THE WRECK OF THE "FORFARSHIRE."
"Never bronze, nor slab of stone,
May their sepulchre denote:
O'er their burial place alone
Shall the shifting sea-weed float.
"Not for them the quiet grave
Underneath the daisied turf;
They rest below the restless wave,
They sleep below the sleepless surf.
"O'er them shall the waters wrestle
With the whirlwind from the land,
But their bones will only nestle
Closer down into the sand;
"And for ever, wind and surge,
Loud or low, shall be their dirge;
And each idle wave that breaks
Henceforth upon any shore,
Shall be dearer for their sakes,
Shall be holy evermore."--E. H. O.
Only they who have had to brave the dangers of the deep for many years,
can understand what its perils really are. Unfortunately, as the
reader knows, these are so great and frequent, that to describe a wreck
is but to take one of many which have been still more sad and
disastrous. But as the wreck of the "Forfarshire" deserves especial
mention, because of the heroic conduct of the lighthouse-girl, it will
be necessary that we should become acquainted with as many of its
details as have been preserved.
The "Forfarshire" steamer was a vessel of about three hundred tons
burden, and it was under the command of one, John Humble, who had
formerly been master of the "Neptune," of Newcastle. The "Forfarshire"
was to go from Hull to Dundee, with a valuable cargo of bale goods and
sheet iron; and she sailed from Hull on Wednesday evening, September
5th, 1838, at about half-past six o'clock. Two other vessels left at
the same time, the "Pegasus" and "Inisfail," both bound for Leith. The
vessel might almost have been called a new one, for she was but two
years old, but her boilers were in a very bad state of repair. They
were examined before the ship left Hull; and a small leak which was
detected was closed up, and it was hoped that the vessel had been made
safe. Sixty-three persons sailed in her, including twenty passengers
in the cabin, and nineteen in the steerage, Captain Humble, his wife,
fourteen seamen, four firemen, two coal trimmers, and two stewards.
Several persons noticed an unusual bustle on board, and found, on
inquiring, that it was caused by the state of the boilers. This very
naturally occasioned great anxiety on the part of those who were to
sail in her, and one of the steerage passengers, Mrs. Dawson, was heard
to say, that if her husband came down to the steamer in time, she would
return with him, and not sail in the vessel at all.
Off Flamborough Head the leakage was again detected, and continued for
six hours; but it did not appear to be very serious, inasmuch as the
pumps were able to keep the vessel dry. Still it was enough to cause
some alarm, for two of the fires were extinguished by it, and had to be
relighted when the boilers had been temporarily repaired. Things were
not very encouraging, since the vessel could only move slowly; and
before she had proceeded more than a little way on her course, three
other steamers passed her.
It would have been only wise and right if, under such circumstances,
the vessel had not attempted to pursue her course, but had put into the
nearest port. Such was not the case, however, and though she was known
to be in a most inefficient state, she proceeded on her voyage. It was
about six o'clock on Thursday evening when the "Forfarshire" passed
through the Fairway, the water which lies between the Farne Island and
the mainland. It was night when she entered Berwick Bay, and at that
time the wind was blowing strong from the north, and the sea was
running very high. Naturally enough the strain upon the vessel, caused
by its greatly increased motion on account of the violence of the
weather, widened the leak. The firemen reported that they could not
keep the fires burning, as the leakage had increased to such an extent
that the water put them out. The captain ordered two men to be
employed in pumping water into the boilers, but no good came of that,
for as fast as they pumped the water in it escaped again through the
leak.
The storm continued to rage with unabated fury, and it was felt by all
on board that they were in imminent danger. The captain strove to keep
up the courage of the men and passengers, but their anxious faces told
too surely of the sinking hearts within.
"Where are we now?" was the question asked at ten o'clock; and those
who asked, would have given not a little to be in happy British homes,
safe from the fury of the winds and sea.
"We are off St. Abb's Head," was the reply, shouted at the top of the
man's voice, that it might be heard, for in the din and roar it was
difficult to make each other understand.
Presently the enginemen, working hard at their engines, found that
their efforts were entirely vain. They persevered until it was evident
that perseverance was useless and then they represented the case to the
captain.
"The engines will not work, sir," they said, "though we have done our
best to make them."
The captain looked, and felt extremely anxious, for he knew that a
terrible danger menaced the vessel, and all on board.
"Hoist the sails fore and aft," was the order, for it was well known
that there was great probability of their drifting ashore. The vessel
was put about, and every endeavour made to keep her before the wind,
and away from the rocks. It was thought by some that an attempt would
be made to anchor, but it was not so. The vessel was not long before
it had become perfectly unmanageable; and those who were helpless to
guide her felt, with dismay, how near they were to destruction and
death. The tide was setting in to the south, and the ship drifted in
that direction.
All this time it was raining heavily, and the fog was so thick that
nothing could be distinctly seen. It was impossible to tell where they
were; and in darkness and uncertainty, fearing the worst, and quaking
with terror, the unhappy passengers and crew waited for their doom, as
men and women have done so often under circumstances similarly
appalling. There was nothing they could do but wait and pray; and they
were the happiest who could keep alive in their bosoms the faintest
spark of hope, and who, being ready either to live or die, had
confidence in the strong arm and watchful care of Him who holds the
waters in the hollow of His hand.
At length there was a startled cry, "Breakers to leeward!" and that
discovery increased the excitement and terror a hundredfold. All eyes
were strained in the endeavour to ascertain something of their
position, and presently the Farne Lights became visible. After a
moment's consultation, the awful truth made the men desperate. There
was no doubt as to the imminent and immediate peril in which they were,
for the dangerous character of the coast of the islands was well known.
The captain and men, aroused to almost superhuman effort by the awful
catastrophe that was coming upon them, tried to avert what seemed
almost inevitable, by endeavouring to run the vessel through the
channel that lies between the Farne Islands and the mainland. But the
gloomy apprehensions of all who understood the state of the case were
rather increased than diminished by the attempt; for the vessel would
not answer her helm; and the furious, turbulent sea tossed her hither
and thither, making her the sport of its own awful will.
It was between three and four o'clock when, with her bow foremost, the
"Forfarshire" struck on the rock.
Those who are not acquainted with the Farne Islands can scarcely form
an idea of the ruggedness of those rocks, which stand up in the ocean
as if intent on destroying all that comes near them. The rock on which
the "Forfarshire" struck is so sharp and rugged that it is scarcely
possible for persons to stand erect upon it, even when it is dry, and
it descends sheer down into the water more than a hundred fathoms deep.
The shock, therefore, and the awful scene that followed, may be
imagined, but cannot be described. The night was round about the
helpless passengers, and added to their danger and dismay. The sea was
tremendously high, and the waves seemed to be so many graves rising to
receive the bodies that must shortly drop into them. The noise and
tumult were so great as to bewilder those who listened. The wind
howled in its rage, and mingled with the thunder of the waters. The
sea-gulls screamed as they flew madly about the ship, and towards the
shore. The women shrieked so piercingly that their voices could be
heard above all other sounds, and were by far the maddest and most
mournful of all. Nor was this surprising, for the great vessel was
lifted up by the action of the water, and again forced upon the jagged
rock, while the beams and timbers gave way, and that to which the
passengers and sailors had trusted their lives proved itself little
better than a grave.
The bustle and confusion on board were naturally very great at this
juncture. All tried to find their way on deck, but some did not live
to reach it. Others, as soon as they had gained that which they hoped
was a place of safety, were at once swept off into the great deep below.
At this time some of the crew, eager to save themselves, lowered the
larboard quarter-boat, and sprang into it. Among these were James
Duncan, the first mate, to whom some blame seems to have been attached,
and Mr. Ruthven Ritchie, of Perthshire. It is little wonder that in
such a crisis all should do what could be done to save themselves. But
we have some memorable instances of unselfish heroism on the part of
British sailors, who have even lost their own lives in saving those of
others.
"It is the signal of death," was the hurried conclusion to which many
came when they felt the shock of the vessel on the rock. Then followed
a most heart-rending scene. The master lost all self-control in his
anguish and terror; but, perhaps, that is not surprising when it is
remembered that he had on board his own wife. It is so natural for a
woman to think that her husband can save her from everything; and this
woman clung to the master, and looked into his face with imploring
eyes, "Oh, save me! save me! Surely you can do something! Do not let
me drown. Oh, my beloved, will you not save me?" she cried, holding
him in her arms, while the tears ran down her white face.
"Would to God that I could, my darling," was all the man could say, as
he felt his utter helplessness to protect her, or any of those who had
been committed to his care. Other women there were who called upon
him, and upon the sailors, and most of all upon God, though their cries
seemed altogether unavailing. The men were more quiet. They looked
death in the face calmly, though still they clung to the doomed vessel,
hoping against hope to the very last.
Many of the passengers were asleep in their berths when the vessel
first struck. The steward ran down to give the alarm without loss of
time.
"For God's sake, get up, all of you. The vessel is on the rocks, and
we shall all be drowned."
What a terrible awakening it was for those who had gone calmly to sleep
the night before! No warning had been given to them. They little knew
how the angels wrote above their cabin, "There is but a step between
thee and death." With busy brains, planning all sorts of work for
future years, and dreaming of worldly success and prosperity, they laid
down to sleep. While the night yet lasted came the terrible cry,
"Behold, the bridegroom cometh: go ye forth to meet Him." And what
terror and affright the message caused, only He knew who looked down
from Heaven into the souls of the men and women. Was it not a pity
that they had not thought of this before? If only they had been His
friends, they would not have feared to see His face. But to those who
had persistently turned deaf ears to His invitations, the cry, "Prepare
to meet thy God," sounded like a summons to eternal doom.
To others, however, it was not so. They looked across the waters to
another shore, where the lights are always burning, and where shining
ones stand to welcome the weary voyagers who would safely gain it. As
they saw the danger they knew that the shore they loved was not far
away; and when they cried in strong faith, "Come, Lord Jesus, come
quickly," they heard the still small voice of their God saying, "It is
I, be not afraid." Death by drowning was for them only a short swift
passage to the heavenly land, where "there shall be no more sea." And
though life must have been dear to them--for every one had some tie to
keep him below--still, there was not one Christian but would be willing
"to depart and be with Christ, which is far better," and the summons,
though it was brought by seething waters and howling winds, could not
be unwelcome. For a few seconds there would be nothing but darkness,
pain and bewilderment, but then all would be over, and their day would
begin. "They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more. The Lamb
which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead
them to living fountains of water, and God shall wipe all tears from
their eyes." Happy, indeed, are they, for they "have washed their
robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb; and they shall
serve Him day and night in His temple."
But what of them who have always been His despisers? In the days of
their health they cried--"We will not have this man to reign over us;"
and now, what could He be to them but a judge whom they feared? To
them death by drowning was a very different thing from that which it
was to those who were his friends. It gave them too little time to
prepare. They wanted to pray, but the waters were over their heads,
and in the darkness they could not find Him. They wanted to repent,
but no space for repentance was given to them then. It was too
late--too late! They had had time. For months and years the patient
Spirit had been striving with them; but they had resisted Him. Christ
had been saying--not as a judge, but as a pleading Saviour--"Come unto
me, all ye that labour, and I will give you rest." "Behold, I stand at
the door and knock. If any man will hear me, and open the door, I will
come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me." But it had
been no use. Deaf ears, that would not hear His voice, blind eyes,
that saw no beauty in Him that they should desire Him, unresponding
lips that would give Him no invitation--these were all that the Lord
had met with. And now it was too late, for that storm had burst, and
the ship was settling down, and there remained for the rejecters of
Christ nothing but hopeless desolation!
Does not this, and every shipwreck, cry aloud to the sons of men to be
wise? "Now is the accepted time, now is the day of salvation." "To
day, if ye will hear his voice, harden not your hearts." Death must
come soon, and it may come any night, and, rousing the sleeper, may
hurry him into eternity. Is it not folly to remain unprepared?
The "Forfarshire," soon after the first shock, was struck by a powerful
wave, which lifted her for a moment off the rock, but only to dash the
doomed ship on it again with greater violence than before. On this
occasion, the sharp edge of the rock struck the vessel about midships
aft of the paddle-boxes. Then the survivors rushed on deck, and about
three minutes later, another shock cut the vessel completely in halves.
The part containing the stern, quarter-deck and cabin, was instantly
carried away, with all who were upon it, and went rushing into the
terrible current, known by the name of the "Piper Gut." This current
is so tremendously strong, that, even in calm weather, it runs between
the islands at the rate of six miles an hour; and the fate of those
who, in a hurricane, were borne through the rapids, is indeed terrible
to contemplate.
It has been said that the larboard quarter-boat was launched by the
chief mate, James Duncan. Only one passenger was, however,
saved--namely, Mr. Ritchie. He heard the steward's cry of alarm; and
immediately sprang from his berth, and, seizing his trousers, rushed
upon deck. He noticed that some of the sailors were leaping into a
boat, and without loss of time, and with great presence of mind, he at
once seized a rope, and by a marvellous effort swung himself into it.
He afterwards looked upon his escape as nothing short of miraculous.
Just as the boat was leaving the ship, two persons made frantic efforts
to detain it. They were the aunt and uncle of Mr. Ritchie. They
endeavoured to seek his place of safety, but perished in the attempt,
for, instead of gaining an entrance into the boat, they fell into the
water, and perished before the eyes of their nephew, who was powerless
to aid them.
Those in the boat had a narrow escape. The night was dark and cold,
but Mr. Ritchie had nothing on excepting his shirt and trousers. All
the time he was in the boat he was occupied in baling out the water
with a pair of shoes, for if this had not been perseveringly done, the
boat would have sunk, and all in her have perished. No one knew how to
steer; but Providence guided the men rightly, for there was but one
means of escape from the dangerous breakers, which must have dashed the
boat against the rocks. Not one of them could say where this outlet
was; but they were guided through it unawares. Surely every man must
have felt grateful to Him who had taken them safely through such
dangerous waters! About eight o'clock on Saturday morning, they were
picked up by a Montrose sloop, bound for Shields; and the whole nine
who had embarked in the boat were saved. Mr. Ritchie had some money in
his pocket, with which he was able to buy necessary food and clothing.
Those who had been left on the wreck were less fortunate. It has been
stated that the fore-part of the vessel remained on the rock; but the
situation of the poor wretches thus exposed was most perilous.
Gigantic waves kept dashing over them; and one of these swept the
captain and his wife away into the boiling sea. He had not been able
to save her; but he died with her, as a brave man would do. Let us
hope that they went together to the rest and joy in Heaven.
There were only nine left on the wreck which still stuck to the
rock--four of the passengers, and five of the crew. Words cannot
describe their sufferings while they held on for dear life; the waves,
which had hurried away so many of their companions, continually rising,
as if in a malicious endeavour to secure them also for their prey.
While strength remained, they cried and screamed for help, though even
as they did so, their hearts sank within them, for it seemed utterly
vain to hope that their shrieks would be heard above the awful clamour
of the winds and waves. Now and then they died into complete silence,
and then one of the number would shout for help, while the others
feebly, but with all their strength, seconded his endeavours. They
were half-frozen by the cold; and the heavy seas that washed over them
tore off their clothing, leaving them nearly naked. They made frantic
exertions to hold on, and resist the fury of the waves, but, as the
night wore slowly away, these endeavours quite exhausted the sufferers,
and left them almost prostrate.
One spectacle was particularly agonising. It has been mentioned that
Mrs. Dawson, one of the passengers, had declared before the vessel
started, that, if she could, she would leave it, and would not sail.
But her husband did not come in time, and she had therefore gone with
the rest. She was among the number of those who were in the fore-part
of the vessel, and which clung to the rock. She had with her two
children, a boy and a girl, aged respectively eight and eleven years.
She held them firmly, one by each hand, resolved to save them if a
mother's love could do it. But they were delicate, and could not
endure the continued buffeting of the waves. They were so beaten and
battered by being thrust to and fro against the rock that they both
died; but even after they were dead, Mrs. Dawson refused to believe it,
and still held them firmly by the hand. The mother's heart might have
broken quite had she known, but as it was she was eventually saved.
Scarcely less wonderful was the escape of a man named Donovan, one of
the firemen of the ill-fated vessel. He lay on the rock for three
hours in the greatest suffering, being beaten by the terrible waves as
they washed over him, stripping him by the force of their blows. But
all that time he held on to a strong spike-nail; and though his hands
were bleeding, and almost raw, he would not let go, for he knew that if
he did he would lose his only chance of safety.
So they waited and prayed for deliverance, while the terrible moments
wore into hours. It must have seemed to them that God had forgotten to
be gracious, and that they were forsaken both by Him and their fellow
men. But many an agonising prayer rose to heaven, and at last, though
they little expected it, succour was nigh. It is true that it came by
a maiden's hands, but God was, indeed, the deliverer. His time often
seems very late, and His coming long delayed, but, after all, He knows
the right moment, and those who put their trust in Him will not be
confounded. Over the stormy water came a little boat on an errand of
mercy; and He, without whom not a sparrow can fall, was Himself in it,
aiding and blessing His servants. Let us see how wonderfully He had
cared for the few survivors on the Farne rocks, and by what
enthusiastic heroism He had filled the breast of the youthful
lighthouse-girl. And let us learn from it to trust in Him when our
times of need come.
"Say not my soul, 'From whence
Can God relieve my care?'
Remember that Omnipotence
Has servants everywhere."