The loss of the TRIBUNE frigate, in November of the following year, is
too interesting to be omitted.
At about eight o'clock on the morning of the 16th of November, 1797,
the harbour of Halifax was discovered, and as a strong wind blew from
the east-south-east, Captain Scory Barker proposed to the master to
lie to, until a pilot came on board. The master replied that there was
no necessity for such a measure, as the wind was favourable, and he
was perfectly well acquainted with the passage. The captain confiding
in this assurance, went below, and the master took charge of the ship.
Towards noon they approached so near the Thrum Cape shoals, that the
master became alarmed and sent for Mr. Galvin, one of the master's
mates. The message was scarcely delivered, before the man in the
main-chains sung out, 'By the mark five.' In a few minutes after the
ship struck.
Signals of distress were immediately made, and as speedily answered by
the military posts, and the ships in the harbour.
Some boats put out from the harbour to the assistance of the Tribune,
and Mr. Rackum, boatswain of the Ordinary, succeeded in reaching her
in a boat from the dockyard, but all the other boats were forced to
put back,--the wind was blowing so hard directly against them.
The ship continued to beat until eight o'clock, P.M., when all the
guns having been thrown overboard (except one, retained for signals),
and all means taken to lighten her, she began to heave, and in about
an hour after she swung off the shoal,--not, however, without having
lost her rudder.
She was then found to have seven feet of water in the hold; the chain
pumps were instantly manned, and every exertion made to save the
vessel. At first these efforts seemed to be successful, but by ten
o'clock the gale had increased to a frightful violence, and the water
was gaining on them so fast that little hope remained. The ship was
driving rapidly towards the rocky coast, against which she must have
been dashed to pieces had she kept afloat a few minutes longer, but
she gave a lurch and went down, rose again for an instant, and with
another lurch sank, and all was over,--and there were nearly two
hundred and fifty human beings struggling with the waves.
Of all the crew twelve only were saved.
Mr. Galvin, the master's mate, was below, directing the working of the
pumps, when the ship went down; he was washed up the hatchway, and
thence into the sea; he then struck out for the shrouds, but was
seized by three of his drowning comrades. To extricate himself from
their grasp, he dived for a few seconds, which caused them to let go
their hold. He reached the shrouds, which were crowded with people,
and then climbed to the main-top. Ten men had taken refuge in the
foretop, and about a hundred persons altogether are supposed by Mr.
Galvin to have been clinging to the shrouds, tops, and other parts of
the rigging; but the long November night, the intense cold, and the
fierce gale, finished the work that the waves had left undone; and one
by one the poor creatures let go their hold, frozen or exhausted, and
dropped into the foaming sea.
About forty persons were clinging to the mainmast when it fell over,
and all were lost, except Mr. Galvin and nine others, who had strength
enough left to enable them to gain the top, which rested on the
mainyard, being fortunately sustained by a part of the rigging. But of
the ten who regained the main-top, four only, including Mr. Galvin,
survived the night. Of the ten in the foretop, six perished, three
from exhaustion, and three were washed way.
Here we cannot refrain from relating an instance of the coolness which
is so often characteristic of the British sailor. Amongst those who
survived in the foretop were two seamen, Robert Dunlap, and Daniel
Munroe; the latter disappeared in the night, and his companion
concluded that he had been washed away with the others. About two
hours, however, after he had been missed, Munroe, to the surprise of
Dunlap, thrust his head through the lubber's hole. Dunlap asked where
he had been.
'Been.' said Munroe; 'I've been cruizing, d'ye see, in search of a
better berth.'
After swimming about the wreck for a considerable time, he had
returned to the fore-shrouds, and crawling in at the cat-harpings, had
been sleeping there more than an hour.
When the morning dawned, there were only eight men still alive on the
rigging, and no effort was made to rescue them until about eleven
o'clock, A.M., when a boy of thirteen years of age put out alone, in a
small skiff from Herring Cove, to their assistance, thus setting a
noble example of humanity and heroism to older and more experienced
men, who should have been leaders, and not followers, on such an
occasion. With great courage and skill, and at the peril of his life,
he reached the wreck, and backing his skiff close to the foretop,
carried off two of the people. Upon this occasion, also, a noble
instance of the magnanimity of the true British tar was displayed.
Munroe and Dunlap, who, during the night, had preserved their strength
and spirits, and had done everything in their power to sustain their
less fortunate comrades, refused to quit the wreck until the other two
men, who were so exhausted as to be unable to make any effort for
their own safety, were taken on shore. They accordingly lifted them
into the skiff, and the gallant boy rowed them off in triumph to the
Cove, and deposited them in safety in the nearest cottage.
He again put off in his skiff, but this time all his efforts were
unavailing, and he was obliged to return. His gallant example,
however, had the effect of inducing others to make the attempt, and
the six survivors were conveyed to the shore in large boats.