In the month of December, 1810, the Pallas, a 32-gun frigate,
commanded by Captain Paris Monke, was returning, in company with the
Nymph, Captain Edward Sneyd Clay, from a month's cruise on the coast
of Norway, and was steering for Leith, with a prize in tow. She had
not got far to the southward, when, on Tuesday morning, the 18th,
between nine and ten o'clock, land was discovered, but the weather was
so thick, it could not be clearly defined. The pilot, however, gave it
as his opinion that they were north of the Red-head. Towards the
middle of the day they fell in with some fishing-boats, and Captain
Monke having requested one of the fishermen to come on board the
frigate, he learnt from this man that the ship was at that time off
Stonehive and the Tod Head. At four o'clock, P.M., the usual order to
pipe to supper was given; the wind was blowing from the north-west,
and the vessel going at the rate of four knots an hour. Supper being
over, the drum beat to quarters, and the captain, having received the
usual reports, ordered the watch to be called. At six o'clock, in
compliance with the wish of the pilot, the course was altered from
south-west to south-south-west. For the last quarter of an hour the
ship had been increasing her rate of sailing from five and a half to
six knots an hour; the top-gallant scudding sails were therefore taken
in, and the royal and top-gallant stay sails hauled down, as also the
jib and the spanker. Soon after this the pilot, pointing towards the
coast, said to the captain, 'There's Lunan Bay;' and shortly
afterwards he said, 'There's the Red Head;' but it was too dark, then,
to see the land, much less could the outline of the coast be
distinguished. The captain inquired if they should not soon see the
Bell Rock Light, and he was answered in the affirmative. He then
ordered the officer of the watch to hail the forecastle, and direct
the men to keep a vigilant look-out for the Bell Rock Light.
Ere many minutes had elapsed after the order was given, a light was
perceived before the starboard beam, which the pilot declared to be a
signal hoisted on the pier at Arbroath to show that there was water
enough for vessels to enter the harbour. The captain then went below
to consult the book of sailing directions, and when he returned upon
deck, he said to the pilot, 'If that light be on Arbroath pier, as you
suppose, we ought most certainly to be in sight of the light on the
Bell Rock.' The pilot replied, 'We shall soon see it;' and Captain
Monke repeated to the officer of the watch his order to keep a sharp
look out.
As the light on the Bell Rock did not appear, the captain became
exceedingly anxious; the more so, as he was convinced, by reckoning
the distances from the Tod Head to the Red Head, and from the Red Head
to the Bell Rock, and comparing their sum with the run from four
o'clock, that the ship had run as many miles to the southward as would
bring her up to the Bell Rock. To ascertain exactly the position of
the ship, he desired the master to work off the run by the log up to
eight o'clock, P.M., and in a short time the master reported that by
his calculation the light which they saw was no other than the
floating light of the Bell Rock, and that they had now only to bear up
and shape a course for the Isle of May.
The captain had been upon deck for more than five hours, and was so
much fatigued that he went down to the gun-room to get some
refreshment, at a little after ten o'clock, leaving positive orders
with the officer of the watch and the master to be most attentive to
the ship's course; and he was so anxious for her safety, that he had
scarcely sat down in the gun-room before he sent for the pilot-book of
sailing directions, that he might ascertain more exactly the position
of the Bell Rock, and the course and distance from thence to the Isle
of May. In a few minutes, the officer of the watch went down to report
that the May light was in sight, and Captain Monke was in the act of
going upon deck, when the vessel struck the ground. He instantly
rushed upon deck, and inquired of the master where he supposed the
ship had grounded. The reply was a startling one:--'I am afraid,' said
he, 'that we are on the Bell Rock, and not a soul will be saved,
unless we can forge her over it.' How they could possibly be upon the
Bell Rock, when the master had himself so confidently declared they
were running from it for some hours, appeared a mystery: but this was
no time for arguing the matter. Captain Monke saw the danger both to
the ship and all on board: he ordered the drum to beat to quarters,
and the men were soon on deck and each at his post Having assured
himself that the rudder was not damaged, the captain ordered the
foretack to be hauled on board, and the yards to be braced with the
larboard brace, which was done without loss of time. The lead was
cast, to ascertain the depth of water, which the quarter-master
reported to be twelve feet. The ship, which at first had taken the
ground easily, now began to strike with great violence; and when they
found that she did not forge ahead, the yards were braced aback, but
to no better purpose, for she remained hard and fast as before.
Land was now seen to leeward, and the master changed his opinion, and
imagined that the frigate had struck on the Isle of May; but the pilot
thought they were on shore in St. Andrew's Bay, and blamed the master
for having hauled too soon. As the tide was falling, there was little
hope of getting the ship afloat, although this was so far fortunate,
that it afforded a better chance of escape for the crew.
Orders were given to man the pumps, and the people obeyed with
alacrity, and worked by turns throughout the night with the utmost
vigour. The ship seemed to come up easier for a time, and the
carpenter reported twelve feet water in the hold. When the moon rose,
the position of the frigate with regard to the land was discovered;
and as the tide ebbed, her larboard bow appeared to be but a short
distance from the nearest rocks. From the time of the ship's striking,
guns had been fired as signals of distress, to arouse the attention of
the inhabitants of the coast, and these signals were soon answered by
lights displayed along the shore, and large fires kindled on the
beach. The glare of the torches moving to and fro on the shore denoted
the inclination of the people to render assistance to the unfortunate
vessel. Voices were heard hailing the ship, but it was impossible to
distinguish the words. The boatswain and carpenter, and some others,
declared that the men said, 'You are in St. Andrew's Bay--come on
shore,' Upon this, the boatswain and gunner volunteered to land with
two men in a small prize skiff, for the purpose of reconnoitring the
beach. This proposition was immediately rejected by the captain, who
assembled the principal officers on the forecastle and declared to
them his determination not to suffer a single boat to be lowered
during the night--but that they should all stick to the ship until
daylight, as the only chance of preserving their lives.
Happily the captain's orders were obeyed, though doubtless many would
feel tempted to risk a landing. The Pallas became more and more
uneasy--her rudder was carried away, and the sea broke completely over
her. The men were each served with a dram, and were still kept at the
pumps until three o'clock A.M., when the main beam broke and the
others began to give way in succession. In order to lighten the
vessel, the mainmast was cut away. At first, this did not appear to
have the desired effect--but in all probability it would have fallen
of itself and have done injury to the people; it now hung over the
side, and promised to serve as a raft in case of necessity. The
foremast was then cut away, and the mizenmast was doomed to
follow--but the axe and tomahawk, which had been carried forward, were
lost, or washed away. The ship by this time had fallen upon her beam
ends, and the sea was making breaches over her, so that every
individual had enough to do to keep himself from being washed
overboard.
About four o'clock in the morning, the spirits of the crew were
revived by seeing a boat appear between the wreck and a large fire
that had been kept burning immediately opposite. This was a welcome
sight, and it was hailed by three loud and hearty cheers from the
Pallas.
Many of the men by this time were suffering much from cold, hunger,
and fatigue, and those who were able, got into the weather chains for
safety and shelter. Daylight discovered to them the real position of
the ship; the light which had been supposed to be on the Isle of May
was that of a lime-kiln on the main land, and as the Bass and North
Berwick Law were plainly visible, it was evident from their bearings
that the frigate was on shore near to Dunbar. She was now a total
wreck--the bottom had separated to some extent amidships from her
upper works; a considerable portion of her floor timber was lying
about ten yards to windward of the rest of the hull, and the iron
ballast within this frame of timber was thus open to view. It was now
time for every man to provide as far as possible for his own safety. A
Portuguese sailor, an excellent swimmer, was the first to quit the
wreck and swim on shore; several men attempted to follow his example,
but five of them perished. The life-boat from Dunbar, which had been
launched with great difficulty on account of the heavy surf beating on
the rocks, reached the ship at ten o'clock in the morning of the 19th,
and she took off a boat-load from the wreck and landed them in safety.
This success encouraged the people to try to employ the boats of the
Pallas, but they were all found to be stove, or otherwise rendered
useless, with the exception of a sixteen-oared cutter. The cutter was
launched without material injury, and fortunately reached the land
with as many as she could carry. The life-boat again neared the ship,
and made a second successful landing with a number of officers and
men; and a third time she touched the wreck, and was again crowded
with people, but unfortunately the rope which she carried as a
hauling line was too short to reach between the ship and the shore,
and this time she had scarcely put off from the quarter before she
filled and upset. By this accident, six of the crew of the Pallas were
drowned, and one of the bravest fellows belonging to the life-boat The
other thirteen men who manned the boat, and several people from the
wreck, were saved with great difficulty; a small fishing-boat, which
had been opportunely launched through the surf, picked them up.
Amongst others so rescued from a watery grave were Captain Monke, and
Mr. Walker, the first lieutenant. The crew of the fishing-boat
persevered with great courage and good judgment in their efforts to
save the rest of the crew. They procured a small tow-line, which being
held by one end on the beach, they made fast to the mizen chains of
the ship. The boat was then hauled to and fro until, in eight or ten
trips, she had cleared the wreck of all the people; and, with the
exception of Mr. Tomlinson, the boatswain, and ten or twelve others
who perished, the whole of the ship's company were saved.
The kindness and hospitality exercised by the inhabitants of Dunbar
and the surrounding country were beyond all praise. The sufferers,
many of whom were insensible when carried on shore, and unconscious of
the manner in which their lives had been preserved, were lodged, fed,
and clothed. Captain Monke, who was much bruised, was carried by
Captain Maitland to the house of his father, Lord Lauderdale, at
Dunbar. The first lieutenant, Mr. Walker, who was picked up apparently
lifeless, was conveyed to Broxmouth, the seat of the Duchess of
Roxburgh, where he was, under Providence, indebted for his restoration
to the unremitting attentions of the duchess and her husband, Mr.
Manners.
The humblest of the crew were equally well cared for. The duchess
went from room to room, ministering to the wants of the sufferers, and
seeing that every comfort was provided for them.
It is gratifying to record that a handsome pecuniary reward was given
by government to the fishermen and other inhabitants of Dunbar who so
nobly risked their lives for the sake of their fellow-countrymen; and
the widow of the man who was lost in the life-boat had a pension of
£25 per annum settled upon her.
'I am persuaded,' writes Captain Monke, in his narrative, 'that this
court will participate in my feelings, and would think me most
forgetful, if I did not here publicly express my grateful sense I
shall ever retain of the humane and liberal conduct of the Duchess of
Roxburgh and Mr. Manners, who in their hospitable mansion at Broxmouth
administered every sort of comfort and medical relief to the far
greater part of the suffering officers and people of the Pallas, many
of whose lives were thereby preserved to their country. In justice to
my own feelings, I cannot close my narrative without declaring to this
honourable court that no men under similar circumstances could behave
better than did the crew of the Pallas. So far from being dismayed by
their perilous situation, they manifested equal firmness and
subordination; and, in fact, from the first moment of the ship
striking the ground, to the time when necessity compelled every
individual to consult his own safety, they obeyed all the orders with
as much alacrity as cheerfulness, and (what is more) without either
noise or confusion. Hence, sir, I consider myself justified in
asserting that, notwithstanding the number victualled on board at the
time was reduced to one hundred and sixty, if any human exertion
could, in the first instance, have got the Pallas afloat, she would
not have been irrecoverably lost to the service. I must also beg leave
to add, that the officers set every example; and that from Mr.
Walker, the first-lieutenant, I derived, throughout this trying scene,
the most effectual support and assistance.'
The Nymph, which we have mentioned as being in company with the
Pallas, got on shore the same night, on a rock called the Devil's Ark,
near Skethard, misled by some irregularity in the lights on the Bell
Rock and Isle of May.
The crew of the Nymph were all saved, but the fine frigate was lost.