in sight of the harbor of Halifax, and approached it very fast, with
an E. S. E. wind, when Captain Barker proposed to the master to lay
the ship to, till they could procure a pilot. The master replied that
he had beat a 44 gun ship into the harbor, that he had frequently been
there, and there was no occasion for a pilot, as the wind was
favorable. Confiding in these assurances, Captain Barker went into his
cabin, where he was employed in arranging some papers which he
intended to take on shore with him. In the mean time the master,
placing great dependance on the judgment of a negro, named John Cosey,
who had formerly belonged to Halifax, took upon himself the pilotage
of the ship.
By twelve o'clock the ship approached so near the Thrum Cap shoals
that the master became alarmed, and sent for Mr. Galvin, master's
mate, who was sick below. On his coming upon deck, he heard the man in
the chains sing out, "by the mark five!" the black man forward at the
same time crying "steady!" Galvin got on one of the carronades to
observe the situation of the ship; the master ran in great agitation
to the wheel, and took it from the man who was steering, with the
intention of wearing the ship; but before this could be effected, or
Galvin was able to give an opinion, she struck.--Captain Barker
immediately went on deck and reproached the master with having lost
the ship. Seeing Galvin likewise on deck, he addressed him and said
"that, knowing he had formerly sailed out of the harbor, he was
surprised he could stand by and see the master run the ship on shore,"
to which Galvin replied "that he had not been on deck long enough to
give an opinion."
Signals of distress were immediately made, and answered by the
military posts and ships in the harbor, from which, as well as the
dock-yard, boats immediately put off to the relief of the Tribune. The
military boats, and one of those from the dock-yard, with Mr. Rackum,
boatswain of the ordinary, reached the ship, but the wind was so much
against the others, that, in spite of all their exertions, they were
unable to get on board. The ship was immediately lightened by throwing
overboard all her guns, excepting one retained for signals, and every
other heavy article, so that about half past eight o'clock in the
evening the ship began to heave, and at nine got off the shoals. She
had lost her rudder about three hours before, and it was now found, on
examination, that she had seven feet water in the hold. The
chain-pumps were immediately manned, and such exertions were made that
they seemed to gain on the leaks. By the advice of Mr. Rackum, the
captain ordered the best bower anchor to be let go, but this did not
bring her up. He then ordered the cable to be cut; and the jib and
fore-top-mast stay-sail were hoisted to steer by. During this interval
a violent gale, which had come on at S. E. kept increasing, and
carrying the ship to the western shore. The small bower anchor which
soon afterwards let go, at which time they found themselves in
thirteen fathom of water, and the mizen-mast was then cut away.
It was now ten o'clock, and as the water gained fast upon them, the
crew had but little hope left of saving either the ship or their
lives. At this critical period Lieutenant Campbell quitted the ship,
and Lieutenant North was taken into the boat out of one of the ports.
From the moment at which the former left the vessel all hopes of
safety had vanished; the ship was sinking fast, the storm was
increasing with redoubled violence, and the rocky shore which they
were approaching, resounded with the tremendous noise of the rolling
billows, presented nothing to those who might survive the loss of the
ship but the expectation of a more painful death, by being dashed
against precipices, which, even in the calmest day, it is impossible
to ascend. Dunlap, one of the survivors, declared, that about half
past ten, as nearly as he could conjecture, one of the men who had
been below, came to him on the forecastle, and told him it was all
over. A few minutes afterwards the ship took a lurch, like a boat
nearly filled with water and going down; on which Dunlap immediately
began to ascend the fore-shrouds, and at the same moment casting his
eyes towards the quarter-deck, he saw Captain Barker standing by the
gangway, and looking into the water, and directly afterwards he heard
him call for the jolly-boat. He then saw the lieutenant of marines
running towards the taffrel, to look, as he supposed, for the
jolly-boat, which had been previously let down with men in her; but
the ship instantly took a second lurch and sunk to the bottom, after
which neither the captain nor any of the other officers were again
seen.
The scene, before sufficiently distressing, now became peculiarly
awful. More than 240 men, besides several women and children, were
floating on the waves, making the last effort to preserve life.
Dunlap, who has been already mentioned, gained the fore-top. Mr.
Galvin, the master's mate, with incredible difficulty, got into the
main-top. He was below when the ship sunk, directing the men at the
chain-pump, but was washed up the hatchway, thrown into the waist and
from thence into the water, and his feet, as he plunged, struck
against a rock. On ascending he swam to gain the main-shrouds, when
three men suddenly seized hold of him. He now gave himself up for
lost; but to disengage himself from them he made a dive into the
water, which caused them to quit their grasp. On rising again he swam
to the shrouds, and having reached the main-top, seated himself on an
arm chest which was lashed to the mast.
From the observations of Galvin in the main-top, and Dunlap in the
fore-top, it appears that nearly one hundred persons were hanging a
considerable time to the shrouds, the tops and other parts of the
wreck. From the length of the night, and the severity of the storm,
nature, however, became exhausted, and during the whole night they
kept dropping off and disappeared. The cries and groans of the
unhappy sufferers, from the bruises many of them had received, and
their hopes of deliverance beginning to fail, were continued through
the night, but as morning approached, in consequence of the few who
then survived, they became extremely feeble.
About twelve o'clock the main-mast gave way; at that time there were
on the main-top and shrouds about forty persons. By the fall of the
mast the whole of these unhappy wretches were again plunged into the
water, and ten only regained the top, which rested on the main-yard,
and the whole remained fast to the ship by some of the rigging. Of the
ten who thus reached the top, four only were alive when morning
appeared. Ten were at that time, alive on the fore-top, but three were
so exhausted, and so helpless, that they were washed away before any
relief arrived; three others perished, and thus only four were, at
last, left alive on the fore-top.
The place where the ship went down was barely three times her length
to the southward of the entrance into Herring Cove. The inhabitants
came down in the night to the point opposite to which the ship sunk,
kept up large fires, and were so near as to converse with the people
on the wreck.
The first exertion that was made for their relief was by a boy
thirteen years old, from Herring Cove, who ventured off in a small
skiff by himself about eleven o'clock the next day. This youth, with
great labor and extreme risk to himself, boldly approached the wreck,
and backed in his little boat so near to the fore-top as to take off
two of the men, for the boat could not with safety hold any more. And
here a trait of generous magnanimity was exhibited, which ought not to
pass unnoticed. Dunlap and another man, named Monro, had throughout
this disastrous night, preserved their strength and spirits in a
greater degree than their unfortunate companions, who they endeavored
to cheer and encourage when they found their spirits sinking. Upon the
arrival of the boat these two might have stepped into it, and thus
have terminated their own sufferings; for their two companions, though
alive, were unable to stir; they lay exhausted on the top, wishing not
to be disturbed, and seemed desirous to perish in that situation.
These generous fellows hesitated not a moment to remain themselves on
the wreck, and to save their unfortunate companions against their
will. They lifted them up, and with the greatest exertion placed them
in the boat, the MANLY BOY rowed them triumphantly to the Cove, and
immediately had them conveyed to a comfortable habitation. After
shaming, by his example, older persons, who had larger boats, he
again put off with his skiff, but with all his efforts he could not
then approach the wreck. His example, however, was soon followed by
four of the crew who had escaped in the Tribune's jolly-boat, and by
some of the boats in the Cove. With their joint exertions, the eight
men were preserved, and these with the four who had saved themselves
in the jolly-boat, were the whole of the survivors of this fine ship's
company.
A circumstance occurred in which that cool thoughtlessness of danger,
which so often distinguishes our British tars, was displayed in such a
striking manner, that it would be inexcusable to omit it. Daniel
Monro, had, as we have already seen, gained the fore-top. He suddenly
disappeared, and it was concluded that he had been washed away like
many others. After being absent from the top about two hours, he, to
the surprise of Dunlap, who was likewise on the fore-top, raised his
head through the lubber-hole; Dunlap inquiring where he had been, he
told him he had been cruising for a better birth; that after swimming
about the wreck for a considerable time, he had returned to the
fore-shrouds, and crawling in on the catharpins, had actually been
sleeping there more than an hour, and appeared greatly refreshed.
[Illustration]
BURNING OF THE PRINCE,
A FRENCH EAST INDIAMAN.
On the 19th of February 1752, a French East Indiaman, called the
Prince, sailed from Port L'Orient on a voyage outward bound. But soon
afterwards, a sudden shift of wind drove her on a sand bank, where she
was exposed to imminent danger, and heeled so much that the mouths of
the guns lay in the sea. By lightening the ship, however, accompanied
by incessant and laborious exertions, she floated with the rise of the
tide, and, being again carried into port, was completely unloaded, and
underwent a thorough repair.
The voyage was resumed on the 10th of June, with a favorable wind, and
for several weeks, seemed to promise every success that could be
desired.
While in south latitude 8 30, and in 5 west longitude from Paris,
M. de la Fond, one of the lieutenants of the ship, was, just at the
moment of this observation, informed by a seaman, that smoke was
issuing from the main hatchway. The first lieutenant, who had the
keys of the hold, immediately ordered every hatchway to be opened to
ascertain the truth.
But the fact was too soon verified, and, while the captain hastened on
deck from the great cabin, where he sat at dinner, Lieutenant de la
Fond ordered some sails to be dipped in the sea, and the hatches to be
covered with them in order to prevent the access of air, and thus
stifle the fire. He had even intended, as a more effectual measure, to
let in the water between decks to the depth of a foot, but clouds of
smoke issued from the crevices of the hatchways, and the flames gained
more and more by degrees.
Meantime the captain ordered sixty or eighty soldiers under arms, to
restrain any disorder and confusion which might probably ensue; and in
this he was supported by their commander, M. de la Touche, who
exhibited uncommon fortitude on the occasion.
Every one was now employed in procuring water; all the buckets were
filled, the pumps plied, and pipes introduced from them to the hold.
But the rapid progress of the flames baffled the exertions to subdue
them, and augmented the general consternation.
The yawl lying in the way of the people, was hoisted out by order of
the captain, and the boatswain, along with three others took
possession of it. Wanting oars, they were supplied with some by three
men who leaped overboard. Those in the ship, however, desired them to
return, but they exclaimed, that they wanted a rudder, and desired a
rope to be thrown out. However, the progress of the flames soon
shewing them their only alternative for safety, they withdrew from the
ship, and she from the effect of a breeze springing up, passed by.
On board the utmost activity still prevailed, and the courage of the
people seemed to be augmented by the difficulty of escape. The master
boldly went down into the hold, but the intense heat compelled him to
return, and, had not a quantity of water been dashed over him, he
would have been severely scorched. Immediately subsequent to this
period, flames violently burst from the main hatchway.
At that time the captain ordered the boats to be got out, while
consternation enfeebled the most intrepid. The long-boat had been
secured at a certain height, and she was about to be put over the
ship's side, when, unhappily, the fire ran up the main-mast, and
caught the tackle; the boat fell down on the guns, bottom upwards,
and it was vain to think of getting her righted.
At length it became too evident that the calamity was beyond the reach
of human remedy; nothing but the mercy of the Almighty could
interpose; consternation was universally disseminated among the
people; nothing but sighs and groans resounded through the vessel, and
the very animals on board, as if sensible of the impending danger,
uttered the most dreadful cries. The certainty of perishing in either
element was anticipated by every human being here, and each raised his
heart and hands towards Heaven.
The chaplain, who was now on the quarter-deck, gave the people general
absolution for their sins, and then repaired to the quarter-gallery to
extend it yet further, to those miserable wretches, who, in hopes of
safety, had already committed themselves to the waves. What a horrible
spectacle! Self-preservation was the only object; each was occupied in
throwing overboard whatever promised the most slender chance of
escape, yards, spars, hen-coops and everything occurring, was seized
in despair, and thus employed.
Dreadful confusion prevailed. Some leaped into the sea, anticipating
that death which was about to reach them; others, more successful,
swam to fragments of the wreck; while the shrouds, yards and ropes,
along the side of the vessel, were covered with the crew crowding upon
them, and hanging there, as if hesitating which alternative of
destruction to choose, equally imminent and equally terrible.
A father was seen to snatch his son from the flames, fold him to his
breast, and, then throwing him into the sea, himself followed, where
they perished in each other's embrace.
Meantime Lieutenant Fond ordered the helm to be shifted. The ship
heeled to larboard, which afforded a temporary preservation, while the
fire raged along the starboard from stem to stern.
Lieutenant Fond had, until this moment, been engrossed by nothing but
adopting every means to preserve the ship; now, however, the horrors
of impending destruction were too conspicuously in view. His
fortitude, notwithstanding, through the goodness of Heaven, never
forsook him; looking around, he found himself alone on the deck, and
he retired to the round-house. There he met M. de la Touche, who
regarded the approach of death with the same heroism which, in India,
had gained him celebrity. "My brother and friend," he cried,
"farewell."--"Whither are you going?" asked Lieutenant Fond. "To
comfort my friend, the captain," he replied.
M. Morin, who commanded this unfortunate vessel, stood overwhelmed
with grief for the melancholy state of his female relatives,
passengers along with him. He had persuaded them to commit themselves
to the waves on hen-coops, while some of the seamen, swimming with one
hand, endeavored to support them with the other.
The floating masts and yards were covered with men struggling with the
watery element, many of whom now perished by balls discharged from the
guns as heated by the fire, and thus presenting a third means of
destruction, augmenting the horrors environing them. While anguish
pierced the heart of M. de la Fond, he withdrew his eyes from the sea;
and a moment after, reaching the starboard gallery, he saw the flames
bursting with frightful noise through the windows of the round-house
and of the great cabin. The fire approached, and was ready to consume
him. Considering it vain to attempt the further preservation of the
ship, or the lives of his fellow sufferers, he thought it his duty, in
this dreadful condition, to save himself yet a few hours, that these
might be devoted to Heaven.
Stripping off his clothes, he designed slipping down a yard, one end
of which dipped in the water; but it was so covered with miserable
beings, shrinking from death, that he tumbled over them and fell into
the sea. There a drowning soldier caught hold of him. Lieutenant Fond
made every exertion to disengage himself, but in vain; he even allowed
himself to sink below the surface, yet he did not quit his grasp.
Lieutenant Fond plunged down a second time; still he was firmly held
by the man, who then was incapable of considering that his death,
instead of being of service, would rather hasten his own. At last,
after struggling a considerable time, and swallowing a great quantity
of water, the soldier's strength failed; and sensible that M. de la
Fond was sinking a third time, he dreaded to be carried down along
with him, and loosened his grasp, no sooner was this done, than
M. de la Fond to guard against a repetition, dived below the surface,
and rose at a distance from the place.
This incident rendered him more cautious for the future; he even
avoided the dead bodies, now so numerous, that to make a free passage,
he was compelled to shove them aside with one hand, while he kept
himself floating with the other; for he was impressed with the
apprehension, that each was a person who would seize him, and involve
him in his own destruction. But strength beginning to fail, he was
satisfied of the necessity of some respite, when he fell in with part
of the ensign-staff. He put his arm through a noose of the rope to
secure it, and swam as well as he could; then perceiving a yard at
hand, he seized it by one end. However, beholding a young man scarce
able to support himself at the other extremity, he quickly abandoned
so slight an aid, and one which seemed incapable of contributing to
his preservation. Next the spritsail-yard appeared in view, but
covered with people, among whom he durst not take a place without
requesting permission, which they cheerfully granted. Some were quite
naked, others in nothing except their shirts; the pity they expressed
at the situation of M. de la Fond, and his sense of their misfortunes,
exposed his feelings to a severe trial.
Neither Captain Morin, nor M. de la Touche ever quitted the ship, and
were most probably overwhelmed in the catastrophe by which she was
destroyed. But the most dismal spectacle was exhibited on all sides;
the main-mast, consumed below, had been precipitated overboard,
killing some in the fall, and affording a temporary reception to
others. M. de la Fond now observed it covered with people, driven
about by the waves; and at the same time, seeing two seamen buoyed up
by a hen-coop and some planks, desired them to swim to him with the
latter; they did so, accompanied by more of their comrades, and each
taking a plank, which were used for oars, they and he paddled along
upon the yard, until gaining those who had secured themselves on the
main-mast. So many alternations only presented new spectacles of
horror.
The chaplain was at this time on the mast, and from him M. de la Fond
received absolution; two young ladies were also there, whose piety and
resignation were truly consolatory; they were the only survivors of
six, their companions had perished in the flames or in the sea. Eighty
persons had found refuge on the main-mast, who, from the repeated
discharge of cannon from the ship, according to the progress of the
flames, were constantly exposed to destruction. The chaplain, in this
awful condition, by his discourse and example, taught the duty of
resignation. M. de la Fond observing him lose his hold on the mast,
and drop into the sea, lifted him up. "Let me go," said he. "I am
already half drowned, and it is only protracting my sufferings."--"No,
my friend," the lieutenant replied, "when my strength is exhausted,
not till then, we will perish together;" and in his pious presence he
calmly awaited death. After remaining here three hours, he beheld one
of the ladies fall from the mast and perish.--She was too remote to
receive any assistance from him.
But when least in expectation of it, he saw the yawl close at hand, at
five in the afternoon. He cried to the men that he was their
lieutenant, and requested to be allowed to participate in their fate.
His presence was too necessary for them to refuse his solicitations,
they needed a conductor who might guide them to the land; thus they
permitted him to come on board, on condition that he should swim to
the yawl. This was a reasonable stipulation; it was to avoid
approaching the mast, else, the rest actuated by the same desire of
self-preservation, would soon have overloaded the little vessel, and
all would have been buried in a watery grave. M. de la Fond,
therefore, summoning up all his strength and courage, was so happy as
to reach the seamen. In a little time afterwards, the pilot and
master, whom he had left on the mast, followed his example, and
swimming towards the yawl were seen and taken in.
The flames still continued raging in the vessel, and as the yawl was
still endangered by being within half a league of her, she stood a
little to windward. Not long subsequent to this, the fire reached the
magazine; and then to describe the thundering explosion which ensued
is impossible. A thick cloud intercepted the light of the sun, and
amidst the terrific darkness nothing but pieces of flaming timber,
projected aloft into the air, could be seen, threatening to crush to
atoms in their fall, numbers of miserable wretches still struggling
with the agonies of death. Nor were the party in the yawl beyond the
reach of hazard; it was not improbable that some of the fiery
fragments might come down upon them, and precipitate their frail
support to the bottom. Though the Almighty preserved them from that
shocking calamity, they were shocked with the spectacle environing
them. The vessel had now disappeared; the sea, to a great distance,
was covered with pieces of the wreck, intermingled with the bodies of
those unhappy creatures who had perished by their fall. Some were seen
who had been choked, others mangled, half consumed and still retaining
life enough to be sensible of the accumulated horrors overwhelming
them.
The fortitude of M. de la Fond was still preserved, through the
favour of Heaven, and he proposed approaching the wreck, to see
whether any provisions or necessary articles might be picked up. He
and his companions being totally devoid of every thing, were exposed
to the hazard of a death even more painful than that which the others
had suffered, in perishing of famine. But finding several barrels,
which they hoped might contain something to relieve their necessities,
they experienced great mortification, on ascertaining that they were
part of the powder that had been thrown overboard during the
conflagration of their unfortunate vessel.
As night approached, they providentially discovered a cask of brandy,
about fifteen pounds of salt pork, a piece of scarlet cloth, twenty
yards of linen, a dozen of pipe staves, and a small quantity of
cordage. When it became dark they durst not venture to retain their
present station until day-light without being endangered by the wreck,
from the fragments of which they had not then been able to disengage
themselves. Therefore they rowed as quickly away as possible from
among them, and bent all their care to the management of the yawl.