Among the many services in which the fleets of Great Britain were
engaged during the last war, none was more rife with perils and
hardships than that on which the Baltic Fleet was employed. During the
long winter nights the crews were continually exposed to intense cold,
and the ships were often enveloped in such impenetrable fogs, that
sometimes even the pilots were deceived as to their true position, and
those lamentable consequences ensued of which the loss of the Minotaur
was an example, (see page 154), her officers conceiving they were on
the coast of England, when they were actually stranded on the opposite
shore.
We will briefly mention two instances, which may give the reader some
idea of the severity of the climate in the Northern Seas.
On the 23rd of December, 1808, the Fama (which had sailed from
Carlscrona the previous day, in consort with some other men-of-war,
and a convoy of merchantmen,) struck upon the Island of Bornholm, in
the midst of such dense darkness, and so blinding a fall of snow,
that it was impossible to discern any of the surrounding objects. The
moment the ship struck, Lieutenant Topping, her commander, sprung from
his berth and rushed upon deck, without giving himself time to put on
his clothes. In his anxiety for the safety of his ship, and of those
who were on board, he continued to give his orders, without any other
protection from the piercing blast and driving snow than a blanket,
which one of his men had thrown over his shoulders; '_in fifteen
minutes from the time the vessel first struck, he fell upon the deck a
corpse_.' One man and a woman shared the same fate, the rest of the
crew survived the night, and were next morning saved by the Danes.
The circumstances attending the loss of the Pandora were still more
horrible. She struck on the Scaw Reef, a shoal on the coast of
Jutland, on the night of the 13th of February, 1811, and in three
hours her rudder was carried away, and the hold nearly filled with
water. The wind was bitterly cold, and, as the men were unable to get
below, they were in danger of being either washed overboard, or frozen
to death, before morning. In this dreadful state they remained until
daybreak, when it was discovered that several of them had perished
from the inclemency of the weather. The survivors contrived to cut a
hole in the side of the deck which was above water, through which they
crept below, one by one, to seek protection from the cold. During the
day, some boats attempted to put out to their assistance, but the sea
ran so high that it was impossible to approach the wreck. The unhappy
crew, disappointed in their hopes of relief, endeavoured to launch the
boats; but these were so encased in ice, that they resembled large
blocks of marble, and it was impossible to move them. In the course of
the night the wind and sea abated, and the Danes succeeded in
rescuing the people of the Pandora from their perilous situation, but
not before twenty-nine had perished from the intense cold.
The month of November, 1811, was most disastrous to the Baltic Fleet.
The British ships of war had already suffered so severely from
attempting the dangerous navigation of the Northern Seas too late in
the year, that the commander-in-chief on the station received orders
on no account to delay the departure of the last homeward-bound convoy
beyond the 1st of November. In obedience to these instructions,
Rear-Admiral Reynolds sailed with a convoy from Hano on that day,
having hoisted his broad pendant on board the St. George, of 98 guns,
Captain Daniel Oliver Guion; but owing to severe gales he was
compelled to put back on three several occasions, and the weather did
not permit him finally to leave the anchorage until the 12th of the
month. On the 15th the St George and convoy arrived off the Island of
Zealand, where they anchored to wait for a favourable wind, having met
with very rough weather in their passage from Hano, and several of the
convoy having foundered, without its being possible for the others to
render them the least assistance. In the course of the night of the
15th the wind increased to a hurricane, and all hands on board the St.
George were summoned to give the ship cable. Before this could be
accomplished the sea poured through the hawse-holes, carried
everything away, and rendered it impossible for many of the men to
stand to their duty. They were still in the act of veering away the
cable, when a large merchant vessel, which had been seen looming
through the darkness, drifted down upon them, its hull coming
violently in collision with the bows of the St. George, and severing
her cables;--one piercing shriek followed,--the merchantman gave a
lurch, and the next instant was engulfed in the raging billows.
However appalling the sight of this fearful tragedy might have been
to the crew of the St. George, their own danger was too imminent to
allow them much time for reflection, for on heaving the lead they
found only fourteen fathoms, though they had anchored in twenty. The
best bower anchor was at once let go, as the ship appeared to be fast
drifting towards the shore; but such was the force of the wind and
sea, that its massive ring broke off as if it had been only a piece of
wire. Upon this it was resolved to wear her off the land, and the jib
and foretopmast stay-sail were loosed, but before they could be set
the sails were wrenched from the bolt-ropes, and borne away by the
blast. The lead being cast again, eight fathoms were reported; the
sheet anchor was let go, in hopes that it would hold, but, like the
other anchor, it made no impression on the ship, and broke short off.
As a last resource, the men began to cut away the masts, when, just as
they fell, a heavy sea lifted the vessel and hurled her with violence
upon a sand bank, where she remained fast, the masts having by good
fortune fallen clear of her sides.
There was but little hope now of saving the ship, yet the crew behaved
with the most admirable steadiness, and obeyed with cheerful alacrity
when they were ordered to man the pumps. Towards daybreak the rudder
was torn from its fastenings, and it was only the discovery that the
water did not gain on the ship that sustained the drooping spirits of
the seamen, exhausted as they were with their arduous exertions and
long exposure to the biting cold and constant fall of sleet and snow.
At half-past six the long-wished-for dawn appeared, when, to their
dismay, they found themselves on a sand bank, four miles from the
shore. As the wind and sea gradually abated, the rest of the squadron
attempted to render them assistance, but did not venture to approach
too close to the shoal. The St. George continued to strike heavily
until twelve that night, when her head swung round to the land, and,
contrary to all expectations, the water was found to have risen three
feet since eight o'clock in the evening. By ten the next morning
(Sunday, the 17th of November) she was clear of all danger, and having
fitted up jury-masts, with a rudder supplied from the Cressy, she
arrived in safety at Gottenburg, about the 2nd of December.
Having partially repaired damages, Admiral Reynolds weighed anchor on
the 17th December, and proceeded, in consort with the Defence and
Cressy, to convoy a homeward-bound fleet of merchantmen.
On the 23rd, another north-westerly gale was encountered, on the coast
of Jutland. At midnight, signals were made to wear, but owing to the
disabled state of the St. George, this was found impossible. In the
hope of bringing her head round to the wind, an anchor was let go, but
the hawser, catching under her keel, tore away the temporary rudder,
and snapped itself with the strain, and again the ship fell off. The
captain gave orders to strike the lower yards and topmasts, and to
lighten the vessel. Between five and six in the morning of the 24th,
the report of a gun was heard from the Defence, which was supposed to
have got on shore about two miles and a half off. A short time after,
the St. George struck, and drifted towards the shore, and from this
moment all hope of saving the ship vanished.
Upon examining the well, the carpenter reported ten feet water in the
hold; and this rose so rapidly, that in the space of half an hour it
reached the lower deck, driving the people to the main deck. Admiral
Reynolds and the captain used every effort to encourage the men to
remain steady to their duty, as the only chance of preserving their
lives. At ten o'clock, the sea swept the main deck, so that all hands
were obliged to seek refuge on the poop. All the boats, except the
yawl, had either been stove or washed overboard. As an instance of the
obedience and discipline of the crew of the St. George, three or four
men came forward, and asked permission to attempt to reach the shore
in the yawl: this request was at first granted, but as they were about
to lower her into the sea, it was considered impossible that the boat
could live, and the men were directed to return to their posts.
Without a murmur, they instantly obeyed; and as if Providence had
rewarded this implicit obedience and reliance upon their officers, two
of these men were of the few that were saved.
It is impossible to describe the suffering of the helpless crew. Their
numbers, originally about seven hundred and fifty, had been terribly
thinned by the severity of the weather, and the surging of the waves,
which every instant burst over them. At eight o'clock in the evening
of the 24th, fourteen men took the boat and attempted to pull from the
wreck, but they had not gone many yards when she upset, and her crew
perished. The mizenmast still stood, and orders were given for its
being cut away, but as no axes could be found, the men were obliged to
use their knives to cut the lanyards of the rigging; at this moment, a
sea struck the mast, carrying away the poop, and the men who were upon
it. As the poop was swept away from the wreck, it bore not only the
living but the dead. The latter far outnumbered the former, and it
became necessary for the general preservation to cast overboard the
bodies of their dead comrades. But their strength, already weakened by
previous suffering, was unequal to the performance of this painful
duty; and while thus employed, a sea swept over the poop, scattering
the men upon the foaming billows. Five regained it, but were again
washed off, and again succeeded in reaching their former position. Of
these, two died, and the other three were washed on shore.
The scene on board was one of the most harrowing description. Mingled
together were the living, the dying, and the dead. The bodies were
piled up by the survivors in rows one above another, as a shelter from
the violence of the waves, which broke incessantly over them.
In the fourth row lay the admiral and his friend Captain Guion; whilst
the groans of the dying, mingling with the roar of the tempest,
unnerved the hearts of those who had hitherto shown an unappalled
front to the perils surrounding them.
There still remained about two hundred men, who were employed in
constructing a raft, as the last chance of saving their lives. After
considerable labour, this was effected, by lashing together a topsail
yard and a cross-jack yard, the only spars that remained.
Upon this, ten men left the wreck, but the timbers being improperly
secured, they broke adrift, and the first sea that came washed five
men off; the others gained the shore, one of whom died.
According to all accounts, even the few who survived would have
perished, had it not been for the humane conduct of the Danes who came
to their assistance; these, at the risk of their own lives, succeeded
in rescuing from the raft the seven exhausted sufferers who survived,
out of the crew of seven hundred and fifty men.
The St. George, as has been already mentioned, was in company with
both the Cressy and Defence. Captain Pater, who commanded the former,
seeing the impossibility of rendering any assistance to the St.
George, and the imminent risk to his own ship if he remained longer on
the starboard tack, wore, and escaped the danger.
The master of the Defence reported to Captain Atkins that the St.
George had gone on shore, and that the Cressy had veered and was
standing to the southward,--at the same time pointing out the great
danger the ship was in, and recommending that he should follow the
example of the Cressy. The captain inquired whether the admiral had
made the signal to part company; upon being answered in the negative,
he replied, 'I will never desert my admiral in the hour of danger and
distress.'
At about six o'clock A.M., the hands were turned up to wear ship, but
before this could be accomplished she struck, the sea made a breach
over her, and washed several men overboard.
The captain gave orders to fire minute guns, and cut away the masts.
Five or six guns only had been fired, before they broke adrift, so
that it was impossible to fire any more; but providentially these had
been heard by the look-out men on shore, to whose assistance may be
attributed the preservation of the few lives that were saved.
The waves swept over the vessel, forcing numbers of the crew down the
hatchways, the guns and other heavy articles had broken loose, killing
some, breaking the arms and legs of others, whose agonizing cries
served only to add to the horrors of a scene scarcely within the power
of description.
The captain at this time stood on the poop, holding on only by a
howitzer that was lashed before the mizenmast, the officers and crew
clinging to other parts of the wreck. The boats were all stove, except
the pinnace, in which about twenty men had collected, when a sea,
breaking over the wreck, washed her overboard, capsized her, and all
perished.
Another sea struck the Defence with such excessive violence as to lift
a spare anchor from its berth, throw it up on end, killing in its fall
upon the forecastle about thirty men. The booms were washed away, and
with them nearly one hundred men, who were clinging to the different
spars.
The following account of the escape of one of her crew is so
interesting, that it has been thought better to leave it as nearly as
possible in his own words, than to alter it for the sake of brevity:--
'I got on one side of the booms that were floating among the rest of
the wreck. At that time every man, except two, John Platt and Ralph
Teasel, two of the men who were saved, were washed off. Myself and
several more were at the same time swept off the mizen-top. I then
made the best of my way from one spar to another, until I got on one
side of the booms. At this time about forty men regained their
position upon the booms, when another sea washed all off except four.
I got on the booms a second time, and spoke to John Brown, and told
him I thought we were approaching the shore. There were then about
twenty men on them, but when we reached the shore there were only six
left.
'Two Danes on the beach came to our assistance; my foot got jammed in
amongst the small spars, and my comrades, seeing that I was unable to
get off the raft, were coming to my help, when the Danes made signs to
them to be quiet. One Dane made three attempts before he succeeded in
reaching the raft, and the third time he was nearly exhausted; he
managed to get hold of my foot, and wrenched it out, and carried me on
shore. I was then taken up to a shed to wait for some carts which were
coming for us, most of us being unable to walk. In about ten minutes a
number of gentlemen arrived on horseback, and some carts came down
upon the beach. We were then placed in them, and driven to a small
village called Shelton. On the road the man who drove the cart spoke
to a woman, and asked her if she had any liquor. She replied by
drawing a bottle from her pocket, and made each of us take a dram,
which I believe was in a great measure the saving of our lives.
'We soon arrived at the houses in the village, where we were stripped
and put to bed, and treated by the inhabitants with the greatest
hospitality and kindness. When I awoke, I found another seaman had
been placed in the same bed with me; he had come on shore some time
after myself upon a piece of wreck. He said, just as he reached the
shore the poop and forecastle were capsized, and not a man to be seen,
except a few upon pieces of wreck. In the evening, a gentleman who
spoke English came to our bedside, and told us that an officer had
been brought up to the house. He also told us that there was another
ship on shore to the southward of us, which appeared to be a
three-decker, lying with her stern on shore. We knew directly it could
be no other than the St. George.
'He inquired if we were able to get up, and go and look at the body of
the officer, and see if we knew him. We answered yes, and, with the
assistance of the people, went into the barn, and recognised our
captain. We then returned to bed again, being too exhausted to stand.
The gentleman told us that medical assistance could not be procured
that night, but that we should have every nourishment the house could
afford. He then took his leave, promising that he would return in the
morning, when we might be better able to speak to him.
'He accordingly came in the morning, and inquired what force our ship
was.
'We told him a 74-gun ship, with a company of 600 men. Upon our
inquiring if any more of our shipmates had reached the shore, he
answered no; and we returned most hearty thanks to the Almighty for
our deliverance!
'On Sunday, the 29th, we put our captain into a coffin, and buried him
in Shelton Church-yard, with two seamen alongside of him.
'It was some time, through the bitterness of the cold and the bruises
we had received, before we were able to walk about. As soon as we had
gained sufficient strength, we went down to the beach, where we saw,
scattered for about two miles along the beach, the wreck of the
Defence, but not a corpse was to be seen. We supposed they had drifted
away to the southward and westward, a strong current setting that way.
This opinion was in a great measure confirmed by seeing our officers'
things sold, and other articles belonging to the ship, six miles to
the southward of where we were cast away, when we went to join the few
who were saved from the St. George. On the 13th January, our captain
was taken up again, and carried to Rinkum Church, and placed in a
vault with the honours of war.'
Such was the unhappy fate of the St. George and Defence; only six men
from the latter ship being saved, out of a crew of 600. Two days
afterwards, when the gale had abated, a Danish boat, with two of the
English sailors, went on board the St. George to bring away the
corpses of the admiral and others, but they found the decks had been
entirely swept away. Nothing could exceed the hospitality and kindness
with which the Danes treated the few who were thrown upon their shore.
Nor was the Danish government backward in generosity. The dead were
buried with military honours, and the survivors were sent to England
without exchange. The following letter from Major General Tellequist,
given in his own language, sufficiently shows the deep commiseration
felt by the Danish government, as well as by himself, for the
lamentable catastrophe which befel the St. George and Defence.
'Randus, the 21st of January, 1812.
'Sir,--Though the grievous misfortune which has happened his
great Britannic Majesty's ships of war on the Danish coast perhaps
already may be known to your Excellency; nevertheless, whereas the
opposite case may be possible, I will not omit hereby to make you
acquainted with the sorrowful accident, assuring you that I am
very compassionating.
'The 24th of last month, in the night, the English ships of the
line, St. George and Defence, are splitted upon the western
coast of Jutland, and the violent waves made it impossible to
bring the wretched crews any assistance. From both ships are
saved but thirteen persons, who are cast on shore by the sea
with goods of wreck. Some of them are sick, and at present under
care. A part of the dead bodies are driven to land, and interred
with as much ceremony as the circumstances would admit.
'All possible pains have been taken to find out the bodies of
the officers, in order to show them military honours, by the
obsequies upon the churchyard.
'Two bodies of officers were found, and buried with military
honours. Among these was the body of Captain Atkins, commanding
the Defence, which is deposited in a church till I receive the
further ordaining from my most gracious sovereign.
'I complain much that the body of Admiral Reynolds has not yet
been found, for all the pains which are taken on this purpose.
'Agreeably to the charitable sensibility of the Danish nation,
the inhabitants have been very grieved to see the English
warriors in such a distress without being able to assist them;
and I am very sorry, Sir, that I cannot give your Excellency of
this accident an account less sorrowful.
'With great esteem, I remain, Sir,
'&c. &c, &c.,
'TELLEQUIST.
'To Governor Maurice.'
The body of Rear Admiral Reynolds was found a few days after the date
of the above letter, and deposited with military honours near that of
Captain Atkins, in Rinkum Church.
The surviving officers and men of the St. George were tried by a
court-martial at Sheerness, and were acquitted of all blame with
reference to the loss of that vessel.
With respect to the loss of the Defence, the court was of opinion that
she was lost by getting on shore on the western coast of Jutland, in
company with his Majesty's late ship St. George, in consequence of the
noble and heroic determination of the captain to stay to the last by
his admiral, at a moment of extreme danger and distress, conduct
which, in the opinion of the court, will reflect immortal honour on
the memory of Captain Atkins.
Rear Admiral Reynolds was an officer of considerable experience, and
had distinguished himself on several occasions previous to his
melancholy fate on board the St. George.
In the year 1797, he commanded the Amazon, a 36-gun frigate, and was
cruizing the 13th of January off Ushant, in company with the
Indefatigable, Captain Sir Edward Pellew, when a large ship was
descried, steering under easy sail for France. This was a little after
twelve o'clock at noon; chase was immediately given, and at four in
the afternoon, the stranger was discovered to be a French two-decker,
the Droits de l'Homme, of 74 guns.
She had on board, exclusive of her crew of 700 men, about 1050 troops,
which, with 50 English prisoners, made 1800 souls.
At a little past five o'clock, the Indefatigable closed with the enemy
and began the action; this had lasted about an hour, when the
Indefatigable unavoidably shot ahead, on which the Amazon took her
place and nobly continued the battle. The Indefatigable, having in
the meantime repaired her rigging, again joined in the attack, the
British ships placing themselves one on each quarter of their
opponent. A continued fire was kept up for upwards of five hours, when
they found it absolutely necessary to sheer off, in order to secure
their masts. During the action the sea is described as having run so
high, that the men on the main decks of the frigates were up to their
middles in water. As soon as the masts were secured, the attack was
again resumed, and notwithstanding the crews of both ships were almost
exhausted with their exertions, it was prolonged for five hours more,
when, late in the night, the fire ceased on both sides. The Amazon had
now nearly three feet of water in the hold, and was in other respects
most severely damaged. The enemy had suffered still more; her foremast
was shot away, and the main and mizen-masts left tottering, the decks
being strewed with the dead and dying.
At about four o'clock in the morning, an officer on board the
Indefatigable reported breakers ahead, and the loss of all three
vessels appeared almost inevitable.
The Indefatigable was then close under the starboard quarter of the
Droits de l'Homme, and the Amazon as near to her on the larboard bow.
The Indefatigable was fortunate enough to avoid the danger by being
able to make sail to the southward, and she escaped.
When daylight broke, a terrible spectacle was presented. The Droits de
l'Homme had drifted towards the land--broadside on--a tremendous surf
beating over her. The position of the Amazon was as precarious,
notwithstanding every effort was made by her officers and crew to work
her off shore, all proved unavailing, and she struck the ground. The
ship's company, with the exception of six men, gained the shore, which
proved to be Audienre Bay, where they were all made prisoners.
The melancholy fate of the Droits de l'Homme is described in James's
_Naval History_. Already 900 souls had perished, when the fourth night
came with renewed horrors,--'weak, distracted, and wanting
everything,' says one of the prisoners, a British officer, in his
narrative, 'we envied the fate of those whose lifeless corpses no
longer needed sustenance. The sense of hunger was already lost, but a
parching thirst consumed our vitals.' ... 'Almost lost to a sense of
humanity, we no longer looked with pity on those who were the speedy
forerunners of our own fate, and a consultation took place, to
sacrifice some one to be food to the remainder. The die was going to
be cast, when the welcome sight of a man-of-war brig renewed our
hopes. A cutter speedily followed, and both anchored at a short
distance from the wreck. They then sent their boats to us, and by
means of large rafts, about 150, out of nearly 400 who attempted it,
were saved by the brig that evening; 380 were left to 'endure another
night's misery,--when, dreadful to relate, about one half were found
dead next morning!'