After a prosperous voyage, the whole of the Hecla and Fury's crews, with but two exceptions, returned in safety to their native country, arriving at Sheerness on the 20th of October, in as good health as when they quitted England eighteen months before.
Lieutenant, now Captain Austin has, since these pages were written, been appointed to the command of an expedition in search of Sir John Franklin and his brave companions.
Captain Sir Edward Parry at present holds the appointment of Superintendent of the Royal Clarence Victualling Yard, and Haslar Hospital, Portsmouth.
FOOTNOTES:
[17] The loss of the Fury is taken from Sir Edward Parry's Voyage to the North Pole, published by Mr. Murray, who has kindly allowed it to be inserted in this work.
THE MAGPIE.
It is a common and no less apposite remark that truth is stranger than fiction, and the longer we live, the more are we convinced of the force of the above axiom.
The story which we are about to relate is one of the most remarkable incidents in a sailor's life, and, as a tale of horror, cannot be exceeded even in the pages of romance.
In the year 1826, the Magpie, a small schooner under the command of Lieutenant Edward Smith, had been despatched in search of a piratical vessel, which had committed serious depredations on the western shores of the Island of Cuba.
In the prosecution of this object, she was cruizing on the 27th of August, off the Colorados Roads, at the western extremity of the Island. The day had been extremely sultry, and towards the evening the schooner lay becalmed, awaiting the springing up of the land breeze, a blessing which only those can appreciate who have enjoyed its refreshing coolness after passing many hours beneath the burning rays of a tropical sun.
About eight o'clock a slight breeze sprung up from the westward, and the vessel was standing under reefed mainsail, whole foresail, and topsail, and jib. Towards nine, the wind shifted to the southward, and a small dark cloud was observed hovering over the land. This ominous appearance, as is well known, is often the precursor of a coming squall, and seems as if sent as a warning by Providence.
The lurid vapour did not escape the practised eye of the mate of the watch, who immediately reported the circumstance to Mr. Smith. All hands were turned up, and in a few minutes the schooner was placed in readiness to encounter the threatened danger.
In the meantime, the cloud had gradually increased in size and density. The slight breeze had died away, and a boding stillness reigned around. Suddenly a rushing, roaring sound was heard, the surface of the water, which a moment before was almost without a ripple, was now covered with one white sheet of foam, the schooner was taken aback; in vain her commander gave the order to cut away the masts—it was too late, and in less than three minutes from the first burst of the squall, the devoted vessel sunk to rise no more.
At this fearful juncture, a vivid flash of lightning darted from the heavens, displaying for a moment, the pale faces of the crew struggling in the water; the wind ceased as suddenly as it had begun, and the ocean, as if unconscious of the fearful tragedy that had so lately been enacted upon its surface, subsided into its former repose.
At the moment of the vessel going down, a gunner's mate, of the name of Meldrum, struck out and succeeded in reaching a pair of oars that were floating in the water,—to these he clung, and having divested himself of a part of his clothing, he awaited in dreadful anxiety the fate of his companions.
Not a sound met his ear, in vain his anxious gaze endeavoured to pierce the gloom, but the darkness was too intense. Minutes appeared like hours, and still the awful silence remained unbroken; he felt, and the thought was agony, that out of the twenty-four human beings who had so lately trod the deck of the schooner, he alone was left. This terrible suspense became almost beyond the power of endurance, and he already began to envy the fate of his companions, when he heard a voice at no great distance inquiring if there was any one near. He answered in the affirmative, and pushing out in the direction from whence the sound proceeded, he reached a boat, to which seven persons were clinging; amongst whom was Lieutenant Smith, the commander of the sloop.
So far this was a subject of congratulation; he was no longer alone; but yet the chances of his ultimate preservation were as distant as ever.
The boat, which had been placed on the booms of the schooner, had fortunately escaped clear of the sinking vessel, and if the men had waited patiently, was large enough to have saved them all; but the suddenness of the calamity had deprived them of both thought and prudence. Several men had attempted to climb in on one side,—the consequence was, the boat heeled over, became half filled with water, and then turned keel uppermost; and when Meldrum reached her, he found some stretched across the keel and others hanging on by the sides.
Matters could not last long in this way, and Mr. Smith, seeing the impossibility of any of the party being saved, if they continued in their present position, endeavoured to bring them to reason, by pointing out the absurdity of their conduct. To the honour of the men, they listened with the same respect to their commander, as if they had been on board the schooner; those on the keel immediately relinquished their hold, and succeeded, with the assistance of their comrades, in righting the boat. Two of their number got into her and commenced baling with their hats, whilst the others remained in the water, supporting themselves by the gunwales.
Order being restored, their spirits began to revive, and they entertained hopes of escaping from their present peril; but this was of short duration, and the sufferings which they had as yet endured, were nothing in comparison with what they had now to undergo.
The two men had scarcely commenced baling, when the cry was heard of—'A shark! a shark!' No words can describe the consternation which ensued: it is well known the horror sailors have of these voracious animals, who seem apprised by instinct when their prey is at hand. All order was at an end, the boat again capsized, and the men were left struggling in the waters. The general safety was neglected, and it was every man for himself; no sooner had one got hold of the boat, than he was pushed away by another, and in this fruitless contest more than one life was nearly sacrificed.
Even in this terrible hour, their commander remained cool and collected; his voice was still raised in words of encouragement, and as the dreaded enemy did not make its appearance, he again succeeded in persuading them to renew their efforts to clear the boat. The night had passed away—it was about ten o'clock on the morning of the 28th; the baling had progressed without interruption; a little more exertion, and the boat would have been cleared, when again was heard the cry of—'The sharks! the sharks!' But this was no false alarm; the boat a second time capsized, and the unhappy men were literally cast amongst a shoal of these terrible monsters.
The men, for a few minutes, remained uninjured, but not untouched; for the sharks actually rubbed against their victims, and, to use the exact words of one of the survivors, 'frequently passed over the boat and between us, whilst resting on the gunwale,' This, however, did not last long; a shriek soon told the fate of one of the men; a shark had seized him by the leg, dying the water with his blood; another shriek followed, and another man disappeared.
But these facts are almost too horrible to dwell upon; human nature revolts from so terrible a picture; we will therefore hurry over this part of our tale.
Smith had witnessed the sufferings of his followers with the deepest distress; and although aware that in all probability he must soon share the same fate, he never for a moment appeared to think of himself. There were but six men left, and these he endeavoured to sustain by his example, cheering them on to further exertions. They had once more recommenced their labours to clear out the boat, when one of his legs was seized by a shark. Even whilst suffering the most horrible torture, he restrained the expression of his feelings, for fear of increasing the alarm of the men. But the powers of his endurance were doomed to be tried to the utmost; another limb was scrunched from his body, and uttering a deep groan, he was about to let go his hold, when he was seized by two of his men, and placed in the stern sheets.
Yet when his whole frame was convulsed with agony, the energies of his mind remained as strong as ever, his own pain was disregarded, he thought only of the preservation of his crew. Calling to his side a lad of the name of Wilson, who appeared to be the strongest of the remaining few, he exhorted him, in the event of his surviving, to inform the admiral that he was going to Cape Ontario in search of the pirate when the unfortunate accident occurred; 'Tell him,' he continued, 'that my men have done their duty, and that no blame is attached to them. I have but one favour to ask, and that is, that he will promote Meldrum to be a gunner.'
He then shook each man by the hand, and bade them farewell. By degrees his strength began to fail, and at last became so exhausted, that he was unable to speak. He remained in this state until the sunset, when another panic seized the men, from a reappearance of the sharks. The boat gave a lurch, and the gallant commander found an end to his sufferings in a watery grave.
Thus perished an officer, who, if it had pleased Providence to preserve, would, in all probability, have been one of the brightest ornaments of the service. His character combined the three great qualities which are essential for an officer and a seaman—courage, coolness, and decision: opportunity only was wanting to display these parts. If he had succeeded in capturing the pirate, promotion would without doubt have followed, and a bright and honourable career have been open to him. But the ways of Providence are inscrutable; it was ordained that he should undergo sufferings from which the bravest would have shrunk with horror. Had he fallen in battle, his name would have been recorded in history. We hope that our feeble efforts to rescue the memory of this brave seaman from sinking into oblivion will not have been in vain, and that his name may find an honourable place with others who have died in the performance of their duty.
The death of their commander was sensibly felt by all, for they had long known his kindness and courage, and when his body sank below the waves, their hopes sank also. Mr. Maclean, a mate, and now the commanding officer, took upon himself to direct the efforts of his comrades, and did all that lay in his power to revive their spirits; he assured them that if they once succeeded in righting the boat, that there was every chance of falling in with some vessel. But twenty hours of constant fatigue, hunger, and thirst had made fearful ravages upon the strength of the men. Night was again approaching, and Maclean could not conceal from himself, that when darkness came on, the chances of their being seen by any vessel passing near were further removed than ever. The sharks had for a time taken their departure, but they might return at any moment; for having once tasted blood, they were not likely to be debarred from making another attack. Two more of the men, either worn out from fatigue, or anxious to escape from further suffering, threw themselves from their support, and were drowned.
The burning sun again set beneath the horizon, but as yet no sail had been seen upon the waters. Again the land-breeze passed over the ocean, but it brought no refreshing coolness; it only reminded them of the weary hours that had elapsed since it was so anxiously expected, though its results were then far different from what they had hoped.
There were but four men left—Maclean, Meldrum, (the gunner's mate,) Wilson, and another man. These had, by their united efforts, almost managed to clear the boat of water, when, about three o'clock in the morning, the two latter became delirious, sprung overboard, and were either seized by the sharks or drowned. It will be remembered, that it was Wilson who was selected by poor Smith to convey his last message to the admiral.
The two survivors for a time forgot their own sufferings in the horrible scene which they had just witnessed; but this did not last long; their thoughts soon returned to the necessity of preserving their own lives. They once more resumed their labours, and, though nearly exhausted, did not desist until the boat was almost dry. They then lay down to rest, in comparative security, and, let us hope, with their hearts filled with gratitude for the mercies which had already been vouchsafed to them, and remembering those words of our beautiful Liturgy: 'That it may please Thee to succour, help, and comfort all that are in danger, necessity, or tribulation.'
It is said that sometimes the criminal, the night before his execution, forgets the fate that awaits him in a deep and refreshing slumber. These two men, in spite of the horrors they had undergone, fell into a sound sleep, from which they did not awake until the sun was high in the heavens; when the horrors of their situation broke upon them, rendered doubly painful by the temporary oblivion of the last few hours.
The sun darted its scorching rays upon the two solitary beings, who had planted themselves, one in the bows, and the other in the stern of the boat, with neither oars, mast, sail, nor provisions of any kind. In vain they strained their gaze in every direction; nothing was to be seen but a boundless expanse of waters. Their eyes met, but it needed no words to tell the hopeless despair which was gnawing at their hearts. No longer was the loss of their companions regarded with horror; they envied the fate which had spared them the torture which they themselves were doomed to suffer:—
Their work on them by turns. BYRON.
Death at that moment would have been welcome.
Hour after hour passed away, but still the boat remained motionless on the waters. Neither spoke; their hearts were too full for utterance: in rapid succession, every thought and action of their lives passed across their minds; home, kindred, friends, all would be remembered, only again to be banished by the pangs of hunger and thirst.
Towards eight o'clock in the morning, the energies of Maclean and his companion had almost sunk under the accumulated load of suffering; it was more in despair than with any expectation of success, that they once again cast their eyes around. But this time it was not in vain; a white speck was seen in the distance: both exclaimed, 'A sail! a sail!' and the extravagance of joy was now equal to their former despair. Still the vessel was several miles distant, and unless those on board kept a vigilant look-out, it was more than probable that they would escape observation.
Of all the ills to which the human frame is liable, the agony of suspense is the most intolerable. Hope and fear rose alternately in their breasts; at one moment, the ship appeared to be nearing, at another, she seemed further off than ever. The vessel sped slowly on its course, but to their excited minds the time seemed interminable. First the white canvas was seen, then the dark hull became visible; but as yet no signs gave token that those on board were aware of their proximity.
The brig, for such she now appeared, could not have been above half a mile distant, when she suddenly altered her course. In vain they both hailed at once, and waved their jackets as a signal, but no notice was taken; then, indeed, every hope was dispelled, and the bitterness of despair returned with redoubled force.
At this juncture, Meldrum resolved, at all hazards, to attempt to swim to the vessel. If he remained in the boat, certain death would be the fate of himself and his companion: on the other hand, he might perish in the sea, but if he reached the brig, both would be saved. Without a moment's hesitation, he communicated his design to Maclean, and then, committing himself to the pretection of the Almighty, sprang overboard.
The idea of solitude is so repugnant to human nature, that even death would be preferable. It can be therefore easily imagined that it was with feelings almost amounting to agony that Maclean saw himself separated from his last friend. His first impulse was to follow his companion, but better judgment prevailed, and he determined to await the result. Never for a single instant did his eyes turn from the bold swimmer: they followed his every stroke. At one time, he thought he had sunk; at another, the ripple of a wave appeared to his distorted imagination like the fin of a shark. Anxiety for the fate of his companion kept his mind on the stretch until distance rendered the object no longer visible. 'Then, indeed, did he feel that he was alone.'
Meldrum was naturally a good swimmer, and every nerve was strained in this last struggle for life; buoyed up by hope, he had accomplished about two-thirds of his weary task when his strength began to fail, his dying eyes turned towards the brig, and with one last effort he raised his voice. He was heard: a boat was lowered from the brig, and he was taken on board. The perilous situation of his comrade was made known; and thus by his gallant exertions were preserved the lives of the two survivors, of the ill-fated Magpie.
This tale might almost be discredited, but the facts from which it was taken bear the signature of the officers composing the court-martial who sat upon the two remaining men. Mr. Maclean is at the present moment alive, and is now serving as a lieutenant in the coast-guard. Meldrum was promoted for his gallantry to the rank of gunner, and died two years ago.
THE THETIS.
His Majesty's ship, Thetis, Captain Samuel Burgess, sailed from Rio Janeiro on the evening of the 4th of December, 1830, having a large amount of treasure on board. The weather was so thick, that as they worked out of the harbour, the islands at its entrance were not visible; but as the evening was tolerably fine, with the exception of the fog, Captain Burgess determined to persevere in his course. The following morning the fog dispersed, but it was soon succeeded by such heavy rain, that the obscurity was nearly as great as before. The ship continued her course with the wind upon the starboard tack, until half-past one in the afternoon, when, from the reckoning, they supposed Cape Frio to be about thirty-eight miles distant, lying north 36° east. From the hour of their departure from Rio Janeiro, till the time of which we speak, neither sun, moon, nor stars had been visible. On account of the cross sea, which appeared to impede the progress of the vessel, and the lightness of the wind, her course was kept east by north until two o'clock, when it was changed to E.N.E. At four o'clock P.M. it was calculated that they had run about nineteen miles, and that they must be nearly abreast of Cape Frio, and about twenty-four miles distant from it. The weather clearing up at that time, they discovered a large ship, with all sail set, standing in shore, and no land being visible, they concluded that they were still further from land than they had reckoned, and therefore they changed their course again to N.E. by E. At five o'clock the people were mustered at quarters, and then a looming of land was seen to the N.N.W., which, according to their calculation, was the direction Cape Frio would bear; and there being no land near it that could have the same appearance, the reckoning was considered correct, and a prudent proportion of sail was made, regard being had to the state of the weather, and the course they were steering. Between six and seven o'clock P.M. the rain again began to fall; the fog returned, and became gradually so thick, that it was impossible to see the length of the ship.
At eight P.M. the watch was mustered, and the men placed at their stations to keep a vigilant look-out, while the officer of the watch went forward himself to see that the sails were well trimmed, and that every one was on the alert. At half-past eight, when the captain had retired to his cabin, and was waiting for the usual evening report from the master, a midshipman entered with the startling intelligence that land had been seen close ahead, the ship at the time going at the rate of eight or nine miles an hour.
Captain Burgess was on deck in a moment; he ordered the helm to be put 'hard a-port,' and was told it had been done. The next instant the jib-booms and bowsprit were heard to crash; the captain hastened to the gangway, and was just in time to see the foremast go. Scarcely had he called to the men to stand clear, when all the three masts fell aft, one after the other, covering the deck with masts, yards, sails, and rigging, and in their fall killing some and dreadfully mangling others. Within a few feet of the ship rose a stupendous black rock, against which the surf was raging violently. The rock was so perpendicular, that both the fore and main yardarms were (before they fell) scraping against the granite cliff. The hull, however, did not appear to come in contact with the rock; but, as if answering the helm, her head turned off shore, and as she swung round, the larboard quarter boat was completely smashed between the ship's side and the rock. Nothing could exceed the alarm that prevailed on board for a few minutes after the sudden crash. The decks were covered with spars and rigging, lying pell-mell upon the bodies of those who had been injured by their fall. The man at the helm had been killed at his post, and the wheel itself was shivered to atoms; whilst the darkness of the night, and the roar of the breakers against the cliff, added to the horrors of a catastrophe of which the suddenness alone was sufficient to paralyse the energies of the men.
Captain Burgess saw that everything depended upon promptitude and decision: he quickly rallied his people, and order was soon restored: he then gave directions that the well should be sounded, and that the men should stand by the small bower anchor.
A sentinel was placed to guard the spirit-room, and two small sails were run up the fore and main-masts, the stumps of which were from twelve to fifteen feet above the deck, and the helm was put to starboard. The winches were next manned, and guns, rockets, and blue lights let off in rapid succession.
The well was reported dry; orders were given for the small bower anchor to be let go, but it was found covered with the wreck of the bowsprit, and it was necessary to cut away the best bower in order to keep the ship off shore; and for the same purpose every spar that could be obtained was made use of to bear her off the rocky cliffs, but in vain, for from the depth of the water, the anchor did not reach the bottom, and the stern tailed upon a shelving rock in spite of all their efforts. The men were next ordered to clear away the boats and get them ready—but they were found totally destroyed. Those on the quarters had been smashed by the rocks, and those on the booms and stern by the falling of the masts. During the whole of this anxious period, the conduct of the men was most exemplary. Aware that all depended upon individual exertion, each one appeared to emulate the example set by his officers, and worked with hearty good will; not a single instance of anything like bad conduct occurred.
Their condition was most disheartening; the boats were no longer available; the water was gaining on the vessel; and the rockets and blue lights, as they darted into the air, served but to show them the rugged face of the high rocks, which appeared to afford no footing by which the summit could be gained, even if they should be so fortunate as to reach them at all.
Whilst all on board were weighing these chances of destruction or of safety, the vessel's head had gone round off, and a few succeeding heavy surfs threw her again with her starboard quarter upon the rock, and whilst she was in this position, there appeared a possibility of getting some of the people on shore. Captain Burgess, therefore, ordered Lieutenant Hamilton to do everything in his power to facilitate such a proceeding, and shortly afterwards that officer, Mr. Mends, midshipman, and about seventy others, effected a landing by jumping either from the broken end of the mainyard, which was lying across the ship, or from the hammock netting abaft the mizenmast; several others who attempted to land in the same way were less fortunate; some were crushed to death, and some drawn back by the recoil of the surf and drowned.
From the time the ship first struck, the current had been carrying her along the cliffs at the rate of at least a quarter of a mile an hour; it now carried her off the rock, and she drifted along shore, a helpless wreck, at the mercy of the winds and waves. The captain saw that nothing more could be done for the vessel, and therefore he directed all his energies to the preservation of the crew. The marine who had been appointed to guard the spirit-room still remained at his post, and never left it till commanded to do so by his superior officer, even after the water had burst open the hatch. We mention this as an instance of the effect of good discipline in times of the greatest peril.
The vessel, or rather the wreck, was now carried towards a small cove, into which she happily drifted; she struck heavily against the rocks, then gave some tremendous yauls, and gradually sunk until nothing was left above water but the bows, the broken bowsprit, and the wreck of the masts as they laid on the booms.
All on board deemed that the crisis of their fate had arrived,—and they prepared for the final struggle between life and death. There were some moments of awful suspense, for every lurch the ill-fated vessel gave, was expected to be the last; but when she seemed to sink no deeper, there came the hope that her keel had touched the bottom, and that they should not all he engulfed in a watery grave.
Before she sunk, the frigate's bows had gone so close into the rocks as to enable some sixty or seventy people to jump on shore; and a hawser was got out and fixed to a rock, by which several others were saved; but by a tremendous surge, the piece of rock to which the hawser was fastened was broken away, and for a time all communication with the land was suspended. They tried every means that could be devised to convey a rope from the ship to the land, but for a long time without success, until Mr. Geach, the boatswain, swung himself on the stump of the bowsprit, and by making fast two belaying pins to the end of a line, he succeeded in throwing it on shore. To this a stronger cable was bent, and it was dragged through the surf by the people on the rocks, who then kept it taut.
Although a few words only are required to describe the mode by which a communication was established between the ship and the shore, yet it had been a work of toil, time, and danger. The boatswain had more than once nearly lost his life by being washed away by the waves as they swept over the wreck; the captain, who directed his proceedings, was standing up to his middle in water, upon one foot only, frequently losing his hold, and with great difficulty regaining his position.
The boatswain, when the preparations were completed, suggested that, in order to test the strength of the cable, a boy should be the first to make a trial of it; accordingly, a young lad was firmly secured to a sort of cradle or bowling knot, and drawn on shore in safety. The success of the attempt was announced by a loud cheer from the strand, and the captain then took upon himself to direct the landing of the rest of the crew by the same means. He stationed himself on the knight head, so as to prevent a general rush being made; he then called each man separately, and one by one they slung themselves upon the rope and were swung on shore. Nothing could exceed the good conduct displayed by the whole of the ship's company, every order was promptly obeyed, and the utmost patience and firmness exhibited by every individual.
When the greater part of the people had quitted the wreck, there still remained several who could not be induced even by the earnest and repeated entreaties of their commander to leave their dry position on the yards. The strength of the captain and boatswain was almost exhausted, and as they could not persuade any more of the men to avail themselves of the proffered means of safety, they were obliged, though very reluctantly, to leave them on the wreck, and they themselves joined the crew on the rocks.
In the course of an hour or two, however, the party who had stayed by the wreck, took courage and ventured upon the rope; but as the stump of the bowsprit, which was over the larboard cathead, rendered it extremely hazardous to come forward, they did not all get on shore till daylight. In the morning, Captain Burgess's first care was to muster his men, and a melancholy spectacle presented itself. Sixteen were missing, and of those who were gathered around him, many had been dreadfully bruised and lacerated in their efforts to reach the shore. Amongst those who perished was a fine spirited lad, the son of Captain Bingham, late commander of the Thetis. But a few months before, Captain Bingham himself had been drowned in the Guayaquil: thus father and son lay far from their native land, beneath the western flood.
The men of field and wave,
Are not the rocks their funeral piles,
The seas and shores their grave?
Go, stranger! track the deep—
Free, free, the white sail spread;
Wind may not rove, nor billows sweep,
Where rest not England's dead.
The crew of the Thetis had now time to look around them, and to consider what was next to be done. The prospect was a sad one. Before them, and almost hidden by the white foam, lay the once noble frigate, now a complete wreck; the cove into which she had drifted was bound by lofty and precipitous crags, arising abruptly from the sea, and varying in height from 80 to 194 feet. The men and officers were perched in groups on points of the rocks; few of them had clothing enough to cover them, and scarcely any had shoes. There seemed to be no means of ascending the precipice; but to do so must be their first object; and anxiously they sought for some part which might offer a surer footing, and a less perilous and perpendicular ascent. At last they succeeded in casting a rope round one of the projecting crags, and by help of this some of the strongest of the party climbed the giddy height, and then assisted in hauling up their weaker comrades.
To give some idea of the difficulties which they had to surmount, and their almost miraculous escape, we subjoin the following description of the place from the pen of Captain Dickenson:—
'The coast is formed of rugged and almost perpendicular rocks, varying from 80 to 194 feet in height, a peak rising at each point, and another in nearly the centre of the north-eastern side.
'On viewing this terrific place, with the knowledge that at the time of the shipwreck the wind was from the southward, I was struck with astonishment, and it appeared quite a mystery that so great a number of lives could have been saved; and indeed it will never cease to be so, for that part on which the crew landed is so difficult of access, that (even in fine weather) after being placed by a boat on a rock at the base, it required considerable strength and agility, with the assistance of a man-rope, to climb the precipitous face of the cliff, and I am certain that in the hour of extreme peril, when excess of exertion was called forth, there must have been a most extraordinary display of it by a few for the benefit of the whole.'
When the party were all safely landed on the top of the rocks, they perceived that they were on an island without inhabitants, and affording no shelter, except a few huts, that had been erected for the convenience of the natives curing fish. Fortunately these huts contained a considerable quantity of salt fish and farina. This was placed in charge of the purser, and immediately distributed amongst the ship's company, who stood in great need of refreshment. As soon as the men were sufficiently recovered from their fatigues, they were despatched in parties in all directions, to discover means of communicating with the mainland, from which the island was a few miles distant. Most of them soon returned with the tidings that no means of transport could be procured. This was a very disheartening announcement; but its effects were quickly dispelled by the appearance of a canoe coming into the little cove where the huts were situated.
The seamen made signals to the men in the canoe, inviting them to approach, which they did; and when they came up, they communicated the welcome intelligence, that round a point to the left, on the mainland, there was a village which afforded all kinds of accommodation.
Captain Burgess then ordered Lieutenant Hamilton to go in a canoe, with two or three of his men, to this village, and there to make arrangements for proceeding to the commander-in-chief at Rio Janeiro, and to send off as many canoes as he could procure to convey the ship's company to the mainland.
In a short time several canoes arrived at the island, and Mr. Drake, the purser of the Thetis, was amongst the first sent off to the village, with directions to despatch a sufficient quantity of provisions for the people on the rock; but after making two or three trips between the parties, Mr. Wilson, the master's assistant, returned in one of the canoes to say, that the natives refused to come again without being paid. In this dilemma, Captain Burgess went across himself, and by dint of persuasion and promises of payment, he at last induced some of the natives to go to the assistance of his people; and in the course of a few hours as many were conveyed to the village as was deemed prudent. It was necessary to leave some men to look after the wreck; and to this duty Lieutenant Otway, Mr. Mends, midshipman, the gunner, carpenter, four marines, and thirty-three seamen, were appointed: they therefore remained on the island; and before night Captain Burgess had the satisfaction of seeing all the rest of his crew, if not very comfortably lodged, at least safe and under shelter. In the evening, Lieutenant Hamilton set out overland to Rio Janeiro to apprise the commander-in-chief of the loss of the Thetis, and the distressing situation of her men.
The following morning the people had great difficulty in hiring canoes, and only one could be obtained, in which Lieutenant West and the boatswain went off to the wreck, where they were for several days actively employed. None of the men were allowed to be idle, for they had full occupation in carrying wood and water, which were only to be found at a great distance.
The behaviour of the local authorities was disgraceful in the extreme; although fully aware of the destitute condition of the Englishmen who had been cast upon their shores, they denied them the most trifling assistance, and turned a deaf ear to every entreaty and remonstrance.
Money! money! was the constant cry. In vain Captain Burgess assured them that the little he had saved was almost expended; but that as soon as assistance should arrive from his countrymen, every article should be paid for. All his arguments and promises were thrown away upon the natives, whose rapacity knew no bounds; they would give nothing without payment, and their charges were exorbitant.
Captain Burgess was so exasperated at one of these natives, who had agreed to let the crew have a small bullock, but, upon finding there was no money to pay for it, had driven it away, that he thought it almost justifiable to desire his men to help themselves. There was, however, one bright exception to this universal hard-heartedness. A sergeant, named Antonio das Santos, who commanded a small fort of three guns, seeing the unwillingness of the natives to render any aid to the strangers, came forward and asked if anything was wanted that he could supply. Captain Burgess replied, that both his officers and men stood in great need of food, and that a loan of money for present use would be very acceptable. The sergeant immediately placed in the captain's hands forty milreas in copper, and most generously put at his disposal everything he possessed. The example of this noble-hearted fellow had no effect on the conduct of the rest; their great object seemed to be to make as much gain as possible by the misfortunes of their fellow-creatures, and they went so far as to plunder the wreck, breaking open the chests, and taking possession of their contents whenever an opportunity occurred.
In order to attract the notice of vessels passing near, two flag-staffs had been erected upon the heights, with the ensign downwards; but day after day passed on, and no friendly sail appeared. The cupidity of the natives was insatiable, and provisions became more and more scarce. It was not until the 15th of December, ten days after the loss of the Thetis, that a vessel was seen in the offing. She proved to be the Algerine, which arrived most opportunely, when they were almost reduced to extremity, and brought them the articles of which they were in greatest need.
The next day, just after the Algerine had entered the harbour of Cape Frio, Admiral Baker arrived with a necessary supply of money. He had attempted the sea-passage from Rio Janeiro, for three days, in his barge, but had been obliged to put back on account of the current, and had then performed the journey of seventy miles overland in forty-eight hours. From the admiral, Captain Burgess had the satisfaction of hearing that the Druid, Clio, Adelaide, and a French brig of war might be hourly expected.
These all arrived in due course, and took on board the officers and men of the late Thetis, who were safely landed at Rio Janeiro on the 24th of December.
In conclusion, we cannot refrain from noticing the firmness and presence of mind evinced by Captain Burgess under the most appalling circumstances. After having adopted every available means for saving the ship without effect, he superintended for many hours the disembarkation of the crew, and during all that tedious process he was standing in a heavy surf up to the middle in water; nor could he be persuaded to quit the wreck until not one more of his officers or men would consent to go before him. Respecting the conduct of the officers and men, we cannot do better than lay before our readers Captain Burgess's own estimate of its merits.
'I owe,' he says, 'to the whole of my officers and men (and which most sincerely and unreservedly I render,) the meed of praise due to the conduct of every one, without exception. It was their prompt obedience to all my orders, and the firmness, fortitude, and alacrity which they perseveringly as well as patiently displayed amidst their great perils, sufferings, and privations, through the whole of this trying scene, that contributed, under Providence, to the saving of so many of their lives.
'Their subsequent orderly and excellent conduct on shore as much bespeaks my approbation; and, in truth, the general character of their conduct throughout has induced an esteem in me which it is impossible can ever cease but with my life.'[18]
Captain Samuel Burgess entered the navy in 1790, and served on board the Impregnable at the victory of the 1st of June, 1794. He was almost constantly employed from that time until the year 1804, when he was appointed a lieutenant on board the Prince, of 98 guns, in which ship he was present at the battle of Trafalgar.
He next served on board the Dreadnought, 98, and subsequently was appointed to the command of the Pincher, a 12-gun brig, employed in the North Sea and Baltic. Whilst in command of this vessel, Lieutenant Burgess distinguished himself on many occasions, particularly in assisting Lord George Stuart in reducing the batteries of Cuxhaven and Bremerleke. His next appointment was to the Vixen gun-brig; and although he might well have expected promotion for his services, he remained lieutenant until the year 1816, when he was appointed to the Queen Charlotte, in which ship he served as flag-lieutenant to Lord Exmouth at the bombardment of Algiers. Upon the arrival of the dispatches in England, Lieutenant Burgess was promoted to the rank of commander. He received his post rank on the 27th November, 1830, when he took the command of the Thetis. A more lengthened statement of the services of this officer will be found in O'Byrne's Naval Biography, to which work we are indebted for the above sketch.
FOOTNOTES:
[18] The greater part of the treasure lost with the Thetis (806,000 dollars) has subsequently been recovered. An interesting description of the means used for raising it will be found in a volume published by Captain Dickenson.
THE FIREFLY.
The Firefly, a small schooner, with a crew of about fifty men, was proceeding on her voyage from Belize to Jamaica, on the 27th of February, 1835. The wind had been moderate during the day, and as they were steering a course laid down in the chart, no danger was anticipated.
Between nine and ten o'clock at night, the greater part of the crew, with the exception of those whose duty it was to be upon deck, had retired below, when the seaman in charge of the watch reported to the commander, Lieutenant Julius McDonnell, that it was very dark ahead. He instantly went upon deck, when the sound of surf breaking upon rocks was distinctly heard. The helm was put down, under the hopes of staying the vessel, but as the wind was light, and a heavy swell setting in at the time, she did not come round, but getting stern-way, struck with a shock which made every timber vibrate, and appeared to threaten instant destruction to the vessel. All were in a moment upon deck; the sweeps were got out on the larboard side, the best bower anchor let go, and the boats hoisted out, and ordered to sound, whilst the cutter was sent to carry out the stream anchor. The cable was then held taut, but snapped almost immediately: the best bower came home, and the small bower was let go. In the meantime, the wind had shifted to the northward, and was blowing in heavy squalls, and their small bower anchor, which was their sole dependence, came home.
Everything that could be done was put into practice to save the vessel, but all in vain; and when daylight broke, her commander saw that there was nothing now left him but to take measures for preserving the lives of the crew.
For this purpose, all the officers and men were set to work to construct rafts, as the boats were not sufficient to contain the whole of the crew. Between six and seven o'clock in the morning, one raft was completed, and the cutter and gig prepared to receive the men. The vessel was all this time rapidly breaking up; the bolts of her keelson and the stempost had started; the deck was broken in, and there was but little hope of her holding together many hours.
One officer, Mr. Nopps, the master's assistant, had been placed in the cutter, to prevent the men from taking away anything save the clothes they had on. Eighteen were already in the boat, including Captain West (an engineer officer) and his son, and fifteen were mustered in the raft, which was lashed to the larboard of the wreck, when from some accident the raft got adrift, and was carried away by the current. This proved most unfortunate, as the raft was their great resource; and all on board of her would inevitably have perished, had not the cutter pushed out to their assistance. A rope was fastened to the raft, and they attempted to tow her back to the schooner; but as the cutter had only four oars, and the wind set so strong to the southward, they were unable to reach the schooner.
Those who remained upon the wreck had only the gig left; and as this could contain but a few, Lieutenant McDonnell thought it advisable to direct an officer to take on board the sick, and proceed for assistance to Belize, and if he fell in with the cutter to send her back to the schooner. The gig accordingly shoved off, but again returned, in consequence of an accident having happened to the mast; this being remedied, she again pulled away from the wreck and having fallen in with the cutter, communicated the orders of Mr. McDonnell for her return. This, as has before been shown, was impossible, and the gig having taken on board Captain West and his son, parted from the cutter, with the intention of proceeding to Belize.
When Lieutenant McDonnell saw that the cutter did not return, he directed and assisted the men who remained upon the wreck to construct a second raft. This, after considerable labour, was completed by the following morning: it was then launched overboard, and made fast to the rocks within the reef. As the wreck still held together, Mr. McDonnell considered it prudent to remain by her as long as possible, in the hope that some assistance might arrive from Belize: but in this he was disappointed. In the meantime, another and stronger raft had been formed from the after part of the quarter-deck, which had been broken up by the sea; this also was launched, and brought forward under the bows. The men almost hoped against hope, but yet no assistance arrived. Fortunately, the weather was partially moderate, but still the sufferings, from exposure to the weather, and the deprivation of proper food, were severely felt; and Lieutenant McDonnell determined, under all these circumstances, to wait no longer, and on the 4th of March everything was in readiness to quit the wreck. A small barrel of bread was placed on the raft, but this was immediately washed off into the sea. A beaker one-third full of rum was then fastened more securely, and this was the only thing that they could take with them.
All having embarked, they started with the intention of steering towards a cay which was in sight, but the current proved too strong, and the raft was swept into deep water. The sail was then set, and they steered in the direction of what was supposed to be a wreck, or vessel, in the same situation as themselves; but on nearing, it proved to be a sand-bore, on which people were distinctly seen walking to and fro. They immediately conjectured that these must be the crew of one of the boats, a supposition which afterwards proved to be correct. Every effort was made to gain the bank, but the current was too strong, and they found it impossible to reach any part of the reef.
Lieutenant McDonnell, who had been suffering some days from ill health, was now so exhausted that he was obliged to be supported upon the raft. He was, therefore, unable to give any commands; and, after a short consultation, it was considered best to stand out to sea, in the hopes of falling in with some vessel. The night had set in, and they steered a course westward. On the following morning a white bottom was seen, but immediately afterwards the raft was again in deep water. All this time they had nothing to eat; their sole subsistence being a small quantity of rum, which was served out at stated intervals.
The following morning, about eight o'clock, land was observed right ahead, and they endeavoured to steer in that direction; but their progress, from the heavy construction of the raft, was necessarily very slow, and it was not until sunset that they found themselves about nine or ten miles from the shore. All the next night they stood in the same direction; and about four or five o'clock in the morning, as near as they could guess, they were cast by the surf upon the beach. Utterly prostrate with the fatigues they had undergone, they threw themselves upon the sand, and soon found in sleep a brief forgetfulness of their past cares and troubles. They did not awake for many horn's, when, upon looking around, they discovered that the commander was absent. This, however, gave them no uneasiness, as it was supposed that he had gone in search of assistance. The first object was to proceed in quest of water, of which they stood in most need. They had gone for more than a mile without finding anything to moisten their lips, or any signs of habitation, when one of the men discovered a cocoa-nut tree: here was both food and drink, and with avidity they seized upon the fruit, and found relief from their most urgent wants.
Amongst the party who were cast on shore were Mr. Malcolm, a master's assistant, and Mr. Price, a merchant; these, with the rest of the men, proceeding a little further into the woods, became so fatigued that they were obliged to return to the place where they were first cast, whilst their companions prosecuted the search for Lieutenant McDonnell, whose continued absence had given the greatest alarm.
About one o'clock, some of the men returned, but brought no tidings of the commander; they said that the rest of the men had determined to walk round the cay, as they conjectured the place on which they were cast was Ambegris Cay, and more especially as Mr. Price, who had been long a resident at Honduras, had assured them that to the south-east there was a plantation belonging to one of his friends.
About two hours afterwards the men returned, but neither their endeavours to find a habitation nor any traces of Lieutenant McDonnell had been successful. They said that it had been their intention to walk round the cay, but from the appearance of the coast, they did not think it was possible to do so that day. It was then proposed that they should rest where they were during night, and renew their search at an early hour next morning.
Whilst they were sitting on the beach, one of the men thought he saw Mr. McDonnell running in the surf, about half a mile distant. Ritchie, the gunner's mate, immediately proceeded in the direction where he was supposed to be, and found that unfortunate officer in a state of delirium. He endeavoured to persuade him to come down to where the rest of the men were assembled, but a few incoherent words were his only reply. Ritchie was, therefore, obliged to return to his comrades for assistance; and having communicated the sad condition of their officer, they all proceeded together to the spot where he was last seen, but found no traces of the commander. Search was made in every direction, but in vain; and as night was approaching, they were reluctantly obliged to return to the place which they had fixed upon as their rendezvous. In their way thither they gathered some more cocoa-nuts, and having satisfied their hunger and thirst, lay down to rest, under the canopy of heaven, and with no softer bed than what the sandy beach afforded.
The next morning the men again declared their intention of walking in search of the plantation mentioned by Mr. Price. Mr. Malcolm, who had become the senior officer in the absence of Mr. McDonnell, advised them to remain where they were, and to build a hut, and dig a well for water; he assured them that, as long as there was a plentiful supply of cocoa-nuts, they could not starve, and that the chances were, assistance would arrive. All was, however, to no purpose; they would not listen to any argument, and even disregarded his authority. It was as much as he could do to insist upon their first going in search of their commander.
After a long time employed for this purpose, they discovered Mr. McDonnell asleep beneath a parmetta tree. Upon hearing footsteps approaching, he awoke, but in such a feeble state that he was unable to rise without assistance, and from the wildness of his manner, there was too much reason to fear that his reason had fled. They gave him some cocoa-nut milk, which he eagerly drank, and this appeared to give him some relief. With difficulty they made him comprehend that they intended to proceed to the plantation for assistance, but he refused to join them, alleging that a boat was coming for him. In a short time he appeared a little more collected, and agreed to join the expedition. There still remained a small supply of rum, and a portion of this being poured into some empty cocoa-nuts, it was distributed equally amongst the men, and they all commenced their journey, the men about 200 yards ahead, and Mr. McDonnell, supported by Malcolm and Mr. Price, brought up the rear.
After proceeding in this way about two miles, Mr. McDonnell's strength utterly failed, and he sank down upon the ground, declaring that he could go no further; every entreaty was urged to persuade him to make another effort, but both the powers of the mind and body had deserted the unfortunate officer, and Malcolm and his companion were at a loss to know what course to pursue. After a brief consultation they determined to leave Mr. McDonnell, and as soon as they reached the plantation, which Mr. Price declared could not be far distant, return with assistance.
They then once more resumed their journey, the men proceeding ahead as before; in the middle of the day they stopped to rest, and again resumed their march until about an hour before sunset, when they arrived at two cocoa-nut trees; and as these formed not only a place of shelter, but also a means of procuring food, they determined to remain there for the night. The men who had climbed up the trees, and were gathering fruit, descried a pond, or creek, in the wood, about half a mile distant. Mr. Price then observed, if that was the case, they were on the mainland, and not on Ambegris Cay.
They were now in a great dilemma, for they were uncertain which way to proceed, and Mr. Malcolm endeavoured to persuade the men to return to the beach, assuring them that it was quite useless their proceeding any further, for they did not know where they were going; but they turned a deaf ear to every argument, declaring that they would walk as long as they were able. Mr. Price, the merchant, agreed with the rest of the men, and urged them to continue their journey, in the hopes that they might be seen by some coasting boats going to Belize. This was Saturday night; and after toiling all day, they had only walked ten miles from where they had left Mr. McDonnell. The next morning Mr. Malcolm again entreated the men to remain, but it was of no avail, and they recommenced their march.
The men continued to walk together until Tuesday evening, subsisting upon cocoa-nuts, which they gathered on their way, when Malcolm was obliged to be left behind, as he was unable to walk any further. The next morning he was found by some natives, and taken to Ambegris Cay, where the men had arrived the previous evening.
We must now return to the fate of the cutter, which it will be remembered left the wreck on the morning of the 28th of February, taking the raft in tow. They endeavoured to return to the schooner, but the current proving too strong, they were obliged to abandon the attempt, and ran before the wind until they made a sand-bore, on the south end of the reef, about an hour afterwards.
They then cut the raft adrift, and landed the men that were in the cutter, sending the boat back with two men to carry the rest off the raft, as it was impossible to bring the raft to the sand-bore. It was about seven o'clock in the evening when they were all safely landed, the cutter being at this time in such a condition, that she could not have floated, even in smooth water, without baling.
They then dragged the boat up the beach, where they remained until daylight next morning, the 1st of March. Mr. Nopps, master's-assistant, who was the commanding officer of the party, determined to leave the majority of the men on the sand-bore, and proceed to the wreck; he accordingly started with five men in the cutter, in hopes of reaching the schooner, but as it blew strongly from the northward, and the boat had no jib or mizen, and the mainmast and sprit sprung, they found it impossible to beat to windward. In this condition, as there was no appearance of the wind abating, and nothing to eat except some salt pork, and only two beakers of water, one of which had been drunk during the night, Mr. Nopps considered it his duty to take the boat with these five men, and run for the first place they could fetch, hoping to reach Belize, which was nearly before the wind.
For two days they scudded before the wind, without being able to set any sail, and had passed at least forty miles to the southward of Belize, before the wind abated; during this time they suffered severely from want of water, the last beaker having been finished, and the salt pork increasing their thirst. It was not until twelve o'clock on Tuesday, the 3rd of March, that they arrived in Belize roads, and were taken on board the Fly.
Here they received every attention that was necessary, and Mr. Rogers, the master of the Fly, accompanied by Mr. Nopps, was despatched in the Governor's schooner to the assistance of the men who were left on the sand-bore, and of the others who were still supposed to be upon the wreck.
On the following Friday, the 6th of March, they reached the sand-bore, and having taken off the men, proceeded to the wreck, where they found only two men, from whom they learnt that Lieutenant McDonnell, and the rest of the people, had quitted the wreck two days previously. Pilot boats were then sent in search, and another party explored the coast; and after visiting Long Bay, without hearing any tidings, returned to Belize.
In the course of two days, a boat arrived with the eight men who had been with McDonnell, who reported that they had left that officer, almost dead, in the wood.
Mr. Nopps again departed in a pilot-boat in search of his commander, but when he reached Ambegris Cay, the boat was unable to beat up outside the breakers, and it came on to blow so violently during the night, that they were prevented from landing; the following day they were more successful, and Mr. Nopps walked up the coast. For two days his search proved useless, but on the third he had the pleasure of finding Mr. McDonnell still alive, in a hut, under the care of some Indians. After the lapse of two days, he was so far recovered as to be taken on board the pilot-boat, and arrived next morning at Belize Bay.
It would have been happy if all connected with the Firefly had been equally fortunate. The gig, which had been sent from the wreck to Belize for assistance, was found several days afterwards cast upon the beach, broken in two, and all in her must have perished.
Lieutenant McDonnell was promoted to the rank of commander in 1846, and at present is unemployed.
THE AVENGER.
The Avenger, a steam frigate, with an armament of 6 heavy guns and 280 men, sailed from Gibraltar on the afternoon of the 17th of December, 1847. As her commander, Captain Charles G.E. Napier, was anxious to spare the coal, the steam was reduced to the least possible degree, leaving sufficient to work the wheels up to the rate of sailing. On Monday, the 20th, the steamer was running with square yards, at the rate of eight or nine knots an hour, steering about east by south, under double-reefed topsails and reefed foresail. At eight o'clock in the evening the usual watch was placed, with directions to keep a careful look-out. The night was dark and squally, with a high sea running, and occasionally loud peals of thunder were heard, accompanied with vivid flashes of lightning.
Most of the officers were collected in the gun-room, with the exception of the captain, who had retired to his sleeping cabin. He had directed his steward to request the attendance of the master, and of Mr. Betts, the second master, who soon joined him in the cabin, where they remained for a few minutes examining the charts. The captain's steward relates, that the above officers went upon deck, when Captain Napier desired him to take away the light, and to leave a small lamp burning in the fore-cabin, which was always kept alight at sea during the night. He accordingly did so, and returned to his berth. In about half-an-hour afterwards he heard some one come down from the quarter-deck, and go into the captain's cabin. In about five minutes the captain went upon deck, where he remained for a short time, and again returned to his cabin, but had scarcely closed the door, before he was summoned upon deck by the officer of the watch.
The officers in the gun-room were upon the point of retiring to their berths, when they were startled by a sudden jerk, which they at first supposed to be a gun broken adrift, but the next moment the ship gave a heavy lurch, as if filling, and her whole frame appeared shaken, and every beam loosened. It would be in vain to attempt to describe the dismay of the crew of the ill-fated Avenger, when thus roused from a sense of comparative security, to find themselves in an instant upon the verge of destruction. Already the deck was crowded with people, most of them only partially clothed, and the rest almost naked. On the bridge between the paddle-boxes stood the captain and master; Mr. Ayling, the master's assistant, the quarter-master, and two seamen were at the wheel. In another minute the ship gave a heavy lurch to starboard, and the sea poured over the forecastle. The captain then gave the order, 'Out boats—lower away the boats.' These were his last words, for he was immediately afterwards washed overboard and drowned.
Lieutenant Rooke, who never appears to have lost his presence of mind, immediately went forward to assist in lowering the boats, but under the firm impression that the ship was fast sinking, and with little hope that there was time enough to get out the boats, or even if lowered, that they could live in such a heavy sea. He saw, however, if anything was to be done, it must be done immediately; he therefore went amongst the men endeavouring to persuade them to lower the starboard cutter; Mr. Betts, the second master, at the same time attempted to lower the port one. Every entreaty and persuasion that Lieutenant Rooke could use was, however, of no avail; the men seemed paralysed with the sudden panic and the apparent helplessness of their situation. Instead of affording assistance, they clustered together, exclaiming, 'Oh, my God, Sir, we are lost—we are lost!' Mr. Rooke, finding that all his arguments were of no avail, crossed the deck to the port side for the purpose of helping Mr. Betts in lowering the port cutter. In his way he met Larcom, the gunner, who had just come from below, with his clothes under his arm, having been in bed when the ship struck. Hastily acquainting him with his intention, they made the best of their way to the cutter, where they were joined by Dr. Steel, the surgeon, Mr. Ayling, master's-assistant, John Owen, a stoker, James Morley, a boy, and W. Hills, captain's steward. At this moment, Lieutenant Marryat made his appearance, his manner calm and self-possessed; he was in the act of addressing himself to one of the party, when the ship gave a heavy lurch to starboard, and the gallant young officer lost his footing, and was washed overboard.
Whilst they were in the act of lowering the cutter, an accident occurred, which was nearly proving fatal to all their hopes of preservation.
In lowering the boat, the foremost fall got jammed, and the after one going freely, the boat had her stern in the water, and her bows in the air; at this moment, Dr. Steel threw in his cloak, which fortunately got into the sleave-hole of the after fall, and stopped it.
Just as the boat touched the water, and before the tackles were unhooked, the ship struck again heavily, and began swinging broadside to the sea, falling over to starboard at the same time, which, from the cutter being the port one, made her crash with great violence against the ship's side; however, by dint of great exertion, the boat was got free from the tackles, and pulled clear of the ship.
The Avenger now lay broadside to the sea, with her head towards Africa, falling at the same time to windward, with her deck exposed; the foremast, mainmast, and mizen topmast falling over the starboard side, and the funnel on the gangway, no doubt killing many of the crew as it fell. As the boat left the ship's side, some one attempted to burn a blue-light, but it went out immediately. The sea was now occasionally seen to break over the forecastle and quarter, and Mr. Rooke, in the hope of saving some of the crew, gave orders to lie on their oars, and keep the boat's bow to the ship, to be ready to pick up any of the survivors in the event of the ship's falling to pieces. Lieutenant Rooke and his little party[19] remained by the ship for about an hour and a half, the moon at intervals shining out brightly from behind the heavy clouds, and discovering the Island of Galita, apparently at about ten or twelve miles distant. The weather now became more tempestuous; the rain poured in torrents; and all being almost exhausted with pulling against a strong current, and being gradually drawn away from the ship, Lieutenant Rooke considered it most advisable to run under the lee of Galita, and there, if possible, remain on their oars until there was daylight sufficient to land, and seek assistance for the ship, in the event of the island being inhabited.
All being of the same opinion, the boat's head was turned towards Galita, and they took a last look of the Avenger, which appeared to be firmly fixed, and likely to hold together for some time.
The weather grew worse and worse; the boat, under a close-reefed mizen on the bumpkin stepped as a foremast, was steered with an oar by the second master. When they had arrived within about two miles of the island, the wind shifted to a very severe squall, accompanied with lightning, thunder, and a heavy hail-storm. Mr. Larcom, the gunner, now took the place of the second master in steering the boat, which was scarcely got round, before the wind caught her with such violence, that it seemed impossible the boat could live.
The squall continued without intermission for two hours and a half, when the moon again emerged from the clouds, and the Island of Galita was discovered on the port quarter. Some in the boat exclaimed, 'That is the island!' which, at the time, they supposed to be long out of sight, as the boat appeared to be going rapidly through the water; this naturally led to a conjecture that a strong current set to the northward and eastward. The wind still continued to veer about, and at one time they thought that they must have passed the ship, but the night was too dark to enable them to discern anything clearly many yards beyond the boat.
In this manner they passed the long hours of night, exposed to cold, hunger, and exhaustion; and, as Lieutenant Rooke afterwards observed, with the full expectation that they would be unable to survive until morning. The second master appeared to have lost all reason. Upon being questioned as to whereabouts they were, or in what direction it was necessary to steer, he seemed to be scarcely aware that he was addressed. The doctor, the master's assistant, and the boy Morley, were lying at the bottom of the boat during the whole night, and the stoker, John Owen, was wrapped in his jacket, and appeared, if possible, in a worse condition than the second master. When asked to do anything, he only replied by vacant answers, and before morning became an idiot. At last the wished-for day broke, and the coast of Africa was discerned about eight or nine miles distant. As Lieutenant Rooke considered that the boat could not be kept above water much longer, he determined upon attempting a landing, and accordingly he himself steered her towards a small spot of sand, apparently clear of the rocks, and slightly sheltered by a reef running out into the sea.
This officer, from the time the boat quitted the Avenger, had, notwithstanding his own personal sufferings, set a noble example to his comrades, by exerting every effort to sustain their drooping spirits. As he approached the shore, he exclaimed in a cheerful voice, 'This is something like Don Juan's shipwreck; I only hope we shall find a Haidee.' It must not be supposed that this was said out of bravado, or because he was not perfectly aware of the danger, but from the necessity of his duty, as their commanding officer, to infuse a new spirit into his exhausted crew, and to encourage them in the approaching struggle, which he well knew would he 'life or death.' On hearing the above words, poor Steel, the doctor, exclaimed, 'Rooke! Rooke! there are other things to think of now.' The words were prophetic, for before many minutes had elapsed, he had ceased to exist. As they approached the shore, the sail was shifted from the port side to the starboard, and the sheet which had been held by Hills, the captain's steward, for ten hours, was fastened to the thwarts.
Mr. Rooke now again resigned his place as steerer to Larcom, the gunner, and assisted the others in baling out the boat, which had shipped a heavy sea on the quarter. The boat was steered within about one hundred and fifty yards of the beach, when the rollers caught her, first lifting her upright, and, as there was not water enough to float her whole length, she filled and capsized. Larcom, Lieutenant Rooke, Hills, the captain's steward, and the boy Morley, succeeded in gaining the beach, but the rest of their unfortunate comrades perished.
We should here mention that this was the second occasion on which the boy Morley narrowly escaped a watery grave.
When the Avenger was at Lisbon, the boy fell overboard, and would have perished, had it not been for Lieutenant Marryat, who, at the risk of his own life, sprung into the sea, and rescued the boy.
In a few minutes a Bedouin Arab, who had been watching the boat from some high ground, came toward them and conducted them to his hut, where he supplied them with some milk; and having lighted a fire, they were enabled to dry their clothes.
They remained with their hospitable entertainer during that day, and in the evening made a supper of maize-cake and sour milk. In the meantime, Mr. Rooke had made the Arab understand their situation, and their wish to get to Tunis; and after some trouble and promise of reward, he agreed to conduct them next morning to Biserta. The wearied men then threw themselves on the ground, where they passed the night in company with dogs, cows, and goats, exposed to a violent wind and pouring rain.
Their subsequent proceedings are thus related by Lieutenant Rooke:—
'Wednesday, December 22nd.—At about 9 A.M. we started. Our road lay at first over a ridge of high hills, from which we saw nothing of the ship. We then crossed a sandy plain covered with the cactus, which severely wounded my feet. Afterwards passed through some wooded ravines, and over an extensive marsh intersected with brooks. Towards the evening a horseman overtook us, who seeing the tired condition of the steward, his feet bleeding, and also suffering from a gash on his head, received whilst landing, carried him for about four miles, and when his road lay in a different direction, gave our guide his gun, and a piece of silver for us.
'The night being now dark, and all of us exhausted, we stopped at a Bedouin encampment, and asked for shelter, which after some time was granted. We had been walking about ten hours, and got over more than thirty miles of broken ground, having stopped once for a few minutes to pick the berries off some arbutus trees, being our only food since breakfast till late that night. We were wet, coverless, and all except myself shoeless.