On the evening of the 9th of June, 1796, the Southampton was stationed with the fleet under Sir John Jervis, off Toulon, when a French cruizer was discovered working up to Hieres Bay. The commander-in-chief called the captain of the Southampton on board the Victory, and pointing out the ship, directed him to make a dash at her through the Grand Pas. Accordingly, the Southampton weighed, and, in order to delude the French into the supposition that the ship was either a neutral or a French frigate, hauled up under easy sail close to the batteries at the north-east of Porquerol. The stratagem succeeded; for before the enemy were aware of the approach of the Southampton, the ship was alongside of the French cruizer. Captain Macnamara cautioned her commander not to make a fruitless resistance; but he replied by snapping his pistol, and pouring in a broadside. In a moment, the English boarded, led on by Lieutenant Lydiard, with an impetuosity that nothing could withstand. After ten minutes' spirited resistance on the part of the French captain and a hundred of his men under arms, the 'Utile' surrendered, but not before the death of her gallant commander, who fell at the beginning of the onset.

Lydiard was instantly promoted, and appointed to the command of the ship he had so gallantly captured. In the year 1801, he was advanced to the rank of post-captain, and though frequently soliciting employment did not succeed in obtaining a command until 1805, when he was appointed to the Anson.

These pages will not admit of our recounting the many instances in which this officer's gallantry was conspicuous. Before concluding, however, we cannot refrain from laying before our readers the following account of the last enterprise in which Captain Lydiard was engaged, and which is related by his biographer in The Naval Chronicle.[11]

'No sooner had the Anson been refitted, than she was again selected, with three other frigates, under the command of Captain Brisbane (as Commodore), of the Arethusa, to reconnoitre, and, if possible, to sound the minds of the inhabitants of Curacoa upon the suggestion of an alliance with this country; but the gallant Brisbane, and his equally gallant partner in this expedition, soon formed a plan for curtailing this mode of proceeding, and determined, at all risks, by a coup de main, either to capture the island, or to perish in the attempt.

'With this resolution, having arranged their plan of attack, they proceeded in their course for the island, and they reached the entrance of the harbour just at the dawn of day, on the 1st of January, 1807.

'In order to inform the reader, who may not be acquainted with the amazing strength of Curacoa on the sea face, we will give some account of the difficulties which they had to contend with; and, at the same time, shall avail ourselves of such statements of the facts as the different official and other communications upon the subject will furnish us with.

'The harbour was defended by regular fortifications of two tier of guns. Fort Amsterdam alone mounting sixty-six pieces of cannon; the entrance only fifty yards wide, and so circumstanced, that it is impossible for a ship to return by the same wind that takes it in. Athwart the entrance of the harbour was the Dutch frigate Kenaw Hatslam, of 36 guns, and the Surinam, of 22 guns, with two large schooners of war; a chain of forts was on Mesleberg heights, and that almost impregnable fortress, Fort Republique, within the distance of grape-shot, enfilading the whole harbour. The cool determined bravery of British seamen perceives obstacles only to surmount them; and with this determination the squadron entered the harbour, the Arethusa, Captain Brisbane, leading, followed in close line by the Latona, Captain Wood; Anson, Captain Lydiard; and Fisguard, Captain Bolton.

'When the headmost ship got round the point of the harbour's mouth, the wind became so unfavourable that she could not fetch in; but to return was impossible—it was too late. What a trying moment! At that instant, however, there came on a squall, in which the wind shifted two points in their favour, and they proceeded close together.

'The enemy were panic-struck at such unexpected gallantry, and all was confusion. A severe and destructive cannonade now commenced, and the Dutch frigate was boarded by Captain Brisbane, when the Latona instantly warped alongside and took possession, and Captain Brisbane proceeded to the shore. The Surinam was boarded from the larboard bow of the Anson, while her starboard guns were firing at the batteries; and Captain Lydiard, upon securing the Surinam, went immediately on shore, and landed at the same moment with Captain Brisbane. Immediately debarking their respective officers and ship's companies, they proceeded to storm the forts, citadel, and town, which were by seven o'clock completely in their possession, and at ten o'clock the British flag was hoisted on Fort Republique. Captains Brisbane and Lydiard were the first upon the walls of Fort Amsterdam. Indeed, too much cannot be said in praise of the almost unparalleled bravery displayed by the officers and men of all the ships on this occasion. It may be truly said to be 'perfectly in union with everything glorious in the past, and an example of everything glorious to the future.''

The same year that opened so brilliantly upon the career of Captain Lydiard, witnessed, at its close, the total destruction of the Anson, and the untimely fate of her brave commander.

FOOTNOTES:

[11] Vol. xix., p. 449.



THE BOREAS.

In the afternoon of the 21st of November, 1807, the Boreas, of 22 guns, Captain George Scott, proceeded in search of a pilot-boat, which had been blown off the coast of Guernsey in a gale of wind.

This boat was picked up and taken in tow, when about six o'clock P.M. it was discovered that the ship was near the Hannois rocks, about two miles to the south-west of Guernsey. Orders were immediately given by the pilot to put the helm down, but whilst in stays, the ship struck on the larboard bow; and although every exertion was made to get her off, it was found impossible to do so. The point of a rock was reported to be through the well, rendering the pumps useless. The ship then heeled on her larboard broadside, and the captain gave orders to cut away the masts.

The moment the ship struck, the pilots basely deserted her, and made off in their own boat, without even offering assistance to those who had encountered this danger and disaster in their service. Had the pilots returned to Rocquaine, only two miles distant, they might have procured aid for the Boreas, and preserved the lives of her crew. When Captain Scott was convinced that there was no chance of saving his ship, he ordered an allowance of spirits to be served round, and the gig, the launch, and cutter to be prepared for lowering.

The gig, with Lieutenant Bewick, a lieutenant of marines, and six men, was sent to give information, and obtain assistance. The launch, with the gunner, and some others, was ordered to take on board the sick, and land them at Hannois Point, and then to return to the ship; and the cutter, with the boatswain, and a few men, was despatched on the same service. Captain Scott, with noble intrepidity, remained to share the fate of his vessel.

The launch, under the orders of the gunner, succeeded in reaching the Hannois Rocks, as did also the cutter; but the greater part of the crew of the launch abandoned her as soon as they touched the land. In vain did the gunner use every persuasion to induce the men to return with him to the assistance of their comrades who were left on board the Boreas; they were deaf to his entreaties, and he was obliged to put off again with only four men. The wind and tide were so strong, and so much against them, that the utmost exertion was necessary to enable them to make their way towards the ship, and when they got within two hundred yards of the back of the rocks, the launch was half filled with water. They then tried to make the land again; but before they could reach it the boat was swamped, and the men were saved with difficulty by Mr. Simpson, the boatswain, in the cutter. There is little doubt that if the launch had not been deserted by the greater part of her crew, she might have reached the Boreas, and have saved many valuable lives. And here, in justice to the majority of the ship's company, we must observe, that those who manned the launch were chiefly smugglers and privateer's men lately impressed, and were not to be considered as part of the regular crew of the ship.

In addition to the boats we have already mentioned as having left the ship, was a small cutter, (containing two midshipmen, of the names of Luttrell and Hemmings, and two men,) which was lowered into the sea by order of the first lieutenant, whose humanity induced him to take this expedient for saving the lives of the two boys. The current was so strong that in a few moments the cutter drifted away from the ship, but the generous feelings of the boys forbade them to desert their comrades in distress, and with great exertion they pulled back to the vessel; they called for a rope, but were ordered to keep off, and again their little boat was carried away by the current. Once more they attempted to get back, but their strength was unequal to the task, and they were carried out into the open sea. Their situation was in many respects little better than that of the friends whom they had left upon the wreck,—the night was pitch dark, the boat had neither mast nor sail, and the sea ran so high that they could do nothing with the oars. Every now and then the flash of a gun, seen across the black distance, told them that the Boreas still held together, and that she was making signals of distress; but no sound reached their ears save the roar of the winds and the waves. Even the booming of the guns was lost in that dismal roar.

The little party scarcely expected to survive the night; they were drenched to the skin, and suffering intensely from the cold; the waves broke over the bows of their frail boat, and threatened each minute to overwhelm it; but their brave hearts did not sink in utter despair; they did their utmost to keep themselves afloat, by incessantly baling out the water with their hats and hands. They thought the night would never end, and that they should never see the morrow; but day dawned upon them at last, and then with what anxious eyes did they sweep the horizon. But in vain they looked; not a sail was to be seen. An hour passed away; they shipped such a quantity of water that their imperfect attempts to bale it out were almost useless. The boat sank deeper and deeper, and their hearts sank too. Suddenly a ship hove in sight, and she seemed to be bearing towards them. Hope and fear struggled for the mastery in their breasts; hope urged them to renewed efforts to keep themselves from sinking, whilst, in breathless anxiety, they watched the vessel. She came nearer and nearer; the watchers felt sure they were perceived; then a boat was lowered, and they thanked God for their deliverance. In a few minutes they were received on board H.M. ship Thalia, more dead than alive, after so many hours' endurance of cold, hunger, and dismay.

We must now return to Captain Scott and his companions on the wreck. The men were mustered by the officers on the quarter-deck; they numbered ninety-five or ninety-seven, and they had been all actively employed in making rafts, and lashing together spars and other materials, by which they hoped to save themselves, in the event of the ship going to pieces before assistance should arrive. Hour after hour passed away, and no help came; by the noise of the vessel grinding against the rocks they knew that she could not hold together much longer. Captain Scott continued to issue his commands with coolness and decision, and they were promptly obeyed by both officers and men. About four o'clock in the morning, the quarter-deck being no longer tenable, all the crew were obliged to betake themselves to the main and mizen chains. They had already suffered severely from the cold, but they had now to endure it in greater intensity. In their exposed situation the waves frequently washed entirely over them, and their limbs were so benumbed with cold that it was with the utmost difficulty they could hold on to the wreck, so as to save themselves from being swept into the abyss of waters that seemed yawning to receive them. By degrees, even the cries and the complaints of the sufferers became hushed: not a word was spoken; in awful silence they listened to the groaning of the timbers, and the sullen roar of the waves dashing against the rocks.

In this state they had remained another hour, when a hollow sound was heard below them; still they spoke not a word, for from the captain to the youngest boy, every one knew what that sound foretold, and that the last struggle was at hand,—for many, the last hour of existence. Then a universal tremor was felt through the wreck, and the boldest heart responded to that shudder. The very timbers seemed to dread their impending doom: with a mighty crash they yielded to the force of the waves; for a moment the ship righted, and then sank beneath the foaming waters.

The pen is powerless when we attempt to describe an event like this, for we cannot penetrate into the secret recesses of the heart, nor can we delineate the agonies of conscience which too often increase the anguish of such scenes, when the near approach of death unveils to men, truths they have been unwilling to learn or to believe. Many a cry for pardon and mercy is raised in the hour of shipwreck, from lips that never prayed before. The best and bravest then bow their heads in awe, however well they may be prepared for the dangers that are incident to their profession; and though from childhood 'these men see the works of the Lord, and His wonders in the deep,' yet it must be an appalling moment when the plank they have been wont to tread in calm security, is torn from beneath their feet, and they are left as helpless as infants, to be the sport of the wild billows!

The moment the vessel sunk, many of the men struck out for the plank nearest to them; a few of the strongest and best swimmers gained the raft, but others who were benumbed with cold, or otherwise unable to swim, perished immediately. The quarter-master was one of those who reached the raft, and he found the captain, the doctor, and some others, already upon it. Captain Scott was so much exhausted by the mental and bodily sufferings he had endured, that the doctor and the quarter-master were obliged to support him on the raft. He became gradually weaker, and lingered but a short time ere he expired in their arms; and a few minutes afterwards a huge wave swept over the raft, and bore with it the body of the lamented commander of the Boreas. About eight o'clock in the morning, a number of boats put out from Guernsey to the relief of the survivors, and carried them safely on shore.

We have already mentioned the cowardly and inhuman conduct of the pilots in deserting the Boreas, and it is also a matter of surprise, that although twenty guns were fired as signals, and several rockets and blue lights burned, no help of any kind was sent from the shore till the next morning. One of the witnesses on the court-martial affirmed, that a pilot on shore had heard the guns firing, and had inquired of a soldier on guard whether it was an English or French man-of-war! On the soldier replying that he thought it was an English vessel, the man refused to put to sea, saying, by way of excuse, that 'it blew too hard.'

Through the exertions of Lieut. Colonel Sir Thomas Saumarez, about thirty seamen and marines were taken off the rocks of the Hannois at daylight, making the entire number saved about sixty-eight; whilst the loss amounted to one hundred and twenty-seven.

The following is an extract from the dispatch of Vice-Admiral Sir James Saumarez:—'The greatest praise appears due to Captain Scott and his officers and men, under such perilous circumstances—in a dark and tempestuous night, in the midst of the most dangerous rocks that can be conceived, and I have most sincerely to lament the loss of so many brave officers and men, who have perished on this melancholy occasion.

'Captain Scott has been long upon this station, and has always shown the greatest zeal and attachment to his Majesty's service, and in him particularly his country meets a great loss, being a most valuable and deserving officer.'



THE HIRONDELLE.

The Hirondelle, a 14-gun brig, had been originally a French privateer. She was taken by the boats of the Tartar in the year 1804, when attempting to escape from that vessel through a narrow and intricate channel between the islands of Saona and St. Domingo. The Tartar finding from the depth of the water that she could not come up with the schooner, despatched three of her boats under the command of Lieutenant Henry Muller, assisted by Lieutenant Nicholas Lockyer and several midshipmen, all volunteers, to endeavour to bring her out. The instant the boats put off, the Hirondelle hoisted her colours, fired a gun, and warped her broadside towards them. As they advanced, the privateer opened a fire from her great guns, and as they drew nearer, from her small arms also. In spite of this, and of a strong breeze directly on the bows of the boats, Lieutenant Muller intrepidly pulled up to the privateer, and after a short but obstinate resistance, he boarded and carried her, with the loss only of one seaman, and one marine wounded.'[12]

Such was the first introduction of the Hirondelle into the British navy. Her career in it was of short duration, and its conclusion fearfully sudden and disastrous, as the following account, given by the survivors, will show.

On the 22nd of February, 1808, the Hirondelle, commanded by Lieutenant Joseph Kidd, sailed from Malta, bound to Tunis, with dispatches on board. On Wednesday evening they steered a course towards Cape Bon, but unfortunately they got within the action of the strong current that sets eastward along the Barbary Coast, so that, instead of making the Cape as she intended, the brig fell some few leagues short of it to the eastward, and run aground. As soon as the alarm was given, all hands were turned up; the night was so dark it was impossible to ascertain the exact position of the ship, but they distinctly heard the breakers on the shore. Every effort was made to bring the vessel up, by endeavouring to anchor, but without effect; while this was going on, the cutter had been manned with ten or twelve men, and she might have been the means of saving many lives, but she was no sooner lowered, than the people rushed into her in such numbers that she was almost immediately swamped, and all who were on board her perished, except one man, who regained the deck of the Hirondelle. The commander now saw that the loss of his ship was inevitable, and he therefore desired his crew to provide for their own safety. The order was scarcely uttered, no one had had time to act upon it, when suddenly the brig gave a lurch and went down; the sea washed over her, and of all her men, four only were left to tell the sad tale. Happily for them they were clinging to the wreck, and so escaped the fate of their companions who were swept overboard; and by aid of some of the spars they succeeded in gaining the shore.

This account is necessarily brief: so short a time elapsed between the unexpected striking of the ship and her going to pieces, that there is no incident to relate. The commander and officers of the Hirondelle seem to have done all in their power to extricate her from her unfortunate position; indeed, it would appear that had they attended less anxiously to the preservation of the ship, many lives might have been saved.

FOOTNOTES:

[12] James's Naval History.



BANTERER.

His Majesty's ship Banterer, of 22 guns, under the command of Captain Alexander Shephard, was lost on the 29th October, 1808, between Port Neuf and Point Mille Vache, in the River St. Lawrence, whilst in the execution of orders, which Captain Shephard had received from Sir John Borlase Warren, directing him to proceed to Quebec, with all possible despatch, to take a convoy to England.

The following is the account of this disastrous affair, as given by Captain Shephard:—

'Being as far as the Island of Bie in pursuance of orders, through rather an intricate navigation, with foul winds the greater part of the time, where the charge of the ship devolved upon myself, and the only chart I could procure of the navigation in question being on a very small scale, I felt myself relieved from much anxiety by receiving a branch pilot on board on the 28th October last, on which night at eight P.M. we passed between that island and the south shore, with the wind north by west, and very fine weather; at nine, the wind coming more round to the westward, we tacked for the north shore, in order, as the pilot said, not only to be ready to avail himself of the prevailing northerly winds in the morning, but because the current was there more in our favour. At midnight we tacked to the southward, and at two A.M. again laid her head to the northward; and at four A.M. the pilot having expressed a wish to go about, the helm was accordingly put down, and on rising tacks and sheet, it was discovered that the ship was aground. As we had then a light breeze at west, the sails were all laid aback, the land being in sight from the starboard-beam, apparently at some distance, I immediately ordered the master to sound round the ship, and finding that the shoal lay on the starboard quarter and astern, ordered the sails to be furled, the boats hoisted out, the stream anchor and cable to be got into the launch, and the boats to tow her out two cables' length, south-west from the ship, where we found the deepest water; but by this time the wind had suddenly increased to such a degree that the boats could not row ahead, and latterly having lost our ground, we were obliged to let the anchor go in fifteen fathoms, about a cable's length W.S.W. from the ship, on which, having got the end of the cable on board, we hove occasionally as the flood made, and in the meantime got our spare topmasts over the side, with the intention of making a raft to carry out a bower anchor should it moderate; but the intense cold, and the still increasing gale rendered it impossible.

'About half-past eleven A.M. the stream cable being then taut ahead, the wind W.S.W., with a very heavy sea, the ship canted suddenly with her head to the southward, where we had deep water; we immediately set our courses, jib and driver, and for some time had the must sanguine hopes of getting her off, but were unfortunately disappointed, and as the ebb made we were obliged again to furl sails.

'As the ship was then striking very hard, with a heavy sea breaking over her in a body, we cut away the topmasts, not only to ease her, but to prevent their falling upon deck; we also endeavoured to shore up the ship, but the motion was so violent that four and six parts of a five-inch hawser were repeatedly snapped, with which we were lashing the topmasts as shores, through the main-deck ports. At about eight P.M., fearing the inevitable loss of the ship, as the water was then gaining on the pumps, I availed myself of the first favourable moment to land the sick, and a party of marines and boys with some provisions,—this could only be effected at a certain time of tide, even with the wind off shore,—and employed those on board in getting upon deck what bread and other provisions could be come at.

'Though the water was still gaining on the pumps as the flood made, the wind coming more round to the northward, we again set our foresail, but without the desired effect. As the stream anchor had, however, come home, the wind was too doubtful to attempt to lighten the ship.

'On the morning of the 30th, it being moderate, with the wind off shore, we hove our guns, shot, and everything that could lighten the ship, overboard, reserving two on the forecastle for signals. As the flood made, we again set what sail we could, and hove on the stream cable,—though, with all hands at the pumps, we found the water increase in the hold as it flowed alongside; and it was the prevailing opinion that the ship would have foundered if got off. Being now convinced, from concurring circumstances, as well as the repeated representations of the carpenter, that the ship could not swim, the water having flowed above the orlop deck, and much sand coming up with the pumps, we desisted from further attempts to get her off the shoal, and continued getting such stores and provisions as we could upon deck.

'Towards the afternoon, the wind again increasing from the W.S.W., and the water being on the lower deck, I judged it proper to send some provisions, with such men as could be best spared, on shore, that, in the event of the ship going to pieces, which was expected, the boats might be the better able to save those remaining on board; and on the morning of the 31st, conceiving every further effort for the preservation of the ship unavailing, it then blowing strong, with every appearance of increasing, I felt myself called on, by humanity as well as duty to my country, to use every effort in saving the lives of the people intrusted to my care, and accordingly directed the boats to land as many of them as possible, keeping the senior lieutenant and a few others on board with me.

'The whole of this day there was little prospect of saving those who remained with the wreck, as the surf was so great that the boats could not return to us; several guns were fired, to point to those on shore our hopeless situation, and stimulate them to use every possible effort to come to our relief; but they could not effect it, notwithstanding every exertion on their part, which we were most anxiously observing. As the only means which then occurred to me of saving the people on board, I directed a raft to be made with the spars left on the booms, which was accomplished, with much difficulty, in about six hours; the sea then breaking over the ship with great violence, and freezing as it fell with such severity, that even the alternative adopted presented little prospect of saving any one left on the wreck. During this state of awful suspense, we had every reason to think that the ship was completely bilged, and were apprehensive, from the steepness of the bank, that she would fall with her decks to the lee, as the ebb made, in which case all on board must have inevitably perished.

'About half-past eleven P.M., the barge came off; and as the lives of the people were now the primary consideration, I sent as many of them on shore by her as possible, as well as by the launch, when she was able to come off; and at two A.M., on the 1st November, having previously succeeded in sending every other person on shore, I left the ship with regret, in the jolly boat, and landed, with some difficulty, through the surf. About eight A.M., the same morning, I attempted to go off in the barge to save as much provisions and stores as possible, but found it impracticable, as the boat was nearly swamped. All this and the succeeding day, the gale continuing, we could not launch the boats, and were employed carrying such provisions and stores as were saved, to some empty houses which were discovered about six miles to the eastward of where we landed. Finding that with all our exertions we had only been able to save three days' bread, the officers and crew were put upon half allowances, with the melancholy prospect of starving in the woods.

'On Thursday, the 3rd November, the weather moderating, we launched the boats before daylight, and dispatched the jolly boat, with the purser, to a village called Trois Pistoles, about forty-five miles distant, on the opposite side of the river, that he might find his way to Quebec, to procure us assistance and relief, there being no possibility of communicating with any inhabited quarter from where we were but by water.

'During our stay near the wreck, we had repeated gales of wind, both to the eastward and westward; and so violent, and with so much sea, that the mizenmast was thrown overboard, all the upper deck beams broken, and the ship's bottom beaten out.

'We embraced every intervening opportunity of going off to save stores by scuttling the decks, which were covered with ice, the ship on her broadside, and the water flowing over the quarter-deck. On these occasions we were generally away ten or twelve hours, exposed to the wet and cold, without nourishment; from which, and fatigue, I had to lament seeing the people every day become more sickly, and many of them frost-bitten from the severity of the weather. By the indefatigable exertions of the officers and crew, we succeeded in saving all our spare sails, cables, and stores, to a considerable amount; though the cables were frozen so hard, that we were obliged to cut and saw them as junk.

'On the 7th, I again sent a boat with the second lieutenant, to Trois Pistoles, in the hope of procuring, if possible, some temporary supplies; but the wind increasing to a violent gale from the eastward, with a heavy fall of snow, they got frozen up on the opposite shore, and did not return till the 12th, having then only procured three hundred weight of flour, a few potatoes, and some beef—two men having deserted from the boat.

'At this period, I had a respectful request made me from the people, to be allowed to go to Trois Pistoles, that they might shift for themselves whilst the weather would admit of it, dreading the consequences of remaining longer where we were; but out boats would not have carried above one-third, and I conceived the public service would have suffered from allowing them to separate. We had, also, several desertions—in consequence, I believe, of hunger, and the melancholy prospect before them; two of the deserters were brought back, and one returned delirious, after five days' absence, with his feet in a state of gangrene, having had only one small cake to eat during that time. Those still missing must have perished in the woods, from the accounts of the men who were brought back.

'On Sunday, the 20th November, we were relieved from the most painful state of anxiety by the arrival of a small schooner, with a fortnight's provisions, from Quebec, and information that a transport had been procured, and was equipping for us, which nothing but the ice setting in would prevent coming down; and on the 24th I had the satisfaction of receiving a letter by the government schooner, announcing a further supply of provisions, with some blankets for the people; it, however, then blew so hard, with a heavy fall of snow, that she was obliged to take shelter under Bie. On the 25th the schooner returned, when we embarked, and were carried to the opposite side of the river, where the transport was expected,—the pilot conceiving it unsafe to bring the ship nearer to us at that season of the year.'

'Captain Shephard concludes his narrative in paying the following tribute to the discipline and good conduct of his crew:—

In justice to the officers and crew, it now becomes my duty, and a very pleasing part thereof, to bear testimony to the particular perseverance with which they bore the cold, hunger, and fatigue, whilst endeavouring to save the ship; and when that idea was given up, in saving the stores with the dire prospect before them of being cut off from all supplies had the winter set in, the ice rendering all communication impracticable during that season of the year.'

The sufferings and privations endured by the officers and crew of the Banterer, during such trying circumstances, have been ably described in the above narrative of Captain Shephard. From the 29th of October, to the 24th of November, a period of twenty-seven days, these men, with little hopes of succour, had borne, with almost unexampled fortitude, not only hunger and cold, but, to use the words of the surgeon, 'a considerable number of the crew were affected with inflammation of the extremities, which in nearly twenty cases produced partial mortification, and one extensive gangrene on both feet, attended with delirium and other dangerous symptoms.'

Captain Shephard died, as rear-admiral, in 1841.



THE CRESCENT.

His Majesty's Ship Crescent, of 36 guns, Captain John Temple, sailed from Yarmouth about four o'clock in the afternoon of the 29th of November, 1808, for Gottenburg. When she left Yarmouth, the wind blew fresh from the south-west, and it continued favourable till the following afternoon, when the weather became overcast, and the wind increased to a gale. The vessel proceeded on her course for some days, and at daylight, on the 5th of December, the coast of Norway was discernible from the deck. At one o'clock, P.M., they sounded in twenty-five fathoms, on the coast of Jutland; an hour later they sounded in eighteen fathoms, and at three o'clock they were in thirteen fathoms. The pilots in charge of the Crescent requested the master to inform Captain Temple that they desired that the ship should be hove to, with her head to the southward, and the topsails close reefed. The advice of the pilots was immediately acted upon, and they at the same time assured the captain that they were well acquainted with the soundings, and they had no doubt the ship would drift with safety. Suddenly she did drift into ten fathoms, and remained in that depth until eight o'clock, P.M.

Captain Temple felt anxious for the safety of his ship and her crew, and he inquired of the pilots if any alteration could be made with advantage. They replied that none was necessary; but that the Crescent should be kept on the same tack till daylight. The vessel drifted till ten o'clock, P.M. when she struck. A boat was immediately lowered to sound. The men reported the current setting to eastward at the rate of two and a-half or three miles an hour.

As the sails were now only forcing the ship further on the shoal, orders were given to furl, and to hoist out all the boats except the jolly-boat and gig—both of these orders were promptly obeyed. At this time, the current was taking the ship on the larboard bow, and canting her round. In order to draw her off, the sails were loosed; but this, instead of having the desired effect, hove her round into a worse position than before. The sails were again furled, and an anchor and cable were got into the launch. The boats then took the launch in tow, and endeavoured to pull her out; but the force and rapidity of the current rendered it impossible to do so. The situation of the Crescent became every instant more perilous; the gale had increased, and the wind, which had veered round to the north-west, blew direct on shore, forcing the vessel further on the shoal. As a last attempt to save the ship, the captain directed that the bower anchor should be let go, and the ship lightened by heaving the guns, shot, balls, &c., overboard. Little good resulted from this step; and then the water was started and the provisions thrown overboard out of the fore and aft holds. Pumping now became useless, as the water had risen to the hatches; and when at last the cable parted, all hopes of saving the vessel were abandoned, and at half-past six in the morning of the 6th of December the masts were cut away by the captain's orders, and she lay a helpless wreck. The boats which, until this time, had been lying off in tow, broke their hawsers; and when the people on board found it impossible to regain the ship, from the force of the current, they made for the shore, and fortunately all succeeded in reaching it, with the exception of one of the cutters, which was lost with all her crew. Lieutenant Henry Stokes, who was in one of the other boats, fearing that she would be capsized, jumped overboard, and attempted to swim on shore, but had not strength to buffet with the waves, and was drowned. The storm continued to increase as the day advanced, and the men on board the wreck being completely exhausted, they piped to breakfast, and a dram was served round. At one o'clock, P.M., a raft was commenced, and in about an hour it was completed and launched, and placed under the charge of Lieutenant John Weaver, of the Marines, Mr. Thomas Mason, clerk, and Mr. James Lavender, midshipman. The crew of the raft was composed chiefly of the sick, or those least capable of exerting themselves for their own preservation. When the raft left the ship, the captain and gallant crew of the Crescent gave three hearty cheers to their companions, whom they were never likely to behold again. It is hard to say which of the parties was in greatest peril, or nearest to destruction; but in all such cases, those who are obliged to wait for the awful moment, are subjected to more intense mental suffering than those who act, and are enabled to take any measures, however perilous, for saving their lives. The people upon the raft returned the farewell cheer, and as each wave dashed over them, and they again floated on the surface, they announced their safety with another and another shout. They had little hope indeed of reaching the shore alive; they were standing up to their middle in water, and every billow that rolled over them carried away one or more of their number. Happily some of those who were washed off the raft, succeeded in regaining it; but seven of them perished, the rest were safely landed, and to the constant exertions of the officers to keep up the spirits of the men, they were greatly indebted for their preservation.

A second raft was begun on board the Crescent, but it was never completed; the sea made a clear breach over her; the quarter-deck became filled with water, and it was therefore necessary to launch the jolly-boat in order to save as many lives as possible, though she could scarcely be expected to live in such a sea. Once more, Captain Temple and above two hundred men and officers said farewell to the companions of their toils and dangers—once more they bade God speed to the frail bark—their own last chance of escape—and watched it as it was now borne aloft on the crested wave, now buried in the briny furrow. For a time they forgot their own danger in anxiety for the others; but they were soon recalled to what was passing around them—the groaning of the timbers, as every sea struck the wreck with an increasing shock, forewarned them that she could not long resist that mighty force. There were two hundred and twenty human beings entirely helpless to save themselves. None may know the agonies of that hour, when even hope itself had fled—when nothing intervened between the soul and the unseen world. The Crescent went to pieces a short time after the departure of the jolly-boat, and every one left on board perished, to the number of two hundred and twenty, out of a crew of two hundred and eighty. Amongst the lost were the captain, three lieutenants, a lieutenant of marines, nine midshipmen, the surgeon, purser, carpenter, and gunner; two pilots, one passenger, six women, and a child.

The surviving officers and crew of the Crescent were tried by a court martial, at Sheerness, for the loss of the vessel, when the court was of opinion that 'the loss of the Crescent proceeded from the ignorance and neglect of the pilots, and that the master was blameable, inasmuch that he did not recommend to the captain or pilots either coming to an anchor, or standing on the other tact, for the better security of H.M. late ship Crescent.'

'The court was further of opinion that every exertion was made on the part of the remaining officers and crew for the safety of the Crescent.'



THE MINOTAUR.

His Majesty's Ship Minotaur, of 74 guns, Captain John Barrett, was ordered by Admiral Sir James Saumarez to protect the last Baltic fleet, in the year 1810.

After seeing the convoy through the Belt, the ship sailed from Gottenburg about the 15th December, and, with a strong breeze from the east, shaped her course alone for the Downs.

At eight o'clock, in the evening of the 22nd, Lieutenant Robert Snell took charge of the watch; the wind was then blowing hard from the south-east, the weather thick and hazy, and the ship, under close-reefed topsails, and courses, was going at the rate of four knots an hour.

At nine o'clock, the captain gave orders that soundings should be taken every hour, under the immediate direction of the pilot of the watch. At midnight, the pilot desired that the vessel might be put on the other tack, and all hands were instantly turned up to carry out his directions, and Lieutenant Snell was in the act of informing the captain of what was going on, when the ship struck.

The helm was ordered to be put up, but the first shock had carried away the tiller; fruitless attempts were then made to back the ship off, but she had struck with such force upon the sand that it was impossible to move her. The carpenter now reported fifteen feet water in the hold; and it increased so rapidly that in a few minutes it rose above the orlop deck. The officers and the whole of the ship's company were assembled upon deck, and the universal question passed from mouth to mouth—'On what coast have we struck?'

The pilot of the watch maintained that they were on some shoal in the English coast; the other pilot, however, was of opinion that they were upon the North Haacks, and this proved to be actually the case.

For a few minutes after the ship first struck there was some degree of confusion on board; but this soon subsided; order and tranquillity were restored, and the men all exerted themselves to the utmost, although she struck the ground so heavily, it was almost impossible for them to keep their feet.

The masts were cut away, and other means taken to lighten the ship; and guns were fired as signals of distress, but no aid was afforded to them during that long and dismal night. The darkness was so intense, it was impossible to see beyond a few yards, and they could only judge of their proximity to land, by the sullen roar of the breakers as they dashed upon the shore. In this state of uncertainty and dread, the night passed away; and daylight at last discovered to the crew of the Minotaur the horrors of their situation. The ship was firmly imbedded in sand, and had gradually sunk till the water covered the forecastle. All the boats excepting the launch and two yauls were destroyed, either by the falling of the masts, or the waves breaking over them.

At eight o'clock, A.M., the Minotaur parted amidships, and the sea made a clear breach over her. The gunner, seeing that she could not hold together much longer, volunteered to go off in the yard, and endeavour to obtain assistance from the shore. Captain Barrett at first refused the offer, as he thought it impossible the boat could live in such a sea; but upon further consideration, he gave his consent; and the gunner, with thirty-one of the crew, succeeded in launching the yaul, and getting clear of the wreck.

The ship now presented a most distressing scene—portions of her timbers and spars were floating about in all directions, with casks of spirits and provisions which had been washed up from the hold. Crowded together on the poop and the quarter-deck were officers and men watching with eager anxiety the progress of the boat. After two hours of breathless suspense they saw her reach the shore. Their comrades' success was hailed with joy by the shipwrecked crew as a happy omen for themselves—it inspired them with hope and confidence, and some of them immediately attempted to lift the launch into the sea. They fortunately succeeded in getting her afloat, and numbers then rushed to get into her, amongst whom was Lieutenant Snell. He failed in his first attempt, and then swam to the foretop, near which he knew the launch must pass, to enable her to clear the wreck. He watched his opportunity, and when the boat approached, jumped into the sea, and was taken on board.

In the course of an hour, the launch gained the shore, where, instead of receiving the assistance they expected, and the kindness their unfortunate circumstances demanded, the crew were met by a party of French soldiers, and immediately made prisoners. In vain, they implored the Dutch officers, who were also on the beach, to send boats to the aid of their unhappy comrades on the wreck, their earnest entreaties were met by a cold refusal.

During the morning, Captain Barrett, and about a hundred men, attempted to reach the shore in the second yaul, but she was swamped and all were lost. At two o'clock in the afternoon, the after-part of the ship turned bottom up, and the remainder of the crew perished.

The fate of Lieutenant Salsford was distinguished by a singular circumstance. A large tame wolf, caught at Aspro, and brought up from a cub by the ship's company, and exceedingly docile, continued to the last an object of general solicitude. Sensible of its danger, its howls were peculiarly distressing. It had always been a particular favourite of the lieutenant, who was also greatly attached to the animal, and through the whole of their sufferings kept close to his master. On the breaking up of the ship both got upon the mast. At times they were washed off, but by each other's assistance regained it. The lieutenant at last, became exhausted by continual exertions, and benumbed, with cold. The wolf was equally fatigued, and both held occasionally by the other to retain his situation. When within a short distance of the land, Lieutenant Salsford, affected by the attachment of the animal, and totally unable any longer to support himself, turned towards him from the mast, the beast clapped his fore paws round his neck, while the lieutenant clasped him in his arms, and they sank together.[13]

Such was the fate of the Minotaur, her captain, and four hundred of her crew. There is not the slightest doubt but that, had the Dutch sent assistance, the greater part of the ship's company would have been saved; and it would appear by the following extract from a letter, written on the subject by Lieutenant Snell, that the risk attending such a humane attempt, on the part of the Dutch, would not have been great. Lieutenant Snell says:—

'The launch which had brought on shore eighty-five men, was of the smallest description of 74 launches, with one gunwale entirely broken in, and without a rudder. This will better prove than anything I can say how easy it would have been for the Dutch admiral in the Texel to have saved, or to have shown some wish to have saved, the remaining part of the crew.'

On the other hand, we have the report from the chief officer of the marine district of the North coast, addressed to the Minister of Marine, in which he states, that 'Captain Musquetie, commander in the Texel Roads, sent, at daylight on the 23rd, two boats to reconnoitre the Minotaur, but the wind and sea prevented them approaching the vessel.'

It is to be hoped, for the honour of the Dutch officers, that they did really put out to the relief of the Minotaur, and that they considered the attempt an impossibility, which a British sailor deemed one of little risk. It is evident that there must have been considerable danger for boats, from the fact of the second yaul being lost, and Captain Barrett's hesitation before he allowed the gunner to leave the ship in the first yaul; and in charity we must give the Dutch the benefit of this evidence. At the same time, we have the equally conclusive testimony of the safe landing of two boats from the Minotaur, that it was not 'impossible' for even a somewhat crazy boat to live on such a sea. At daylight, on the 24th, the survivors of the Minotaur's crew were marched off as prisoners to Valenciennes. From which place, the gunner, Mr. Bones, contrived to make his escape on the 3rd of February. After suffering the greatest privations, concealing himself in barns and stables by day, and travelling by night, on the 17th of March he got on board a smuggling lugger, about a mile from Ostend, the Master of which agreed to land him in England for the sum of L50.

* * * * *

NOTE BY A NAVAL FRIEND.

The loss of the Minotaur may be attributed to their not knowing their position; the pilot's desire to put the ship on the starboard tack at twelve o'clock at night, with the wind from the south-east, showed that he thought himself on the English coast. This fatal error in the navigation of the ship is not easily accounted for; it arises in a great measure from the dread of approaching the dangerous shoals on our own coast, many of them far off the land, such as the Leman, and Ower, Smith's Knowl, the Ridge, and others further in shore. Great fear of these shoals is felt by all hands, and no doubt the man at the helm would be cautioned not to bring the ship to the westward of her course, and he would therefore be apt to err on the other side—currents also may have carried her to the eastward. I am tempted to offer this opinion from having experienced a similar danger. In the year of the Battle of Copenhagen, I was in the Lynx sloop of war on her return from the Baltic, and when we supposed ourselves in mid-channel, between Yarmouth and the Texel, about two o'clock, in the middle watch, we touched the ground in broken water; happily the weather was moderate, and, by hauling to the westward we soon got into deep water again. The following morning, about ten o'clock, we spoke a lugger, and were informed that we were seven or eight leagues from the coast of Holland. The distance ran from the time we struck, told us that we must have been on the Haacks. A happy escape!

FOOTNOTES:

[13] Naval Chronicle, vol. xxxvii. p. 183.



THE PALLAS AND THE NYMPH.

In the month of December, 1810, the Pallas, a 32-gun frigate, commanded by Captain Paris Monke, was returning, in company with the Nymph, Captain Edward Sneyd Clay, from a month's cruise on the coast of Norway, and was steering for Leith, with a prize in tow. She had not got far to the southward, when, on Tuesday morning, the 18th, between nine and ten o'clock, land was discovered, but the weather was so thick, it could not be clearly defined. The pilot, however, gave it as his opinion that they were north of the Red-head. Towards the middle of the day they fell in with some fishing-boats, and Captain Monke having requested one of the fishermen to come on board the frigate, he learnt from this man that the ship was at that time off Stonehive and the Tod Head. At four o'clock, P.M., the usual order to pipe to supper was given; the wind was blowing from the north-west, and the vessel going at the rate of four knots an hour. Supper being over, the drum beat to quarters, and the captain, having received the usual reports, ordered the watch to be called. At six o'clock, in compliance with the wish of the pilot, the course was altered from south-west to south-south-west. For the last quarter of an hour the ship had been increasing her rate of sailing from five and a half to six knots an hour; the top-gallant scudding sails were therefore taken in, and the royal and top-gallant stay sails hauled down, as also the jib and the spanker. Soon after this the pilot, pointing towards the coast, said to the captain, 'There's Lunan Bay;' and shortly afterwards he said, 'There's the Red Head;' but it was too dark, then, to see the land, much less could the outline of the coast be distinguished. The captain inquired if they should not soon see the Bell Rock Light, and he was answered in the affirmative. He then ordered the officer of the watch to hail the forecastle, and direct the men to keep a vigilant look-out for the Bell Rock Light.

Ere many minutes had elapsed after the order was given, a light was perceived before the starboard beam, which the pilot declared to be a signal hoisted on the pier at Arbroath to show that there was water enough for vessels to enter the harbour. The captain then went below to consult the book of sailing directions, and when he returned upon deck, he said to the pilot, 'If that light be on Arbroath pier, as you suppose, we ought most certainly to be in sight of the light on the Bell Rock.' The pilot replied, 'We shall soon see it;' and Captain Monke repeated to the officer of the watch his order to keep a sharp look out.

As the light on the Bell Rock did not appear, the captain became exceedingly anxious; the more so, as he was convinced, by reckoning the distances from the Tod Head to the Red Head, and from the Red Head to the Bell Rock, and comparing their sum with the run from four o'clock, that the ship had run as many miles to the southward as would bring her up to the Bell Rock. To ascertain exactly the position of the ship, he desired the master to work off the run by the log up to eight o'clock, P.M., and in a short time the master reported that by his calculation the light which they saw was no other than the floating light of the Bell Rock, and that they had now only to bear up and shape a course for the Isle of May.

The captain had been upon deck for more than five hours, and was so much fatigued that he went down to the gun-room to get some refreshment, at a little after ten o'clock, leaving positive orders with the officer of the watch and the master to be most attentive to the ship's course; and he was so anxious for her safety, that he had scarcely sat down in the gun-room before he sent for the pilot-book of sailing directions, that he might ascertain more exactly the position of the Bell Rock, and the course and distance from thence to the Isle of May. In a few minutes, the officer of the watch went down to report that the May light was in sight, and Captain Monke was in the act of going upon deck, when the vessel struck the ground. He instantly rushed upon deck, and inquired of the master where he supposed the ship had grounded. The reply was a startling one:—'I am afraid,' said he, 'that we are on the Bell Rock, and not a soul will be saved, unless we can forge her over it.' How they could possibly be upon the Bell Rock, when the master had himself so confidently declared they were running from it for some hours, appeared a mystery: but this was no time for arguing the matter. Captain Monke saw the danger both to the ship and all on board: he ordered the drum to beat to quarters, and the men were soon on deck and each at his post Having assured himself that the rudder was not damaged, the captain ordered the foretack to be hauled on board, and the yards to be braced with the larboard brace, which was done without loss of time. The lead was cast, to ascertain the depth of water, which the quarter-master reported to be twelve feet. The ship, which at first had taken the ground easily, now began to strike with great violence; and when they found that she did not forge ahead, the yards were braced aback, but to no better purpose, for she remained hard and fast as before.

Land was now seen to leeward, and the master changed his opinion, and imagined that the frigate had struck on the Isle of May; but the pilot thought they were on shore in St. Andrew's Bay, and blamed the master for having hauled too soon. As the tide was falling, there was little hope of getting the ship afloat, although this was so far fortunate, that it afforded a better chance of escape for the crew.

Orders were given to man the pumps, and the people obeyed with alacrity, and worked by turns throughout the night with the utmost vigour. The ship seemed to come up easier for a time, and the carpenter reported twelve feet water in the hold. When the moon rose, the position of the frigate with regard to the land was discovered; and as the tide ebbed, her larboard bow appeared to be but a short distance from the nearest rocks. From the time of the ship's striking, guns had been fired as signals of distress, to arouse the attention of the inhabitants of the coast, and these signals were soon answered by lights displayed along the shore, and large fires kindled on the beach. The glare of the torches moving to and fro on the shore denoted the inclination of the people to render assistance to the unfortunate vessel. Voices were heard hailing the ship, but it was impossible to distinguish the words. The boatswain and carpenter, and some others, declared that the men said, 'You are in St. Andrew's Bay—come on shore,' Upon this, the boatswain and gunner volunteered to land with two men in a small prize skiff, for the purpose of reconnoitring the beach. This proposition was immediately rejected by the captain, who assembled the principal officers on the forecastle and declared to them his determination not to suffer a single boat to be lowered during the night—but that they should all stick to the ship until daylight, as the only chance of preserving their lives.

Happily the captain's orders were obeyed, though doubtless many would feel tempted to risk a landing. The Pallas became more and more uneasy—her rudder was carried away, and the sea broke completely over her. The men were each served with a dram, and were still kept at the pumps until three o'clock A.M., when the main beam broke and the others began to give way in succession. In order to lighten the vessel, the mainmast was cut away. At first, this did not appear to have the desired effect—but in all probability it would have fallen of itself and have done injury to the people; it now hung over the side, and promised to serve as a raft in case of necessity. The foremast was then cut away, and the mizenmast was doomed to follow—but the axe and tomahawk, which had been carried forward, were lost, or washed away. The ship by this time had fallen upon her beam ends, and the sea was making breaches over her, so that every individual had enough to do to keep himself from being washed overboard.

About four o'clock in the morning, the spirits of the crew were revived by seeing a boat appear between the wreck and a large fire that had been kept burning immediately opposite. This was a welcome sight, and it was hailed by three loud and hearty cheers from the Pallas.

Many of the men by this time were suffering much from cold, hunger, and fatigue, and those who were able, got into the weather chains for safety and shelter. Daylight discovered to them the real position of the ship; the light which had been supposed to be on the Isle of May was that of a lime-kiln on the main land, and as the Bass and North Berwick Law were plainly visible, it was evident from their bearings that the frigate was on shore near to Dunbar. She was now a total wreck—the bottom had separated to some extent amidships from her upper works; a considerable portion of her floor timber was lying about ten yards to windward of the rest of the hull, and the iron ballast within this frame of timber was thus open to view. It was now time for every man to provide as far as possible for his own safety. A Portuguese sailor, an excellent swimmer, was the first to quit the wreck and swim on shore; several men attempted to follow his example, but five of them perished. The life-boat from Dunbar, which had been launched with great difficulty on account of the heavy surf beating on the rocks, reached the ship at ten o'clock in the morning of the 19th, and she took off a boat-load from the wreck and landed them in safety.

This success encouraged the people to try to employ the boats of the Pallas, but they were all found to be stove, or otherwise rendered useless, with the exception of a sixteen-oared cutter. The cutter was launched without material injury, and fortunately reached the land with as many as she could carry. The life-boat again neared the ship, and made a second successful landing with a number of officers and men; and a third time she touched the wreck, and was again crowded with people, but unfortunately the rope which she carried as a hauling line was too short to reach between the ship and the shore, and this time she had scarcely put off from the quarter before she filled and upset. By this accident, six of the crew of the Pallas were drowned, and one of the bravest fellows belonging to the life-boat The other thirteen men who manned the boat, and several people from the wreck, were saved with great difficulty; a small fishing-boat, which had been opportunely launched through the surf, picked them up. Amongst others so rescued from a watery grave were Captain Monke, and Mr. Walker, the first lieutenant. The crew of the fishing-boat persevered with great courage and good judgment in their efforts to save the rest of the crew. They procured a small tow-line, which being held by one end on the beach, they made fast to the mizen chains of the ship. The boat was then hauled to and fro until, in eight or ten trips, she had cleared the wreck of all the people; and, with the exception of Mr. Tomlinson, the boatswain, and ten or twelve others who perished, the whole of the ship's company were saved.

The kindness and hospitality exercised by the inhabitants of Dunbar and the surrounding country were beyond all praise. The sufferers, many of whom were insensible when carried on shore, and unconscious of the manner in which their lives had been preserved, were lodged, fed, and clothed. Captain Monke, who was much bruised, was carried by Captain Maitland to the house of his father, Lord Lauderdale, at Dunbar. The first lieutenant, Mr. Walker, who was picked up apparently lifeless, was conveyed to Broxmouth, the seat of the Duchess of Roxburgh, where he was, under Providence, indebted for his restoration to the unremitting attentions of the duchess and her husband, Mr. Manners.

The humblest of the crew were equally well cared for. The duchess went from room to room, ministering to the wants of the sufferers, and seeing that every comfort was provided for them.

It is gratifying to record that a handsome pecuniary reward was given by government to the fishermen and other inhabitants of Dunbar who so nobly risked their lives for the sake of their fellow-countrymen; and the widow of the man who was lost in the life-boat had a pension of L25 per annum settled upon her.

'I am persuaded,' writes Captain Monke, in his narrative, 'that this court will participate in my feelings, and would think me most forgetful, if I did not here publicly express my grateful sense I shall ever retain of the humane and liberal conduct of the Duchess of Roxburgh and Mr. Manners, who in their hospitable mansion at Broxmouth administered every sort of comfort and medical relief to the far greater part of the suffering officers and people of the Pallas, many of whose lives were thereby preserved to their country. In justice to my own feelings, I cannot close my narrative without declaring to this honourable court that no men under similar circumstances could behave better than did the crew of the Pallas. So far from being dismayed by their perilous situation, they manifested equal firmness and subordination; and, in fact, from the first moment of the ship striking the ground, to the time when necessity compelled every individual to consult his own safety, they obeyed all the orders with as much alacrity as cheerfulness, and (what is more) without either noise or confusion. Hence, sir, I consider myself justified in asserting that, notwithstanding the number victualled on board at the time was reduced to one hundred and sixty, if any human exertion could, in the first instance, have got the Pallas afloat, she would not have been irrecoverably lost to the service. I must also beg leave to add, that the officers set every example; and that from Mr. Walker, the first-lieutenant, I derived, throughout this trying scene, the most effectual support and assistance.'

The Nymph, which we have mentioned as being in company with the Pallas, got on shore the same night, on a rock called the Devil's Ark, near Skethard, misled by some irregularity in the lights on the Bell Rock and Isle of May.

The crew of the Nymph were all saved, but the fine frigate was lost.



ST. GEORGE AND DEFENCE.

Among the many services in which the fleets of Great Britain were engaged during the last war, none was more rife with perils and hardships than that on which the Baltic Fleet was employed. During the long winter nights the crews were continually exposed to intense cold, and the ships were often enveloped in such impenetrable fogs, that sometimes even the pilots were deceived as to their true position, and those lamentable consequences ensued of which the loss of the Minotaur was an example, (see page 154), her officers conceiving they were on the coast of England, when they were actually stranded on the opposite shore.

We will briefly mention two instances, which may give the reader some idea of the severity of the climate in the Northern Seas.

On the 23rd of December, 1808, the Fama (which had sailed from Carlscrona the previous day, in consort with some other men-of-war, and a convoy of merchantmen,) struck upon the Island of Bornholm, in the midst of such dense darkness, and so blinding a fall of snow, that it was impossible to discern any of the surrounding objects. The moment the ship struck, Lieutenant Topping, her commander, sprung from his berth and rushed upon deck, without giving himself time to put on his clothes. In his anxiety for the safety of his ship, and of those who were on board, he continued to give his orders, without any other protection from the piercing blast and driving snow than a blanket, which one of his men had thrown over his shoulders; 'in fifteen minutes from the time the vessel first struck, he fell upon the deck a corpse.' One man and a woman shared the same fate, the rest of the crew survived the night, and were next morning saved by the Danes.

The circumstances attending the loss of the Pandora were still more horrible. She struck on the Scaw Reef, a shoal on the coast of Jutland, on the night of the 13th of February, 1811, and in three hours her rudder was carried away, and the hold nearly filled with water. The wind was bitterly cold, and, as the men were unable to get below, they were in danger of being either washed overboard, or frozen to death, before morning. In this dreadful state they remained until daybreak, when it was discovered that several of them had perished from the inclemency of the weather. The survivors contrived to cut a hole in the side of the deck which was above water, through which they crept below, one by one, to seek protection from the cold. During the day, some boats attempted to put out to their assistance, but the sea ran so high that it was impossible to approach the wreck. The unhappy crew, disappointed in their hopes of relief, endeavoured to launch the boats; but these were so encased in ice, that they resembled large blocks of marble, and it was impossible to move them. In the course of the night the wind and sea abated, and the Danes succeeded in rescuing the people of the Pandora from their perilous situation, but not before twenty-nine had perished from the intense cold.

The month of November, 1811, was most disastrous to the Baltic Fleet. The British ships of war had already suffered so severely from attempting the dangerous navigation of the Northern Seas too late in the year, that the commander-in-chief on the station received orders on no account to delay the departure of the last homeward-bound convoy beyond the 1st of November. In obedience to these instructions, Rear-Admiral Reynolds sailed with a convoy from Hano on that day, having hoisted his broad pendant on board the St. George, of 98 guns, Captain Daniel Oliver Guion; but owing to severe gales he was compelled to put back on three several occasions, and the weather did not permit him finally to leave the anchorage until the 12th of the month. On the 15th the St George and convoy arrived off the Island of Zealand, where they anchored to wait for a favourable wind, having met with very rough weather in their passage from Hano, and several of the convoy having foundered, without its being possible for the others to render them the least assistance. In the course of the night of the 15th the wind increased to a hurricane, and all hands on board the St. George were summoned to give the ship cable. Before this could be accomplished the sea poured through the hawse-holes, carried everything away, and rendered it impossible for many of the men to stand to their duty. They were still in the act of veering away the cable, when a large merchant vessel, which had been seen looming through the darkness, drifted down upon them, its hull coming violently in collision with the bows of the St. George, and severing her cables;—one piercing shriek followed,—the merchantman gave a lurch, and the next instant was engulfed in the raging billows.

However appalling the sight of this fearful tragedy might have been to the crew of the St. George, their own danger was too imminent to allow them much time for reflection, for on heaving the lead they found only fourteen fathoms, though they had anchored in twenty. The best bower anchor was at once let go, as the ship appeared to be fast drifting towards the shore; but such was the force of the wind and sea, that its massive ring broke off as if it had been only a piece of wire. Upon this it was resolved to wear her off the land, and the jib and foretopmast stay-sail were loosed, but before they could be set the sails were wrenched from the bolt-ropes, and borne away by the blast. The lead being cast again, eight fathoms were reported; the sheet anchor was let go, in hopes that it would hold, but, like the other anchor, it made no impression on the ship, and broke short off. As a last resource, the men began to cut away the masts, when, just as they fell, a heavy sea lifted the vessel and hurled her with violence upon a sand bank, where she remained fast, the masts having by good fortune fallen clear of her sides.

There was but little hope now of saving the ship, yet the crew behaved with the most admirable steadiness, and obeyed with cheerful alacrity when they were ordered to man the pumps. Towards daybreak the rudder was torn from its fastenings, and it was only the discovery that the water did not gain on the ship that sustained the drooping spirits of the seamen, exhausted as they were with their arduous exertions and long exposure to the biting cold and constant fall of sleet and snow. At half-past six the long-wished-for dawn appeared, when, to their dismay, they found themselves on a sand bank, four miles from the shore. As the wind and sea gradually abated, the rest of the squadron attempted to render them assistance, but did not venture to approach too close to the shoal. The St. George continued to strike heavily until twelve that night, when her head swung round to the land, and, contrary to all expectations, the water was found to have risen three feet since eight o'clock in the evening. By ten the next morning (Sunday, the 17th of November) she was clear of all danger, and having fitted up jury-masts, with a rudder supplied from the Cressy, she arrived in safety at Gottenburg, about the 2nd of December.

Having partially repaired damages, Admiral Reynolds weighed anchor on the 17th December, and proceeded, in consort with the Defence and Cressy, to convoy a homeward-bound fleet of merchantmen.

On the 23rd, another north-westerly gale was encountered, on the coast of Jutland. At midnight, signals were made to wear, but owing to the disabled state of the St. George, this was found impossible. In the hope of bringing her head round to the wind, an anchor was let go, but the hawser, catching under her keel, tore away the temporary rudder, and snapped itself with the strain, and again the ship fell off. The captain gave orders to strike the lower yards and topmasts, and to lighten the vessel. Between five and six in the morning of the 24th, the report of a gun was heard from the Defence, which was supposed to have got on shore about two miles and a half off. A short time after, the St. George struck, and drifted towards the shore, and from this moment all hope of saving the ship vanished.

Upon examining the well, the carpenter reported ten feet water in the hold; and this rose so rapidly, that in the space of half an hour it reached the lower deck, driving the people to the main deck. Admiral Reynolds and the captain used every effort to encourage the men to remain steady to their duty, as the only chance of preserving their lives. At ten o'clock, the sea swept the main deck, so that all hands were obliged to seek refuge on the poop. All the boats, except the yawl, had either been stove or washed overboard. As an instance of the obedience and discipline of the crew of the St. George, three or four men came forward, and asked permission to attempt to reach the shore in the yawl: this request was at first granted, but as they were about to lower her into the sea, it was considered impossible that the boat could live, and the men were directed to return to their posts. Without a murmur, they instantly obeyed; and as if Providence had rewarded this implicit obedience and reliance upon their officers, two of these men were of the few that were saved.

It is impossible to describe the suffering of the helpless crew. Their numbers, originally about seven hundred and fifty, had been terribly thinned by the severity of the weather, and the surging of the waves, which every instant burst over them. At eight o'clock in the evening of the 24th, fourteen men took the boat and attempted to pull from the wreck, but they had not gone many yards when she upset, and her crew perished. The mizenmast still stood, and orders were given for its being cut away, but as no axes could be found, the men were obliged to use their knives to cut the lanyards of the rigging; at this moment, a sea struck the mast, carrying away the poop, and the men who were upon it. As the poop was swept away from the wreck, it bore not only the living but the dead. The latter far outnumbered the former, and it became necessary for the general preservation to cast overboard the bodies of their dead comrades. But their strength, already weakened by previous suffering, was unequal to the performance of this painful duty; and while thus employed, a sea swept over the poop, scattering the men upon the foaming billows. Five regained it, but were again washed off, and again succeeded in reaching their former position. Of these, two died, and the other three were washed on shore.

The scene on board was one of the most harrowing description. Mingled together were the living, the dying, and the dead. The bodies were piled up by the survivors in rows one above another, as a shelter from the violence of the waves, which broke incessantly over them.

In the fourth row lay the admiral and his friend Captain Guion; whilst the groans of the dying, mingling with the roar of the tempest, unnerved the hearts of those who had hitherto shown an unappalled front to the perils surrounding them.

There still remained about two hundred men, who were employed in constructing a raft, as the last chance of saving their lives. After considerable labour, this was effected, by lashing together a topsail yard and a cross-jack yard, the only spars that remained.

Upon this, ten men left the wreck, but the timbers being improperly secured, they broke adrift, and the first sea that came washed five men off; the others gained the shore, one of whom died.

According to all accounts, even the few who survived would have perished, had it not been for the humane conduct of the Danes who came to their assistance; these, at the risk of their own lives, succeeded in rescuing from the raft the seven exhausted sufferers who survived, out of the crew of seven hundred and fifty men.

The St. George, as has been already mentioned, was in company with both the Cressy and Defence. Captain Pater, who commanded the former, seeing the impossibility of rendering any assistance to the St. George, and the imminent risk to his own ship if he remained longer on the starboard tack, wore, and escaped the danger.

The master of the Defence reported to Captain Atkins that the St. George had gone on shore, and that the Cressy had veered and was standing to the southward,—at the same time pointing out the great danger the ship was in, and recommending that he should follow the example of the Cressy. The captain inquired whether the admiral had made the signal to part company; upon being answered in the negative, he replied, 'I will never desert my admiral in the hour of danger and distress.'

At about six o'clock A.M., the hands were turned up to wear ship, but before this could be accomplished she struck, the sea made a breach over her, and washed several men overboard.

The captain gave orders to fire minute guns, and cut away the masts. Five or six guns only had been fired, before they broke adrift, so that it was impossible to fire any more; but providentially these had been heard by the look-out men on shore, to whose assistance may be attributed the preservation of the few lives that were saved.

The waves swept over the vessel, forcing numbers of the crew down the hatchways, the guns and other heavy articles had broken loose, killing some, breaking the arms and legs of others, whose agonizing cries served only to add to the horrors of a scene scarcely within the power of description.

The captain at this time stood on the poop, holding on only by a howitzer that was lashed before the mizenmast, the officers and crew clinging to other parts of the wreck. The boats were all stove, except the pinnace, in which about twenty men had collected, when a sea, breaking over the wreck, washed her overboard, capsized her, and all perished.

Another sea struck the Defence with such excessive violence as to lift a spare anchor from its berth, throw it up on end, killing in its fall upon the forecastle about thirty men. The booms were washed away, and with them nearly one hundred men, who were clinging to the different spars.

The following account of the escape of one of her crew is so interesting, that it has been thought better to leave it as nearly as possible in his own words, than to alter it for the sake of brevity:—

'I got on one side of the booms that were floating among the rest of the wreck. At that time every man, except two, John Platt and Ralph Teasel, two of the men who were saved, were washed off. Myself and several more were at the same time swept off the mizen-top. I then made the best of my way from one spar to another, until I got on one side of the booms. At this time about forty men regained their position upon the booms, when another sea washed all off except four. I got on the booms a second time, and spoke to John Brown, and told him I thought we were approaching the shore. There were then about twenty men on them, but when we reached the shore there were only six left.

'Two Danes on the beach came to our assistance; my foot got jammed in amongst the small spars, and my comrades, seeing that I was unable to get off the raft, were coming to my help, when the Danes made signs to them to be quiet. One Dane made three attempts before he succeeded in reaching the raft, and the third time he was nearly exhausted; he managed to get hold of my foot, and wrenched it out, and carried me on shore. I was then taken up to a shed to wait for some carts which were coming for us, most of us being unable to walk. In about ten minutes a number of gentlemen arrived on horseback, and some carts came down upon the beach. We were then placed in them, and driven to a small village called Shelton. On the road the man who drove the cart spoke to a woman, and asked her if she had any liquor. She replied by drawing a bottle from her pocket, and made each of us take a dram, which I believe was in a great measure the saving of our lives.

'We soon arrived at the houses in the village, where we were stripped and put to bed, and treated by the inhabitants with the greatest hospitality and kindness. When I awoke, I found another seaman had been placed in the same bed with me; he had come on shore some time after myself upon a piece of wreck. He said, just as he reached the shore the poop and forecastle were capsized, and not a man to be seen, except a few upon pieces of wreck. In the evening, a gentleman who spoke English came to our bedside, and told us that an officer had been brought up to the house. He also told us that there was another ship on shore to the southward of us, which appeared to be a three-decker, lying with her stern on shore. We knew directly it could be no other than the St. George.

'He inquired if we were able to get up, and go and look at the body of the officer, and see if we knew him. We answered yes, and, with the assistance of the people, went into the barn, and recognised our captain. We then returned to bed again, being too exhausted to stand. The gentleman told us that medical assistance could not be procured that night, but that we should have every nourishment the house could afford. He then took his leave, promising that he would return in the morning, when we might be better able to speak to him.

'He accordingly came in the morning, and inquired what force our ship was.

'We told him a 74-gun ship, with a company of 600 men. Upon our inquiring if any more of our shipmates had reached the shore, he answered no; and we returned most hearty thanks to the Almighty for our deliverance!

'On Sunday, the 29th, we put our captain into a coffin, and buried him in Shelton Church-yard, with two seamen alongside of him.

'It was some time, through the bitterness of the cold and the bruises we had received, before we were able to walk about. As soon as we had gained sufficient strength, we went down to the beach, where we saw, scattered for about two miles along the beach, the wreck of the Defence, but not a corpse was to be seen. We supposed they had drifted away to the southward and westward, a strong current setting that way. This opinion was in a great measure confirmed by seeing our officers' things sold, and other articles belonging to the ship, six miles to the southward of where we were cast away, when we went to join the few who were saved from the St. George. On the 13th January, our captain was taken up again, and carried to Rinkum Church, and placed in a vault with the honours of war.'

Such was the unhappy fate of the St. George and Defence; only six men from the latter ship being saved, out of a crew of 600. Two days afterwards, when the gale had abated, a Danish boat, with two of the English sailors, went on board the St. George to bring away the corpses of the admiral and others, but they found the decks had been entirely swept away. Nothing could exceed the hospitality and kindness with which the Danes treated the few who were thrown upon their shore. Nor was the Danish government backward in generosity. The dead were buried with military honours, and the survivors were sent to England without exchange. The following letter from Major General Tellequist, given in his own language, sufficiently shows the deep commiseration felt by the Danish government, as well as by himself, for the lamentable catastrophe which befel the St. George and Defence.

'Randus, the 21st of January, 1812.

'Sir,—Though the grievous misfortune which has happened his great Britannic Majesty's ships of war on the Danish coast perhaps already may be known to your Excellency; nevertheless, whereas the opposite case may be possible, I will not omit hereby to make you acquainted with the sorrowful accident, assuring you that I am very compassionating.

'The 24th of last month, in the night, the English ships of the line, St. George and Defence, are splitted upon the western coast of Jutland, and the violent waves made it impossible to bring the wretched crews any assistance. From both ships are saved but thirteen persons, who are cast on shore by the sea with goods of wreck. Some of them are sick, and at present under care. A part of the dead bodies are driven to land, and interred with as much ceremony as the circumstances would admit.

'All possible pains have been taken to find out the bodies of the officers, in order to show them military honours, by the obsequies upon the churchyard.

'Two bodies of officers were found, and buried with military honours. Among these was the body of Captain Atkins, commanding the Defence, which is deposited in a church till I receive the further ordaining from my most gracious sovereign.

'I complain much that the body of Admiral Reynolds has not yet been found, for all the pains which are taken on this purpose.

'Agreeably to the charitable sensibility of the Danish nation, the inhabitants have been very grieved to see the English warriors in such a distress without being able to assist them; and I am very sorry, Sir, that I cannot give your Excellency of this accident an account less sorrowful.

'With great esteem, I remain, Sir,

'&c. &c, &c.,

'TELLEQUIST.

'To Governor Maurice.'

The body of Rear Admiral Reynolds was found a few days after the date of the above letter, and deposited with military honours near that of Captain Atkins, in Rinkum Church.

The surviving officers and men of the St. George were tried by a court-martial at Sheerness, and were acquitted of all blame with reference to the loss of that vessel.

With respect to the loss of the Defence, the court was of opinion that she was lost by getting on shore on the western coast of Jutland, in company with his Majesty's late ship St. George, in consequence of the noble and heroic determination of the captain to stay to the last by his admiral, at a moment of extreme danger and distress, conduct which, in the opinion of the court, will reflect immortal honour on the memory of Captain Atkins.

Rear Admiral Reynolds was an officer of considerable experience, and had distinguished himself on several occasions previous to his melancholy fate on board the St. George.

In the year 1797, he commanded the Amazon, a 36-gun frigate, and was cruizing the 13th of January off Ushant, in company with the Indefatigable, Captain Sir Edward Pellew, when a large ship was descried, steering under easy sail for France. This was a little after twelve o'clock at noon; chase was immediately given, and at four in the afternoon, the stranger was discovered to be a French two-decker, the Droits de l'Homme, of 74 guns.

She had on board, exclusive of her crew of 700 men, about 1050 troops, which, with 50 English prisoners, made 1800 souls.

At a little past five o'clock, the Indefatigable closed with the enemy and began the action; this had lasted about an hour, when the Indefatigable unavoidably shot ahead, on which the Amazon took her place and nobly continued the battle. The Indefatigable, having in the meantime repaired her rigging, again joined in the attack, the British ships placing themselves one on each quarter of their opponent. A continued fire was kept up for upwards of five hours, when they found it absolutely necessary to sheer off, in order to secure their masts. During the action the sea is described as having run so high, that the men on the main decks of the frigates were up to their middles in water. As soon as the masts were secured, the attack was again resumed, and notwithstanding the crews of both ships were almost exhausted with their exertions, it was prolonged for five hours more, when, late in the night, the fire ceased on both sides. The Amazon had now nearly three feet of water in the hold, and was in other respects most severely damaged. The enemy had suffered still more; her foremast was shot away, and the main and mizen-masts left tottering, the decks being strewed with the dead and dying.