In the afternoon of the 21st of November, 1807, the Boreas, of 22
guns, Captain George Scott, proceeded in search of a pilot-boat, which
had been blown off the coast of Guernsey in a gale of wind.
This boat was picked up and taken in tow, when about six o'clock P.M.
it was discovered that the ship was near the Hannois rocks, about two
miles to the south-west of Guernsey. Orders were immediately given by
the pilot to put the helm down, but whilst in stays, the ship struck
on the larboard bow; and although every exertion was made to get her
off, it was found impossible to do so. The point of a rock was
reported to be through the well, rendering the pumps useless. The ship
then heeled on her larboard broadside, and the captain gave orders to
cut away the masts.
The moment the ship struck, the pilots basely deserted her, and made
off in their own boat, without even offering assistance to those who
had encountered this danger and disaster in their service. Had the
pilots returned to Rocquaine, only two miles distant, they might have
procured aid for the Boreas, and preserved the lives of her crew.
When Captain Scott was convinced that there was no chance of saving
his ship, he ordered an allowance of spirits to be served round, and
the gig, the launch, and cutter to be prepared for lowering.
The gig, with Lieutenant Bewick, a lieutenant of marines, and six men,
was sent to give information, and obtain assistance. The launch, with
the gunner, and some others, was ordered to take on board the sick,
and land them at Hannois Point, and then to return to the ship; and
the cutter, with the boatswain, and a few men, was despatched on the
same service. Captain Scott, with noble intrepidity, remained to share
the fate of his vessel.
The launch, under the orders of the gunner, succeeded in reaching the
Hannois Rocks, as did also the cutter; but the greater part of the
crew of the launch abandoned her as soon as they touched the land. In
vain did the gunner use every persuasion to induce the men to return
with him to the assistance of their comrades who were left on board
the Boreas; they were deaf to his entreaties, and he was obliged to
put off again with only four men. The wind and tide were so strong,
and so much against them, that the utmost exertion was necessary to
enable them to make their way towards the ship, and when they got
within two hundred yards of the back of the rocks, the launch was half
filled with water. They then tried to make the land again; but before
they could reach it the boat was swamped, and the men were saved with
difficulty by Mr. Simpson, the boatswain, in the cutter. There is
little doubt that if the launch had not been deserted by the greater
part of her crew, she might have reached the Boreas, and have saved
many valuable lives. And here, in justice to the majority of the
ship's company, we must observe, that those who manned the launch were
chiefly smugglers and privateer's men lately impressed, and were not
to be considered as part of the regular crew of the ship.
In addition to the boats we have already mentioned as having left the
ship, was a small cutter, (containing two midshipmen, of the names of
Luttrell and Hemmings, and two men,) which was lowered into the sea by
order of the first lieutenant, whose humanity induced him to take this
expedient for saving the lives of the two boys. The current was so
strong that in a few moments the cutter drifted away from the ship,
but the generous feelings of the boys forbade them to desert their
comrades in distress, and with great exertion they pulled back to the
vessel; they called for a rope, but were ordered to keep off, and
again their little boat was carried away by the current. Once more
they attempted to get back, but their strength was unequal to the
task, and they were carried out into the open sea. Their situation was
in many respects little better than that of the friends whom they had
left upon the wreck,--the night was pitch dark, the boat had neither
mast nor sail, and the sea ran so high that they could do nothing with
the oars. Every now and then the flash of a gun, seen across the black
distance, told them that the Boreas still held together, and that she
was making signals of distress; but no sound reached their ears save
the roar of the winds and the waves. Even the booming of the guns was
lost in that dismal roar.
The little party scarcely expected to survive the night; they were
drenched to the skin, and suffering intensely from the cold; the waves
broke over the bows of their frail boat, and threatened each minute to
overwhelm it; but their brave hearts did not sink in utter despair;
they did their utmost to keep themselves afloat, by incessantly baling
out the water with their hats and hands. They thought the night would
never end, and that they should never see the morrow; but day dawned
upon them at last, and then with what anxious eyes did they sweep the
horizon. But in vain they looked; not a sail was to be seen. An hour
passed away; they shipped such a quantity of water that their
imperfect attempts to bale it out were almost useless. The boat sank
deeper and deeper, and their hearts sank too. Suddenly a ship hove in
sight, and she seemed to be bearing towards them. Hope and fear
struggled for the mastery in their breasts; hope urged them to renewed
efforts to keep themselves from sinking, whilst, in breathless
anxiety, they watched the vessel. She came nearer and nearer; the
watchers felt sure they were perceived; then a boat was lowered, and
they thanked God for their deliverance. In a few minutes they were
received on board H.M. ship Thalia, more dead than alive, after so
many hours' endurance of cold, hunger, and dismay.
We must now return to Captain Scott and his companions on the wreck.
The men were mustered by the officers on the quarter-deck; they
numbered ninety-five or ninety-seven, and they had been all actively
employed in making rafts, and lashing together spars and other
materials, by which they hoped to save themselves, in the event of the
ship going to pieces before assistance should arrive. Hour after hour
passed away, and no help came; by the noise of the vessel grinding
against the rocks they knew that she could not hold together much
longer. Captain Scott continued to issue his commands with coolness
and decision, and they were promptly obeyed by both officers and men.
About four o'clock in the morning, the quarter-deck being no longer
tenable, all the crew were obliged to betake themselves to the main
and mizen chains. They had already suffered severely from the cold,
but they had now to endure it in greater intensity. In their exposed
situation the waves frequently washed entirely over them, and their
limbs were so benumbed with cold that it was with the utmost
difficulty they could hold on to the wreck, so as to save themselves
from being swept into the abyss of waters that seemed yawning to
receive them. By degrees, even the cries and the complaints of the
sufferers became hushed: not a word was spoken; in awful silence they
listened to the groaning of the timbers, and the sullen roar of the
waves dashing against the rocks.
In this state they had remained another hour, when a hollow sound was
heard below them; still they spoke not a word, for from the captain to
the youngest boy, every one knew what that sound foretold, and that
the last struggle was at hand,--for many, the last hour of existence.
Then a universal tremor was felt through the wreck, and the boldest
heart responded to that shudder. The very timbers seemed to dread
their impending doom: with a mighty crash they yielded to the force of
the waves; for a moment the ship righted, and then sank beneath the
foaming waters.
The pen is powerless when we attempt to describe an event like this,
for we cannot penetrate into the secret recesses of the heart, nor can
we delineate the agonies of conscience which too often increase the
anguish of such scenes, when the near approach of death unveils to
men, truths they have been unwilling to learn or to believe. Many a
cry for pardon and mercy is raised in the hour of shipwreck, from lips
that never prayed before. The best and bravest then bow their heads in
awe, however well they may be prepared for the dangers that are
incident to their profession; and though from childhood 'these men see
the works of the Lord, and His wonders in the deep,' yet it must be
an appalling moment when the plank they have been wont to tread in
calm security, is torn from beneath their feet, and they are left as
helpless as infants, to be the sport of the wild billows!
The moment the vessel sunk, many of the men struck out for the plank
nearest to them; a few of the strongest and best swimmers gained the
raft, but others who were benumbed with cold, or otherwise unable to
swim, perished immediately. The quarter-master was one of those who
reached the raft, and he found the captain, the doctor, and some
others, already upon it. Captain Scott was so much exhausted by the
mental and bodily sufferings he had endured, that the doctor and the
quarter-master were obliged to support him on the raft. He became
gradually weaker, and lingered but a short time ere he expired in
their arms; and a few minutes afterwards a huge wave swept over the
raft, and bore with it the body of the lamented commander of the
Boreas. About eight o'clock in the morning, a number of boats put out
from Guernsey to the relief of the survivors, and carried them safely
on shore.
We have already mentioned the cowardly and inhuman conduct of the
pilots in deserting the Boreas, and it is also a matter of surprise,
that although twenty guns were fired as signals, and several rockets
and blue lights burned, no help of any kind was sent from the shore
till the next morning. One of the witnesses on the court-martial
affirmed, that a pilot on shore had heard the guns firing, and had
inquired of a soldier on guard whether it was an English or French
man-of-war! On the soldier replying that he thought it was an English
vessel, the man refused to put to sea, saying, by way of excuse, that
'it blew too hard.'
Through the exertions of Lieut. Colonel Sir Thomas Saumarez, about
thirty seamen and marines were taken off the rocks of the Hannois at
daylight, making the entire number saved about sixty-eight; whilst the
loss amounted to one hundred and twenty-seven.
The following is an extract from the dispatch of Vice-Admiral Sir
James Saumarez:--'The greatest praise appears due to Captain Scott and
his officers and men, under such perilous circumstances--in a dark and
tempestuous night, in the midst of the most dangerous rocks that can
be conceived, and I have most sincerely to lament the loss of so many
brave officers and men, who have perished on this melancholy occasion.
'Captain Scott has been long upon this station, and has always shown
the greatest zeal and attachment to his Majesty's service, and in him
particularly his country meets a great loss, being a most valuable and
deserving officer.'