Mother-bank, Dec. 3, 1795.
My late letter to you, from Portsmouth, had nearly been a last address.
In my passage from thence to the Lord Sheffield, at the Mother-bank, I
was exposed to such imminent peril as to have had scarcely a hope of
escape. The necessary arrangements being made for occupying our new
births, I left Portsmouth in a small four-oared boat, belonging to the
Lord Sheffield, accompanied by Mr. Jaffray (the master of the ship) and
Mr. M‘Lean, of the hospital department. On our way to the Mother-bank,
we were suddenly overtaken by a violent, and, situated as we were, most
perilous storm. The sky blackened; the tearing winds roared; and the
tumid sea, gathering into frightful mountains, rushed before the wind in
boisterous loudness, threatening us with instant destruction. Tossed
from wave to wave, and dashed and rolled about, amidst the broken
mountains of water, every moment seemed likely to be our last: for any
one of the heavy seas might have upset our little bark, or have broken
over us, and sent us to the bottom. Begirt with multitudes of rugged and
liquid hills, rupturing on all quarters, and rolling and tumbling one
over another towards her, so small a boat seemed to have no chance of
maintaining herself upon the rude and ever changing surface. From the
deep swelling of the sea, together with the constant agitation and
breaking of the waves, the sailors could not take sufficient depth to
pull steadily with their oars; nor could the boat be made to obey the
helm. At one moment we were raised, as it were, on a pinnacle—at the
next ingulfed in deep shade between two roaring surges, towering high
above us, and seeming to say, “Ye shall never rise again.” Yet, quickly,
we were lifted upon a new-formed summit, and as suddenly dashed again
into the vale of still more rugged billows, each contending in hasty
strife, which should be the messenger of our fate.
The captain, with a countenance strongly expressive of anxiety, begged
of us _not to speak_, lest we should divert his attention from the helm:
upon the management of which our safety very much depended. Sitting at
his elbow, in profound silence, as he desired, I watched his features as
the barometer of my hopes and fears, and you will believe that I felt
not quite at ease, upon observing him betray manifest symptoms of alarm.
To move was even worse than to speak, and might be instant destruction
to us all; hence it only remained to us to sit in solemn stillness, and
meet our destiny.
To reach the Lord Sheffield was absolutely impossible; for the wind was
contrary, and the tide in concert with the storm, to prevent it: and to
return to Portsmouth was, scarcely, less difficult, or less perilous,
from the inability of our little boat to resist the enormous following
waves, impelled by the joint force of the gale and the tide.
In this critical dilemma it was decided that we should steer for the
nearest ship there was any hope of our being able _to fetch_; and the
captain, encouraging the sailors to continue at their oars, and bear
away to leeward, directed the helm accordingly. In this attempt we
struggled on, often washed with the heavy sprays, and as frequently
almost upset by the tearing gusts of wind. But perseverance, together
with great dexterity in the management of the boat, at length, succeeded
in bringing us alongside the Diana frigate, where we were kindly
received, and even cherished as friends rescued from the devouring deep.
Having witnessed the danger to which we had been exposed, the officers,
in the most liberal manner, welcomed us on board, and refusing to hear a
word of apology, insisted upon our not attempting to depart until every
appearance of the gale should have subsided. Indeed they gave orders
that our boat should be hoisted on board, and desired that we would
think only of making ourselves comfortable for the night. In this they
were imperative, nor will you imagine that our obedience was reluctant.
The Diana was under the command of Lieutenant Davy, in the absence of
Captain Faulkener. This gentleman gave directions for our receiving
every accommodation the ship could afford, and tendered his services in
a manner that made it grateful to accept the kindness bestowed. Every
individual seemed to emulate the commanding officer in friendly
attentions towards our party, insomuch that we had cause to rejoice in
the peril which had driven us among them.
As soon as we were made dry, and enabled to feel a little like
ourselves, we were invited to the dinner-table of the mess. It was
spread with plenty, and we partook with Mr. Davy, and the whole party of
officers, who vied with each other in kind hospitality towards the
rescued strangers. Good humour prevailed; the conversation was
agreeable; and the bottle passed freely until evening, when a party was
formed to a rubber at whist, and, at night, we were conducted to some of
the best births of the ship.
We were pleased to hear every person, with whom we conversed, speak of
lieutenant Davy in the highest terms of praise. He was entitled to our
best wishes, and we owed him much respect and gratitude: we were
exceedingly happy, therefore, to learn that he had equally the esteem of
his captain, his messmates, and the sailors. As a companion, he is
amiable and engaging. His address is easy; his manners are accomplished;
and, independent of his great kindness to us, in the hour of peril, his
general conduct, and the handsome report of his brother officers, could
not but call forth our regard.
We passed the night in rest and comfort. In the morning the weather was
settled and fine; therefore, after taking breakfast, our boat was
lowered down, and we made the best of our way to the Lord Sheffield,
reluctantly quitting the hospitable party, with whom misfortune had
brought us acquainted.
Without further interruption we reached the Mother-bank, and I have now
the pleasure to address you, in safety, from the Lord Sheffield, a very
fine West India ship, and as superior to the gloomy George and Bridget,
as her captain had represented. She is thoroughly clean, has a general
air of neatness, and seems likely to verify the commander’s report of
her sailing. She is conveniently adapted for passengers, and is
expressly calculated for the West Indies, having awnings, scuttles,
port-holes and all the necessary accommodations for the climate. The
cabin is commodious, and is fitted up with mahogany wainscot, pier
glasses, chairs, sofa, &c. due regard being paid to taste and ornament.
We have several guns on board, and wear the appearance of being well
armed; but the ship is not sufficiently manned to defend herself against
a regular attack, and this is what we have most to lament in our change
from the Ulysses, for in other respects our situation is improved.