The next catastrophe which we have to describe, was of a far more
appalling nature, and one which long threw a gloom over the
inhabitants of Plymouth and the neighbourhood.
The AMPHION frigate had been obliged to put into Plymouth for repairs,
and, on the 22nd Sept., 1796, was lying alongside of a sheer-hulk
taking in her bowsprit, within a few yards of the dockyard jetty. The
ship, being on the eve of sailing, was crowded with more than an
hundred men, women, and children, above her usual complement. It was
about four o'clock in the afternoon that a violent shock, like an
earthquake, was felt at Stonehouse and Plymouth. The sky towards the
dock appeared red, as if from fire, and in a moment the streets were
crowded with the inhabitants, each asking his neighbour what had
occurred. When the confusion had somewhat abated, it was announced
that the Amphion had blown up, and then every one hastened to the
dock, where a most heartrending scene presented itself. Strewed in
all directions were pieces of broken timber, spars, and rigging,
whilst the deck of the hulk, to which the frigate had been lashed was
red with blood, and covered with mangled limbs and lifeless trunks,
all blackened with powder. The frigate had been originally manned from
Plymouth; and as the mutilated forms were collected together and
carried to the hospital, fathers, mothers, brothers, and sisters
flocked to the gates, in their anxiety to discover if their relatives
were numbered amongst the dying or the dead.
From the suddenness of the catastrophe, no accurate account can of
course be given; but the following particulars were collected from the
survivors.
The captain, Israel Pellew, was at dinner in his cabin, with Captain
Swaffield of the Overyssel, a Dutch 64, and the first lieutenant of
the Amphion, when in an instant they were all violently thrown against
the carlings of the upper deck. Captain Pellew had sufficient presence
of mind to rush to the cabin window before a second explosion
followed, by which he was blown into the water; he was soon, however,
picked up by a boat, and was found to have sustained but little
injury.
The first lieutenant, who followed his example, escaped in a similar
manner. Unfortunately, Captain Swaffield perished, in all probability
having been stunned either by the first blow he received against the
carlings, or by coming in contact with some part of the hulk. His body
was found a month afterwards, with the skull fractured, apparently
crushed between the sides of the two vessels.
At the moment of the explosion, the sentinel at the cabin door was
looking at his watch, when it was dashed from his hands and he was
stunned: he knew nothing more until he found himself safe on shore,
and comparatively unhurt. The escape of the boatswain was also very
remarkable; he was standing on the cathead, directing the men in
rigging out the jib-boom, when he felt himself suddenly carried off
his feet into the air: he then fell into the sea senseless; and on
recovering his consciousness, he found that he had got entangled
amongst the rigging, and that his arm was broken. He contrived to
extricate himself, though with some difficulty, and he was soon picked
up by a boat, without further injury.
The preservation of a child was no less singular: in the terror of the
moment, the mother had grasped it in her arms, but, horrible to
relate, the lower part of her body was blown to pieces, whilst the
upper part remained unhurt, and it was discovered with the arms still
clasping the living child to the lifeless bosom.
Till then we had not wept--
But well our gushing hearts might say,
That there a _Mother_ slept!
For her pale arms a babe had prest
With such a wreathing grasp,
The fire had pass'd o'er that fond breast,
_Yet not undone the clasp_.
Deep in her bosom lay his head,
With half-shut violet eye--
_He_ had known little of her dread,
Nought of her agony.
Oh! human love, whose yearning heart,
Through all things vainly true,
So stamps upon thy mortal part
Its passionate adieu:
Surely thou hast another lot,
There is some home for thee,
Where thou shalt rest, rememb'ring not
The moaning of the sea.--MRS. HEMANS.
The exact complement of the Amphion was 215, but from the crowded
state of her decks at the time of the accident, it is supposed that
300, out of 310 or 312 persons, perished with the ship.
The captain, two lieutenants, a boatswain, three or four seamen, a
marine, one woman, and the child were all that were saved.
The cause of this unfortunate event was never clearly known; but it
was conjectured that the gunner might have let fall some powder near
the fore-magazine, which accidentally igniting, had communicated with
the magazine itself. The gunner had been suspected of stealing the
powder, and on that day he is said to have been intoxicated, and was
probably less careful than usual. He was amongst the numbers who
perished.