The Sea: Its Stirring Story of Adventure, Peril, & Heroism Volume II Part 22

"Will you be kind enough to insert this fact in your valuable journal, for, sad as the message is, he has many friends who will be glad once more to hear from him, even though his words have come from his very grave.

"With respect, &c., "AVONIA BROOKE."

"36, Albemarle Street, Piccadilly."

At 2 p.m. there could not be a doubt-the vessel was sinking rapidly. The captain then directed Greenhill that, as the port cutter was ready for lowering, he had some chance of saving himself, and that he had better get into her. The captain shook hands with him, and said, "There's not much chance for the boat; there's none for the ship. Your duty is done, mine is to remain here." The boat was lowered, and four men, followed by others of the crew, got into her. When asked to come into the boat, the captain answered in the true spirit of a sailor-hero, "No, I will go down with the pa.s.sengers, but I wish you G.o.d speed, and safe to land!" n.o.ble John Bohun Martin!(95) But not, thank G.o.d! the only one on record; he was but one of the n.o.ble army of sailor martyrs of whom Mrs. Hemans sung so touchingly:-

"Yet more! the billows and the depth have more!

High hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast!

They hear not now the booming waters roar; The battle thunders will not break their rest.

Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave!

Give back the true and brave!

"Give back the lost and lovely! those for whom The place was kept at board and hearth so long, The prayer went up through midnight's breathless gloom, And the vain yearning woke 'midst festive song!

Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers or throne- But all is not thine own.

"To thee the love of woman hath gone down; Dark flow the tides o'er manhood's n.o.ble head, Or 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!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: GETTING OUT THE "LONDON'S" BOATS.]

The boat, into which the captain had thrown a compa.s.s, and to the occupants of which he had shouted their course, "NNE. to Brest!" left the sinking _London_ none too soon. The number in the boat consisted of nineteen souls, all that were saved by any means, and comprised the first, second, and third engineers, one midshipman, twelve of the crew, and _three_ pa.s.sengers (all second cla.s.s; no first cla.s.s or steerage pa.s.sengers whatever were saved). Shortly afterwards those who went in the boat pushed off from the ship, seeing that she must immediately sink, and apprehending that the boat might be sucked in as she went down. They had hardly got eighty yards off, when the stern of the _London_ plunged beneath the waves, with crew and pa.s.sengers and all. Her bows stood upright for a moment or two preceding the fatal plunge, exposing the keel as far as the foremast. The wind was howling so fiercely that not a sound could be heard of the shrieks and groans of over two hundred persons who were going, in sight of the pitiful remnant in the boat, to their last doom. They saw a whole group of pa.s.sengers suddenly swept off the deck, and they saw that the remaining boat, full of people, was drawn down into the vortex made by the sinking ship. The third officer, Mr. Arthur Angel, aged 20, with n.o.ble devotion to his duty, was observed still at his post by the pumps as she went down. The next minute there was but a watery waste over the grave of that devoted band, so full of hope and life but a day before.

With but a few biscuits on board, and drenched to the skin by every wave, the nineteen survivors in their open boat drifted about for twenty hours.

They fancied that they saw a ship through the gloom, and raised their voices in one united shout. They were heard, and their hail returned; but they were not seen, and had no light to show. The ship tacked again and again in the hopes of finding them, and when their suspense was at its highest, sailed away, and they saw her dim form disappearing in the darkness. When day dawned another ship was sighted far in the distance. A shirt was hoisted for a signal, and the oars were zealously plied. After five hours they were rescued by this vessel, the Italian barque _Marianople_, on board which they received a hearty welcome from the captain and his men. They were eventually landed safely at Falmouth.

CHAPTER XXII.

EARLY STEAMSHIP WRECKS AND THEIR LESSONS.

The _Rothsay Castle_-An Old Vessel, unfit for Sea Service-A Gay Starting-Drifting to the Fatal Sands-The Steamer Strikes-A Scene of Panic-Lost Within easy reach of a.s.sistance-An Imprudent Pilot-Statements of Survivors-A Father and Son parted and re-united-Heartrending Episodes-The Other Side: Saved by an Umbrella-Loss of the _Killarney_-Severe Weather-The Engine-fires Swamped-At the Mercy of the Waves-On the Rocks-The Crisis-Half the Pa.s.sengers and Crew on an Isolated Rock-Spolasco and his Child-Holding on for Dear Life-Hundreds Ash.o.r.e "Wrecking"-No Attempts to Save the Survivors-Several Washed Off-Deaths from Exhaustion-"To the Rescue!"-n.o.ble Efforts-Failure of Several Plans-A Novel Expedient adopted-Its Perils-Another Dreary Night-Good Samaritans-A n.o.ble Lady-Saved at Last-The Inventor's Description of the Rope Bridge-The Wreck Register for One Year-Grand Work of the Lifeboat Inst.i.tution.

The _Rothsay Castle_ was a steamship built in 1812, and was little enough adapted for marine navigation. She was one of the first vessels of the kind on the Clyde, and was perhaps constructed for the ordinary wear and tear to which a river vessel is exposed, but certainly, at her age, should never have been allowed to leave Liverpool for Beaumaris in weather so bad that an American vessel which had been towed out that day had been compelled to return to port. She had been, it was said, at one time, condemned to be broken up, but other counsels had prevailed, and she had been patched up and repaired for continued service.

At ten o'clock on Wednesday morning, the 17th August, 1831, the vessel was appointed to sail from the usual place, George's Pier-head, Liverpool; but there was a casual delay at starting, and she did not leave till an hour later. She was freighted heavily, and it was computed that hardly less than 150 persons (if the children carried free were counted) were on board. A majority were holiday seekers; the vessel was tricked out with colours, and as the vessel left a band struck up its gayest music. Among the pleasure parties on board was one from Bury, in Lancashire, consisting of twenty-six persons. They set out in the morning, joyous with health and pleasant antic.i.p.ations, and before the next sun arose all of them, except two, had been swallowed up in the remorseless deep!(96)

The vessel proceeded very slowly on its course, making so little way that at three o'clock in the afternoon she had not reached a floating light stationed about fifteen miles from Liverpool. Arrived off the light, the sea was so rough that many of the pa.s.sengers were greatly alarmed, and one, who had his wife, five children, and servant on board, went down to the captain and begged him to put back. The captain answered, with an oath, that he thought there was "a deal of fear on board, and very little danger." The whole family was among the lost. The vessel drifted out of her course, and proceeded so slowly that the alarm on board became general.

[Ill.u.s.tration: WRECK OF THE "ROTHSAY CASTLE."]

One of the survivors stated that the leakage was so great that the fireman found it impossible to keep the fires up, two being actually extinguished, while the coals were so wet that it was with difficulty the others were kept in. Yet there were no attempts made to sound the well or ascertain what water was in the vessel. It was near twelve o'clock when they arrived at the mouth of the Menai Strait, about five miles from Beaumaris, and here her steam suddenly got so low that she drifted with the tide and wind towards the Dutchman's Bank, on the spit of which she struck. Now came a time of awe and consternation. The crowded boat rolled in a frightful manner, and the worst fears of the pa.s.sengers seemed to be on the point of realisation. The seas broke over her on either side. The engine had previously stopped for about ten minutes, the coals being covered in water, and the pumps were choked. On her striking, the captain said, "It is only sand, and she will soon float." Only sand! More vessels have been lost on sands than ever were on rocks. In the meantime he and some of the pa.s.sengers got the jib up. No doubt he did this intending to wear her round, and bring her head to the southward, but it did not, it proved, make the least difference which way her head was turned, as she was on a lee sh.o.r.e, and there was no steam to work her off. The captain also ordered the pa.s.sengers first to run aft, in the hope, by removing the pressure from the vessel's bow, to make her float.(97) This failing to produce the desired effect, he then ordered them to run forward. But all these exertions were unavailing; the ill-fated vessel stuck still faster in the sands, and all gave themselves up for lost. The terror of the pa.s.sengers became excessive. Several of them urged the captain to make some signal of distress, which he is said to have refused to do, telling the pa.s.sengers that there was no danger, and that the packet was afloat, and _on her way_, knowing well that she was irretrievably stuck in the treacherous sands, and that she was rapidly filling from her leaks. The unfortunate man was fully aware of the imminent danger they were in, and we may charitably suppose that he made such statements to prevent a panic.

The great bell was now rung, with so much violence that the tongue broke, and some of the pa.s.sengers continued to strike it for some time with a stone. The bell was heard at Beaumaris, for the night was clear, with strong wind; but it was not known from whence the sound came, and no trouble appears to have been taken. The tide began to set in with great strength, and a heavy sea beat over the bank on which the steam-packet was firmly and immovably fixed. It was the duty of the captain now to make every possible exertion, by signals, to procure a.s.sistance from sh.o.r.e. It is said that if a light had been shown on board the unlucky steamer, the boats from upwards of twenty vessels lying at Bangor would undoubtedly have saved the larger part of the unfortunate pa.s.sengers. The masts should have been cut away, not merely to ease the vessel, but to afford some chance to the poor people. At Penmaen Point an establishment of pilots had been fixed by Lord Bulkeley, for the express purpose of rendering a.s.sistance in such cases. "The world," says Lieut. Morrison, "will hardly credit the astonishing fact that their establishment is within little more than a mile and a half from the scene of wretchedness, and that, the wind being fair, the boats from thence could have reached the spot in about ten minutes. A single blue light burned, a single rocket fired, or even a solitary musket discharged, would have ensured this happy result." The evidence showed that there was nothing of the kind. Probably no sea-going steamer, carrying 150 pa.s.sengers, was ever left so utterly unprovided with proper appliances.

The scene that now presented itself baffles description. A horrible death seemed to be the doom of all on board, and the females in particular uttered the most piercing shrieks. Some locked themselves in each other's arms, while others, losing all self-command, tore off their bonnets, caps, and other portions of clothing, in wild despair. The women and children gathered in a knot together, and kept embracing each other, uttering all the while the most dismal lamentations. "When tired with crying," says Morrison, "they lay against each other, with their heads reclined, like inanimate bodies. It was a few minutes before that a Liverpool Branch pilot on board, William Jones, became aware in all its extent of their dreadful situation. He is reported to have exclaimed, 'We are all lost!'

which threw down whatever hopes any on board had till now entertained, and induced them to give themselves up to bitter despair. This was sadly imprudent, and little like the conduct I should have expected from such a man. He ought to have set an example of preparing something in the nature of a raft, to save what lives could be saved; and as he must have known that it was low water, and the whole of the Dutchman's Bank was dry within a few yards of them, and the tide just setting on to it, there can be no reason to doubt that he might have been by this means instrumental in saving many of the unhappy victims as well as himself."

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE MENAI STRAITS.]

One of the survivors stated that after the vessel had struck several times his wife and some friends came to him, and asked if he thought they must be lost. "I thought," said he, "we should, and they proposed going to prayer for the short time we had to live. We all went to prayer, myself and wife in particular, and when we got from our knees I saw four men getting upon the mast, and beginning to fasten themselves to it. I told my wife I would look out for a better situation for us. I took her towards the windla.s.s, and began to fasten a rope to the frame where the bell hung; and when I had got the rope made fast, and looked back for my wife, she had again joined our friends near to the place at which we kneeled down. A great wave almost took me overboard, but I held by the rope; then came a second and a third wave before I could see my wife again; and when I looked-they were all gone.(98)

"I then prepared to die myself in the place I was at, and remained in that situation till daylight, at which time about fifty people remained on board. As the waves came the people kept decreasing, until all were gone except myself. I remained on the wreck until I saw a boat coming, which took me on board, and also rescued those on the mast, and afterwards others. We were then taken to Beaumaris, and treated with the greatest hospitality and kindness."

Another survivor, after detailing the facts preliminary to the disaster, said: "The waves broke heavily on the vessel; the chimney became loose, and first reeled to leeward, then to windward, and tumbled over with a great crash. The mainmast then went overboard, and remained hanging to the vessel by the rigging. The captain still a.s.sured us we should be saved, and that a.s.sistance would shortly arrive. I requested him to fire a gun; he said he had none on board. A small bell was then rung, but its noise would probably be lost in the roar of the wind and waves. Some of the pa.s.sengers asked the captain to hoist a light; he said he had none; but we knew he had a lantern, for one of the crew took it round when he collected the checks, about half an hour before the vessel struck. The confusion occasioned by the falling of the chimney and the mast, together with the cries and shrieks of the women and children, defies description. Men were seen taking leave of their wives; wives were clinging to their husbands; and persons were running about in all directions, uttering the most piteous and heartrending cries. From the weight of the chimney, the vessel continued lying to windward, and very soon after the mast went the weather boards gave way; and as the waves then swept the deck the pa.s.sengers stationed themselves on those parts of the vessel which lay highest.

Several climbed up the mast which was left standing; others got on the p.o.o.p. The weather boards on the leeward side were then washed away, taking with them more than thirty people, who were clinging to them. The cries were now more dreadful than before, every succeeding wave sweeping numbers from the wreck. I took a situation beside one of the paddle-boxes, and whilst there a young man came to me with a large drum, and said it would save both of us, if I held on one side and he on the other. Some females came and clung round us, but the young man stuck to the drum, and told them to get hold of the first piece of timber they could.... Of what further happened I have but a confused recollection, and it appears to me like the traces of a horrible dream. It seemed as if I had been in the water many days, when I heard the welcome sound of a human voice shout 'Holloa!' to which I also shouted 'Holloa!' Soon after I was lifted out of the water, and placed in a boat belonging to R. Williamson, Esq., who, when he was informed of the calamity which had befallen us, manned two boats, and came out to pick up the sufferers. On being taken up I asked my deliverers when it would be daylight, and they told me it was broad day-it was about ten o'clock in the forenoon. I was stone blind. Mr. Williamson and the boat's crew were most kind to me. I was kept on board until I was sufficiently restored to meet my sister and the other survivors at Beaumaris. I cannot omit to express my most grateful thanks to my deliverers and benefactors. Their n.o.ble humanity has left an impression on my heart which will never be effaced but with my existence."

"Amidst these almost overwhelming distresses," says the Rev. Mr. Stewart, in one of his letters to a friend, "involving in one general calamity men, women, children, and even tender infants, it is a rest to the heart to turn for a moment to some special marks of divine mercy. I am sure, my very dear friend, the following incident, related to me by the father of the boy, will deeply affect you. He was near the helm with his child, grasping his hand, till the waves, rolling over the quarter-deck, and taking with them several persons who were standing near them, it was no longer safe to remain there. The father took his child in his hands and ran towards the shrouds, but the boy could not mount with him. He cried out, therefore, 'Father! father! do not leave me!' But finding that his son could not climb with him, and that his own life was in danger, he withdrew his hand. When the morning came, the father was conveyed on sh.o.r.e with some other pa.s.sengers who were preserved, and as he was landing he said within himself, 'How can I see my wife without having our boy with me?' When, however, the child's earthly parent let go his hand his Heavenly Father did not leave him. He was washed off the deck, but happily clung to a part of the wreck on which some others of the pa.s.sengers were floating. With them he was almost miraculously preserved. When he was landing, not knowing of his father's safety, he said, 'It is of no use to take me on sh.o.r.e now I have lost my father.' He was, however, carried, much exhausted, to the same house where his father had been sent, and actually placed in the same bed, unknown to either, till they were clasped in each other's arms."

Among the victims was that of a lady entirely _unknown_. The body of this poor creature had been picked up near Conway, and it was evident that she had been one of fortune's favourites, though destined to a death so cruel.

She was elegantly and fashionably attired, wearing rich earrings, gold chain and locket, three valuable rings in addition to her wedding-ring, and so forth. In a day or two she was buried in a common deal sh.e.l.l, and followed to a nameless grave by strangers.

It appears, by the pilot's statement, that early in the afternoon he had been invited by the steward to take some refreshment with him, and in the course of conversation a very strong opinion was given by the steward that Captain Atkinson never _intended_ to reach Beaumaris, and that the voyage he was now making would be his last. By the expression "intended" he explained was meant _expected_, and the result proved the opinion to be too fatally correct. Tired by what he had gone through before entering the packet, the pilot lay down in the forecastle to sleep. He was aroused by a sensation beyond all others most dreadful-he felt the vessel strike, and his experience told him all was over. Hastily rushing upon deck, his courage and coolness were for a moment quite overcome. "I saw," said he, "the quality huddled together in the waist of the vessel; and the praying and crying was the most dreadful sight to witness. The waves broke over on both sides, and took away numbers at once. They went like flights, sometimes many, sometimes few; at last the bulwark went, and none were left."

The vessel had scarcely struck when the two stays of the chimney broke.

These, after many ineffectual efforts, were again made fast; but they soon gave way a second time, and the chimney fell across the deck, bringing the mainmast with it. The mast, it is stated, fell aft along the lee or larboard side of the quarter deck, and struck overboard some of the unfortunate creatures who had there collected. The steward of the vessel and his wife lashed themselves to the mast, determined to spend their last moments in each other's arms. Several husbands and wives seem to have met their fate together, whilst parents clung to their little ones. Several mothers, it is said, perished with their little ones clasped in their arms. The carpenter and his wife were seen embracing each other and their child in the extreme of agony. The poor woman asked a young man, Henry Hammond, to pull her cloak over her shoulders, when a tremendous wave came and washed off, in a moment, twelve persons, and her among them.

Soon after the crash the captain's voice was heard for the last time. He and the mate appear to have been the very first that perished, and the conclusion is that they must have been dragged overboard by the wreck of the mainmast. It is true that an absurd report was spread in Beaumaris that both captain and mate reached land safely in the boat, part of which was found on sh.o.r.e early in the morning. This is unlikely; but it is quite possible many lives might have been saved in the boat, _if she had been provided with oars_. The absence of these, however, shows in a glaring manner the utter recklessness of human life which marked the whole affair.

It was stated by Mr. Henry Hammond, ship-carver, of Liverpool, one of the persons saved, that it was not true that a party of the pa.s.sengers got into the boat soon after the vessel struck, and were immediately swamped.

The statement he gave was that the boat was hanging by the davits over the stern, nearly filled with water in consequence of the spray; when the vessel struck, he and the wife and child of the carpenter got into the boat, but left it again, being ordered out by the mate, who told them it was of no use, as no boat could live in such a sea. The boat soon after broke adrift and was lost, but there was no person in her.

"For above a mile and a half to the spit-buoy in the Friar's Road," says Morrison, "the sand is dry at half ebb, and as the Dutchman's Bank is dry at low water, I have no hesitation in affirming that there was dry land within half a mile of the wreck when she struck; and that if they had _been informed_ of the fact, many of them on board might have swam or been drifted over the Swash, and within two hundred yards of the vessel would have found themselves in not more than three or four feet of water."

The Swash is very few feet wide, and was easily pa.s.sed by one individual, who, being a resident in Bangor, knew the locality, and escaped, according to Mr. Whittaker's narrative, who states as follows:-"At this time a gentleman from Bangor left the vessel, with a small barrel tied beneath his chin, and an umbrella in his hand, which he unfurled when he got into the water, in the hope of being drifted ash.o.r.e in time to send some aid to his fellow-sufferers." This was Mr. Jones of Bangor. Now, if Mr. Jones, the pilot, or the captain or mate, or any other person on board, who knew of the vicinity of the dry sand, on which people walk at low water, had explained to the persons who could swim the state of the case, many others might have been saved as well as Mr. Jones.

A Mr. Tarry, who was exceedingly apprehensive during the pa.s.sage, kept his wife and children in the cabin; on the vessel striking he made immediate inquiries respecting their probable fate; and Jones, the pilot, having indiscreetly said that there was no hope of safety, he became at once calm, and said in a tone of resignation, "I brought out my family, and to return without them would be worse than death; I'll, therefore, die with them." He then went down into the cabin and embraced his wife and children. It would appear that they afterwards, impelled by a sense of self-preservation, came on deck; one at least of his little girls was seen afterwards in a state of pitiable helplessness. Mr. Duckworth, of Bury, who survived the catastrophe, says that while sustaining his wife he saw her on the quarter-deck. She was about ten years old. Each wave that broke down on one side of the vessel hurled her along with impetuous force, and dashed her against the gunwale on the other side; and then it would recede, and draw her back again, a ready victim for another similar shock.

The poor innocent, bruised and half choked with the waves, sent forth the most piteous cries for her father and mother between each rush of the waters. Her shrieks were piercing beyond description, and she screamed "Oh! won't you come to me, father? Oh, mamma!" &c., till the narrator says his heart yearned to save her; and though he dared not quit his wife, he called to a fellow-pa.s.senger to make the effort; but he believes she was washed away soon afterwards.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SAVED AT LAST.]

"A schooner, belonging to a nephew of Alderman Wright, was lying off Beaumaris Green; the persons on board heard the bell ring in the _Rothsay Castle_, but in consequence of no light being displayed, which the captain refused to allow, they could not tell in what direction to go to render a.s.sistance. They eventually saved several persons who had been seven hours in the water. Such was the state of anxiety of the poor creatures, who had been so long hanging to the wreck, that they imagined, when taken up at seven o'clock in the morning, that it was noon."

[Ill.u.s.tration: BEAUMARIS.]

Lieutenant Morrison speaks highly of the humanity and honesty of the Welshmen of the coast on which the unfortunate vessel was wrecked, and contrasts their conduct with that of the people of certain other places.

He remembered, in the year 1816, witnessing the wreck of a vessel near Appledore, in the Bay of Barnstaple, when the country people came down in crowds to plunder the wreck, and they drove the poor seamen back into the surf when they attempted to rescue a part of their property. In the winter of 1827 he recalled the case of a crowd surrounding the mate of a Welsh sloop wrecked on the coast of Waterford, whom they knocked down and robbed of a small bundle of clothes, all that he had saved from the wreck.

The wreck about to be described occurred in January, 1838, and has been recorded in a graphic though somewhat verbose pamphlet,(99) which it is very unlikely has reached the eyes of many of our readers. It has often struck the writer that the most fascinating and interesting descriptions of wrecks have not been written by sailors, and there is a sufficient reason for this. Many of the episodes which strike a landsman forcibly, and add greatly to the picturesque _ensemble_ of his narration, are taken by the seaman as mere matters of course. Several of the more detailed and interesting narratives already given have been taken from accounts recorded by the members of other professions, clergymen and military men more particularly. The present account is compiled from the narrative furnished by a medical man.