HEROISM OF LIEUT. CHRISTOPHER, AND PRESENCE OF MIND
OF JAMES MILES.
The following account was given me verbally, some time ago, by
Captain Castle, R.N.; but as I made a note of it at the time, and
have the report of the Royal Humane Society to refer to, I can answer
for its correctness in all particulars. The conduct of Lieut.
Christopher and the boat's crew who volunteered, at the great risk of
their own lives, to attempt the preservation of the life of a
fellow-creature, was very noble; but I confess I was struck at the
time with the extraordinary presence of mind and coolness displayed,
under the most trying of all circumstances, by the hero of my tale.
I shall give the story in Captain Castle's own words, as nearly as I
can recollect them, and I feel very sure he will vouch for its
general correctness:--
"In the year 1837 I commanded H.M.S. 'Pylades,' on the East India
station. We were on our return home, by the way of the Cape of Good
Hope, when, on the 8th of May of that year, we were off Cape
L'Agullus. It was blowing a heavy gale of wind, with a tremendous
sea running, such a sea as one rarely meets with anywhere but off the
Cape; when, just at nightfall, as we were taking another reef in the
topsails, a fine young seaman, a mizen-topman, James Miles by name,
fell from the mizen-topsail-yard, and away he went overboard. In his
descent he came across the chain-span of the weather-quarter davits,
and with such force that he actually broke it. I could scarcely have
supposed that he would have escaped being killed in his fall, but as
the ship flew away from him, he was seen rising on the crest of a
foaming wave, apparently unhurt. The life-buoy was let go as soon as
possible, but by that time the ship had already got a considerable
distance from him, and should he be able to reach it, even then I
felt that the prospect of saving him was small indeed, as I had no
hope, should we find him, of being able to pick him out of that
troubled sea; and I could scarcely expect that even a boat could swim
to go to his rescue, should I determine to lower one. I was very
doubtful as to what was my duty. I might, by allowing a boat to be
lowered, sacrifice the lives of the officer and crew who would, I was
very certain, at all events volunteer to man her. It was a moment of
intense anxiety. I instantly, however, wore the ship round, and
while we stood towards the spot, as far as we could guess, where the
poor fellow had fallen, the thoughts I have mentioned passed through
my mind. The sad loss of the gallant Lieut. Gore and a whole boat's
crew, a short time before, about the same locality, was present to my
thoughts. To add to the chances of our not finding the man, it was
now growing rapidly dusk. As we reached the spot, every eye on board
was straining through the gloom to discern the object of our search,
but neither Miles nor the life-buoy were to be seen. Still, I could
not bring myself to leave him to one of the most dreadful of fates.
He was a good swimmer, and those who knew him best asserted that he
would swim to the last. For my part, I almost hoped that the poor
fellow had been stunned, and would thus have sunk at once, and been
saved the agony of despair he must be feeling were he still alive.
Of one thing I felt sure, from the course we had steered, that we
were close to the spot where he had fallen. Anxiously we
waited--minute after minute passed by--still no sound was heard; not
a speck could be seen to indicate his position. At last half an hour
had passed by. The strongest man alive could not support himself in
such a sea as this for so long, I feared. Miles must long before
this have sunk, unless he could have got hold of the life-buoy, and
of that I had no hope. I looked at my watch by the light of the
binnacle-lamp. 'It is hopeless,' I thought, 'we must give the poor
fellow up.' When I had come to this melancholy resolve, I issued the
orders for wearing ship, in somewhat a louder voice than usual, as
under the circumstances was natural, to stifle my own feelings. Just
then I thought I heard a human voice borne down along the gale--I
listened, it was, I feared, but the effect of imagination, yet I
waited a moment; again the voice struck my ear, and this time several
of the ship's company heard it. 'There he is. Sir! There he is
away to windward,' exclaimed several voices; and then in return they
uttered a loud hearty cheer to keep up the spirits of the poor
fellow. Now came the most trying moment; I must decide whether I
would allow a boat to be lowered. 'If I refuse,' I felt, 'my crew
will say that I am careless of their lives. It is not their nature
to calculate the risk they themselves must run.' At once, Mr.
Christopher, one of my lieutenants, nobly volunteered to make the
attempt, and numbers of the crew came forward anxious to accompany
him. At last, anxiety to save a drowning man prevailed over
prudence, and I sanctioned the attempt.
"The boat, with Mr. Christopher and a picked crew, was lowered, not
without great difficulty, and, sad to say, with the loss of one of
the brave fellows. He was the bowman, and as he stood up with, his
boat-hook in his hand to shove off, the boat gave a terrific pitch
and sent him over the bow. He must have struck his head against the
side of the ship, for he went down instantly and was no more seen.
Thus, in the endeavour to save the life of one man, another was
already sent to his long account. With sad forebodings for the fate
of the rest of the gallant fellows, I saw the boat leave the ship's
side. Away she pulled into the darkness where she was no longer
visible, and a heavy pull I know she must have of it in that terrible
sea, even if she escaped destruction. It was one of the most trying
times of my life. We waited in anxious suspense for the return of
the boat, the minutes, seeming like hours, passed slowly by, and she
did not appear. I began at length to dread that my fears would be
realized, and that we should not again see her, when after half an
hour had elapsed after she had left the ship's side on the mission of
mercy, a cheer from her gallant crew announced her approach with the
success of their bold enterprise. My anxiety was not, however,
entirely relieved till the falls were hooked on, and she and all her
crew were hoisted on board, with the rescued man Miles. To my
surprise I found that he was perfectly naked. As he came up the
side, also, he required not the slightest assistance, but dived
below, at once to dry himself and to get out of the cold. I
instantly ordered him to his hammock, and, with the doctor's
permission, sent him a stiff glass of grog. I resolved also to
relieve him from duty, believing that his nervous system would have
received a shock from which it would take long to recover. After I
had put the ship once more on her course, being anxious to hear the
particulars of his escape, as soon as I heard that he was safely
stowed away between the blankets, I went below to see him. His voice
was as strong as ever; his pulse beat as regularly, and his nerves
seemed as strong as usual. After pointing out to him how grateful he
should feel to our Almighty Father for his preservation from an early
and dreadful death, I begged him to tell me how he had contrived to
keep himself so long afloat. He replied to me in the following
words:--'Why, Sir, you see as soon as I came up again, after I had
first struck the water, I looked out for the ship, and getting sight
of her running away from me, I remembered how it happened I was
there, and knew there would be no use swimming after her or singing
out. Then, Sir, I felt very certain you would not let me drown
without an attempt to pick me up, and that there were plenty of fine
fellows on board who would be anxious to man a boat to come to my
assistance, if you thought a boat could swim. Then thinks I to
myself, a man can die but once, and if its my turn to-day, why
there's no help for it. Yet I didn't think all the time that I was
likely to lose the number of my mess, do ye see, Sir. The next
thought that came to me was, if I am to drown, it's as well to drown
without clothes as with them, and if I get them off why there's a
better chance of my keeping afloat till a boat can be lowered to pick
me up; so I kicked off my shoes, and then I got off my jacket, and
then waiting till I could get hold of the two legs at once, I drew
off my trousers in a moment. My shirt was soon off me, but I took
care to roll up the tails so as not to get them over my face. As I
rose on the top of a sea, I caught sight of the ship as you wore her
round, and that gave me courage, for I felt I was not to be deserted;
indeed, I had no fear of that. Then I knew that there would be no
use swimming, so all I did was to throw myself on my back and float
till you came up to me. I thought the time was somewhat long, I own.
When the ship got back, I saw her hove-to away down to leeward, but I
did not like to sing out for fear of tiring myself, and thought you
would not hear me; and I fancied also that a boat would at once have
been lowered to come and look for me. Well, Sir, I waited, thinking
the time was very long, and hearing no sound, yet still I could see
the ship hove-to, and you may be sure I did not take my eyes from off
her; when at last I heard your voice give the order to wear ship
again. Then thinks I to myself, 'Now or never's the time to sing
out.' And raising myself as high as I could out of the water, I sang
out at the top of my voice. There was a silence on board, but no
answer, and I did begin to feel that there was a chance of being lost
after all. 'Never give in, though,' thinks I; so I sung out again as
loud you may be sure as I could sing. This time the answering cheers
of my shipmates gave me fresh spirits; but still I knew full well
that I wasn't safe on board yet. If I had wanted to swim there was
too much sea on to make any way, so I kept floating on my back as
before, just keeping an eye to leeward to see if a boat was coming to
pick me up. Well, Sir, when the boat did come at last, with Mr.
Christopher and the rest in her, I felt quite strong and hearty, and
was well able to help myself on board. I now can scarcely fancy I
was so long in the water.' I was much struck with the extraordinary
coolness of Miles. He afterwards had another escape, which was owing
less to his own self-possession, though he took it as coolly as the
first. On our passage home the ship was running with a lightish
breeze, and almost calm sea, across the Bay of Biscay, when Miles was
sent on the fore-top gallant-yard. By some carelessness he fell
completely over the yard, and those aloft expected to see him dashed
to pieces on the forecastle. Instead of that the foresail at that
moment swelled out with a sudden breeze, and striking the bulge of
the sail, he was sent forward clear of the bows and hove into the
water. A rope was towing overboard. He caught hold of it, and
hauling himself on board, was again aloft within a couple minutes
attending to his duty, which had so suddenly been interrupted. On
his arrival in England, Lieut. Christopher received the Honorary
Silver Medal from the Royal Humane Society for his gallant conduct on
the occasion of saving Miles's life."
DEVOTED HEROISM AND COURAGE OF MESSRS. SMITH AND
PALMES OF H.M.S. 'SERINGAPATAM.'
1838.
H.M.S. 'Seringapatam,' Captain Leith, was lying off the island of
Antigua in August 1838, when, on Sunday, the 26th of that month,
eight of her officers, three of whom were youngsters, and all
belonging to the midshipmen's berth, with a gentleman a resident in
the island, and two seamen, started away from the ship in the pinnace
on a cruize. Their intention was to go down to Falmouth Bay,
situated about two miles to leeward of English Harbour, where the
ship was, and to beat back. The afternoon was very fine, and
everything seemed to promise them a pleasant excursion. Having spent
a short time in Falmouth Harbour, they hauled their wind, and made
three or four tacks on their way back to the ship. The boat,
however, made little or nothing to windward, in consequence of the
wind being very light. Forgetful of the sudden squalls which visit
those latitudes, the merry party of young officers seemed to have
kept but a bad look-out to windward; for while standing-in on the
starboard tack, the boat was taken by a sudden squall. The helm was
put down; but the boat not coming up to the wind so as to lift the
sails, she was capsized under every stitch of canvas. She, however,
went over so gradually, that all hands had time to creep to windward,
and seat themselves on the gunwale. The sails prevented her from
turning bottom up, and at the same time protected them, in some
measure, from the breaking of the sea. What seems very extraordinary
is, that not one of the party, officers or seamen, had a knife in his
pocket, so that they had no means of cutting away the rigging and
righting the boat. As soon as they had settled themselves on the
side of the boat, they had time to look about them, and to consider
their perilous position. They were fully two miles from the shore,
whence it was scarcely possible any one should have observed the
accident, and they were an equal distance or more from the ship; thus
the current might carry them far away before any one could come to
their assistance. A sea might get up and wash them off the wreck, or
sharks might attack and devour them, for the boat's gunwale was only
six inches awash. Not a sail was in sight, and all felt convinced
that if some unforeseen assistance did not come to their aid they
must perish. Despair was well-nigh taking possession of the bosoms
of all the party. Silent and melancholy, they sat on the wreck
meditating on their fate. All were young. Life, with all its
fancied charms and anticipated pleasure had a few short moments
previously been before them; and now, death, in all its
terrors--slow, lingering, and agonizing--stared them in the face.
One only of the whole party was a good swimmer, Mr. W. R. Smith, and
he was a very bold and strong one. He looked at the shore; two miles
was a long distance to swim, with a full consciousness, too, that
those waters swarm with those terrific monsters of the deep, the
seaman's just dread--the hideous shark. "Well," said Smith at last,
looking wistfully at the distant shore, "I feel I ought to try, as it
is the only chance of saving all hands; and I think I could have
managed it if I had had but a companion; but it's a long way to go
alone through the silent water." "If that is your only reason,
Smith, why I will try and keep you company," said Palmes, another
midshipman, who had hitherto sat silent, nor complaining like some of
the rest. "I am not much of a swimmer, and I don't feel as if I
could ever get to shore. However, it's a good cause, and I'll do my
best." Thus it was speedily settled, for there was no time to be
lost. The two noble adventurers having bid farewell to their
shipmates, whom Palmes, at all events, never expected to see again,
threw off their jackets and shoes, and struck away together from the
wreck. The prayers of those they left behind followed them, for the
safety of all depended on their success. Smith swam steadily and
strongly, and Palmes made amends for his want of strength and skill
by his courage and spirit. Still, before they got half way to the
shore, the courage of one of them was to be sorely tried. As Smith
swam along he felt his legs strike against something, and, looking
down into the clear water, he saw, to his horror, two enormous sharks
swimming past him. As yet they had not noticed him; and fortunately
was it for both of the brave fellows that they had kept on their
trousers and socks, for had the monsters seen the white flesh of
their naked feet they would to a certainty have fixed on them as
their prey. With admirable presence of mind, Smith kept this
dreadful fact to himself, lest the knowledge of it should still
further unnerve his companion, who already was almost exhausted by
his exertions. At this time they were still full a mile from the
shore, which, to their anxious eyes, appeared still further off.
"Smith, my dear fellow," exclaimed Palmes, "I can swim no further.
Do you push on, and leave me to my fate." "Not I, my lad," answered
Smith. "Cheer up, man; we'll yet do well. Here, rest on me for a
time; but don't cease striking out." Suiting the action to the word,
he came alongside and supported his companion; but he did not tell
him why he urged him to keep striking out. Again they struck out
together, and Palmes seemed somewhat recovered; but once more his
strength forsook him, and he fancied himself incapable of proceeding.
Still Smith did not lose courage; but he saw the necessity of keeping
their limbs moving, lest the dreadful sharks should be tempted to lay
hold of them. Palmes had fully as much moral courage as his
companion, but he was his inferior in physical strength; yet feeling
that not only his own life and that of Smith, but that of the nine
fellow-creatures remaining on the wreck, depended on their reaching
the shore, nerved him to further exertions.
Those only who have swam for their lives when the arms have begun to
ache, the knees refuse to bend, and the breath grows short, can tell
the feelings of the two gallant young men, but more especially those
of the brave Palmes. Spurred on by Smith each time that he grew
faint and weary, he nerved himself for fresh exertions. At last, as
they strained their eyes ahead, the shore seemed to come nearer and
nearer. They could distinguish the sandy beach and the green herbage
beyond. On a sudden, before even he expected it, Smith felt his foot
touch the shore. With a joyful exclamation of thankfulness, he
grasped Palmes by the hand, and aided him to wade on to the dry land.
No sooner had they emerged from the water, than, overcome with
fatigue, poor Palmes sank down on the beach, where he lay for some
time unable to move. We fain would believe, nay, we are certain,
that they both offered up in their hearts a silent thanksgiving to
the Great Being who had thus mercifully preserved them from the
perils of the deep. But the gallant Smith, while rejoicing in his
own preservation and that of his friend, did not forget the comrades
he had left floating on the wreck. As soon as he had recovered
sufficient strength to move, he hurried off to the nearest habitation
to give information of the accident, and to procure a boat to go to
their assistance. Already much time had been lost. It was half-past
4 when the accident occurred, and they had been two hours in reaching
the shore, so that darkness was now rapidly approaching, which, of
course, would increase the difficulty of finding the wreck. The
instant Palmes found he could move, he also got up and went in search
of a boat. He procured one, with a crew to man it, while Smith took
charge of another, and they instantly started in search of their
shipmates. Meantime information of the sad accident had been
conveyed on board the 'Seringapatam.' The kind heart of the captain
was much grieved when he heard of it, for he could not but fear that
the remainder of the party had perished. From him downwards to the
smallest boy in the ship, everybody was most painfully anxious about
them. He instantly despatched boats in all directions to search for
the missing party. All sorts of reports were flying about on board;
and as sharks were known to abound, it was feared by the seamen that
they might have destroyed their young shipmates. The night also
became very bad; the wind rose, and threatened to increase; the sea
got up with it, thick clouds collected, and the white-topped waves
added to the gloominess of the night, while the rain came down in
torrents, and the lightning burst forth in sharp and vivid flashes,
increasing the dangers to be apprehended. The boats of the
'Seringapatam' took different directions, each officer commanding
shaping the course he thought most likely to bring him up to the
wreck. Some of the searching boats went in a wrong direction
altogether, being misled by a pilot as to the direction the current
took. Hour after hour passed by, and no sign of the wreck was
perceived; and both those on board and many of those in the boats
began to despair of success. As they looked out through the darkness
they fancied they could hear the voices of their shipmates at a
distance imploring aid, or that they saw their figures in the boat
amid the surrounding gloom. We shall, however, follow the
'Seringapatam's' barge, commanded by her gunner. He knew the set of
the current; and as soon as he shoved off from the ship's side, he
ran directly down to leeward along the coast, at the distance he
understood the boat had been capsized; he being thus better able to
calculate the direction in which she would have drifted. His purpose
was then to beat back again; thus entirely covering the ground where
the wreck must be. On his way down he fell in with the shore-boat,
commanded by Mr. Smith, who, at once approving of his plan, joined
him in the search. By their calculations the boat would have drifted
some five or six miles to leeward, and would be drawn rather off
shore. They were right; and about the very place where they
expected, she was discerned still floating as Smith had left her.
With anxious hearts they pulled up to her. Five only of the nine
were seen still clinging to her. The other four had too probably
given themselves up in despair. The crew of the barge cheered, and
were answered with a faint hail from those they had come to save,
already almost sinking from exhaustion. "Where are the rest?"
exclaimed Smith, as he saw their diminished numbers. "Only a short
distance in-shore of us," was the answer. "They have not left the
wreck five minutes." "Alas! but in those five minutes the poor
fellows may have sunk fathoms down, or been grasped by the jaws of
the hungry sharks," thought Smith, as he instantly pulled away in the
direction indicated.
His four shipmates were found not far apart, each of them lashed to
an oar, and striking out as well as they could for the shore, but
strange to say, only one of them could swim at all.
It was then past 9 o'clock, making nearly five hours that the poor
fellows had held on to the boat, with all the horrors of death
staring them in the face, for, of course, they were not aware that
Smith and Palmes had reached the shore, and, indeed, had began to
fear that they were already numbered with the dead. Their pleasure,
and, we believe, their gratitude, was increased, when they discovered
that both had escaped, and had been the means under Providence of
preserving their lives.
Their sufferings had been very great--when the storm came on, they
expected every moment to be washed from the wreck, and to add to
their horrors, a shark had been, for most of the time, lying between
the masts of the pinnace, his fiery eyes glaring up at them, and
watching them, as about soon to become his prey. Had it not, indeed,
been for Smith's coolness and skill as a swimmer, and for the
generous daring of Palmes, in all human probability every soul must
have perished. The circumstances we have narrated, having been
represented to the Royal Humane Society, the Silver Medallion of the
Society, with a complimentary letter, was sent out, and presented on
the quarter-deck of the 'Seringapatam,' by Captain Leith, to each of
the two young officers, in presence of the whole ship's company, a
suitable and gratifying reward for their gallantry, in addition to
that their own consciences could not fail to afford.
A SECOND ACT OF GALLANTRY RECORDED OF
MR. W. R. SMITH.
Some years after the events I have just described, Mr. W. E. Smith
having reached the rank of lieutenant, belonged to H.M.S. 'Endymion.'
On the 4th of February, 1847, she was at anchor off Sacraficios
Island, near Vera Cruz. The night of the 4th was excessively dark,
and a strong current was running past the ship, when Mr. West, mate,
slipped his footing from the gangway, and fell into the sea, striking
his head against the ship's side. On the cry of "a man overboard,"
which was instantly raised, Lieut. W. E. Smith and others, rushed on
deck; but, owing to the excessive darkness and the strong current, no
object could at first be seen floating: at length, some white
substance was perceived at a distance, when Lieut. Smith immediately
plunged into the water, and struck rapidly out towards it. On
reaching the object, he found it to be Mr. West, who was lying quite
motionless, though, from his head sinking under water, he would
speedily have been deprived of life. Lieut. Smith at once raised his
head above water, and kept him floating, until, by repeatedly
calling, he attracted a boat to his assistance, when he and his
companion were carried on board. The crew were thickly clustering on
the rigging, to see them return, and from among them another man
missed his footing and fell overboard, from the main-chains. Mr.
Smith, who saw the accident, not knowing whether the man could swim,
instantly plunged in again to his assistance, but found, on reaching
him, that he was perfectly able to keep himself afloat till the boat
could arrive to pick him up.
ACCOUNT OF RESCUE OF BOAT'S CREW OF H.M.S. 'WOLVERINE'
BY LIEUT. ARTHUR BURRARD KINGSTON, R.N.
January 16th, 1840;
ALSO OF HIS SAVING THE LIFE OF A BOY OF
H.M.S. 'SARACEN.'
March 13th, 1840.
Among the many acts of gallantry it has been my privilege to recount,
there are few which afford me more satisfaction, or which I am more
likely to narrate with correctness[1] than the following, as the
chief particulars were given me by one of the actors, Lieut.
Kingston. Should it, however, by chance, be discovered that I have
made any mistake in my account (which I do not think likely will be
the case) I alone must be answerable. I have, however, in order to
confirm my account, given the official reports on his behaviour on
two occasions, when he displayed the most conspicuous gallantry,
courage, and presence of mind. At the time of which I speak, H.M.S.
'Wolverine' formed one of the African squadron, and was commanded by
the brave and kind Commander Tucker, whose noble conduct and lamented
death I have elsewhere described. She had been cruizing off the
coast, when, on the 15th of January, 1840, she anchored off the River
Brass or St. John, one of the mouths of the far-famed and mysterious
Niger. Captain Tucker had made himself thoroughly acquainted with
the coast, as well as with the modes of proceeding of the
slave-dealers, and of the slavers, and he was thus enable to capture
a very large number of vessels, though with single-minded purpose, as
his object was to stop the slave-trade, he endeavoured to take them
before they got their slaves on board. Soon after she had brought up
about four miles from the shore, Captain Tucker ordered the boats to
be hoisted out and to be fitted for service, during an absence of
three days. While this work was going forward, a canoe was observed
paddling off from the shore towards the ship. On her coming
alongside, she was proved to contain two natives of great
consequence, it seemed, judging from their costume--that is to say,
if scarlet dresses, or rather wrappers, round the loins, and
ornamented caps, might be admitted as tests of rank. They came up
the side without hesitation, and after some cross-questioning they
informed Captain Tucker that they had seen a fine schooner, under
American colours, up the River Nun, and that from her appearance and
movements there could be no doubt that she was a slaver. The promise
of a reward induced them, with negro eagerness, to undertake all
Captain Tucker proposed, to act as spies, and to bring further
information about the vessel, and then to perform the part of pilots
in conducting her, when captured, down the river. This information,
which, it was hoped was correct, hurried the departure of the boats.
Lieut. Dumaresq took charge of the pinnace, as commanding officer of
the expedition; Mr. Arthur B. Kingston, then only a mate, had the
cutter; and Mr. Thorburn, another mate of the 'Wolverine,' went in
the gig. Water, provisions, and arms, having been placed in the
boats, and all being ready, they shoved off from the ship at
half-past 10 in the morning.
Lieut. Dumaresq had one of the black pilots in his boat, and Mr.
Kingston had the other with him. Sometimes sailing, when there was a
breeze, and at others, when it fell light, the crews, eager for work
of some sort, pulling away with a will, they soon reached the mouth
of the River Brass. The river is here pretty broad, its banks, as
far as the eye can reach, covered with tall mangroves, their dark
foliage imparting a sombre and almost funereal aspect to the scenery.
After the boats had pulled about ten miles up the Brass, they reached
a sort of natural canal, which connects the Brass with the Nun.
After they had passed through this, and had entered the Nun, they
hove to for dinner, a meal not at all unwelcome after their long
pull. When the crews were refreshed, they again bent to their oars,
and proceeded about 30 miles up the Nun. Darkness now rapidly came
on, and they were no longer able to see ahead, nor had they been able
to discover anything of their looked-for prize. On questioning their
black volunteer pilots, the worthy gentlemen seemed very uncertain,
not only whether the slaver had sailed, but where she had been, and
where they then were. One declared that they had come much higher up
than where she was last seen, and that she had probably been
sheltered from their observation in one of the numerous creeks which
run through the banks of the river. In this dilemma a council of war
was held; and at first it was proposed to retrace their steps, till
the elder of the black pilots offered to take a small canoe they had
with them, higher up the river, to ascertain whether or not the
slaver was there. This proposal being agreed to by Lieut. Dumaresq,
the two negroes pulled away, and were soon lost in the darkness, not
without some slight misgivings as to whether or not they would ever
return. However, to pass the time during the absence of the negroes,
they piped to supper. A small portion only of the ship's biscuit and
salt-pork had been discussed, and a glass of grog had just been
served out all round, when the canoe was seen gliding at full speed
out of the darkness, the dip of her paddles just breaking the
stillness of the night. "Well, my man, any news of the slaver?"
asked the lieutenant, in an eager whisper, for the return of the
canoe gave him hopes that a prize was at hand. "Ship live there;"
answered the elder black, in the clear and distinct tones in which
his race can speak, but still only in a whisper. No sooner was this
announcement made than the oars were got out simultaneously, and at a
word from Lieut. Dumaresq, the boats went ahead like magic. Not a
word except the necessary ones of command was uttered. Everyone knew
the importance of silence. The three boats, urged on by their eager
crews, advanced all abreast at full speed. Ten minutes, or little
more, were sufficient to show the dark outline of a schooner, masts
and spars relieved against the starry sky. Silent as the grave, the
boats pulled on--their oars so carefully dipped, that scarcely a
splash was heard. Those on board the schooner slept, or seemed to
sleep, for not a sound was heard from her decks. A slaver's crew,
however, conscious of the risks they are running in their nefarious
traffic, are seldom off their guard, and the British seamen were
fully prepared for a reception with a shower of grape and musketry.
Yet without a thought of the consequences--on getting close to her,
on they dashed with a cheer, and in another instant were alongside
and scrambling up her sides. So unexpected had been their attack,
that not an attempt at resistance was made, and, to the no small
delight of Lieut. Dumaresq and his followers, they found themselves
in possession of a fine little schooner, which proved to be the
'Lark,' with a crew of no less than 30 Spaniards. They were first
all properly secured and sent down below, with orders to behave
themselves, and a hint that if they did not, it would be the worse
for them.
A slaver's crew have a right, it is understood, to try and retake
their vessel without being treated as pirates, and hung in case they
do not succeed, or are afterwards captured, so it becomes necessary
to keep a very sharp look-out after them. Her papers were at the
same time secured, and on her circumstances being investigated, not a
doubt remained as to her character.
Bending sails, and getting all ready for an early start, occupied
some time, when the watch being set, with strict orders to keep a
wakeful eye on the prisoners, the rest of the party lay down on the
sails, and were soon as sound asleep as they would have been in their
own hammocks, or in the quiet homes of their childhood's days, when
pirates and slavers were rather beings of the imagination than
disagreeable realities.
At early dawn all hands were roused up, and the schooner was very
soon got under weigh. There was little or no wind to fill her sails,
so the boats' crews had to tow her down the river, hoping to find a
breeze as they got near the mouth of the river to take her out. Nine
miles of their distance had been thus accomplished, when, at about 7
o'clock, as she was passing through a long reach of the River Nun, a
sail hove in sight, which was soon discovered to be a rakish
two-topsail schooner. She stood boldly on up the river towards the
barracoons, either not observing the little 'Lark,' or, at all
events, not suspecting into whose hands she had fallen. Lieut.
Dumaresq on this instantly ordered the man-of-war boats to be hauled
up alongside of the schooner on the opposite side to that on which
the stranger was, so that she should not observe them, and, by taking
fright, endeavour to make her escape. At the same time the pinnace
and gig were manned and held in readiness (the crews being well
armed) to board the schooner, Mr. Kingston receiving orders to remain
in charge of the 'Lark' with the cutter's crew. On slowly came the
stranger, the light wind only just enabling her to stem the current.
She seemed totally unconscious of the neighbourhood of her enemies.
On a sudden something seemed to awaken her suspicions, and Lieutenant
Dumaresq, judging that the best time had arrived for taking
possession, shoved off and pulled towards her as fast as the crews
could lay their backs to the oars. Mr. Kingston meantime was left in
command of the 'Lark' with the cutter's crew, Mr. Thorburn
accompanying their leader. Away went the boats. The stranger now,
for the first time, was aware of her danger, or rather, certainty of
capture, unless she could blow the approaching boats out of the
water; but of attempting to do so with any chance of success she
could have had but slight hopes, as she saw that the 'Lark' was in
the hands of her enemies, and she could not tell how many people
might be remaining on board to avenge the destruction of their
comrades. Still slavers, when they have seen a chance of success,
have often fought desperately, and the cutter's crew on board the
'Lark' watched with deep interest the approach of the two boats to
the big schooner, not knowing what moment she might open her fire on
them; but the slaver's crew had not even the brute-like courage to
induce them, to fight in defence of their accursed calling, and
without firing a shot they allowed the two boats to come alongside.
Once with their boat-hooks having a firm hold of the slaver's chains,
the British seamen very quickly scrambled on board. The crew, who
were chiefly Spaniards, made no opposition, nor did a number of other
people, who, dressed in shore-going clothes, announced themselves as
passengers. There was certainly a wonderfully sea-going look about
them, though they all seemed very anxious to leave the vessel as fast
as possible. Now as the consequences of detaining people against
their will are often very disagreeable, Lieut. Dumaresq, whatever
might have been his suspicions, thought it best to allow the
gentlemen to take their departure. It was afterwards discovered that
the fellows, who were all of them belonging to the slaver's crew,
took on shore a very considerable number of doubloons, which form, in
general, the most valuable portion of a prize, unless she has her
cargo of slaves on board; the slave-vessel herself and her stores
rarely sell for much. What was called head-money has, of late years,
been reduced to one-fourth of what it was formerly. The new prize
proved to be the 'Asp,' a fit name for a slaver, though she was now
effectually deprived of her sting. As soon as she was thoroughly
overhauled, and all her forthcoming papers secured, the Spanish crew
were sent below, and the man-of-war's boats began towing the two
schooners down the river. It was laborious work, after the incessant
labour for so many hours the men had gone through, but a prize tows
easily, and the gallant fellows cheerfully bent to their oars. Thus
the vessels proceeded on rapidly between the mangrove-covered banks
of the river. By 5 P.M. the entrance of the Nun appeared in sight,
and preparations were instantly made for crossing the bar; I must
rather say, bars, for there are three, one within the other, at some
distance apart, and over them, when the current sets out and the wind
blows in, the sea breaks with great violence, so that, under those
circumstances, the crossing them, even in a decked vessel, is a work
of very considerable danger. On this occasion appearances were far
from favourable: the wind was foul and blowing very strong, a heavy
sea was breaking over the bars; its incessant roar seeming like a
warning not to venture into its power; while evening was rapidly
closing in, the coming darkness threatening to increase the
difficulties to be encountered. Still Mr. Dumaresq was unwilling to
expose his followers to the baneful atmospheric influences of another
night spent within the mouth of the river, or to the chances of
attack from any of the slavers' friends who might be in the
neighbourhood, and who would always be ready to win back a prize at
any sacrifice of the lives of the captors; though that was a
contingency not likely to happen. He was rather influenced probably
by his anxiety to secure his prizes and to report his proceedings to
his superior officer. The schooners had anchored just inside the
inner bar, and all the necessary preparations having been made, and
the tide serving, they again got under weigh. Mr. Dumaresq led in
the 'Asp,' directing Mr. Kingston to follow in his wake. This Mr.
Kingston did, approaching the bar on the starboard-tack, the 'Lark'
leaving the cutter towing astern, and her own boat, which could not
be hoisted up on account of the tackles being unrove, and a net full
of vegetables being worked athwart the davits. Neither could her
boat be got on board, on account of the crowded state of the decks.
As the 'Lark' drew close to the bar, the appearance of things in no
degree mended. Hands were placed in the chains, who kept the lead
constantly going; and, as the water shoaled, the schooners had to
tack repeatedly, wearing sometimes, as the heavy swell threatened
otherwise to prevent their coming round. From the first Mr. Kingston
had but little confidence in the black volunteer pilot who had
accompanied him on board the 'Lark,' and now, though he urged him by
threats to perform the duty he had undertaken, and tried to stimulate
him to exertion, by reminding him of his promised reward, he only
answered, "This no my bar!" and finally threw himself down on the
deck, under the bulwarks, refusing to take any further charge of the
vessel. It must be remembered that the boats had entered the Niger
by the Brass river, the bar of which was his bar, and that he had
bargained to act as pilot through its mouth, so that there was ample
excuse for the poor wretch: this, however, in no degree lessened the
danger of the position in which the little 'Lark' was placed.
It was now perfectly dark and very squally, while nothing was visible
to mark the course the vessel should pursue but the phosphorescent
light of the breakers stretching across the bar from shore to shore;
while to all appearance there seemed to be reef only beyond reef,
destruction on which it was scarcely possible the schooner could
escape. Though the 'Lark' was pressed to the utmost, the 'Asp' soon
distanced her; and though Lieut. Dumaresq showed lights, they were of
little or no use in guiding her course. Squall after squall struck
the little schooner, and as she heeled over, it sometimes appeared
that she would never again rise, or be able to beat out through the
tremendous surf which came rolling in. At length Mr. Kingston judged
it wise to shorten sail, which he forthwith did, having set only his
mainsail, jib, and fore-and-aft foresail (fore-trysail). He also
sent a good hand on the fore-yard to look out for any break which
might happily appear in the white wall of surf which came rolling in
over the surrounding shoals. The little 'Lark' had now reached the
innermost of the three bars, and was pitching into the seas, which
came foaming up and rolling over her decks. She had the cutter
towing after her, and astern of that was the schooner's boat. That
very soon began to fill, and finally swamped, when it became
necessary to cut her adrift. This was done, and she quickly
disappeared. At about a quarter to eight a blue light was observed
close to windward; and as the 'Lark' was wearing off the heaviest
part of the bar, some voices were heard hailing her. It was soon
discovered that they proceeded from the pinnace, which had apparently
several hands in her. Again they hailed, imploring to be picked up,
stating, as far as could be understood, that they had broken adrift
from astern of the 'Asp' with the gig, which was lost; and from the
words which reached the 'Lark,' Mr. Kingston was very much afraid
that several lives were already lost, while it seemed too probable
that those in the pinnace would share the same fate unless he could
manage to get near them to take them on board. Not a moment was to
be lost. The pinnace, it must be understood, was inside the 'Lark,'
higher up the river, the 'Lark' having passed her after she had
broken adrift from the 'Asp.' In another minute she would have
drifted among the breakers, when the destruction of all on board
would be sealed. To pick her up under weigh was almost impossible;
and with the tide and heavy sea, the schooner could not be steered
with any degree of certainty even near her, and could even this be
done, the probabilities were that she would be swamped before the men
could be got out of her. The young officer, therefore, saw that but
one course only was open for him to pursue with any chance of
success, and that involved immense risk both to the vessel and his
people. To think is to act with a British seaman in a case of
emergency. He saw that to intercept the boat he must anchor, and
having both anchors clear, and a hand by the weather one all along,
he ordered it to be let go, though he had but two fathoms at the time
under the vessel's keel; while the surf from the second bar was
curling up round the vessel's sides, threatening to make a clear
sweep of her decks. His order to let go was perhaps not understood,
or the Spanish crew, some thirty in number, who seeing what was about
to be done, and expecting instant destruction in consequence,
endeavoured to impede it: at all events, he had to rush forward and
cut the stoppers with an axe, which he luckily had at hand. The
schooner brought up all standing, the sea at the same instant making
a terrific breach over her; but the helmsman was a good hand, and
sheered her over to the exact spot the pinnace must pass. The whole
was the work of a moment. The boat drifted near, a rope was hove
into her, and providentially caught by the nearly exhausted crew.
She was hauled alongside, her people being got out; while some fresh
hands went down into her and secured her with her own cable and the
end of the schooner's main-sheet. At the same time the schooner's
fore-sheet was passed into the cutter as a preventer. Four men were
saved from the pinnace. They stated that she and the gig had been
towing astern of the 'Asp,' with two hands in each, when, on crossing
the inner bar, they both broke adrift together. Instead, however, of
the two men in the pinnace getting into the gig, which they might
have managed, those in the smaller got into the larger boat, fancying
they would be safer, when they found themselves totally unable to
pull her against the tide or to guide her to shore. The 'Lark' very
soon after this began to drive, when the other anchor was dropped
under foot, while they veered away on the larboard cable. She now
held, but the breakers made a clean breach over her decks, washing
adrift the numerous casks, loose spars, fowl-coops, and a variety of
other things; and in addition, what was worse than all, a large
scuttle-butt of palm-oil. Meantime, to increase the confusion and
danger, the cutter and pinnace were striking the stern and quarters
of the vessel with great force, often coming as far forward as the
main chains on both sides. The Spaniards had from the first been
very unruly, and they now gave symptoms of an intention of breaking
into open mutiny. In addition, therefore, to the variety of other
duties the British seamen were called on to perform, it became
necessary for them to keep their arms in readiness, to repel any
sudden attack the fellows might venture to make on them for the
purpose of regaining the schooner. The palm-oil, also, which is like
very thick red mud, had coated the whole deck, from before the
foremast nearly as far aft as the mainmast, making it more slippery
even than ice, so that no one could either stand or walk on it. The
water also had no effect on its greasy composition, and as there were
no ashes on board to strew over it, one part of the deck became
almost separated from the other. The Spaniards were evidently
watching their opportunity, and kept eyeing the British seamen with
no friendly intentions. They were four to one of them, and though
deprived of their muskets and cutlasses, they had still the long
knives in their belts, without which no Spaniard ever thinks his
costume complete. The wretches kept up such a hubbub, and did so
much to impede the work of the vessel, that some of them very nearly
got shot as a hint to the rest of what they might expect if they
proceeded to extremities. The gallant young officer himself had
little fear of what they might venture to do, as considering the
dilemma the vessel was placed in, surrounded by shoals, with heavy
breakers close at hand, and in thick darkness, they could scarcely
hope to get out to sea and escape that way; or, if they returned up
the river to avoid recapture, should they regain possession of the
vessel. In obedience, however, to his written instructions, he kept
some of his people under arms to watch the fellows. For full half an
hour the little schooner lay in this way, it being expected every
instant that her anchors would part, when a roller, more severe even
than the others, threw the cutter on board on the larboard quarter,
breaking the bunk adrift and capsizing it. As the vessel rose again,
the boat fell aft and immediately filled, when she was of necessity
cut adrift to prevent her doing more damage; and as soon as this was
done she sank.
Shortly after this the squalls began to become less frequent, and the
breakers moderated gradually; an opening also was seen in the line of
sparkling foam from the foreyard, so Mr. Kingston resolved to make
sail and to get out of the river. He contrived to weigh the
starboard or lee anchor, after very many fruitless attempts to do so,
on account of the heavy surges; but as it was found impossible to
purchase the weather one, it was slipped, and the schooner wore round
under her jib in a quarter less two fathoms. A sharp-sighted seaman
stood on the fore-yard, from whence he conned the vessel--the lead
kept going as before. The mainsail was then set, and the schooner
stood out towards the opening which appeared in the surf. She obeyed
her helm readily, the rocks and shoals were avoided, and at length
the outer bar was safely passed. At about 10 P.M. she came up with
the 'Asp,' anchored a short distance outside. Lieut. Dumaresq stood
with speaking-trumpet in hand, and hailed the 'Lark'--"I'm glad
you've got out safe; but I fear four of my poor fellows are lost, and
our two boats." "They're safe on board, and I've your boat in tow,"
was the answer. A loud congratulatory cheer from the British seamen
on board the 'Asp' signified their satisfaction at the success of Mr.
Kingston's gallant exploit. He then anchored, and going on board the
'Asp,' was further thanked and congratulated by his superior officer;
for he had not only given up all hopes of the people in the pinnace
and gig having escaped, but of the 'Lark' herself, he having had a
most perilous passage across the bars. He had struck three times, in
one of which shocks the boats had broken adrift. The two schooners
again weighed and ran down to the 'Wolverine,' lying off the Brass,
ten miles distant. On their arrival, Mr. Kingston had the
satisfaction of receiving the warmest approval of his excellent
commander for the gallantry and judgment he had displayed. The
vessels were afterwards sent to Sierra Leone, where they were
condemned and cut up.
[1] Lieut. A. B. Kingston is a cousin of the Author's.