THREE DAYS AND NIGHTS OF DANGER ON THE DEEP.
With her precious freight of human life on board, the _London_ left
Plymouth in the very early morning of Saturday, January the 6th. A
sailor’s superstition had been respected, some would say, and the
anchor had not been hove up until a short time after midnight of
Friday; so that it was really on a Saturday that the vessel set sail.
The weather was then moderate, the wind blowing lightly from the
northward, and little or no sea running. The breakwater was cleared,
and the ship proceeded on her voyage at the speed of about eight knots
an hour: she was going under steam with head to wind.
They sighted the Lizard lights about four hours after they set sail,
and the weather then was calm and fine. But an hour later, at six
o’clock on Saturday morning, the weather changed: the wind veered to
the westward, and the sea began to rise. It is important to bear this
in mind, because of the criticism which has been applied to Captain
Martin leaving Plymouth when the barometer was indicating stormy
weather. One after another of competent witnesses examined affirmed
most positively that the barometer was so shifty that it could not be
relied upon, and that the weather was as favourable as any one could
desire for going to sea. And even if the weather had been threatening,
to have asked Captain Martin to put back on this account, would have
been asking him to throw away the reputation which it had taken years
to acquire, and to have acted in opposition to the practice of the most
experienced seamen of the day.
On Sunday, January 7th, the wind, which was still westerly, increased
in violence, and there were strong squalls and a heavy sea, in which
the ship rolled considerably. Religious service was of course held on
board, and it was conducted by Dr. Woolley and Mr. Draper.
It was not until Monday, the 8th, that the passengers began to feel
anxious concerning their safety, and to regard their position as
becoming every hour more and more perilous. During Sunday night it was
evident that a gale might be expected, and on Monday morning it was
blowing with great violence. The Captain ordered the engines to be
stopped and sail to be made on the ship. Towards noon the wind appeared
to lull somewhat, and in the evening the weather had so improved that
all sails were taken in, and the engines again set in motion. The
weather, however, soon changed again, and the gale seemed only to have
lulled to gain new strength; for between eight and twelve of Monday
night the spanker of the ship was blown away by its violence.
Captain Martin and some of the crew, amongst whom was the gallant
John King, one of the survivors, endeavoured to get the spanker in,
and at last succeeded. It was a night of raving wind and rolling sea,
and we hear of sleepless passengers below in their cabins reading the
Bible to each other, and offering solemn prayer to Him who rode upon
the wings of the wind. All that night Captain Martin was here and
there throughout the ship--indeed he was to sleep no more until the
dreadful afternoon of Thursday--and all the orders which he gave were
speedily executed by the crew. The wind was blowing a full gale, and
mizenstaysail and forestaysail and maintopmaststaysail and reefspanker
had been set.
On Tuesday morning, January 9th, commenced that dismal series of
disasters under which eventually the noble vessel succumbed. The
wind was blowing a hard gale from the S.W. and there was a very heavy
sea. The ship was now making little more than two knots an hour,
as her speed had been reduced, and she was going through the water
under steam only. She pitched tremendously, and every now and then
whole seas dashed over her bows. Such was the state of things early
on Tuesday morning; but the passengers below as yet only heard the
fury of the storm without; they were safe and dry in their cabins:
the fires burnt brightly in the engine-room, and the two engineers,
Messrs. Jones and Greenhill, surveyed with satisfaction the strong
hatchway which protected their engines from the seas which broke over
the vessel. Bearing in mind what we have said concerning the size of
the engine-room, the reader will be prepared to learn, that if that
engine-room were flooded with water, the ship would undoubtedly sink.
There needed no other accident than this to secure the shipwreck of
the vessel. The officers on deck could comfort themselves with the
assurance, that though exposed themselves to the storm and heavy seas
which broke over the ship, their passengers were safe, and they would,
by the help of their good engines below, slowly plough their way
through waves that looked as if they would roll mountains high.
At seven o’clock on Tuesday morning an unusually heavy sea broke
into the lifeboat stowed on the port-quarter, filling the boat and
carrying her away, with all her gear. This was deemed a most melancholy
occurrence, and a series of minor disasters followed. At nine o’clock
the ship gave a tremendous pitch forward, as if she were about to
bury herself, prow foremost, and in a moment afterwards the sea, with
a force that made the hardiest seaman quail, tore away the jib and
flying jibboom, which carried away with them the foretopmast, the
foretopgallantmast, foreroyalmast, and mainroyalmast, with all their
spars and sails, and other gear. Portions of the wreck fell clattering
on the deck, or hung suspended by the rigging: the topmast was swinging
in the rigging and the foreroyalmast was hanging down and swinging with
the motion of the ship. The jibboom was lying on the starboard bow,
right over in the water!
Thus, at one fell stroke, the beautiful vessel had been dismantled,
and received damage which, in the storm that then raged, it was next
to impossible to repair. Captain Martin was cool and self-possessed
in the midst of the untoward occurrence, and efforts were at once put
forth to remedy the disaster, but to little purpose. The masts which
had fallen on board, and which hung suspended by their rigging, and
the jibboom, which was fastened to the ship by stays of wire, could
not be got clear; and thus it was, with the ship in this dismantled
condition, with the gale still increasing in fury, and with a sea that
kept constantly washing all forward, that the passengers and crew of
the _London_ steamed slowly ahead through the awful night.
There was little sleep on board that night, we may be sure. The devoted
Mr. Draper had already begun the work of directing the minds of the
passengers to Him who had promised to be a Refuge from the storm, a
very present help in every time of need, and already we hear of earnest
prayers offered for all needful grace to support the bitterness of the
calamity. We know now, and it is a great light shining in the midst of
the darkness, that there were many Christians on board, who, in the
hour of peril, would be enabled to point the distressed to the sinner’s
Friend. We can scarcely go in any direction throughout the metropolis
without hearing the glad tidings of one, and another, and another,
being on board, who would not be afraid to die, and who would be sure
to be of use to shrinking and, perhaps, unprepared fellow-sufferers.
And in the cabins below it is very beautiful to hear the voice of
supplication mingled with the din and war of the tempest. We hear at
least of a few, who, in the second cabin, were engaged throughout the
night in reading the Bible by turns. Mrs. Price, Mrs. Wood, who had
with her her husband and five children, Miss Brooker, and Miss Marks,
are among those thus engaged. Throughout the vessel the feeling has
gone forth that the passengers may never reach land, and may at any
moment be called upon to exchange time for eternity. Thus the long
dreary night of Tuesday wore away, and Wednesday came, bringing with it
disasters that quickly rivalled each other in horror.
Early on Wednesday morning, about three o’clock, Captain Martin ordered
the engineers to get up full speed, as he intended to put the ship
about and run for Plymouth. The gale continued blowing without the
least abatement, but in the course of a little while the dismantled
vessel was once more homeward bound. Mizenstaysails were set, and she
steamed N.N.E. at the rate of five or six knots an hour.
The chief engineer, Mr. Jones, is obliged to give up through sickness,
and now it is Mr. Greenhill, the second engineer, who has to carry
out the Captain’s orders in regard to the engines throughout the day.
The engines are in perfect working order, and although the vessel has
shipped a little water through the number of seas that have broken over
her, there is none in the engine-room, and the brass-bound and grated
skylight above is perfectly safe. There is not a crack in it that he
can see, and, with the engines revolving more quickly now, away the
vessel is steaming, head to the wind.
In the course of the morning the damage of the preceding day was
repaired, so far as securing the masts, which, up to this time, had
been swinging about aloft, and the wreck of the jibbooms cleared away
from the ship. At noon an observation was taken, and indicated their
position to be lat. 46·48 N., and long. 8·7 W., viz. in the Bay of
Biscay, and about 200 miles S.W. of Land’s End. As they hoped to make
Plymouth soon, and to refit there before proceeding on their voyage, no
repairs were attempted, save making the wreck as trim as they could.
Meanwhile, we have to say again, the fury of the storm increased, and
the waves were running mountains high. It was six o’clock on Wednesday
evening, and their course was N.N.E., when the wind increased into a
perfect hurricane from N.W., the squalls blowing with a degree of fury
seldom paralleled. The vessel rolled and pitched fearfully, shipping
every now and then large quantities of water. Suddenly the fore and
mainstaysails were violently torn away by the squall, and went flying
away into the darkness. Shortly afterwards, the lifeboat and cutter,
which were stowed away on the starboard side, were stove in and carried
away by the violence of the sea. As the night deepened, and nine
o’clock approached, the ship was in a hurricane, the like of which the
oldest seaman on board had never seen!
The engines had been stopped, and the Captain was relying now upon his
sails to bear him through, but they were blown to shreds and ribbons,
and the once stately vessel, so strongly built and so perfectly
equipped, was now the mere sport of winds and waves. In a few hours
those on board had, if the storm continued, received an irreparable
loss, for three out of seven of their boats had been carried away by
the sea. Their two lifeboats, that would have held so many, and would
have perhaps taken them in safety to land, were gone. Nevertheless,
Captain Martin was not the man to indulge in feelings of despondency,
or to waste time in useless regrets. A solemn responsibility rested
upon him, and we believe he was true to it if man ever was.
“Set the engines going, and keep her head N.N.E.”
“Ay! ay! Sir.”
And on through the wild dark night and surging sea the poor _London_
drove; when disaster upon disaster fell upon her with crushing weight.
At half-past ten a terrific sea broke over the port-gangway, and what
the sailors graphically called a mountain of water descended almost
perpendicularly over the hatch of the engine-room. That hatch, as we
have already said, was deemed strong enough to keep out any sea that
might ever dash over a ship. Altogether it weighed about a ton and a
half, and it measured 12 ft. by 9 ft. It was glazed with plate glass
half an inch thick, and there were gratings of galvanized iron over the
glass, and the bars were three-quarters of an inch thick. Yet, although
thus strongly built and brass fastened, that mass of water, which
descended almost perpendicularly, dashed through the hatchway, down
which it threw violently two men, and, literally smashing every thing
in its way, immediately flooded the engine-room with water.
Mr. Jones, the first engineer, ill though he was, immediately ran
from his berth, and descended to the engine-room, where he found Mr.
Greenhill standing by the engines. The engine-room was flooding, and
a body of water was passing down the hatchway. The hatchway had been
swept clean away, and there was now nothing to prevent the rushing in
of the sea. Of all calamities, this was the one most to be deplored:
the ship’s carpenter could do nothing in the way of repairing, and yet
down they must all go, and that speedily, unless something was done,
for at every sea the vessel shipped, the water in the engine-room was
rising higher and higher.
To remedy the evil as far as possible, tarpaulins and canvas were
brought, which the men tried to nail down over the aperture. The men
also tried to put the flying jibboom over the aperture, but such a
hurricane was blowing, that both the canvas and the men who were trying
to batten it down were washed away. The pumps were set to work, and
passengers and crew worked incessantly, some at the pumps, and some
in baling out the water, which, alas! came pouring in, and which,
notwithstanding all their efforts, rose higher and higher in the
engine-room. Nor could they by any means cover over the opening which
the sea had made by sweeping away the hatchway: tarpaulins, blankets,
sails, mattresses, whatever they could find, they heaped upon ladders,
pieces of wood, and spars, which they had thrown across as supports;
but the storm and sea mocked their best endeavours; and, alas! about
a quarter past eleven o’clock that night the waters had risen to such
a height that the fires were out, and consequently the engines ceased
working. There was already about five feet of water in the engine-room,
and the ship was labouring heavily in the trough of the sea. Her
condition, therefore, was altogether hopeless. In consequence of the
engines stopping she could no longer hope to steam through the gale;
the engineers could work no longer, and, for the same reason, the large
bilge-pumps were rendered useless.
Mr. Greenhill had the painful task of making known to Captain Martin
the saddening intelligence that his fires were out; and that no more
help was to be looked for from the engines. The Captain received the
news with perfect calmness. He said he was not surprised at it; that
he had expected it; and immediately ordered the maintopsail to be
set, in the hope of keeping his ship before the wind. Vain attempt.
The gale tore it to ribbons, and in the trough of the sea the vessel
laboured through the night, rolling gunwale under. Well, indeed, might
the Captain say that night, “You may say your prayers, boys.” It was
a seaman’s way of saying, “You must prepare for the worst: at any
moment we may go down.” It was indeed a time for prayer, and we believe
that, during that night, of which we shall have a little more to say
in another chapter, such prayers were offered as were perhaps never
offered in sinking ship before.
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