[Illustration: THE WHITE SHARK.]
THRILLING
STORIES OF THE OCEAN.
FROM AUTHENTIC ACCOUNTS OF MODERN
VOYAGERS AND TRAVELLERS;
DESIGNED FOR THE
ENTERTAINMENT AND INSTRUCTION
OF
YOUNG PEOPLE.
BY MARMADUKE PARK.
With Numerous Illustrations.
PHILADELPHIA:
C.G. HENDERSON & CO.,
NO. 164 CHESTNUT STREET.
1852.
[Illustration: THE WHITE SHARK]
STORIES OF THE OCEAN.
VOLNEY BECKNER.
The white sharks are the dread of sailors in all hot climates, for they
constantly attend vessels in expectation of anything which may be thrown
overboard. A shark will thus sometimes traverse the ocean in company
with a ship for several hundred leagues. Woe to the poor mariner who
may chance to fall overboard while this sea-monster is present.
Some species of sharks grow to an enormous size, often weighing from one
to four thousand pounds each. The skin of the shark is rough, and is
used for polishing wood, ivory, &c.; that of one species is manufactured
into an article called _agreen_: spectacle-cases are made of it. The
white shark is the sailor's worst enemy: he has five rows of
wedge-shaped teeth, which are notched like a saw: when the animal is at
rest they are flat in his mouth, but when about to seize his prey they
are erected by a set of muscles which join them to the jaw. His mouth is
so situated under the head that he is obliged to turn himself on one
side before he can grasp any thing with those enormous jaws.
I will now give you an account of the death of a very brave little boy,
who was killed by a shark. He was an Irish boy; his name was Volney
Beckner, the son of a poor fisherman. His father, having always intended
Volney for a seafaring life, took great pains to teach him such things
as it is useful for a sailor to know, and tried to make him brave and
hardy; he taught him to swim when a mere baby.
[Illustration: VOLNEY BECKNER'S FIRST VOYAGE.]
Volney was only nine years old when he first went to sea in a merchant
ship; the same vessel in which his father sometimes sailed. Here he
worked hard and fared hard, but this gave him no uneasiness; his frame
was robust, he never took cold, he knew not what fear was.
[Illustration: VOLNEY BECKNER AT SEA.]
In the most boisterous weather, when the rain fell in torrents, and the
wind howled around the ship, the little Irish boy would fearlessly and
cheerfully climb the stays and sailyards, mount the topmast, or perform
any other duty required of him. At twelve years old the captain promoted
the clever, good tempered, and trustworthy boy; spoke well of him before
the whole crew, and doubled his pay.
Volney was very sensible to his praises. His messmates loved him for his
generous nature, and because he had often shown himself ready to brave
danger in order to assist them; but an occasion soon arrived in which he
had an opportunity of performing one of the most truly heroic deeds on
record.
The vessel in which Volney and his father sailed was bound to Port au
Prince, in St. Domingo. A little girl, the daughter of one of the
passengers, having slipped away from her nurse, ran on deck to amuse
herself. While gazing on the expanse of water, the heaving of the vessel
made her dizzy, and she fell overboard.
Volney's father saw the accident, darted after her, and quickly caught
her by the dress; but while with one hand he swam to reach the ship, and
with the other held the child, he saw a shark advancing towards them. He
called aloud for help; there was no time to lose, yet none dared to
afford him any. No one, did I say? Yes, little Volney, prompted by
filial love, ventured on a deed which strong men dared not attempt.
Armed with a broad, sharp sabre, he threw himself into the sea, then
diving like a fish under the shark, he stabbed the weapon into his body
up to the hilt. Thus wounded the shark quitted his prey, and turned on
the boy, who again and again attacked him with the sabre, but the
struggle was too unequal; ropes were quickly thrown from the deck to the
father and son; each succeeded in grasping one, and loud rose the cry of
joy, "They are saved!" Not so! The shark, enraged at seeing that he was
about to be altogether disappointed of his prey, made one desperate
spring, and tore asunder the body of the noble-hearted little boy, while
his father and the fainting child in his arms were saved.
[Illustration: THE POULTRY BASKET--A LIFE-PRESERVER.]
THE POULTRY BASKET--A LIFE-PRESERVER.
I will tell you an old story of an incident which occurred many years
ago, but perhaps it may be new to you, and please you as much as it did
me when I was a little girl, and used to sit on my grandpapa's knee, and
listen to this tale among many others.
The hero of my story was a countryman; you may, if you please, fancy his
neat white cottage on the hill-side, with its rustic porch, all
overgrown with jasmine, roses, and clematis; the pretty garden and
orchard belonging to it, with the snug poultry yard, the shed for the
cow, and the stack of food for winter's use on one side.
[Illustration: THE POULTRY YARD.]
You may fancy the pleasure of the little children who lived at this
cottage in going with their mother morning and evening to feed the
poultry; the noise and bustle among the feathered tribe at this time;
how some rudely push before and peck the others in their anxiety to
obtain the first grains that fall from the basket, and how the little
children take care that the most greedy shall not get it all; their joy
at seeing the young broods of tiny chicks covered with downy feathers,
and the anxiety of the hens each to protect her own from danger, and
teach them to scratch and pick up food for themselves; while they never
forget to admire and praise the beauty of the fine old cock, as he
struts about with an air of magnificence, like the very king of the
guard.
"High was his comb, and coral red withal,
In dents embattled like a castle wall;
His bill was raven-black and shone like jet,
Blue were his legs, and orient were his feet;
White were his nails, like silver to behold!
His body glittering like burnished gold."
If you had been there, you would have wished to visit the little
orchard; to see the gentle cow, and the geese feeding on the common
beyond; to watch the young ducklings, dipping and ducking and enjoying
their watering sport in the pond.
If it be spring, the children would delight in gathering the
sweet-scented meadow flowers--the water ranunculus, with its golden
cups, the modest daisy, the pink cuckoo-flower, and the yellow cowslips;
while overhead the bees kept up a constant humming; they have found
their way from the straw hives in the garden and are diving into the
delicious blossoms of the apple and cherry trees, robbing many a one of
its sweets.
[Illustration: THE BEE HIVE.]
But now to my history of what did really happen to a countryman, who
very likely lived in such a pretty cottage as I have described.
He had more poultry in his yard than he needed for his own use; some of
them had been fatted for sale; and wishing to turn them into money, he
left his home, which was near Bristol, with a basket full of them on his
arm. Having reached the river, he went on board the ferry boat,
intending to go across to a place called Bristol Hot-Wells. Many gentle
folks visit this spot for the sake of drinking the waters of the wells,
which are thought to be very beneficial in some complaints; and no doubt
our countryman hoped that among them his poultry would fetch a good
price.
The ferry boat was nearly half way over the river, when, by some
accident, the poor man lost his footing and fell into the stream; he
could not swim, and the current carried him more than a hundred yards
from the boat; but he kept fast hold of his poultry basket, which being
buoyant, supported him until he was perceived, and rescued by some men
in a fishing-smack.
I hope he reached the Hot-Wells in safety after all, and sold his
poultry for as much as he expected; and, what is still better, that his
heart was filled with gratitude to God for his preservation from danger
so imminent.
[Illustration: THE LIFE BOAT.]
THE LIFE BOAT.
Oh what a stirring scene is this! see how the brave fellows are pulling
with their oars, and endeavoring with all their might to reach the ship
in distress before it is too late! Well, I suppose you are curious to
know how an open boat like this can float in such an angry, boiling sea.
I will tell you how it is accomplished; the sides of the boat are lined
with hollow boxes of copper, which being perfectly air-tight, render her
buoyant, even when full of water, or loaded to the very water's edge.
The originator of this simple and beautiful contrivance was a London
coach maker, named Lionel Lukin, a man whose benevolent feelings flowed
towards all his fellow men, but more especially towards that portion of
them who brave the dangers of the sea. After devoting sixty years of his
life to the pursuits of his business, he retired to Hythe in Kent, where
he finished a well-spent life in peace and tranquility, dying in
February, 1834. His body was interred in the churchyard of Hythe, which
is situated on rising ground, commanding a fine view of the ocean; a fit
resting place for the remains of one whose talents had been successfully
directed to the means of rescuing from shipwreck and a watery grave many
hundreds, or perhaps we may say many thousands, of poor seamen. He
obtained a patent for his first boat in 1785.
The two sailors in the picture below are Greenwich pensioners,
supported, you know, at Greenwich Hospital, which was founded by Charles
II. for superannuated or wounded sailors. They are smoking their pipes,
and discussing the merits of the Life Boat.
[Illustration: THE WHALE.]
WHALE FISHING.
The whale is the largest of all known animals. There are three kinds of
whale; the Greenland, called by the sailors the right whale, as being
most highly prized by them; the great northern rorqual, called by
fishers the razor-back or finner, and the cachalot or spermaciti whale.
The common whale measures from sixty to seventy feet in length: the
mouth, when open, is large enough to admit a ship's jolly boat, with all
her men in it. It contains no teeth; and enormous as the creature is,
the opening to the throat is very narrow, not more than an inch and a
half across in the largest whale.
[Illustration: WHALE FISHING]
Instead of teeth the mouth of the whale is furnished with a curious
framework of a substance called _baleen_; you will know it by the name
of whalebone; it is arranged in rows, and projects beyond the lips in a
hanging fringe; the food of the whale consists of shrimps, small fishes,
sea-snails, and innumerable minute creatures, called medusae, which are
found in those seas where the whales feed in such vast quantities that
they make the water of a deep green or olive color.
When feeding the whale swims with open mouth under the water, and all
the objects which lie in the way of that great moving cavern are caught
by the baleen, and never seen again. Along with their food they swallow
a vast quantity of water, which passes back again through the nostrils,
and is collected into a bag placed at the external orifice of the cavity
of the nose, whence it is expelled by the pressure of powerful muscles
through a very narrow opening pierced in the top of the head.
[Illustration: THE CACHALOT]
In this way it spouts the water in beautiful jets from twenty to thirty
feet in height. The voice of the whale is like a low murmuring: it has a
smooth skin all over its body, under which lies that thick lard which
yields the oil for which they are so much sought. The Greenland whale
has but two side-fins; its tail is in the shape of a crescent; it is an
instrument of immense power; it has been sometimes known with one stroke
to hurl large boats high into the air, breaking them into a thousand
fragments. The whale shows great affection for her young, which is
called the calf; the fishermen well know this, and turn it to their own
account; they try to strike the young with the harpoon, which is a
strong, barbed instrument, and if they do this they are almost sure of
securing the mother also, as nothing will induce her to leave it.
Mr. Scorseby, who was for a long time engaged in the whale fishery, has
written a book containing a very interesting account of them. He
mentions a case in which a young whale was struck beside its dam. She
instantly seized and darted off with it, but not until the line had been
fixed to its body. In spite of all that could be done to her, she
remained near her dying little one, till she was struck again and again,
and thus both perished. Sometimes, however, on an occasion like this,
the old whale becomes furious, and then the danger to the men is very
great, as they attack the whale in boats, several of which belong to
each ship.
A number of these boats once made towards a whale, which, with her calf
was playing round a group of rocks. The old whale perceiving the
approaching danger, did all she could to warn her little one of it, till
the sight became quite affecting. She led it away from the boats, swam
round it, embraced it with her fins, and sometimes rolled over with it
in the waves.
The men in the boats now rowed a-head of the whales, and drove them back
among the rocks, at which the mother evinced great uneasiness and
anxiety; she swam round and round the young one in lessening circles;
but all her care was unheeded, and the inexperienced calf soon met its
fate. It was struck and killed, and a harpoon fixed in the mother, when,
roused to reckless fury, she flew on one of the boats, and made her tail
descend with such tremendous force on the very centre of it, as to cut
it in two, and kill two of the men, the rest swimming in all directions
for their lives.
[Illustration: A SHIP TOWED TO LAND BY BULLOCKS.]
SHIP TOWED TO LAND BY BULLOCKS
Swimming is a manly exercise, and one in which, under proper care, every
little boy ought to be instructed. In the first place it is a very
healthy and invigorating practice frequently to immerse the body in
water: and when we recollect how often the knowledge of this art has
been blessed by the Supreme Disposer of events as a means of saving his
rational creatures from sudden death, it seems that to neglect this
object is almost to refuse to avail ourselves of one of the means of
safety, which a kind Providence has placed within our reach.
Only imagine yourself to be, as many before you have been, in a
situation of pressing danger on the sea, and yet at no great distance
from the land, so that you might hope to reach it by swimming, but to
remain on board the vessel appeared certain death, how thankful you
would then feel to your friends if they had put this means of escape
into your power! Or if you were to see some unfortunate fellow-creature
struggling in the water, and about to disappear from your sight, how
willingly, if conscious of your own power to support yourself, would you
plunge into the water to his rescue! and how would your heart glow with
delight if your efforts to save him should prove successful!
Here is a picture representing the very remarkable preservation of the
crew of a vessel on the coast of Newfoundland. In this instance man
availed himself of the instinct which ever prompts the brute creation to
self-preservation. The ship was freighted with live cattle; in a
dreadful storm she was dismasted, and became a mere wreck. The crew
being unable to manage her, it occurred to the captain, whose name was
Drummond, as a last resort, to attach some ropes to the horns of some of
the bullocks, and turn them into the sea. This was done, the bullocks
swam towards land and towed the ship to the shore. Thus the lives of the
crew were saved.
THE SINKING OF THE ROYAL GEORGE.
The Royal George was an old ship; she had seen much service. Her build
was rather short and high, but she sailed well, and carried the tallest
masts and squarest canvas of any of England's gun-ships. She had just
returned from Spithead, where there were twenty or thirty ships of war,
called a fleet, lying under command of Lord Howe. It was on the 29th of
August, 1782. She was lying off Portsmouth; her decks had been washed
the day before, and the carpenter discovered that the pipes which
admitted water to cleanse the ship was worn out, and must be replaced.
This pipe being three feet under the water, it was needful to heel, or
lay the ship a little on one side. To do this, the heavy guns on the
larboard side were run out of the port-holes (those window-like openings
which you see in the side of the vessel) as far as they would go, and
the guns on the starboard side were drawn up and secured in the middle
of the deck; this brought the sills of the port-holes on the lowest side
nearly even with the water.
[Illustration: SINKING OF THE ROYAL GEORGE.]
Just as the crew had finished breakfast, a vessel called the Lark came
on the low side of the ship to unship a cargo of rum; the casks were put
on board on that side, and this additional weight, together with that of
the men employed in unloading, caused the ship to heel still more on one
side; every wave of the sea now washed in at her port-holes, and thus
she had soon so great a weight of water in her hold, that slowly and
almost imperceptibly she sank still further down on her side. Twice, the
carpenter, seeing the danger, went on board to ask the officer on duty
to order the ship to be righted; and if he had not been a proud and
angry man, who would not acknowledge himself to be in the wrong, all
might yet have been well.
The plumbers had almost finished their work, when a sudden breeze blew
on the raised side of the ship, forced her still further down, and the
water began to pour into her lower port-holes. Instantly the danger
became apparent; the men were ordered to right the ship: they ran to
move the guns for this purpose, but it was _too late_.
In a minute or two more, she fell quite over on her side, with her masts
nearly flat on the water, and the Royal George sank to the bottom,
before one signal of distress could be given! By this dreadful accident,
about nine hundred persons lost their lives; about two hundred and
thirty were saved, some by running up the rigging, and being with others
picked up by the boats which put off immediately from other vessels to
their assistance. There were many visitors, women and little children on
board at the time of the accident.
BLOWING UP OF THE ROYAL GEORGE.
At the time when the dreadful event which I have just related to you
occurred, the Lark sloop, which brought the cargo of rum, was lying
alongside of the Royal George; in going down, the main-yard of the Royal
George caught the boom of the Lark, and they sank together, but this
made the position of the Royal George much more upright in the water
than it would otherwise have been. There she lay at the bottom of the
sea, just as you have seen small vessels when left by the tide on a
bank. Cowper, when he heard the sad tale, thus wrote
"Her timbers yet are sound,
And she may float again,
Full charged with England's thunder,
And plough the distant main.
"But Kempenfelt is gone,
His victories are o'er,
And he, and his eight hundred
Shall plough the wave no more."
Admiral Kempenfelt was writing in his cabin when the ship sank; his
first captain tried to inform him of their situation, but the heeling of
the ship so jammed the cabin doors that he could not open them: thus the
admiral perished with the rest. It seems Cowper thought the Royal George
might be recovered; other people were of the same opinion.
[Illustration: BLOWING UP OF THE ROYAL GEORGE.]
In September of the year in which the vessel sank, a gentleman, named
Tracey, living in the neighborhood, by means of diving-machines,
ascertained the position and state of the ship, and made proposals to
government to adopt means of raising her and getting her again afloat.
After a great many vexatious delays and interruptions on the part of
those who were to have supplied him with assistance, he succeeded in
getting up the Lark sloop. His efforts to raise the Royal George were so
far successful, that at every time of high tide she was lifted from her
bed; and on the 9th of October she was hove at least thirty or forty
feet to westward; but the days were getting short, the boisterous winds
of winter were setting in, the lighters to which Tracey's apparatus was
attached were too old and rotten to bear the strain, and he was forced
to abandon the attempt.
The sunken ship remained, a constant impediment to other vessels wishing
to cast anchor near the spot, for nearly fifty years, when Colonel
Pasley, by means of gunpowder, completely demolished the wreck: the
loose pieces of timber floated to the surface; heavier pieces--the
ship's guns, cables, anchors, the fire-hearth, cooking utensils, and
many smaller articles were recovered by the divers. These men went down
in Indian-rubber dresses, which were air and water-tight; they were
furnished with helmets, in each side of which were glass windows, to
admit light, and supplied with air by means of pipes, communicating with
an air-pump above. By these means they could remain under water more
than an hour at a time. I do not think you are old enough to understand
the nature of Colonel Pasley's operations. Large hollow vessels, called
cylinders, were filled with gunpowder, and attached by the divers to the
wreck, these were connected by conducting wires with a battery on board
a lighter above, at a sufficient distance to be out of reach of danger
when the explosion took place. Colonel Pasley then gave the word to fire
the end of the rod; instantly a report was heard, and those who
witnessed the explosions, say that the effect was very beautiful. On
one occasion, the water rose in a splendid column above fifty feet high,
the spray sparkling like diamonds in the sun; then the large fragments
of the wreck came floating to the surface; soon after the mud from the
bottom, blackening the circle of water, and spreading to a great
distance around; and with it rose to the surface great numbers of fish,
who, poor things, had found a hiding-place in the wreck, but were
dislodged and killed by the terrible gunpowder.
[Illustration: LOSS OF THE MELVILLE CASTLE.]
LOSS OF THE MELVILLE CASTLE.
Many and great are the dangers to which those who lead a seafaring life
are exposed. The lightning's flash may strike a ship when far away from
port, upon the trackless deep, or the sudden bursting of a particular
kind of cloud, called a waterspout, may overwhelm her, and none be left
to tell her fate. But of all the perils to which a ship is liable, I
think that of her striking on a sand-bank, or on sunken rocks is the
greatest. There must be men and women now living on the Kentish coast,
in whose memory the disastrous wreck of the Melville Castle, with all
its attendant horrors, is yet fresh. It is a sorrowful tale, doubly so,
inasmuch as acts of imprudence, and still worse, of obstinacy, may be
said to have occasioned the loss of four hundred and fifty lives.
In the first place, the Melville Castle, or as I suppose we should call
her the Vryheid, was in a very decayed state; she had been long in the
East India Company's service, and was by them sold to some Dutch
merchants, who had her upper works tolerably repaired, new sheathed and
coppered her, and resold her to the Dutch government, who were then in
want of a vessel to carry out troops and stores to Batavia.
The Melville Castle was accordingly equipped for the voyage, painted
throughout, and her name changed to the Vryheid. On the the morning of
November, 1802, she set sail from the Texel, a port on the coast of
Holland, with a fair wind, which lasted till early on the following day,
when a heavy gale came on in an adverse direction.
The captain immediately had the top-gallant masts and yards struck to
make her ride more easily; but as the day advanced, the violence of the
wind increased, and vain seemed every effort of the crew to manage the
ship. There were many mothers and little children on board, whose state
was truly pitiable. The ship was scourged onward by the resistless
blast, which continued to increase until it blew a perfect hurricane.
About three in the afternoon, the mainmast fell overboard, sweeping
several of the crew into the sea, and severely injuring four or five
more. By this time they were near enough to the Kentish coast to discern
objects on land, but the waves which rolled mountains high prevented the
possibility of any help approaching. By great exertion the ship was
brought to anchor in Hythe Bay, and for a few moments hope cheered the
bosoms of those on board; it was _but_ a few, for almost immediately
she was found to have sprung a leak; and while all hands were busy at
the pumps, the storm came on with increased fury.
In this dismal plight they continued till about six o'clock the
following morning, when the ship parted from one of her largest anchors,
and drifted on towards Dymchurch-wall, about three miles to the west of
Hythe. This wall is formed by immense piles, and cross pieces of timber,
supported by wooden jetties, which stretch far into the sea. It was
built to prevent the water from overflowing a rich, level district,
called Romney Marsh.
The crew continued to fire guns and hoist signals of distress. At
daybreak a pilot boat put off from Dover, and nearing the Melville
Castle, advised the captain to put back to Deal or Hythe, and wait for
calmer weather, or, said the boatman, "all hands will assuredly be
lost." But the captain would not act on his recommendation; he thought
the pilot boat exaggerated the danger, hoped the wind would abate as
the day opened, and that he should avoid the demands of the Dover pilot
or the Down fees by not casting anchor there. Another help the captain
rejected, and bitterly did he lament it when it was too late.
No sooner had the pilot boat departed, than the commodore at Deal
despatched two boats to endeavor to board the ship. The captain
obstinately refused to take any notice of them, and ordered the crew to
let the vessel drive before the wind. This they did, till the ship ran
so close in shore, that the captain himself saw the imminent danger, and
twice attempted to put her about, but in vain. On the first of the
projecting jetties of Dymchurch-wall the vessel struck. I would not if I
could grieve your young heart with a detail of all the horrors that
ensued; the devoted ship continued to beat on the piles, the sea
breaking over her with such violence, that the pumps could no longer be
worked.
The foremast soon went over the ship's side, carrying twelve seamen
with it, who were swallowed up by the billows. The rudder was unshipped,
the tiller tore up the gundeck, and the water rushed in at the
port-holes. At this fearful moment most of the passengers and crew
joined in solemn prayer to the Almighty. Morning came, but it was only
to witness the demolition of the wreck.
Many were the efforts made by the sufferers, some in the jolly boat,
some on a raft, others by lashing themselves to pieces of timber,
hogsheads, and even hencoops, to reach the shore; but out of four
hundred and seventy-two persons who a few days before had left the coast
of Holland, not more than eighteen escaped the raging billows. The
miserable remnant received generous attention from the inhabitants of
the place, who did all in their power to aid their recovery.
[Illustration: BURNING OF THE KENT EAST INDIAMAN.]
BURNING OF THE KENT EAST INDIAMAN.
This picture represents the burning of the Kent East Indiaman, in the
Bay of Biscay. She had on board in all six hundred and forty-one persons
at the time of the accident. The fire broke out in the hold during a
storm. An officer on duty, finding that a spirit cask had broken loose,
was taking measures to secure it, when a lurch of the ship caused him to
drop his lantern, and in his eagerness to save it, he let go the cask,
which suddenly stove in, and the spirits communicated with the flame,
the whole place was instantly in a blaze. Hopes of subduing the fire at
first were strong, but soon heavy volumes of smoke and a pitchy smell
told that it had reached the cable-room.
In these awful circumstances, the captain ordered the lower decks to be
scuttled, to admit water. This was done; several poor seamen being
suffocated by the smoke in executing the order; but now a new danger
threatened, the sea rushed in so furiously, that the ship was becoming
water-logged, and all feared her going down. Between six and seven
hundred human beings, were by by this time crowded on the deck. Many on
their knees earnestly implored the mercy of an all-powerful God! while
some old stout-hearted sailors quietly seated themselves directly over
the powder magazine, expecting an explosion every moment, and thinking
thus to put a speedier end to their torture.
In this time of despair, it occurred to the fourth mate to send a man to
the foremast, hoping, but scarce daring to think it probable, that some
friendly sail might be in sight. The man at the fore-top looked around
him; it was a moment of intense anxiety; then waving his hat, he cried
out, "A sail, on the lee-bow!"
Those on deck received the news with heart-felt gratitude, and answered
with three cheers. Signals of distress were instantly hoisted, and
endeavors used to make towards the stranger, while the minute guns were
fired continuously. She proved to be the brig Cambria, Captain Cook,
master, bound to Vera Cruz, having twenty Cornish miners, and some
agents of the Mining Company on board. For about one quarter of an hour,
the crew of the Kent doubted whether the brig perceived their signals:
but after a period of dreadful suspense, they saw the British colors
hoisted, and the brig making towards them.
On this, the crew of the Kent got their boats in readiness; the first
was filled with women, passengers, and officers' wives, and was lowered
into a sea so tempestuous as to leave small hope of their reaching the
brig; they did, however, after being nearly swamped through some
entanglement of the ropes, get clear of the Kent, and were safely taken
on board the Cambria, which prudently lay at some distance off.
After the first trip, it was found impossible for the boats to come
close alongside of the Kent, and the poor women and children suffered
dreadfully, in being lowered over the stern into them by means of ropes.
Amid this gloomy scene, many beautiful examples occurred of filial and
parental affection, and of disinterested friendship; and many sorrowful
instances of individual loss and suffering. At length, when all had been
removed from the burning vessel, but a few, who were so overcome by
fear as to refuse to make the attempt to reach the brig, the captain
quitted his ill-fated ship.
The flames which had spread along her upper deck, now mounted rapidly to
the mast and rigging, forming one general conflagration and lighting up
the heavens to an immense distance round. One by one her stately masts
fell over her sides. By half-past one in the morning the fire reached
the powder magazine; the looked-for explosion took place, and the
burning fragments of the vessel were blown high into the air, like so
many rockets.
The Cambria, with her crowd of sufferers, made all speed to the nearest
port, and reached Portsmouth in safety, shortly after midnight, on the
3d of March, 1825, the accident having taken place on the 28th of
February. Wonderful to tell, fourteen of the poor creatures, left on the
Kent, were rescued by another ship, the Caroline, on her passage from
Alexandria to Liverpool.
THE PELICAN.
The life of a pelican seems to be a very lazy, if not a very pleasant
one. Man, ever on the watch to turn the habits of animals to his own
account, observing how good a fisherman the pelican is, often catches
and tames him, and makes him fish for _him_. I have heard of a bird of
this kind in America, which was so well trained, that it would at
command go off in the morning, and return at night with its pouch full,
and stretched to the utmost; part of its treasure it disgorged for its
master, the rest was given to the bird for its trouble. It is hardly
credible what these extraordinary pouches will hold; it is said, that
among other things, a man's leg with the boots on was once found in one
of them.
Pelicans live in flocks; they and the cormorants sometimes help one
another to get a living. The cormorant is a species of pelican, of a
dusky color: it is sometimes called the sea crow. The cormorants are the
best divers, so the pelicans arrange themselves in a large circle at
some great distance from the land, and flap their great wings on the
surface of the water, while the cormorants dive beneath. Away swim the
poor frightened fish towards the shore; the pelicans draw into a
narrower circle, and the fish at last are brought into so small a
compass, that their pursuers find no difficulty in obtaining a plentiful
meal.
[Illustration: THE SEA TURTLE.]
CATCHING TURTLE.
There are two kinds of turtle; the one is called the green turtle, and
is much valued as a delicious article of food; the other the hawk's bill
turtle supplies the tortoise shell of commerce, which is prepared and
moulded into various forms by heat. The flesh of the hawk's bill turtle
is considered very unwholesome.
[Illustration: CATCHING TURTLE.]
The turtles in the picture are of the edible kind; they are found on the
shores of nearly all the countries within the tropics.
There is a little rocky island in the south Atlantic Ocean, called the
Island of Ascension, where they are found in vast numbers, and this
barren spot is often visited by Indiamen for the purpose of obtaining
some of them. The turtles feed on the sea weed and other marine plants
which grow on the shoals and sand banks, and with their powerful jaws,
they crush the small sea shells which are found among the weeds. This
kind of food is always to be had in great abundance, so that the turtles
have no occasion to quarrel among themselves, for that which is afforded
in such plenty for all; indeed they seem to be a very quiet and
inoffensive race, herding peaceably together on their extensive
feeding-grounds, and when satisfied retiring to the fresh water at the
mouth of the rivers, where they remain holding their heads above water,
as if to breathe the fresh air, till the shadow of any of their numerous
enemies alarms them, when they instantly dive to the bottom for
security.
In the month of April, the females leave the water after sunset, in
order to deposit their eggs in the sand. By means of their fore-fins
they dig a hole above high water mark, about one foot wide and two deep,
into which they drop above a hundred eggs; they then cover them lightly
over with a layer of sand, sufficient to hide them, and yet thin enough
to admit the warmth of the sun's rays for hatching them. The instinct
which leads the female turtle to the shore to lay her eggs, renders her
a prey to man. The fishers wait for them on shore, especially on a
moonlight night, and following them in one of their journeys, either
coming or returning, they turn them quickly over on their backs, before
they have time to defend themselves, or to blind their assailants by
throwing up the sand with their fins.
When very large, for I should tell you that the usual weight of the
turtle is from four to six hundred pounds, it requires the efforts of
several men to turn them over, and for this purpose they often employ
levers: the back shell of the turtle is so flat that when once over it
is impossible for them to right themselves, so there the poor creatures
lie in this helpless condition, till they are either taken away in the
manner you see in the picture, or deposited by their captors in a crawl,
which is a kind of enclosure surrounded by stakes, and so situated as to
admit the influx of the sea.
The inhabitants of the Bahama Isles, catch many turtles at a
considerable distance from the shore; they strike them with a spear, the
head of which slips off when it has entered the body of the turtle, but
it is fastened by a string to the pole, and by means of this apparatus
they are able to secure them, and either take them into the boat or haul
them on shore. The length of the green turtle frequently exceeds six
feet. A boy ten years old, a son of Captain Roche, once made use of a
very large shell as a boat, and ventured in it from the shore to his
father's ship which lay about a quarter of a mile off. It was in the
bay of Campeachy, off Port Royal, where the rightful occupant of this
shell was caught.
[Illustration: WRECK OF THE STEAMBOAT.]
THE WRECK OF THE STEAMBOAT.
The following narrative teaches a lesson of courage and devotion such as
are seldom read. In one of the light-houses of the desolate Farne Isles,
amid the ocean, with no prospect before it but the wide expanse of sea,
and now and then a distant sail appearing, her cradle hymn the ceaseless
sound of the everlasting deep, there lived a little child whose name
was Grace Darling. Her father was the keeper of the light-house; and
here Grace lived and grew up to the age of twenty-two, her mother's
constant helpmate in all domestic duties. She had a fair and healthy
countenance, which wore a kind and cheerful smile, proceeding from a
heart at peace with others, and happy in the consciousness of
endeavoring to do its duty.
It was at early dawn, one September morning, in the year 1838, that the
family at the Longstone light-house looked out through a dense fog which
hung over the waters. All night the sea had run extremely high, with a
heavy gale from the north, and at this moment the storm continued
unabated. Mr. and Mrs. Darling and Grace were at this time the only
persons in the light-house; through the dim mist they perceived the
wreck of a large steam vessel on the rocks, and by the aid of their
telescope the could even make out the forms of some persons clinging to
her.
It was the Forfarshire steamboat on her passage from Hull to Dundee.
She left the former place with sixty-three persons on board. She had
entered Berwick Bay about eight o'clock the previous evening, in a heavy
gale and in a leaky condition; the motion of the vessel soon increased
the leak to such a degree that the fires could not be kept burning.
About ten o'clock she bore up off St. Abb's Head, the storm still
raging. Soon after the engineer reported that the engines would not
work; the vessel became unmanageable; it was raining heavily, and the
fog was so dense that it was impossible to make out their situation. At
length the appearance of breakers close to leeward, and the Farne lights
just becoming visible, showed to all on board their imminent danger.
The captain vainly tried to run the vessel between the islands and the
main land, she would no longer answer the helm, and was driven to and
fro by a furious sea. Between three and four o'clock in the morning she
struck with her bows foremost on a jagged rock, which pierced her
timbers. Soon after the first shock a mighty wave lifted the vessel
from the rock, and let her fall again with such violence as fairly to
break her in two pieces; the after part, containing the cabin with many
passengers, all of whom perished, was instantly carried away through a
tremendous current, while the fore part was fixed on the rock. The
survivors, only nine in number, five of the crew and four passengers,
remained in this dreadful situation till daybreak, when they were
descried by the family at the light-house. But who could dare to cross
the raging abyss which lay between them?
Grace, full of pity and anxiety for the wretched people on the wreck,
forgot all toil and danger, and urged her father to launch the boat; she
took one oar and her father the other; but Grace had never assisted in
the boat before, and it was only by extreme exertion and the most
determined courage that they succeeded in bringing the boat up to the
rock, and rescuing nine of their fellow creatures from a watery grave,
and with the help of the crew in returning, landed all safe at the
light-house.
Happy Grace Darling! she needed no other reward than the joy of her own
heart and the warm thanks of those she had helped to deliver; but the
news of the heroic deed soon spread, and wondering and admiring
strangers came from far and near to see Grace and that lonely
light-house. Nay more, they showered gifts upon her, and a public
subscription was raised with a view of rewarding her bravery, to the
amount of seven hundred pounds. She continued to live with her parents
on their barren isles, finding happiness in her simple duties and in
administering to their comfort, until her death, which took place little
more than three years after the wreck of the Forfarshire steamer.
WATERSPOUTS.
These wonderful appearances are caused by the action of currents of wind
meeting in the atmosphere from different quarters. They are sometimes
seen on land, but much more frequently at sea, where they are very
dangerous visitors. I will try to give you some idea of what they are,
and perhaps the picture may help you a little. I dare say you have often
noticed little eddies of wind whirling up dust and leaves, or any light
substances which happened to be in the way; when these occur on a larger
scale they are called whirlwinds.
[Illustration: WATERSPOUTS.]
Now if a cloud happens to be exactly in the point where two such furious
currents of wind meet, it is turned round and round by them with great
speed and is condensed into the form of a cone; this whirling motion
drives from the centre of the cloud all the particles contained in it,
producing what is called a vacuum, or empty space, into which the water
or any thing else lying beneath it has an irresistible tendency to rush.
Underneath the dense impending cloud, the sea becomes violently
agitated, and the waves dart rapidly towards the centre of the troubled
mass of water: on reaching it they disperse in vapor, and rise, whirling
in a spiral direction towards the cloud. The descending and ascending
columns unite, the whole presenting the appearance of a hollow cylinder,
or tube of glass, empty within. This, Maltebrun tells us, and he further
adds, "it glides over the sea without any wind being felt; indeed
several have been seen at once, pursuing different directions. When the
cloud and the marine base of the waterspout move with equal velocity,
the lower cone is often seen to incline sideways, or even to bend, and
finally to burst in pieces. A noise is then heard like the noise of a
cataract falling in a deep valley. Lightning frequently issues from the
very bosom of the waterspout, particularly when it breaks; but no
thunder is ever heard."
Sailors, to prevent the danger which would arise from coming in contact
with one of these tremendous columns, discharge a cannon into it: the
ball passing through it breaks the watery cylinder, and causes it to
burst, just as a touch causes your beautiful soap-bubbles to vanish, and
turn to water again. These waterspouts, at sea, generally occur between
the tropics, and I believe frequently after a calm, such as the poet
has described in the following lines:
"Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down,
'Twas sad as sad could be,
And we did speak only to break
The silence of the sea!
"All in a hot and copper sky,
The bloody sun at noon,
Right up above the mast did stand.
No bigger than the moon.
"Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath, nor motion;
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.
"Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where
And not a drop to drink!"
Happily "dead calms" do not generally last so long as to lead to any
serious result. Sailors have a superstitious and foolish belief that
whistling in a calm will bring up a breeze, and they do this in a
drawling, beseeching tone, on some prominent part of the vessel. Poor
fellows! what a pity that their thoughts should not more frequently be
directed to Him "who hath measured the waters in the hollow of his hand,
and meted out heaven with a span," and whose works and wonders in the
deep "they that go down to the sea in ships" have such abundant
opportunity for observing.
HEAVING THE LEAD.
Here we have a sailor in the act of heaving the lead, or taking
soundings, which is a thing extremely necessary to be done when a ship
is approaching the shore, as there is great danger of her running on a
sand-bank or striking on a sunken rock. I will now tell you how it is
managed. A sailor gets over the ship's side, as you see in the
engraving, and takes his station in what are called "the chains;" he
holds in his hand a coil of rope, with the length in fathoms marked upon
it; this rope has a mass of lead attached to the end of it. At the
bottom of the lead, is a hollow place, into which a piece of tallow
candle is stuck, which brings up distinguishing marks from the bottom of
the sea, such as small shells, sand, or mud, adhering to it. If the
tallow be only indented it is supposed to have fallen on bare rocks. A
correct account of the soundings is entered in the logbook; this book
contains a description of the ship's course, the direction of the wind,
and other circumstances, during every hour of each day and night. Having
arranged the rope so as to allow it to fall freely when cast, the sailor
throws the lead forward into the water, giving rope sufficient to allow
it to touch the bottom; then with a sudden jerk, such as long practice
alone can enable him to give, he raises the weight, and after examining
the mark on the rope made by the water, calls out lustily, so that all
forward can hear, "By the mark seven," or "By the deep nine," according
to the case, or whatever the number of fathoms may be. The lead-line is
marked into lengths of six feet, called fathoms, by knots, or pieces of
leather, or old sail-cloth. In narrow or intricate channels, it is
sometimes needful to place a man in the chains on each side of the ship,
as the depth will vary a fathom or more even in the breadth of the
vessel, and it is of great consequence that the leadsmen give the depth
correctly, as a wrong report might cause the ship to run aground. The
time that the leadsman is employed in taking soundings is often a period
of deep anxiety to the crew and passengers, especially if the vessel be
near an unknown coast. When the decrease in the number of fathoms is
sudden, the captain knows that danger is near, and quickly gives orders
to alter the ship's course: the sailors instantly obey his directions;
but sometimes not all their activity and energy can save the vessel; she
strikes and becomes a wreck.
Turn to the 27th chapter of the Acts of the Apostles in your Bible, and
you will there read the deeply interesting account of Paul's shipwreck
on the island Melita. Life has often been compared to a voyage--and
aptly so.
You will find that you, like the mariner, are exposed to many dangers,
and that you are never for one moment safe in trusting to your own skill
to guide your little bark. In watchfulness and prayer, look to your
Heavenly Pilot for directions under every circumstance, often examining
your own heart, as the seaman heaves the lead in danger. Then will you
be safely guided through storms and calms, amid rocks and shoals, and
reach at last the blessed haven of eternal rest and peace.
THE BALLOON AT SEA.
A balloon is a hollow globe, made of silk, rendered air-tight by a
coating of gum and resin, and enclosed within a strong network. When
filled with gas it is so much lighter than the air which surrounds us,
that it will rise with heavier bodies suspended to it. In a sort of car
or boat attached, men, who are called "aeronauts," have performed
journeys through the air.
The balloon was invented by a Frenchman named Montgolfier. Great
expectations were at first entertained of this art of sailing through
the air, but as yet it has not proved of much practical use. Many
disasters have at different times befallen balloon voyagers.
Many years ago, Major Mooney ascended in his balloon from Norwich,
expecting from the direction of the wind that he might descend near
Ipswich; but when he had risen about one mile from the earth, a violent
current carried him and his balloon towards Yarmouth. The balloon fell
on the sea, about nine miles from land. The Major supported himself for
some time in the water, by holding firmly to the balloon, and was at
last rescued from his dangerous situation by the crew of a cutter which
was cruising on the coast.