It is a great safeguard to girls to love their homes. If they find their highest delight in contributing to the pleasure of brothers and sisters, and the comfort of those who have tended their infant years, it is a good sign. But those maidens who are impatient of the family restraints, and who cannot be happy unless they are enjoying the excitements of society, are in danger of losing the winning graces of true womanhood. It is at home that there is opportunity for the display of all that is sweet and good in the female life and character; and it is there that true goodness shines the most brightly. Let English girls remain attached to their own home-circles, and deserve such praise as the wise man gives to the excellent woman—"Many daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all."
"Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell;Then shrieked the timid, and stood still the brave;Then some leaped overboard with dreadful yell,As eager to anticipate their grave;And the sea yawned around her like a hell,And down she sucked with her the whirling wave,Like one who grapples with his enemy,And tries to strangle him before he die.
"And first one universal shriek there rushed,Louder than the loud ocean, like a crashOf echoing thunder; and then all was hushed,Save the wild wind, and the remorseless dashOf billows; but at intervals there gushed,Accompanied by a convulsive splash,A solitary shriek, the bubbling cryOf some strong swimmer in his agony."—Byron.
It seems a sudden transition to turn from summer pic-nics to shipwrecks; but every reader knows how often, even in the midst of the world's pleasures and gaieties, mankind is startled by thrilling stories of the tragic experiences of some of the great human family.
It has already been said that Grace Darling, in her lonely life upon the Longstone rocks, surrounded only by the changeful elements, must often have found in them her unconscious tutors. Who has not felt his soul expand under the influence of a boundless ocean-prospect! But it is the sea in storms, when it tosses about the ships which have dared to invade it, as an angry child throws away its toys, that it is most grand and awful. And this object is the one that is often present to those who live by it. It may be that the best lessons which the sea taught the lighthouse girl were those connected with its angry hours; and that the repetition of startling casualties which she witnessed, or of which she heard, may have played an important part in schooling her to that degree of coolness and intrepidity which were necessary for the sublime act which made her famous.
It is only natural that, in our island, great interest should be manifested with regard to those who "go down to the sea in ships," and it may not therefore be deemed out of place to make in this book a reference to some of the most remarkable, and saddest, of the marine disasters which have occurred to make the people of our nation mourn. Every one who is at all acquainted with wreck returns will know how impossible it would be to notice, in the space available, more than a hundredth part of such occurrences. But two or three examples will suffice.
The name of the "Royal George" will at once suggest itself to the reader's memory. On August 29th, 1782, this ship, with many hundred souls aboard, sunk, at anchor, in the broad glare of day and in full sight of all on land, in the roadstead at Spithead. The British sailors were exceedingly proud of this vessel, and amongst her commanders had been such men as Admirals Anson, Boscawen, Rodney, and Howe, and although she was not considered equal in appearance to many others, she was believed to outrival them in her powers of sailing. The "Royal George" had seen very active service, and there had been some thought of putting her out of commission, and the officers of the Admiralty decided upon keeping her in dock for the winter, but during the August of 1782 she underwent repairs, with a view to sending her out once more. Accordingly, on Thursday morning, the 29th of the same month, the ship moored slowly out of harbour, bearing a freight of eight hundred men, with wives, mothers, sisters, and sweethearts, besides those who had been permitted to remain on board for a part of the day. It was a pleasant scene on deck, and the happiness and gaiety of the company seemed in harmony with the beauty of the morning. The mid-day meal was made ready and begun, when a quick movement was felt, and a flood of salt water came pouring through a port-hole that had been most carelessly left unclosed. A stiff breeze caught her broadside, and the "Royal George" turned slowly over and sank. As soon as the disaster was perceived, an officer ran to the ship's captain to inform him that it was capsizing. Kempenfelt, the admiral, was at his desk below deck; his coxswain, notwithstanding the danger, attempted to reach him, but unsuccessfully, for the waters had already engulphed him. His loss was deplored in all the land; he was generally esteemed, and his great abilities were acknowledged by the State. And now the dauntless sea-warrior, who had met and repulsed many a foe, and had looked upon death in a variety of forms, found his own end, not in the force of the enemy's bullet, nor in the violence of the storm, but in a calm sea, on a bright August morning. A reward of one hundred pounds was offered for the body, but it was never recovered. An old journal, which appeared a few days after, in this way concludes the announcement of it—"Thus perished one of the most brave and amiable characters that ever filled either a private or public situation."
A few minutes after the "Royal George" sank, only her topmasts were visible. The greater part of the (one thousand two hundred) people, and chiefly the women and children, were in the cabins, and therefore immediately perished; but of over two hundred on deck, the majority were rescued. The efforts put forth to save the drowning were marked by another calamity. A victualling sloop, which had gone with other vessels to the rescue, was drawn into the vortex of a whirlpool caused by the sudden submersion of the "Royal George."
Many heart-rending accounts have been given on the Hard at Portsmouth, and by boatmen at Southsea, of the saddening spectacle around the ship as she sank. Human forms were discovered in every direction, and seen to sink, to rise no more. Many managed to keep afloat for a time, but having their strength buffetted out by the waves, threw up their hands in terror, and disappeared. Screams for aid mingled with wild prayers for mercy. Seventy are believed to have been picked up and saved by the boats. For days after corpses were seen, carried along by the tide, and secured, to be decently buried.
The news did not arrive in London until the day after, as in those times, there were no other means of transporting messages than the ordinary mail. Intelligence was received at the Admiralty with the deepest regret, and throughout the country a thrill was felt at the announcement. Subscription lists were immediately opened for the benefit of those who survived. We give a copy of one of the numerous appeals framed for assistance:—
"ROYAL GEORGE."
"Whereas, by the truly deplorable and hapless loss of His Majesty's ship, the 'Royal George,' wherein about seven hundred officers and sailors of heroic soul, Britain's pride, have shared an equal fate, it cannot but be that many widows and children are reduced to the most poignant distress. In order, therefore, to relieve in part their pangs of misery and despair, and actuated by that humanity which has ever characterised this nation, the gentlemen that frequent the 'Barley Mow' in Salisbury Court, Fleet Street, have entered into a voluntary subscription, in the hope that so laudable an example will soon be extended into every part of His Majesty's dominions.
"A subscription book will be kept open for two months at the bar of the 'Barley Mow,' in Salisbury Court, Fleet Street, and at Mr. Mazzingby's, No 17, Chancery Lane; at the expiration thereof the money so subscribed shall be paid to the committee now appointed at 'New Lloyd's' Coffeehouse, and by them appropriated to so charitable a plan."
Before long, rumours were heard, declaring the vessel to have been mismanaged, and Captain Waghorne was ordered to attend a court-martial on the 9th of the succeeding September, to be held on board the "Warspite." One of the ship's carpenters explained that he had just time enough to warn his brother before he made his own escape through a port-hole, and affirmed that the vessel was really unfit for service; but as its condition was not the immediate cause of the catastrophe, the charge against the captain was dismissed.
Hopes were still entertained that the ship might yet be restored, and made fit for service again. One man guaranteed to raise her for 20,000 pounds. But for years she remained in her watery bed, until, by reason of the obstruction caused to the passage of other vessels, the matter again called for attention, and, in 1817, the divers concluded a protracted inspection. The decks were completely dislodged; and, in fact, all that remained of the once magnificent man-of-war, was a pile of disjointed and sodden timbers. All hopes of her restoration were abandoned after the accounts given by the divers of their survey; and the ruins were eventually dispersed by the force of powder.
Another memorable wreck was that of the "Halsewell," off Dorsetshire, January 6, 1786, by which one hundred and sixty-six lives were sacrificed. Belonging to the East India Company, she was one of the finest and best of merchant men, made to carry seven hundred and fifty-eight tons, and under command of Mr. Richard Pierce. At the time of the disaster, she was making her third voyage out. A valuable cargo was taken in, as usual, at Gravesend, and she cleared the Downs on the first day of the New Year, bearing with her about four hundred and forty passengers, amongst whom were a few ladies. With the captain were his two daughters, and two other young ladies connected with the family. Other ladies, who had been sent to England on account of their health, being restored, were about to return to their friends in India. Some had just left school, some were going to seek a home abroad, and others a wider field of labour. A Mr. Schutz was intent upon gathering an accumulation of wealth, which he had acquired there previously, intending, on his return, to spend the rest of his days in quietness and comfort. As is generally the case with these vessels, the scarlet uniform of the military shone conspicuously, and the soldiers' wives and families contributed a large part of the total number of passengers.
The day after starting a breeze sprang up, and an endeavour was made, by drawing in towards shore, to gain the beach for the pilot boat. The air became misty, and the winds blew contrary. As night drew on, with no fairer prospect, anchor was dropped, and every sign of a storm was visible—snow descended over the almost stationary vessel, and the sails could scarcely be furled by reason of the frost. At four o'clock in the morning, a hurricane blew. The vessel drove, and the command was given to weigh anchor, and steer for the open sea. The pilot, unable to be landed the preceding day, was now passed over to a homeward bound brig, and the "Halsewell" proceeded on her perilous voyage, when she was met by a new gale from the south, and a deal of water was shipped, and, worse than all, a leak was found to have been made, which soon filled the vessel to the depth of five feet. Every pump was set to work, but mishaps followed one another, and the stream increased to such an extent that another two feet of water was rapidly made. It was a fearful condition to be in—in a treacherous channel, with a high wind, and vessel pretty well beyond control. The possibility of striking on one of the numerous rocks was obvious. In tearing away the masts, five of the seamen fell overboard and were drowned. About breakfast-time order began to be restored on the ship, and she managed to get into the wind's course, where she remained for a couple of hours, giving the terrified people courage to hope for the best, especially as they learned that the water in the hold was decreasing. The ship was, however, rapidly losing all power to withstand the elements, and it was settled to sail back to Portsmouth.
The gale increased on Thursday night, and with more serious effect. Notwithstanding the combined endeavours of the men, the ship still rode for the shore, when, discovering their dangerous proximity to St. Alban's Head, they dropped the anchor, and it became necessary to let fall another to hold the ship. Again she drove, when Captain Pierce, and Mr. Meriton, the chief officer, decided that all hope of saving her must be abandoned, and the best means were considered for preserving the lives of the passengers. The captain, consumed with anguish as he thought of his own two daughters, begged Mr. Meriton to contrive some way of escape. The chief officer, having no particular interest to disengage him from the contemplation of what was his duty, replied that nothing could be done, until the emergency became inevitable and present. The captain, glancing up to heaven, avowed his readiness to follow the chief officer's advice, hoping that daylight might discover a more favourable state of affairs.
St. Alban's Head is so dangerous a reef that no vessel meeting it in collision could stand the shock. Immediately after the hurried conference before mentioned, the "Halsewell" ran violently up against the rock. The passengers, who had been waiting together for death for some time, became excessively agitated, and many a shriek rose over the disturbed waters. Every soul rushed on deck, almost unable to distinguish the face of a friend in the dark gloom of that fearful morning. The sides of the vessel were being completely stove in as she was repeatedly beaten upon the rocks. The chief officer retained his presence of mind to the end; he proposed that all should keep to the side that presented itself to the shore, so that at any possible moment they might leap over in an endeavour to gain it. The ladies were discovered in the round-house, and the officers, exhibiting true manliness of character, strove to alleviate their sufferings, ignoring their own danger. The steep snowy cliffs that sparkle in the clear rays of the sun like crystal, and the bold promontories that inspire one with awe and delight, viewed from a safe point, were looked upon with dismay and terror by the occupants of the doomed ship. The light of another day broke, when the vessel was seen to be blocking up the entrance to a large cave scooped out by the continued force of the waves. With that gregarious feeling always experienced in times of danger, the people gathered silently and sadly together in the roundhouse, now and then disturbed by a piercing wail from one of three negresses who had sought refuge there. Various articles of furniture and other effects were strewed about in all directions. Such a picture greeted Mr. Meriton on leaving the deck. He at once struck a light, and sat down in their midst, until the issues of the morning should decide him on a course of action. Never oblivious of the comfort of others, while forgetful of his own, he managed to procure a few oranges to refresh the ladies.
Above deck many were leaving the ship, and trusting to the waves casting them on the contiguous shore. A sudden lurch, accompanied by a breaking up of the deck, and ominous creaking of adjacent timbers, confirmed the distressing conviction that all would soon be over. Looking up, Mr. Meriton perceived that the vessel had literally snapped asunder. Whatever might be accomplished, now was the time to attempt it. Seeing a plank, reaching, as he supposed, to the shore, he ventured upon it, only to find out that he had laboured under a mistake. He was immediately projected into the sea, and carried with the tide into the cavern; but succeeding in clasping a jagged spar of elevated rock, he gained by its aid a place of temporary safety. It is impossible to tell how many were killed by being thrown against these rocks by the relentless waves, but that numbers were, is certain.
In the blackness of night, the last despairing cry of many expiring souls filled the ears of the survivors, acute with terror, until they, in turn, becoming exhausted, would unresistingly glide into the seething foam, to be swallowed up by the remorseless ocean.
Yearning for the dawn, these wretched people hailed its early glimmer, only to sink into a lower state of despair, as its light plainly showed them to be even in a worse situation than they had imagined. They were completely shut in one great overhanging enclosure of rocks, entirely hidden from the land, and from which escape seemed to be impossible. In such a condition one would suppose that any ray of hope which might previously have existed would have died out, yet, with the persistent courage and sanguine temperament of the sailors, they dared to believe in the possibility of escape; and with this forlorn hope, attempted to gain the summit of the cliffs, which a few effected in a very wonderful manner. The quarter-master and cook, succeeding first, gave the alarm, when a number of quarrymen, together with a Mr. Garland, hastened down to the beach to render assistance.
The chief officer, never losing spirit for one instant, although considerably wounded by contact with the rocks, managed to grasp with his hands a shelving piece of rock, which had afforded foothold to a solitary soldier, who, nevertheless, was trembling in the expectation of it giving way at any moment. Mr. Meriton, who was looking for the same mishap, observed with joy the end of a rope coming towards them. This the soldier eagerly embraced, and was drawn up in safety. At the same time, the narrow ledge that was supporting Mr. Meriton gave way, but providentially another end of rope was in view, and this, with a dexterous spring, he managed to obtain.
Meanwhile, Captain Pierce and the young ladies still remained in the round-house, remarking, sorrowfully, the absence of the chief officer. Mr. Rogers, who was third mate, replied that he had gone aloft to see how matters stood with them. The captain, sorely distressed on account of his daughters, took a calm and lengthy survey, to see if any chance might present itself to him for their safety; but all he could discover before him was an extensive front of perpendicular rock, so he and the third officer returned, to prepare the ladies for the worst. The captain, drawing his daughters to him, held them firmly in each arm, and thus together they went down, and so death found them! The third officer, a midshipman, and one of the passengers, determined, at any risk, to leave the ship, as they were well aware that to remain in her was inevitably to perish. Accordingly they hastened on to the poop. A moment later, and they must have been swept away by a gigantic wave, that reared itself over the vessel, and which half-drowned, in the noise of its descent, the screams that rose from the cabin below. A hencoop, which had been grasped by a couple of passengers, landed them in an exhausted condition upon a rock. Mr. Schutz and the midshipman had both disappeared. Twenty-seven men gained access to a rock, but seeing that, as the tide flowed, they would stand in danger of being swept off, they strove to make for the cavern, but all, except eight, were drowned in the attempt. Messrs. Rogers and Brimer, who were among the number, succeeded in approaching the cavern, and ensconced themselves on shelving ledges worn by the action of the sea; and this fearful situation they were compelled to retain, witnessing the fruitless and violent efforts of their expiring companions, while their ears were filled with their stifled cries. Mr. Rogers saw Mr. Meriton on the rock, a few feet from himself, and they congratulated one another upon their escape, and together watched the final plump of the "Halsewell" into the depths of the ocean. A distressing fact was, that some of the men, even at the moment when succour was near, unable to hold out any longer, were precipitated into the sea. Owing to the brave and humane conduct of the quarrymen, those who had survived were placed in comfortable quarters before night; but these were a small minority of those who started gaily out in that ill-fated ship.
On the 26th February, 1852, the "Birkenhead" went down off the Cape of Good Hope, carrying with her four hundred and thirty-eight souls. The noble example of our British heroes, who found a watery grave by the sinking of the above-named vessel, will never be forgotten. It is unsurpassed in all the annals of our country's history. The ship was sent out at the time of the Caffre war. It was a fine evening, and there was land ahead, toward which the "Birkenhead" was steering at ordinary speed. She was splendidly built, and had conveyed a large band of soldiers and their families from Cork—had left a few troops at Cape Town, and was now proceeding to Algoa Bay with a few detachments of the 12th, 74th, and 91st regiments, and from thence to Buffalo River with others. The total number of troops amounted to something over five hundred; and in addition to these, were the wives and children of some of the men, and one hundred and thirty-two of the ship's crew. Nearly all of these were asleep in their cabins. Captain Wright, of the 91st, was on deck, with an officer of the watch, and they held a short argument concerning a light which was visible on the port side. They could not agree as to which beacon it was, but they were convinced it was to mark a point of danger.
About two o'clock A.M., on the 26th, they unconsciously ran the vessel on a bed of rock, which was covered by the sea to a sufficient depth to hide it from sight. The shock was followed by such a tide flowing in at the opening thus effected, that many of the slumberers must have passed from one sleep into another with scarcely any knowledge of the passage. The awakened troops, with their officers, immediately rushed on deck—the captain, Mr. Salmond, being among the first to arrive there. The steam was turned off, the small anchor cast, and boats lowered, in case there should be any necessity for using them. Colonel Seton gathered the officers together, and begged them to see that order and silence were maintained in their respective regiments. Captain Wright was asked to work with the commander. Without the slightest apparent emotion, the men went about their work as calmly as they would have executed an ordinary practiced manoeuvre. No signs of fear were evident, but discipline was strictly regarded. Sixty men, in successive lots of twenty, worked at the chain pumps, and another sixty looked after the boat tackles; while all who were not needed in the management of the vessel stood in marching order on the poop for ballast. The horses were all pitched out, and some of them turned their heads for the land, which could be plainly distinguished in a starry night, about sixteen furlongs off. A boat was prepared for the women and children, who awaited it in breathless silence, and all were carefully disposed of in its capacious sides. They had but just moored off when the vessel struck again, making another breach for a swifter flood, both shocks coming within fifteen minutes of each other. The bow snapped from the foremast, the bowsprit flew through the air up to the foretopmast, and the funnel, toppling overboard, dragged in its rear the starboard paddle-box and boat. The second boat had reached the waves bottom upmost, and notwithstanding there was another in the middle of the ship, she could not be reached. The water speedily put out the fires, compelling the engine-drivers to leave their station and ascend to the upper deck. It was known to be a certainty that the vessel must sink, and that very shortly, nevertheless there was no setting aside the tasks they had received orders to perform, although they were well aware that everything they did was useless, so far as the righting of the ship was concerned. Still every man kept to his post, even though he were overtaken by the waters and overwhelmed by them. Many, indeed, must have perished at the pumps, while others, keeping by the tackle, were struck down by falling timbers.
When the funnel was lost, every man was on the poop; three boats were afloat, containing all the women and children. The decisive moment having arrived, when all must be committed to the waves, the commander advised all who could to swim to the boats; but as in all probability this would lead to their being sunk, on account of the vast numbers requiring accommodation, several officers, in the face of this order, implored the men to stay in their present position, rather than sacrifice the women and children in attempting to save themselves. One or two had already started at the captain's bidding; but the majority waited behind, with the officers standing firmly and in orderly rank, in calm expectation of a speedy dissolution, uttering no repining, no words of mourning for their fate, or expressions of fear, but each man, in his loyalty to duty, quietly and inwardly prepared to meet his death! It is a touching and inspiring picture, that may well emulate every bosom to deeds of heroism. The stern of the vessel, which had reared as the bow descended, gave a sudden plunge and went under also, and those who had swarmed its deck felt the force of the waters uplifting them as their footing sank beneath them, and they were left to struggle as they might with the briny element.
The last sentence the captain spoke was to give the order for a boat to take up Mr. Brodie, whom he saw fighting with the waves. When the vessel was gone from under him, he was seen making his way to a block of woodwork, which was floating near; but a clumsy log bearing heavily towards him stunned him, and he at once disappeared. Colonel Seton also made his grave with the brave troops he had commanded. Captain Wright and a few others managed to keep their heads above water by clinging to a drifting spar, and about two hundred men for a time held on to pieces of the wreck, part of the mainmast supporting a great number. The principal portion of the deck being undestroyed, it served as a raft for those who could reach it, but the numbers were thinning rapidly, as one after another became exhausted and sank; and three boats were carried away, bottom uppermost.
Cornet Bond, having with him a life-preserver, succeeded in filling it with air, and by its aid reached the land in safety. Drowning men were struggling in all directions, and their groans and cries were fearfully appalling. Two men, who were cleaving the water finely, not far distant from him, Mr. Bond perceived to go under all in a moment shrieking, being seized by the voracious sharks which abound on that coast. The cornet had two miles to swim, which he accomplished with difficulty. As he neared the shore, he found himself caught in a forest of tangled sea-weed, from which he at last extricated himself after severe exertion. Having achieved his own preservation he looked round for some trace of life, and was surprised to find his own horse as the first object he should meet with in his strange and perilous situation.
As soon as morning dawned, Mr. Bond sought the place where he had effected his landing to help nine of his companions, who were nearing the shore on the raft. He climbed over the crags in search of a favourable place to approach, where he assisted them in gaining a footing. They were almost in a state of nudity, having been compelled to rush from their berths without waiting to attire themselves. They observed three others in a like condition, floating in by the aid of a spar, and sent up to heaven an earnest petition that they might have the power to rescue them, and eagerly waited their chance. The three men had no control whatever over the spar; it was as much as they could do to preserve their hold. Washed about backwards and forwards, their peril seemed imminent; but at last a fortuitous wave carried them on to the rocks amid the rejoicings of their compatriots. Captain Wright and five others drifted towards Point Danger, where they encountered serious obstacles to their landing in the immense growths of seaweed, and the wall of surf that spanned the beach. In order to lighten the weight depending on the fragment of wreck that had sustained them until now, Wright separated from it, trusting to his own prowess to reach the shore. Several others followed his example, and all were successful in their endeavours; and after walking a little way up the country, they fell in with Captain Wright and his company. During the day they lighted on a fisherman's hut, but nothing was available there, so Mr. Wright trudged off to a farm-house, about a couple of leagues distant, where he procured and forwarded articles of food to those he had left half-famished in the hut. The following day, waifs from the wreck being continually helped ashore by those already landed, the number amounted to sixty-eight men, including eighteen sailors, and these all found temporary refuge at Captain Small's farm.
But coming back to the scene of the disaster, it will be remembered that the women and children were packed carefully in the cutter, under the superintendence of Mr. Richards, and ordered to keep within a restricted limit of the wreck. As it disappeared, the boat was rowed up to take in as many as possible, but then numbers more were left straining with wistful eyes after the heavily-freighted craft, as she slowly receded. It was with bitter pangs that Mr. Richards was obliged to refuse the help he could not give to the poor drowning wretches, for the boat was near swamping with the burden she already bore. Here, again, the breakers threatened to prevent a landing. Vast flakes of foam were hurled over the boat, as she fought her way against the tide. Seeing, therefore, that the waves formed an invincible barrier at the point they were striving to reach, Mr. Richards drew back into the open, and signalling to the other boats to keep clear also, he rowed for several miles along the coast in hopes of finding a smoother sea, but to no purpose.
Break of day showed them, in easy distance, a schooner, which was followed by the indefatigable commander; but as they could not succeed in making themselves observed, and a favourable wind springing up, the schooner soon shot further ahead, and was lost to sight. Again, however, it appeared, and another effort was made to attract attention by elevating a shawl, which happily served to arrest its progress. The helpless company were received on board the "Lioness" of Cape Town, having suffered terribly during the twelve hours they had been tossing in their little open bark on the sea. They had neither eaten nor drunk of anything since their departure from the ship, and their depression of spirits had been considerably increased by the uncertain fate of their friends. Thirty-six men had already been taken up and provided for by Captain Ramsden and his wife, whose ready sympathy and care were warmly appreciated by the suffering men.
Mr. Richards and Mr. Renwick, being assured by the captain that he would await their return, started out again in the cutter to the scene of the wreck, hoping to find that some of the passengers and crew had managed to survive, but no human form was to be seen in any direction, and they reluctantly retraced their journey. The number of souls saved by the schooner amounted in all to one hundred and sixteen. Many who had held on to floating timbers, lost their hold, as strength ebbed away. Others, who perseveringly clung till morning, seeing no prospect of help, struck out for land, which the greater part were enabled to reach, while the remainder either became powerless by long exposure and over-exertion, or were seized and devoured by the ravenous sharks. The purser of the "Birkenhead," with several companions, were drifting on one piece of wreck, when they observed a portion of a boat that was floating towards them, just under the surface of the water. They became filled with eager anticipations. But release was not to come just yet, for the boat slowly passed them, never coming within reach, and they were forced again to wait in hope of another opportunity. Happily, this erelong presented itself, in the identical schooner which had preserved the lives of so many of their comrades.
Captain Small having promised to do his best for the comfort of the men who had thus unexpectedly invaded his farm, Captain Wright set out again for the shore, wandering along, for several days, in order that he might rescue any poor fellow that had perchance reached the land, in all probability to perish there without assistance. Here he was aided by the crew of a whale-boat, who coasted along with him inside the line of the sea-weed barrier. They came upon two men clinging to pieces of wood amongst the slippery weeds, just in time to save them from the jaws of death; and two others were discovered by Captain Wright, lying in holes of the rock, where they had crawled, too faint to move any farther. These four, owing to the kindness and attention of the captain, were shortly and fully restored.
Again, one or two officers returned to renew the quest, but their efforts were fruitless. Corpses they found washed ashore for burial, but no more living men were seen. As soon as intelligence of the catastrophe was received at Cape Town, a steamer, "Rhadamanthus," was dispatched to take a survey of the spot. Captain Small was relieved by this vessel of the unfortunate men who had been thus necessarily quartered upon him; and they were conveyed to Simon's Bay, touching there on Monday, March 1st. The "Rhadamanthus" having thoroughly explored the coast where the wreck had occurred, was able to state with certainty that not one person living had been left behind of those who had formed the passengers and crew of the "Birkenhead."
Captain Wright, an officer of capacity and experience, accustomed to the strictest forms of martial order and law, felt bound to say that the power of discipline in the troops, and their quick obedience to command, was greater than he had deemed possible, and excited the more astonishment as the men were principally new to the service. Each one acted promptly on the judgment, and at the order of his superior officer, and not a sound of murmuring escaped a man until the waters engulphed him. "All officers received their orders, and had them carried out, as if the men were embarking instead of going to the bottom; there was only this difference, that I never saw any embarkation conducted with so little noise and confusion."
The "Birkenhead" started for Algoa Bay, bearing a freight of six hundred and thirty persons, out of which number, one hundred and ninety-two alone reached their destination. A court-martial was held for inquiry, when it was admitted that the vessel should have been kept farther out at sea, so as not to have incurred the dangers of that rocky coast; but appended to the verdict was the following remark—"If such be the case, the court still are not precluded from speaking with praise of the departed, for the coolness which they displayed in the moment of extreme peril, and for the laudable anxiety shown for the safety of the women and children, to the exclusion of all selfish considerations."
On the 26th October, 1859, was lost the "Royal Charter," in which four hundred and fifty-nine persons perished. This vessel was on a return voyage from Melbourne, Australia, and was conveying men and women, who had once been emigrants, back to their native land. Steering carefully round Cape Horn, the captain skilfully avoided those huge blocks of ice which carry destruction to the unwary sailor. Nearing the south, they encountered a violent storm, which the vessel outrode, receiving little or no damage. As the gale subsided, the spirits of the company rose, and all became intent upon getting as much enjoyment as possible out of a smooth passage. Looking forward to a speedy disembarkation, valuable presents were given to Captain Taylor for his capable management of the vessel, and assiduity in securing the comfort of the passengers, and to the Rev. Mr. Hodge, who had performed the service of chaplain at their request. Several passengers landed at Queenstown. The owners of the vessel having received news of its arrival, publicity was made to the announcement, so that many who were expecting long absent friends hastened to Liverpool for an early greeting.
The "Great Eastern" being at anchor in the waters off Holyhead, the passengers of the "Royal Charter" pressed Captain Taylor to steer as closely as possible to the coast, in order to afford them a glimpse of its bulky dimensions. This he readily complied with, and they were soon skirting the rock-bound shores of Cardigan Bay.
As the day proceeded the wind increased; gathering such force, as darkness settled, that the passengers became filled with nervous apprehensions. The ship's speed decreased suddenly. Almost touching the Isle of Anglesea, the captain endeavoured to procure assistance by the firing of rockets; but no one appears to have observed them. Anchors were cast two hours before midnight, and the passengers grew still more alarmed. A few hours more, and this magnificent vessel, the "Royal Charter," was a complete wreck.
Many of the passengers had not attempted to take their usual repose. The vessel dashing on to a rock brought every man on deck in an instant. Captain Withers was heard to exclaim, "Come, directly; we are all lost! I will take your child; come along." A heart-rending scene followed, last embraces were fervently given and returned, and dismal shrieks penetrated the atmosphere. The Rev. Mr. Hodge, calm in the "full assurance of faith," lifted up an earnest petition to Him who is mighty to save. Soon the noise of the water pouring on deck became audible to those below. Several of the officers endeavoured to inspire the women with courage and hope, saying that the vessel was only beaching herself on a sandy bed, but a few yards distant from the land. Morning, however, failed to verify this statement: they were decidedly too far away from the shore to reach it without aid. A Welshman, looking seaward at early dawn, discovered the sad plight of the sinking ship, and hastily ran for help. During his absence the ship again collided, with greater force.
Eventually, an immense wave, breaking on deck, snapped the iron-work and timbers asunder, as though they had been brittle as glass. Many people, gathered in the centre of the vessel, were literally smashed. The greater part escaped the agonies of a protracted struggle, owing to the floating timbers and numerous crags that abounded; many received from one or the other a fatal blow.
The men of the Welsh coast waded in as far as they dared, to help all who were thrown within their reach, and not a few were saved in this way. The bodies of those who had perished, being washed ashore, were shrouded, and laid in rows in a neighbouring churchyard, awaiting recognition. Many harrowing tales are told of scenes witnessed there, as the anxious searchers discovered, in some mutilated remains, traces of a well-loved friend.
The "Royal Charter" was laden with gold to the amount of 70,000 pounds, the principal part of which was brought up by divers.
On the 11th January, 1866, the "London" foundered and sank, in the Bay of Biscay, carrying down with her two hundred and thirty-six people. Sailing from Gravesend, she was making her way to Australia. At starting, many indications were noted of foul weather ahead. The sea became so rough that, on approaching the Nore, anchors were cast; but the weather clearing, and prospects generally brightening, an early opportunity was taken for clearing the Channel. The Bay of Biscay was reached on Monday, where the vessel, being badly constructed, exhibited many extraordinary freaks, and shipped a vast quantity of water. One of the mariners observed, "She frightens me; I do not know what to make of her."
Serious damage being done by the heavy seas that continually washed over the vessel, it was thought wise to return. The force of the winds increasing caused the vessel to rear over, first on one side, and then on the other, sucking up a vast quantity of water each time. Bedding, wearing apparel, food, and fruit, were floating together in strange confusion. All the men were told to cluster on the poop, to ease the ship, the tumultuously-upheaving waves threatening instant submersion. Many people congregated in the cuddy, listening to the fervent exhortations of the Rev. Mr. Draper. Devout and earnest prayers were offered by this good man, which never failed to soothe and strengthen the most timid and distressed. The ladies seconded the men in all their efforts to keep the vessel under control. When it became evident that nothing could save her, the captain's announcement of the fact was received with calmness and resignation. Beyond a smothered sob, or a heart-broken—"Oh, pray with me, Mr. Draper!" no audible sound rose above the noise of the storm. Families grouped themselves together, enfolding each other in a last loving embrace. Men were discovered, in various parts of the ship, with their Bibles open.
Some of the crew were observed tapping casks of grog, several being intoxicated. The captain instantly came to them, and implored them to prepare for death in a better way than that.
At two o'clock P.M., on the 11th January, several of the sailors resolved upon attempting to launch a small boat, in which to make their escape from the vessel. The endeavour was attended with considerable danger, and the men knew it. Compasses, oars, and other useful articles, were lowered with the boat, and many of the passengers eagerly sought this one remaining chance. A young lady of remarkable beauty promised to give 500 pounds to whoever would save her. Another, leaning over the vessel, beseechingly urged a young man to rescue her. This he promised to do if she would leap into the boat; but fear restrained her, and she was unwillingly left behind.
A description of the sinking of the vessel, given by an eye-witness, is as follows:—"The sun just shone out at that time, which made the scene appear worse to me. I thought dark and gloom more suitable for such a sad moment, and most in keeping with the feelings of those on board. The foresail was still standing, also half of the maintopsail. The mizen yards were swinging about, not braced; the wreck of the foretopmast still hanging and swinging to and fro; the gangways knocked out; the bulwarks all standing as good as when she left the docks. The stern very low in the water, the bows pretty well out of it, so that we could see the red-painted bottom, or coloured iron by rust; the jibboom gone. Soon we ran down in the trough of a large sea, and were hid from sight of her. When we came up, we could see she had changed her position very much; we could not see the after-part of the vessel—whether under water, or hid by a sea, I cannot tell; her bows were high out of the water; and by the pitch or rake of the mast, we could see that she was at an angle of about forty-five degrees. Soon another wave came, and we ran down in the trough of another sea; when we came up, there was nothing to be seen of the 'London.'"
On the 7th September, 1870, foundered the "Captain" off Cape Finisterre, in which five hundred lives were sacrificed.
The "Captain" was built for the purpose of illustrating a new principle, that of the modern turret, and said to surpass the "Monarch," as yet considered the nearest approach to perfection in shipbuilding.
On the 6th of September, 1870, several vessels of the British fleet were cruising together off the coast of Spain, the "Captain" being amongst the number. Although the clouds to the west looked sombre and heavy, there was no apparent signs of a storm; but during the night the barometer fell and the winds arose. The "Captain" was observed by the crew of the "Lord Warden," following a north-west passage. A white squall battled for a couple of hours with the vessels, damaging each to a considerable extent. When morning dawned, the "Captain" was missed. It was supposed, however, that she had merely sailed out of sight, but daylight showed the awful fact that the ship had gone down. Portions of wreck were seen floating on the tide, and recognised as having belonged to the "Captain."
The details of the sad event became known when the few survivors reached England. Captain Burgoyne was on deck when the catastrophe happened, remaining there as the night grew stormy. The middle watch was mustered duly at midnight, and the former one retired. Immediately after a wave, curling over the vessel, flooded her decks and turned her completely on her side. The next instant, and the sails went under, nothing but the ship's keel being visible. The men of the watch, after recovering the shock of the sudden immersion, perceiving a life-boat drifting keel upward, instantly made for her. By means of this, many were enabled to support themselves for a considerable time. After floating a while in this way, a boat was observed coming towards them, in which were seated a couple of men. As soon as it was within reach most of the men sprang gratefully in; but before Captain Burgoyne and a seaman, named Heard, had time to leap, their chance was gone—a huge wave washing the boat apart.
One amongst the number of the saved said that the men were literally carried wholesale from the decks by the huge seas that swept over them. A man, named Hirst, after being carried down with the vessel, rose and succeeded in grasping a piece of the wreck, to which he lashed himself with a handkerchief. Drifting along in this manner he came across the boat and its unfortunate occupants, who speedily hauled him in.
A memorial window may now be seen in Westminster Abbey, to the five hundred men who perished thus in their country's service.
More recently still was the wreck of the "Northfleet," off Dungeness, on the 22nd of January, 1873, run down, while lying at anchor, by the carelessness of a foreign sea captain. Many accounts of the sad event, elicited from the survivors, were given in the journals of that date. An abridged copy of one is as follows:—
"The pilot passed the word to drop anchor off Dungeness. Here we lay snug enough, and at eight o'clock the watch was set, Frank Sealove and John Gunstaveson being on deck, and on the watch. They died doing their duty. I went down to my berth, and was soon fast asleep. I don't know how long I had slept, when I was nearly shaken out of my hammock by a fearful crashing or a staggering over the ship. Before I knew where I was—being awoke so suddenly—I heard the boatswain sing out, 'All hands on deck to the pumps.' I was not long in jumping into my boots I can tell yon, and all in the forecastle ran upstairs pell-mell. When we got there, we could not see much, for the night was dark, but there was light enough to see a half-dressed crowd come rushing madly up from the steerage passenger berths, and you didn't want any light to hear the shrieks of the women and the crying of the children.
"There was a terrible panic I can tell you, amongst the strong, rough men, when it became apparent that the vessel was sinking. To tell the truth, there was that much confusion on board that I really did not know what was going to be done. By this time about a dozen women had got on to the deck. I could hear the captain's voice, now and then, above the praying and crying, but I don't know that any one was paying any attention to him. In the midst of the din and confusion the captain's wife was being lowered into the boat on the starboard side. She had been aroused by her husband, who assisted her to dress, and as a precaution against sinking she put on a cork belt. As she was descending, the Captain waved his hands, and said, 'Good-bye, my dear, good-bye;' and his wife replied, 'Good-bye, my love; I don't expect to see you any more.' One poor fellow who jumped with me on to the tops of the pile of boats, said, 'My last minute's come; if you should live to get ashore tell mother I was thinking of her when I went down.' 'All right, old chap,' I said, 'I will; it I should go and you should get ashore, tell my mother likewise that my last thought was of her.'
"In another minute I saw the sea come up to the level of the poop, and the crowd, which stood shrieking there, seemed to mingle with it, and all go away into white foam. Then I myself was struggling in the water, and was just thinking to myself what a long time I was being drowned, when I came up, and feeling out with my hands, got hold of some rigging. I stuck to it; to my surprise I found it did not sink; and presently others came and got hold of it. Eventually a pilot boat came alongside and took us all off."
The "Murillo," a Spanish screw steamer, was adjudged to have been the offender in the case; but, as it could not be legally proved, the captain escaped punishment.
Very shortly after the sinking of the "Northfleet," news came of another calamity, which stirred the heart of the country with pity. On the 1st of April, 1873, the "Atlantic" foundered off the coast of Nova Scotia, burying with her under the waves four hundred and eighty-one people.
Sailing from Liverpool on the 20th of March, she was bound for America with a burden of nine hundred and thirty-one souls, principally emigrants. The equinoctial gales were blowing, and Captain Williams thought it wise to make for the Harbour of Halifax, Nova Scotia. Arrived off Lake Prospect on the 31st, the vessel was expected, very shortly, to be safe in port; but drifting somewhat out of her proper direction she ran on to a submerged reef. All hands were immediately on deck, and every endeavour was made to launch the boats, but they were prevented by the sudden turning over of the vessel. Many of the passengers clung to the rigging, believing that to be their best chance of escape. Five lines were attached, by the crew, to a rock lying some distance from the vessel, and another line was carried from the rock to the shore. Many of the passengers, who had the courage to pass over the comparatively slender rope spanning the watery abyss, were saved. By reason of the extreme cold several lost their hold on the ropes and fell into the sea. The captain was indefatigable in his efforts to preserve life. A vast number of passengers died in their berths; many who had managed to reach the deck were swept away by the immense waves that flooded it. One sharp cry was wafted on the chill night air, and a deadly silence prevailed, except for the fitful roaring of the sea.
Early in the morning, many who had spent the hours of darkness on the rock, were rescued by a boat sent from Meagher's Island. Captain Williams maintained his position on the wreck until the effect of the cold on him had made his presence useless, when he was carried off in one of the boats. Mr. Firth, after being many hours in the rigging was assisted from his precarious situation by the Rev. Mr. Ancient, a clergyman. A Spaniard remarked that the scene on board the sinking ship was one of awful confusion. A crowd of terror-stricken human beings were swaying hither and thither, in vain hopes of meeting with some way of escape, shrieking and begging for aid; a moment after, when he looked from his perch in the rigging, not a soul of them was to be seen.
Emulated by the courageous example of the Rev. Mr. Ancient, the fishermen of Meagher's Island did all in their power for the shipwrecked people. One boy, whose friends had perished, was saved by trying to creep through a porthole, but not having sufficient strength, a boatman seized him by the hair and drew him out, depositing him in the boat.
The vessel soon snapped asunder, and many of her stores were recovered by the divers. Corpses were every now and then thrown up in vast numbers by the raging sea, to be reverently laid with their kindred dust, in the churchyard mould.
Many other stories might be told, as they have been most graphically, in "Notable Shipwrecks," lately published by Cassell, Petter, & Galpin, to which the writer is indebted for much information, but these will be sufficient to remind the reader of the perils of the sea. Scope, indeed, for the exercise of the truest heroism is given in such disasters; but one cannot read of the sacrifice of brave lives without a shudder. And yet, why should it be so?
"To every man upon the earth,Death cometh soon or late;"
and to go down into the waves, with the consciousness of rising to immortal life directly, cannot be very sad after all. If only the soul be prepared for the change, nothing else signifies much. It does not matter whether the body rests beneath the flowers in the cemetery, or in the ocean-beds. The repose will be as tranquil either way. "Them that sleep in Jesus will God bring with Him."
"Give back the lost and lovely! Those for whomThe place was kept at board and hearth so long,The prayer went up through midnight's breathless gloom,And the vain yearning woke 'midst festal song!Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o'erthrown—But all is not thine own!
"To thee the love of woman hath gone down.Dark flow thy tides o'er manhood's noble head,O'er youth's bright locks, and beauty's flowery crown.Yet must thou hear a voice—Restore the dead!Earth shall reclaim her precious things from thee:Restore the dead, thou sea!"—Mrs. Hemans.