A CONTRAST—THE SHIP ON FIRE!—SWAMPED AT SEA.
The Loss of the _Amazon_—A Noble Vessel—Description of her
Engine-rooms—Her Boats—Heating of the Machinery—The Ship on
Fire—Communication Cut off—The Ominous Fire-bell—The Vessel put
before the Wind—A Headlong Course—Impossibility of Launching the
Boats—“Every Man for Himself!”—The Boats on Fire—Horrible Cases of
Roasting—Boats Stove in and Upset—The Remnant of
Survivors—“Passing by on the Other Side”—Loss of a distinguished
Author—A Clergyman’s Experiences—A Graphic Description—Without
Food, Water, Oars, Helm, or Compass—Blowing-up of the _Amazon_—“A
Sail!”—Saved on the Dutch Galliot—Back from the Dead—Review of the
Catastrophe—A Contrast—Loss of the _London_—Anxiety to get Berths
on her—The First Disaster—Terrible Weather—Swamped by the Seas—The
Furnaces Drowned out—Efforts to Replace a Hatchway—Fourteen Feet
of Water in the Hold—“Boys, you may say your Prayers!”—Scene in
the Saloon—The Last Prayer Meeting—Worthy Draper—Incidents—Loss of
an Eminent Tragedian—His Last Efforts—The Bottle Washed
Ashore—Nineteen Saved out of Two Hundred and Sixty-three Souls on
Board—Noble Captain Martin—The _London’s_ Last Plunge—The
Survivors picked up by an Italian Barque.
No greater horror can occur at sea than for the good ship to be on fire.
At first sight, indeed, it might appear that in the midst of an unbounded
waste of waters nothing could be easier than to extinguish a conflagration
on board a vessel, but examples already cited in this work have shown the
difficulties in the way. Steam-ships have special facilities for pumping
water into almost any part of their hulls, yet one of the saddest examples
of a ship on fire is afforded in the loss of the _Amazon_, a steam-ship of
the first-class.
The _Amazon_ was one of a fleet of new vessels placed by the Royal Mail
Steam-ship Company on the West India service, and was stated to be, at the
time of her launching, the largest _timber-built_ steam-ship ever
constructed in England. She was of 2,256 tons burden, and fitted with
every improvement known at the time; her entire cost was stated at over
£100,000. When, on the 16th of December, 1851, she arrived at Southampton,
she was regarded as the perfect model of a passenger vessel. In due time
she was ready for sea, and having received her crew and engineers aboard,
and a little later her passengers and the Admiralty agent with mails, she
left Southampton on Friday, January 2nd, 1852. The officers were all tried
men, and her commander, Captain Symons, was one of those seamen whom large
steam-ship companies are only too glad to employ and retain. He was not
merely an officer of thoroughly competent skill, but a man of unbending
resolution, a man fitted to be a ruler among men, as should be every
commander of a great vessel. Only a few weeks before he had received the
thanks of the American Government, accompanied by a present of a silver
speaking-trumpet, for interposing, at the risk of his own life, in an
affair at Chagres between the Americans and the natives. On this occasion
he not only was the means of saving much valuable property, but by his
energetic conduct arrested a conflict, which, but for his intervention,
might probably have been attended with much bloodshed and slaughter. The
_Amazon_, a pioneer of the service she was to inaugurate, left Southampton
amidst a considerable amount of _éclat_, and commenced her voyage.
“And so,” says the work(88) from which much of the following account is
compiled, “the gallant ship sped on. The wind was right ahead, but her
engines were powerful, and she passed rapidly through the water. But it is
necessary, in order to make clear what follows, to describe the position
of her engines and boats.
“The engine-room was about the middle of the vessel, having sixteen
boilers—eight in the forward and as many in the after part. There were,
consequently, two funnels: one about midships, the other immediately
behind the foremast. In those vessels which have but one set of boilers
and one funnel these are placed in the after part of the engine-room,
while the store-room, containing tallow, oil, and other inflammable
materials, is placed forward. But the _Amazon_ having boilers at both
ends, it happened that the floor of the store-room rested directly on the
wood casing that surrounded the upper part or steam-chest of the forward
boilers.
“Then, with regard to the boats: most of the older vessels have life-boats
resting, bottom up, on the top of the paddle-boxes, according to a plan
much approved in the navy, and the smaller boats swing suspended over the
water, from two curved iron props, or davits, as they are technically
termed, by ropes that, running through a pulley, enable men seated in the
boats to lower themselves from the ship’s side to the water, when the
hooks by which the tackle is attached to the boats may at once be cast
off. But as it would be inconvenient that the boats so hung from the
davits should be swinging backward and forward with every roll of the
ship, ropes are lashed round them and fastened to the bulwark of the
vessel, in order to keep them steady. Now, in order to get quit of this
latter somewhat clumsy contrivance, as well as to ease the strain of the
boat upon the tackling by which it swings, a different mode of fastening
was adopted in the _Amazon_. There were the davits as usual, and the
common contrivance for lowering the boats into the water; but instead of
the undergirding ropes or guys, two iron props were introduced, each of
which, branching out at the top into two prongs, received in its groove
the keel of the boat, in which she sat as in a cradle, thus taking away
all strain from the ordinary tackling. This change in the mode of securing
the boats had, however, this effect: that, whereas in the former case the
boat’s crew had but to lower the boat and themselves into the water, by
the new mode it became necessary, before they could do that, to hoist the
boat up a few feet till it was got clear of the projecting points of the
crutch on which it rested. Of what fatal consequence this necessity was
will become too apparent in the course of the narrative.”
The machinery was perfectly new, and, as is frequently the case on first
trials, became much heated in the bearings: so much so, indeed, that water
had to be pumped over them. Whether or not the terrible disaster about to
be described resulted from that fact will never be known; it much more
probably occurred from some light being dropped upon the waste, &c., of
the oil-room. No neglect of duty was attributed to the engineers, who seem
to have been exceptionally careful.
About a quarter before one o’clock, Sunday, when the ship was about
entering the Bay of Biscay, Mr. Treweeke, the second officer, a most
promising and practical sailor, being then officer of the watch, was on
the bridge. Just before, Dunsford, quartermaster, had gone the rounds to
see that the lights were all out, and had reported that all was right; Mr.
Treweeke then was on the bridge, and Mr. Dunsford was standing under him
to receive orders. Mr. Vincent, one of the midshipmen, was on the
quarter-deck; all was still as the grave, save the monotonous throbbing of
the engines. He happened to look towards Mr. Treweeke at that moment, and
saw him leaning listlessly against the railing of the bridge. Suddenly
Treweeke started up, and looked earnestly at something apparently issuing
from the engine-room. That officer had discovered flames issuing thence,
and Dunsford was detailed to call the captain: and although he should have
performed his duty noiselessly, he managed, rather boisterously, to
disturb some of the passengers. The captain immediately ran out of his
cabin, half nude, and after finding that the fire was serious, ran back
and put on some clothes, immediately returning to the scene of action. At
the same time, Mr. Stone, the fourth engineer, saw fire on the starboard
foremost boiler from the iron platform on which he was standing, and
instantly gave the alarm. He even attempted to stop the engines, but the
smoke was so dense that he was obliged to retreat. One of the men, who was
going to the engine-room to warm himself, observed a glare of light in the
fore stoke-hole, and on examination found between the starboard
fore-boiler and the bulkhead a flame issuing as far as he could see. The
firemen’s backs were turned at the time, and he shouted out to them,
“Don’t you see the fire? Why don’t you get water?” They did not, however,
seem to notice it. He rushed aft, where the hose was kept, and tried to
drag it forward, shouting for assistance; but by the time the hose was
brought the flames of fire were rushing up through the oil, tallow, and
waste store-rooms. The flames were leaping upwards to the deck above.
Owing to the smoke, he was obliged to give up the hose, and rush on deck,
it being impossible to remain below any longer. The chief engineer, Mr.
Angus, and one of his assistants, tried to put on the hose, and kept by it
till they could not breathe. Hearing a cry for buckets on deck, Angus ran
aft as fast as he could, and the passengers were then breaking open the
saloon door to get on deck. Several attempts to get water to the flames
were unsuccessful or utterly ineffective.
The second engineer, Mr. William Angus, stated that when he was alarmed by
the cry of “Fire!” he was in the act of “blowing off”(89) the
after-boiler, and on coming up the lower platform ladder of the
engine-room, ran to set the “donkey” engine (which pumps the ship and
keeps the boilers a-going). A blast of smoke stopped him, and when he
recovered more or less from the suffocation he attempted to work her, but
failed. All the lamps were extinguished by the smoke. Mr. Stone, the
fourth engineer, came to his assistance, but was forced to retire. The
stokers and others found it equally impossible to remain. One of the
survivors described the progress of the flames in the engine-room “as that
of a great wave of fire, before which no man could stand and live.” He
stated that it rushed upon his mind that if the boilers were left in their
then state the water would soon become exhausted, and the boilers
themselves explode, so he turned on the water into them, and attempted to
remove the weights from the safety valves, so as to ease the pressure of
the steam. The glass above was cracking with the intensity of the heat.
“It was not three minutes from the time that the fire was discovered till
the ship was in flames.”
Above, on deck, all was horror, confusion, and despair, among the
passengers and crew. The flames, having broken out abaft the foremast,
rapidly extended across the whole breadth of the ship, forming a wall of
fire as high as the paddle-boxes, cutting off all communication. One or
two of the sailors, indeed, managed to get across the paddle-boxes,
cautiously creeping up one side and sliding down the other, but all other
means of access were effectually debarred. It was the sole chance of
safety, for the boats were all in the after part of the ship. “It would be
needless here to tell of the screams and shrieks of the horror-stricken
passengers, mixed with the cries of the animals aboard; of the wild
anguish with which they saw before them only the choice of death almost
equally dreadful—the raging flame or the raging sea, and of those fearful
moments when all self-control, all presence of mind, appeared to be lost,
and no authority was recognised, no command obeyed.” Meanwhile the ominous
fire-bell was ringing—the knell of many a poor man and woman that night.
[Illustration: BURNING OF THE “AMAZON.”]
[Illustration: THE “AMAZON” STEAM-SHIP.]
When Captain Symons rushed on deck, his first order was to “put up the
helm,” which was instantly obeyed. The helmsman, assisted by Mr. Treweeke,
the gallant second officer, worked at the wheel till the vessel “paid off”
and turned so as to go before the wind. The effects of the wind were, by
this device, somewhat moderated, but it had almost advanced to a gale, and
the paddles were revolving rapidly, carrying the doomed vessel through the
water with headlong speed. The flames were driven, however, forward and
away from the passengers and greater number of those on board. To this
movement, in fact, is to be attributed the preservation of the few boats
which, as we shall see, succeeded in leaving the ship. To extinguish the
fire was now out of question; while it was equally impossible to shut off
the steam and stop the vessel’s way. Yet, without this being done, no boat
could be launched into the water while the vessel was driving on at the
rate of thirteen knots an hour. Buckets of water were still thrown on the
burning mass; trusses of lighted hay and loose spars thrown overboard.
“Keep fast the boats for a while, and try to save the ship!” cried the
captain. But, alas! ship and crew were alike doomed. “Don’t lower the
boats!” repeated Captain Symons again and again; and the danger—at the
rate of the _Amazon’s_ speed—of attempting it was too obvious. Lieut.
Grylls, R.N., a passenger on board, was attempting to lower the tackle of
one of the boats, when Symons “seized him by the arm, and besought him to
desist, as he said everybody would be drowned. Lieut. Grylls then called
out to the person by the foremast fall, imploring him not to lower, as the
ship was going so fast. The person at the foremast fall, by constant and
urgent request of the people in the boat, let the fall go, by which means
the boat turned over, and, as nearly as could be seen, every one was
washed out of her. Seeing this at the moment, Lieut. Grylls attempted to
let go the after fall so as to save them, but the fall being jammed, and
having fouled, and the boat thus not being clear, her stern hung in the
air for a moment, until cut adrift by some one, when she turned over, and,
seeing the people washed away, Lieutenant Grylls turned away from the
appalling sight in horror. He then met, face to face, Captain Symons, who
called out for some one to help him to clear away the port life-boat,
which was stowed on the sponson, abaft the port paddle-box, and at the
same moment leaped into the boat, using every endeavour to clear her away.
Lieut. Grylls followed, and also exerted himself, but the flames having
reached the boat, and Captain Symons’s hair having caught in a blaze, and
one sleeve of his shirt, he was obliged to run off, and Lieut. Grylls was
compelled to follow him, both rushing through the flames and fire.”
About this time it was discovered that the ship was veering round, owing
to the helm having been lashed. A fresh order was shrieked out to keep her
before the wind, and two of the officers sprang forward to execute the
captain’s bidding. The passengers were now all on deck, with what feelings
we can imagine. “At last the shout was raised, ‘Every man for himself!’
but not by the captain. The captain called out, ‘Lower the starboard
life-boat!’ to which the answer was, ‘She is on fire!’ ‘Lower the larboard
(port, or left-hand) life-boat!’ ‘She is on fire!’ was still the cry. The
captain dropped the bucket which he idly held in his hand. ‘It’s all over
with us!’” But though he knew it so well, he did not relax an effort; nor
did Mr. Roberts, the chief officer, nor any of the officers, all of whom
went down with the ship. They were last seen collected in a group near the
helm; and to the close of that appalling scene nobly did their duty. The
last words the captain was heard to say were, “It has got too far.” He
then turned aft, took the wheel, and that appears to have been the last
that was seen of Captain Symons.
When it was discovered that the two life-boats were on fire, attention
could only be given to the other boats. All efforts must be made: better
to drown than to die in the midst of flames—suffocated, scorched. “One of
the passengers, Mr. Alleyne, of the West Indies, was observed pacing the
deck, with his hands clasped in prayer, patiently waiting that awful fate
from which he knew there was no escape. A gentleman and lady, in their
night-dresses only—both of which were on fire—came on deck, and, with
their arms round each other, walked over to one of the ship’s hatches, and
fell together into the flames. They had previously been seen standing
right abaft and looking perfectly collected, the gentleman before the
lady, apparently to keep the heat from her. A female passenger rushed on
deck, having on only her night-gown, the bottom of which and her legs were
much burnt. Three times she was placed in one of the boats which was
saved, but she refused to remain. Several persons hurriedly said to her
that they would soon give her plenty of clothing when she got away from
the ship, but modesty prevailed over the love of life, and she remained
behind to perish.”
A horrible story of one standing near the helm is given: his face and side
burnt, and a huge blister formed, which burst in; the skin was falling
away in ribbons. A little boy was also burnt black, and the skin was
falling from him in a similar manner. Still the vessel was dashing forward
in headlong speed, but still efforts were made to launch the boats; but
here, in consequence of the manner in which they were stowed—resting on
iron crutches or brackets, instead of being simply suspended, as
usual—unexpected difficulties presented themselves. It was necessary first
to raise them, put them over the bulwarks, and lower them—a work of time
and labour. In the hurry two of the boats were stove in; and in the case
of others, one end would be lowered properly, the other remaining high in
the air, so that the wretched passengers and sailors who crowded into them
were plunged violently into the water, escaping the fury of one element
only to be devoured by another. In one single case fifteen were thus
drowned, while one only escaped. Not to accumulate the details of horrors,
which constantly repeated themselves, it may be here stated that the whole
number of persons on board the _Amazon_ when she left Southampton was 162;
of these 110 formed the crew; there were 50 passengers, and the mail agent
and his servant. The first boat which landed at Plymouth brought in 21;
the _Gertruida_, a Dutch galliot, picked up a boat containing 16 on Sunday
night, and another containing 8 on the following morning. Another vessel,
also a Dutch galliot, picked up 13 more. The total number lost amounted,
therefore, to 104, and 58 only were saved.
A survivor stated that during the time they were drifting in their boat
towards the ship, which was burning broadside on to the wind, her mainmast
went first, the foremast following; it was a considerable time before the
mizen-mast fell, directly after which he noted a slight explosion of
gunpowder. Previous to this a barque hove in sight, and passed between
their boat and the burning ship. They judged her to be outward-bound from
her being under close-reefed topsails. As she passed at between three and
four hundred yards they hailed her several times with their united voices,
strengthened by all the energy of despair. She answered them, and brailed
her spanker, and they naturally thought she was preparing to bear up for
their rescue. “I shall never forget,” said the narrator, “the deep sob of
hope with which I noticed these preparations, or the bitterness of feeling
with which I saw him spread his canvas to the wind, and wear round past
the stern of the burning vessel, as he left us to our fate.”
Among those who perished on that terrible night was a distinguished
author, whose writings are, or should be, familiar to all readers.
Warburton(90) perished either in the flames or, as some thought, in one of
the boats which was swamped. He had been sent out by the Atlantic and
Pacific Junction Company, specially deputed to make a friendly arrangement
with the Indians of the isthmus of Darien. As an old and practised
traveller, he had proposed to stay on the isthmus for some time, in order
to study its topography, scenery, climate, and resources. The Rev. Acton
Warburton, his brother, on receipt of the fearful news, and with the fact
before him that there were boats not yet accounted for which had been seen
to leave the ship, proceeded in a steamer from Plymouth on January 17th,
in the hope that, by cruising about in the Channel and entrance to the Bay
of Biscay, some traces might be found of his missing relative. All was in
vain; no further vestiges of the crew or passengers were found. A few days
afterwards a homeward-bound vessel picked up at sea, among other fragments
of the wreck, three settees, or backed forms, which had stood on the deck
of the _Amazon_, and which had been lashed together, doubtless for the
purpose of supporting some of the crew or passengers in the water. Other
pieces of the wreck were washed ashore on different parts of the coast,
and a piece of burnt timber was picked up near the Eddystone, having
attached to it a fragment of a lady’s dress. One of the mail bags,
containing newspapers, unscorched, but very much damaged by sea-water, was
washed ashore near Bridport three weeks after the occurrence of the wreck.
[Illustration: RESCUE OF THE SURVIVORS OF THE “AMAZON.”]
The Rev. William Blood, who was one of the survivors, was landed at
Plymouth in one of the boats late on Thursday night, and was much too ill
to commit his thoughts to paper during the Friday and Saturday following.
But on the Sunday following, in presence of 4,000 people, he, in the
course of an extempore sermon, gave his hearers a graphic description of
the catastrophe and of his escape from the wreck.(91) The first evening of
the voyage he sat up till between eleven and twelve o’clock, enjoying the
sea-breeze and the beauty of the scene. He had then retired, undressing
himself as at home, and had slept well. On the fatal night, however, he
seems to have had an indefinite presentiment that something was about to
occur. On that evening, says he, “without any cause, I was induced to
retire early (nine o’clock), and when going to bed it was deeply impressed
on my mind not to undress. I accordingly lay down upon the bed with my
clothes on, even my boots, and immediately fell into a sound sleep. At
about half-past twelve I awoke, greatly refreshed, and prepared for what
was to follow. No voice awoke me; no alarm had been given; no bell aroused
me. When I awoke, I felt surprised by a peculiar indescribable sensation
as of solitude, of vacancy; and on opening the window of my cabin, I
looked out, but saw no person; still all was silent; and with the same
feeling I arose, went out of the cabin, without even taking my watch,
which lay beneath my pillow, and, as I passed along the saloon, I
overheard the voice of the stewardess in the distance, saying, ‘The ship
is on fire!’ I then hastened towards the stairs at the fore part of the
ship, and saw (oh, horror!) the blaze ascending right across the vessel. I
ascended the stairs just in time to escape the flames. When on the deck, I
had merely time to walk across to the bulwarks, for on the deck the flames
were spreading with terrific rapidity.
“When I got on deck I saw no one, and heard no noise or confusion, so that
much of the disaster must have been over by that time. I then saw some men
endeavouring to lower one of the boats near the paddle-box, and at the
same moment I became fully aware of my awful position, and that I had to
choose between death by fire or by water, unless I made some effort to
save myself. With this conviction on my mind, I laid hold of a rope, and
swung myself over the ship’s side, and was just about to precipitate
myself into the boat beneath me, which was then swinging with her stern in
the water. In another moment her human freight were in the death struggle
in an element not less terrible or destructive than that from which they
had been making such frantic efforts to escape; and even at this moment
their appalling shrieks, as they struggled amidst the dark and gloomy
waves, seem to ring in my ears. Here, again, I think Divine interference
was manifested on my behalf, for an apparent accident saved me from that
boat. Almost crippled as I was, I managed, by the aid of the rope to which
I clung, to regain the now blazing deck, just as some of the crew were
endeavouring to release one of the life-boats from her very embarrassing
fastenings. They succeeded. She was turned over the ship’s side. I was in
her then; and, while suspended midway between fire and water, she turned
keel up, and her oars were thrown out. She righted in a few minutes after,
and when she did so I was still in her—by what means I know not, but that
the All-seeing eye was still upon me. In a minute or two more she was
lowered into the sea with her freight of thirteen human souls, and amidst
cries of ‘She is leaking!’ ‘She is stove in!’ ‘She will be swamped!’ but
at the same moment one of the crew in her cut the rope that bound her to
the blazing ship, and she at once dropped astern. We now made the terrible
discovery that she was really leaking, and with the apparent certainty of
having escaped one horrible death only to perish by another, we set our
wits to work to staunch the leak and bale out the water. Michael Fox, one
of the sailors—a man who merits much honour for his coolness and bravery
throughout—actually thrust his arm through the leak to arrest the ingress
of the water; while I handed him my cap, another gave his stockings;
others did likewise; and then, with such means as these, and with the aid
of our boots and two little empty casks, we managed to prevent the
life-boat from being swamped. While thus occupied, and being tossed about,
without food, water, oars, helm, or compass, totally at the mercy of the
contending elements, we had dropped about two miles astern of the doomed
ship. She was apparently motionless, while the sea continually broke over
us. A barque passed between the blazing pile and our ill-omened craft. Her
hull, sails, and rigging were reflected against that fearful blaze with a
blackness of shadow that appeared to render still deeper the depth of our
calamity, and which the morning’s light helped not to lessen, for the
barque had disappeared. After the barque had departed, we fancied we saw a
boat, somewhat like our own, close to us, and we hailed her, with all the
power of our united voices, for oars; but she either heeded or heard us
not, and quickly disappeared, and the impression was that she had been
swamped. Our frail tenement was still knocked about as I have stated,
still within sight of the burning ship; and at about five o’clock on
Sunday morning, when the powder on board caught light, she blew up,
presenting to our terror-stricken gaze a most awful and sublime spectacle.
Vast beams of flaming timber were hurled about in the air, and seemed
suspended there for a moment, and then disappeared with a hissing noise in
the roaring waters. A moment after, and all that remained unconsumable by
fire of that once noble specimen of our mercantile marine vanished like a
shot beneath the waves. And then came upon us that intensity of darkness
that lent an additional horror to our truly forlorn condition. However,
the merciful Ruler of our destinies had not deserted us; for as the
Sabbath morning’s light dawned the wind abated and the sea became
comparatively calm, except that there was still a heavy swell; but still,
there we were, thirteen human beings, in a frail, leaky boat, without an
atom of food of any sort, the vast ocean around us, and in a state of
perfect ignorance as to our geographical position, while our other
physical wants, such as of clothes, boots, &c., made our case truly
deplorable. By about twelve o’clock at noon, on Sunday, we had drifted, as
nearly as possible, to the spot where the Amazon had sunk; and upon the
then comparatively calm sea were strewn about but too many evidences of
the last night’s fearful devastation—immense spars, charred timbers,
barrels, bales, and boxes innumerable. We drew up one of the latter, got
it on board, forced it open, and found that it contained only a quantity
of shoes. To those each helped himself to a pair, and then threw the
remainder overboard.
“As the Sabbath morning advanced towards noon-day the glorious sun burst
forth, and appeared as a happy harbinger of the fortunate release in store
for us. The weather was fine, though there was a heavy swell in the sea,
and we were all up to our middle in water. William Angus, poor fellow, was
of no use in the boat. When leaving the ship, he had thrown himself
overboard, fell upon my back, and cut his head severely. He appeared in a
state of despondency for the loss of his brother; and another poor fellow
had part of the fingers of one of his hands chopped off. At two o’clock
the sun shone forth in all his splendour. By this time we had taken up
some of the bottom boards of the boat, and these we had converted into
paddles, rudder, and mast. Lieut. Grylls took from off his head his shirt,
which he had previously wrapped around it, and made a flag of it; and in
lieu thereof I tore off the skirts of my coat, one of which I tied around
his head, and with the other I made a cap for myself. The remainder of
that coat I still have, and will preserve as a memento; and so I ought,
for it served as a protection against the pouring rain, while our bodies
lay partially submerged in the water and the waves at times dashed over
us. This coat became most useful to me afterwards, during the eleven days
on board the galliot, for it served as a pocket-handkerchief, napkin, &c.
“There was a peculiar death-like feeling produced by being obliged to sit
in the water all night, while at the same time the whole body was
saturated with the rain and the billows poured their waters over us. At
one time, shivering with cold and wet, I strove to keep my back pressed
against another person to preserve the vital heat. Such cold I never felt
before. The casks which we found in the boat were of essential use. How
wonderful that they should have remained in the boat when she capsized and
threw out the oars, for without them she must have swamped.
“Dismal were the thoughts suggested on that day as to the future. Will a
storm arise? If so, our little vessel cannot live; she must be overwhelmed
by the raging billows! How long can we remain in the midst of the wide
extended ocean? Shall we starve—perish with hunger? Such were the gloomy
forebodings, when the thrilling, joyful exclamation of ‘A sail!’ burst
from the lips of one of the crew. Then followed the exclamation of, ‘Oh, I
hope she sees us! Does she hear us? Is she coming this way?’ She was then
on the very verge of the horizon, and—disappeared! Mute despair was then
plainly perceptible in every face. I had made up my mind to die of
starvation, but thought I could exist without food for a long time, for
having once been ill in Paris for three weeks without even having tasted
food of any sort during the whole of the time, I felt now prepared to go
through the same ordeal. But again the joyful sound was uttered by Lieut.
Grylls, ‘I see another sail!’ We then commenced tearing up the boards from
the bottom of the boat, and converting one of them into a mast, upon which
we attached a shirt as a signal of distress, and breaking the rest of them
into paddles and a helm, we determined, as our lives depended upon it, to
make a desperate effort to approach the welcome visitor. Hour after hour
was passing away—our progress through the waves was slow, and the sailors
were beginning to relax their efforts at the paddles in utter
hopelessness. The sun was fast fading away, and the horrors of another
night at sea in an open boat stared us in the face. I begged, prayed, and
entreated the men to continue their exertions, that with the light of day
we still had hope; an hour—perhaps a few minutes—may bring us near enough
to be seen. Alas! there were four out of the thirteen quite helpless—viz.,
poor Angus, the man who had lost his fingers, a boy, and a Spanish
gentleman, who appeared to have become quite paralysed. The sun was just
about to shed his last ray of light upon our eyes and hope in our hearts,
when those on board the vessel saw us, heard us, bore down upon us, and
took us on board. Had not the great God sent us this timely succour, no
account of our fate could have ever been made known, for any one of the
storms which prevailed during the following eight or nine days must have
destroyed us. We were hauled on board by means of ropes, and stowed in a
little cabin, 6 feet by 4½ only; but yet, what a palace compared to the
horrors from which we had just been rescued! This vessel was a small Dutch
galliot, and had a cargo of sugar from Amsterdam, consigned to Leghorn;
and was, therefore, desirous of landing at Gibraltar, it being on her
course. However, adverse winds set in; the captain of the galliot knew not
his position; he was unable to take an observation; and was, in
consequence, knocked about for nine days with this serious addition to his
crew. I had been visiting the house of a noble friend but a few weeks
before, but what was it compared to our present little home?” They were at
length safely landed at Plymouth.
Among so many gloomy incidents, one of another nature may well be
recorded. The name of Lieutenant Grylls has been mentioned as one of the
survivors. But the _Cornwall Gazette_ of January 8th had the following
announcement:—“Lost, on board the _Amazon_, mail steam-packet, on Sunday,
the 4th inst., in which vessel he had taken his passage to join H.M.S.
_Devastation_, to which ship he had been appointed as first lieutenant,
Lieutenant Charles Gerveys Grylls, R.N., aged twenty-five, eldest
surviving son of the Rev. Henry Grylls, vicar of St. Neots.” But early in
the morning of Friday a special messenger arrived at St. Neots, bearing a
letter to the good vicar from his son, stating that he was alive and safe,
and that he hoped to be with him in the evening. The news soon spread; all
the neighbouring hamlets turned out their inhabitants, the village bells
were rung, and a party of about 150 persons set off on the road to
Plymouth to draw him home by hand. This the gallant lieutenant would not
allow, being too anxious to return to his friends. A triumphal procession
was, however, formed, escorted by which this witness from the dead was
restored to his bereaved father. One can imagine the joy in the household,
and the strong revulsion of feeling there!
“On taking a review of this overwhelming catastrophe,” says the Rev. C. A.
Johns, “the reader will rise from a perusal of the narrative having his
mind painfully impressed with the fearful loss of human life; and as he
endeavours to picture to himself the incidents as they severally occurred,
he will be more inclined to doubt that any one was possessed of nerve
sufficiently strong to stand the first half-hour’s ordeal rather than to
wonder that so few escaped. A vessel, constructed of the best material
employed in ship-building—oak, teak, and Dantzic pine—but, nevertheless, a
structure of wood, bearing, in addition to cargo, crew, and passengers,
1,000 tons of inflammable coal, and a framework of massive iron,
unceasingly grinding with the force of 800 horses—sixteen furnaces and as
many huge boilers, all employed in generating the most powerful instrument
of usefulness or destruction (as the case may be) which man has reduced to
his will—a store-room in the vicinity of the boilers, plentifully stocked
with oil and tallow—well might the lip quiver and the cheek blanch at the
bare idea of FIRE being allowed to creep with but a flickering light
beyond its prescribed limits. But, besides all this, he will remember that
to this concatenation of perils—themselves too terrible to dwell on—must
be added contingencies which aggravated the danger in a tenfold degree.
The ship was new, her timbers were dry and resinous—not, as is the case
with sea-worn vessels, saturated with salt, and therefore less
inflammable, but converted into rapid fuel by the unusual heat, which from
some cause, explained or unexplained, was perceptible at a great distance
from her boilers; the crew, though young and efficient, and more than
one-half of them practised servants of the Company, were yet strange to
the ship, not even having had their various duties assigned to them, nor
familiar with the persons of their officers, as became evident afterwards
from the discrepancies in their statements of names; the wind was blowing
a gale in the direction which would most readily extend a conflagration
from the probable source of fire to the stern, where the majority of
passengers were congregated; the time was midnight; many of the officers,
weary with their previous exertions, were recruiting their strength by a
brief repose; most of the seamen and all the passengers were buried in
sleep; the sea was in a state of commotion; the place was the Bay of
Biscay, the dread of outward-bound mariners; the boats, though
unexceptionable as to number, capacity, and quality, were not stowed in
the usual simple way, but rested on brackets, from which it was necessary
for them to be lifted before they could be lowered even into that foaming
ocean. Suddenly the cry of Fire! is shrieked out; the bell is set
a-ringing—the death-knell—the knell of sudden, inevitable, agonising death
to many a stout heart on board that proud but perishing ship. He must
sleep soundly who failed to hear that piercing cry and the heartrending
shrieks which took it up. Some thought it of no consequence: ‘We will
dress, and hasten on deck, that we may help to extinguish it.’ But there
were some who knew better; they could look a hurricane in the face, they
could encounter a hailstorm of bullets in the execution of their duty, but
they knew that, with that enemy on board, the iron beams of the _Amazon_
could only be cooled by the water which rolled at the bottom of the ocean.
Those brave men did all they could—they gave their charge a brief space to
make their peace with God, if God were in their thoughts, and resigned
themselves to His keeping who alone could help them. Before the least
terrified could gain the deck the flames were soaring above the funnels. A
flight of fire was sweeping the deck; it extended from one side of the
vessel to the other; it separated those in the fore-part from those in the
stern; it shot forth from the port-holes; it singed the hair and scorched
the skin of those who were furthest from its reach; and the air of heaven
was one huge blast-pipe, fanning it into fury! Are the fire-engines of no
avail? They are themselves burning. Then stop the paddle-wheels, that the
boats may be launched. Alas! the engineers, half suffocated, have long
been driven from the engine-room, and the levers are beyond their reach.
But the ship yet answered her helm, and was put before the wind. And now
the flames were borne in an opposite direction, towards the bow, and the
gale seemed to be diminished. Now the captain cried, ‘Lower the larboard
lifeboat!’ ‘It is on fire!’ ‘Lower the starboard lifeboat!’ ‘It is on
fire!’ Other boats yet remain, and crew and passengers crowd into them.
Fatal haste! It was a work of time and difficulty to lift them from their
sockets before, with this addition to their weight it is next to
impossible. One after another they are tumbled, rather than lowered, into
a sea which, from the rapid motion of the vessel, appears to be rushing
from them. Some hang suspended, and their cargoes are swept away by the
boiling surge; one is swamped, another is stove in. Still the fire is
drawing nearer; it surrounds the boilers, and the water contained in them
is nearly exhausted. When that has happened they will burst, perhaps, and
then the engines will cease to work. Strange that success in effecting an
escape should be promoted by the bursting of a boiler—an accident which,
had it come alone, would have occasioned terror and dismay. No one knows,
amidst the overwhelming din of air, fire, water, steam, human shrieks, and
even the cries of dumb animals, whether this event happened or not. It was
not dreaded—it was hoped for. It could not have added to the dismay, so,
if it happened? it was unnoticed.
“However that may be, the ship could not free herself from her destroyer,
but moderated her speed. A few boats were put off—no living soul can say
how many—all, probably, that were left, and then, perhaps, the officers
embarked on a raft, and—we dare not carry our thoughts further in that
direction.
“The vessel lay a burning log on the waters for four or five hours, and
then, as if an evil demon had possessed her, or as if some gorgeous _fête_
had now reached its close, threw up a discharge of brilliant fireworks—and
the billows of the Atlantic swept unconcernedly over her hissing embers.”
The following example—the terrible loss of the _London_—presents a
striking contrast to that of the _Amazon_. She was literally _swamped_ at
sea, and there are no recorded parallels to the case on such a scale.
Vessels, indeed, are often lost by great leakage produced by collision,
but the cases are rare in modern days and in well-found ships, where
ordinary leakage and water “shipped” on deck makes any great difference,
and in steam-ships the pumps worked by the “donkey” engine, as a rule,
effectually prevent any danger from these sources.
[Illustration: THE “LONDON.”]
The _London_ was a first-class passenger steamship of her day. She was
nearly new, of 1,700 tons, and valued at £80,000. She belonged to a
distinguished firm, and had been constructed on the most approved
principles. Her commander, Captain Martin, was an officer of ripe
experience, and this was her third voyage. She had acquired a first-class
reputation; and for months before the time(92) of sailing, berths were so
eagerly engaged that it would have been difficult to accommodate, in the
roughest manner, many more, while in the saloon there were no vacancies.
One lady who was desirous of proceeding with her family from Plymouth to
Melbourne had made repeated applications to the owners’ agents, and the
captain had been consulted, but, fortunately for the applicant, had
declared that the cabins were so full that he could not possibly
accommodate her—a result that, at the time, caused her much
disappointment; afterwards she had reason to thank her good fortune. A
second-class male passenger was so alarmed at the rough weather which the
_London_ encountered on her way from the Thames to Plymouth, that on
arrival at the latter he went ashore, resigned his passage, and returned
to his home, thus unwittingly saving his life. A young man, as the result
of some family quarrel, had left his home, and taken a passage by the
_London_. He was advertised for in the _Times_, and importuned to return,
his friends being at first unaware of his whereabouts. Messengers were
sent down to Plymouth, his friends having later acquired some clue to his
movements, and an influential ship-broker in the town was employed to
intercept his flight should he attempt to sail thence. Fortunately, he was
detected among the passengers of the _London_, and the fact communicated
to his family by the broker, the result of which was that a brother of the
young man went down to Plymouth, and persuaded the would-be emigrant to
forego his voyage.
The _London_ left the East India Docks on December 29th, and on account of
the severity of the weather remained at anchor at the Nore during part of
the 30th and the whole of the 31st. This fact alone would indicate that
Captain John Martin, her commander, was a careful seaman. The weather
remained boisterous, and after getting out into the Channel the pilot
decided to take the vessel for shelter to Spithead. When the weather had
abated she proceeded to Plymouth, arriving there on the 5th of January.
Here an incident occurred, ominous in its nature, and particularly
distressing at the commencement of a voyage, more especially as many
passengers at such a time are nervous and fearful. The small boat from a
Plymouth pilot cutter, which had on board the pilot and his assistant, was
swamped. The latter was rescued by a boat from the _London_, but the pilot
was drowned. The remainder of the day was occupied in shipping an
additional number of passengers and filling up with coal. She sailed the
same evening. The weather is described as having been then moderate.
On the 6th and 7th of January the wind rose, accompanied by strong squalls
and a high sea, which caused the ship to roll considerably. Still the
weather was not so boisterous but that Divine service was held on the 7th,
it being the Sabbath. On Monday, the 8th, the wind freshened to a gale
from the south-west, and at 9 a.m. the captain ordered the engines to be
stopped, and to make sail. At 5 p.m. the weather improved, and all sails
were taken in, and steaming resumed. Early on Tuesday the wind increased
to a hard gale, with a very heavy sea, the ship going under steam only,
and at the reduced rate of two knots an hour. At this time she pitched
with terrible violence, taking whole seas over her bows. At 7 a.m. an
unusually heavy sea broke into the life-boat stowed on the port-quarter,
filled her completely, and carried her overboard with all her gear. At 9
a.m. the ship gave a tremendous pitch, so as to bury herself forward, when
the sea carried away the jib and flying jibbooms, and they took with them
the fore-top mast and fore-top gallant, the fore-royal and main-royal
masts, with all their spars, sails, and rigging. The masts fell in-board,
and hung suspended by the rigging, but the jibbooms remained under the
bows, fastened to the ship by their stays, which were of wire. Every
effort to get them clear failed till next morning, it having blown a
furious gale all night from the south-west, with a sea that kept
constantly washing all forward. On the morning of Wednesday, the 10th, the
gale continued without the least abatement, and at 3 a.m. the captain gave
orders to Mr. Greenhill, the engineer in charge, to get up full steam, as
he intended to put back to Plymouth, in order to refit. The ship’s course
was accordingly shaped for home, the fore and mizen stay-sails were set,
and she steamed along moderately at the rate of five or six knots. In the
course of the morning, the masts, which up to that time had been swinging
about aloft, were secured, and the wreck of the jibboom cleared away.
Observations taken that day indicated that she was about 200 miles from
the Land’s End. At 6 p.m. both the fore and mizen stay-sails were carried
away in a furious squall; another life-boat and the cutter were washed
clean overboard and lost. At 9 p.m. the wind increased to a perfect
hurricane from the north-west, the squalls blowing with a degree of fury
seldom paralleled. The engines were stopped, and the ship put under the
main top-sail only, which was soon blown away in shreds. The captain once
more ordered the engines to be set in motion. Up to this time,
notwithstanding the heavy seas she encountered, it does not appear that
the vessel had shipped much water.
[Illustration: THE “LONDON” GOING DOWN.]
At half-past 10 p.m. a terrific sea broke upon the ship over the weather
or port gangway, and an immense mass of water, the crest of a mighty wave,
descended almost perpendicularly over the hatch of the engine-room,
smashing it right in, admitting tons upon tons of water, washing from the
deck into the engine-room two men, a seaman and a passenger. There being
nothing to obstruct the influx of sea, the engine-room began to fill with
water. The fires were extinguished at once, and in about eight minutes the
engines ceased to work. The engineers remained below till the water was
above their waists, and they could work no more. The large bilge-pumps
also proved useless, and the condition of the ship became utterly
helpless, often rolling into the trough of the sea, rolling gunwale under,
and labouring heavily. The captain called on those who were baling, “Men,
put down your buckets, and come and try to secure the engine-room hatch,
for that’s our only chance of saving the ship! Secure that, and we may
keep her afloat yet.” Every endeavour, however, to replace the hatch
proved unavailing. Efforts were made to stop the opening with sails,
mattrasses, and spars, but without success; and although the donkey-engine
and pumps were kept at work, yet the water quickly gained upon them, and
all their efforts were fruitless. It was then that the captain uttered
words of which he knew the full meaning, and which must have thrilled
through many of the passengers’ bosoms who had hitherto been hoping
against hope—“Boys, you may say your prayers!” All was over with them.
At 4 a.m of the 11th a tremendous sea struck the ship abaft, which stove
in four windows, or stern-ports, of the upper or poop cabin. Through the
breaches thus made the sea rushed into the ship in such quantities that
the ’tween decks were soon half full of water. The ship at this time was
settling fast; the captain went into the engine-room, and, with the
engineer, took soundings, when it was found that there was fourteen feet
of water in her. The captain then told Greenhill that he had abandoned all
hope of saving her, and shortly afterwards made a similar communication to
the passengers. At about 10 a.m. the captain ordered the boats to be got
ready, which was done, and the starboard pinnace, which was of iron, was
lowered into the water, but was almost immediately upset by the sea, and
lost. Shortly after this the captain entered the saloon, and said,
“Ladies, there is no hope for us, I’m afraid. Nothing short of a miracle
can save us!”
During the hours of agony and horror which had preceded this announcement
the Rev. Mr. Draper,(93) a Wesleyan minister on board, was incessant in
administering religious comfort to his fellow-sufferers; and we are told
by the survivors that the women (all of whom perished in the sequel) sat
about him reading their Bibles, with their children grouped around; “and
occasionally some man or woman would step up to him and say, ‘Pray with
me, Mr. Draper’—a request that was always complied with.” What a scene
must have been presented at that last prayer-meeting in the cabin, the
ship labouring and tossing the while; the waves, with their ominous roar,
breaking over her and dashing against her; while by half-extinguished
lights little groups of earnest, pale-faced people huddled together,
shivering and trembling, before the doomed _London_ took her last leap
into the dark waters!
After the announcement by the captain that they must prepare for the
worst, Mr. Draper is stated to have stood erect, and with a clear, firm
voice, the tears streaming from his eyes, said, “The captain tells us
there is no hope—that we must all perish; but I tell you there is hope for
_all_!” The reader will know what the good old man meant. Mrs. Draper is
said at the last moment to have handed her rug to one of the seamen who
was attempting to get off in a boat, and when asked what she would do
without it, she replied, “It will only be for a few moments longer.”
As there were so few survivors to tell the tale, the incidents which must
have occurred during this terrible time are necessarily somewhat meagre.
One passenger rushed on deck labouring with a heavy carpet-bag, which he
expected to save with his life. The captain could hardly forbear, even at
that terrible time, a melancholy smile at the absurdity of a man at such a
moment taking any thought about his property. When the only boat which got
off safely was about to leave the fated ship, a lady entreated to be taken
on board, offering a thousand guineas as a reward. But it was
impossible—millions could not have saved her. A passenger who was saved,
just before leaving in the boat, went into the cabin to persuade a friend
to join him. “No,” said the other; “I promised my wife and children to
stay by them, and I will!” His friend helped him to remove the children to
a drier part of the cabin, and then, with a sad good-bye, ran up to the
deck. When last seen, the man was still standing with his wife and little
ones. Another passenger said to a friend, also one of the few saved,
“Jack, I think we are going to go.” “I think we are,” was the answer. “We
can’t help it,” rejoined the first; “but there’s one thing I regret:” and
he went on to explain how some £500 of his money was in the Bank of
Victoria, and he evidently feared some hitch in its recovery. “I should
have liked my poor father to have it.” He was a true son to the last.
As at the wreck of the _Amazon_ a distinguished author lost his life, so
on the _London_ a great actor, the celebrated G. V. Brooke, perished, but
perished nobly. The _Times_ (quoting the _Western Morning News_ of the
date) says:—
“Down into the waves, with 269(94) others, has sunk Gustavus V. Brooke,
the famed tragedian, who was bound for the country which had been the
scene of a reverse of fortune for him, but previously of many successes.
He was a tall man, of powerful build, and he is stated by the rescued
passengers to have exerted himself to the utmost in trying to keep the
ship afloat. The Dutch portion of the crew, twenty-one in number, refused
to work, and, according to the English sailors who were saved, these men
went to their berths and remained there, so that the passengers had to
work at the pumps for many hours with the English seamen. Mr. G. V. Brooke
exerted himself incessantly; attired only in a red Crimean shirt and
trousers, with no hat on, and barefooted, he went backwards and forwards
to the pumps, until working at them was found to be useless, and when last
seen, about four hours before the steamer went down, he was leaning with
grave composure upon one of the half-doors of the companion; his chin was
resting upon both hands, and his hands were on the top of the door, which
he gently swayed to and fro, while he calmly watched the scene. One of the
passengers who saw him said, ‘he had worked wonderfully—in fact, more than
any man on board the ship.’ To the steward, to whom Mr. Brooke made
himself known, he said, ‘If you succeed in saving yourself, give my
farewell to the people of Melbourne.’”
The last trace of the gifted tragedian is found in the following episode.
In the _Times_ of March 20, 1866, appeared the following letter from Mrs.
Brooke (Avonia):—
“To the Editor of the _Times_.
“Sir,—On Friday night I received the last written words of my dear
husband. They were found in a bottle on the Brighton beach, and forwarded
to me by Mr. C. A. Elliott, of Trinity College, Cambridge. They are
written in pencil on a torn envelope, and read as follows:—‘11th January,
on board the _London_. We are just going down. No chance of safety. Please
give this to Avonia Jones, Surrey Theatre.—Gustavus Vaughan Brooke.’
“Will you be kind enough to insert this fact in your valuable journal,
for, sad as the message is, he has many friends who will be glad once more
to hear from him, even though his words have come from his very grave.
“With respect, &c.,
“AVONIA BROOKE.”
“36, Albemarle Street, Piccadilly.”
At 2 p.m. there could not be a doubt—the vessel was sinking rapidly. The
captain then directed Greenhill that, as the port cutter was ready for
lowering, he had some chance of saving himself, and that he had better get
into her. The captain shook hands with him, and said, “There’s not much
chance for the boat; there’s none for the ship. Your duty is done, mine is
to remain here.” The boat was lowered, and four men, followed by others of
the crew, got into her. When asked to come into the boat, the captain
answered in the true spirit of a sailor-hero, “No, I will go down with the
passengers, but I wish you God speed, and safe to land!” Noble John Bohun
Martin!(95) But not, thank God! the only one on record; he was but one of
the noble army of sailor martyrs of whom Mrs. Hemans sung so touchingly:—
“Yet more! the billows and the depth have more!
High hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast!
They hear not now the booming waters roar;
The battle thunders will not break their rest.
Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave!
Give back the true and brave!
“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 festive song!
Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers or throne—
But all is not thine own.
“To thee the love of woman hath gone down;
Dark flow the tides o’er manhood’s noble head,
Or 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!”
[Illustration: GETTING OUT THE “LONDON’S” BOATS.]
The boat, into which the captain had thrown a compass, and to the
occupants of which he had shouted their course, “NNE. to Brest!” left the
sinking _London_ none too soon. The number in the boat consisted of
nineteen souls, all that were saved by any means, and comprised the first,
second, and third engineers, one midshipman, twelve of the crew, and
_three_ passengers (all second class; no first class or steerage
passengers whatever were saved). Shortly afterwards those who went in the
boat pushed off from the ship, seeing that she must immediately sink, and
apprehending that the boat might be sucked in as she went down. They had
hardly got eighty yards off, when the stern of the _London_ plunged
beneath the waves, with crew and passengers and all. Her bows stood
upright for a moment or two preceding the fatal plunge, exposing the keel
as far as the foremast. The wind was howling so fiercely that not a sound
could be heard of the shrieks and groans of over two hundred persons who
were going, in sight of the pitiful remnant in the boat, to their last
doom. They saw a whole group of passengers suddenly swept off the deck,
and they saw that the remaining boat, full of people, was drawn down into
the vortex made by the sinking ship. The third officer, Mr. Arthur Angel,
aged 20, with noble devotion to his duty, was observed still at his post
by the pumps as she went down. The next minute there was but a watery
waste over the grave of that devoted band, so full of hope and life but a
day before.
With but a few biscuits on board, and drenched to the skin by every wave,
the nineteen survivors in their open boat drifted about for twenty hours.
They fancied that they saw a ship through the gloom, and raised their
voices in one united shout. They were heard, and their hail returned; but
they were not seen, and had no light to show. The ship tacked again and
again in the hopes of finding them, and when their suspense was at its
highest, sailed away, and they saw her dim form disappearing in the
darkness. When day dawned another ship was sighted far in the distance. A
shirt was hoisted for a signal, and the oars were zealously plied. After
five hours they were rescued by this vessel, the Italian barque
_Marianople_, on board which they received a hearty welcome from the
captain and his men. They were eventually landed safely at Falmouth.