the pumps that he could do no more. Some gave themselves up to despair,
others prayed; and some resolved not to perish without a struggle,
committed themselves on pieces of the wreck to the waves. The chief mate
came to the captain, and said, "We have done all we can, sir, the ship
will sink in a moment;" to which the captain replied, "it cannot be
helped--God's will be done." The vessel gradually settled in the trough
of the sea. The cries of the drowning rose above the sound of the
waters, and were heard at a great distance. Some kept running about the
deck as long as it kept above the waves. At eleven, when she went down,
many hastened up the shrouds and masts. The captain was seen clinging to
the ropes; the fourth mate tried to persuade him to exert himself, but
he submitted without resistance to his fate.
The hull struck the ground, while part of the masts and rigging remained
above water. On the last cast of the lead, eleven fathoms had been
found, and about one hundred and eighty men still clung to the rigging.
The night was dark and frosty, the sea incessantly breaking upon them.
Shocking scenes occurred, in the attempts made by some to obtain places
of greater safety. One seaman had ascended to a considerable height, and
endeavored to climb yet higher; another seized hold of his leg; he drew
his clasp-knife, and deliberately cut the miserable wretch's fingers
asunder; he dropped and was killed by the fall. Many perished in the
shrouds. A sergeant had secured his wife there; she lost her hold, and
in her last struggle for life, bit a large piece from her husband's arm,
which was dreadfully lacerated.
About an hour after she went down, the survivors were cheered by hearing
the sound of vessels beating the waves at a distance; they hailed a
sloop-rigged vessel, with two boats astern of her. Their voices must
have been drowned by the waves. By twelve many more had perished. Some
from cold and fatigue could no longer retain their hold; every instant
those who still hung on, were shocked by the splash, which told that
another of their number had yielded to his fate. In a short time, boats
were again heard near them, but they did not, though repeatedly hailed,
come near enough to take any on board; an act of cold and calculating
timidity, which could not be justified by the excuse, that they feared
lest all, eager to be saved, should have jumped down, and borne them to
the bottom.
At length two sloops, which had heard the guns of distress, anchored
close to the wreck, took off the survivors, twenty at a time, from the
shrouds, and in the morning conveyed them to Weymouth; so far from
crowding into the boats, they got off one by one, as called upon by
those who commanded the boats. One still remained; the sixth mate
ascended the mast and found him in a state of insensibility; he bore him
down on his back, and with his burden reached the boat in safety; but
the delivered person died the next day.
When the awful words were heard, "The ship must go down," three of the
cadets went into the cabin, where they stood for a short time, looking
at each other, without saying a word. At length one said, "Let us return
to the deck;" two did so, but the other remained below. He opened his
desk, took out his commission, his introductory letters, and some money,
went on deck, but saw neither of his companions. Then looking forward,
he saw the ship going down head foremost, and the sea rolling in an
immense column along the deck. He tried to ascend the steps leading to
the poop, but was launched among the waves encumbered by boots and a
great coat, and unable to swim. Afterwards, finding himself on the
opposite side, he conceived that when the stern of the ship sunk, he
would be drawn into the vortex. While struggling to keep himself afloat,
he seized something which frequently struck the back of his hand, and
found it to be a rope hanging from the mizzen-shrouds. Trying to ascend
several feet by it, he fell into the sea; but by a sudden lurch from the
ship, he was thrown into the mizzen-shrouds, where he fixed himself as
well as circumstances would allow.
CRUISE OF THE SALDANHA AND TALBOT.
BY ONE OF THE OFFICERS.
At midnight of Saturday, the 30th of November, 1811, with a fair wind
and a smooth sea, we weighed from our station, in company with the
Saldanha frigate, of thirty-eight guns, Captain Packenham, with a crew
of three hundred men, on a cruise, as was intended, of twenty days--the
Saldanha taking a westerly course, while we stood in the opposite
direction.
We had scarcely got out of the lock and cleared the heads, however, when
we plunged at once into all the miseries of a gale of wind blowing from
the west. During the three following days it continued to increase in
violence, when the islands of Coll and Tiree became visible to us. As
the wind had now chopped round more to the north, and continued unabated
in violence, the danger of getting involved among the numerous small
islands and rugged headlands, on the north-west coast of
Inverness-shire, became evident. It was therefore deemed expedient to
wear the ship round, and make a port with all expedition. With this
view, and favored by the wind, a course was shaped for Lochswilly, and
away we scudded under close-reefed foresail and main-topsail, followed
by a tremendous sea, which threatened every moment to overwhelm us, and
accompanied by piercing showers of hail, and a gale which blew with
incredible fury. The same course was steered until next day about noon,
when land was seen on the lee-bow. The weather being thick, some time
elapsed before it could be distinctly made out, and it was then
ascertained to be the island of North Arran, on the coast of Donegal,
westward of Lochswilly. The ship was therefore hauled up some points,
and we yet entertained hopes of reaching an anchorage before nightfall,
when the weather gradually thickened, and the sea, now that we were upon
the wind, broke over us in all directions. Its violence was such, that
in a few minutes several of our ports were stove in, at which the water
poured in in great abundance, until it was actually breast high on the
lee-side of the main deck. Fortunately, but little got below, and the
ship was relieved by taking in the foresail. But a dreadful addition was
now made to the precariousness of our situation, by the cry of "land
a-head!" which was seen from the forecastle, and must have been very
near. Not a moment was now lost in wearing the ship round on the other
tack, and making what little sail could be carried, to weather the land
we had already passed. This soon proved, however, to be a forlorn
prospect, for it was found that we should run our distance by ten
o'clock. All the horrors of shipwreck now stared us in the face,
aggravated tenfold by the darkness of the night, and the tremendous
force of the wind, which now blew a hurricane. Mountains are
insignificant when speaking of the sea that kept pace with it; its
violence was awful beyond description, and it frequently broke over all
the poor little ship, that shivered and groaned, but behaved admirably.
The force of the sea may be guessed from the fact of the sheet-anchor,
nearly a ton and a half in weight, being actually lifted on board, to
say nothing of the forechain-plates' board broken, both gangways torn
away, quarter-galleries stove in, &c. In short, on getting into port,
the vessel was found to be loosened through all her frame, and leaking
at every seam. As far as depended on her good qualities, however, I felt
assured at the time we were safe, for I had seen enough of the Talbot
to be convinced we were in one of the finest sea-boats that ever swam.
But what could all the skill of the ship builder avail in a situation
like ours? With a night full fifteen hours long before us, and knowing
that we were fast driving on the land, anxiety and dread were on every
face, and every mind felt the terrors of uncertainty and suspense. At
length, about twelve o'clock, the dreadful truth was disclosed to us!
Judge of my sensation when I saw the frowning rocks of Arran, scarcely
half a mile distant, on our lee-bow. To our inexpressible relief, and
not less to our surprise, we fairly weathered all, and were
congratulating each other on our escape, when on looking forward I
imagined I saw breakers at no great distance on our lee; and this
suspicion was soon confirmed, when the moon, which shone at intervals,
suddenly broke out from behind a cloud, and presented to us a most
terrific spectacle. At not more than a quarter of a mile's distance on
our lee-beam, appeared a range of tremendous breakers, amongst which it
seemed as if every sea would throw us. Their height, it may be guessed,
was prodigious, when they could be clearly distinguished from the
foaming waters of the surrounded ocean. It was a scene seldom to be
witnessed, and never forgotten! "Lord have mercy on us!" was now on the
lip of everyone--destruction seemed inevitable. Captain Swaine, whose
coolness I have never seen surpassed issued his orders clearly and
collectedly when it was proposed as a last resource to drop the anchors,
cut away the masts, and trust to the chance of riding out the gale. This
scheme was actually determined on, and every thing was in readiness, but
happily was deferred until an experiment was tried aloft In addition to
the close-reefed main-topsail and foresail, the fore-topsail and trysail
were now set, and the result was almost magical. With a few plunges we
cleared not only the reef, but a huge rock upon which I could with ease
have tossed a biscuit, and in a few minutes we were inexpressibly
rejoiced to observe both far astern.
We had now miraculously escaped all but certain destruction a second
time, but much was yet to be feared. We had still to pass Cape Jeller,
and the moments dragged on in gloomy apprehension and anxious suspense.
The ship carried sail most wonderfully, and we continued to go along at
the rate of seven knots, shipping very heavy seas, and laboring
much--all with much solicitude looking out for daylight. The dawn at
length appeared, and to our great joy we saw the land several miles
astern, having passed the Cape and many other hidden dangers during the
darkness.
Matters on the morning of the 5th, assumed a very different aspect from
that which we had experienced for the last two days; the wind gradually
subsided, and with it the sea, and a favorable breeze now springing up,
we were enabled to make a good offing. Fortunately no accident of
consequence occurred, although several of our people were severely
bruised by falls. Poor fellows! they certainly suffered enough; not a
dry stitch, not a dry hammock have they had since we sailed. Happily,
however, their misfortunes are soon forgot in a dry shirt and a can of
grog.
The most melancholy part of the narrative is still to be told. On coming
up to our anchorage, we observed an unusual degree of curiosity and
bustle in the fort; crowds of people were congregated on both sides,
running to and fro, examining us through spy-glasses; in short, an
extraordinary commotion was apparent. The meaning of all this was but
too soon made known to us by a boat coming alongside, from which we
learned that the unfortunate Saldanha had gone to pieces, and every man
perished! Our own destruction had likewise been reckoned inevitable from
the time of the discovery of the unhappy fate of our consort, five days
beforehand; and hence the astonishment at our unexpected return. From
all that could be learned concerning the dreadful catastrophe, I am
inclined to believe that the Saldanha had been driven on the rocks about
the time our doom appeared so certain in another quarter. Her lights
were seen by the signal-tower at nine o'clock of that fearful Wednesday
night, December 4th, after which it is supposed she went ashore on the
rocks at a small bay called Ballymastaker, almost at the entrance of
Lochswilly harbor.
Next morning the beach was strewed with fragments of the wreck, and
upwards of two hundred of the bodies of the unfortunate sufferers were
washed ashore. One man--and one only--out of the three hundred, was
ascertained to have come ashore alive, but almost in a state of
insensibility. Unhappily there was no person present to administer to
his wants judiciously, and upon craving something to drink, about half a
pint of whisky was given him by the people, which almost instantly
killed him! Poor Pakenham's body was recognised amidst the others, and
like these, stripped quite naked by the inhuman wretches, who flocked to
the wreck as to a blessing! It is even suspected that he came on shore
alive, but was stripped and left to perish. Nothing could equal the
audacity of the plunderers, although a party of the Lanark militia was
doing duty around the wreck. But this is an ungracious and revolting
subject, which no one of proper feeling would wish to dwell upon. Still
less am I inclined so describe the heart-rending scene at Buncrana,
where the widows of many of the sufferers are residing. The surgeon's
wife, a native of Halifax, has never spoken since the dreadful tidings
arrived. Consolation is inadmissible, and no one has yet ventured to
offer it.
SHIPWRECK OF THE NAUTILUS.
The ship Nautilus, Captain Palmer, with important despatches for
England, sailed from the Dardanelles, on the 30th of January, 1807.
Passing through the islands which abound in the Greek Archipelago, she
approached the Negropont, where the navigation became both intricate
and dangerous. The wind blew fresh, and the night was dark and squally;
the pilot, a Greek, advised them to lay-to till morning; at daylight she
again went on her course, passing in the evening, Falconera and
Anti-Milo. The pilot, who had never gone farther on this tack, here
relinquished the management of the vessel to the captain, who, anxious
to get on, resolved to proceed during the night, confidently expecting
to clear the Archipelago by morning; he then went below, to take some
rest, after marking out on the chest the course which he meant to steer.
[Illustration: SHIPWRECK OF THE NAUTILUS.]
The night was extremely dark, vivid lightning at times flashed through
the horizon. The wind increased; and though the ship carried but little
sail, she went at the rate of nine miles an hour, borne on by a high
sea, which, with the brightness of the lightning, made the night appear
awful. At half past two in the morning, they saw high land, which they
took for the island of Cerigotto, and went confidently on, supposing
that all danger was over. At half-past four, the man on the look-out,
cried, "breakers a-head!" and instantly the vessel struck with a
tremendous crash; the violence of the shock being such, that those below
were thrown from their beds, and on coming on deck, were compelled to
cling to the cordage. All was confusion and alarm; scarcely had part of
the crew time to hurry on deck, before the ladder gave way, leaving
numbers struggling with the water, which rushed in at the bottom. The
captain and lieutenant endeavored to mitigate the fears of the people;
and afterwards, going down to the cabin, burnt the papers and private
signals. Meantime, every sea dashed the vessel against the rocks; and
they were soon compelled to climb the rigging, where they remained an
hour, the surge continually breaking upon them.
The lightning had ceased, but so dark was the night, that they could not
see a ship's length before them; their only hope rested in the falling
of the main mast, which they trusted would reach a small rock, which lay
very near them. About half an hour before morning, the mast gave way,
providentially falling towards the rock, and by means of it they were
enabled to gain the land. In this hasty struggle to get to the rock,
many accidents occurred; some were drowned, one man had his arm broke,
and many were much hurt. The captain was the last man who left the
vessel, refusing to quit it till all had gained the rock. All the boats
but one had been staved in pieces; the jolly-boat indeed remained, but
they could not haul it in. For a time the hull of the wreck sheltered
them from the violence of the surf; but it soon broke up, and it became
necessary to abandon the small rock on which they stood, and to wade to
another somewhat larger. In their way they encountered many loose spars,
dashing about in the channel; several in crossing were severely hurt by
them. They felt grievously the loss of their shoes, for the sharp rocks
tore their feet dreadfully, and their legs were covered with blood. In
the morning they saw the sea covered with the fragments of the wreck,
and many of their comrades floating about on spars and timbers, to whom
they could not give any assistance.
They saw that they were cast away on a coral rock almost on a level with
the sea, about four hundred yards long, and three hundred broad. They
were at least twelve miles from the nearest islands, which were
afterwards found to be those of Cerigotto and Pera. In case any vessel
should pass by, they hoisted a signal of distress on a long pole. The
weather was very cold, and the day before they were wrecked, the deck
had been covered with ice; with much difficulty they managed to kindle a
fire, by means of a flint and some powder. They erected a small tent,
composed of pieces of canvas and boards, and were thus enabled to dry
their few clothes. The night was dreary and comfortless; but they
consoled themselves with the hope that their fire might be descried in
the dark, and taken for a signal of distress. Next day they were
delighted at the approach of a small whale-boat, manned by ten of their
comrades. When the vessel was wrecked, these men had lowered themselves
into the water, and had reached the island of Pera, but finding no fresh
water, were compelled to depart; and noticing the fire were enabled to
join their shipmates. But the waves ran so high that the boat could not
come to the shore, and some of those on the land endeavored to reach it.
One of the seamen called to Captain Palmer, inviting him to come to
them, but he steadily refused, saying, "No, Smith, save your unfortunate
shipmates; never mind me." After some consultation, they resolved to
take the Greek pilot on board, intending to go to Cerigotto, where, he
assured them, were a few families of fishermen, who might perhaps be
able to afford them some relief.
After the boat departed, the wind increased; in about two hours a
fearful storm came on. The waves mounted up, and extinguished their
fire; they swept over nearly the whole of the rock, compelling them to
flee for refuge to the highest part. Thus did nearly ninety pass a night
of the utmost horror; being compelled, lest they should be washed off,
to fasten a rope round the summit of a rock, and to clasp each other.
Their fatigue had been so great that several of them became delirious,
and lost their hold. They were also in constant terror of the wind
veering more to the north, in which case the waves would have dashed
over their position.
They now began to sink under their hardships, and many had suffered
deplorably. One had been so dashed against the rocks as to be nearly
scalped, exhibiting a dreadful spectacle; he lingered out the night, but
expired next morning. They were ill prepared to sustain famine, and they
were almost hopeless of escape. They dreaded lest the storm should come
on before the boat could have reached the island, for on her safety
their own depended. In the midst of these horrors the daylight broke,
and they saw the bodies of their departed shipmates, some still writhing
in the agonies of death. The sea had broken over them all night, and
some, among whom was the carpenter, had perished from cold.
Soon after, a vessel approached, and their hearts beat high with the
hope of deliverance. All her sails were set, and she came down before
the wind, steering right for the rock. They made repeated signals of
distress, and the vessel hove to, and hoisted out her boat. They hastily
prepared rafts to carry them through the surf, confident that the boat
was provided with supplies to relieve them. The boat came within
pistol-shot, full of men dressed in the European fashion. But what were
their indignation and grief, when the person who steered, after gazing
at them a few minutes, waved his hat, and then rowed off to the ship!
Their misery was increased by seeing the crew of the stranger-vessel
employed in collecting the floating fragments of the wreck. After this
grievous disappointment, their only hopes lay in the return of the boat.
They looked in vain; not a glimpse of her was to be seen. A raging
thirst tormented them; and some, in spite of warning, drank salt water;
raging madness soon followed, and their agonies were terminated by
death. Another awful night was passed by them. To preserve themselves
from the cold, they huddled close together, and covered themselves with
their few remaining rags. They were haunted by the ravings of those who
had drunk the sea-water, whom they tried in vain to pacify.
About twelve o'clock, the crew of the whale-boat hailed them; they cried
out in their agony for water. They could not procure it, for those in
the boat had none but earthen vessels, which could not be conveyed
through the surf. They were assured that they would be taken off by a
fishing vessel next morning; but there seemed to be little chance of
their surviving till then.
In the morning, the sun for the first time shone upon the rock. They
waited hour after hour, but there was no appearance either of the boat
or the vessel. Famine consumed them; but they looked with loathing on
the only means of appeasing it. When, however, the day wore on, after
praying for forgiveness of the sinful act, they were compelled to feed
on one of their number who had died the preceding night. Several
expired towards evening; among whom were the captain and first
lieutenant. During the night, some thought of constructing a raft which
might carry them to Cerigotto. The wind seemed favorable; and to perish
in the waters seemed preferable to remaining to die a lingering death
from hunger and thirst. At daylight, as fast as their feeble strength
permitted, they prepared to put their plan in execution, by lashing
together a number of larger spars. Scarcely had they launched it, when
it was destroyed. Five, rendered desperate, embarked on a few spars
hastily lashed together, which gave them scarcely room to stand; they
were soon carried away by unknown currents, and were no more heard of.
In the afternoon the whale-boat came again in sight. The crew told them
that they had experienced great difficulty in persuading the Greek
fishermen of Cerigotto to venture to put to sea, because of the stormy
weather; but they gave them hopes, that if the weather moderated, the
boats would come next day. Before they had done speaking, twelve men
plunged from the rock into the sea, and nearly reached the boat; two
were taken in, one was drowned, and the rest were so fortunate as to
recover their former station.
As the day wore on, their weakness increased. One of the survivors
described himself as feeling the approach of annihilation; his sight
failed, and his senses were confused; his strength was exhausted; he
looked towards the setting sun, expecting never to see it rise again.
Suddenly the approach of the boats was announced; and from the depth of
despair, they rose to the very summit of joy. Their parched frames were
refreshed with copious draughts of water.
Immediate preparations were made for departure. Of one hundred and
twenty-two persons on board the Nautilus, when she struck, fifty-eight
had perished. Eighteen were drowned when she was wrecked, five were lost
in the small boat, and thirty-four died of famine. About fifty now
embarked in four fishing vessels, and landed the same evening at
Cerigotto; making sixty-four in all, including those saved in the
whale-boat. During their six days sojourn on the rock, they had nothing
to subsist on, save human flesh.
They landed at a small creek. The Greeks received them with great
hospitality, but had not skill to cure their wounds, and had no bandages
but those procured by tearing up their own shirts. Wishing to procure
some medical assistance, they desired to reach Cerigo, an island twenty
miles distant, on which an English vice-consul resided. Fourteen days
elapsed before they could set sail. They bade adieu to these kind
preservers, and in six or eight hours reached Cerigo, where all possible
help was afforded them. Thence they were conveyed by a Russian ship to
Corfu; where they arrived on the 2d of March, 1807, about two months
after their melancholy disaster.
GALLANT EXPLOITS OF COMMODORE DECATUR.