THE PERILS OF THE OCEAN.
"Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell;
Then shrieked the timid, and stood still the brave;
Then some leaped overboard with dreadful yell,
As eager to anticipate their grave;
And the sea yawned around her like a hell,
And down she sucked with her the whirling wave,
Like one who grapples with his enemy,
And tries to strangle him before he die.
"And first one universal shriek there rushed,
Louder than the loud ocean, like a crash
Of echoing thunder; and then all was hushed,
Save the wild wind, and the remorseless dash
Of billows; but at intervals there gushed,
Accompanied by a convulsive splash,
A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry
Of some strong swimmer in his agony."--Byron.
It seems a sudden transition to turn from summer pic-nics to
shipwrecks; but every reader knows how often, even in the midst of the
world's pleasures and gaieties, mankind is startled by thrilling
stories of the tragic experiences of some of the great human family.
It has already been said that Grace Darling, in her lonely life upon
the Longstone rocks, surrounded only by the changeful elements, must
often have found in them her unconscious tutors. Who has not felt his
soul expand under the influence of a boundless ocean-prospect! But it
is the sea in storms, when it tosses about the ships which have dared
to invade it, as an angry child throws away its toys, that it is most
grand and awful. And this object is the one that is often present to
those who live by it. It may be that the best lessons which the sea
taught the lighthouse girl were those connected with its angry hours;
and that the repetition of startling casualties which she witnessed, or
of which she heard, may have played an important part in schooling her
to that degree of coolness and intrepidity which were necessary for the
sublime act which made her famous.
It is only natural that, in our island, great interest should be
manifested with regard to those who "go down to the sea in ships," and
it may not therefore be deemed out of place to make in this book a
reference to some of the most remarkable, and saddest, of the marine
disasters which have occurred to make the people of our nation mourn.
Every one who is at all acquainted with wreck returns will know how
impossible it would be to notice, in the space available, more than a
hundredth part of such occurrences. But two or three examples will
suffice.
The name of the "Royal George" will at once suggest itself to the
reader's memory. On August 29th, 1782, this ship, with many hundred
souls aboard, sunk, at anchor, in the broad glare of day and in full
sight of all on land, in the roadstead at Spithead. The British
sailors were exceedingly proud of this vessel, and amongst her
commanders had been such men as Admirals Anson, Boscawen, Rodney, and
Howe, and although she was not considered equal in appearance to many
others, she was believed to outrival them in her powers of sailing.
The "Royal George" had seen very active service, and there had been
some thought of putting her out of commission, and the officers of the
Admiralty decided upon keeping her in dock for the winter, but during
the August of 1782 she underwent repairs, with a view to sending her
out once more. Accordingly, on Thursday morning, the 29th of the same
month, the ship moored slowly out of harbour, bearing a freight of
eight hundred men, with wives, mothers, sisters, and sweethearts,
besides those who had been permitted to remain on board for a part of
the day. It was a pleasant scene on deck, and the happiness and gaiety
of the company seemed in harmony with the beauty of the morning. The
mid-day meal was made ready and begun, when a quick movement was felt,
and a flood of salt water came pouring through a port-hole that had
been most carelessly left unclosed. A stiff breeze caught her
broadside, and the "Royal George" turned slowly over and sank. As soon
as the disaster was perceived, an officer ran to the ship's captain to
inform him that it was capsizing. Kempenfelt, the admiral, was at his
desk below deck; his coxswain, notwithstanding the danger, attempted to
reach him, but unsuccessfully, for the waters had already engulphed
him. His loss was deplored in all the land; he was generally esteemed,
and his great abilities were acknowledged by the State. And now the
dauntless sea-warrior, who had met and repulsed many a foe, and had
looked upon death in a variety of forms, found his own end, not in the
force of the enemy's bullet, nor in the violence of the storm, but in a
calm sea, on a bright August morning. A reward of one hundred pounds
was offered for the body, but it was never recovered. An old journal,
which appeared a few days after, in this way concludes the announcement
of it--"Thus perished one of the most brave and amiable characters that
ever filled either a private or public situation."
A few minutes after the "Royal George" sank, only her topmasts were
visible. The greater part of the (one thousand two hundred) people,
and chiefly the women and children, were in the cabins, and therefore
immediately perished; but of over two hundred on deck, the majority
were rescued. The efforts put forth to save the drowning were marked
by another calamity. A victualling sloop, which had gone with other
vessels to the rescue, was drawn into the vortex of a whirlpool caused
by the sudden submersion of the "Royal George."
Many heart-rending accounts have been given on the Hard at Portsmouth,
and by boatmen at Southsea, of the saddening spectacle around the ship
as she sank. Human forms were discovered in every direction, and seen
to sink, to rise no more. Many managed to keep afloat for a time, but
having their strength buffetted out by the waves, threw up their hands
in terror, and disappeared. Screams for aid mingled with wild prayers
for mercy. Seventy are believed to have been picked up and saved by
the boats. For days after corpses were seen, carried along by the
tide, and secured, to be decently buried.
The news did not arrive in London until the day after, as in those
times, there were no other means of transporting messages than the
ordinary mail. Intelligence was received at the Admiralty with the
deepest regret, and throughout the country a thrill was felt at the
announcement. Subscription lists were immediately opened for the
benefit of those who survived. We give a copy of one of the numerous
appeals framed for assistance:--
"ROYAL GEORGE."
"Whereas, by the truly deplorable and hapless loss of His Majesty's
ship, the 'Royal George,' wherein about seven hundred officers and
sailors of heroic soul, Britain's pride, have shared an equal fate, it
cannot but be that many widows and children are reduced to the most
poignant distress. In order, therefore, to relieve in part their pangs
of misery and despair, and actuated by that humanity which has ever
characterised this nation, the gentlemen that frequent the 'Barley Mow'
in Salisbury Court, Fleet Street, have entered into a voluntary
subscription, in the hope that so laudable an example will soon be
extended into every part of His Majesty's dominions.
"A subscription book will be kept open for two months at the bar of the
'Barley Mow,' in Salisbury Court, Fleet Street, and at Mr. Mazzingby's,
No 17, Chancery Lane; at the expiration thereof the money so subscribed
shall be paid to the committee now appointed at 'New Lloyd's'
Coffeehouse, and by them appropriated to so charitable a plan."
Before long, rumours were heard, declaring the vessel to have been
mismanaged, and Captain Waghorne was ordered to attend a court-martial
on the 9th of the succeeding September, to be held on board the
"Warspite." One of the ship's carpenters explained that he had just
time enough to warn his brother before he made his own escape through a
port-hole, and affirmed that the vessel was really unfit for service;
but as its condition was not the immediate cause of the catastrophe,
the charge against the captain was dismissed.
Hopes were still entertained that the ship might yet be restored, and
made fit for service again. One man guaranteed to raise her for 20,000
pounds. But for years she remained in her watery bed, until, by reason
of the obstruction caused to the passage of other vessels, the matter
again called for attention, and, in 1817, the divers concluded a
protracted inspection. The decks were completely dislodged; and, in
fact, all that remained of the once magnificent man-of-war, was a pile
of disjointed and sodden timbers. All hopes of her restoration were
abandoned after the accounts given by the divers of their survey; and
the ruins were eventually dispersed by the force of powder.
Another memorable wreck was that of the "Halsewell," off Dorsetshire,
January 6, 1786, by which one hundred and sixty-six lives were
sacrificed. Belonging to the East India Company, she was one of the
finest and best of merchant men, made to carry seven hundred and
fifty-eight tons, and under command of Mr. Richard Pierce. At the time
of the disaster, she was making her third voyage out. A valuable cargo
was taken in, as usual, at Gravesend, and she cleared the Downs on the
first day of the New Year, bearing with her about four hundred and
forty passengers, amongst whom were a few ladies. With the captain
were his two daughters, and two other young ladies connected with the
family. Other ladies, who had been sent to England on account of their
health, being restored, were about to return to their friends in India.
Some had just left school, some were going to seek a home abroad, and
others a wider field of labour. A Mr. Schutz was intent upon gathering
an accumulation of wealth, which he had acquired there previously,
intending, on his return, to spend the rest of his days in quietness
and comfort. As is generally the case with these vessels, the scarlet
uniform of the military shone conspicuously, and the soldiers' wives
and families contributed a large part of the total number of passengers.
The day after starting a breeze sprang up, and an endeavour was made,
by drawing in towards shore, to gain the beach for the pilot boat. The
air became misty, and the winds blew contrary. As night drew on, with
no fairer prospect, anchor was dropped, and every sign of a storm was
visible--snow descended over the almost stationary vessel, and the
sails could scarcely be furled by reason of the frost. At four o'clock
in the morning, a hurricane blew. The vessel drove, and the command
was given to weigh anchor, and steer for the open sea. The pilot,
unable to be landed the preceding day, was now passed over to a
homeward bound brig, and the "Halsewell" proceeded on her perilous
voyage, when she was met by a new gale from the south, and a deal of
water was shipped, and, worse than all, a leak was found to have been
made, which soon filled the vessel to the depth of five feet. Every
pump was set to work, but mishaps followed one another, and the stream
increased to such an extent that another two feet of water was rapidly
made. It was a fearful condition to be in--in a treacherous channel,
with a high wind, and vessel pretty well beyond control. The
possibility of striking on one of the numerous rocks was obvious. In
tearing away the masts, five of the seamen fell overboard and were
drowned. About breakfast-time order began to be restored on the ship,
and she managed to get into the wind's course, where she remained for a
couple of hours, giving the terrified people courage to hope for the
best, especially as they learned that the water in the hold was
decreasing. The ship was, however, rapidly losing all power to
withstand the elements, and it was settled to sail back to Portsmouth.
The gale increased on Thursday night, and with more serious effect.
Notwithstanding the combined endeavours of the men, the ship still rode
for the shore, when, discovering their dangerous proximity to St.
Alban's Head, they dropped the anchor, and it became necessary to let
fall another to hold the ship. Again she drove, when Captain Pierce,
and Mr. Meriton, the chief officer, decided that all hope of saving her
must be abandoned, and the best means were considered for preserving
the lives of the passengers. The captain, consumed with anguish as he
thought of his own two daughters, begged Mr. Meriton to contrive some
way of escape. The chief officer, having no particular interest to
disengage him from the contemplation of what was his duty, replied that
nothing could be done, until the emergency became inevitable and
present. The captain, glancing up to heaven, avowed his readiness to
follow the chief officer's advice, hoping that daylight might discover
a more favourable state of affairs.
St. Alban's Head is so dangerous a reef that no vessel meeting it in
collision could stand the shock. Immediately after the hurried
conference before mentioned, the "Halsewell" ran violently up against
the rock. The passengers, who had been waiting together for death for
some time, became excessively agitated, and many a shriek rose over the
disturbed waters. Every soul rushed on deck, almost unable to
distinguish the face of a friend in the dark gloom of that fearful
morning. The sides of the vessel were being completely stove in as she
was repeatedly beaten upon the rocks. The chief officer retained his
presence of mind to the end; he proposed that all should keep to the
side that presented itself to the shore, so that at any possible moment
they might leap over in an endeavour to gain it. The ladies were
discovered in the round-house, and the officers, exhibiting true
manliness of character, strove to alleviate their sufferings, ignoring
their own danger. The steep snowy cliffs that sparkle in the clear
rays of the sun like crystal, and the bold promontories that inspire
one with awe and delight, viewed from a safe point, were looked upon
with dismay and terror by the occupants of the doomed ship. The light
of another day broke, when the vessel was seen to be blocking up the
entrance to a large cave scooped out by the continued force of the
waves. With that gregarious feeling always experienced in times of
danger, the people gathered silently and sadly together in the
roundhouse, now and then disturbed by a piercing wail from one of three
negresses who had sought refuge there. Various articles of furniture
and other effects were strewed about in all directions. Such a picture
greeted Mr. Meriton on leaving the deck. He at once struck a light,
and sat down in their midst, until the issues of the morning should
decide him on a course of action. Never oblivious of the comfort of
others, while forgetful of his own, he managed to procure a few oranges
to refresh the ladies.
Above deck many were leaving the ship, and trusting to the waves
casting them on the contiguous shore. A sudden lurch, accompanied by a
breaking up of the deck, and ominous creaking of adjacent timbers,
confirmed the distressing conviction that all would soon be over.
Looking up, Mr. Meriton perceived that the vessel had literally snapped
asunder. Whatever might be accomplished, now was the time to attempt
it. Seeing a plank, reaching, as he supposed, to the shore, he
ventured upon it, only to find out that he had laboured under a
mistake. He was immediately projected into the sea, and carried with
the tide into the cavern; but succeeding in clasping a jagged spar of
elevated rock, he gained by its aid a place of temporary safety. It is
impossible to tell how many were killed by being thrown against these
rocks by the relentless waves, but that numbers were, is certain.
In the blackness of night, the last despairing cry of many expiring
souls filled the ears of the survivors, acute with terror, until they,
in turn, becoming exhausted, would unresistingly glide into the
seething foam, to be swallowed up by the remorseless ocean.
Yearning for the dawn, these wretched people hailed its early glimmer,
only to sink into a lower state of despair, as its light plainly showed
them to be even in a worse situation than they had imagined. They were
completely shut in one great overhanging enclosure of rocks, entirely
hidden from the land, and from which escape seemed to be impossible.
In such a condition one would suppose that any ray of hope which might
previously have existed would have died out, yet, with the persistent
courage and sanguine temperament of the sailors, they dared to believe
in the possibility of escape; and with this forlorn hope, attempted to
gain the summit of the cliffs, which a few effected in a very wonderful
manner. The quarter-master and cook, succeeding first, gave the alarm,
when a number of quarrymen, together with a Mr. Garland, hastened down
to the beach to render assistance.
The chief officer, never losing spirit for one instant, although
considerably wounded by contact with the rocks, managed to grasp with
his hands a shelving piece of rock, which had afforded foothold to a
solitary soldier, who, nevertheless, was trembling in the expectation
of it giving way at any moment. Mr. Meriton, who was looking for the
same mishap, observed with joy the end of a rope coming towards them.
This the soldier eagerly embraced, and was drawn up in safety. At the
same time, the narrow ledge that was supporting Mr. Meriton gave way,
but providentially another end of rope was in view, and this, with a
dexterous spring, he managed to obtain.
Meanwhile, Captain Pierce and the young ladies still remained in the
round-house, remarking, sorrowfully, the absence of the chief officer.
Mr. Rogers, who was third mate, replied that he had gone aloft to see
how matters stood with them. The captain, sorely distressed on account
of his daughters, took a calm and lengthy survey, to see if any chance
might present itself to him for their safety; but all he could discover
before him was an extensive front of perpendicular rock, so he and the
third officer returned, to prepare the ladies for the worst. The
captain, drawing his daughters to him, held them firmly in each arm,
and thus together they went down, and so death found them! The third
officer, a midshipman, and one of the passengers, determined, at any
risk, to leave the ship, as they were well aware that to remain in her
was inevitably to perish. Accordingly they hastened on to the poop. A
moment later, and they must have been swept away by a gigantic wave,
that reared itself over the vessel, and which half-drowned, in the
noise of its descent, the screams that rose from the cabin below. A
hencoop, which had been grasped by a couple of passengers, landed them
in an exhausted condition upon a rock. Mr. Schutz and the midshipman
had both disappeared. Twenty-seven men gained access to a rock, but
seeing that, as the tide flowed, they would stand in danger of being
swept off, they strove to make for the cavern, but all, except eight,
were drowned in the attempt. Messrs. Rogers and Brimer, who were among
the number, succeeded in approaching the cavern, and ensconced
themselves on shelving ledges worn by the action of the sea; and this
fearful situation they were compelled to retain, witnessing the
fruitless and violent efforts of their expiring companions, while their
ears were filled with their stifled cries. Mr. Rogers saw Mr. Meriton
on the rock, a few feet from himself, and they congratulated one
another upon their escape, and together watched the final plump of the
"Halsewell" into the depths of the ocean. A distressing fact was, that
some of the men, even at the moment when succour was near, unable to
hold out any longer, were precipitated into the sea. Owing to the
brave and humane conduct of the quarrymen, those who had survived were
placed in comfortable quarters before night; but these were a small
minority of those who started gaily out in that ill-fated ship.
On the 26th February, 1852, the "Birkenhead" went down off the Cape of
Good Hope, carrying with her four hundred and thirty-eight souls. The
noble example of our British heroes, who found a watery grave by the
sinking of the above-named vessel, will never be forgotten. It is
unsurpassed in all the annals of our country's history. The ship was
sent out at the time of the Caffre war. It was a fine evening, and
there was land ahead, toward which the "Birkenhead" was steering at
ordinary speed. She was splendidly built, and had conveyed a large
band of soldiers and their families from Cork--had left a few troops at
Cape Town, and was now proceeding to Algoa Bay with a few detachments
of the 12th, 74th, and 91st regiments, and from thence to Buffalo River
with others. The total number of troops amounted to something over
five hundred; and in addition to these, were the wives and children of
some of the men, and one hundred and thirty-two of the ship's crew.
Nearly all of these were asleep in their cabins. Captain Wright, of
the 91st, was on deck, with an officer of the watch, and they held a
short argument concerning a light which was visible on the port side.
They could not agree as to which beacon it was, but they were convinced
it was to mark a point of danger.
About two o'clock A.M., on the 26th, they unconsciously ran the vessel
on a bed of rock, which was covered by the sea to a sufficient depth to
hide it from sight. The shock was followed by such a tide flowing in
at the opening thus effected, that many of the slumberers must have
passed from one sleep into another with scarcely any knowledge of the
passage. The awakened troops, with their officers, immediately rushed
on deck--the captain, Mr. Salmond, being among the first to arrive
there. The steam was turned off, the small anchor cast, and boats
lowered, in case there should be any necessity for using them. Colonel
Seton gathered the officers together, and begged them to see that order
and silence were maintained in their respective regiments. Captain
Wright was asked to work with the commander. Without the slightest
apparent emotion, the men went about their work as calmly as they would
have executed an ordinary practiced manoeuvre. No signs of fear were
evident, but discipline was strictly regarded. Sixty men, in
successive lots of twenty, worked at the chain pumps, and another sixty
looked after the boat tackles; while all who were not needed in the
management of the vessel stood in marching order on the poop for
ballast. The horses were all pitched out, and some of them turned
their heads for the land, which could be plainly distinguished in a
starry night, about sixteen furlongs off. A boat was prepared for the
women and children, who awaited it in breathless silence, and all were
carefully disposed of in its capacious sides. They had but just moored
off when the vessel struck again, making another breach for a swifter
flood, both shocks coming within fifteen minutes of each other. The
bow snapped from the foremast, the bowsprit flew through the air up to
the foretopmast, and the funnel, toppling overboard, dragged in its
rear the starboard paddle-box and boat. The second boat had reached
the waves bottom upmost, and notwithstanding there was another in the
middle of the ship, she could not be reached. The water speedily put
out the fires, compelling the engine-drivers to leave their station and
ascend to the upper deck. It was known to be a certainty that the
vessel must sink, and that very shortly, nevertheless there was no
setting aside the tasks they had received orders to perform, although
they were well aware that everything they did was useless, so far as
the righting of the ship was concerned. Still every man kept to his
post, even though he were overtaken by the waters and overwhelmed by
them. Many, indeed, must have perished at the pumps, while others,
keeping by the tackle, were struck down by falling timbers.
When the funnel was lost, every man was on the poop; three boats were
afloat, containing all the women and children. The decisive moment
having arrived, when all must be committed to the waves, the commander
advised all who could to swim to the boats; but as in all probability
this would lead to their being sunk, on account of the vast numbers
requiring accommodation, several officers, in the face of this order,
implored the men to stay in their present position, rather than
sacrifice the women and children in attempting to save themselves. One
or two had already started at the captain's bidding; but the majority
waited behind, with the officers standing firmly and in orderly rank,
in calm expectation of a speedy dissolution, uttering no repining, no
words of mourning for their fate, or expressions of fear, but each man,
in his loyalty to duty, quietly and inwardly prepared to meet his
death! It is a touching and inspiring picture, that may well emulate
every bosom to deeds of heroism. The stern of the vessel, which had
reared as the bow descended, gave a sudden plunge and went under also,
and those who had swarmed its deck felt the force of the waters
uplifting them as their footing sank beneath them, and they were left
to struggle as they might with the briny element.
The last sentence the captain spoke was to give the order for a boat to
take up Mr. Brodie, whom he saw fighting with the waves. When the
vessel was gone from under him, he was seen making his way to a block
of woodwork, which was floating near; but a clumsy log bearing heavily
towards him stunned him, and he at once disappeared. Colonel Seton
also made his grave with the brave troops he had commanded. Captain
Wright and a few others managed to keep their heads above water by
clinging to a drifting spar, and about two hundred men for a time held
on to pieces of the wreck, part of the mainmast supporting a great
number. The principal portion of the deck being undestroyed, it served
as a raft for those who could reach it, but the numbers were thinning
rapidly, as one after another became exhausted and sank; and three
boats were carried away, bottom uppermost.
Cornet Bond, having with him a life-preserver, succeeded in filling it
with air, and by its aid reached the land in safety. Drowning men were
struggling in all directions, and their groans and cries were fearfully
appalling. Two men, who were cleaving the water finely, not far
distant from him, Mr. Bond perceived to go under all in a moment
shrieking, being seized by the voracious sharks which abound on that
coast. The cornet had two miles to swim, which he accomplished with
difficulty. As he neared the shore, he found himself caught in a
forest of tangled sea-weed, from which he at last extricated himself
after severe exertion. Having achieved his own preservation he looked
round for some trace of life, and was surprised to find his own horse
as the first object he should meet with in his strange and perilous
situation.
As soon as morning dawned, Mr. Bond sought the place where he had
effected his landing to help nine of his companions, who were nearing
the shore on the raft. He climbed over the crags in search of a
favourable place to approach, where he assisted them in gaining a
footing. They were almost in a state of nudity, having been compelled
to rush from their berths without waiting to attire themselves. They
observed three others in a like condition, floating in by the aid of a
spar, and sent up to heaven an earnest petition that they might have
the power to rescue them, and eagerly waited their chance. The three
men had no control whatever over the spar; it was as much as they could
do to preserve their hold. Washed about backwards and forwards, their
peril seemed imminent; but at last a fortuitous wave carried them on to
the rocks amid the rejoicings of their compatriots. Captain Wright and
five others drifted towards Point Danger, where they encountered
serious obstacles to their landing in the immense growths of seaweed,
and the wall of surf that spanned the beach. In order to lighten the
weight depending on the fragment of wreck that had sustained them until
now, Wright separated from it, trusting to his own prowess to reach the
shore. Several others followed his example, and all were successful in
their endeavours; and after walking a little way up the country, they
fell in with Captain Wright and his company. During the day they
lighted on a fisherman's hut, but nothing was available there, so Mr.
Wright trudged off to a farm-house, about a couple of leagues distant,
where he procured and forwarded articles of food to those he had left
half-famished in the hut. The following day, waifs from the wreck
being continually helped ashore by those already landed, the number
amounted to sixty-eight men, including eighteen sailors, and these all
found temporary refuge at Captain Small's farm.
But coming back to the scene of the disaster, it will be remembered
that the women and children were packed carefully in the cutter, under
the superintendence of Mr. Richards, and ordered to keep within a
restricted limit of the wreck. As it disappeared, the boat was rowed
up to take in as many as possible, but then numbers more were left
straining with wistful eyes after the heavily-freighted craft, as she
slowly receded. It was with bitter pangs that Mr. Richards was obliged
to refuse the help he could not give to the poor drowning wretches, for
the boat was near swamping with the burden she already bore. Here,
again, the breakers threatened to prevent a landing. Vast flakes of
foam were hurled over the boat, as she fought her way against the tide.
Seeing, therefore, that the waves formed an invincible barrier at the
point they were striving to reach, Mr. Richards drew back into the
open, and signalling to the other boats to keep clear also, he rowed
for several miles along the coast in hopes of finding a smoother sea,
but to no purpose.
Break of day showed them, in easy distance, a schooner, which was
followed by the indefatigable commander; but as they could not succeed
in making themselves observed, and a favourable wind springing up, the
schooner soon shot further ahead, and was lost to sight. Again,
however, it appeared, and another effort was made to attract attention
by elevating a shawl, which happily served to arrest its progress. The
helpless company were received on board the "Lioness" of Cape Town,
having suffered terribly during the twelve hours they had been tossing
in their little open bark on the sea. They had neither eaten nor drunk
of anything since their departure from the ship, and their depression
of spirits had been considerably increased by the uncertain fate of
their friends. Thirty-six men had already been taken up and provided
for by Captain Ramsden and his wife, whose ready sympathy and care were
warmly appreciated by the suffering men.
Mr. Richards and Mr. Renwick, being assured by the captain that he
would await their return, started out again in the cutter to the scene
of the wreck, hoping to find that some of the passengers and crew had
managed to survive, but no human form was to be seen in any direction,
and they reluctantly retraced their journey. The number of souls saved
by the schooner amounted in all to one hundred and sixteen. Many who
had held on to floating timbers, lost their hold, as strength ebbed
away. Others, who perseveringly clung till morning, seeing no prospect
of help, struck out for land, which the greater part were enabled to
reach, while the remainder either became powerless by long exposure and
over-exertion, or were seized and devoured by the ravenous sharks. The
purser of the "Birkenhead," with several companions, were drifting on
one piece of wreck, when they observed a portion of a boat that was
floating towards them, just under the surface of the water. They
became filled with eager anticipations. But release was not to come
just yet, for the boat slowly passed them, never coming within reach,
and they were forced again to wait in hope of another opportunity.
Happily, this erelong presented itself, in the identical schooner which
had preserved the lives of so many of their comrades.
Captain Small having promised to do his best for the comfort of the men
who had thus unexpectedly invaded his farm, Captain Wright set out
again for the shore, wandering along, for several days, in order that
he might rescue any poor fellow that had perchance reached the land, in
all probability to perish there without assistance. Here he was aided
by the crew of a whale-boat, who coasted along with him inside the line
of the sea-weed barrier. They came upon two men clinging to pieces of
wood amongst the slippery weeds, just in time to save them from the
jaws of death; and two others were discovered by Captain Wright, lying
in holes of the rock, where they had crawled, too faint to move any
farther. These four, owing to the kindness and attention of the
captain, were shortly and fully restored.
Again, one or two officers returned to renew the quest, but their
efforts were fruitless. Corpses they found washed ashore for burial,
but no more living men were seen. As soon as intelligence of the
catastrophe was received at Cape Town, a steamer, "Rhadamanthus," was
dispatched to take a survey of the spot. Captain Small was relieved by
this vessel of the unfortunate men who had been thus necessarily
quartered upon him; and they were conveyed to Simon's Bay, touching
there on Monday, March 1st. The "Rhadamanthus" having thoroughly
explored the coast where the wreck had occurred, was able to state with
certainty that not one person living had been left behind of those who
had formed the passengers and crew of the "Birkenhead."
Captain Wright, an officer of capacity and experience, accustomed to
the strictest forms of martial order and law, felt bound to say that
the power of discipline in the troops, and their quick obedience to
command, was greater than he had deemed possible, and excited the more
astonishment as the men were principally new to the service. Each one
acted promptly on the judgment, and at the order of his superior
officer, and not a sound of murmuring escaped a man until the waters
engulphed him. "All officers received their orders, and had them
carried out, as if the men were embarking instead of going to the
bottom; there was only this difference, that I never saw any
embarkation conducted with so little noise and confusion."
The "Birkenhead" started for Algoa Bay, bearing a freight of six
hundred and thirty persons, out of which number, one hundred and
ninety-two alone reached their destination. A court-martial was held
for inquiry, when it was admitted that the vessel should have been kept
farther out at sea, so as not to have incurred the dangers of that
rocky coast; but appended to the verdict was the following remark--"If
such be the case, the court still are not precluded from speaking with
praise of the departed, for the coolness which they displayed in the
moment of extreme peril, and for the laudable anxiety shown for the
safety of the women and children, to the exclusion of all selfish
considerations."
On the 26th October, 1859, was lost the "Royal Charter," in which four
hundred and fifty-nine persons perished. This vessel was on a return
voyage from Melbourne, Australia, and was conveying men and women, who
had once been emigrants, back to their native land. Steering carefully
round Cape Horn, the captain skilfully avoided those huge blocks of ice
which carry destruction to the unwary sailor. Nearing the south, they
encountered a violent storm, which the vessel outrode, receiving little
or no damage. As the gale subsided, the spirits of the company rose,
and all became intent upon getting as much enjoyment as possible out of
a smooth passage. Looking forward to a speedy disembarkation, valuable
presents were given to Captain Taylor for his capable management of the
vessel, and assiduity in securing the comfort of the passengers, and to
the Rev. Mr. Hodge, who had performed the service of chaplain at their
request. Several passengers landed at Queenstown. The owners of the
vessel having received news of its arrival, publicity was made to the
announcement, so that many who were expecting long absent friends
hastened to Liverpool for an early greeting.
The "Great Eastern" being at anchor in the waters off Holyhead, the
passengers of the "Royal Charter" pressed Captain Taylor to steer as
closely as possible to the coast, in order to afford them a glimpse of
its bulky dimensions. This he readily complied with, and they were
soon skirting the rock-bound shores of Cardigan Bay.
As the day proceeded the wind increased; gathering such force, as
darkness settled, that the passengers became filled with nervous
apprehensions. The ship's speed decreased suddenly. Almost touching
the Isle of Anglesea, the captain endeavoured to procure assistance by
the firing of rockets; but no one appears to have observed them.
Anchors were cast two hours before midnight, and the passengers grew
still more alarmed. A few hours more, and this magnificent vessel, the
"Royal Charter," was a complete wreck.
Many of the passengers had not attempted to take their usual repose.
The vessel dashing on to a rock brought every man on deck in an
instant. Captain Withers was heard to exclaim, "Come, directly; we are
all lost! I will take your child; come along." A heart-rending scene
followed, last embraces were fervently given and returned, and dismal
shrieks penetrated the atmosphere. The Rev. Mr. Hodge, calm in the
"full assurance of faith," lifted up an earnest petition to Him who is
mighty to save. Soon the noise of the water pouring on deck became
audible to those below. Several of the officers endeavoured to inspire
the women with courage and hope, saying that the vessel was only
beaching herself on a sandy bed, but a few yards distant from the land.
Morning, however, failed to verify this statement: they were decidedly
too far away from the shore to reach it without aid. A Welshman,
looking seaward at early dawn, discovered the sad plight of the sinking
ship, and hastily ran for help. During his absence the ship again
collided, with greater force.
Eventually, an immense wave, breaking on deck, snapped the iron-work
and timbers asunder, as though they had been brittle as glass. Many
people, gathered in the centre of the vessel, were literally smashed.
The greater part escaped the agonies of a protracted struggle, owing to
the floating timbers and numerous crags that abounded; many received
from one or the other a fatal blow.
The men of the Welsh coast waded in as far as they dared, to help all
who were thrown within their reach, and not a few were saved in this
way. The bodies of those who had perished, being washed ashore, were
shrouded, and laid in rows in a neighbouring churchyard, awaiting
recognition. Many harrowing tales are told of scenes witnessed there,
as the anxious searchers discovered, in some mutilated remains, traces
of a well-loved friend.
The "Royal Charter" was laden with gold to the amount of 70,000 pounds,
the principal part of which was brought up by divers.
On the 11th January, 1866, the "London" foundered and sank, in the Bay
of Biscay, carrying down with her two hundred and thirty-six people.
Sailing from Gravesend, she was making her way to Australia. At
starting, many indications were noted of foul weather ahead. The sea
became so rough that, on approaching the Nore, anchors were cast; but
the weather clearing, and prospects generally brightening, an early
opportunity was taken for clearing the Channel. The Bay of Biscay was
reached on Monday, where the vessel, being badly constructed, exhibited
many extraordinary freaks, and shipped a vast quantity of water. One
of the mariners observed, "She frightens me; I do not know what to make
of her."
Serious damage being done by the heavy seas that continually washed
over the vessel, it was thought wise to return. The force of the winds
increasing caused the vessel to rear over, first on one side, and then
on the other, sucking up a vast quantity of water each time. Bedding,
wearing apparel, food, and fruit, were floating together in strange
confusion. All the men were told to cluster on the poop, to ease the
ship, the tumultuously-upheaving waves threatening instant submersion.
Many people congregated in the cuddy, listening to the fervent
exhortations of the Rev. Mr. Draper. Devout and earnest prayers were
offered by this good man, which never failed to soothe and strengthen
the most timid and distressed. The ladies seconded the men in all
their efforts to keep the vessel under control. When it became evident
that nothing could save her, the captain's announcement of the fact was
received with calmness and resignation. Beyond a smothered sob, or a
heart-broken--"Oh, pray with me, Mr. Draper!" no audible sound rose
above the noise of the storm. Families grouped themselves together,
enfolding each other in a last loving embrace. Men were discovered, in
various parts of the ship, with their Bibles open.
Some of the crew were observed tapping casks of grog, several being
intoxicated. The captain instantly came to them, and implored them to
prepare for death in a better way than that.
At two o'clock P.M., on the 11th January, several of the sailors
resolved upon attempting to launch a small boat, in which to make their
escape from the vessel. The endeavour was attended with considerable
danger, and the men knew it. Compasses, oars, and other useful
articles, were lowered with the boat, and many of the passengers
eagerly sought this one remaining chance. A young lady of remarkable
beauty promised to give 500 pounds to whoever would save her. Another,
leaning over the vessel, beseechingly urged a young man to rescue her.
This he promised to do if she would leap into the boat; but fear
restrained her, and she was unwillingly left behind.
A description of the sinking of the vessel, given by an eye-witness, is
as follows:--"The sun just shone out at that time, which made the scene
appear worse to me. I thought dark and gloom more suitable for such a
sad moment, and most in keeping with the feelings of those on board.
The foresail was still standing, also half of the maintopsail. The
mizen yards were swinging about, not braced; the wreck of the
foretopmast still hanging and swinging to and fro; the gangways knocked
out; the bulwarks all standing as good as when she left the docks. The
stern very low in the water, the bows pretty well out of it, so that we
could see the red-painted bottom, or coloured iron by rust; the jibboom
gone. Soon we ran down in the trough of a large sea, and were hid from
sight of her. When we came up, we could see she had changed her
position very much; we could not see the after-part of the
vessel--whether under water, or hid by a sea, I cannot tell; her bows
were high out of the water; and by the pitch or rake of the mast, we
could see that she was at an angle of about forty-five degrees. Soon
another wave came, and we ran down in the trough of another sea; when
we came up, there was nothing to be seen of the 'London.'"
On the 7th September, 1870, foundered the "Captain" off Cape
Finisterre, in which five hundred lives were sacrificed.
The "Captain" was built for the purpose of illustrating a new
principle, that of the modern turret, and said to surpass the
"Monarch," as yet considered the nearest approach to perfection in
shipbuilding.
On the 6th of September, 1870, several vessels of the British fleet
were cruising together off the coast of Spain, the "Captain" being
amongst the number. Although the clouds to the west looked sombre and
heavy, there was no apparent signs of a storm; but during the night the
barometer fell and the winds arose. The "Captain" was observed by the
crew of the "Lord Warden," following a north-west passage. A white
squall battled for a couple of hours with the vessels, damaging each to
a considerable extent. When morning dawned, the "Captain" was missed.
It was supposed, however, that she had merely sailed out of sight, but
daylight showed the awful fact that the ship had gone down. Portions
of wreck were seen floating on the tide, and recognised as having
belonged to the "Captain."
The details of the sad event became known when the few survivors
reached England. Captain Burgoyne was on deck when the catastrophe
happened, remaining there as the night grew stormy. The middle watch
was mustered duly at midnight, and the former one retired. Immediately
after a wave, curling over the vessel, flooded her decks and turned her
completely on her side. The next instant, and the sails went under,
nothing but the ship's keel being visible. The men of the watch, after
recovering the shock of the sudden immersion, perceiving a life-boat
drifting keel upward, instantly made for her. By means of this, many
were enabled to support themselves for a considerable time. After
floating a while in this way, a boat was observed coming towards them,
in which were seated a couple of men. As soon as it was within reach
most of the men sprang gratefully in; but before Captain Burgoyne and a
seaman, named Heard, had time to leap, their chance was gone--a huge
wave washing the boat apart.
One amongst the number of the saved said that the men were literally
carried wholesale from the decks by the huge seas that swept over them.
A man, named Hirst, after being carried down with the vessel, rose and
succeeded in grasping a piece of the wreck, to which he lashed himself
with a handkerchief. Drifting along in this manner he came across the
boat and its unfortunate occupants, who speedily hauled him in.
A memorial window may now be seen in Westminster Abbey, to the five
hundred men who perished thus in their country's service.
More recently still was the wreck of the "Northfleet," off Dungeness,
on the 22nd of January, 1873, run down, while lying at anchor, by the
carelessness of a foreign sea captain. Many accounts of the sad event,
elicited from the survivors, were given in the journals of that date.
An abridged copy of one is as follows:--
"The pilot passed the word to drop anchor off Dungeness. Here we lay
snug enough, and at eight o'clock the watch was set, Frank Sealove and
John Gunstaveson being on deck, and on the watch. They died doing
their duty. I went down to my berth, and was soon fast asleep. I
don't know how long I had slept, when I was nearly shaken out of my
hammock by a fearful crashing or a staggering over the ship. Before I
knew where I was--being awoke so suddenly--I heard the boatswain sing
out, 'All hands on deck to the pumps.' I was not long in jumping into
my boots I can tell yon, and all in the forecastle ran upstairs
pell-mell. When we got there, we could not see much, for the night was
dark, but there was light enough to see a half-dressed crowd come
rushing madly up from the steerage passenger berths, and you didn't
want any light to hear the shrieks of the women and the crying of the
children.
"There was a terrible panic I can tell you, amongst the strong, rough
men, when it became apparent that the vessel was sinking. To tell the
truth, there was that much confusion on board that I really did not
know what was going to be done. By this time about a dozen women had
got on to the deck. I could hear the captain's voice, now and then,
above the praying and crying, but I don't know that any one was paying
any attention to him. In the midst of the din and confusion the
captain's wife was being lowered into the boat on the starboard side.
She had been aroused by her husband, who assisted her to dress, and as
a precaution against sinking she put on a cork belt. As she was
descending, the Captain waved his hands, and said, 'Good-bye, my dear,
good-bye;' and his wife replied, 'Good-bye, my love; I don't expect to
see you any more.' One poor fellow who jumped with me on to the tops
of the pile of boats, said, 'My last minute's come; if you should live
to get ashore tell mother I was thinking of her when I went down.'
'All right, old chap,' I said, 'I will; it I should go and you should
get ashore, tell my mother likewise that my last thought was of her.'
"In another minute I saw the sea come up to the level of the poop, and
the crowd, which stood shrieking there, seemed to mingle with it, and
all go away into white foam. Then I myself was struggling in the
water, and was just thinking to myself what a long time I was being
drowned, when I came up, and feeling out with my hands, got hold of
some rigging. I stuck to it; to my surprise I found it did not sink;
and presently others came and got hold of it. Eventually a pilot boat
came alongside and took us all off."
The "Murillo," a Spanish screw steamer, was adjudged to have been the
offender in the case; but, as it could not be legally proved, the
captain escaped punishment.
Very shortly after the sinking of the "Northfleet," news came of
another calamity, which stirred the heart of the country with pity. On
the 1st of April, 1873, the "Atlantic" foundered off the coast of Nova
Scotia, burying with her under the waves four hundred and eighty-one
people.
Sailing from Liverpool on the 20th of March, she was bound for America
with a burden of nine hundred and thirty-one souls, principally
emigrants. The equinoctial gales were blowing, and Captain Williams
thought it wise to make for the Harbour of Halifax, Nova Scotia.
Arrived off Lake Prospect on the 31st, the vessel was expected, very
shortly, to be safe in port; but drifting somewhat out of her proper
direction she ran on to a submerged reef. All hands were immediately
on deck, and every endeavour was made to launch the boats, but they
were prevented by the sudden turning over of the vessel. Many of the
passengers clung to the rigging, believing that to be their best chance
of escape. Five lines were attached, by the crew, to a rock lying some
distance from the vessel, and another line was carried from the rock to
the shore. Many of the passengers, who had the courage to pass over
the comparatively slender rope spanning the watery abyss, were saved.
By reason of the extreme cold several lost their hold on the ropes and
fell into the sea. The captain was indefatigable in his efforts to
preserve life. A vast number of passengers died in their berths; many
who had managed to reach the deck were swept away by the immense waves
that flooded it. One sharp cry was wafted on the chill night air, and
a deadly silence prevailed, except for the fitful roaring of the sea.
Early in the morning, many who had spent the hours of darkness on the
rock, were rescued by a boat sent from Meagher's Island. Captain
Williams maintained his position on the wreck until the effect of the
cold on him had made his presence useless, when he was carried off in
one of the boats. Mr. Firth, after being many hours in the rigging was
assisted from his precarious situation by the Rev. Mr. Ancient, a
clergyman. A Spaniard remarked that the scene on board the sinking
ship was one of awful confusion. A crowd of terror-stricken human
beings were swaying hither and thither, in vain hopes of meeting with
some way of escape, shrieking and begging for aid; a moment after, when
he looked from his perch in the rigging, not a soul of them was to be
seen.
Emulated by the courageous example of the Rev. Mr. Ancient, the
fishermen of Meagher's Island did all in their power for the
shipwrecked people. One boy, whose friends had perished, was saved by
trying to creep through a porthole, but not having sufficient strength,
a boatman seized him by the hair and drew him out, depositing him in
the boat.
The vessel soon snapped asunder, and many of her stores were recovered
by the divers. Corpses were every now and then thrown up in vast
numbers by the raging sea, to be reverently laid with their kindred
dust, in the churchyard mould.
Many other stories might be told, as they have been most graphically,
in "Notable Shipwrecks," lately published by Cassell, Petter, & Galpin,
to which the writer is indebted for much information, but these will be
sufficient to remind the reader of the perils of the sea. Scope,
indeed, for the exercise of the truest heroism is given in such
disasters; but one cannot read of the sacrifice of brave lives without
a shudder. And yet, why should it be so?
"To every man upon the earth,
Death cometh soon or late;"
and to go down into the waves, with the consciousness of rising to
immortal life directly, cannot be very sad after all. If only the soul
be prepared for the change, nothing else signifies much. It does not
matter whether the body rests beneath the flowers in the cemetery, or
in the ocean-beds. The repose will be as tranquil either way. "Them
that sleep in Jesus will God bring with Him."
"Give back the lost and lovely! Those for whom
The place was kept at board and hearth so long,
The prayer went up through midnight's breathless gloom,
And the vain yearning woke 'midst festal song!
Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o'erthrown--
But all is not thine own!
"To thee the love of woman hath gone down.
Dark flow thy tides o'er manhood's noble head,
O'er youth's bright locks, and beauty's flowery crown.
Yet must thou hear a voice--Restore the dead!
Earth shall reclaim her precious things from thee:
Restore the dead, thou sea!"--Mrs. Hemans.