At midnight of Saturday, the 30th of November, 1811, with a fair wind
and a smooth sea, we weighed from our station, in company with the
Saldanha frigate, of thirty-eight guns, Captain Packenham, with a crew
of three hundred men, on a cruise, as was intended, of twenty days--the
Saldanha taking a westerly course, while we stood in the opposite
direction.
We had scarcely got out of the lock and cleared the heads, however, when
we plunged at once into all the miseries of a gale of wind blowing from
the west. During the three following days, it continued to increase in
violence, when the islands of Coll and Tiree became visible to us. As
the wind had now chopped round more to the north, and continued unabated
in violence, the danger of getting involved among the numerous small
islands and rugged headlands, on the northwest coast of Inverness-shire,
became evident. It was therefore deemed expedient to wear the ship
round, and make a port with all expedition. With this view, and favored
by the wind, a course was shaped for Lochswilly, and away we scudded
under close-reefed foresail and main-topsail, followed by a tremendous
sea, which threatened every moment to overwhelm us, and accompanied by
piercing showers of hail, and a gale which blew with incredible fury.
The same course was steered until next day about noon, when land was
seen on the lee-bow. The weather being thick, some time elapsed before
it could be distinctly made out, and it was then ascertained to be the
island of North Arran, on the coast of Donegal, westward of Lochswilly.
The ship was therefore hauled up some points, and we yet entertained
hopes of reaching an anchorage before nightfall, when the weather
gradually thickened, and the sea, now that we were upon the wind, broke
over us in all directions. Its violence was such, that in a few minutes
several of our ports were stove in, at which the water poured in in
great abundance, until it was actually breast high on the lee-side of
the main deck. Fortunately, but little got below, and the ship was
relieved by taking in the foresail. But a dreadful addition was now made
to the precariousness of our situation, by the cry of "land a-head!"
which was seen from the forecastle, and must have been very near. Not a
moment was now lost in wearing the ship round on the other tack, and
making what little sail could be carried, to weather the land we had
already passed. This soon proved, however, to be a forlorn prospect, for
it was found that we should run our distance by ten o'clock. All the
horrors of shipwreck now stared us in the face, aggravated tenfold by
the darkness of the night, and the tremendous force of the wind, which
now blew a hurricane. Mountains are insignificant when speaking of the
sea that kept pace with it; its violence was awful beyond description,
and it frequently broke over all the poor little ship, that shivered and
groaned, but behaved admirably.
The force of the sea may be guessed from the fact of the sheet-anchor,
nearly a ton and a half in weight, being actually lifted on board, to
say nothing of the forechain-plates' board broken, both gangways torn
away, quarter-galleries stove in, &c. In short, on getting into port,
the vessel was found to be loosened through all her frame, and leaking
at every seam. As far as depended on her good qualities, however, I
felt assured at the time, we were safe, for I had seen enough of the
Talbot to be convinced we were in one of the finest sea-boats that ever
swam. But what could all the skill of the ship-builder avail in a
situation like ours? With a night full fifteen hours long before us, and
knowing that we were fast driving on the land, anxiety and dread were on
every face, and every mind felt the terrors of uncertainty and suspense.
At length, about twelve o'clock, the dreadful truth was disclosed to us!
Judge of my sensation when I saw the frowning rocks of Arran, scarcely
half a mile distant on our lee-bow. To our inexpressible relief, and not
less to our surprise, we fairly weathered all, and were congratulating
each other on our escape, when, on looking forward, I imagined I saw
breakers at no great distance on our lee; and this suspicion was soon
confirmed, when the moon, which shone at intervals, suddenly broke out
from behind a cloud, and presented to us a most terrific spectacle. At
not more than a quarter of a mile's distance on our lee-beam, appeared a
range of tremendous breakers, among which it seemed as if every sea
would throw us. Their height, it may be guessed, was prodigious, when
they could be clearly distinguished from the foaming waters of the
surrounded ocean. It was a scene seldom to be witnessed, and never
forgotten! "Lord have mercy upon us!" was now on the lip of every
one--destruction seemed inevitable. Captain Swaine, whose coolness I
have never seen surpassed, issued his orders clearly and collectedly,
when it was proposed, as a last resource, to drop the anchors, cut away
the masts, and trust to the chance of riding out the gale. This scheme
was actually determined on, and every thing was in readiness, but
happily was deferred until an experiment was tried aloft. In addition to
the close-reefed main-topsail and foresail, the fore-topsail, and
trysail were now set, and the result was almost magical. With a few
plunges, we cleared not only the reef, but a huge rock upon which I
could with ease have tossed a biscuit, and in a few minutes we were
inexpressibly rejoiced to see both far astern.
We had now miraculously escaped all but certain destruction a second
time, but much was yet to be feared. We had still to pass Cape Jeller,
and the moments dragged on in gloomy apprehension and anxious suspense.
The ship carried sail most wonderfully, and we continued to go along at
the rate of seven knots, shipping very heavy seas, and laboring
much--all with much solicitude looking out for daylight. The dawn at
length appeared, and to our great joy we saw the land several miles
astern, having passed the Cape and many other hidden dangers during
the darkness.
Matters, on the morning of the 5th, assumed a very different aspect from
that which we had experienced for the last two days; the wind gradually
subsided, and, with it the sea, and a favorable breeze now springing up,
we were enabled to make a good offing. Fortunately, no accident of
consequence occurred, although several of our people were severely
bruised by falls. Poor fellows! they certainly suffered enough; not a
dry stitch, not a dry hammock have they had since we sailed. Happily,
however, their misfortunes are soon forgot in a dry shirt and a can
of grog.
The most melancholy part of the narrative is still to be told. On coming
up to our anchorage, we observed an unusual degree of curiosity and
bustle in the fort; crowds of people were congregated on both sides,
running to and fro, examining us through spyglasses; in short, an
extraordinary commotion was apparent. The meaning of all this was but
too soon made known to us by a boat coming alongside, from which we
learned that the unfortunate Saldanha had gone to pieces, and every man
perished! Our own destruction had likewise been reckoned inevitable,
from the time of the discovery of the unhappy fate of our consort, five
days beforehand; and hence the astonishment at our unexpected return.
From all that could be learned concerning the dreadful catastrophe, I am
inclined to believe that the Saldanha had been driven on the rocks about
the time our doom appeared so certain in another quarter. Her lights
were seen by the signal-tower at nine o'clock of that fearful Wednesday
night, December 4th, after which it is supposed she went ashore on the
rocks at a small bay called Ballymastaker, almost at the entrance of
Lochswilly harbor.
Next morning the beach was strewed with fragments of the wreck, and
upward of two hundred of the bodies of the unfortunate sufferers were
washed ashore. One man--and one only--out of the three hundred, was
ascertained to have come ashore alive, but almost in a state of
insensibility. Unhappily, there was no person present to administer to
his wants judiciously, and, upon craving something to drink, about half
a pint of whiskey was given him by the people, which almost instantly
killed him. Poor Packenham's body was recognized amid the others, and
like these, stripped quite naked by the inhuman wretches, who flocked to
the wreck as to a blessing! It is even suspected that he came on shore
alive, but was stripped and left to perish. Nothing could equal the
audacity of the plunderers, although a party of the Lanark militia was
doing duty around the wreck. But this is an ungracious and revolting
subject, which no one of proper feeling would wish to dwell upon. Still
less am I inclined to describe the heart-rending scene at Buncrana,
where the widows of many of the sufferers are residing. The surgeon's
wife, a native of Halifax, has never spoken since the dreadful tidings
arrived. Consolation is inadmissible, and no one has yet ventured
to offer it.