But the terrors of that awful night were not yet exhausted. The wreck, to which the remaining officers and men were clinging, heeled towards the shore; but when the gale increased and blew with redoubled force, it heeled off again, rent fore and aft, and parted in two places—before the main-chains, and abaft the fore-chains—and then all disappeared from the eyes of the awe-stricken spectators on the beach.

High above the crash of timbers and the roaring of the blast, rose the despairing cry of hundreds of human beings who perished in the waters, and whose mutilated forms, with the fragments of the wreck, strewed the beach for miles on the following morning.

Thirty or forty seamen and marines still clung to the bow, the sea breaking over them incessantly; they kept their hold, however, in the fond hope that the signal gun remaining, might by its weight prevent the bow from being capsized; but the timbers, unable to resist the fury of the tempest, suddenly parted,—the gun reeled from side to side, and the unhappy men shared the fate of their companions. It has been said that during that awful time, whilst threatened with instant death, many of these men were in a stupor, with their hands locked in the chain plates.

Among the incidents connected with the wreck, it is related that Mr. Buddle, a midshipman, (one of the few who escaped,) was cast upon the waves almost insensible. He had not strength to strike out for the beach, and he therefore merely tried to keep himself above water. This proved to be the means of saving his life, for he floated in a direction parallel with the shore, and avoided the huge pieces of wreck by which all his companions who made directly for land (excepting three) were dashed to pieces.

Mr. Buddle was nearly exhausted, when he caught hold of a small piece of timber that was floating near him; a nail which projected from it wounded him on the breast; he fainted, and did not recover his senses until he found himself lying on the beach upon a heap of dead bodies. He attempted in vain to rise; for though he felt no pain, his left leg was broken, his knee cut almost half through, and his body much bruised. In this state he was discovered, and carried by some persons to a large fire until further assistance could be obtained, and he was then conveyed to the hospital.

One of the officers of the Sceptre, who is still alive, and who happened to be on shore at the time this terrible catastrophe occurred, declares, that nothing imagination could conceive ever equalled the horrors of that night. When the first signals of distress were made from the Sceptre, the whole population of Cape Town, with the officers and soldiers of the garrison, crowded down to the beach, in the vain hope of being able to afford some assistance. The night was bitterly cold; the wind blew with terrific violence, and the sea, lashed into fury, broke with a deafening roar upon the beach. As night approached, and darkness hid the vessel from their sight, the feelings of the agonized spectators became almost insupportable. The booming of the guns alone told that the ship still lived among the raging waters; whilst ever and anon a piercing shriek announced that the work of death had begun.

All along the beach large fires were lighted, as beacons to guide those who might be cast upon the shore. At length the ship was driven nearer, and again she became visible from the land. She appeared, says an eye-witness (before mentioned), like a huge castle looming in the distance. The hopes of the spectators revived as she heeled on towards them, and they all stood ready to give assistance whenever it should be available. At one moment, a fearful crash was heard—next, a piercing shriek, and the flash of the torches waved in the air displayed the struggling forms of the drowning seamen, tossed to and fro upon the waves amongst masses of the wreck, which, in many instances, killed those whom the waters would have spared.

The only help that the people on shore could render to the unhappy sufferers was, to watch the opportunity when the waves brought a body near to the land, and then to rush into the water, holding one another at arm's length, and to grasp the exhausted creature before he was borne back by the receding wave.

In this manner forty-seven men were saved, together with Mr. Shaw, a master's mate, and two midshipmen, of the names of Spinks and Buddle, before-mentioned. Six officers had fortunately been on shore at the time; all the others, with the captain, were lost on the wreck, together with about three hundred and ninety-one seamen and marines.

The people of Cape Town and the troops were employed the whole night in searching for the dead, amongst whom they discovered the son of Captain Edwards, with one hand grasping an open Bible, which was pressed to his bosom, the parting gift, perhaps, of a fond mother, who had taught the boy to revere in life that sacred volume, from which he parted not in death.

Three waggon-loads of the dead were next morning taken to a place near the hospital, and there buried. About one hundred bodies, shockingly mangled, were buried in one pit on the beach. The remains of all the officers (with the exception of Captain Edwards) were found, and were interred the following Sunday with military honours.

The reader may be interested by being informed of a few of the providential escapes which were experienced by Lieutenant Jones (now Rear-Admiral Jones), one of the few survivors of the catastrophe above described. This officer had been midshipman of the Providence, discovery-ship, commanded by Captain William Broughton, which vessel, after many dangerous vicissitudes, was finally wrecked among the Japanese islands. Mr. Jones having faced all the dangers consequent on such a trying position, with difficulty escaped a watery grave, by taking refuge, with the rest of the officers and crew, on board the tender which accompanied this ill-fated ship. This great addition to her small complement, and her want of accommodation, produced a virulent disease amongst the crew, from which Sir. Jones did not escape. On arrival at Macao, Mr. Jones was ordered a passage, with his surviving shipmates and crew of the Providence, to England, in the Swift, sloop of war, selected to convoy a large fleet of Indiamen. The evening before their departure, it was found that the accommodation in the Swift was not sufficient for the supernumeraries, and, consequently, Mr. Jones and Lord George Stuart (also a midshipman of the Providence) were, by order of Captain Broughton, distributed among the merchant ships, the former to the Carnatic, the latter to the Duke of Buccleugh. The Swift and her convoy sailed on the morrow. They had not proceeded far, before a succession of violent typhoons overtook them, which scattered and disabled the Indiamen, most of which were obliged to return to India; but the Swift foundered: she was seen for a short time struggling with the elements, and making signals of distress—a moment more, and she disappeared for ever.'

Mr. Jones, arriving at the Cape of Good Hope, was detained by Rear Admiral Pringle, and employed to communicate with his flag-ship, the Tremendous, then in a state of mutiny, the mutineers having put her officers ashore. His courage on this occasion was much lauded, as it was believed by all, and expected by himself, that he would have been thrown overboard. Harmony was at length restored on board the Tremendous, and six of the mutineers were executed. As a reward for his services, Mr. Jones was appointed acting lieutenant of the Sceptre: his preservation, and the part he acted on that occasion, have already been described.

When lieutenant of the Ajax, attached to the fleet under Sir J. Borlase Warren, lying in Vigo Bay, he was sent with a boat's crew to the assistance of the Tartarus, sloop of war, which ship was then driving to leeward in a gale on a rocky shore. So inevitable appeared her destruction, that the officers and crew had abandoned her, after letting go an anchor, to retard her expected crash against the rocks. At this critical moment, whilst held by only one strand of the cable, Lieutenant Jones's boat (although nearly swamped by the frequent shipping of seas) neared the ship; and this officer, watching an opportunity, sprung on board with his intrepid crew, and, by almost superhuman exertions, succeeded in hauling her ahead. She had just reached the point of safety, when her officers and crew, who witnessed her more favourable position, brought about by Lieutenant Jones's courage and perseverance, returned on board, and Lieutenant Jones and his gallant followers rejoined their ship amidst the cheers of the fleet. For this service Lieutenant Jones was sent for by the commander-in-chief, and thanked by him on the quarter-deck of his flag-ship.

As lieutenant of the Naiad, this officer had the misfortune to be involved in a serious quarrel with his superior officer (Lieutenant Dean), and on that person using very abusive, and unofficer-like language, Lieutenant Jones struck him. A court martial being held, Lieutenant Jones was sentenced to be hanged; but, in consideration of the very provoking language used by Lieutenant Dean, and Lieutenant Jones's previous irreproachable conduct, his Majesty George the Third was graciously pleased to pardon him, and restore him to his former position in the Navy, while Lieutenant Dean was dismissed the service.



THE QUEEN CHARLOTTE.

One of the greatest calamities that ever befel a ship belonging to the British Navy was the destruction of the Queen Charlotte of 100 guns, launched in 1790. She was the sister-ship to the Royal George, and was destined to a no less tragical fate. Her first cruise was with the fleet fitted out against Spain; Lord Howe, the commander-in-chief, being on board of her; and she carried his flag on the 1st of June.

She was afterwards sent to the Mediterranean, under the command of Captain James Todd, and bearing the flag of Vice-Admiral Lord Keith. Before entering upon our narrative, we may be permitted to apologize for any inaccuracy, or lack of incident, that may be apparent in the following account, by stating that the official reports of the disaster are so vague and imperfect, that it is almost impossible to give the details of it as fully as we could wish; and so many years have elapsed since the event, that we cannot obtain information from private sources.

On the 16th of March, 1800, Lord Keith, with Lieutenant Stewart, and four other persons, having landed at Leghorn, directed Captain Todd to proceed in the Queen Charlotte to reconnoitre the Island of Cabrera, about thirty miles from Leghorn, then in possession of the French, and which it was his lordship's intention to attack.

At four o'clock on the morning of the 17th, the men who were washing the decks stowed some hay close aft to the admiral's cabin, near a match-tub, in which it was usual to keep a match burning, for the purpose of firing signals. At six o'clock, when the men were in the act of removing the hay, a portion of it was discovered to have ignited. Not a moment was lost in giving the alarm, and those at hand used every means in their power to extinguish the slumbering element; but the fire had been smouldering for some time before it was discovered. The water thrown upon it from the buckets was useless—the flames bursting forth with such violence that they baffled the most strenuous efforts to overcome them. Such was the posture of affairs when the captain, officers, and men, alarmed by the cry of fire, rushed from all parts of the ship to the scene of conflagration. It would be no easy task to describe the feelings of a number of human beings thus suddenly and awfully awakened to the perils of their situation. For the moment, no doubt, fear predominated over every other feeling, and a degree of confusion ensued. Nor can this be regarded with astonishment, when we remember that of all the dangers to which a sailor is familiarized in his hazardous profession, none is so fraught with horror as a fire at sea.

The battle has no terror for him: he rushes to the conflict excited by the cheers of his comrades and the hopes of victory—

Though fore and aft the blood-stained deck, Should lifeless trunks appear, Or should the vessel float a wreck, The sailor knows no fear.

He glories in the stormy sea, and in 'the wild wind's roar:' they fill him with a fierce delight, while with steady hand and steadfast heart he obeys the voice of his commander; he trusts to his good ship, and 'laughs at the storm and the battle.'

But how differently does he feel, when roused from his deep slumber by the cry of fire. He rushes upon deck, but half awake, to meet an enemy far more terrible than any he has yet encountered. He finds himself enveloped in a suffocating smoke—here and there gleams a lurid flame—the fire becomes gradually more vivid: it rises higher and higher; grows brighter and brighter. In vain he looks for help,—beneath, nothing meets his eye but the boundless waste of waters, that can avail so little to quench those flames; above, the pathless fields of air, that serve but to increase their fury. The insidious enemy quietly but surely creeps onward, and the sailor knows but too well, that if not speedily arrested, the flames must reach the powder magazine, and then a few smouldering fragments strewed upon the waters will alone remain of the gallant ship and her living freight.

Such was the hideous form in which death presented itself to the minds of the crew of the Queen Charlotte, who now anxiously turned their eyes to their captain and officers, in the hope that, as on former occasions, their example and assistance might enable them to avert the threatened danger. Nor was their confidence misplaced.

Captain Todd and his first lieutenant (Mr. Bainbridge) stood upon the quarter-deck, displaying a calmness and self-possession of which the effects were soon felt throughout the vessel, and restored order among the ship's company.

They went among the people, calming their fears, and encouraging them to increased exertion, neither of them seeming for a moment to think of his own safety in comparison with that of his companions in danger.

All that man could do in such a case was done; but human foresight and presence of mind were of no avail against the irresistible power of that relentless enemy.

The flames darted up the mainmast, reached the boats upon the boom, and now wrapped in wreathing fires the whole of the quarter-deck, from whence all had been driven save the captain and first lieutenant, who still nobly kept their posts.

Amongst those who more particularly distinguished themselves on this occasion (where all did their duty) was Lieutenant the Hon. G.H.L. Dundas. This officer was roused from his sleep by the sentinel announcing to him that the ship was on fire. Springing from his cot, he hastily put on some clothes and attempted to ascend the after hatchway, but was driven back by the smoke. He then went to the main hatchway, and had almost reached the top of the ladder, when he was so overpowered, that he fell exhausted upon the middle deck.

When he had in some degree recovered, he rushed to the fore hatchway and thence to the forecastle, where he found the first lieutenant, some petty officers, and the greater part of the ship's company. These were endeavouring to haul up the mainsail which was in flames. The carpenter, seeing Lieutenant Dundas, suggested that he might direct some of the men to sluice the lower decks, and secure the hatchways, to prevent the fire reaching that part of the ship.

Mr. Dundas collected about seventy men, who volunteered to accompany him, and descended to the lower decks. The ports were opened, the cocks turned, and water thrown upon the decks. All the hammocks were cleared away, and as many people as could be spared were employed in heaving water upon the burning wood, rigging, and spars, which kept falling down the hatchways. The gratings were fastened down and covered over with wet blankets and hammocks. In this way the lower deck was kept free from fire for some time, until at length it broke out in both of the transom cabins, and burnt forward with great rapidity. Mr. Dundas and his party did not leave that part of ship, till several of the middle guns came through the deck.

At nine o'clock, finding it impossible to remain longer below, he got out of one of the starboard lower deck ports, and reached the forecastle, followed by most of the officers and men who had been with him. On the forecastle, about 250 men were drawing water, and throwing it upon the fire as far aft as possible.

For nearly four hours every exertion was made to subdue the flames. Officers and men behaved with heroic courage and self-possession; but in spite of their almost superhuman efforts, the flames rolled on, and the destruction of the ship became inevitable.

With fruitless toil the crew oppose the flame, No art can now the spreading mischief tame.

And many of that gallant company verified the poet's description: almost maddened by the intense heat, they sprung overboard and perished.

Some, when the flames could be no more withstood, By wild despair directed, 'midst the flood, Themselves in haste from the tall vessel threw, And from a dry to liquid ruin flew. Sad choice of death, when those who shun the fire, Must to as fierce an element retire.

Lieut. Archibald Duff, who had been alarmed by the firing of guns, attempted to get out of the ward-room door, but was driven back by the smoke. He at last succeeded in scrambling out of the quarter gallery, and reached the poop, from whence he jumped into the sea, and was picked up by the launch, when in the act of casting off the tow-rope. He had hardly left the ship when the mizenmast fell over the side, by which great numbers were thrown into the water, and left struggling in the waves; for, as the launch had only one oar, and neither sail nor mast, she drifted much faster than the men could swim, and many, whom those on board her would gladly have saved, perished within a few feet of the boat.

At length a ray of hope dawned upon the anxious survivors: vessels and boats were seen coming towards them from Leghorn; and as they neared the ship, every heart beat quicker, and every hand was nerved with increased strength. But the boats' crews, alarmed by the explosion of the guns, which were most of them shotted, refused to approach nearer, and hove to. Seeing their hesitation, the crew of the Queen Charlotte gave them three cheers to encourage them. The English cheers seemed to have the desired effect, for again the boats pulled towards the hapless vessel; but it was afterwards discovered that this renewed activity was entirely owing to the persuasions of Lieut. Stewart and other English officers who were in the boats.

Lord Keith, who was watching with intense anxiety the destruction of his noble ship, used every possible effort to induce the Tuscans to put to sea; but his entreaties, backed as they were by the commands of the governor and other authorities, had no influence save with a few only, and even these, when they did venture to the rescue, were with great difficulty prevailed upon to approach the vessel. A boat from an American ship presented a striking contrast. She was manned by three men only, who, in their generous ardour to save the lives of their fellow-creatures, came alongside too incautiously, so that the wretched sufferers from the burning deck leaped into the boat in such numbers that she capsized, and every one of them perished. The fire had now advanced so rapidly that it was impossible to bear the heat on the forecastle, and most of the people got on to the bowsprit and jib-boom. The latter, however, gave way under the pressure, and numbers were precipitated into the water and drowned.

The boats, headed by Lieutenant Stewart, approached about ten o'clock, and the people continued dropping into them from the ship for some time. Captain Todd and Mr. Bainbridge continued to the last to give orders for the safety of those who remained alive.

Lieutenant Duff gives the following account of the closing scene:—

'Lieutenant Stewart's ardour in the cause of humanity was only equalled by his judgment in affording relief. When he reached the Queen Charlotte, he dropped his tartane under the bows, where almost all the remaining crew had taken refuge. Little more than an hour had elapsed, after this assistance was given, before the ship blew up. All that had been left unburnt immediately sunk down by the stern, but when the ponderous contents of the hold had been washed away, she for an instant recovered her buoyancy, and was suddenly seen to emerge almost her whole length from the deep, and then, turning over, she floated on the surface, with her burnished copper glistening in the sun.'

Such was the fate of the Queen Charlotte, which, excepting the Ville de Paris, was the largest ship in the British navy.

With the gallant vessel perished six hundred and seventy-three of her men and officers; amongst whom were Captain Todd and Lieutenant Bainbridge. These two officers, with heroic self-devotion, remained to share the fate of their ship, occupied to the last in endeavouring to save the lives of the men.

Before Captain Todd fell a victim to the flames, he had the presence of mind to write the particulars of the melancholy event, and to give copies of his account to several of the sailors, charging them to deliver it to the admiral if they should be so fortunate as to escape.[5]

The following daring exploit is related of Lieutenant Bainbridge in James's Naval History. We transcribe it as affording a striking example of the union of undaunted courage with endurance in the character of a British sailor.

"On the evening of the 21st of December, the British hired 10 gun cutter, Lady Nelson, while off Carbareta Point, was surrounded and engaged by two or three French privateers, and some gun vessels, in sight of the 100 gun ship, Queen Charlotte, and the 36 gun frigate Emerald, lying in Gibraltar Bay. Vice-Admiral Lord Keith, whose flag was flying on board the former ship, immediately ordered the boats of the two to row towards the combatants, in the hope that it might encourage the Lady Nelson to resist, until she could approach near enough to be covered by the guns of the ships. Before the boats could get up, however, the Lady Nelson had been captured, and was in tow by two of the privateers.

"Notwithstanding this, Lieutenant Bainbridge, in the Queen Charlotte's barge, with sixteen men, ran alongside, and boarded with the greatest impetuosity; and after a sharp conflict, carried the Lady Nelson, taking as prisoners seven French officers and twenty-seven men.—six or seven others having been killed or knocked overboard in the scuffle. Lieutenant Bainbridge was severely wounded in the head by the stroke of a sabre, and slightly in other places."

We have seen how, a few months afterwards, this brave officer patiently anticipated death in a more terrible form on board the Queen Charlotte.

FOOTNOTES:

[5] Naval Chronicle, vol. iii. p. 302.



THE INVINCIBLE.

The Invincible, of 74 guns, bearing the flag of Rear-Admiral Totty, and commanded by Captain Rennie, sailed from Yarmouth on the morning of the 16th of March, 1801, to join the fleet of Admiral Sir Hyde Parker in the Baltic.

The master and the pilot were both considered very skilful mariners of those seas, and their orders were to navigate the ship into the North Sea, and to put her in the way of joining the fleet to the northward, as soon as she had cleared all the shoals.

About half-past two o'clock, P.M., of the same day, the Invincible, going at the rate of nine knots an hour, struck violently upon a sand-bank, and before the sails could be furled, she was fast aground in little more than three fathoms water.

The pilot and master assured Captain Rennie that there was no danger, and that the ship must have struck upon a lately formed knowl. In order to lighten her as much as possible, the yards and topmasts were struck, and some of the provisions thrown overboard, and then strong hopes were entertained that she would float off the bank with the next tide.

During this time she lay tolerably quiet, and the water gained but little upon the pumps. Every means was used to draw the attention of vessels passing near—guns were fired, and signals hoisted; but they remained unanswered until about five o'clock, P.M., when a cutter was observed scudding towards Yarmouth Roads, as if to inform Admiral Dickson of the situation of the Invincible. As the ship remained easy, neither the officers nor men suspected that the danger was imminent, and they performed their duty with the same regularity as if the ship were proceeding under ordinary circumstances.

All went on well until about half-past five, P.M., when the wind freshened, and the vessel began to beat the ground with such violence, that it was thought necessary to cut away the masts. The ship at this time dropped from three and a half into seventeen fathoms. She was then brought to with her bower anchor, and there appeared every probability of her getting safely off till about nine o'clock, when the flood-tide was making; she then lost her rudder, became unmanageable, and was driven back upon the rock.

Fortunately a fishing-smack had come near the Invincible a short time before, and Admiral Totty learnt from her master that the ship had struck upon Hammond's knowl; whereupon the admiral requested that the smack might be anchored as near as possible, so as to be ready in case of emergency.

In the meantime, the ship continued to strike with increasing violence, and the water gained considerably upon the pumps. At ten o'clock, the wind rose, and again the ship swung off into deep water, and the only prospect of saving her was by pumping and baling till daylight. Both officers and men laboured incessantly at the pumps, but all to no purpose, for unfortunately the Invincible was an old ship (built in the year 1766), and the water gained fast upon them in spite of all their efforts. Admiral Totty, seeing there was no hope of saving the ship, ordered Captain Rennie to send all the boys, and the least able of the crew and passengers, on board the smack, and to make arrangements for the rest of the crew to leave the ship at daybreak, or sooner, if possible.

A boat was lowered, into which the admiral and his secretary immediately descended, with as many others as she would carry, and they reached the smack in safety. Two other boats were also lowered and filled with people, but they were less fortunate than the admiral's, for before they reached the smack, the tide being to windward and against them, they were carried out to sea, and all on board would inevitably have perished, if they had not been picked up by a collier, which conveyed them in safety to Yarmouth.

The fishing-smack, with the admiral on board, remained at anchor during the night, without being able to afford the slightest assistance to the crew of the Invincible. At daybreak, as soon as the tide permitted, the cable of the smack was cut, and she stretched under the stern of the ship, endeavouring by all possible means to get alongside of her, but before that could be accomplished, the ill-fated vessel began to sink. About sixty men jumped into the launch, but they had only just time to clear the poop, when the gallant ship went down with four hundred men.

And first one universal shriek there rush'd, Louder than the loud ocean, like a crash Of echoing thunder, and then all was hush'd, Save the wild wind and the remorseless dash Of billows: but at intervals there gushed, Accompanied with a convulsive splash, A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry Of some strong swimmer in his agony. LORD BYRON.

'The horror of the scene,' writes Admiral Totty, 'and the screams of the unhappy sufferers, at the moment the ship went down, exceed all power of description. Numbers who were struggling with the waves attempted to lay hold of the launch, but the boat was already overladen, and, for the safety of those who were in her, the drowning wretches were beaten off, and, soon exhausted, they perished in the waves.'

Captain Rennie remained in his ship till she sank. He then attempted to swim to the launch, and by great exertion got within reach of her oars, when, too much exhausted to make any further effort, he was seen to raise his hands as if in supplication to Heaven, then putting them before his face, sank into his watery grave. All the other commissioned officers, with the exception of Lieutenants Robert Tucker and Charles Quart, perished.

Captain Rennie had distinguished himself, when a lieutenant, at the Helder; and Admiral Mitchell had mentioned him in such high terms of commendation in his public despatches, that he was made a post-captain. After remaining for some time unemployed, he was appointed to the Invincible, and proud of his first command, full of life and hope, he had just put to sea when this melancholy catastrophe closed a career that held out such bright prospects for the future.

We must not be supposed to have more feeling for an officer than for the men before the mast. If we dwell with peculiar sorrow upon the loss of a brave commander, like Captain Rennie, it is not that we are indifferent to the fate of the four hundred gallant men who perished with him; but there is something in human nature that compels even the most generous spirit to speak more of the loss of a man in a responsible station than others; and one reason for this may be, that our hopes under God, for the safety of our fleets and our armies, rest on our brave and efficient commanders.

No one can read such records of British seamen, as appear in this volume, without joining heart and soul in the sentiment expressed by the poet:—

To them your dearest rights you owe; In peace, then, would you starve them? What say ye, Britain's sons? Oh, no! Protect them and preserve them; Shield them from poverty and pain; 'Tis policy to do it: Or when grim war shall come again, Oh, Britons! ye may rue it.

Lieutenant Robert Tucker, who was saved in the launch, accompanied Rear-Admiral Totty to the Baltic and West Indies in the Zealous, 74. He was subsequently promoted, and appointed to the Surinam in 1803.

Whilst the Surinam was on the West India station, Captain Tucker rendered good service to the French garrison at Jacquemel; and on returning from thence, his ship sprung her foremast, and was in other respects so much damaged, that he was obliged to put in at Curacoa. Whilst refitting, he received private information that Great Britain and Holland would ere long be declared enemies. He therefore made every effort to hasten his departure, and get his ship ready for sea; and he had warped her to the head of the harbour, when a prize schooner which he had despatched to Commodore Hood returned from that officer, with orders for his future guidance. The officer on board the schooner incautiously permitted his vessel to touch at the government wharf, when some of the crew, having the opportunity imprudently afforded them, jumped on shore, and reported that the British had already commenced hostilities.

Upon this the Surinam was detained, and Captain Tucker was ordered on shore, and informed that he must consider himself a prisoner of war. At first he was not put under strict surveillance, and he therefore employed the weary hours in taking plans of the forts and batteries of the island. His occupation, however, was soon discovered, and highly disapproved by the authorities, who immediately placed him in close confinement in a room of the barracks.

On the first night of his captivity two musket-balls were fired into his room, one of which struck a table at which he had been seated a few moments before. These murderous attempts were frequently repeated during his imprisonment, and he must inevitably have been shot in his bed, had he not taken the precaution of constantly moving its position, and thus baffled the treacherous designs of his cowardly assailants.

A friendly warning was given to him, that where bullets failed, poison might succeed; and he was thenceforth obliged to watch most narrowly, lest it should be administered in his food. In this wretched state of suspense, he lingered for four months, when happily he and his officers were released in exchange for nine Dutch clergymen.

We regret that our pen should have to record such treachery as that we have described. We ask, and others have asked, were these soldiers and gaolers free men and Christians, or were they slaves and heathens? It must, however, be remembered that politics ran very high at that time; and in this particular instance, at the outbreak of a war, men's minds were half frantic, and we must not judge of the character of a nation by the isolated acts of a petty colonial government.



THE GRAPPLER.

CHAUSSEY, or Choye, is a group of islets lying off the coast of Normandy, about twenty miles from Jersey, and nine from Granville. They stretch north, east, and west, and cover a space of nearly twelve miles. The principal of them is called the Maitre Isle, and is the resort of a few French fishermen during the summer, but being only a rock, and totally devoid of vegetation, its inhabitants are entirely dependent on the neighbouring shores for all the necessaries of life, excepting what their nets may produce. At the time of which we are writing, the winter of 1803, this group of islets was in the hands of the English, and was the scene of the wreck of the Grappler in that year.

On the 23rd December, 1803, Lieutenant Abel Thomas, commanding His Majesty's brig Grappler, then stationed at Guernsey, was directed by Admiral Sir James Saumarez to proceed, with some French prisoners on board, to Granville, in Normandy, and there to set them at liberty; after which he was to touch at the islands of Chaussey, on his return to Guernsey, in order to supply twelve French prisoners who were on the Maitre Isle with fifteen days' provisions.

On the evening of the 23rd,—the same day that they sailed from Guernsey,—the Grappler anchored off the north side of Chaussey, but a heavy gale of wind which came on during the night rendered her position so dangerous, that Lieutenant Thomas thought it advisable either to return to Guernsey, or to run into one of the small harbours formed among the rocks, which afford a safe shelter during the severest gales, but are by no means easy of access, and are available only to small vessels, and with the aid of an experienced pilot. Into one of these natural harbours, Lieutenant Thomas, by the advice of his pilot, determined to run the Grappler, and succeeded in anchoring her in safety under the Maitre Isle. There they remained four or five days, keeping a sharp look-out by day from the top of one of the adjacent rocks, to guard against a surprise from the enemy's cruizers; while for their better security at night, a guard-boat was stationed at the entrance of the harbour. As the weather still continued too boisterous to trust the brig with safety on a lee shore, her commander determined to return to Guernsey, and offered his prisoners the alternative of returning with him, or remaining with their countrymen at Chaussey. As they all chose to remain, they were promptly landed, and furnished with a boat and a week's supply of provisions, in addition to what had already been left for the use of the inhabitants. To enable his prisoners to land with greater security at Granville, Lieutenant Thomas read aloud and sealed in their presence a letter, addressed by Sir James Saumarez to the Commissary of Marine at that port, containing an explanation of his reasons for liberating these Frenchmen,—with his hopes that the French authorities would act in the same manner towards any English who might fall into their hands,—and entrusted it to one of them, with another letter from himself, in which he stated how he had been prevented from conveying them to Granville in his own vessel, and begged that any English prisoners who chanced to be at that place might be sent to one of the Channel Islands. The sequel will show in what manner this courtesy and generosity were repaid by the French government.

At six, A.M., December 30th, all was in readiness for the Grappler to leave the harbour. The anchor was up, and the vessel was riding between wind and tide, with a hawser made fast to the rocks. Unfortunately, the hawser either broke or slipped while they were in the act of close reefing the topsails, and the brig cast to port. She drifted about three or four hundred yards, and struck at last on a half-tide rock, from which all their efforts were unavailing to haul her off again, and at low water she bilged, and parted in two abreast the chess tree.

Lieutenant Thomas, foreseeing the inevitable loss of the brig, had ordered the master to proceed with the cutter and eight men to Jersey for assistance; and he was directing the crew in their endeavours to mount some guns upon a small rocky islet, to which they had already carried the greater part of the provisions, small arms, and ammunition, when the look-out man, who had been stationed on the summit of the rock, reported that several small craft were steering towards them. Upon receiving this intelligence, the commander and pilot repaired to the high ground, and after carefully examining the appearance of the vessels, agreed that they were merely fishing boats, and considered that it would be imprudent to let them depart before assistance had been procured from Jersey, as, in case there were no ships of war at that place, these boats might possibly be hired to carry the men and stores to Jersey. With this object in view, Lieutenant Thomas pushed off in the jolly boat, accompanied by the French fishermen's small boat which had come to the assistance of the Grappler's crew.

In order to approach the supposed fishing boats, it was necessary to double a point of the Maitre Isle; and this they had no sooner accomplished, than they came in sight of three chasse marees, which had been concealed behind the point. On the sudden appearance of the English boat, the men on board the chasse marees were thrown into some confusion, and Lieutenant Thomas determined to attack them before they had time to recover themselves. On communicating his intention to his boat's crew, they dashed forwards at once with a loud cheer, but had scarcely pulled a dozen strokes when a body of soldiers, who had been concealed behind some rocks on the Maitre Isle, poured in so severe a fire that Lieutenant Thomas, seeing the superiority of the French in point of numbers, thought it prudent to retreat. No sooner had he given orders to do so, than a shot struck him on the lower jaw and passed through his tongue, rendering him incapable of further exertion. A second volley of musketry riddled the boat, so that she began to fill with water, and finding that they had no alternative but to surrender, the English made a signal to that effect, which was either unobserved, or purposely disregarded, as the firing did not cease till the arrival of the officer in command of the French, when the little party were all made prisoners. Upon Lieutenant Thomas being carried on shore, he found that he had fallen into the hands of a Capitaine de Frigate, who commanded a detachment of fourteen boats and a hundred and sixty men. As soon as the captives were landed, a party of the French troops proceeded to the wreck of the Grappler, and made prisoners of the men who were on the adjacent rock, and after seizing all the stores and provisions, they blew up the remains of the brig.

When Lieutenant Thomas had partially recovered from the faintness and insensibility caused by his wound, he handed his pocket-book to the French officer. After reading the orders of Sir James Saumarez, which it contained, this officer expressed much regret that Lieutenant Thomas had been so seriously wounded, and alleged that the troops had fired without his orders. Such was the apology of the French commander, but it certainly does not tell well for the discipline of his troops, nor is it easy to understand how so large a body of men could be left without a commissioned officer even for a moment, much less how they could have kept up a continued fire, which this seems to have been. Perhaps, however, it is not fair to comment too severely upon the conduct of the French on this occasion; the signal of surrender might not have been observed, and as the English had commenced the attack, the enemy may naturally have supposed that a larger force was shortly advancing to the support of their comrades. We should also bear in mind that the war had just broke out anew, after a short cessation of hostilities, and that national animosity was at its height.

Thus far we may attempt to palliate the conduct of the French, but it might naturally be supposed that upon learning from his papers the errand of mercy upon which Lieutenant Thomas had been engaged, the French officer would have done all in his power to alleviate the sufferings of his prisoner, and have shown him every mark of courtesy and attention. However this may be, no sooner were all arrangements completed, than the prisoners were marched to the boats, and Lieutenant Thomas was handed over to the care of two grenadiers, with directions that every attention should be paid to him; but the officer's back was scarcely turned, when these grenadiers, assisted by some of their comrades, stripped poor Thomas of all his clothes, broke open his trunk, which had been restored to him, and appropriated to themselves every article of value that he possessed. Having secured their plunder, they dragged their unfortunate victim to the beach, regardless of his wound and sufferings, and after gagging him with a pocket-handkerchief, threw him on the deck of one of their boats.

The wind blowing fresh on their passage to Granville, which was three leagues from Chaussey, the greater part of the soldiers were prostrated by sea-sickness, whilst the seamen were in such a state of intoxication, that had Lieutenant Thomas been able to rise, or to communicate with his fellow-prisoners, he might easily have overpowered the French, and gained possession of the vessel. If such an idea flashed across his mind, it was but for a moment: he could neither speak nor move, and lay for many hours exposed to the insulting jeers of the French, and the inclemency of the weather. It was late at night when they landed at Granville, but the naval and military staff waited upon Mr. Thomas the next morning, and told him that it was the intention of the authorities to send him back to England, in consideration of his kindness to the French prisoners. The expectation raised in the English officer's breast by these promises were, to the disgrace of the French government of that day, never realized. He was thrown into prison, and treated with the utmost severity; in vain did he protest against this injustice—in vain did he represent that he was engaged on no hostile expedition at the time of his capture, which, moreover, was not through the fortune of war, but through the violence of the elements. He was kept in close confinement at Verdun for ten years, and when he was at last released, liberty was scarcely a boon to him. The damp of his prison, and the sufferings attendant on his wound, had impaired his eyesight, and otherwise so injured his constitution, that he was no longer fit for active service. He was, however, promoted to the rank of commander immediately on his return to England: this rank he still holds, but the best years of his life had been spent in captivity, and his hopes of promotion were not realized till too late for the enjoyment of its honours, or for the service of his country.



THE APOLLO.

The following account of the loss of the Apollo is taken almost verbatim from the narrative of Mr. Lewis, clerk of the ship, an eye-witness of the occurrence. His narrative is too graphic to be suppressed:—'On Monday, the 26th of March, 1804, His Majesty's ship Apollo sailed from the Cove of Cork in company with the Carysfort, and sixty-nine sail of merchantmen under convoy, for the West Indies. On the 27th, we were out of sight of land, with a fair wind blowing fresh from the west-south-west. At eight o'clock on the evening of Sunday, the 1st of April, the wind shifted from south-west to south-east. At ten o'clock, we up mainsail and set mainstay-sail. At a quarter past ten, the mainstay-sail split by the sheet giving way. All hands were called upon deck. It blew strong and squally; we took in the foretop-sail and set the foresail. At half-past eleven the maintop-sail split; furled it and the mainsail. The ship was now under her foresails, the wind blowing hard, with a heavy sea.

'At about half-past three on Monday morning, April 2nd, the ship struck the ground, to the astonishment of every one on board, and by the last reckoning, we conjectured we were upon an unknown shoal.

'The vessel struck very heavily several times, by which her bottom was materially injured, and she made a great deal of water. The chain pumps were rigged with the utmost despatch, and the men began to pump, but in about ten minutes she beat and drove over the shoal, and on endeavouring to steer her, they found her rudder was carried away. The ship was then got before the wind, the pumps were kept going, but from the quantity of water shipped, there was every probability of her soon foundering, as she was filling and sinking very fast.

'After running about five minutes, the ship struck the ground again with such violent shocks, that we feared she would go to pieces instantly; however, she kept striking and driving further on the sands, the sea washing completely over her. Orders were given to cut away the lanyards of the main and mizen rigging, when the masts fell with a tremendous crash over the larboard-side: the foremast followed immediately after. The ship then fell on her starboard-side, with the gunwale under water. The violence with which she struck the ground and the weight of the guns (those on the quarter-deck tearing away the bulwarks) soon made the ship a perfect wreck abaft, and only four or five guns could possibly be fired to alarm the convoy and give notice of danger.

'On her drifting a second time, most pitiful cries were heard everywhere between decks; many of the men giving themselves up to inevitable death. I was told that I might as well stay below, as there was an equal likelihood of perishing if I got upon deck. I was, however, determined to go—and attempted, in the first place, to enter my cabin, but I was in danger of having my legs broken by the chests floating about, and the bulkheads giving way.

'I therefore desisted and endeavoured to get upon deck, which I effected after being several times washed down the hatchway by the immense body of water incessantly pouring down. As the ship still beat the ground very heavily, it was necessary to cling fast to some part of the wreck to save oneself from being washed away by the surges, or hurled overboard by the concussions. The people held on by the larboard bulwark of the quarter-deck and in the main chains. The good captain stood naked upon the cabin skylight grating, making use of every soothing expression that suggested itself—to encourage men in such a perilous situation. Most of the officers and men were entirety naked, not having had time to slip on even a pair of trousers.

'Our horrible situation became every moment more dreadful, until at daybreak, about half-past four o'clock, we discerned land at two cables' distance, a long sandy beach reaching to Cape Mondego, three leagues to the southward of us. On daylight clearing up, we could perceive between twenty and thirty sail of the convoy ashore, both to northward and southward, and several of them perfect wrecks. We were now certain of being on the coast of Portugal, from seeing the cape mentioned above,—though I am sorry to say no person in the ship had the least idea of being so near the coast. It was blowing very hard, and the sea was running mountains high, so that there was little hope of being saved. About eight o'clock, the ship seemed likely to go to pieces, and the after part lying lowest, Captain Dixon ordered every one forward,—a command it was difficult to comply with, from the motion of the mainmast working on the larboard gunwale, there being no other way to get forward. Mr. Cook, the boatswain, had his thigh broken in endeavouring to get a boat over the side. Of six boats not one was saved, all being stoved, and washed overboard with the booms, &c.

'Soon after the people got forward, the ship parted at the gangways. The crew were now obliged to stow themselves in the fore-channels, and from thence to the bowsprit end, to the number of 220,—for, out of the 240 persons on board when the ship first struck, I suppose twenty to have previously perished between decks and otherwise. Mr. Lawton, the gunner, the first who attempted to swim ashore, was drowned; afterwards, Lieutenant Witson, Mr. Runice, surgeon, Mr. McCabe, surgeon's mate, Mr. Staudley, master's mate, and several men, were also drowned (though they were excellent swimmers), by the sea breaking over them in enormous surges. About thirty persons had the good fortune to reach the shore upon planks and spars, amongst whom were Lieutenant Harvey and Mr. Callam, master's mate. On Monday night, our situation was truly horrible; the old men and boys were dying from hunger and fatigue; Messrs. Proby and Hayes, midshipmen, died also. Captain Dixon remained all night upon the bowsprit.

'Tuesday morning presented no better prospect of relief from the jaws of death. The wind blew stronger, and the sea was much more turbulent. About noon, our drooping spirits were somewhat revived by seeing Lieutenant Harvey and Mr. Callam hoisting out a boat from one of the merchant ships to come to our assistance. They attempted several times to launch her through the surf; but she was a very heavy boat, and the sea on the beach acted so powerfully against them, they could not effect their purpose, though they were assisted by nearly one hundred of the merchant sailors and Portuguese peasants. This day, several men went upon rafts made from pieces of the wreck; but not one reached the shore: the wind having shifted, and the current setting out, they were all driven to sea, and amongst them our captain and three sailors. Anxious to save the remainder of the ship's company, and too sanguine of getting safe on shore, he had ventured upon the spar, saying, as he jumped into the sea, 'My lads, I'll save you all.' In a few seconds, he lost his hold of the spar, which he could not regain: he drifted to sea, and perished: and such was also the fate of the three brave volunteers who shared his fortune.

'The loss of our captain, who had hitherto animated the almost lifeless crew, and the failure of Lieutenant Harvey and Mr. Callam, in their noble exertions to launch the boat, extinguished every gleam of hope, and we looked forward to certain death on the ensuing night, not only from cold, hunger, and fatigue, but from the expectation that the remaining part of the wreck might go to pieces at any moment. Had not the Apollo been a new and well-built ship, that small portion of her could not have resisted the waves, and held so well together, when all the after-part from the chess-tree was gone, the starboard bow under water, and the forecastle deck nearly perpendicular. The weight of the guns hanging to the larboard bulwark on the inside, and on the outside the bower and spare anchors, which it was not prudent to cut away, as they afforded a resting-place to a considerable number of men, added to the danger. It had become impossible to remain any longer in the head, or upon the bowsprit, the breakers washing continually over those places, so that one hundred and fifty men were stowed in the fore-channels and cat's-head, where alone it was possible to live.

'The night drawing on, the wind increasing, with frequent showers of rain, the sea washing over us, and the expectation becoming every instant more certain, that the forecastle would give way and that we must all perish together, afforded a spectacle truly deplorable, and the bare recollection of which makes me shudder. The piercing cries of the people, this dismal night, as the sea washed over them every two minutes, were pitiful in the extreme. The water running from the head down over the body kept us continually wet. On that fearful night every man's strength was exerted for his own individual safety. From crowding so close together in so narrow a compass, and having nothing to moisten their mouths, several poor wretches were suffocated, like those in the black hole,—with this only difference, that we were confined by water instead of strong walls; and the least movement or relaxation of our hold would have plunged us into eternity.

'Some unfortunate men drank salt water, several endeavoured to quench their raging thirst by a still more unnatural means; some chewed leather, myself and many others thought we experienced great relief by chewing lead, as it produced saliva.

'In less than an hour after the ship had struck the ground, all the provisions were under water, and the ship a wreck, so that we were entirely without food. After a night of most intense suffering, daylight enabled us to see Lieutenant Harvey and Mr. Callam again endeavouring to launch the boat. Several attempts were made without success, and a number of men belonging to the merchant ships were much bruised and injured in their efforts to assist. Alternate hopes and fears possessed our wretched minds.

'Fifteen men got safe on shore, this morning, on pieces of the wreck. About three, P.M., of Wednesday, the 4th, we had the inexpressible happiness of seeing the boat launched through the surf, by the indefatigable exertions of the two officers, assisted by the masters of the merchant ships, and a number of Portuguese peasants, who were encouraged by Mr. Whitney, the British Consul from Figuera.

'All the crew then remaining on the wreck were brought safe on shore, praising God for this happy deliverance, from a shipwreck which never yet had its parallel.

'As soon as I slipt out of the boat, I found several persons whose humanity prompted them to offer me refreshment, though imprudently, in the form of spirits, which I avoided as much as possible.

'Our weak state may be conceived when it is remembered that we had tasted no nourishment from Sunday to Wednesday afternoon, and had been exposed all that time to the fury, of the elements. After eating and drinking a little, I found myself weaker than before, owing, I imagine, to having been so long without food. Some men died soon after getting on shore, from taking too large a quantity of spirits. The whole of the crew were in a very weak and exhausted state, and the greater part of them were also severely bruised and wounded.'

Such is Mr. Lewis's account of the wreck of the Apollo, one of our finest frigates, and the loss of sixty of her men.

The cause of this catastrophe seems to have been an error in the reckoning. At twelve o'clock on Sunday, the land was supposed to be thirty or forty leagues distant, nor were they aware of their true position when the vessel struck at three o'clock the following morning, on what was supposed to be an unknown shoal. Never, perhaps, in the annals of maritime disaster, was there a scene more rife with horror than that upon which the daylight broke on the morning of the 2nd of April.

The frigate, which but a few hours before had been careering on her way with her gallant company full of life and energy, now lay a hapless wreck—her timbers crashing beneath the fury of the waves. The merchant vessels around were stranded in all directions, and the air resounded with the despairing shrieks of those on board. The destruction of the Apollo seemed inevitable; but in this hour of trial, the captain was firm and resolute, sustaining by words and example the courage of his crew; and when no other means of escape presented themselves, he sacrificed his own life in the endeavour to obtain rescue for those under his charge.

The narrator of this sad tale, has touchingly described in no exaggerated terms the sufferings of the wretched crowd who were exposed for nearly three days and nights to the worst of physical and mental evils—hunger, thirst, cold, and nakedness—in their most aggravated form, rendered still more painful by the almost utter hopelessness of their condition, while they watched the repeated failures of Lieutenant Harvey and Mr. Callam in their attempts to send a boat to their relief. We need not therefore dwell on this subject further than to observe that, under Providence, it was by the undaunted courage and perseverance of those two officers that the remainder of the crew of the Apollo were saved from destruction—for no one else had been found bold enough to attempt their rescue, although the Consul of Figuera had offered 100 guineas to any man that would take a boat to the wreck.

No less than forty merchantmen were wrecked at the same time. Several sunk with all their crew, and the remainder lost from two to twelve men each. Yet Mr. Lewis describes the situation of these ships as not so dangerous as that of the frigate, because the merchantmen, drawing less water, were driven closer in to shore, and the men were enabled to land after the first morning.

The Apollo's company received every mark of kindness and attention when they got on shore, from the masters of the merchant vessels, who had erected tents on the beach, and who shared with the sufferers whatever provisions they had saved from the wrecks.

Dead bodies floated on shore for many days after, and pieces of wreck covered the beach, marking the scene of this sad calamity. Fortunately, the Carysfort, with part of the convoy, escaped the fate of her consort by wearing, and arrived safely at Barbadoes. The surviving officers and crew of the Apollo marched to Figuera, a distance of eighteen miles, from whence they were conveyed in a schooner to Lisbon, and brought by the Orpheus frigate to Portsmouth.

On their arrival in England, they were tried by a court martial; and it is satisfactory to know that they were all fully acquitted.

It is a principal object in this work to draw attention to the advantages of firm and steady discipline in all cases of emergency. We cannot, therefore, omit to show than when a spirit of insubordination breaks out under circumstances of danger, how surely it is attended with fatal results.

In the course of the evidence adduced before the court of inquiry upon the loss of the Apollo, it was proved that about twenty of her men had broken into the spirit room; disorder, of course, ensued; and Lieutenant Harvey gave it as his opinion, that, if these men had remained sober, many lives might have been spared. There is so much cause for regret in the whole catastrophe, that we will not harshly impute blame to one party or another. We may see some palliation for the misconduct of the men in the awful situation in which they were placed—their fears, perhaps, made them forgetful alike of their duty to their king, their country, and themselves; but it is cheering to know that such cases are rare in the British Navy, and we are happy in having very few such to record: they are alluded to only in the hope that our seamen may learn from them to value that strict discipline and order, which, in a moment of danger, is their greatest safeguard.

Lieutenant, now Rear Admiral, Harvey subsequently served in the Amethyst, Amaranthe, and Intrepid. His promotion to the rank of commander took place in 1808, when he was appointed to the Cephalus, in the Mediterranean, and there he captured four of the enemy's privateers, and several merchant vessels. His post commission bears date April 18, 1811, and he was employed off Corfu till the month of December following. His last ship was the Implacable, which he paid off in 1814. He obtained his flag as rear-admiral in December, 1847. This officer now holds the appointment of Admiral Superintendent of Malta Dockyard.



THE HINDOSTAN.

In the year 1804, the Government sent out the Hindostan, of 1100 tons, laden with supplies for Lord Nelson, then commander-in-chief of the Mediterranean fleet. This ship was commanded by Captain Le Gros, with 259 persons on board, including passengers, women, and children.

She arrived at Gibraltar in the month of March, and sailed again from thence in company with the Phoebe frigate, to join Lord Nelson off Toulon, but she was separated from her consort during a heavy gale of wind, in the Gulf of Lyons.

On the 2nd of April, at about seven o'clock in the morning, the ship being then thirteen leagues to the south-east of Cape St. Sebastian, a thick smoke was observed to issue from the fore and main hatchways.

Lieutenant Tailour, who was on the quarter-deck, heard the cry of "fire," and saw the people rushing up the hatchway in the midst of volumes of smoke, coming from the orlop deck. He instantly called for the drummer and the mate of the watch, and desired the former to beat to quarters, and the latter to inform Captain Le Gros of what had occurred, whilst he himself would go below, and endeavour to ascertain the cause and the place of the fire.

Lieutenant Tailour then went down into the orlop gratings, and penetrated some distance into each tier; the smoke was very thick in both, particularly forward. He next went to the sail room, where there was no appearance of either fire or smoke. He was then joined by Lieutenant Banks and several other officers, and they proceeded together to the hold. Here the smoke was very dense, and it affected the throat like that from hot tar. The officers were satisfied, upon inquiry, that there had not been either light or tar in the hold. They then tried to re-enter the tiers, but were driven back by the suffocating smoke. The absence of heat, however, convinced them that the fire was not in that part of the ship. A cry was heard that the fire was down forward,—but we will use Lieutenant Tailour's own words to describe the scene. He says,—

'When I reached the fore-ladder, none being able to tell me where the fire was, I went down to examine, when at the orlop, I put my head over the spars which were stowed in the starboard side, then behind the ladder in the larboard side; the smoke came thickest in the starboard side from aft; feeling nothing like fire heat, I attempted to go down to the cockpit, but ere I reached the third or fourth step on the ladder, I felt myself overpowered, and called for help. Several men had passed me upwards on my way down, none I believe were below me. By the time I came up to the orlop ladder, some one came and helped me; when I reached the lower deck, I fell, but not, as many did that day, lifeless.'

When Lieutenant Tailour recovered, he made strict inquiries, whether any fire had been discovered in the cockpit or store-rooms, and being assured that there had not, he ordered the lower deck to be scuttled.

So energetic was this officer, that eight or ten minutes only had elapsed since the first alarm had been given, before the hammocks were all got on deck, and the ports opened, to give light and room below, until the place of fire could be discovered, and better means obtained for drawing water. Mr. Tailour did not recover from the suffocation so fast as he expected, and was obliged to go upon deck for air. There he found Captain Le Gros in consultation with the master, who, being of opinion that the fire was on the larboard side, gave orders to wear the ship, so as to allow the water which had been hove in to flow over her. Mr. Tailour differed from them, and said he was convinced that the fire was on the orlop starboard side. In a few minutes he again went below and assisted in working the engine, and giving directions for scuttling on the larboard side, where the smoke appeared most dense.

The engine, however, proved of little avail, for the smoke increased to such a degree as to prevent the people working on the orlop deck; the hatches were, therefore, laid over, the ports lowered, everything covered up, and all means used to prevent the circulation of air. Having taken these precautions, Lieutenant Tailour reported to Captain Le Gros what had been done, and at the same time advised that the boats should be got out without loss of time. The captain seems to have objected to this, on the plea that if the boats were got out, the people would all crowd into them, and abandon the ship without an effort to save her. To this objection Mr. Tailour replied, that to save human life must be their first consideration, and that every moment's delay was fraught with peril and death. 'If we wait,' said he, 'till the last moment, it may not be possible to save any; we can get the marines under arms.' Captain Le Gros yielded the point; he directed the sergeant of marines to get his men under arms, with orders to load with ball, and to shoot without hesitation the first man who should attempt to go into the boats without permission. All hands were then turned up, and the command given to 'out boats.'

The order was promptly executed, and as soon as the boats were out and secure for towing, the ship's head was pointed to the north-west, with the view of nearing the land, and in hopes that she might fall in with the Juno.

In the meantime, a party was employed in getting the booms overboard for a raft, the fore and main gratings were laid up and covered over, and Lieutenant Banks was sent down to get the powder out of the magazine, and stow it away in the stern gallery. He could only partially accomplish this; for the smoke increased upon them so much that the men were obliged to desist. The powder they had got up was thrown overboard, and water was poured down to drown that which remained; but the task of filling the magazine was hopeless, and therefore abandoned. Many of the men were drawn up apparently lifeless, amongst whom were Lieutenant Banks and the gunner. Lieutenant Tailour then went below to ascertain how matters were going on; he found only the boatswain's mate in the cockpit, who was almost stupified by the smoke. Mr. Tailour assisted him to reach the deck, and then the gallant officer was preparing to return to the magazine, taking a rope with him by way of precaution, when Lieutenant Banks, with noble generosity, darted past him, also with a rope in his hand, and descended on the dangerous service; but in a short time he was drawn up in a state of insensibility. All hope of doing anything with the magazine was then given up; but although the smoke was so powerful below, it had not yet got possession of the after part of the lower deck.

It was therefore proposed, and the proposition was immediately acted on, to cut scuttles through the starboard foremost cabin in the ward-room, and one under it in the gun-room, into the magazine. This was found more practicable than was at first supposed, as the cabins kept out the smoke. When they were cutting these scuttles, the smoke came up in such dense volumes through the after-hatchway, that it was necessary to shut it closely up, and the scuttle in the after-part of the captain's cabin was opened for a passage to the ward-room, and they began to haul up the powder, and heave it overboard out of the gallery windows. The ward-room doors, and every other passage for the smoke were carefully closed, and thus it was kept tolerably well under; yet many of the men employed in the duty were taken up to all appearance dead. Amongst them we again find Lieutenant Banks, and Mr. Pearce, the gunner. We cannot proceed without expressing the admiration we feel for the heroism and self-devotion displayed by officers and men. This is the third time we have seen Lieutenant Banks risk his life in the performance of his duty, and it was not the last of such efforts to save the vessel and the lives of his fellow-sufferers.

For the present, we will again adopt the language of Lieutenant Tailour:—'About noon,' said he, 'I went aft upon the poop, where many were collected, but the marines were drawn up on duty upon the poop above. Francis Burke, the purser's steward, was lying dead on one of the arm chests, said to have been suffocated by the smoke below. Soon after this, my attention was drawn forward, where a vast body of smoke issued from the hatchway, gallery doors, funnels, and scuttles, which I soon saw were blown off; I rushed forward and got them secured again, and in coming aft found the hatches had all been blown off; the two foremost main-gratings had gone down the hatchway. The after one I assisted to replace, also the tarpaulin, which was excessively hot, and left the carpenter to get it secured on. I next thought of the magazine, where I dreaded some accident. On my way aft, I met some people again bringing Mr. Banks up in their arms. On reaching the ward-room, I saw through the windows the stern ladders filled with people; I broke a pane of glass, and ordered them on the poop, threatening instant death to any one who dared disobey. On their beginning to move up, I just took time to summons the men from the magazine, and went up to the poop to see every one was once more under the eye of the marines. This done, the smoke having in a great measure subsided, the maintop-sail was filled, and top-gallant sails set.'

About two o'clock in the afternoon, when they had been seven hours contending with the fire and smoke, land was discerned through the haze, on the weather-bow, and it was supposed to be above Cape Creux.

Captain Le Gros, fearing the signals might fall into the enemy's hands, hove them all overboard. The sight of land gave a turn to the men's thoughts, and spurred them on to greater exertion. The fire rapidly increased; but the efforts of the captain and his noble crew increased with the danger.

Again they attempted to clear the magazine; but the smoke again drove the men from below, and rendered them powerless. Their courage was, indeed, kept up by the sight of land, though still five leagues distant; but there was still much to be done—many perils yet surrounded them.—and it was awful to feel that fire and water were contending for the mastery, and that they must be the victims of one of these elements, unless by the mercy of God the progress of the conflagration was stayed, and time allowed them to reach the distant shore. The fire was increasing fearfully; so much so, that Lieutenant Tailour describes the lower deck 'burning like the flame in an oven.' All communication was cut off from the fore-part of the ship. The flames flew up the fore and main hatchways as high as the lower yards, but still the brave crew remained firm to their duty; and by keeping tarpaulins over the hatchways, and pouring down water, they managed for a time to keep the fire from taking serious hold abaft.

But the crisis was fast approaching when human skill and human fortitude could be of no avail. In defiance of all their exertions and precautions, the devouring element pursued its course. Every moment it was gaining aft; and had not officers and men been true to themselves and to each other, they must all have perished. The mizenmast was on fire in the captain's cabin, and the flames were bursting from all the lee-ports. It was now a quarter past five o'clock, and they were entering the Bay of Rosas. Could they venture to hold on their way, and still remain in the ship? A moment's glance around him sufficed for Captain Le Gros to decide the question. The now triumphant element was no longer smouldering and creeping stealthily onwards amidst smoke and darkness, but with a lurid glare, and a sullen roar, the flames rolled on. The word was given to launch the raft; it was obeyed, and in a few minutes more the vessel struck, about a mile from the beach, between the Fort of Ampurius and the Church of St. Pierre. She was now on fire both fore and aft. Self-preservation is the law of nature, it is said; but there is a stronger law governing the actions of the British seaman. Officers and men were of one mind. They all united in putting first the women and children, then the sick and the foreigners, into the launch. The two yawls and the jolly-boat took as many as they could carry from the stern, and put them on board some Spanish boats from La Escada, which had been sent to their assistance, but which neither threats nor entreaties could avail to bring near to the ship.

The remainder of the people were then ordered on to the raft, and by the time it was covered, the flames came aft so thick, that it was necessary to send it off from the stern. All now had left the ill-fated vessel, except the gallant Captain Le Gros, Lieutenant Tailour, and the master. When they saw all the rest clear away, and not till then, did they descend by the stern ladders into one of the yauls and pulled towards the shore, which they had scarcely reached when she blew up.

The value of this ship was estimated at 100,000l., and the loss to Lord Nelson must have been incalculable. Yet it is said that he was much more distressed by the loss of the despatches, which were taken by the enemy, about the same time, in the Swift cutter.

In a letter to Lord St. Vincent, dated the 19th of April, Admiral Nelson says, speaking of Captain Le Gros.—"If his account be correct (he was then upon his trial), he had great merit for the order in which the ship was kept. The fire must have originated from medicine chests breaking, or from wet getting down, which caused the things to heat. The preservation of the crew seems little short of a miracle. I never read such a journal of exertions in my whole life."[6]

The captain, officers, and ship's company were most honourably acquitted by the sentence of court-martial.

Brenton, in his Naval History, remarks, 'In support of the reasonable conjectures of the Admiral (Lord Nelson), as to the origin of the fire, we might adduce many instances of ships in the cotton trade having been on fire in the hold during a great part of their voyage from China, owing to the cargo having been wet when compressed into the ship. Hemp has been known to ignite from the same cause; and the dockyard of Brest was set on fire by this means in 1757. New painted canvas or tarpaulin, laid by before it is completely dry, will take fire; and two Russian frigates were nearly burnt by the accidental combination of a small quantity of soot, of burnt fir wood, hemp, and oil, tied up with some matting,'

Mr. Thomas Banks, acting-lieutenant of the Hindostan, was recommended to Lord Nelson for promotion, by the members of the court-martial, in consequence of his conduct on this occasion; and he was advanced to the rank of lieutenant on the 23rd of June, 1804. This gallant officer died in 1811. Lieutenant George Tailour was appointed to the Tigre in 1808, and was promoted for his gallant conduct in cutting out a convoy of transports which had taken refuge in this same Bay of Rosas, where, five years before, he had equally distinguished himself, under even more trying circumstances.

FOOTNOTES:

[6] Clark and McArthur, vol. ii. p. 361.



THE ROMNEY.

'In the month of November, 1804,' writes Brenton, in his Naval History, 'the severity of blockading the Ports of the Texel was practically experienced in the loss of the Romney, of fifty guns, commanded by Captain the Hon. John Colville.'

The Romney sailed from Yarmouth on the 18th of November, under orders to join Rear-Admiral Russel, off the Texel; but on the 19th she went aground on the south-west part of the sand-bank off the Haaks. Regular soundings had been made during the run from Yarmouth; and a few minutes before the ship struck, the pilots were confident they were on the edge of the Broad Fourteens. They then sounded, and the pilots proposed standing in under double-reefed topsails, and foretopmast stay-sail, with the wind S.S.W., until they should be in ten or eleven fathoms. To this Captain Colville objected, as from the unsettled appearance of the weather, and the thickness of the fog, he deemed it would be imprudent to approach the shore. They were accordingly in the act of wearing, when they perceived, through the fog, a large ship bearing east by north. They stood towards her to make her out more plainly, and in four or five minutes they discovered that she was a large merchant vessel on shore.[7] Upon this, the pilots were anxious to haul off on the larboard tack; but before the ship could be brought to the wind, she struck. The wind was increasing, the fog very great, and a heavy sea rolling in. In spite of every exertion, the water gained upon the vessel so fast, that all hope of saving her was soon at an end; and had she been in deep water, she must have sunk immediately. The pilots supposed that the Romney would be dry at low water, the topmasts were therefore struck, and every preparation made to shore her up.

The captain having done all in his power to save his ship, next turned his attention to the preservation of his officers and men, determined to use every possible means for their safety. Minute guns were fired, in the hope that they might attract the notice of some of our cruisers, and procure assistance.

At this time it blew a gale from the south-west, and the sea ran so high, as to endanger the boats which were lowered in order to lighten the ship.

The two cutters were sent to a galliot and a schuyt, that were in sight near the land, to ask for help, but they failed in obtaining it; and one of them in returning to the Romney was upset in the breakers, and a master's mate with her crew perished. Lieutenant Baker, who commanded the other cutter, finding it impossible to reach the ship again, bore up to the Texel, in hopes of being more successful in obtaining assistance there than he had been with the schuyt.

On board the ship, in the meantime, the minute guns were fired, and officers and men looked anxiously for a responsive signal that would tell them of approaching succour—but they waited in vain; no help was at hand. The people were therefore set to work to make rafts, and three were soon finished. Between two and three o'clock in the afternoon the ship struck again, with such violence, that the rudder broke away, and she seemed likely to go to pieces immediately. The captain seized the first moment of the weather-tide slacking to order the masts to be cut away, which was promptly done, and fortunately without causing any injury in their fall. After this, the ship became more easy, although the sea still made a clean breach over her. Captain Colville saw that the slightest alteration in her position would be attended with imminent danger, and he therefore ordered the bower anchors to be let go—her head then swung to the wind, and this enabled her to settle gradually on the sand, where she lay comparatively easy. Darkness was fast gathering around, and the hearts of the crew were becoming dreary and hopeless.

Nor sail nor shore appeared in sight, Nought but the heavy sea and coming night.

When the tide flowed, no part of the ship below the quarter-deck was accessible. To add to the misery of their situation, out of the four bags of bread which had been put for safety into the cabin, one only could be got upon deck, and that one was so soaked in salt water, that the bread could scarcely be eaten. This, with two cheeses, and a few gallons of wine, composed the whole of their stock of provisions, and during the day they had had no leisure to take refreshment of any kind.

Such was the condition of the crew of the Romney, who passed that awful night on the quarter-deck, the starboard side of which was under water at high tide. The wind blew in violent gusts; sleet and rain were falling, and the sea dashed over the vessel every instant. Although the men were shivering with cold and hunger, not a murmur escaped their lips, not a whisper of complaint; but they patiently awaited the break of day. At length the morning dawned, and with it hope dawned upon the hearts of those patient sufferers, for the wind and the waves subsided, the clouds gradually dispersed, and the sun shone forth with glorious and invigorating light and warmth.

All eyes were turned to the offing, but still no assistance appeared. Captain Colville then resolved to hoist the white flag on the stump of the mizen mast, in hopes that it might be seen from the shore, and that he might preserve the lives of his crew by surrendering to the enemy.

This step was necessary, as it was the only means of rescue that remained to them. The barge had been swamped along side, soon after the masts were cut away, and three of the crew had been drowned. The launch, also, which was lying to leeward, had parted from her grapnel, and had been obliged to bear up for the Texel.

At 11 o'clock A.M., Captain Colville asked the carpenter if he thought they could remain another night upon the wreck: the carpenter assured him that he considered it almost impossible to do so, and that the attempt would be attended with the greatest risk to all on board. The ship had already parted amidships, the main beam and several others being broken.

Five rafts had been carefully instructed, each fitted with a mast and sail; and at the earnest entreaty of the crew, Captain Colville, on hearing the carpenter's report, allowed a part of the men to leave the wreck on these rafts.

About noon, as the fifth and last raft was about to leave the ship, seven boats (one bearing a flag of truce) were seen coming towards them from the shore. The captain ordered the people to throw the quarter-deck guns, and all the arms and warlike stores overboard, which they did.

When the boats arrived alongside, an officer hailed the wreck, and said that if Captain Colville was willing to secure the preservation of his officers and crew, by surrendering as prisoners of war, the whole company should be conducted in safety to the Helder. Captain Colville felt himself obliged to submit to the imperious dictates of necessity, and he accordingly accepted the proffered conditions, and surrendered himself to the Dutch, with all the ship's company that remained on the wreck.

Before nightfall they were all landed. Only those who have been placed in similar circumstances can judge of the feelings of men so rescued from the awful contemplation of immediate and certain death. How happy now did they feel in occupying a position, which two days before they would have shrunk from with horror, and have shed their life's blood to avoid. But 'there is no virtue like necessity,'

All places that the eye of heaven visits, Are to a wise man ports and happy havens. RICHARD II.

And the Romney's company were wise enough to rejoice, under the circumstances of their hard case, in finding themselves safely landed in an enemy's country as prisoners of war.

Nine seamen had been drowned; thirteen others, who had left the wreck upon a raft of timber, were afterwards picked up and taken on board the Eagle; the others who had been saved by the boats and rafts joined Captain Colville at the Helder. The following extracts from Captain Colville's dispatches show the high estimation in which he held the services of his officers and crew:—'That every possible exertion was made to lessen the calamity, after having struck, I trust will appear from the minutes.' ... 'Under the uneasiness of mind which the loss of the ship I had the honour to command, naturally occasioned, I feel some alleviation in reflecting upon the zealous, active, and orderly conduct of my officers and crew in circumstances the most trying, and under which they endured the severest hardships with cheerfulness, and in perfect reliance on Divine Providence, whose interposition in our behalf was strongly evident.'

Nothing could exceed the kindness and consideration shown by the Dutch admiral towards the crew of the Romney. Captain Colville, in a letter addressed to the Secretary of the Admiralty, does ample justice to a generous foe:—

'We have experienced,' he says, 'from the Dutch Admiral Kirkhurt, every attention that our distressed situation made so necessary, and which his disposition seems incapable of withholding, even from an enemy. But the wants of my fellow-sufferers are great, for not an article of clothing or anything else was saved by any one from the general wreck. I hope the Dutch government will be disposed to alleviate, in some degree, their wants,—in clothing, particularly. And I have solicited the assistance of Rear-Admiral Russel in obtaining these necessaries.' ... 'I have reason to believe we shall be sent to Amsterdam, until exchanged.'

Subsequently, the Dutch admiral, with noble generosity, sent Captain Colville, with eight of his officers, to Rear-Admiral Russel. It is always delightful to record such traits of magnanimity and kindness, and we feel that British sailors can well afford to do honour to those virtues in others, for which they have ever been so distinguished themselves.

Admiral Russel handsomely acknowledged his obligation to the Dutch government in the following letter to Admiral Kirkhurt:—

H.B.M. Ship Eagle, Dec. 2, 1804.

'Sir—I have this moment received your flag of truce, conveying to me the Honourable Captain Colville, late of his Majesty's ship, the Romney, (wrecked upon your coast,) with eight of his officers, whom you have first humanely saved from impending destruction, and whom your government, with its ancient magnanimity, has released and restored to their country and their friends, on their parole d'honneur. They are all, Sir, most sensibly affected with heartfelt gratitude to the Batavian government for their emancipation from captivity; to Admiral Kirkhurt for their preservation from the jaws of death, and to all the Dutch officers and inhabitants of the Texel, for their kindness and most humane attention.

'This, Sir, is nobly alleviating the rigours of war, as the Christian heroes of your country and mine were wont to do in these seas, before a considerable portion of European intellect was corrupted by false philosophy. Captain Colville will communicate to the Right Honourable the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty, your proposal for an exchange of prisoners. Accept my sincere thanks, and the assurance that I am, &c. &c.

'(Signed) T.M. RUSSEL.'

On the 31st of December, Captain Colville, the officers and ship's company of H.M. (late) ship Romney were tried by a court-martial on board the Africaine at Sheerness, for the loss of their ship off the Tezel on the 19th of November.

It appeared to the court, that the loss of the ship had been occasioned by the thickness of the fog and the ignorance of the pilots; that the utmost exertions had been used by the captain, officers, and crew, to save the vessel after she struck, and to prevent the ship's company becoming prisoners of war. The sentence of the court was to this effect: that the captain, officers and crew were fully acquitted of all blame, but that the pilots should forfeit all their pay, and be rendered henceforth incapable of taking charge of any of his Majesty's ships or vessels of war, and that they should be imprisoned in the Marshalsea—one for the space of twelve, and the other, of six months.

In 1805, Captain Colville was appointed to the Sea Fencibles, at Margate. In 1807, he obtained the command of L'Hercule, a 74-gun ship, on the coast of Portugal, and subsequently commanded the Queen on the North Sea Station.

He succeeded to his title (Lord Colville) on the death of his father in 1811, and was advanced to the rank of rear-admiral in 1819. On the 10th of November, 1821, he hoisted his flag on board the Semiramis, as commander-in-chief on the Irish station. Lord Colville died an Admiral of the White, in 1849.

We are aware that the foregoing narrative may appear deficient in novel and striking incidents, but we have introduced it for the sake of exhibiting some of the best and noblest attributes of the true-hearted sailor—courage, patience, and perfect obedience under the most trying circumstances, and generous kindness towards an unfortunate enemy. It is well to think of these things, and the more we read of the details of naval life—its sufferings, dangers, and trials, the more fully shall we be persuaded that true courage is ever generous and unselfish. In the words of the quaint old song—

Says the captain, says he, (I shall never forget it,) 'If of courage you'd know, lads, the true from the sham, Tis a furious lion in battle, so let it, But, duty appeased, 'tis in mercy a lamb.'

That my friend, Jack or Tom, I should rescue from danger, Or lay down my life for each lad in the mess, Is nothing at all,—'tis the poor wounded stranger, And the poorer the more I shall succour distress: In me let the foe feel the paw of the lion, But, the battle once ended, the heart of a lamb.

FOOTNOTES:

[7] She proved to be an American, and she went to pieces during the night.



VENERABLE.

On Saturday, the 24th of November, 1804, the fleet under the command of Admiral the Hon. W. Cornwallis, lay at anchor in Torbay. As it was late in the year, and the night dark and stormy, orders were given for the fleet to put to sea.

Unfortunately, in fishing the anchor of the Venerable, 74-gun ship, the fish-hook gave way, and a man was precipitated into the sea. The alarm was immediately given, and one of the cutters was ordered to be lowered. Numbers of the crew rushed aft to carry the orders into effect, but in the confusion, one of the falls was suddenly let go, the boat fell by the run, filled, and a midshipman and two of the crew were drowned. In a few minutes another boat was lowered, which fortunately succeeded in picking up the man who first fell overboard.

Owing to this delay, the Venerable fell off considerably towards Brixham, and getting sternway, was unable to weather the Berry Head. Every effort was made to stay her, but the ship refused; and, not having room to wear, she drove on shore, at the north part of the bay, on a spot called Roundem Head, near Paington.

Orders were given to cut away the masts, in the hopes of their falling between the ship and the shore. This was found impracticable, as the ship, from her position on the declivity of the rock on which she struck, heeled to such an extent, as to render the falling of the masts in the desired direction quite impossible.

Her commander, Captain John Hunter, however, with undaunted fortitude, continued to animate the crew with hope, and encouraged them to acts of further perseverance, with the same calmness and self-possession as if he were simply conducting the ordinary duties of his ship. From the moment the ship struck, not the least alteration took place in his looks, words, or manner; and everything that the most able and experienced seaman could suggest was done, but in vain. On signals of distress being made, H.M. cutter Frisk, Lieutenant Nicholson, immediately stood towards her, and hailing to know in what manner she could be useful, was requested to anchor as near as possible to receive the crew, with which her commander immediately complied, assisted by the boats of the Goliath and Impetueux.

All hope of saving the Venerable being now abandoned, the only object that remained was to preserve the lives of the crew, who were told to provide for their own safety on board the boats which had been sent to their assistance, the captain and officers declaring their intention of remaining on board till all the men had quitted the wreck.

At this time the sea ran tremendously high, and the men lowered themselves into the boats from the stern, this being the only accessible part of the ship. Most anxious was the situation of the officers and men who were left, during the absence of the boats. Many gave up all hopes of rescue, for every time the boats approached the ship, the attempt became more and more dangerous. The night still continued dark and foggy, with driving sleet and violent gusts of wind, which seemed to freshen every hour. In this forlorn and dismal state, the officers continued on the outside of the ship (for she was nearly on her beam ends), encouraging the men, and affording every assistance for their escape on board the boats.

The Venerable was now a complete wreck, beating against the rocks, and was expected to go to pieces at every surge; yet all this time was she so near the shore that those on board were able to converse with the people, whom the report of the guns had brought in great numbers to the rocks. With much difficulty, they at last contrived to fling a line on shore, which, being secured there, some of the crew attempted to land themselves by it. The surf, however, broke with such violence between them and the shore, although they were scarcely twenty yards distant, that the poor fellows who made the attempt were either drowned or dashed to pieces.

It was now past five o'clock on Sunday morning, the weather still growing worse. The crew, with the exception of seventeen, had succeeded in quitting the ship, and these nobly declared that they would remain to share the fate of their officers. The situation of the whole was indeed appalling, and sufficient to quail the boldest heart; the sea breaking over them, the fore part of the ship under water, and the rest expected momentarily to go to pieces. Under these circumstances, the officers, feeling that they could be of no further use on board, deemed it their duty to represent to the captain the necessity of endeavouring to save their lives, they having one and all resolved on sharing his fate.

This point being arranged, the hopes of life began to revive; but a further difficulty presented itself, which seemed to render their safety more problematical than ever. This was, who was to lead the way. The pause had well nigh been fatal to them all. At length a junior lieutenant, long known on board, and celebrated for his courage, agreed to lead the way, the rest solemnly promising to follow. One after another they descended from the stern by a single rope, wet, cold, and benumbed; and in this condition they gained the boats, which were in perilous attendance below. About six o'clock they reached the Impetueux, where they were treated with every attention and kindness which their unfortunate position so loudly called for. They quitted the ship in a most critical time, for in a little more than an hour after they had left her, she parted amidships—that part on which they had been standing for the last five or six hours capsized and was buried in the surf. In sixteen hours from the time she first struck, the whole vessel had disappeared, under the action of a raging surf, lashed into fury by the violence of the gale.

The conduct of the people on shore was most inhuman; not the slightest assistance was offered; not a single boat from Brixham or Torquay having put out to their assistance during the whole of this dreadful night. To add to this disgraceful conduct, the cowardly wretches were observed, when daylight broke, plundering everything of value as it floated ashore.

The following is the tribute of praise which Captain Hunter so justly pays to Captain Martin and the officers and crew of the Impetueux:—