will
tell you what he hath done for my soul."
In the autumn of 1840, I accepted the command of the Australia,
of Dundee, bound for Sydney, New South Wales. On the 2d October,
our vessel set sail from Leith, having on board a general cargo of
merchandize. Our ship's company consisted of twenty-eight persons,
being thirteen of a crew, and fifteen passengers. My heart was buoyant
with hope and pleasing anticipations as I bade my family farewell,
and weighed anchor for my destination. Everything gave promise of
a propitious voyage. Our vessel was new and well found in every
necessary, the crew were able, and well selected, and the passengers
were agreeable, all being full of hope and fearless of evil. Indeed,
if we could have anticipated results, my company were most unlikely
and ill selected for enduring the hardships that awaited us; three of
the crew being but apprentice lads, and of the passengers, five being
females, besides two boys and a girl of very tender years. But who has
not seen, that while the helpless are sometimes the first to be visited
by the storm, they frequently are found, also, to survive its fury;
when the strong, who were the most likely to brave its blast, are
borne down and destroyed before it? "I returned and saw under the sun,
that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong--for
man also knoweth not his time: as the fishes that are taken in an evil
net, so are the sons of men snared, when it falleth suddenly upon them."
The commencement of our voyage was sufficiently prosperous. We rounded
Cape Wrath by an easy progress, and were in the latitude of Madeira in
seven days from Cape Clear. Nothing remarkable occurred till after our
departure from Rio de Janeiro, where we touched for a few days in the
beginning of December. We were then baffled with boisterous weather
and contrary winds, till the 27th of that month, when the wind became
fair, and the weather improved. On the evening of the 29th, December,
we had all sails set, with a strong fair wind, and a heavy sea. At
this time, by recent observations, I found that we must have been in
latitude 35° 51´ south, and longitude 8° 8´ east of Greenwich, or, in
round numbers, about 600 miles from the nearest land, which was the
Cape of Good Hope. Our passengers had as usual walked the deck after
tea, until about eight o'clock, when, feeling it cold, they had gone
below. In less than half an hour, I followed them to the after-cabin,
having given the chief mate his orders for the night. We were all in
excellent spirits, and speculating how soon, and how safely we should
reach our destination with so good a wind. Alas! how little did we
know the horrors that awaited us: destruction even then had begun its
frightful work, and was silently, but too surely consuming our solitary
and sea-girded habitation. Soon after entering the cabin, I was
affected with a sense of something burning; supposing that the ladies
might have set something in their bed-rooms on fire, I ran forward
in the dark to their cabins, but found everything safe. The sense of
burning, however, became more strong and decided. I therefore snatched
a light, and found, to my dismay, that smoke was issuing from the fore
bulk-head on the starboard side of the mainmast. It was but the work
of an instant to clear away the goods with which that untenanted berth
had been filled, if possible to reach the seat of the fire. My brother
William, and four or five seamen withstood resolutely the suffocating
smoke that surrounded them in this labour, while others stood arranged
and ready with buckets full of water, to dash upon the first appearance
of fire. But what was our horror to find, on emptying the berth, that
the evil lay deeper, and was every moment on the increase; in short,
that the _ship's hold was on fire_! This was too soon apparent, for,
on removing a plank from the bulk-head, we saw the whole interior
of the vessel like the womb of a volcano, and the entire cargo of
coals and combustible goods in a blaze. It was impossible, from the
superincumbent and intervening goods, to pour in water in sufficient
quantity to extinguish so extensive a conflagration; this I perceived
at first glance, and therefore at once drove in the board to confine
the flames, feeling, in the agony of despair, that _the ship was
irrecoverably to be consumed_.
It was an awful moment to every one of us. To die on so sudden
summoning, and to be summoned to _such a death_, were sufficient to
appal the stoutest heart. What were we to do?--beneath us was a burning
bier, and all beyond was a black and angry abyss. We could not abide
where we were, and to go forth scarcely promised a better fate, for no
little boat could live long in such a sea. I saw in the countenances
of the haggard beings around me, that they were fully alive to either
fate. Some, frantic with terror, sent forth cries, which found no
echo from our shoreless and surrounding solitude; others clung around
me, tormenting me with questions which I could not answer; while the
remainder stood silent and trembling, as if the presence of death had
smitten them dumb. It was easy to discern their emotions in their
demeanour--but why should I dilate on others' feelings, when I can but
faintly recall my own? I have a confused recollection of a tumultuous
throng of momentous interests rushing upon me with an overpowering
rapidity, and of a certain effort of self-possession seeking to stem,
while it received the tide. Visions of danger--of self-protection--of
death, mingled with thoughts of duty--of home--of a probably widowed
wife and fatherless family--all flashed wildly through my brain. I
felt that I stood in immediate contact with death, and the solemnities
of a judgment to come rose in array before me. It is not for me to
reveal the secrecies of such a situation; but I can only say as one who
has been "in deaths oft," and with all the solemnities of that hour
before me, that I know but one confidence that has proved unfailing and
infallible in such a crisis, and that is, _a personal interest in the
Lord Jesus Christ, and an implicit reliance on his perfect work_.
As I looked around upon the shivering group that had enclosed me,
I became filled with one solemn conviction,--it was my official
responsibility; and I was fired with one desperate effort--the
effort of rescue. Without a moment's delay, therefore, the plan of
arrangements was fixed, and the orders were given. The mate was
instructed to ease sail, and heave the ship to, in order to draw the
fire forward, and clear the after-part of the ship from smoke, so as to
allow us to labour with efficiency. A hole was then cut in the deck,
above the strongest seat of the fire, and an uninterrupted stream of
water poured down through the opening; but the rapid increase of smoke
and flame soon convinced us that all idea of subduing the fire, and
saving the ship, was impracticable. We then covered the deck with the
loose sails, to smother, as far as possible, the smoke and flame; for
by this time the deck-plank was blistering beneath our feet, and it
was impossible to breathe amidships. Our next efforts were directed to
launching the long-boat, which, as usual, was secured on deck. This
proved to be a work of great difficulty, and occasioned considerable
delay, not unmixed with danger. The boat had been converted into a
stall for two live bulls, and in attempting to get them over the side,
one of them, in the confusion, unfortunately got out of the slings, and
ran frantic along the deck. This accident, as may be supposed, greatly
increased the general consternation, and much invaluable time was lost
ere the ferocious animal could be secured and despatched; so that when
the tackles were hooked on to the boat, it was impossible to breathe in
that part of the ship. The men could only take a hasty pull and then
rush aft to breathe; and it was only after repeated efforts, and great
perseverance, that we got the bow of the long-boat sufficiently high
for launching. We then manned the after-tackle, but, unfortunately, it
unhooked aloft, and it required enormous exertions to get it replaced;
however, by fastening some guys round the rigging, and through the
blessing of God on our efforts, we at length got the boat launched,
and two good hands into her. To pass her aft, and preserve her from
swamping, were matters of great labour; for the roll of the sea was
so heavy, and the smoke was so dense over the lee-side, that we could
not see what we were doing. While these things were going on, I had
ordered the steward to prepare some bread, and small stores, to put
into the boat; and I now went down to see what progress he had made
for our supply, leaving the mate on deck to roll some water casks aft,
and after slinging them well, to drop them over the quarter to the
long-boat. Every moment, by this time, was invaluable; for the flames
had now made their appearance up the fore-hatch, and very soon caught
the rigging and sails. I can never sufficiently commend the energy of
the mate, and the steadiness and good behaviour of the men during these
exertions. There was no swearing, no inclination to fly to spirits;
every man was obedient to orders, and anxious to do his utmost. Even
the passengers revealed the same excellent spirit; I heard no screams
from the females, and even the children ceased to cry. All seemed to
feel that every effort was making for their safety, and they silently
acquiesced in the arrangements.
Our preparations were soon made. Two small bags of bread, two hams,
two cheeses, two or three canisters of preserved meat, and a few
bottles of wine, with a sextant, some charts, an almanac, my Bible and
Psalm-Book, and some flannel shirts and blankets, &c., were all that
we could secure amid the suffocating smoke. These were immediately
carried on deck, and secured in the skiff, which still hung in the
stern-davits. The mate, in the meantime, had rolled two casks of
rain-water aft, which was all that he could obtain. To secure their
safe transmission to the long-boat in such a sea, was no easy matter.
I therefore confided to the mate to lift them into the boat, and he
left the ship for this purpose. The first cask was well directed, but
in lifting it over the gunwale of the boat, it fell upon the mate and
another seaman, who were dreadfully bruised; it was a marvel, indeed,
that they were not killed. In consequence of their being disabled,
the second cask got out of the slings, and we lost it. This was a very
serious matter, but it was irreparable, as the whole front part of the
ship was now on fire, and quite impassable for any purpose. Finding
that I could make no further provision for the people, I put the ladies
and three children in the skiff, with two seamen, who were ordered to
cut the faulds, so soon as she touched the water, while we lowered
them from the davits. This was done in safety, which was a special
mercy, as the boat was greatly overloaded; having, besides the stores,
and the above company, two of the passengers, who, unknown to me, had
concealed themselves under the thafts. There were now left on board
the ship five or six persons, together with myself. These immediately
launched the small boat, which hung on the main-deck, and got safely
into it, so that, for a little season, I stood the last living thing
amid the burning mass. My position was alike novel and awful; two
horrid deaths were before me--one on either hand--and I stood but upon
a point between them. At that moment the flame was playing fearfully
over all the rigging; the topping-lifts had been burnt through, and the
trysail-boom came swinging down on the taffrail; the trysail itself was
on fire as high up as the third reef, and the mainmast every moment was
expected to fall above me. With a heavy heart I felt that I must quit
for ever the ship and property, of which I could no longer retain the
charge. Another and a still more sacred trust was beneath me; and as
I looked down upon the twenty-seven hapless beings, ghastly amid the
glare of the burning ship, and tossed above the billows that soon might
be our mutual tomb, I felt--oh, how I felt--that the charge of such
beings was _not mine_. Calmly as my momentary solitude would permit,
I lifted my soul to Him who "rules the raging of the sea," and cast
myself and company into his everlasting arms. If ever fervent prayer
was productive of immediate peace, my heart felt it at that moment;
for the words of God thrilled through me at the instant, as if his
own finger had inscribed them upon my bosom,--"Call upon me in the
day of trouble, I will deliver thee." I was recalled, however, from
my reverie by the mate imploring me to come into the boat, and as I
could do no more, I obeyed the summons; so, sliding down the tackles,
I got safely into the boat, among my wretched companions. At that
instant the mainmast fell with a tremendous crash over the side, and
the flames shot up with frightful fury from the cabin-skylight, as if
to intimate that the work of destruction was nearly completed, and that
our ill-fated vessel was no longer fit to be a refuge for living beings.
"One woe was past;" and although we knew well that others were awaiting
us, it was still an act of marvellous mercy that so many persons had
"come out of the midst of the fire" with "not a hair of any of our
heads singed." It is needless to speculate as to the cause of our
disaster; but, as it undoubtedly began in the lower hold among the
coals, it was most probably produced by spontaneous combustion. When
the last person left the ship, it must have been about eleven o'clock,
so that in less than three hours we had been cast forth from security
and comfort, amidst cold, and nakedness, and watching, to face dangers
and deaths in their most dismal aspect. It was my design to have
remained by the wreck till dawn, in the hope--a hope, alas, that was
not to be realized--that some friendly ship might be attracted by the
burning to our rescue. But the boats were in danger of being stove, it
being impossible at all times to prevent their chafing; and, ere long,
the rope by which we were made fast to the wreck became burnt through,
so that we were compelled to part even from the desolate companionship
of the burning vessel, and were cast adrift at midnight, upon the black
and boundless solitude of ocean. Still clinging to the hope of rescue,
I sought to keep the boats as close to the wreck as possible, and made
the best distribution of our company that I could. I took charge of the
long-boat with other sixteen souls in it; seven were in the skiff, and
four in the small-boat, and there we drifted till morning came.
It would be impossible to describe the grandeur and horrors of that
night. Let fancy paint, if it may, so many hapless beings huddled
together unpreparedly, exposed without shelter to the cold night sky,
and expecting every moment to be swallowed up. Ocean was ever fretting,
and curveting, and plunging beneath us, as if it had wrathfully
resolved to cast us from its "crested mane." The sky all above and
around was one scene of blackness, unbroken by one opening in its
cloud, and unblest by the radiance of one solitary star. Behind the
boats--in the region whither we were drifting, every thing was dark
as the grave. Light indeed attended us throughout that lone midnight,
but it was the glare of destruction, which, as it contended with the
surrounding darkness, only increased its horror. The flames long played
in magnificent grandeur, kindling the dark sky above, and reflecting
their lurid gleam from the ridge of every billow, as if they mocked
our misery by their majestic triumph. And ever and anon came some
terrific explosion--probably of the ship's spirits--which struck like a
death-knell upon our hearts, proclaiming that the work of ruin was well
nigh accomplished.
In this condition of extremity, one only hope remained to us--one last
grand anchor-hold to preserve us from despair. We remembered Him "who
maketh darkness his secret place, his pavilion round about him dark
waters, and thick clouds of the skies;" We thought of Him as "the
confidence of all the ends of the earth, and of them that are afar off
upon the sea, who stilleth the noise of the sea, and the noise of their
waves." And there, "out of the depths we cried unto Him." Mingling
with the voice of the wind and waters, and rising above their murmurs,
the sound of our praise and supplications ascended on the midnight
air, and was heard before the throne. It was a sacred relief to our
heavy hearts to feel that the eye of God still watched over us in our
misery, and that his ear was open to our cry: and although we knew not
the dark path that lay before us, yet we sought it with His words on
our lips,--"The floods have lifted up, O Lord, the floods have lifted
up their voice; the floods lift up their waves. THE LORD ON HIGH IS
MIGHTIER THAN THE NOISE OF MANY WATERS, YEA THAN THE MIGHTY WAVES OF
THE SEA."