When morning broke, the survivers clambered to the sheltered side of the rock. As they had now been discovered by the people on shore, great exertions were made to relieve them; but, as the storm continued unabated, it was found impossible to reach the rock. Ducks with ropes fastened to them were sent out; only one arrived, and that they were unable to catch. Wire was attached to bullets, and rope to the wire, and sundry shots were fired; but this means also was unsuccessful.
The whole of Sunday was spent in a variety of experiments to convey a rope to the rock, without success. The feelings of the sufferers it would be impossible to describe, and their agony, when they saw the attempt to rescue them abandoned—when darkness settled down upon the deep, and they could no longer distinguish the figures of the persons on the cliff above them, it would not be easy to imagine. Their sole sustenance, during the two tedious days and nights which they had passed since the wreck, was a little salt water and the few scraps of seaweed that they could gather from one of the bleakest and most barren rocks on the coast. The night, however, was not so tempestuous as the preceding, and at daylight the shore was once more crowded by persons, all anxious to lend their assistance.
On Monday morning, Captain Manby's life-preserving apparatus was brought to their assistance, but the same difficulty was experienced in reaching the rock with the rope. Shots were again fired from guns and small cannon brought for the purpose, but without success. At length, a plan, which had been unsuccessful on the preceding day, succeeded, and about eleven o'clock two loaves of bread, and a little wine and spirits, were lowered to them—the first they had partaken of since Friday. After refreshing themselves, they were hauled up, one by one. Of the forty-three persons who embarked on Friday morning, thirteen only escaped, and of these one died soon after their rescue.
Dreadful, Uncle Thomas! I wonder they were not all starved to death, exposed as they were to the cold of two January nights.
It was indeed surprising, Harry, that any of them escaped. Some of them were nearly destitute of clothing. I told you of one of the passengers who was all but naked, and the woman who escaped passed the time on the rock with only her night-dress and a small handkerchief to cover her.
The other wreck, of which I promised to tell you this evening, is that of the Forfarshire, also a steamer, which sailed between Hull and Dundee. She left Hull on the evening of Wednesday, September 5th, 1838, having on board a valuable cargo, and upwards of forty passengers. Her crew consisted of twenty-one persons; the captain's wife accompanied him on the voyage.
The Forfarshire had not proceeded far when a leak was discovered in the boiler. This rendered it necessary to extinguish two of the fires, which were, however, relighted when the boiler had been partially repaired. The vessel continued her course until the following evening, by which time she had proceeded as far as Berwick Bay, when the leak again appeared. It had now become so great, that the greatest difficulty was experienced in keeping the boilers filled, the water escaping through the leak as fast as it was pumped in. The wind was blowing strong and the sea running high, and the leak increased so much from the motion of the vessel, that the fires were extinguished, and the engines, of course, became entirely useless. It was now about ten o'clock at night, and they were off St. Abbs' Head, a bold promontory on the Scottish coast. There being great danger of drifting ashore, the sails were hoisted fore and aft, and the vessel put about in order to get her before the wind, and keep her off the land. She soon became unmanageable, and the tide setting strong to the south, she proceeded in that direction. It rained heavily during the whole time, and the fog was so dense that it became impossible to tell the situation of the vessel. At length breakers were discovered close to leeward, and the Ferne Lights, which about the same period became visible, put an end to all doubt as to the imminent peril of the unfortunate vessel. An attempt was made to run her between the Ferne Islands, but she refused to obey the helm, and at three o'clock on Friday morning, she struck with tremendous force against the outer or Longstone Island.
At the moment the vessel struck, most of the passengers were below, and many of them asleep in their berths. One, alarmed by the shock, started up, and seizing his trousers only, rushed upon deck. When he reached it, he found everything in confusion, and seeing part of the crew hoisting out a boat, he sprang into it. The raging of the sea instantly separated it from the vessel, and though several of the other passengers attempted to reach it, they were unsuccessful, and perished in the attempt. The boat itself escaped by something little short of a miracle. There was but one outlet by which it could avoid being dashed in pieces on the breakers by which it was surrounded. This outlet it providentially took without its crew being aware of it; and after being exposed to the storm all night, it was picked up by a sloop and carried into Shields.
In less than five minutes after the vessel struck, a second shock separated her into two parts—the stern, quarter-deck, and cabin being instantly borne away, through a passage called the Piper Gut, by a tremendous current, which runs with considerable violence even in temperate weather—with a rapidity of about six miles an hour—but which, when the weather is tempestuous, flows with a force truly terrific.
The fore part of the vessel, in the meantime, remained fast on the rock, and to it still clung the few passengers who remained, every instant expecting to share the fate of their unfortunate companions, whom they had seen swept away by the raging element. In this dreadful situation their cries attracted the notice of Grace Darling, the daughter of the keeper of the Outer Ferne Lighthouse. With a noble heroism, she immediately determined to attempt their rescue, in spite of the raging of the storm, and the all but certain destruction which threatened to attend it.
Having hastily awakened her father, he launched his boat at day-break, and, with a generous sympathy worthy of the father of Grace Darling, prepared to proceed to their rescue. The gale, in the meantime, continued unabated, and the boiling of the waves threatened a speedy destruction to their frail boat. It was therefore with a heart full of the most fearful forebodings, that he undertook the perilous enterprise. After watching the wreck for some time, they discovered that living beings were still clinging to it, and the gallant young woman, with matchless intrepidity, seized an oar and entered the boat. This was enough—her father followed; and, with the assistance of his daughter, conducted the frail skiff over the foaming billows to the spot where the wreck appeared. By a dangerous and desperate effort he was landed on the rock, and to preserve the frail boat from being dashed to pieces, it was rapidly rowed back among the awful abyss of waters, and kept afloat by the skilfulness and dexterity of this noble-minded young woman. At length the whole of the survivers, consisting of five of the crew and four of the passengers, were taken from the wreck, and conveyed to the light-house, where she ministered to their wants, and anxiously, for three days and three nights, waited on the sufferers, and soothed their afflictions. This perilous achievement, unexampled in the feats of female fortitude, was witnessed by the survivers in silent wonder. The weather continued so tempestuous that the mainland could not be reached till Sunday, when the nine persons, saved by the gallant heroism of the Darlings, were landed in safety; thus making the entire number of persons saved from the wreck eighteen. All the others perished.
Those who found refuge on the rock on which the vessel struck, suffered severely during the night from the cold and the heavy seas which, at intervals, washed over them. The female passenger, who escaped, sat with her two children, a boy and a girl, the one eight and the other eleven years of age, firmly grasped in each hand, long after the buffetings of the waves had deprived them of existence. The captain and his wife were washed from the wreck, clasped in each other's arms, and both drowned.
It was indeed a noble act, Uncle Thomas! I wonder she was not afraid that her boat would share the fate of the steam-vessel, and be dashed in pieces on the rock.
It was an act of heroism, boys, to which you will find few parallels; nor has it been without its reward. Besides the satisfaction of saving nine fellow-creatures from certain destruction, the fame of the heroic act has spread far and wide, and its praise been on every tongue. Painters, of no mean power, have portrayed the scene, and its memory will be thus preserved. Presents have besides poured in upon her and her father, and everything been done to mark the public sympathy and approbation of the daring and disinterested deed.
A coroner's inquest was held on the bodies of four of the sufferers, which were washed ashore. The jury returned a verdict "Wrecked on board the Forfarshire steam-packet, by the imperfection of her boilers, and the culpable negligence of the captain in not putting back to port."
Was the vessel completely destroyed, Uncle Thomas?
The only part of the vessel which remained, Harry, consisted of the forecastle, part of the engine, the paddle-wheels, and part of the rigging. One of the boilers was thrown upon the rock, the other disappeared in the sea. Of the valuable cargo, a few boxes of soap only were recovered.
Many of the tales of shipwrecks which have happened on our shores, are extremely distressing; none more so, perhaps, than that of the Albion packet, which was wrecked on the Irish coast, in 1822.
The Albion was one of the first-class packet ships between New York and Liverpool, and sailed from the former place on the first of April, having on board twenty-three cabin and six steerage passengers, her crew consisting of twenty-five persons; making the entire number who embarked fifty-four. For the first twenty days the voyage was prosperous and pleasant. About two o'clock on Sunday the 21st, they made Cape Clear, and the weather, which had, during the earlier part of the voyage, been moderate and favorable, now became thick and foggy, the wind blowing fresh, with heavy squalls from the southward. The ship had been carrying all her canvass, but as the gale increased they were obliged to shorten sail. At four o'clock, they were under double-reefed topsails, foresail, and mainsail, when a sudden squall carried away the fore-yard and split the fore-topsail. They therefore got the broken yard down, and prepared to replace it by another.
As night came on, the decks were cleared for working the ship; the wind, however, lulled, and it was supposed that the storm of the day was over. As they were near the coast, all hands flattered themselves they should, in a short time, reach their destined harbor, and be once more secure from the dangers of the deep. About nine o'clock, the ship was struck by a tremendous sea, which threw her on her beam-ends, and carried away the mainmast by the board, the heads of the mizenmast and fore-topmast, sweeping the deck clear of everything, including boats, caboose-house, and bulwarks, and staving in all the hatches, and state-rooms, and nearly filling the cabin with water. It also carried away six of the crew and one of the cabin passengers, and, in short, so destructive was its influence, that it left the Albion in the state of a wreck.
As the ship now became unmanageable, and the sea continued to make a complete breach over her, both crew and passengers were obliged to lash themselves to the pumps, in order to keep themselves from being washed away while working them. All who were unnecessary or unable to afford assistance on deck retired below, but the water was knee-deep in the cabin, and the furniture floating about rendered their situation dangerous and dreadful. On deck they were in total darkness, and having no correct compasses, they could not tell how the ship's head lay.
About one o'clock in the morning of the 22d, they made the light of the Old Head of Kinsale, a light-house on the Irish coast, but could not ascertain its bearing, and at two o'clock they found the ship embayed. All night long the wind had blown directly on shore, towards which the vessel was drifting at the rate of about three miles an hour. The complete hopelessness of their situation was known to few on board; but to Captain Williams the coast was familiar, and he must have seen, in despair and horror, throughout the night, the certainty of their fate. At length the noise of the ocean roaring and dashing upon the rocky and precipitous shore, spoke too plainly of the fate that awaited them. The captain, seeing that the crisis was now close at hand, and that the wreck of the vessel was inevitable, summoned all the passengers on deck, and briefly told them that each must prepare to save himself, as the ship must soon strike—it was impossible to preserve her. The scene was one of the most touching description; many of them had received considerable injury when the sea first struck the ship, and were scarcely able to come on deck; others were completely exhausted from having been incessantly assisting at the pumps; and one gentleman, who had been extremely ill during the voyage, Mr. William Everhart, of Chester, Pennsylvania, was too feeble to crawl to the deck without assistance, though, strange to say, he was the only cabin passenger who was saved.
The situation of the passengers on board the Albion was, at this moment, one of peculiar agony, as they watched, without the power of resistance, the deadly and relentless blast impelling them to destruction—the ship a wreck—and the raging of the billows against the precipice on which they were driving, sending back from the rocky caverns the hoarse and melancholy warnings of death. In such a situation, the stoutest heart must have quailed with utter despair.
As the morning dawned, the Albion struck on a reef, her upper-works beat in over the rocks, and in about half an hour she parted midships, her quarter-deck drifting on the top of the inside ledge, immediately under the cliffs. The perpendicular precipice of rocks, under which the unfortunate vessel struck, is nearly two hundred feet in height, in the base of which, the sea beating for ages, has worn large caverns, into which the waves rush violently, sending back a deep and hollow sound; after striking against the rock, they are thrown back in various directions, forming whirlpools of great violence. For some distance from the precipice, rocks rise out of the water, broad at bottom, and sharp at top: on one of these the Albion first struck; the next wave threw her farther on the rock, the third farther still, until, nearly balanced, she swung round, and her stern was driven against another, closer in shore.
In this perilous situation, every wave making a complete breach over her, many of the passengers and crew were drowned on deck. Captain Williams, worn out with the extraordinary exertions which, up to the last moment, he continued to make for the preservation of the lives of the unfortunate passengers and crew, was, with several others, swept away soon after the vessel struck.
A short time before she parted, the mate and six of the crew managed to gain a rock, but so exhausted were they by their previous exertions, and by the dashing of the waves, which every instant washed over them, that the mate was washed off; fortunately, however, he regained his position before the return of the sea. So exhausted was he, that before he could attempt to climb the rock, which was nearly perpendicular, he was obliged to lie down to recover strength from the severe bruises and contusions which he had received. One of the passengers also reached the rock alive, but, together with one of the stewards, he was washed off and drowned.
Perceiving that the stern was higher out of water than the fore part of the wreck, and the sea had less power in its sweep over it, Mr. Everhart went aft. He now saw that the bottom had been broken out of the ship. The heavy articles must have sunk, and the cotton and lighter articles were floating around, dashed by every wave against the rocks. Presently the ship broke in two, and all who remained near the bow were lost. Several had got on the side of the precipice from the stern of the ship, and were hanging by the crags. Although weakened by previous sickness and present suffering, Mr. Everhart made an effort and got upon the rock, and stood upon one foot, which was the only hold he could obtain. He saw several of his fellow-sufferers around him, and, among the rest, Colonel Prevost, who, on seeing him take his station, remarked, "Here is another poor fellow," But the waves rolling heavily against them, and often dashing the spray fifty feet above their heads, gradually swept them away, one after another. One of the sailors, losing his hold, attempted to grasp Mr. Everhart's leg, and nearly pulled him from his place. Weak and ill as he was, however, he contrived to retain his position, and stood for several hours on one foot on a little crag, the billows dashing over him, and quite benumbed with cold.
By day-light, the wreck having been discovered, as soon as the ebbing of the tide rendered it practicable, the country people descended the rocks as far as they could, and dropped Mr. Everhart a rope, which he fastened round his body, and was drawn up to a place of safety. Of twenty-three cabin passengers he alone escaped.
Many of the passengers who were lost in this melancholy shipwreck, held distinguished stations in society. The most eminent sufferer was Gen. Lefebvre Desnouettes, who, during a long series of years, had braved death in the field of battle, and escaped to perish at last in this catastrophe, when his mind was, perhaps, less than at any other period of his life, reconciled to the stroke of fate. His situation was every way peculiar. It is well known that he had been one of the favorite and most distinguished of Napoleon's military generals, and that he took part in the combination against Louis XVIII. On the landing of his old commander from Elba, with headlong enthusiasm he joined him in his last campaign, and being proscribed by the royal government, took refuge in the United States. Here his misfortunes, reputation, intelligence, and manly, unexceptionable deportment, rendered him an object of universal esteem. To escape, as he used to remark, pity and curiosity, and to gratify the natural activity of his mind, he retired to the territory granted to the French exiles in the State of Alabama, where he labored in the fields, under the burning sun, with a reckless exertion, which proved very injurious to his health. His wife, an amiable and accomplished woman, remained behind in France to look after his interests there. Having begun his agricultural toil, he never quitted it until his final departure from the country, except to visit Washington on business. At length, he addressed a petition to the French government, praying to be allowed to return home. He received directions to proceed to Holland, and there wait the final pleasure of the king; and, on his way to Liverpool, met with a watery grave on the Irish coast.
It is a very affecting tale indeed, Uncle Thomas! How shocking to think that, after crossing the Atlantic ocean in safety, they should perish when almost within sight of home!
This evening, boys, I am going to tell you of the loss of the Doddington, which was wrecked on a barren, uninhabited rock, when nearly two hundred persons lost their lives.
The Doddington sailed from the Downs, April 23d, 1755, in company with four others of the East India Company's ships. On the 20th of May, they made Bonavista, one of the Cape de Verd Islands, and on the 21st got into Port Prior Bay, for the purpose of taking in a supply of fresh water. On the 27th, she proceeded on her voyage, in company with three of the vessels with which she had at first set out, leaving the other, which had not yet completed her refitment, in the roads. They continued together until the following day, when the Captain, thinking that their course was too easterly, ordered the Doddington to be kept south; and after a fine run of seven weeks, she made the land of the Cape of Good Hope.
On the 5th of July, they took their departure from Cape Needles, and the vessel having steered eastward about twenty-four hours, the Captain ordered her to be kept E. N. E. In this course she continued till about a quarter before one on the morning of Thursday the 17th of July, when she struck.
The officer whose journal furnishes materials for the following narrative, was, at the time of the accident, asleep in his cabin; but being suddenly awakened by the shock, he started up in the utmost consternation, and hurried upon deck. He found the sea rolling over the ship with the utmost violence, and sweeping the men overboard, while the beating of the surge upon the vessel threatened, every instant, to dash her in pieces. On reaching the larboard side of the deck, which lay highest out of the water, he encountered the Captain, who told him in a very little time they must all perish; in a few minutes a sea parted them, and he saw him no more. He managed, by dint of great exertion, to get back to the quarter-deck, though he was much bruised and had the small bone of his left arm broken; the other portion of the ship was, in the meantime, overwhelmed by the waves and completely shattered in pieces.
In this dreadful situation, when every minute he expected would be the last of all who still clung to the wreck, he heard the welcome cry of "Land!" and looked eagerly about him; but though he saw something which he supposed had been taken for land, he believed that it was only the bursting of the surge on the other side of the breakers. At this instant, the sea broke over him with such fury, that it not only forced him from his hold, but such was the violence of the blow, that he was stunned, and lay insensible till after daylight. On recovering, he found himself fixed to a plank by a nail that had been forced into his shoulder. Besides the pain of his wound, and the many bruises which he had sustained, he was so benumbed with cold that he could scarcely move. He now observed that several of the crew had got on the rocks which were near, and called out to them as loud as he could; but they were not able to give him any assistance, so that a considerable time elapsed before he was able to disengage himself from the wreck and get on shore.
On reaching the rock, he found twenty-three of his companions, which were all that had been able to save themselves out of two hundred and twenty individuals that were on board when the ship struck. Their first care was to search among the things that had been thrown on the rocks from the wreck, for something to cover them from the weather, and in this they succeeded almost beyond their expectations; but the attainment of fire was not so easily accomplished. Some of them made an unsuccessful attempt to kindle two pieces of wood by rubbing them together, while others diligently searched the rocks in anxious endeavors to find a substitute for flint and steel. After some time they found a box containing a couple of gun-flints and a broken file, which was a most joyful acquisition, though they still wanted tinder. After a further search, they discovered a cask of gunpowder, which, to their great disappointment, proved to be wet; but, on a more narrow inspection, they found a small quantity at the bottom that had suffered no damage. Some of this bruised on a linen rag, served their purpose very well.
Having at length succeeded in lighting a fire, the bruised and wounded collected round it, while the others went in search of further necessaries. A box of wax candles and a case of brandy were the first brought in, and soon afterwards another party returned, stating that they had discovered a cask almost full of fresh water, which was of greater consequence than the spirits, as there was no fresh water to be found on the island. They could also see at some distance several casks of water, flour, and beer; but it was not possible to get at them over the rocks.
It now became necessary to provide some shelter for the approaching night; all hands were therefore employed in making a tent of some canvass that had been cast ashore; but the quantity was so small that the tent would not hold them all, and for fear of being overflowed, they were obliged to erect it on the highest part of the island. Here they were so much exposed to the storm that their frail encampment was in danger of being blown away; their fire was scattered, and before they could collect the embers the rain extinguished them. On renewing their search in the morning, they found, to their great mortification, that all the casks which they had seen the preceding night, with the exception of one of flour and another of beer, had been staved against the rocks. These, however, they secured; but the tide flowing up soon after, interrupted their proceedings. As, in their desolate and forlorn situation, their thoughts naturally hurried from one subject to another in quest of some source of comfort, it was suggested by one of them that, as the carpenter was among them, he might build a vessel to carry them to a port of safety, provided they could obtain some tools and materials. The attention of every one was immediately directed towards the carpenter, who declared his belief that if tools and materials could be found, he should be able to build a bark; and though at that time there was no prospect of procuring either, yet no sooner had they thought their deliverance but one remove beyond total impossibility, than they seemed to think it neither impossible nor difficult. The boat engrossed their whole conversation, and they not only debated on her size and rigging, but to what port they should steer when she was fairly afloat. Some of them immediately dispersed in search of materials for their projected vessel, but they did not succeed in finding any. On the following day, however, they secured four butts of water, one cask of flour, one hogshead of brandy, and a small boat, which had been thrown up by the tide in a shattered condition; but no tools were found, with the exception of a scraper. Next day they had the good fortune to discover a box containing files, gimlets, sail-needles, and an azimuth compass-card; they also found two quadrants, a carpenter's adze, a chisel, three sword-blades, and a chest of treasure.
On Monday, the 20th of July, they recovered some more provisions, and also some timber-plank, canvass, and cordage, which they joyfully secured for their projected vessel, though still in want of many implements indispensable for the carpenter to proceed with his work. It happened, however, that one of the seamen, Hendrick Scanty, a native of Sweden, who had originally been a smith by profession, having picked up an old pair of bellows, told his companions that, by the aid of a forge, which they could build by his directions, he could furnish the carpenter with all necessary tools as well as nails, as plenty of iron could be obtained by burning it out of pieces of the wreck driven ashore. He began immediately to mend the bellows, and the three following days were occupied in building a tent and forge, and in collecting timber for the use of the carpenter, who was also employed in preparing the few tools already in his possession, that the boat might be begun as soon as possible.
In a few days the carpenter began to work on the keel of the vessel, which, it was determined, should be a sloop, thirty feet in length by twelve in width. The smith also finished his forge, and he and the carpenter continued thenceforward to work with indefatigable diligence, except when prevented by the weather. The smith, having fortunately found the ring and nut of a bower-anchor, which served him for an anvil, supplied chisels, axes, hammers and nails, as they were required, and the carpenter used them with great dexterity and despatch.
After having been nearly seven weeks upon the rock, during which time they had frequently seen a great smoke upon the main land, they determined to send the boat which had been recovered from the wreck, which the carpenter had so patched up as to fit it for sea, to ascertain what assistance could be obtained. For this purpose, three men set out on a voyage of discovery, the people making a great fire at night on the highest part of the rock, as a signal to them.
After waiting three days, the return of the boat was impatiently expected; but nothing being seen of it by noon they became very uneasy. At length, however, they discovered it approaching, but it was rowed by only one man, who plied both oars, and they consequently concluded that the other two had been lost or detained. Presently, however, another was seen to rise from the bottom of the boat, and their speed was a little increased.
Their interest and curiosity were wound up to the highest pitch, when the two men, jumping from the boat, threw themselves on the ground, and returned thanks to the Almighty for their deliverance. They were, however, so exhausted by the exertions which they had made, that they now sank on the ground and could not rise without assistance. When sufficiently recovered, they related their adventures since they left the island.
On the day of their departure, after sailing about six leagues to the eastward, they got round a point of land, and ventured to pull for the shore; but the moment they got into the surf, the boat was upset, by which their companion was unfortunately drowned. They managed, however, to reach the land, though in a very exhausted condition. On recovering a little, they crawled along the shore in search of the boat, as they had no other shelter from wild beasts, which might be expected to come abroad in the night, and after some search found her; but they were too weak to get her up, and were obliged to lie down on the sand, with no other covering than the branches of a tree. In the morning they again searched for the boat, which the surf had driven from the place where they left her, and in walking along the coast saw a man, who, on their approach, ran away into the woods. Soon afterwards they discovered the body of their unfortunate companion, which had been dragged some distance from the shore, and mangled by some wild beast, which so terrified them, that rather than undergo the dread of passing another night on shore, they resolved to return immediately. Encountering a gale from the west, the boat was once more upset, but after much struggling and swimming, they got safe to land, exhausted by their exertions and faint with hunger. Having managed to get the boat on shore, they turned it keel upwards and crept under it to sleep.
Wearied by their late exertions, they slept till the dawn of day, when, peeping out from under the edge of the boat, they saw the feet of several animals, which they supposed to be tigers, which induced them to remain under the boat till the day had well broke, when once more looking out they saw the feet of a man. On this discovery, they crept out, to the great amazement of a poor savage and two other men and a boy, who were at some distance. When they were a little recovered from their surprise, the savages made signs for them to go away, which they endeavored to do, though they began to move very slowly: but they had not got far when a considerable number of the natives ran down upon them with their lances, and took them prisoners.
They then rifled the boat, and took away all the rope they could find, and began to knock the boat in pieces, for the iron which they saw about it. With the exception of absolute destruction to these hapless mariners, this was the greatest calamity they could sustain; and, rough as they were, they burst into tears, and entreated the savages to desist, with such agony and distress, that they suffered the boat to remain without further injury. On the following morning, taking an opportunity of eluding the vigilance of the savages, they launched the boat for the third time, and returned to their companions on the rock.
This narrative was far from encouraging; nevertheless the carpenter continued his work with the greatest assiduity, and with such success, that, imperfect as were the tools with which he worked, on the 17th February 1756, they launched their little vessel, and bade adieu to the rock on which they had lived seven months. They weighed anchor at one in the afternoon, and set sail, with a light breeze from the west, for the river St. Lucia, on the coast of Natal; but misfortune still seemed to attend them. For twenty-five days they met with nothing but adversity; their provisions were almost exhausted, and the rapid currents carried them so far out of their course, that a favorable wind was of but little service to them. Despairing at last of being able to make the river St. Lucia, they resolved to change their course for the Cape of Good Hope, and accordingly, on the 2d of March, bore away for the west.
The three following days the wind increased to such prodigious violence that it blew a furious storm, and their frail bark shipped such heavy seas, that they expected each wave, as it rolled over, to dash her in pieces. On the morning of the 5th, however, fine weather ensued, and on the 7th it was a perfect calm, when they cast anchor about three quarters of a mile from the shore, where they observed several natives coming down from the mountains towards them.
Encouraged by this sight, they attempted to land, and Arnold, the black servant, was sent on shore, accompanied by two seamen, with a string of amber beads as a present to the Indians. After a mutual interchange of civilities, he obtained some Indian corn, fruit, and water, in a calabash, with a promise of sheep, oxen, and other necessaries; but the wind continuing westerly, the boat returned with a supply only sufficient for four days.
They continued to coast along, occasionally landing to barter with the natives, who everywhere thronged to the shore and received them with kindness. At length, on the 6th April, they arrived at St. Lucia.
Having landed, they signified to the natives their wish to trade with them; but the Indians intimated that they wanted nothing but small beads: however, on being shown some copper buttons, they brought bullocks, fowls, potatoes, gourds, and other provisions. No bullocks could be purchased; for the natives wanted copper rings large enough for collars, in exchange. Of the fowls, they gave five or six for a small piece of linen, and the other things in proportion.
They remained here three weeks, being engaged in traversing the country, and endeavoring to obtain such articles as they wanted. The Indians set a great value on copper, and on being shown the handle of an old box, offered two bullocks for it, which were immediately accepted and driven on board the vessel.
On the 18th of May, a favorable breeze springing up from the west, attended with good weather, they weighed anchor at seven in the morning and set sail. Two days afterwards they arrived in Lagoa Bay, where they found the Rose, a trading vessel, in which some of them requested a passage to Bombay.
On the 25th of May, the Rose sailed for Madagascar, where, happening to fall in with one of the East India Company's ships, bound for Madras, the packets of treasure were transferred to it, and in about a month arrived in safety at their destination.
I must now bid you good bye, boys—not that I have exhausted my "Tales of Shipwrecks," but my space being filled up, I must stop for the present. I hope we shall soon meet again. Our present meetings have not, I trust, been without profit as well as amusement. The various narratives of suffering have awakened our sympathies, and taught us to feel how much we owe to the intrepidity of the adventurous seamen, who, bidding defiance to the perils of the deep, bear the blessings of commerce and civilization to the farthest corners of the earth. Nor ought our conversations to have been void of instruction—opening up to us, as they have done, the mighty works of God and his mysterious dealings with mankind. "They that go down to the sea in ships," says the Psalmist, "that do business in great waters—these see the works of the Lord, and his wonders in the deep. For he commandeth and raiseth the stormy wind, which lifteth up the waves thereof. They mount up to the heavens, they go down again to the depths: their soul is melted because of trouble. They reel to and fro, and stagger like a drunken man, and are at their wit's end. Then they cry unto the Lord in their trouble, and he bringeth them out of their distresses. He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still. Then are they glad because they be quiet; so he bringeth them unto their desired haven. O, that men would praise the Lord for his goodness, and for his wonderful works to the children of men!"
Good bye, Uncle Thomas!