On the 7th, they passed close to some rocky isles, from which they were pursued by two large sailing canoes, but in the afternoon they gave over the chase. Soon after, it began to rain very heavily, when every person on board did his utmost to catch some water, by which they increased their stock to thirty-four gallons, besides quenching their thirst for the first time since they had been in the boat. The following day they had an allowance of an ounce and a half of pork, a tea-spoonful of rum, half a pint of cocoa-nut milk, and an ounce of bread. The afternoon was employed in cleaning out the boat, and getting everything dry and in order. Hitherto Captain Bligh had issued the allowance by guess, but he now made a pair of scales with two cocoa-nut shells, and finding some pistol balls in the boat, which weighed twenty-five to the pound, he adopted one of these as the weight of bread to be served to each person at one time.
On the 9th they experienced a violent storm of thunder and lightning. They collected about twenty gallons of water; but were so miserably wet and cold, that a tea-spoonful of rum was served to each. The weather continued extremely bad, and the wind so increased, that hardly one of them got any sleep that night. The morning of the 10th brought no relief except its light. The sea broke over the boat so much, that two men were kept constantly bailing; and it was necessary to keep the boat before the wind to prevent its filling. The allowance was now one bullet-weight of bread and a quarter of a pint of water, at eight in the morning, at noon, and at sunset, with the addition of half an ounce of pork for dinner.
The weather had not at all improved on the following day, and their situation was becoming extremely dangerous from the constant running of the sea over the stern, which kept them baling with all their strength; but at noon they were much enlivened by the appearance of the sun, which gave them great pleasure.
On the 12th it rained towards the evening, and they again experienced a dreadful night. When the day came, they were in no way refreshed by the little sleep they had, as they were constantly drenched by the sea and rain; and though the men were shivering with wet and cold, the captain was under the disagreeable necessity of informing them, that he could no longer afford them the scanty pittance of a tea-spoonful of rum.
The stormy weather and heavy seas continued unabated on the 13th and 14th, and on these days they saw distant land and passed several islands, the sight of which increased, rather than alleviated the misery of their situation; as an attempt to procure relief was considered to be attended with so much danger, that it was thought advisable to remain as they were, rather than encounter the risk.
The 15th, it was still rainy, both day and night; it was so dark that not a star could be seen by which steerage could be directed, and the sea was continually breaking over the boat: this continued on the 16th, when they passed a truly horrible night, with storms of thunder, lightning, and rain. The dawn of the 17th brought no relief; and the suffering from wet and cold had been so severe, that they were obliged to break their rule, and serve a tea-spoonful of rum to each. The night was again dark and dismal, and nothing but the winds and waves to direct their steering.
On the 18th the rain abated, when they stripped and wrung their clothes, which greatly refreshed them; but every one of them complained of violent pains in their bones. At night the rain re-commenced, with thunder and lightning, which continued without intermission till the 21st, when they were so drenched with rain and salt water during the whole of the afternoon, that they could scarcely see; and on the following day their situation was extremely calamitous. They were obliged to run right before the storm and keep a strict watch, as the slightest error in the helm would have instantly caused their destruction. During the night the misery they endured was excessive, so much so that they expected another such a night would put an end to the sufferings of several of them; but on the 24th the wind moderated towards the evening, and the night was fair. In the morning they experienced relief, from the warmth of the sun, for the first time during the last fifteen days.
As the sea now began to run fair, Captain Bligh took the opportunity to examine their stock of bread, and found there was sufficient, according to their present rate of allowance, to last twenty-nine days, which was about the time they expected to be able to reach Timor: but as this was uncertain, and it was possible they might be obliged to go to Java, they determined to reduce their present scanty rate, so as to make the stock hold out six weeks. This was effected by continuing the same quantity for breakfast and dinner as usual, and discontinuing the supper allowance.
At noon of the 25th, some noddies came so near to the boat, that they caught one of them, about the size of a small pigeon. This was divided, with its entrails, into eighteen portions, and distributed by the following method:—one man stood with his back to the object, while another, pointing separately to each portion, asked aloud, "Who shall have this?" to which the first answered by naming somebody, until the whole number had been served. By this impartial method, each man stood the same chance of obtaining an equal share. They had also an allowance of bread and water. In the evening several boobies came near them, and they were fortunate enough to catch one about as large as a duck. This they killed for supper, and, giving the blood to three of the people who were most distressed, the body, with the entrails, feet, and beak, were divided into eighteen shares, and distributed as before; and having with it an allowance of bread, the whole made an excellent supper.
On the 28th, at one o'clock in the morning, the man at the helm heard the sound of breakers. It was the barrier reef which runs along the eastern coast of New Holland, through which it now became their anxious object to discover a passage. The sea broke furiously over the reef, but within was so smooth and calm, that they already anticipated the heartfelt satisfaction they should experience, as soon as they should pass the barrier. At length they discovered a break in the reef, about a quarter of a mile in width, through which they passed rapidly with a strong stream running to the westward, and came almost immediately into smooth water.
They offered up their thanks to the Almighty for his merciful protection of them, and then, with more contentment than they had yet been able to feel, took their miserable allowance of a bullet-weight of bread and a quarter of a pint of water for dinner. They now began to see the coast very distinctly, and in the evening they landed on the sandy point of an island, where they soon discovered that there were oysters: they also found plenty of fresh water. By the help of a small magnifying glass, a fire was made; and they discovered among the things that had been thrown into the boat a tinder-box and a piece of brimstone, so that in future they had the ready means of making a fire. One of the men had been provident enough to bring with him from the ship a copper pot, in which they made a stew of oysters, bread and pork, and each person received a full pint.
They now enjoyed a few luxurious meals of oysters and palm-tops stewed, without consuming any of their bread. They also collected a quantity of oysters, which they put on board the boat, and filled their vessels with fresh water, to the amount of nearly sixty gallons. Upon examining the bread, they found about thirty-eight days' allowance remaining.
Being now ready for sea, every person was ordered to attend prayers; and just as they were on the point of embarking, about twenty naked savages made their appearance, and beckoned them to come near; but as they were armed with spears and lances, it was thought advisable to decline the invitation, and proceed on their voyage.
At length, after a variety of adventures, and the endurance of privations almost unexampled, on the 11th of June Captain Bligh announced the pleasing intelligence to his companions, that an observation of longitude appeared to indicate that they had passed the meridian of the eastern part of Timor. This joyful news filled every heart with exultation, and all eyes were intently directed to the quarter in which land was expected to appear. Evening fell, however, without their being able to discover any trace of it; but by day-break on the following morning, a cultivated coast, finely diversified with hill and dale, appeared, stretching in a wide extent before them.—This was Timor!
It is almost impossible to describe the wild tumult of joy, the intense and inexpressible delight, which filled their hearts at the sight of land! Their thoughts rapidly reverted to the varied events of their fearful passage, till it appeared scarcely credible, even to themselves, that in an open boat, so poorly provided, and under circumstances every way so calamitous, they should have been able to reach the coast of Timor in forty-one days after leaving Tofoa, having in that time run, by their log, a distance of three thousand six hundred and eighteen nautical miles: and this, notwithstanding their extreme distress, without the loss of a single individual.
The governor of the island received them with the greatest hospitality. After remaining a short time at Timor, they proceeded to Batavia. Here Captain Bligh was seized with a fever; and as his life was in danger from the heat of the climate, he was obliged to leave the island without loss of time. He accordingly sailed in a packet, and arrived in England in March, 1790. The crew were accommodated with passages home as opportunity offered, but though apparently all in good health when Captain Bligh left, they did not all live to quit Batavia. The hardships which they had undergone had so undermined the constitutions of several, as rendered them unable to support the rigor of such an unhealthy climate; but of the nineteen who were forced into the launch by the mutineers, it pleased God that twelve should surmount the difficulties and dangers of this unparalleled voyage, and live to visit their native land.
But, Uncle Thomas, what became of the mutineers?
Another vessel, boys, was fitted out by the British Government to proceed in search of them. Several of them were taken and brought to England, where, after being tried, three of them were executed. Some of the others who had been forced to join the mutiny were pardoned. From the statements of these men, it appeared that quarrels soon sprang up among them after Captain Bligh's departure, and several of them suffered violent deaths—among the rest, Christian, who you will recollect was the most active among them, was murdered by one of the natives. The death of Christian was the signal for a general rising among the natives, who, by this time, had become tired of the English; some of them were killed, and others, among whom was a man named John Adams, escaped, wounded, to the woods. They were joined by several females, to whom they had formed attachments, with whom they escaped and established themselves on what has since been called Pitcairn's Island. For twenty years nothing was heard of them, till two British vessels, happening to touch at the island, the crews were astonished to find it inhabited, and more so when they were accosted in their native tongue by the inhabitants.
Matters were soon explained. They found Adams, a fine-looking old man, of nearly sixty years of age. He was revered as the father of the colony, and ruled with a paternal sway over his little kingdom. He died in 1829.
But I must stop. I fear I have already detained you too long to-night, boys,—So good night!
Good night, Uncle Thomas.
Good evening, Uncle Thomas! We were very much interested with the account you gave us of the Mutiny of the Bounty. As we came along we were thinking what a shocking thing it would be for a ship to take fire at sea. Do such misfortunes ever take place, Uncle Thomas?
Yes, boys, they do, though much less frequently than one would expect. The sailors are very careful, and are prohibited from using lights after certain hours. I can tell you about the loss of a large East Indiaman, which caught fire in the Bay of Biscay, and was completely destroyed.
Oh! do let us hear it, Uncle Thomas!
On the 19th February, 1825, the Kent, a fine new vessel, commanded by Captain Henry Cobb, bound for Bengal and China, left the Downs. She had on board a crew of one hundred and forty-eight men, including officers, with twenty military officers, three hundred and forty-four soldiers, forty-three women, and sixty-six children, belonging to the 31st regiment, and twenty private passengers; making in all six hundred and forty-one persons.
The Kent proceeded prosperously on her voyage until the night of the 28th February, when her progress was arrested by a violent gale from the west, which gradually increased during the following morning. So violent was the storm, that at every lurch the main chains of the vessel were considerably under water, and the various articles of furniture were dashed about the cabin with such noise and violence, as to excite the liveliest apprehensions of danger.
The utmost activity of the officers and crew of the Kent was called into exercise, and everything was done in order to secure the safety of the vessel. In the course of his duty, one of the officers went into the hold, accompanied by a couple of sailors, in order to see that all was fast. They carried with them a patent lantern, and seeing that the lamp burned dimly, the officer took the precaution to hand it up to the deck to be trimmed. Having discovered that one of the spirit casks had broken loose from its fastenings, he sent the sailors for some billets of wood to secure it; but the ship in their absence having made a heavy lurch, the officer unfortunately dropped the lamp, and letting go his hold of the cask, in his eagerness to recover the lantern, it suddenly stove, and the spirits communicating with the flame, the whole place was instantly in a blaze.
So long as the flames appeared to be confined to the spot where the fire originated, which was surrounded on all sides by water casks, hopes were entertained that it might be subdued; but no sooner was the light blue vapor, that at first arose, succeeded by volumes of thick dingy smoke, which, speedily ascending through all the four hatchways, rolled over every part of the ship, than almost all hope of saving the vessel was abandoned. "The flames have reached the cable tier!" was exclaimed by some individuals; and the strong pitchy smell that pervaded the deck, soon confirmed the truth of the exclamation.
In these awful circumstances, Captain Cobb, with an ability and decision of character that seemed to increase with the imminence of the danger, resorted to the fearful experiment of ordering the lower decks to be scuttled, and the lower port-holes of the vessel to be opened, for the free admission of the waves.
These orders were speedily executed, but not before several of the unhappy passengers had perished from suffocation. So dense and oppressive was the smoke, that it was with the greatest difficulty any person could remain long enough below deck to execute the captain's wishes, but no sooner were they accomplished, than the sea rushed in with extraordinary force, carrying before it the largest chests, bulk-heads, and other weighty articles. The immense quantity of water thus introduced, had the effect of checking the fury of the flames for a time, but a new source of danger suddenly opened upon them—the ship becoming water-logged, and seemed in danger of going down.
The scene of horror that now presented itself almost baffles description. The upper deck was covered with between 600 and 700 human beings, many of whom, from previous sea-sickness, were forced, on the first alarm, to flee from below, in a state of absolute nakedness, and were now running about in quest of husbands, children or parents. While some were standing in silent resignation, or in stupid insensibility, to their impending fate, others were yielding themselves up to frantic despair. Some on their knees were earnestly imploring the mercy of Him whose arm, they exclaimed, was at length outstretched to smite them; others were to be seen hastily crossing themselves, and performing various external acts required by their particular persuasion; while a number of the older and more stouthearted soldiers and sailors took their seats directly over the powder magazine,—hoping, as they stated, that by means of the explosion which they every instant expected, a speedier termination might be put to their sufferings.
All hope had departed, and the employment of the different individuals indicated an utter despair of rescue. One was to be seen thoughtfully removing a lock of hair from his writing-desk to his bosom, and another officer, procuring paper, addressed a short communication to his father, which he afterwards carefully enclosed in a bottle, in the hope that it might eventually reach its destination, and relieve him from the long years of fruitless anxiety and suspense, which the melancholy fate which hung over him might awaken. At this appalling instant, when all hope of being saved was taken away, it occurred to Mr. Thompson, the fourth mate, to send a man to the fore-top, rather with the ardent wish that some friendly sail might be descried on the face of the waters, than with any expectation that it would be realized. For a moment the sailor who ascended threw his eyes around the horizon—a moment of unutterable suspense—and then, waving his hat, exclaimed, "A sail, on the lee bow!" The joyful announcement was received with heartfelt thanksgivings, and answered by three loud cheers from those on deck; the signals of distress were instantly hoisted, minute-guns fired, and endeavors made, under three topsails and foresail, to bear down upon the stranger, which proved to be the Cambria, a small brig of two hundred tons burthen, commanded by Captain Cook, and bound to Vera Cruz, having on board twenty or thirty Cornish miners, and some agents of the Anglo-Mexican company.
For ten or fifteen agonizing minutes, the crew of the Kent were in doubt whether the brig perceived their signals, or, perceiving them, was either disposed or able to give them any assistance. From the violence of the gale, as they afterwards learned, the report of the guns was not heard, but the ascending volumes of smoke from the ship sufficiently announced the dreadful nature of their distress; and after a short period of the greatest suspense, they saw the brig hoist British colours, and crowd all sail to hasten to their relief.
While the vessel was approaching, arrangements were made for getting out the boats, so as to have all in readiness so soon as she came within a reasonable distance. Before hoisting out the boat, it was filled with the officers' ladies and the female passengers, and as many of the soldiers' wives as it could safely carry. They hurriedly wrapped themselves in whatever articles of clothing they could first lay their hands on; and, at about half past two o'clock, a most mournful procession advanced from the after-cabins to the starboard cuddy-port, from the outside of which the cutter was suspended. Not a sound was heard—not a syllable was uttered—even the infants ceased to cry, as though conscious of the unspoken anguish that was rending the hearts of their parting parents; nor did aught occur to break the solemn stillness of the scene, save in one or two instances, when the ladies plaintively entreated to be left behind with their husbands; but being assured that every moment's delay might occasion the sacrifice of life, they successively suffered themselves to be torn from the tender embrace; and, with a fortitude which never fails to characterize and adorn their sex on occasions of overwhelming trial, were placed, without a murmur, in the boat, which was immediately lowered into so tempestuous a sea, as to leave them only to hope against hope, that it should live in it for a single moment. Twice the cry was heard from those on the chains that the boat was swamping; but He who enabled the apostle Peter to walk on the face of the deep, was graciously attending to the silent, but earnest, aspirations of those on board, and had decreed its safety.
Although every precaution was taken to diminish the danger of the boat's descent—a man having been stationed at each end, with an axe, ready to cut the ropes, in case of any difficulty occurring in unhooking it from the tackle by which it was lowered—yet the extreme difficulty of the operation had nearly proved fatal to the whole of its precious cargo. After one or two unsuccessful attempts had been made to place the little frail bark fairly upon the surface of the water, the command was given to unhook: the stern tackle was immediately cleared, but the ropes at the bow having got foul, the sailors there found it impossible to obey the order. In vain was the axe applied to the entangled tackle. The moment was inconceivably critical, as the boat, necessarily following the motions of the ship, was gradually rising out of the water, and must in another instant have been hanging perpendicularly by the bow, and its helpless passengers precipitated into the sea, had not a wave providentially struck the stern and lifted it up, so as to enable the seamen to clear the tackle; and the boat, being dexterously disentangled from the ship, was soon seen battling with the billows in its progress to the brig—one instant like a speck upon their summit, and then disappearing for several seconds, as if engulfed in the horrid vale between them.
The Cambria having prudently lain at some distance from the Kent, lest she should be involved in her explosion, or exposed to the fire of the guns, which, being all shotted, afterwards went off as they were successively reached by the flames, the boat had a considerable distance to row. The interval of its leaving the Kent, and its arrival at the side of the Cambria, was a time of most intense interest; at length, however, it reached her in safety, and the inmates, one after another, arrived on board.
It being impossible for the boats, after the first trip, to come alongside the Kent, a plan was adopted for lowering the women and children by ropes from the stern, by tying them two-and-two together. But from the heaving of the ship, and the extreme difficulty of dropping them at the instant the boat was underneath, many of the poor creatures were unavoidably plunged repeatedly under water: all the women, from their superior strength, were happily able to endure this rough usage, but, unfortunately, several children fell victims.
Amid the conflicting feelings and dispositions manifested by the numerous actors in this melancholy drama, many affecting proofs were elicited of parental and filial affection, or of disinterested friendship, that seemed to shed a momentary halo around the gloomy scene.
Two or three soldiers, to relieve their wives of a part of their families, sprang into the water with their children, and perished in their endeavors to save them. One young lady, who had resolutely refused to leave her father, whose sense of duty kept him at his post, was very near falling a sacrifice to her filial devotion, not having been picked up by those in the boats until she had sunk five or six times. Another individual, who was reduced to the frightful alternative of losing his wife or his children, hastily decided in favor of his duty to the former: his wife accordingly was saved, and four fine children, alas! left to perish. One fine fellow, a soldier, who had neither wife nor child of his own, but who evinced the greatest solicitude for the safety of those of others, insisted on having three children lashed to him, with whom he plunged into the water; but not being able to reach the boat, he was drawn back again into the ship, yet not before two of the children had expired. One man fell down the hatchway into the flames. But the numerous instances of individual loss and suffering were not confined to the commencement of the perilous voyage between the two vessels: one man, who fell between the boat and the brig, had his head literally crushed; while some were lost in their attempts to ascend the sides of the Cambria.
As the day was drawing to a close, and the flames were now slowly, but perceptibly, extending, the gallant commanders felt increased anxiety for the safety of the remainder of the brave men under their charge.
To facilitate this object a rope was suspended from the extremity of the spanker-boom, which projects from sixteen to eighteen feet over the stern, and, in such a large ship as the Kent, on ordinary occasions rests about nineteen or twenty feet above the water. In order more readily to reach the boats, and to prevent the danger of their being stove by approaching too close to the vessel, the men were directed to proceed along the boom and slide down by the rope. But as from the great swell of the sea, it was impossible for the boats to retain their station for a moment, most of those who adopted this course, were either left for a time swinging in mid-air, or plunged into the sea, and perhaps violently flung against the boat as it once more approached to their rescue.
At length, when nearly every person was removed, and when those only remained whom fear had so overcome as to prevent their availing themselves of the means of escape, even at the urgent request of those in the boats, Captain Cobb quitted the ill-fated vessel, and shortly after the boat in which he was reached the Cambria, the flames, which had spread along the upper deck of the Kent, ascended with the rapidity of lightning to the masts and rigging, forming one general conflagration, and illuminating the heavens to an immense distance, until the masts, one by one successively, fell like stately steeples over the ship's side. At last, about half-past one in the morning, the fire communicated to the powder magazine, the long-threatened explosion took place, and the fragments of the magnificent Kent were instantly hurried, like so many rockets, high into the air.
The Cambria now made all sail to the nearest port, and, though the violence of the gale continued, she arrived at Falmouth shortly after midnight on the 3d of March, when her unfortunate crew were received with the utmost kindness by the inhabitants, and their wants instantly attended to.
Were those that remained on board the Kent all lost, Uncle Thomas?
No, not the whole of them, boys. Wonderful to relate, the flames and the explosion attracted the notice of the crew of another ship, named the Caroline, on her passage from Alexandria to Liverpool, who immediately set their sails and bore down upon the wreck. They were fortunately in time to save twelve persons whom they found floating about on a mast. The captain of the Caroline, with the greatest humanity, remained in the neighborhood all night, in the hope of assisting any who might have taken refuge on other parts of the wreck. In the morning they rescued two more of the unfortunate survivers, being all that they could discover, from the floating masses of wreck. But the sky beginning to assume a stormy aspect, the boat which had been sent out was forced to return to the ship, which once more proceeded on her voyage.
Was rum the cause of this sad disaster, Uncle Thomas?
Yes, my boys, rum did all the mischief.
Then we will have no rum on board of our ship, when we are men, will we, John? for it is of no use, father says.
Good evening, boys. The tale which I am going to tell you this evening, so far exceeds in misery and crime all of those which I have already told you, that it is almost necessary for me, before I begin, to assure you that it really happened. I question indeed, if the wildest imagination could have contrived to conjure up such a complication of disasters.
It must be something very terrible indeed, Uncle Thomas!
It is, boys;—but you shall judge for yourselves. On the restoration of the general peace, in the year 1814, the French possessions on the west coast of Africa, which had been taken by the British forces, were agreed to be given up. An expedition, consisting of a frigate and three other vessels, having on board nearly four hundred persons, men of science, artisans, agriculturists, &c., was accordingly despatched, in June, 1816, to take possession of them. The naval part of the expedition was entrusted to an officer named Lachaumareys, who commanded the Medusa, of forty-four guns.
In consequence of the ignorance of the officers of the ship of the navigation of the coast, the Medusa unfortunately run aground on the bank of Arguin, on the coast of Africa. After in vain trying every means of getting her off, and finding that all hope of saving the vessel was useless, they took measures to secure the safety of the crew and passengers. Finding that the boats did not afford sufficient accommodation for the whole, a raft was hastily constructed; but in the tumult of abandoning the wreck, it happened that the raft, which was destined to carry the greatest number of persons, had on board the smallest quantity of provisions.
When all was ready, the boats pushed off, towing the raft, those on board assuring the passengers on the raft that they would conduct them in safety to land. They had not proceeded above a couple of leagues, however, when, one after another, the boats cast off the tow-lines, and left the raft to its fate, each striving to make off with all possible speed.
By this time it was discovered that the raft was completely overloaded, and the articles of which it was composed becoming saturated with water, it sunk below the surface, so as to immerse every person on board nearly up to the middle in water. Finding themselves thus abandoned, and threatened every instant with being swallowed up in the deep, the most horrible ideas took possession of their imaginations; they gave themselves up to despair. With some difficulty, the officers who were on board succeeded in restoring their men to a certain degree of tranquillity. Their own confidence had well nigh given way when they found that they were in the middle of the ocean, without chart or compass on the raft. It was discovered that one of the men had preserved a pocket-compass, but in their anxiety to secure this invaluable little instrument, it fell from the hands of the person who held it, and disappeared between the openings of the raft.
As night came on, the breeze freshened and the sea began to swell. By midnight the weather had become very stormy, the waves breaking over them in every direction. During the whole night the unhappy wretches struggled against death, holding firmly by the spars to prevent themselves from being swept away, tossed by the waves from one end to the other, sometimes precipitated into the sea, floating between life and death; "mourning over our misfortunes," says one of the survivers, "certain of perishing, yet contending for the remains of existence with that cruel element which threatened to swallow us up. Such was our situation till break of day—horrible situation! How shall we convey an idea of it which will not fall far short of the reality?"
In the morning the wind abated and the sea subsided a little, but the day-light displayed a scene scarcely less appalling than the storm of the night. Ten or twelve of the unhappy men had their limbs jammed between the spars of the raft, and exhausted by fatigue and hunger, and unable to extricate themselves, had perished in this situation. Several had been swept away altogether, so that when they came to count their number, it was found that twenty had disappeared.
The day turned out beautiful, and they flattered themselves with the hope that in the course of it some of the boats would come to their rescue. Evening approached, however, and none was to be seen. As the night advanced, the storm again rose; the waves broke over them, many were swept away, and the crowding to the centre of the raft became so oppressive, that several were crushed to death. Firmly persuaded that they were on the point of being swallowed up by the sea, the soldiers and sailors, abandoning themselves to despair, resolved to sooth their last moments by drinking to intoxication. They bored a hole in the head of a large cask, and continued to suck till the salt water, mixing with the wine, rendered it no longer palatable. Excited by the wine acting on empty stomachs and on bodies weakened by hunger and fatigue, they now became deaf to the voice of reason, and openly declared their intention to murder their officers and to cut the ropes which bound the raft together. One wretch, indeed, seizing an axe, actually began the dreadful work. The officers rushed forward, and their interference was a signal for a general revolt. The mutineers, for the most part, were fortunately badly armed, and the sabres and bayonets of the opposite party kept them at bay. One fellow was discovered secretly cutting the ropes which bound their frail raft together. He was instantly flung into the sea. Others cut the ropes which supported the mast, and it fell on one of the officers and broke his thigh. He was instantly seized by the mutineers and thrown overboard, but was saved by his friends. Finding that it was necessary to make a desperate effort to put an end to the mutiny, the officers once more rushed forward, and many of the mutineers fell. By-and-by, the effects of the wine which they had drank wore off, and they sank into calmness and servility, crying out for mercy, and begging forgiveness on their knees.
It was now midnight, and tranquillity appeared once more to be restored; but scarcely an hour had elapsed when the mutineers, as if once more seized with sudden frenzy, rushed on the officers, tearing them with their teeth. A new scene of slaughter again took place, and the raft was once more strewed with dead bodies.
When day dawned, it was found that in the night of horror which had just elapsed, no fewer than sixty-five of the mutineers had perished, as well as two of the other party. The scanty stock of provisions which they at first possessed, was now exhausted. A single cask of wine only remained. They began to experience the most violent cravings of hunger, and in the extremity of their distress were forced to devour the dead bodies of their unfortunate companions. Some, who, even in the extremity to which they were reduced, revolted from this horrible repast, tried to stay the pangs of hunger by gnawing their sword-belts, cartridge-boxes, &c; but from them they found little relief.
A third night of horror approached. Fortunately, the weather was now calm, and they were disturbed only by the piercing cries of those who were hourly falling victims to hunger and thirst. The morning's sun showed the survivers the lifeless bodies of ten or a dozen more of their unfortunate companions, who had died during the night. They were all committed to the deep except one, who was kept to satisfy the cravings of his unhappy comrades. A shoal of flying-fish, in passing the raft, left a great number entangled between the spars. This afforded them a momentary relief from the shocking repast to which they had of late been accustomed.
The fourth night was marked by another revolt. It was, however, soon quelled; two lives only being lost in the scuffle. Their number was now reduced to thirty; and it was calculated that the wine and fish which remained would be just enough to last four days; but in these four days they also calculated that ships might arrive from St. Louis to save them. Soon after this intimation was made, two soldiers were discovered behind the cask of wine, through which they had bored a hole for the purpose of drinking it. It having been determined that the punishment of death should be inflicted on any one who should be guilty of such a crime, they were immediately tossed into the sea.
At length the raft was discovered by a small brig,
which was sent out in search of
her.—P. 137.
Their number was thus reduced to twenty-eight; and, as nearly one half of them were so worn out and emaciated, that it was in vain to expect their surviving till assistance could arrive, (but, as long as they did live, they consumed part of the scanty stock of provisions,) a council was held, and after deliberation, it was decided to throw overboard the weak and the sickly. This shocking resolution was immediately carried into effect.
At length the raft was discovered by a small brig, which had been sent out in search of it. Of the 150 who embarked, fifteen only were received on board the brig; and of these, six died shortly after their arrival at St. Louis.
Oh dreadful, Uncle Thomas! It is indeed the most awful tale you have yet told us. Did the parties in the boats reach land safely?
Yes, Harry, they all reached the shore in safety, though several of them afterwards fell victims to the combined effects of hunger, thirst, and the oppression of a burning sun. Shortly after their arrival, the governor, recollecting that the Medusa, at the time of her wreck, had on board a large sum of money, despatched a vessel to try to recover it. From various causes, the ship was twice put back; and when she reached the wreck, fifty-two days after it was abandoned, she found three miserable wretches still on board, and so reduced as to be just on the point of expiring!
Where did they come from, Uncle Thomas?
Why, John, they had never quitted the ship. You will recollect that, when the boats left it, such was the scene of confusion, that the fewest provisions were put on board the raft, where there were the most passengers. Well, these men, along with fourteen others, had either concealed themselves, or refused to leave the ship. They managed to secure a quantity of provisions; and so long as these lasted, there appearing no danger of the wreck going to pieces, they remained quietly awaiting the arrival of assistance; but finding their provisions begin to run short, twelve of the most determined constructed a raft; but, setting off without either sail or oars, they were all drowned. Another, who had refused to embark with them on the raft, resolved, a day or two after, to try to reach the shore, and, lowering a hen-coop from the deck, placed himself on it; but, before he had sailed half a cable's length, he sank, to rise no more. The other four determined to stick by the wreck; and one of them died before assistance reached them.
Did the other three arrive in safety, Uncle Thomas?
I believe they did, Frank; one of them was, however, shortly afterwards found murdered in his bed. But I dare say you have had enough of horrors for the evening; so, I believe I must stop.
Oh yes, Uncle Thomas, quite enough for one evening. We will therefore bid you good night.
Good night, boys: I will be glad to see you again to-morrow.
Good evening, boys. I am glad to see you so early. I have "a long yarn to spin" to-night, as the sailors say; though fortunately it contains fewer horrors than that of last evening. The strife of the elements is in deed as strong, but the angry passions of man—more dreadful than the fiercest storm—form no part of the tale.
I am glad of it, Uncle Thomas. The shocking conduct of the mutineers on board the raft, after leaving the Medusa, of which you told us last night, makes me shudder when I think of it.
Intoxicating drinks, my boys, often make men mad. The tale which I am going to tell you this evening, is that of the loss of the Winterton, an East Indiaman, which was wrecked on the Island of Madagascar, on her passage to India. The Winterton sailed from England in the spring of 1792, and arrived at the Cape of Good Hope in safety. On leaving the Cape, it was Captain Dundas's intention to have taken what is called the outer passage to India, but, encountering light, variable winds, he was obliged to abandon his original design, and bore away for the Mozambique Channel.
In order to avoid a shoal, which he knew to be somewhat incorrectly laid down in the charts, Captain Dundas steered east. Thinking he had sufficiently accomplished this, he altered his course; but had scarcely sailed in this new direction for three hours, when the ship, which they supposed to be sixty miles distant from land, struck.
The boats were instantly got out, and on sounding they found deep water within fifty yards of the stern of the vessel.
Every exertion was made to get her off, but without avail. Day-light soon disclosed to them the dangers of their situation. The ship had struck on a reef of rocks, about six miles from land.
As the tide ebbed, the ship beat violently, and began to leak, and by-and-by the rudder was broken off, and the copper sheathing of the vessel came up alongside her; but as she lay comparatively quiet, hopes were entertained that they might succeed in getting her off next tide. With this view they proceeded to lighten her by every means, throwing the guns overboard—carrying them to such a distance as to prevent their injuring the ship as she again rose with the tide. When, however, they had succeeded in removing about half the number, the sea-breeze set in fresh, and prevented the boats from approaching the ship's side. They continued, notwithstanding, to relieve her as much as possible, by throwing overboard such heavy articles as the tide would carry away. At high water they renewed their exertions to heave the ship off; but were again unsuccessful. The leak had by this time gained on the pumps, in spite of their utmost exertions.
It being evident that the ship was irrecoverably lost, the great object now was to secure the safety of the passengers and crew. The masts were cut away, in order to relieve the vessel, and such spars as the surf prevented being borne away by the tide, were secured for the purpose of making rafts to assist in conveying the passengers on shore. In order to prevent such scenes of drunkenness as have sometimes disgraced shipwrecks, every cask of spirits which could be reached was staved.
Towards evening, a party was sent on shore in the yawl, to prepare a convenient place for landing; and the captain addressed the crew, directing them as to the proper course of procedure on reaching the shore, and stating his determination to abide by the ship till the safety of every person on board was secured. This manly address reanimated the drooping courage of the crew.
During the night the wind increased, and several of the boats were dashed in pieces by the violence of the surf. Thus deprived of the means of transporting themselves on shore, and the ship, in the meantime, beating with such frightful violence against the rocks, as threatened every instant to break her in pieces, they passed a night of the greatest consternation and anxiety.
As soon as daylight set in, they began to construct rafts, of such materials as they could procure. Three or four of these constructions left the ship, carrying about eighty persons, all of whom succeeded in reaching the shore. In the meantime the breeze continued to freshen, till at length it became so violent, that the hawser which held the ship's stern to the wind parted, and she drove with her broadside on the rocks, the sea making a complete breach over her. She soon began to break up, when every one crowded to the-quarter-deck and poop, as the only place which afforded any chance of safety: in a short time this retreat also failed, the vessel going completely in pieces. Some of these were driven on shore in various places, bearing with them such of the crew as had managed to secure a footing upon them; but the gallant captain fell a victim to the waves.
For several days, portions of the wreck continued to drift on shore, generally bringing with them some part of the crew. On gathering the survivers together, it was found that the captain, the first mate, three young ladies, and forty-eight seamen, had perished. But the trials of the survivers were not at an end. The natives, attracted by the wreck, flocked to the shore, and, seizing on everything of value that had either been saved or was cast on shore, threatened every one who opposed them with instant death.
At length they reached Tulliar, the residence of the king of Baba, by whom they were kindly received. The yawl, which you will recollect had been sent on shore on the evening previous to the breaking up of the vessel, was then equipped and despatched to Mozambique, to endeavor to procure a ship to come to their rescue. After sailing for some days, they reached the coast of Africa; but being unable to make head against the northerly winds, they were forced to steer for Sofala, a Portuguese settlement, where they arrived in safety.
Unfortunately, but a single vessel touched at the settlement in the course of the year; and it had sailed about a month before. Finding that there was here no hope of obtaining relief for their companions, they again set sail, intending to proceed to Delagoa bay, in the expectation of falling in with some of the South Sea ships, which touch there annually in considerable numbers. Contrary winds, however, and the leaky state of their boat, soon forced them to return to Sofala. The governor received them, this time, in a very different manner from that which he had shown to them on their former visit, and with little ceremony insisted on the whole party proceeding with his messengers to Senna, an inland settlement.
For five weeks they travelled through a miserable country, very thinly inhabited, and exposed to the intense heat of the sun, and many dangers from the wild beasts with which the country abounds. The fatigue which they underwent on this journey was too much for several of the party, who died shortly after their arrival.
At length, five months after leaving Madagascar, two of the forty reached Mozambique. Here they freighted a vessel, and proceeded to the rescue of their unfortunate comrades in misfortune. They found them in a most melancholy plight. Disease and despair had been at work among them; nearly one half of those who were saved from the wreck had perished. The others, emaciated and worn out, were embarked, and, with the exception of seven, who expired on the passage, reached Mozambique, where, in spite of every attention which was lavished on them by the governor and the inhabitants, about thirty of them died within two months of their arrival.
When the others were so far recovered as to be able to proceed, they again hired a vessel to carry them to Madras; but, before they reached it, the ship was captured by a French privateer. Part of the crew the privateer took on board their own ship, and put a number of their men into the captured vessel, with orders to proceed to the Mauritius with all possible speed. The privateer then continued her cruise, and in a few days falling in with a Dutch East Indiaman, engaged with her; but the Dutchmen proving victors, the remains of the crew of the unfortunate Winterton were once more set at liberty. They at length reached Madras; whence they sailed for England in the Scorpion sloop-of-war.
Poor fellows! they seem to have been very unlucky, Uncle Thomas. The rest of the crew, who were carried to the Mauritius, did they get home in safety also, Uncle Thomas?
Oh, I had almost forgotten to tell you about them, Frank. They never reached England; nor could the least intelligence be heard of them, though the East India Company caused the most diligent inquiries to be made after them.
Do you think they were again shipwrecked, Uncle Thomas?
That I won't say: but I rather fear there was foul play somewhere. Without some certain grounds to go upon, however, it is useless to conjecture. So I must bid you good night.
Good night, Uncle Thomas!
Perilous as is the life of a sailor, boys, during the raging of the storm, or when far at sea in the middle of the trackless ocean, he is still exposed to danger even when his ship rides at anchor in the fancied security of some friendly port. I dare say you have all heard of the loss of the Royal George, one of the first-rate ships in the British navy, which sank off Spithead, fifty-six years ago. The sudden and unexpected event, and the vast number of persons who fell victims, caused the greatest excitement at the time.
I have often heard of the loss of the Royal George, Uncle Thomas, but I never could get any information about it. Will you have the goodness to tell us about it?
With pleasure, boys. The vessel had just returned from a cruise, in which it was found that she leaked more than usual, and as the leakage continued even after she came into harbor, an order was issued by the Admiralty that she should go into dock to repair. After a strict survey, however, by the carpenter and others, it was found that the leak was not more than two feet below the watermark, and supposing it to be occasioned by the rubbing off of the copper sheathing, it was resolved, in order to save time, to lay her down at Spithead, by what is called a parliament heel; that is, by means of ropes attached to the masts, to pull her over so much to one side as to expose the other above water. In the meantime it was discovered that the pipe, which occasionally admitted the water to cleanse and sweeten the ship, was out of order, and that it was necessary to replace it with a new one. As the vessel required to be heeled very much for this purpose, the greater part of the guns were removed from one side to the other; but as she was not expected to heel so much as she did, they neglected to stop the scuppers of the lower decks, so that the water coming in on deck, gradually gained upon them, and the vessel thus for some time stole down imperceptibly.
During this time the greater part of the crew were at dinner; but the carpenters and caulkers continued at their work, and had almost finished it, when a sudden squall took the ship on the raised side, and the lower deck ports to leeward being open, the water rushed in. As soon as the dangerous situation of the vessel was discovered, they beat to arms to right the ship, but in vain: in less than eight minutes she fell flat on one side, filled with water, and the guns, shot, &c., falling from the other side, accelerated her descent. She sunk to the bottom so rapidly that no signal of distress could be made; nor indeed could any assistance have availed if there had, for after her lower ports were fairly in the water, no power on earth could have prevented her from going to the bottom.
At this fatal moment there were nearly twelve hundred persons on board, including about two hundred and fifty women and several children, chiefly belonging to the seamen, who had been permitted to remain on board until the order for sailing arrived. The people who formed the watch upon deck, including their friends, amounting in all to about two hundred and thirty, were mostly saved by the boats, which the ships lying near the Royal George manned and sent to their assistance, with the utmost expedition, when they observed the vessel was sinking. Their assistance was, however, for some time necessarily delayed, as the swell occasioned by the sinking of such a large body produced a temporary whirlpool, which rendered approach impossible; a victualling sloop indeed, which lay alongside the Royal George, was drawn into the vortex, and seven of her crew were drowned. The boats also picked up about seventy more, who rose to the surface after the ship had disappeared, among whom were four lieutenants, eleven women, and the remainder seamen.
Among the officers thus snatched from the brink of eternity, was Lieutenant Durham, who, being officer of the watch, was upon deck at the time when he observed the vessel going down. He had just time to throw off his coat and scramble on the beam, from which he was washed as the ship sunk, and left floating about among men and hammocks. A drowning marine caught him by the waistcoat, and held him so fast, that several times he was drawn under water. It was in vain to reason with a man struggling for life; and conscious of the certainty of neither being saved, if he did not disentangle himself from his burden, he clung with his legs round a hammock, and with one hand unbuttoning his waistcoat and sloping his shoulder, committed it, with the unfortunate marine, to the remorseless deep. He then got to some of the top rigging, where a boat soon afterwards came to him, but he nobly declined the assistance offered, and pointing out to them where Captain Waghorne was in great danger, he desired them to go to his relief: the gallant youth was at length taken up and conveyed in safety to the shore.
The preservation of another young man, named Henry Bishop, was effected in a very extraordinary manner. He was on the lower deck at the time of the fatal accident, and as the vessel filled, the force of the water hurried him, almost insensibly, up the hatchway, when, at the instant, he was met by one of the guns which fell from the middle deck, which striking him on his left hand, broke three of his fingers; in a few seconds, however, he found himself floating on the surface of the water, and was providentially picked up by one of the boats.
Every effort was made by the boats of the fleet to save the crew; but they were able to pick up only Captain Waghorne, a few officers, and about three hundred people. By this dreadful and unlooked-for accident, nearly nine hundred persons lost their lives; among whom was Admiral Kempenfelt, whose flag was then flying on board the Royal George, and whose loss was universally lamented. Besides the Admiral, who was in his cabin writing when the sudden disaster happened, every one who was between the decks perished with her. Captain Waghorne, the Admiral's first captain, was, fortunately, on deck; but his son, who was a lieutenant on board, was drowned.
The water must have been very deep, Uncle Thomas, to cover such a large vessel. But I suppose she lay on her side.
No, Harry, she did not: a great number of persons were saved by climbing on the topsail yards, which remained above water after the vessel reached the bottom. She very soon righted herself, and the tops of her masts were visible so late as 1799; part of her hull even might then be seen at low water.
Could not the Royal George be got up again, Uncle Thomas? I should have thought that, being quite sound and in still water, she might have been weighed.
Several attempts were made to weigh her, Frank; but they were all unsuccessful. Her anchor and some of her guns were, however, recovered by means of diving bells. Her anchor was the heaviest ever made—it weighed ninety-eight hundred weight.
In the churchyard at Portsea, an elegant monument was erected to the memory of the brave Admiral Kempenfelt and his fellow-sufferers. On it is engraved this impressive admonition:—
"Reader! with solemn thought survey this grave, and reflect on the untimely death of thy fellow-mortals; and whilst, as a man, a Briton, and a patriot, thou readest the melancholy narrative, drop a tear for thy country's loss. On the twenty-ninth day of August, 1782, his Majesty's ship, the Royal George, being on the heel at Spithead, overset and sunk: by which fatal accident about nine hundred persons were instantly launched into eternity; among whom was that brave and experienced officer, Rear Admiral Kempenfelt. Nine days after, many of the bodies of the unfortunate floated; thirty-five of whom were interred in one grave, near this monument, which is erected by the parish of Portsea, as a grateful tribute to the memory of that great commander and his fellow-sufferers."
Good night, Uncle Thomas.
Good evening, boys! The sudden and unexpected disappearance of the Royal George, though, from the size of the vessel, and the number of lives which were lost on the occasion, an event sufficiently appalling, is yet frequently outdone, in intensity of suffering, by cases of shipwreck which happen on our coasts. To-night, I am going to tell you about the loss of two steam vessels, both of which afford remarkable instances of extreme suffering.
The first is that of the Killarney, a small steamer of about two hundred tons burthen, which sailed between Cork and Bristol. She left the quay at Cork, on the morning of Friday, January 19, 1838, having on board twenty-one passengers, and twenty-two persons belonging to the vessel. Her cargo consisted of about one hundred tons of goods, and six hundred and fifty pigs, part of which were in the fore hold, and the rest on deck.
Soon after she had left the harbor she encountered a gale, and the number of pigs causing her to dip considerably, she shipped several seas, which alarmed the passengers so much, that they prevailed on the captain to put back.
In the evening, the wind having somewhat moderated, the captain, contrary to the wishes of the passengers, resumed his voyage. The vessel had, however, scarcely left the harbor, when the wind again rose, and kept increasing till it blew a gale. This continued until midnight, the vessel rolling dreadfully, and every wave that struck her causing her to dip so deeply, that she shipped several seas. A great quantity of water poured down into the fore hold, the hatches having been left open in order to admit the air to the pigs which were confined in it.
As matters began to wear a threatening aspect, the captain requested that every person on board would assist in throwing overboard the pigs which were on deck, which crowded to the lee-side of the vessel so as almost to render her unmanageable. They found this, however, a matter of great difficulty, and were able thus to dispose of a very small number only.
The sea, in the meantime, continued to wash over the deck, and to pour into the hold. Up to four o'clock, on Saturday morning, they managed, by means of pumps which were worked by the engine, to get rid of this water; but about that hour some small coal got into the pumps and choked them. The water then rose rapidly, until it reached the level of the engine-fire, when it rushed in, and at once extinguished it. The engine no longer moved, and all was given up for lost.
After a few minutes of abandonment to despair, the sailors, and part of the passengers, seizing buckets, began to endeavor to lighten the vessel of some of the water in the hold, and after several hours of hard labor, they so far gained upon it as to enable them once more to light the fire, and to get the steam partly up again. They were at this time utterly ignorant of where they were, or whither they were going, for the fog was so dense that no object was visible. They endeavored to keep the vessel's head to the wind, but, after some time, they found they were going to leeward. The jibsail was then set, in order to keep her steady, but no sooner was it run out than it was blown into ribbons. About three o'clock the fog cleared away, and they saw land behind them, but no one could tell with certainty what part of the coast it was. It was then blowing a complete hurricane; the shore was covered with rocks, and they saw that, if they drifted towards it, destruction was inevitable. By the captain's orders, the mainsail was set, and the engine-men were directed to do their utmost to get up the steam, in order to keep her off. The steam, unfortunately, was so weak as to be of no assistance—it scarcely moved the crank; and the sail had to be hauled down, lest it should throw the vessel on her beam ends. The staysail was then tried, in the hope that it would enable them to round the point; but the storm was so violent that they could not haul it out.
The vessel was in the meantime drifting nearer to the rock on which she ultimately struck. After great exertions they succeeded in turning her round, to endeavor to make for a bay which promised a place of safety. Just as they had succeeded in getting her before the wind, she was, however, pooped by a tremendous sea, which carried away the taffrail, the wheel, and the two men who worked it, the companion, the binnacle, and the breakwater. The men fortunately caught part of the rigging, and were saved; but the sea carried away the bulwarks, with some of the steerage passengers who were standing near the funnel, and at once cleared the deck of all the pigs.
When the vessel was nearing the rock, and before she put about, the steward went down to call the cabin passengers on deck. They were on their way up when the sea passed over the vessel. A second wave succeeded almost immediately, and scarcely had two of them stepped on the quarter-deck when they were hurried overboard. These two seas had the effect of bringing the head of the vessel somewhat to windward again, when a third wave rapidly succeeded, and drove her on the rock. It was then between four and five o'clock. The first stroke she gave, the carpenter jumped on the rock; he was followed by one of the passengers, but the landing-place was so narrow that there was not room for both, and the latter fell into the water and was drowned. After striking, the vessel receded; she soon struck again, and continued receding and striking for some time, during which some of the sailors, the first mate, and the captain landed. When the latter got on the rock, a rope was thrown to him and the mate, that they might endeavor to keep the vessel to the rock. Most of the sailors and some of the passengers were saved in this way, one only landing at a time.
Before leaving the vessel, the steward scrambled along the deck to look for Mrs. Lawe, one of the passengers, who had distinguished herself by her calmness, and the firm reliance she placed on a protecting Providence. He found her near the funnel, calm and collected; with some difficulty he brought her to the quarter-gallery, and loosing the rope, he handed it to her, directing her to take hold of it, and, when the vessel next struck, to leap into the sea, and they would drag her to the rock. She did so, and was drawn up part of the way, but having quitted her hold of the rope, she was carried away by the receding wave, and never seen again. The steward leaped almost at the same moment, and was saved. The last persons who left the vessel were a sailor and a woman—the latter supposed to be the stewardess. She appeared to be insensible; and the sailor, who seemed to have brought her from the cabin, had her in his arms. He leaped from the vessel, and reached the rock, the woman under one arm; but the footing was narrow, and the rock was shelving. He had room for little more than his toes, and was obliged to endeavor to hold on with the fingers of one hand, but the weight of the woman inclining him backwards, they fell into the sea, and both were drowned.
The manner in which some of the lives were lost was peculiarly affecting. A medical gentleman, one of the passengers, had his little son in his arms, soothing and supporting him, and when the vessel struck, he flung him with all his strength towards the rock. The child reached it in safety, though the violence of the effort nearly carried the father overboard. When the latter gained the rock, he again took him in his arms, and, by clasping him closely, endeavored to keep him warm. "Kiss me, papa," said the little fellow, "we shall soon meet no more." The child was right. In a few minutes he got on his feet, ventured a short distance from his father's side, and slipping from the rock, was at once swallowed up by the raging deep.
As soon as the steward loosed the rope to give it to Mrs. Lawe, the vessel having nothing to confine her, swung round, and the next sea that struck her drove her against the rock; her deck opened, she divided into two, fore and aft, and every one who remained on board perished. In an hour after, with the exception of the engine and the paddle-wheel, not a vestige of the vessel or of her machinery was visible.
There were now about twenty-five persons on the rock. The sailors had contrived to clamber to a sheltered side, but the situation of the passengers was pitiable in the extreme. One who had on but a shirt and waistcoat, was seated astride on a projection of the rock, his face towards the sea. Under him was another, his back to the sea, his toes resting on a narrow ledge, and his fingers clinging in a crevice; while close beside them were others equally exposed and equally helpless.
The persons on the side next the land observing some country people—about eighteen or twenty—on the shore, shouted to them, hoping to attract their attention, but there was no answer. The probability is, that the sound never reached the land, as they saw the people subsequently descend and carry off some of the pigs that had been washed ashore. Night came on. About eleven o'clock the wind rose and blew terrifically, but, even amid the raging of the storm, a startling shriek was now and then heard, as one after another, unable longer to maintain their hold, fell into the sea.