[Illustration: THE NAVAL FLAGS OF THE WORLD.]





                                THE SEA

          _Its Stirring Story of Adventure, Peril, & Heroism._


                                   BY

                              F. WHYMPER,
                   AUTHOR OF “TRAVELS IN ALASKA,” ETC.


_ILLUSTRATED._


*    *


CASSELL PETTER & GALPIN:
_LONDON, PARIS & NEW YORK_.
[ALL RIGHTS RESERVED]





                                CONTENTS.


CHAPTER I.
THE HISTORY OF SHIPS AND SHIPPING INTERESTS (_continued_).          PAGE
Extent of the Subject—The First American Colony—Hostilities with       1
the Indians—117 Settlers Missing—Raleigh’s Search for El
Dorado—Little or no Gold discovered—2,000 Spaniards engage in
another Search—Disastrous Results—Dutch Rivalry with the
English—Establishment of two American Trading Companies—Of the
East India Company—Their first Great Ship—Enormous Profits of the
Venture—A Digression—Officers of the Company in Modern
Times—Their Grand Perquisites—Another Naval Hero—Monson a Captain
at Eighteen—His appreciation of Stratagem—An Eleven Hours’
hand-to-hand Contest—Out of Water at Sea—Monson two years a
Galley Slave—Treachery of the Earl of Cumberland—The Cadiz
Expedition—Cutting out a Treasure Ship—Prize worth £200,000—James
I. and his Great Ship—Monson as Guardian of the Narrow Seas—After
the British Pirates—One of their Haunts—A Novel Scheme—Monson as
a Pirate himself—Meeting of the sham and real Pirates—Capture of
a Number—Frightened into Penitence—Another caught by a _ruse_
CHAPTER II.
THE HISTORY OF SHIPS AND SHIPPING INTERESTS (_continued_).
Charles I. and Ship Money—Improvements made by him in the             28
Navy—His great Ship, the _Royal Sovereign_—The Navigation Laws of
Cromwell—Consequent War with the Dutch—Capture of Grand Spanish
Prizes—Charles II. seizes 130 Dutch Ships—Van Tromp and the
Action at Harwich—De Ruyter in the Medway and Thames—Peace—War
with France—La Hogue—Peter the Great and his Naval Studies—Visit
to Sardam—Difficulty of remaining _incognito_—Cooks his own
Food—His Assiduity and Earnestness—A kind-hearted Barbarian—Gives
a Grand Banquet and _Fête_—Conveyed to England—His stay at
Evelyn’s Place—Studies at Deptford—Visits Palaces and
Public-houses—His Intemperance—Presents the King with a £10,000
Ruby—Engages numbers of English Mechanics—Return to Russia—Rapid
increase in his Navy—Determines to Build St. Petersburg—Arrivals
of the First Merchantmen—Splendid Treatment of their
Captains—Law’s Mississippi Scheme and the South Sea Bubble—Two
Nations gone Mad—The “Bubble” to pay the National Debt—Its one
Solitary Ship—Noble and Plebeian Stockbrokers—Rise and Fall of
the Bubble—Directors made to Disgorge
CHAPTER III.
THE HISTORY OF SHIPS AND SHIPPING INTERESTS (_continued_).
A Grand Epoch of Discovery—Anson’s Voyage—Difficulties of manning     45
the Fleet—Five Hundred Invalided Pensioners drafted—The Spanish
Squadron under Pizarro—Its Disastrous Voyage—One Vessel run
ashore—Rats at Four Dollars each—A Man-of-war held by eleven
Indians—Anson at the Horn—Fearful Outbreak of Scurvy—Ashore at
Robinson Crusoe’s Island—Death of two-thirds of the Crews—Beauty
of Juan Fernandez—Loss of the _Wager_—Drunken and Insubordinate
Crew—Attempt to blow up the Captain—A Midshipman shot—Desertion
of the Ship’s Company—Prizes taken by Anson—His Humanity to
Prisoners—The _Gloucester_ abandoned at Sea—Delightful Stay at
Tinian—The _Centurion_ blown out to Sea—Despair of those on
Shore—Its safe Return—Capture of the Manilla Galleon—A hot
Fight—Prize worth a Million and a half Dollars—Return to England
CHAPTER IV.
THE HISTORY OF SHIPS AND SHIPPING INTERESTS (_continued_).
Progress of the American Colonies—Great Prevalence of                 62
Piracy—Numerous Captures and Executions—A Proclamation of
Pardon—John Theach, or “Black Beard”—A Desperate
Pirate—Hand-and-glove with the Governor of North
Carolina—Pretends to accept the King’s Pardon—A Blind—His Defeat
and Death—Unwise Legislation and consequent Irritation—The Stamp
Act—The Tea Tax—Enormous Excitement—Tea-chests thrown into Boston
Harbour—Determined Attitude of the American Colonists—The Boston
Port Bill—Its Effects—Sympathy of all America—The final
Rupture—England’s Wars to the end of the Century—Nelson and the
Nile—Battle of Copenhagen
CHAPTER V.
THE HISTORY OF SHIPS AND SHIPPING INTERESTS (_continued_).
Early Paddle-boats—Worked by Animal Power—Blasco de Garay’s           77
Experiment—Solomon de Caus—David Ramsey’s Engines—The Marquis of
Worcester—A Horse-boat—Boats worked by Water—By Springs—By
Gunpowder—Patrick Miller’s Triple Vessel—Double Vessels worked by
Capstans—The First Practical Steam-boat—Symington’s Engines—The
Second Steamer—The _Charlotte Dundas_—American Enterprise—James
Rumsey’s Oar-boats worked by Steam—Poor Fitch—Before his
Age—Robert Fulton—His Torpedo Experiments—Wonderful Submarine
Boat—Experiments at Brest and Deal—His first Steam-boat—Breaks in
Pieces—Trip of the _Clermont_, the first American
Steamer—Opposition to his Vessels—A Pendulum Boat—The first Steam
War-ship—Henry Bell’s _Comet_
CHAPTER VI.
THE HISTORY OF SHIPS AND SHIPPING INTERESTS (_continued_).
The Clyde and its Ship-building Interests—From Henry Bell to          97
Modern Ship-builders—The First Royal Naval Steamer—The First
regular Sea-going Steamer—The Revolution in Ship-building—The
Iron Age—“Will Iron Float?”—The Invention of the
Screw-propeller—Ericsson, Smith, and Woodcroft—American
’Cuteness—Captain Stockton and his Boat—The First Steamer to
Cross the Atlantic—Voyages of the _Sirius_ and _Great
Western_—The International Struggle—The Collins and Cunard
Lines—Fate of the _Arctic_—The _Pacific_ never heard of more—Why
the Cunard Company has been Successful—Splendid Discipline on
board their Vessels—The Fleets that leave the Mersey
CHAPTER VII.
THE HISTORY OF SHIPS AND SHIPPING INTERESTS (_continued_).
A Contrast—Floating Palaces and “Coffin-ships”—Mr. Plimsoll’s        112
Appeal—His Philanthropic Efforts—Use of Old
Charts—Badly-constructed Ships—A Doomed Ship—Owner’s Gains by her
Loss—A Sensible Deserter—Overloading—The Widows and
Fatherless—Other Risks of the Sailor’s Life—Scurvy—Improper
Cargoes—“Unclassed Vessels”—“Lloyd’s” and its History
CHAPTER VIII.
THE HISTORY OF SHIPS AND SHIPPING INTERESTS (_continued_.)
The Largest Ship in the World—History of the _Great Eastern_—Why     129
she was Built—Brunel and Scott Russell—Story of the
Launch—Powerful Machinery Employed—Christened by Miss
Hope—Failure to move her more than a few feet—A Sad
Accident—Launching by Inches—Afloat at
last—Dimensions—Accommodations—The Grand Saloon—The Paddle-wheel
and Screw Engines—First Sea Trip—Speed—In her first Gale—Serious
Explosion on Board off Hastings—Proves a fine Sea-boat—Drowning
of her Captain and others—First Transatlantic Voyage—Defects in
Boilers and Machinery—Behaves splendidly in mid-ocean—Grand
Reception in New York—Subsequent Trips—Used as a Troop-ship to
Canada—Carried out 2,600 Soldiers—An eventful Passenger
Trip—Caught in a Cyclone Hurricane—Her Paddles almost wrenched
away—Rudder Disabled—Boats carried away—Shifting of Heavy
Cargo—The Leviathan a Gigantic Waif on the Ocean—Return to Cork
CHAPTER IX.
THE HISTORY OF SHIPS AND SHIPPING INTERESTS (_continued_).
The Ironclad Question—One of the Topics of the Day—What is to be     138
their Value in Warfare?—Story of the Dummy Ironclad—Two real
Ironclads vanquished by it—Experience on board an American
Monitor—Visit of the _Miantonoma_ to St. John’s—Her Tour round
the World—Her Turrets and interior Arrangements—Firing off the
Big Guns—Inside the Turret—“Prepare!”—Effects of the Firing—A
Boatswain’s-mate’s Opinion—The _Monitor_ goes round the World
safely—Few of the Original American Ironclads left—English
Ironclads—The _Warrior_—Various
Types—Iron-built—Wood-built—Wood-covered—The Greatest Result yet
attained, the _Inflexible_—Circular Ironclads—The “_Garde
Côtes_”—Cost of Ironclads—The Torpedo Question—The Marquis of
Worcester’s Inventions—Bishop Wilkins’ Subaqueous Ark—Fulton’s
Experiments—A Frightened Audience—A Hulk Blown Up—Government Aid
to Fulton—The _Argus_ and her “Crinoline”—Torpedoes successfully
foiled—Their use during the American War—Brave Lieut. Cushing—The
_Albemarle_ Destroyed—Modern Torpedoes: the “Lay;” the
“Whitehead”—Probable Manner of using in an Engagement—The Ram and
its Power
CHAPTER X.
THE LIGHTHOUSE AND ITS HISTORY.
The Lighthouse—Our most noted one in Danger—The Eddystone            156
Undermined—The Ancient History of Lighthouses—The Pharos of
Alexandria—Roman Light Towers at Boulogne and Dover—Fire-beacons
and Pitch-pots—The Tower of Cordouan—The First Eddystone
Lighthouse—Winstanley and his Eccentricities—Difficulties of
Building his Wooden Structure—Resembles a Pagoda—The Structure
Swept away with its Inventor—Another Silk Mercer in the
Field—Rudyerd’s Lighthouse—Built of Wood—Stood for Fifty
Years—Creditable Action of Louis XIV.—Lighthouse Keeper alone
with a Corpse—The Horrors of a Month—Rudyerd’s Tower destroyed by
Fire—Smeaton’s Early History—Employed to Build the present
Eddystone—Resolves on a Stone Tower—Employment of “Dove-tailing”
in Masonry—Difficulties of Landing on the Rock—Peril incurred by
the Workmen—The First Season’s Work—Smeaton always in the Post of
Danger—Watching the Rock from Plymouth Hoe—The Last
Season—Vibrations of the Tower in a Storm—Has stood for 120
years—Joy of the Mariner when “The Eddystone’s in Sight!”—Lights
in the English Channel
CHAPTER XI.
THE LIGHTHOUSE (_continued_).
The Bell Rock—The good Abbot of Arberbrothok—Ralph the               172
Rover—Rennie’s grand Lighthouse—Perils of the Work—Thirty-two Men
apparently doomed to Destruction—A New Form of outward
Construction—Its successful Completion—The Skerryvore Lighthouse
and Alan Stevenson—Novel Barracks on the Rock—Swept Away in a
Storm—The unshapely Seal and unfortunate Cod—Half-starved
Workmen—Out of Tobacco—Difficulties of Landing the Stones—Visit
of M. de Quatrefages to Héhaux—Description of the Lighthouse
Exterior—How it rocks—Practice _versus_ Theory—The Interior—A
Parisian Apartment at Sea
CHAPTER XII.
THE LIGHTHOUSE (_concluded_).
Lighthouses on Sand—Literally screwed down—The Light on Maplin       182
Sands—That of Port Fleetwood—Iron Lighthouses—The Lanterns
themselves—Eddystone long illuminated with Tallow Candles—Coal
Fires—Revolution caused by the invention of the Argand
Burner—Improvements in Reflectors—The Electric Light at
Sea—Flashing and Revolving Lights—Coloured Lights—Their
Advantages and Disadvantages—Lanterns obscured by Moths, Bees,
and Birds
CHAPTER XIII.
THE BREAKWATER.
Breakwaters, Ancient and Modern—Origin and History of that at        188
Cherbourg—Stones Sunk in Wooden Cones—Partial Failure of the
Plan—Millions of Tons dropped to the Bottom—The Breakwater
temporarily abandoned—Completed by Napoleon III.—A Port Bristling
with Guns—Rennie’s Plymouth Breakwater—Ingenious Mode of
Depositing the Stones—Lessons of the Sea—The Waves the best
Workmen—Completion of the Work—Grand Double Breakwater at
Portland—The English Cherbourg—A Magnificent Piece of
Engineering—Utilisation of Otherwise worthless Stone—900 Convicts
at Work—The Great Fortifications—The Verne—Gibraltar at Home—A
Gigantic Fosse—Portland almost Impregnable—Breakwaters Elsewhere
CHAPTER XIV.
THE GREATEST STORM IN ENGLISH HISTORY.
The Dangers of the Seas—England’s Interest in the Matter—The         197
Shipping and Docks of London and Liverpool—The Goodwin Sands and
their History—The “Hovellers”—The Great Gale of 1703—Defoe’s
Graphic Account—Thirteen Vessels of the Royal Navy Lost—Accounts
of Eye-witnesses—The Storm Universal over England—Great Damage
and Loss of Life at Bristol—Plymouth—Portsmouth—Vessels Driven to
Holland—At the Spurn Light—Inhumanity of Deal Townsmen—A worthy
Mayor saves 200 Lives—The Damage in the Thames—Vessels Drifting
in all Directions—800 Boats Lost—Loss of Life on the River—On
Shore—Remarkable Escapes and Casualties—London in a Condition of
Wreck—Great Damage to Churches—A Bishop and his Lady Killed—A
Remarkable Water-Spout—Total Losses Fearful
CHAPTER XV.
“MAN THE LIFE-BOAT!”
The Englishman’s direct interest in the Sea—The History of the       209
Life-boat and its Work—Its Origin—A Coach-builder the First
Inventor—Lionel Lukin’s Boat—Royal Encouragement—Wreck of the
_Adventure_—The Poor Crew Drowned in sight of Thousands—Good out
of Evil—The South Shields Committee and their Prize
Boat—Wouldhave and Greathead—The latter rewarded by Government,
&c.—Slow Progress of the Life-boat Movement—The Old Boat at
Redcar—Organisation of the National Life-boat Institution—Sir
William Hillary’s Brave Deeds—Terrible Losses at the Isle of
Man—Loss of Three Life-boats—Reorganisation of the
Society—Immense Competition for a Prize—Beeching’s
“Self-righting” Boats—Buoyancy and Ballast—Dangers of the
Service—A Year’s Wrecks
CHAPTER XVI.
“MAN THE LIFE-BOAT!” (_continued_).
A “Dirty” Night on the Sands—Wreck of the _Samaritano_—The Vessel    215
boarded by Margate and Whitstable Men—A Gale in its Fury—The
Vessel breaking up—Nineteen Men in the Fore-rigging—Two Margate
Life-boats Wrecked—Fate of a Lugger—The Scene at Ramsgate—“Man
the Life-boat!”—The good Steamer _Aid_—The Life-boat Towed out—A
terrible Trip—A grand Struggle with the Elements—The Flag of
Distress made out—How to reach it—The Life-boat cast off—On
through the Breakers—The Wreck reached at last—Difficulties of
Rescuing the Men—The poor little Cabin-boy—The Life-boat
crowded—A moment of great Peril—The Steamer reached at last—Back
to Ramsgate—The Reward of Merit—Loss of a Passenger Steamer—The
Three Lost Corpses—The Emigrant Ship on the Sands—A Splendid
Night’s Work
CHAPTER XVII.
“MAN THE LIFE-BOAT!” (_continued_).
A Portuguese Brig on the Sands—Futile Attempts to get her            225
off—Sudden Break-up—Great Danger to the Life-boat—Great
Probability of being Crushed—An Old Boatman’s Feelings—The
Life-boat herself on the Goodwin—Safe at Last—Gratitude of the
Portuguese Crew—A Blaze of Light seen from Deal—Fatal
Delay—Twenty-eight Lives Lost—A dark December Night—The
almost-deserted Wreck of the _Providentia_—A Plucky Captain—An
awful Episode—The Mate beaten to Death—Hardly saved—The poor
little Cabin-boy’s Rescue—Another Wreck on the Sands—Many
Attempts to rescue the Crew—Determination of the Boatmen—Victory
or Death!—The _Aid_ Steamer nearly wrecked—A novel and successful
Experiment—Anchoring on Board—The Crew Saved
CHAPTER XVIII.
“WRECKING” AS A PROFESSION.
Probable Fate of a rich Vessel in the Middle Ages—Maritime Laws      235
of the Period—The King’s Privileges—Cœur de Lion and his
Enactments—The Rôles d’Oleron—False Pilots and Wicked
Lords—Stringent Laws of George II.—The Homeward-bound
Vessel—Plotting Wreckers—Lured Ashore—“Dead Men Tell no Tales”—A
Series of Facts—Brutality to a Captain and his Wife—Fate of a
Plunderer—Defence of a Ship against Hundreds of Wreckers—Another
Example—Ship Boarded by Peasantry—Police Attacked by
Thousands—Cavalry Charge the Wreckers—Hundreds of Drunken
Plunderers—A Curious Tract of the Last Century—A Professional
Wrecker’s Arguments—A Candid Bahama Pilot
CHAPTER XIX.
“HOVELLING” _v._ WRECKING.
The Contrast—The “Hovellers” defended—Their Services—The Case of     245
the _Albion_—Anchors and Cables wanted by a disabled
Vessel—Lugger wrecked on the Beach—Dangers of the Hoveller’s
Life—Nearly swamped by the heavy Seas—Loss of a baling Bowl, and
what it means—Saved on an American Ship—The Lost Found—A
brilliant example of Life-saving at Bideford—The Small Rewards of
the Hoveller’s Life—The case of _La Marguerite_—Nearly wrecked in
Port—Hovellers _v._ Wreckers—“Let’s all start fair!”—Praying for
Wrecks
CHAPTER XX.
SHIPS THAT “PASS BY ON THE OTHER SIDE.”
Captains and Owners—Reasons for apparent Inhumanity—A Case in        261
Point—The Wreck of the _Northfleet_—Run down by the _Murillo_—A
Noble Captain—The Vessel Lost, with a Hundred Ships near her—One
within Three Hundred Yards—Official Inquiry—Loss of the
_Schiller_—Two Hundred Drowned in one heavy Sea—Life-saving
Apparatus of little use—Lessons of the Disaster—Wreck of the
_Deutschland_—Harwich blamed unjustly—The good Tug-boat
_Liverpool_ and her Work—Necessity of proper Communication with
Light-houses and Light-ships—The new Signal Code and old
Semaphores
CHAPTER XXI.
A CONTRAST—THE SHIP ON FIRE!—SWAMPED AT SEA.
The Loss of the _Amazon_—A Noble Vessel—Description of her           278
Engine-rooms—Her Boats—Heating of the Machinery—The Ship on
Fire—Communication cut off—The Ominous Fire-bell—The Vessel put
before the Wind—A Headlong Course—Impossibility of Launching the
Boats—“Every Man for Himself!”—The Boats on Fire—Horrible Cases
of Roasting—Boats Stove in and Upset—The Remnant of
Survivors—“Passing by on the Other Side”—Loss of a distinguished
Author—A Clergyman’s Experiences—A Graphic Description—Without
Food, Water, Oars, Helm, or Compass—Blowing-up of the _Amazon_—“A
Sail!”—Saved on the Dutch Galliot—Back from the Dead—Review of
the Catastrophe—A Contrast—Loss of the _London_—Anxiety to get
Berths on her—The First Disaster—Terrible Weather—Swamped by the
Seas—The Furnaces Drowned out—Efforts to replace a
Hatchway—Fourteen Feet of Water in the Hold—“Boys, you may say
your Prayers!”—Scene in the Saloon—The Last Prayer Meeting—Worthy
Draper—Incidents—Loss of an Eminent Tragedian—His Last
Efforts—The Bottle Washed Ashore—Nineteen Saved out of Two
Hundred and Sixty-three Souls on Board—Noble Captain Martin—The
_London’s_ Last Plunge—The Survivors picked up by an Italian
Barque
CHAPTER XXII.
EARLY STEAMSHIP WRECKS AND THEIR LESSONS.
The _Rothsay Castle_—An Old Vessel, unfit for Sea Service—A Gay      297
Starting—Drifting to the Fatal Sands—The Steamer Strikes—A Scene
of Panic—Lost within easy reach of Assistance—An Imprudent
Pilot—Statements of Survivors—A Father and Son parted and
re-united—Heartrending Episodes—The Other Side: Saved by an
Umbrella—Loss of the _Killarney_—Severe Weather—The Engine-fires
Swamped—At the Mercy of the Waves—On the Rocks—The Crisis—Half
the Passengers and Crew on an Isolated Rock—Spolasco and his
Child—Holding on for Dear Life—Hundreds Ashore “Wrecking”—No
Attempts to Save the Survivors—Several Washed Off—Deaths from
Exhaustion—“To the Rescue!”—Noble Efforts—Failure of Several
Plans—A Novel Expedient adopted—Its Perils—Another Dreary
Night—Good Samaritans—A Noble Lady—Saved at Last—The Inventor’s
Description of the Rope Bridge—The Wreck Register for One
Year—Grand Work of the Lifeboat Institution





                          LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.


                                                                      PAGE
The Naval Flags of the World                       _Coloured Frontispiece_
Raleigh at Trinidad                                       _To face page_ 5
Sir Walter Raleigh                                                       5
Raleigh on the River                                                     9
Monson and the Biscayan Ship                                            12
Monson at Cadiz                                                         17
Action in Cerimbra Roads                                                21
Monson at Broad Haven                                                   25
De Ruyter on the Medway                                                 32
Peter the Great                                                         33
The Imperial Workman receiving a Deputation                             36
Old Dockyard at Deptford                                                37
Saye’s Court, Deptford                                                  39
Commodore Anson                                                         45
The _Centurion_ off Cape Horn                                           49
Surrender of the _Carmelo_                                              56
Anson taking the Spanish Galleon                                        61
Cape Cod                                                                64
The _Dartmouth_ in Boston Harbour                                       65
Destruction of the Tea Cargoes                                          72
Nelson and the Bear                                                     73
Nelson at Copenhagen                                     _To face page_ 76
Lord Nelson                                                             76
The _Charlotte Dundas_                                                  84
Symington                                                               85
Outline of Fitch’s First Boat                                           89
Fitch’s Second Boat                                                     89
The _Clermont_                                                          93
Bell’s _Comet_                                                          96
Four Great Engineers                                     _To face page_ 97
The _United Kingdom_                                                    99
Arrival of the _Great Western_ at New York                             100
Section and Plan of the Stern of a Screw Steamer                       101
The _Robert F. Stockton_                                               103
The First Cunard Steamer                                               105
Cunard Paddle Steam-ship _Scotia_                                      109
The Cunard Screw Steam-ship _Bothnia_                                  109
Mr. Plimsoll                                                           112
Mr. Plimsoll Speaking in the House of Commons                          116
Exterior of Lloyd’s                                                    124
Interior of Lloyd’s                                                    125
The _Great Eastern_ in a Gale off Cape Clear            _To face page_ 129
Mr. I. K. Brunel                                                       129
Mr. Scott Russell                                                      129
The Launch of the _Great Eastern_                                      133
Arrival of the _Great Eastern_ at New York                             136
The _Monitor_ passing the Vicksburg Batteries                          138
Peace and War
The _Miantonoma_                                                       140
Interior of a Turret Ship                                              141
The _Inflexible_                                                       145
Section of the _Alexandra_                                             147
Preparing for Torpedo Experiments at Portsmouth
The Old Style and the New (a Three-decker and a
Torpedo Boat)
Lieutenant Cushing’s Attack on the _Albemarle_                         149
Different Forms of Torpedoes                                           153
Torpedo Experiments at Portsmouth, with the
Electric Light
Paraguayan Torpedo blowing up a Brazilian                              154
Ironclad
The Tower of Cordouan                                                  157
Destruction of Rudyerd’s Lighthouse                     _To face page_ 161
Winstanley’s Lighthouse                                                161
Rudyerd’s Lighthouse                                                   161
The Eddystone Lighthouse                                               168
Portrait of Smeaton                                                    170
Interior of the Light-chamber of the Eddystone                         171
Lighthouse on the Inchcape Rock                                        176
The Skerryvore Lighthouse                                              178
Revolving Light Apparatus                                              184
Breakwater at Venice                                                   188
Cherbourg from the Sea                                                 192
Portland                                                               193
Holyhead Breakwater                                                    196
Great Storm in the Downs                                               200
The Storm in the Thames at Wapping                                     204
West-Indiamen Driven Ashore at Tilbury Fort                            205
A Life-boat Going Out                                   _To face page_ 209
Greathead’s Life-boat                                                  209
Life-boat Saving the Crew of the _St. George_                          213
Loss of a Life-boat at the Shipwreck of the                            216
_Ann_
A Life-boat and Carriage—Latest Form                                   217
Ramsgate—The _Aid_ Going Out                                           220
“Curly” weather
A Group of Life-boat Men                                               229
On the Coast at Deal                                                   232
Rescue of the Danish Vessel                                            236
Survivors Rescued from the Rigging of a Wreck
Wreckers Waiting for a Wreck                                           241
Major Warburton at the Wreck of the _Inverness_                        244
A Wreck Ashore
Loss of the _Albion_ Lugger                                            248
Map showing Coast of Ramsgate and the Goodwin                          252
Sands
Wreck of the _Woolpacket_ on Bideford Bar               _To face page_ 253
The Lugger reaching Ramsgate Harbour                                   253
Ronayne’s Bravery                                                      257
The _Northfleet_                                                       260
Wreck of the _Northfleet_                                              265
The Scilly Islands                                                     268
The Bishop Rock Lighthouse                                             269
Wreck of the _Deutschland_                                             272
Burning of the _Amazon_                                 _To face page_ 281
The _Amazon_ Steam-ship                                                281
Rescue of the Survivors of the _Amazon_                                284
The _London_                                                           289
The _London_ Going Down                                                292
Getting out the _London’s_ Boats                                       296
Wreck of the _Rothsay Castle_                           _To face page_ 297
The Menai Straits                                                      300
Saved at Last
Beaumaris                                                              305
Entrance to Cork Harbour                                               308
The Survivors on the Rock                                              312
Rescue of the Survivors of the _Killarney_                             316

                              [Illustration]






                              [Illustration]


                                 THE SEA.





                                CHAPTER I.


        THE HISTORY OF SHIPS AND SHIPPING INTERESTS (_continued_).


     Extent of the Subject—The First American Colony—Hostilities with
         the Indians—117 Settlers Missing—Raleigh’s Search for El
      Dorado—Little or no Gold discovered—2,000 Spaniards engage in
         another Search—Disastrous results—Dutch Rivalry with the
      English—Establishment of two American Trading Companies—Of the
    East India Company—Their first Great Ship—Enormous Profits of the
    Venture—A Digression—Officers of the Company in Modern Times—Their
         Grand Perquisites—Another Naval Hero—Monson a Captain at
         Eighteen—His appreciation of Stratagem—An Eleven Hours’
    hand-to-hand Contest—Out of Water at Sea—Monson two years a Galley
           Slave—Treachery of the Earl of Cumberland—The Cadiz
    Expedition—Cutting out a Treasure Ship—Prize worth £200,000—James
    I. and his Great Ship—Monson as Guardian of the Narrow Seas—After
    the British Pirates—One of their Haunts—A Novel Scheme—Monson as a
     Pirate himself—Meeting of the Sham and Real Pirates—Capture of a
       Number—Frightened into Penitence—Another caught by a _ruse_.


Many and vast are the subjects which naturally intertwine themselves with
the history of the sea! Great voyages have not been organised for the mere
discovery of so much salt water—except as a means to an end—and the good
ship has almost always sailed with a definite and positive mission. The
history of but a single vessel involves the history, more or less, of
hundreds of people; it may mean that of thousands. So the history of the
ocean is that also of lands and peoples, far off or near. Subjects the
most diverse are still intimately connected with it. In the space of a few
years’ time, war and peace are strangely contrasted; brilliant discoveries
are succeeded by disastrous failures, and heroic deeds stand side by side
with shameless transactions. Take only a few of the succeeding pages, and
we shall find recorded in them the stories of the early colonisation of
America, and of the disastrous voyages in quest of the fabled El Dorado,
followed by the brave and daring deeds of one of our greatest naval
heroes; these again by the establishment of the great commercial company
which once ruled India, succeeded by stories of pirates on the sea, and
“bubble” promoters ashore. Sketches of maritime affairs must be “in black
and white,” so great are the contrasts. But let us turn to our first
subject, the early voyages to, and colonisation of, the great New World.

About one hundred men formed the first little colony landed in Virginia
from the expedition of Greenville in 1585. Raleigh, at his own expense,
sent a shipload of supplies for them next year, but before it arrived the
settlers, and the very Indians of whom such flattering accounts had been
given, had quarrelled, and so many of the former had fallen as to imperil
the existence of the colony; the survivors thought themselves fortunate
when Drake unexpectedly arrived off the coast, and took them away. When
Greenville reached the settlement, a couple of weeks after, they had left
no tidings of themselves, and, wishing to hold possession of the country,
he landed fifteen men, well furnished with all necessaries for two years’
use, on the island of Roanoake. This voyage paid its expenses by prizes
taken from the Spaniards, and by the plunder of the Azores on the way
home, where they spoiled “some of the towns of all such things as were
worth carriage.”

Raleigh, next season, fitted out a third expedition of three vessels, with
one hundred and fifty colonists, under the charge of John White, who was
to be Governor, with twelve chosen persons as assistants: their town was
to be named after himself. After narrowly escaping shipwreck, they arrived
off Roanoake, and White, taking the pinnace, went in search of the fifteen
men left in the preceding year, but “found none of them, nor any sign that
they had been there, saving only the bones of one of them, whom the
savages had slain long before.” Next day they proceeded to the western
side of the island, where they found the houses which had been erected
still standing, but the fort had been razed. They “were overgrown with
melons of divers sorts,” and deer were feeding on the melons. While they
were employed repairing these, and erecting others, one George Howe
wandered some two miles away, when a party of half-naked Indians, who were
engaged in catching crabs in the water, espied him. “They shot at him,
gave him sixteen wounds with their arrows, and after they had slain him
with their wooden swords, they beat his head in pieces, and fled over the
water to the main.” Captain Amadas had taken an Indian named Manteo to
England with him, and this man, now with White, was sent to the island of
Croatoan, where his tribe dwelt, to assure them of the friendship of the
English, and an understanding was established. It was ascertained that the
men left the preceding year had been treacherously attacked by hostile
natives, and that two had been killed, and their storehouse burned; the
remainder had successfully fought through the Indians to the water’s edge,
and had escaped in their boat, whither they knew not. Their fate was never
learned. Manteo’s friends entreated that a badge should be given them, as
some of them had been attacked and wounded the previous year by mistake.
Something similar occurred shortly afterwards, when the English, burning
to avenge Howe’s death, attacked a settlement in the night, shooting one
of the men through the body before they discovered that the natives there
were of the friendly tribe. According to Raleigh’s instructions, Manteo
was christened, and called lord of Roanoake. About this time, the wife of
Ananias Dare, one of the twelve assistants, was delivered of a daughter,
who, as the first English child born in that country, was very naturally
baptised by the name of Virginia. And now the ships had unladen the
planter’s stores, and were preparing for departure. It was deemed
advisable that two of the assistants should go back to England as factors
and representatives of the company, but all appeared anxious to stop. At
length the whole party, with one voice urged White to return, “for the
better and sooner obtaining of supplies and other necessaries for them.”
This he very naturally refused, as it would look at home as though the
Governor had deserted his band, and had led so many into a country in
which he never meant to stay himself. But at last he yielded to them, and
was furnished with a testimonial setting forth the reasons. White arrived
in England at a period when the danger of a Spanish invasion was imminent,
a most unfortunate time for the colonists. When Raleigh was preparing
supplies for them, which Greenville was to have taken out, the order was
countermanded. White represented the urgency of their wants, and two small
pinnaces were despatched with supplies, and fifteen planters on board.
Instead of proceeding to America, they commenced cruising for prizes,
till, disabled and rifled by two men-of-war from Rochelle, they were
obliged to retreat to England. And now Raleigh, who is said to have
already expended £40,000 over these attempts at colonisation, appears to
have sickened of them, and to have assigned his patent to a company of
merchant adventurers. White did his utmost for the poor settlers he
represented, and learning that some English ships were about to proceed to
the West Indies, tried his best to arrange that they should take some
provisions and stores to Virginia, the upshot of which was that he only
obtained a passage for himself.

The colony had now been left to itself for two years. When the vessels
anchored near the spot, they observed a great smoke on the island of
Roanoake, and White, who had a married daughter among the colonists, hoped
that it might proceed from one of their camps. Two boats put off from the
ships, and the gunners were ordered to prepare three guns, “well loaded,
and to shoot them off with reasonable space between each shot, to the end
that their reports might be heard at the place where they hoped to find
some of their people.” Their first search was vain, for though they
reached the spot from which the smoke came, there were no signs of life
there. The next day a second search was made, but one of the boats was
swamped, and the captain and four others were drowned. The sailors averred
that they would not seek further for the colonists; they were, however,
over-ruled, and another attempt was made. Again they noted a great fire in
the woods, and when the boat neared it, they let their grapnel fall, and
sounded a trumpet, playing tunes familiar at the time; but there was no
response. They landed at daybreak, and proceeded to the place where the
colony had been left. “All the way,” says White, “we saw in the sand the
print of the savages’ feet trodden that night; and as we entered up the
sandy bank, upon a tree at the very brow thereof were curiously carved
these fair Roman letters, C R O, which letters presently we knew to
signify the place where I should find the planters seated, according to a
token agreed upon at my departure.” He had told them in case of distress
to carve over the letters or name a cross; but no such sign was found. At
the spot itself where he expected the settlement, he found the houses
taken down, and the place enclosed with logs or trees. Many heavy
articles, bars of iron, pigs of lead, shot, and so forth, were lying
about, almost overgrown with grass and weeds. Five chests, of which three
were his own, were found at last, but they had been evidently broken into
by the savages. “About the place,” says White, “many of my things, spoiled
and broken, and my books torn from the covers, the frames of some of my
pictures and maps rotten and spoiled with rain, and my armour almost eaten
through with rust.” But on one of the trees or chief posts of the
enclosure, the word CROATOAN was carved in large letters, and he now
understood that they were with Manteo’s tribe. It was agreed that they
should make for that place; but again fortune was against them.

One disaster followed another, and when at last they left Virginia, it was
with the intention of wintering in the West Indies, and returning the
following spring; but even this was not to be. Stress of weather drove
them to the Azores, and once there it was naturally decided to return to
England. No later attempt was made to succour them, and the fate of
ninety-one men, seventeen women, and nine children, and of two infants
born there, the names of which are preserved in Hakluyt, was never known.
Raleigh has been greatly blamed for inhumanity in this connection. His
excuse is that it was the busiest part of his eventful life. He had just
borne his part in the defeat of the Armada; had been one of eleven hundred
gentlemen who ventured on the unfortunate Portuguese expedition; had been
sent, in what was regarded as an honourable banishment, but none the less
an exile, to Ireland; on regaining his place in the queen’s favour had
taken an active part in Parliamentary service; was concerned in a fresh
naval expedition from which he was recalled by the queen, and had his
first taste of that cell in the Tower, which later on he left only for the
scaffold.

In 1595, we find Raleigh bent on a discovery which had long been a
feverish dream with him—the conquest of the fabled El Dorado. It was but
the result of the discoveries of the Spaniards in Mexico and Peru; and all
over the Spanish main there was a fond belief extant in something greater
and richer than anything yet found. One of the traditions of the day was
that a relative of the last reigning Inca of Peru, escaping from the wreck
of that empire, with a large part of its remaining forces and treasure,
had established himself in a new country, which was found to be itself as
rich in mines as that from which he had migrated. “The Spaniards,” says
Southey, “lost more men in seeking for this imaginary kingdom than in the
conquest of Mexico and Peru.”

                   [Illustration: RALEIGH AT TRINIDAD.]

                   [Illustration: SIR WALTER RALEIGH.]

Raleigh was encouraged in this enterprise by such men as Cecil, and the
Lord High Admiral Howard, who contributed to its cost. His idea was to
enter the land of gold by the Orinoco, and prior to his own voyage he
despatched a ship, under Captain Whiddon, to reconnoitre on that part of
the coast, and to seek information at the island of Trinidad. When Raleigh
and his squadron had arrived at one of its ports he found a company of
Spaniards from whom he cautiously extracted all they knew or believed
concerning Guiana. “For these poor soldiers,” says he, “having been many
years without wine, a few draughts made them merry; in which mood they
vaunted of Guiana, and of the riches thereof, and all what they knew of
the bays and passages, myself seeming to purpose nothing less than the
entrance or discovery thereof, but bred in them an opinion that I was
bound only for the relief of those English whom I had planted in Virginia,
whereof the bruit was come among them, which I had performed in my return
if extremity of weather had not forced me from the said coast.” Raleigh
stopped some time here, not merely to extract all the information
possible, but also to be revenged on the Governor, who the year before had
behaved treacherously, entrapping eight of Captain Whiddon’s men. This he
accomplished by taking and burning one of their new towns, and detaining
the Governor, Berrio, at his pleasure on board. The same day two more of
his ships arrived, and they prepared for the purposed discovery. “And
first,” says Raleigh, “I called all the captains (_i.e._, caciques or
native chiefs) of the island together that were enemies to the Spaniards;
* * * and by my Indian interpreter, which I carried out of England, I made
them understand that I was the servant of the queen, who was the great
cacique of the north, and a virgin, and had more caciqui under her than
there were trees on that island; that she was an enemy to the Castellani
(_i.e._, Spanish from Castille) in respect of their tyranny and
oppression, and that she delivered all such nations about her as were by
them oppressed; and having freed all the coast of the northern world from
their servitude, had sent me to free them also, and withal to defend the
country of Guiana from their invasion and conquest. I showed them her
Majesty’s picture, which they so admired and honoured as it had been easy
to have brought them idolatrous thereof.” Raleigh used the Governor with
courtesy and hospitality, and sounded him well concerning Guiana; and
Berrio conversed with him readily, having no suspicion of Raleigh’s
intentions. But when Sir Walter told him that he had resolved to see that
country, the Governor “was stricken into a great melancholy,” and tried
all he could to dissuade him. He described the rivers as full of
sandbanks, and so shallow that no bark or pinnace could ascend them, and
scarcely a ship’s boat; that they could not carry provisions for half the
journey, and that the “kings and lords of all the borders of Guiana had
decreed that none of them should trade with any Christians for gold,
because the same would be their own overthrow, and that for the love of
gold the Christians meant to conquer and dispossess them altogether.” The
golden country was 600 miles farther from the coast than he had been
informed, which piece of news Raleigh carefully concealed from his
company, for he was resolved “to make trial of all, whatsoever happened.”
After many explorations, on the part of his captains, of the rivers, the
mouths of which were found to be as shallow as he had been told, he, with
100 men divided in a galley, four boats and barges, and carrying
provisions for a month, resolved to see for himself.

From the spot where the ships lay, they had as much sea to cross as
between Dover and Calais, the waves being high, and the current strong.
They at length entered a stream, which Raleigh called the River of the Red
Cross, and where they noted Indians in a canoe and on the banks. Their
interpreters, Ferdinando and his brother, went ashore to fetch fruit, and
drink with the natives, when they were seized by the chief with the
intention of putting them to death, because “they had brought a strange
nation into their territory to spoil and destroy them.” Ferdinando and his
brother managed to escape, the former running into the woods, and the
latter reaching the mouth of the creek where the barge was staying, when
he cried out that his brother was slain. On hearing this, “we set hands,”
says Raleigh, “on one of them that was next us, a very old man, and
brought him into the barge, assuring him that if we had not our pilot
again we would presently cut off his head.” The old man called to his
tribe to save Ferdinando, but they hunted him through the forest, with
shouts that made the whole neighbourhood resound. At length he reached the
water, and climbing out on an overhanging tree, dropped down and swam to
the barge, half dead with fear. The old Indian was retained as pilot.

Ascending with the flood, and anchoring during ebb tide, they went on,
till on the third day their galley grounded, and stuck so fast that it was
a question whether their discoveries must not end there; but at last, by
lightening her of all her ballast, and hauling and tugging, she was once
more afloat. Next day they reached a fine river, where there was no flood
tide from the sea, and they had to contend against a strong current; “and
had then,” says Raleigh, “no shift but to persuade the company that it was
but two or three days’ work” to reach their destination. “When three days
were overgone, our companies began to despair, the weather being extreme
hot, the river bordered with very high trees that kept away the air, and
the current against us every day stronger than the other; but we once more
commanded our pilots to promise to end the next day, and used it so long
as we were driven to assure them from four reaches of the river to three,
and so to two, and so to the next reach; but so long we laboured that many
days were spent, and we driven to draw ourselves to harder allowance, our
bread even at the last and no drink at all; and ourselves so wearied and
scorched, and doubtful withal whether we should ever perform it or no, the
heat increasing as we drew towards the line, for we were now in five
degrees. The farther we went on (our victuals decreasing and the air
breeding great faintness) we grew weaker and weaker, when we had most need
of strength and ability, for hourly the river ran more violently than
other against us; and the barge, wherries, and ship’s boat had spent all
their provisions, so as we were brought into despair and discomfort, had
we not persuaded all the company that it was but one day’s work more to
attain the land, where we should be relieved of all we wanted; and if we
returned that we should be sure to starve by the way, and that the world
would also laugh us to scorn.” The old Indian now offered to take them to
a town at a short distance, where they could get bread, hams, fish, and
wine, but to reach it they must leave the galley, and proceed up a smaller
stream with the barge and wherries. Raleigh, with two of his captains and
sixteen musketeers started, but when, after hard rowing, it grew night,
and there were no signs of the place, they feared treachery. The old
native still assured them that it was but a little further, and they rowed
on past reach after reach, and still no town or settlement could be
discovered. At last they decided to hang the pilot, and Raleigh states
distinctly that “if we had well known the way back again by night, he had
surely gone, but our own necessities pleaded sufficiently for his safety,
for it was now as dark as pitch, and the river began so to narrow itself,
and the trees to hang from side, so as we were driven with arming swords
to cut a passage through those branches that covered the water.” At last,
an hour after midnight, a light was seen, and the welcome noise of the
village dogs heard, as they rowed towards it. There were few natives there
at the time, but some quantity of provisions was obtained, with which they
returned to the galley next day. The natives called this stream the river
of alligators, and a negro, who was one of the galley’s crew, venturing to
swim in it, was devoured by one of those animals. Raleigh says of the
country through which it passed, “whereas all that we had seen before was
nothing but woods, prickly bushes, and thorns, here we beheld plains of
twenty miles in length, the grass short and green, and in divers parts
groves of trees by themselves, as if they had with all the art and labour
in the world been so made of purpose; and still as we rowed, the deer came
down feeding by the water’s side, as if they had been used to a keeper’s
call.”

Still proceeding up the great river, their provisions almost exhausted,
they observed four canoes coming down the stream, to which they gave
chase. The people in two of the larger escaped into the woods, and left
behind a large stock of bread, which was very welcome. Searching the
woods, Raleigh came across an Indian basket, which proved to be that of a
refiner, as it contained quicksilver, saltpetre, and other things for
gathering and testing metals, and also the dust of such as he had
discovered. Raleigh offered £500 to the soldier who should take one of
three Spaniards known to have been with this party, but they escaped. He
was more fortunate with the Indians who had accompanied them, and one of
them was taken for pilot, from whom he learned that the richest mines were
“defended with rocks of hard stones, which we call white spar” (presumably
quartz). He states that in the canoes which escaped there was a good
quantity of ore and gold.

Still proceeding, on the fifteenth day, to their great joy, the distant
mountains of Guiana came into view, and the same day brought them in sight
of the great Orinoco, about the branches of which river thousands of
tortoise eggs were found, which proved to be “very wholesome meat, and
greatly restoring.” The natives, too, were friendly, and to Raleigh’s
credit, be it said, he appears in all cases to have treated them fairly
and well. With the cacique he made merry, treating the natives to a small
quantity of Spanish wine, they in return bringing in fruits, bread, fish,
and flesh. The chief conducted them to his own town, “where,” says
Raleigh, “some of our captains caroused of his wine till they were
reasonably pleasant; for it is very strong with pepper, and the juice of
divers herbs digested and purged; they keep it in great earthen pots of
ten or twelve gallons, very clear and sweet; and are themselves at their
meetings and feasts the greatest carousers and drunkards in the world.”
The settlement stood on a low hill, “with goodly gardens a mile compass
round about it.” And so they proceeded, meeting friendliness everywhere
among the natives, till the rivers commenced fast rising, and they could
not row against the stream. Small parties were then detailed ashore to
look for mineral stones. Raleigh describes the country as lovely; “the
deer crossing in every path; the birds towards the evening singing on
every tree with a thousand several tunes; cranes and herons, of white,
crimson, and carnation, perching on the river’s side; the air fresh with a
gentle easterly wind; _and every stone that we stooped to take up promised
either gold or silver by its complexion_. * * * I hope some of them cannot
be bettered under the sun; and yet we had no means but with our daggers
and fingers to tear them out here and there, the rocks being most hard, of
that mineral spar aforesaid, which is like a flint, and is altogether as
hard, or harder; and besides, the veins lie a fathom or two deep in the
rocks. But we wanted all things requisite, save only our desires and good
will, to have performed more, if it had pleased God.” Some of the others
brought glistening stones, and among them, apparently pyrites, which very
commonly accompanies gold, but of the precious metal itself Raleigh could
hardly boast a speck in truth. His account of these discoveries is mixed
up with the strangest fables, as for example of the Ewaipanoma, a people
of that country whose eyes were in their shoulders, and their mouths in
the middle of their breasts!

                  [Illustration: RALEIGH ON THE RIVER.]

The ships were regained, and the expedition sailed for England, where
Raleigh, in spite of the work which he published under the boastful title
of “The Discovery of the Large, Rich, and Beautiful Empire of Guiana, with
a Relation of the Great and Golden City of Manoa (which the Spaniards call
El Dorado),” &c., lost both popular and queenly favour, having brought
home no booty. In fact the narrative given to the world rather did him
harm than good, for it is full of excuses, admits that the voyage had been
most unprofitable, and is undoubtedly not veracious in many particulars.
His arguments for immediately attempting the conquest of Guiana were not
regarded. Yet still he had means and friends. Two expeditions to Guiana
were afterwards organised, neither of which resulted in any discovery or
profit.

But others besides Raleigh and his followers had been inflamed with the
accounts floating about concerning El Dorado. Berrio, the Spanish Governor
before mentioned, despatched his camp master to Spain to levy men, sending
with him some golden carvings and “images, as well of men as beasts,
birds, and fishes,” in order to obtain further aid from the king and his
subjects. This agent, Domingo de Vera, was a man of ability, and
thoroughly unscrupulous; he courted notoriety by appearing always in a
singular dress, adorned with golden trinkets and jewels, and being of
great stature, and riding always a great horse, attracted much attention,
being known popularly as the Indian El Dorado. He was successful in
raising seventy thousand ducats at Madrid, and a large additional sum at
Seville: obtained authority for raising a band of adventurers, and five
good ships to carry them out. Men of good birth left their estates,
respectable middle-class men gave up their incomes and employments, sold
everything, and embarked with their wives and children; even a prebendary,
and many priests, gave up sure prospects of advancement to join the
expedition, which at last aggregated two thousand persons. Berrio had only
asked for 300, and when the expedition reached Trinidad, they had to be
apportioned to various other settlements; the women and children being
serious encumbrances at the time, and enduring great misery. The savage
Caribs attacked their canoes when proceeding to St. Thomas and elsewhere.
One detachment of three hundred were reduced to thirty souls by the crafty
Indians, who, after very partially supplying them with provisions, watched
them sink with weakness and disease till they became an easy prey. In some
places they set fire to the grass, and the wretched travellers, unable to
fly before it, were burned to death. Those who reached the Orinoco, not
merely found no gold, but little of that abundance so glowingly described
by Raleigh. Vera himself soon died in Trinidad, and Berrio did not long
survive him. Of the original two thousand who left Spain, it is doubtful
whether a tithe survived the first year. Had Raleigh been a favourite with
the people, or had his character been above suspicion, it is more than
likely that some similar disaster might have had to be recorded on the
pages of English history.

Sir Walter Raleigh has enlightened us,(1) as regards the condition of
commerce and of the English mercantile marine shortly before the union of
the crown of England and Scotland, in a remarkable paper, “which
contains,” says a competent authority, “many remarkable commercial
principles far in advance of the age in which the author lived.” He states
that the ships of England were not to be compared with those of the Dutch,
and that while an English ship of one hundred tons required a crew of
thirty men, the Dutch would sail such a vessel with one-third that number.
Holland became the depôt of numerous articles, “not one hundredth part of
which were consumed by the Dutch,” while she gave “free custom inwards and
outwards for the better maintenance of navigation and encouragement of the
people to that business.” Sir Walter tells us that France offered to the
vessels of all nations free customs twice and sometimes three times each
year when she laid in her annual stock of provisions, and also in such raw
materials as were not possessed by herself in equal abundance. Denmark
granted free customs the year through, excepting only one month. The Dutch
were the great carriers by sea, in consequence of the facilities granted
them at home, “and yet the situation of England lieth far better for a
storehouse to serve the south-east and the north-east kingdoms than theirs
do; and we have far the better means to do it if we apply ourselves to do
it.” He complained that although the greatest fishery in the world is on
the coasts of England, Scotland, and Ireland, Holland despatched to the
Baltic and up the Rhine more than a million pounds sterling worth of
herrings, where we did not export one. He states that Holland trafficked
in “every city and port of Britain with five or six hundred ships yearly,
and we chiefly to three towns in their country and with forty ships; the
Dutch trade to every port and town in France, and we only to five or six,”
and that the Dutch were even ruining our Russian trade. In spite of
probable exaggerations in Raleigh’s statements as laid before the King, it
is evident that with the laws as they stood, the Dutch must have had, as
regards their commercial marine, very much the best of it.

While there was much depression among the shipowners, they did not
overlook the advantages to be derived from intercourse with the
newly-discovered world of North America. Though the expeditions promoted
by Raleigh and his associates had been unfortunate, profitable ventures
were soon after made, beads, trinkets, and articles of little value being
exchanged for skins and furs obtained by the Indians; and Captain Gosnold
made in 1602 the first _direct_ voyage across the Atlantic to America—all
other English sailors at least having sailed by way of the Canaries and
West Indies. “Steering in a small bark, directly across the Atlantic, in
seven weeks he reached Cape Elizabeth on the coast of Maine. Following the
coast to the south-west, he skirted ‘an outpoint of wooded land;’ and
about noon of the 14th of May he anchored ‘near Savage Rock,’ to the east
of York Harbour.... Not finding his ‘purposed place’ he stood to the
south, and on the morning of the 15th discovered the promontory which he
named Cape Cod. He and four of his men went on shore. Cape Cod was the
first spot in New England ever trod by Englishman.” He traded with the
natives in peltries, sassafras, and cedar-wood, and was probably the first
to sow English corn on the Island of Martha’s Vineyard. In 1606 two
maritime companies, the “Plymouth Adventurers,” and the South Virginia
Company, were authorised to colonise and form plantations; the first
having right to the territory which now embraces Pennsylvania, New Jersey,
and New York; and the second, to that which now includes Maryland,
Virginia, and North and South Carolina. A single steamer of these days has
often landed more emigrants at New York than did a dozen of these early
expeditions at other points, for their progress at first was painfully
slow.

The great East India Company was formed in England more than a century
after the discovery, by Vasco de Gama, of the route to India _viâ_ the
Cape. The first voyage of Thomas Cavendish is worthy of more note than it
has received, inasmuch as it contributed more than anything else to
awakening the merchants of London to the importance of the trade prospects
there. Starting in July, 1586, he circumnavigated the globe, passing
through the Straits of Magellan westward, in eight months less than Drake.
He was the first English navigator to discern the value of the position of
St. Helena, to describe with accuracy the Philippine Islands, and to bring
home a map and description of China; and what is more remarkable is the
fact that he was scarcely more than twenty-two years of age when he took
command in this first most adventurous voyage. He was shipwrecked five or
six years later on the coast of Brazil, and lost his life there. Through
Mr. Thorne, an English merchant, often mentioned in connection with these
early voyages, the London merchants gained a considerable amount of
knowledge relating to the important trade with the Indies enjoyed by the
Spanish and Portuguese; and at length, in the year 1600, more than 200
shipowners, traders, and citizens associated, and formed a body corporate,
having received many special privileges from the Crown, “including,” says
Lindsay,(2) “that of punishing offenders either in body or purse, provided
the mode of punishment was not repugnant to the laws of England. Its
exports were not subjected to any duties for the four first voyages,
important indulgences were granted in paying the duties on imports, and
liberty was given to export £30,000 each voyage in coin or bullion,
provided £6,000 of this sum passed through the Mint. But not exceeding six
ships, and an equal number of pinnaces, with 500 seamen, were allowed to
be despatched annually to whatever station might be formed in India, with
the additional provisoes that the seamen were not at the time required for
the service of the Royal Navy, and that all gold and silver exported by
the Company should be shipped at either London, Dartmouth, or Plymouth.”
The Company started with a capital of £72,000, and equipped five vessels
for the first venture, the largest of which was the _Dragon_ of 600 tons;
her commander, according to the practice of the day, receiving the title
of “Admiral of the Squadron.” The first voyage was very successful;
important commercial relations were formed with the King of Achin, in
Sumatra; and a factory established at Bantam, after which the ships
returned to England richly laden.

A serious rival was, however, in the field. The separation of the Dutch
provinces from the crown of Spain had caused their merchants to be sent
abroad to seek new fields of commerce, and as they had gained an intimate
knowledge of Spanish and Portuguese affairs, they were then the
predominant naval power in the Indian Seas, and were quite ready to
contend against any supremacy on the part of England’s traders. English
merchants were, however, ready for them, the profits on the first
expedition having incited them to grander efforts. They obtained a new
Charter in 1609, and the Company constructed a vessel of larger size than
any hitherto employed in the English merchant service, which they named
the _Trades’ Increase_. She was 1,200 tons, and even her pinnace was 250
tons. At her launch, the Company gave a great banquet, at which the dishes
were of china ware, then a great novelty in England. With these and two
other vessels Sir Henry Middleton set sail, touching at Mocha, on the Red
Sea, where, entrapped ashore by the Mohammedans, eighty of his crew were
massacred, sixteen others disabled, and he himself severely wounded.
Proceeding to Bantam, the _Trades’ Increase_ was unfortunately
shipwrecked, and poor Middleton died heartbroken at the failure of the
expedition. But other voyages followed, which were enormously profitable
to the Company. One expedition is mentioned which, “though absent only
twenty months, earned in that time a profit of no less than 340 per cent.”
“Factories”—trading posts or forts—were established, and the Company
obtained the favour of the Moghul Emperor, Jehangir, more especially after
they had been fortunate enough to repel some of the Portuguese who were
attacking his posts. They even contrived to obtain a footing in Japan,
through the influence of William Adams, a Kentish man, who had been pilot
on one of the earliest Dutch expeditions, and who stood high in the
Emperor’s favour. The intercourse then opened was allowed to die out, and
has only been re-established late in our own time. In seventeen years
after the first establishment of the Company its affairs had become so
prosperous that its stock reached a premium of 203 per cent., and the
Dutch East India Company suggested an amalgamation of the two corporations
with a view to exclude and crush their common enemy, the Portuguese. This
was never carried into effect, but in 1619 a treaty of trade and
friendship was established. They were to “cease from rivalry, and
apportion the profits of the different branches of commerce between them.”
Alas! all this amicable billing and cooing were to speedily end; such
self-abnegation was found hardly practicable between business rivals. A
series of hostilities ensued in the following year; a number of Englishmen
were massacred by the Dutch at Amboyna, and sea-fights occurred between
the vessels; the result being that the Dutch had it all their own way in a
few years afterwards. The directors of the English Company even meditated
winding up its affairs. Something similar happened more than once
afterwards before they became a grand company and the real governors of
India. The rise of British power there is one of those surprising
revolutions which never before occurred in history. The managers of a
trading company in London first became the lords of a manor a dozen times
the size of England, and controlled the destinies of kings and princes,
engaging in war or peace as occasion seemed to demand. Think of the
affairs of a great country settled in a counting-house! But at length the
anomaly had to cease, and, as most readers will remember, the East India
Company lost its powers and privileges in 1858, and ceased to exist as a
governing body. Retiring allowances were made to commanders and officers.
It may be interesting to note that up to 1814 trade with India, so long a
jealously-guarded monopoly with the Company, was thrown open to private
competition, but that they retained the exclusive trade with China for a
long period after that date.

A trifling digression may be allowed here, as it really bears on our
subject. The East India Company was long a synonym for everything that was
rich and powerful, and many of its civil servants visited or retired to
England as opulent and independent men. The maritime branch of the service
received a goodly slice of the pie; and some facts relating thereto
recorded by Lindsay, the authority before quoted, himself long a great
shipowner, will astonish and interest the reader. A commander’s position
in the H. E. I. Co.’s service was most assuredly worth having, for his
salary was a very small part indeed of his receipts. The Company granted a
number of “indulgences” to their naval officers, of which the following
are only part. Ninety-seven tons of space were reserved for the commander
and officers, of which the former of course took the lion’s share, 56½
tons. They were permitted to import on the homeward voyage tea to the
following extent:—9,336 lbs. for the commander, 1,228 lbs. for first mate,
and the lower grades were each privileged in the same way, but to a
smaller extent. The officers might bring in China-ware as a flooring for
the tea-chests, the quantity of which might range from 20 to 40 tons,
according to the size of the vessel. They were even allowed surplus
tonnage, when it could be safely and conveniently carried. The commander
received as his perquisite the passage-money paid by _all_ private
passengers, the cost of their provisions and wine being alone deducted.
His table was luxuriously supplied, and he was allowed to import for his
own use two butts of Madeira wine. The first mate had, among his extra
allowances, and quite apart from the regular supply of provisions on
board, 24 dozen of wine or beer, 2 firkins of butter, 1 cwt. of cheese, 1
cwt. of groceries, and 4 quarter casks of pickles for the voyage. Lindsay
says, “So many were their privileges, and so numerous their perquisites,
that during five India or China voyages a captain of one of the Company’s
ships ought to have realised sufficient capital to be independent for the
rest of his life.” He was, in effect, a merchant, doing business for
himself while in the employ of a large mercantile concern, and his
officers were the same on a smaller scale. The above writer considers that
the direct and inevitable remuneration to a commander was from £3,000 to
£5,000 per round voyage, out and home, but that with his privileges and
perquisites it might and often did reach £8,000 to £10,000, or more. He
mentions one instance which came within his own knowledge, where “the
commander of one of the ships employed on the ‘double voyage’—that is from
London to India, thence to China, and thence back to London, where he had
a large interest in the freight on cotton or other produce conveyed from
India to China—realised no less than £30,000.” And yet some of them were
not satisfied, and the Company had to make laws and investigations
concerning illicit trading and smuggling with the connivance of the Custom
House officers. Some of the commanders had even put into ports for which
they had no orders, to carry out their own purposes.

The internal economy of an East Indiaman was, as regards discipline and
order, modelled for the most part upon that of a man-of-war, and carried
more men, twice over, than does many a modern steamer double her tonnage.
Thus, one of the finest vessels of the Company, mentioned by Lindsay, was
for a considerable period the _Earl of Balcarras_. She was of 1,417 tons,
and had 130 souls on board. After the commander came six mates, a surgeon
and assistant, six midshipmen, purser, boatswain, gunner, carpenter,
master-at-arms, armourer, butcher, baker, poulterer, caulker, cooper, two
stewards, two cooks, eight boatswain’s, gunner’s, carpenter’s, caulker’s,
and cooper’s mates; six quartermasters, a sailmaker, seven servants for
officers, and seventy-eight seamen. But we are wandering from our theme.

              [Illustration: MONSON AND THE BISCAYAN SHIP.]

The reign of Elizabeth was a glorious epoch in the history of naval
affairs, and great names crowd upon us. It is impossible to pass by that
of Sir William Monson, who served his country for fifty years, through
three reigns, and whose “Naval Tracts” are almost as valuable as were his
services, illustrating as they do the condition of the navy and maritime
affairs of the period, and abounding in the details of well-described
exploits.

Monson was of a good Lincolnshire family, and at an early age entered
Baliol College, Oxford, where he remained a couple of years, till the
excitement of the war with Spain determined him to run away to sea, as he
did not expect to get the consent of his parents. At this date, 1585, he
was only sixteen years of age. “I put myself,” says he, “into an action by
sea, where there was in company of us two small ships, fitted for
men-of-war, that authorised us by commission to seize upon the subjects of
the King of Spain; then made I the sea my profession, being led to it by
the wildness of my youth.” He had not long to wait for adventure. “A
strong and obstinate ship of Holland” was encountered, whose captain had
the audacity not to strike his flag immediately, when required to do so.
The Dutch vessel had an English pilot on board, through whom communication
was held; and the master of the privateer, by a ruse of navigation,
ordering his helmsman in a loud voice to port his helm, while in an
undertone he instructed him to do just the reverse, nearly fouled the
Dutchman, whose men got out oars and fenders to prevent the impending
collision. “When we saw their people thus employed,” says Monson,(3) “and
not to have time to take arms, we suddenly boarded, entered, and took her
by this stratagem.” Monson, when an old man, used to chuckle over his
boyish share in this exploit, and includes it among “stratagems to be used
at sea” in his “Tracts.”

But he was to have speedily a better opportunity of distinguishing
himself. The privateer on which he served—for she was nothing
more—encountered a large Biscayan ship off the Spanish coast, whose
captain refused to strike. A few of the English crew, including Monson,
managed to board her, when the sea suddenly rose, and this mere handful
were left on the Spaniard’s decks, while the privateer was compelled to
ungrapple. The storm increased, and it was not possible to succour the
little band, who fought for _eleven_ hours, from eight o’clock in the
evening to seven the next morning. The Spaniards attempted to blow up the
deck which they maintained, but “were prevented by fire-pikes,” and at
last surrendered after a desperate contest. The decks were covered with
the dead and dying. “I dare say,” says the narrator of the event, “that in
the whole time of the war there was not so rare a manner of fight, or so
great a slaughter of men.” Monson, who had now received his “baptism of
fire” with a vengeance, determined that nothing should take him from his
adopted profession, and it is presumable that his friends became
reconciled to it, for we find him suddenly raised, at one step, from the
grade of a volunteer to the rank of captain, although but eighteen years
old! Family influence, doubtless, had something to do with it. Gentlemen
captains, who were often brave men, but who knew little enough about naval
affairs, were common in those days. Raleigh distinguishes them very
distinctly from the “tarpauling captain,” or mariner who had learned his
profession from a youth up. Monson, however, as his writings prove, soon
became an adept in navigation and all the arts of seamanship.

Passing over a voyage in which Monson was nearly shipwrecked, we come to
1589, when he accompanied the Earl of Cumberland in his expedition to the
Azores. The crews were reduced to great distress from want of water, and
while cruising among the islands, a grand spout was seen issuing
apparently from one of their cliffs. Cumberland asked Monson to go with
four men and find out whether it was available for their use. While they
were rowing towards the land, a great whale, lying asleep on the water,
was noted from the ship, and was mistaken for a rock, whereupon the vessel
tacked about and put to sea, leaving Monson to his fate. (The original
narrative does not explain whether the waterspout, noticed from the ship,
had proceeded from the whale, before it fell asleep.) “I had no sooner,”
says Monson, “set my foot ashore, than it began to be dark with night and
fog, and to blow, rain, thunder, and lighten in the cruellest manner that
I have seen. There was no way for me to escape death but to put myself to
the mercy of the sea; neither could I have any great hope of help in life,
for the ship was out of sight, and there only appeared a light upon the
shrouds to direct me.” The narrative says that a countryman of Monson’s on
board prevailed upon his lordship (the Earl of Cumberland) to forbear
sailing. This was, one would think, hardly necessary, as Monson was his
second in command; but stress of weather will probably account for the
vessel being driven some distance. They rowed and rowed, but lost all
sight of the ship. At length, in despair, they fired their last charge of
powder from a musket. The flash was seen through the fog, and they were
saved. “We were preserved,” says the narrative, “rather by miracle than
any human act; and to make it the more strange we were no sooner risen
from our seats, and ropes in our hands to enter the ship, but the boat
sunk immediately.” The subsequent sufferings of the crew from the
continued want of water have rarely been equalled. “For sixteen days
together,” says Monson, “we never tasted a drop of drink, either of beer,
wine, or water; and though we had plenty of beef and pork of a year’s
salting, yet did we forbear eating it, for making us the drier. Many drank
salt water, and those that did died suddenly; and the last words they
usually spoke were ‘Drink, drink, drink!’” There were 500 men on board,
and the mortality, though not expressly stated in numbers, is said to have
been something fearful. At last they made the coast of Ireland, and
obtained relief. So severely was Monson’s health affected by this voyage,
that he retired from the active pursuit of his profession for a year
afterwards.

Again he joined the Earl of Cumberland in 1591 on an expedition directed
against Spain, off the coasts of which he successfully took two caravels
by one of the stratagems for which he was famous. He had boarded one from
the ship’s boat; he manned her with a part of his boat’s crew, and rowed
back to his ship. The Spaniards on the other caravel far in the distance
thought that the first, her consort, had been dismissed, and so shortened
sail to meet her; and was consequently taken unawares by a mere handful of
men. But Monson only wanted to obtain information as to the enemy, and let
them both off. This act turned out fortunately for him; for shortly
afterwards, being left in charge of a prize taken from the Dutch, he was
attacked by the Spaniards in six galleys, the consequence being that he
was taken prisoner, when he found that his recent conduct towards the
caravels had been reported favourably, and he was treated with more
courtesy than had been usual before. But he was to suffer a long captivity
for all that. At the Tagus he would probably have escaped had not an
unforeseen chance prevented. While the galleys were in the harbour, a
Brazilian, master of a Dutch ship, chanced to come on board that on which
Monson was confined, and, pitying his hard fate, offered to take him off
on his vessel, if he could devise any plan which should not implicate
himself. Monson gave out to the rest of the prisoners that, tired of his
life, he intended to drown himself. His intention really was to drop
quietly into the water, and if possible swim to the friendly bark. But
just before he had made his arrangements, the galleys were ordered to sea,
and when they returned the ship had sailed. It is probably fortunate for
him that he did not make the attempt, as, had it been frustrated, he would
have probably suffered death, as did an Italian a short time afterwards,
who had been trying to raise a general conspiracy on board. His execution
was effected in the most horrible manner, his arms and legs being
severally tied to the sterns of four galleys, which were rowed in four
different directions, thus quartering him.

Monson was afterwards removed to the castle of Lisbon, from which an
attempt on his part to escape was frustrated by the treachery of an
English interpreter there, whom he had been forced to employ. Fortunately,
the letter which he had entrusted to a page, who was to have conveyed it
_in his boots_ to Lord Burleigh, became so saturated and obliterated by
rain, that nothing could be made of it, and the whole matter was allowed
to pass. Not so, however, after he had helped a Portuguese to escape, who
had been condemned to death. The latter, aided by Monson’s skill, managed
to pass the sentinels disguised as a soldier, and then lowering himself by
a rope, effected his plans. The flight having been discovered, Monson was
accused of having assisted him, and was taken before the judge. “But
neither threats nor promises of liberty could induce him to confess. He
pleaded that he was a prisoner of war, that he was subject to the law of
honour and arms, and that it was lawful for him to seek his freedom: he
urged the improbability of holding such intercourse as was imputed to him
with one whose language he did not understand; and he concluded by
cautioning them to be wary what violence they offered him, as he had
friends in England, and was of a nation that could and would revenge his
wrongs.” The latter argument probably it was that carried the day; but
until released—no doubt by exchange—he was closely guarded.

In 1593, Monson again joined Cumberland, and considering the fidelity
which he had always shown to that admiral, the latter seems to have
treated him very badly. In the course of their voyage, a dozen Spanish
hulks laden with powder were taken, half of which were left to Monson to
haul over, while his admiral put to sea with the rest. Monson had with him
only about fifty men. What was his surprise towards night to find that
Cumberland had released the hulks which he had taken, and that they were
crowding on all sail to join their consorts in his charge, with hostile
intent, which it would be madness on his part to attempt to frustrate. He
barely escaped; when the enemy boarded him on one side of his vessel, he
leaped into the long boat on the other side, receiving a wound which
remained all his days. Southey certainly puts it mildly when he says, “The
conduct of the Earl of Cumberland in this affair admits of no reasonable
or satisfactory explanations,” for it looks far more like downright
treachery. A couple of years afterwards, the Earl very plainly declared
his colours by first inducing him to join him in his voyage, and then
superseding him. Monson could not brook this, and returned, after some
adventures, to England, where we soon find him with the Earl of Essex, in
the expedition to Cadiz. At that most remarkable siege, he was in the
thick of the fight ashore with Essex, where he received a shot through his
scarf and breeches; another shot took away the handle and pommel of his
sword, while he remained uninjured. But his principal services were in
connection with the destruction of the fleet, which meant a loss of six or
seven millions sterling to Spain. “The King of Spain,” says Monson, “never
received so great an overthrow, and so great an indignity at our hands as
this; for our attempt was at his own home, in his own ports, that he
thought as safe as his chamber, where we took and destroyed his ships of
war, burnt and consumed the wealth of his merchants, sacked his city,
ransomed his subjects, and entered his country without impeachment.”
Monson was knighted for his conduct at this siege.

                     [Illustration: MONSON AT CADIZ.]

The abundant “pluck” possessed by Monson is illustrated in the following
example. In 1597, on the island expedition, Monson’s ship was separated
some distance from the admiral’s squadron, when a fleet of twenty-five
sail was noted approaching in the dead of the night. Not being able to
distinguish their flag, he determined to reconnoitre for himself, before
signalling to the English ships. He approached them in his boat, hailing
them in Spanish, and they, replying that they were of that nationality,
asked whence he came. He replied that he was of England, and told them
that his ship, then in sight, was a royal galleon, and could be easily
taken, his object being to make them pursue him, so that he might
gradually lead them into the wake of the squadron. All he got for this
impudently gallant attempt was a volley of bad language and another of
shot.

But all Monson’s exploits pale before an action which occurred in Cerimbra
roads, in which a great treasure-ship was cut out, in sight of a fortress
and eleven galleys, and within hearing of the guns of Lisbon. He was then
associated with Admiral Sir Richard Lewson, but the principal part of the
service was performed by himself. When the carrack and galleys were
discovered lying at anchor, a council was held on board the admiral’s
vessel, which occupied the better part of a day, as many of the captains
thought it folly to attempt to capture a great ship defended by a fortress
and eleven galleys. Monson thought differently, and it was at length
agreed that he and the admiral should anchor as near the carrack as they
could, while the other and smaller vessels should ply up and down, holding
themselves in readiness for any emergency. It is likely, as Southey
remarks, that “the sight of these galleys reminded Sir William of the
slavery he had endured at Lisbon in similar vessels, if not indeed in some
of these identical craft, and he longed to take revenge upon them.” Monson
says that in order to show contempt of them, he separated from the rest of
the fleet, by way of challenging and defying them. “The Marquis of St.
Cruz, General of the Portuguese, and Frederick Spinola, General of the
galleys, accepted the invitation, and put out with the intention of
fighting him; but they were diverted from their purpose by a renegade
Englishman, who knew the force of the vice-admiral’s ship, and that she
was commanded by Monson.”

The town of Cerimbra lies at the bottom of a roadstead, which usually
affords protection for shipping. It had at that time a strong fortress
close to the beach, and a fortified castle, while there was a troop of
soldiers ashore, whose numerous tents lined the coast. The galleys were
partly covered or flanked by a neck of rock, and the batteries could play
over them, thus affording them great protection, while they could
themselves keep up a continuous fire at any approaching vessel. Again,
Monson tells us, “there was no man but imagined that most of the carrack’s
lading was ashore, and that they would hale her aground under the castle
where no ship of ours would be able to come at her—all which objections,
with many more, were alleged, yet they little prevailed. Procrastination
was perilous, and therefore, with all expedition, they thought convenient
to charge the town, the fort, the galleys, and carrack, all at one
instant.” This was done next morning, although a gale sprung up about the
time of the attack. The admiral weighed, fired the signal gun, hoisted his
flag, and was the first at the attack; “after him followed the rest of the
ships, showing great valour, and gaining great honour. The last of all was
Monson himself, who, entering into the fight, still strove to get up as
near the shore as he could, where he came to an anchor, continually
fighting with the town, the fort, the galleys, and the carrack all
together; for he brought them betwixt him, that he might play both his
broadsides upon them. The galleys still kept their prows towards him. The
slaves offered to forsake them ... and everything was in confusion amongst
them; and thus they fought till five of the clock in the afternoon.”
Monson’s stratagems and rapidity of action paralysed the commanders of the
galleys, and the men rowed about wildly to avoid him, not knowing what to
do. The admiral came on board his ship, and, embracing him in the presence
of the ship’s company, declared that “he had won his heart for ever.”

And so the battle raged till the enemy showed such evident signs of
weakness, that it was proposed to board the carrack. Here, however, the
admiral interposed, as he wished to preserve the treasure on board. The
ships were ordered to cease firing, and one Captain Sewell, who had been
four years a prisoner on the galleys, from one of which he had only just
escaped by swimming, was selected to parley with them. He was to promise
honourable conditions, but insist that as the English held the roadstead,
as several of the galleys were _hors de combat_, and the castle powerless,
they must expect the worst in a case of refusal. The captain of the
carrack would not treat with an officer who had so recently been a slave
in their power, but sent a deputation of Portuguese gentlemen of quality,
desiring that they should be met by those of similar rank in the English
service. They were, of course, properly received, but having delivered
their message, evinced a great desire to hasten back; they revealed the
real state of affairs by admitting that it was a moot question on the
carrack whether the parley ought to be entertained, or the vessel set on
fire. Monson’s promptitude once more saved the situation. Not waiting to
hear any more, or receiving any instruction from Admiral Lewson, he
ordered his men to row him to the carrack. Several officers on board
recognised him, and the commander, Don Diego Lobo, a young man of family,
motioning his men apart, received him courteously. After some little
palaver, Monson informing Don Diego of the rank he held in the expedition,
and assuring him of his high regard for the Portuguese nation, the real
business of their interview was approached. Diego asked that he, his
officers and men, should be put on shore that night; that the ship and its
ordnance should be respected, and its flags remain suspended; the treasure
he would concede to the victors. Monson agreed to the first proposition,
excepting only that he required a certain number of hostages whom he would
detain three days, but laughed at the idea of separating the ship and its
contents; and stated that “he was resolved never to permit a Spanish flag
to be worn in the presence of the Queen’s ships, unless it were
disgracefully over the poop.” A long discussion followed, and Monson, who
was determined to have his way, made a show of descending to his boat. His
firmness won the day, and all his demands were eventually conceded, after
which he conducted Don Diego and eight gentlemen on board his ship, “when
they supped, had a variety of music, and spent the night in great
jollity.” This is Monson’s account; it is doubtful whether the Portuguese
were thoroughly enjoying themselves under the circumstances! When next day
Sir William accompanied them on shore, he found the Count de Vidigueira at
the head of a force numbering 20,000 men, whose services were not of much
account now. The disgust ashore at the comparatively easy victory attained
by the English may be imagined. Besides the capture of the carrack, two of
the galleys were burnt and sunk; the captain of another was taken
prisoner, and the others fled during the engagement, although they were
afterwards shamed into returning by the heroic behaviour of Spinola, who
defended the carrack against desperate odds. The total loss of life in the
town, castle, and vessels, although never accurately known, must have been
immense, while the victory was purchased by the English with the loss of
only six men, scarcely a larger number being wounded.

                [Illustration: ACTION IN CERIMBRA ROADS.]

The carrack, named the _St. Valentine_, was a vessel of 1,700 tons
burthen; she had wintered at Mozambique on her return from the Indies,
where a fatal malady killed the bulk of her crew; indeed, it is stated
that out of more than 600 men scarce twenty survived the whole voyage. The
Viceroy of Portugal sent the galleys before named to protect her, and put
on board 400 volunteers. The value of this prize was close on £200,000. It
is just to Monson to state that he offered Diego “permission to take out
of her whatever portion of the freight he could conscientiously claim as
his own.” This proposal the proud young commander declined. His life
afterwards was a series of misfortunes. He was thrown into prison for
losing the carrack; escaped from captivity only to languish an exile in
Italy; and at last died just as fortune once more seemed to smile upon him
by offering him a chance in his own king’s service.

On the accession of James I. a general peace ensued so far as England was
concerned. All in all, the rest was beneficial to the navy, and many
defects were remedied and reforms inaugurated. In one of the earliest
reports presented to the king on the condition of the navy, after
enumerating certain pressing needs, we find the estimate for its _annual_
expenditure placed at rather less than £21,000—an amount which a single
ironclad would have swallowed up entirely, and got considerably into debt.
James caused one fine vessel to be constructed, in 1610, in which every
improvement known at the time was introduced. She was christened the
_Prince Royal_. Stow describes her as follows:—“This year the king builded
a most goodly ship for warre, the keel whereof was 114 feet in length, and
the cross beam was forty-four feet in length; she will carry sixty-four
pieces of ordnance, and is of the burthen of 1,400 tons. This royal ship
is double built, and is most sumptuously adorned, within and without, with
all manner of curious carving, painting, and rich gilding, being in all
respects the greatest and goodliest ship that ever was builded in England;
and this glorious ship the king gave to his son Henry, Prince of Wales;
and the 24th September, the king, the queen, the Prince of Wales, the Duke
of York, and the Lady Elizabeth, with many great lords, went unto Woolwich
to see it launched; but because of the narrowness of the dock it could not
then be launched; whereupon the prince came the next morning by three
o’clock, and then at the launching thereof the prince named it after his
own dignity, and called it the _Prince_.” Phineas Pett, one of a family of
leading naval constructors of those days, was its builder. A well-known
authority(4) says, “Were the absurd profusion of ornament with which the
_Royal Prince_ is decorated removed, its contour or general appearance
would not so materially differ from the modern vessel of the same size as
to render it an uncommon sight, or a ship in which mariners would hesitate
at proceeding to sea in, on account of any glaring defects in its form,
that in their opinion might render it unsafe to undertake a common voyage
in.” A very large number of superior vessels were added to the royal navy
during this epoch, but the commercial marine was in a bad way until late
in James’s reign. What its conviction was at this time may be gathered
from the fact that in 1615, half way in the reign, there were not more
than ten vessels of 200 tons burthen each in the port of London. Less than
seven years afterwards, such was the improvement, that Newcastle alone
could boast more than a hundred, each of which exceeded that tonnage.

During this peaceful epoch Monson had to fulfil an unthankful office as
guardian of the narrow seas, _i.e._, the English and Irish Channels, and
adjacent waters. He had to transport princes and ambassadors while war was
going on, and as it would seem from a paper included in his “Tracts,” at
his own expense. This document runs at a first glimpse very curiously.
Take one entry, “1604, August 4. The constable of Castile at his coming
over, 200 (followers) 3 (meals).” An unconscionable number of followers
and very few meals, it would seem, for so many; but it doubtless means
three meals apiece on the passage from Calais or Dunkirk to Dover. The
retinue of “followers” sometimes aggregated as many as 300. During this
period, however, Monson made some careful notes on the Dutch fisheries,
then a most important source of revenue to that nation, while ours were
almost entirely overlooked. Nine thousand Dutch vessels were kept in
constant employment by these fisheries, a considerable proportion of which
were on our own coasts, and conducted under our very noses. He was
employed at intervals for two years in combating similar encroachments on
the part of French fishermen. “The adventurous spirit of the age,” says
Southey, “was averse to an employment so tranquil and so near home.” Men
would rather seek the uttermost parts of the earth in a vain search for
wealth than settle down to a certain, safe, and profitable employment.
Monson waxes eloquently indignant on the subject in one of his chapters.
“My meaning is,” he says, “not to leave our fruitful soil untilled, our
seas unfrequented, our islands unpeopled, or to seek remote and strange
countries disinhabited, and uncivil Indians untamed, where nothing appears
to us but earth, wood, and water, at our first arrival; for all other hope
must depend on our labour and costly expenses, on the adventures of the
sea, on the honesty of undertakers; and all these at last produce nothing
but tobacco(5)—a new-invented useless weed, as too much use and custom
make it apparent. * * * * You shall be made to know, that though you be
born on an island seated in the ocean, frequented by invisible fish,
swimming from one shore to the other, yet your experience has not taught
you the benefits and blessings arising from that fish. I doubt not but to
give you that light therein, that you shall confess yourselves blinded,
and be willing to blow from you the foul mist that has been an impediment
to your sight; you shall be awakened from your drowsy sleep, and rouse
yourselves to follow this best business that ever was presented to
England, or king thereof; nay, I will be bold to say, to any state in the
world. I will not except the discoveries of the West Indies by Columbus;
an act of greatest renown, of greatest profit, and that has been of
greatest consequence to the Spanish nation.” Exaggerated as all this may
appear, Monson was right in his estimation of the profitable nature of the
business. At that time the Dutch used to vend their fish in every European
market, and obtain in exchange the productions of all countries. Monson
also remarks on the carelessness of the English at that time in regard to
lobsters, oysters, and lampreys, all of which the Dutch obtained from our
coasts. In order to encourage the fisheries an Act had been passed
prohibiting butchers from killing meat in Lent, and Monson wished it to be
made compulsory on the rural population to consume fish. “Neither,” says
he, “will it seem a thing unreasonable to enjoin every yeoman and farmer
within the kingdom to take a barrel of fish for their own spending,
considering they save the value thereof in other victuals; and that it is
no more than the fisherman will do to them to take off their wheat, malt,
butter, and cheese for their food to sea.” This agitation did good in
calling attention to a neglected industry. The great enemies of the
fishermen then were the pirates who infested the coasts, and who, if they
ran short of provisions, looked upon them as their natural providers,
rarely, if ever, paying for what they took. And before passing to other
subjects, let us accompany Monson—on paper—on a little expedition he took
against some of the said pirates.

So considerable an amount of alarm had been caused by piratical
adventurers on the coasts of Scotland, that King James was in 1614
urgently requested to send some royal ships there. Sir William Monson and
Sir Francis Howard were despatched at once, and after calling at Leith to
obtain information and also the service of pilots, proceeded to the Orkney
Islands. Touching at Sinclair Castle, the residence of the Earl of
Caithness, situate on “the utmost promontory” of Britain, they learned
that the accounts had been much exaggerated. There were only two known to
the Earl, and indeed one of them whom Monson took could hardly be deemed
such at all; he was a common sailor, and when he had found out the nature
of the service to which he had been engaged, he had abandoned it as soon
as possible. Clarke, the other adventurer, to whom the title of pirate
more fairly belonged, had been ashore to the castle a day previously, and
had been entertained in a friendly way, the fact being that the Earl and
his tenants were a little afraid of him as an ugly customer. Hearing that
Sir William was on the coast, he had fled: Monson, therefore, finding it
useless and needless to remain at Caithness, sailed for Orkney, where he
left Sir Francis Howard while he proceeded to explore the coasts in
detail, putting into every inlet where it was likely Clarke or other
pirates might be hidden. He was unsuccessful in his search, and at length
decided to make for Broad Haven—a noted rendezvous for pirates—partly on
account of its remoteness and inaccessibility, and partly because one
Cormat dwelt there, who, with his daughters, entertained these thieving
adventurers with great cordiality. On the voyage he encountered a terrible
gale, “that it were fit only for a poet to describe.” One of his vessels
was engulfed in the seas, and no traces of it or of its crew remained,
while the others were dispersed and did not see each other again till all
met in England. Monson had now alone to beard the lion in his den.

                  [Illustration: MONSON AT BROAD HAVEN.]

Arrived at Broad Haven, which he describes as “the well-head of all
pirates,” he made good use of the half-pirate he had secured, the only
person on board who knew anything of that den of sea-thieves. This man,
with some others of the crew who had had some experience in piratical
pursuits before, were sent to Cormat, “the gentleman of the place,” with a
well concocted story. Monson was described, for the nonce, as one Captain
Manwaring, a grand sea-rover, liberal to all he liked, and whose ship was
full of wealth. “To give a greater appearance of truth to all this, the
crafty messenger used the names of several pirates of his acquaintance,
and feigned messages to the women from their sweethearts, making them
believe that he had tokens from them on board. The hope of wealth and
reward set the hearts of the whole family on fire; and the women were so
overjoyed by the love tales and presents, that no suspicion of deceit
entered into their minds.” Cormat proffered his services, and recounted
how many pirates he had assisted, at great peril to himself; he further
volunteered to send two “gentlemen of trust” on board next day, as
hostages for his sincerity. He recommended that some of them should come
ashore next day, armed, and kill some of the neighbours’ cattle; this was
intended doubtless to frighten the poor settlers round, so that he himself
might derive all the benefit of Manwaring’s visit. Next morning the farce
began, the first part of the programme being followed as Cormat had
directed; Captain Chester, with fifty men, was despatched ashore by
Monson; some cattle were killed, and the pseudo-pirates, swaggering and
rollicking, were invited to Cormat’s house, where they received a riotous
welcome. Cormat’s two ambassadors went on board Monson’s vessel, and
delivered a friendly message. When they had delivered it, Sir William
desired them to observe everything around them carefully, and to tell him
whether they thought that ship and company were pirates. It was idle to
dissemble any longer, especially as these men could not, if they would,
betray Sir William’s design. He accordingly reproached them for their
transgressions, told them to prepare for death, and ordered them to be put
in irons, taking care that neither boat nor man should be allowed to go on
shore until he was ready to land. When he at length went ashore to visit
Cormat, four or five hundred people had assembled on the beach to receive
the famous “Captain Manwaring.” He pretended to be doubtful of their
intentions, when they redoubled their protestations of friendship, three
of the principal men running into the water up to their arm-pits, striving
who should have the honour of carrying him ashore. One of these was an
Irish merchant, who did a thriving trade with the pirates; another was a
schoolmaster; and the third was an Englishman, who had formerly been a
tradesman in London. These gentry conducted Sir William to Cormat’s house
amidst huzzas and shouts of welcome, everybody seeking to ingratiate
himself with the supposed pirate. “‘Happy was he,’ says Monson, ‘to whom
he would lend his ear.’ Falling into discourse, one told him they knew his
friends, and though his name had not discovered it, yet his face did show
him to be a Manwaring.” In short, they made him believe he might command
them and their country, and that no man ever was so welcome as Captain
Manwaring. At the house a scene of revelry ensued; the harper played
merrily for the company, who danced on the floor, which had been newly
strewed with rushes for the occasion. The women made endless inquiries for
their distant lovers, and no suspicion seems to have crossed the minds of
any in regard to the fate of the two ambassadors, who were supposed to be
enjoying themselves with the sailors on board. In the height of the
festivities, the Englishman was particularly communicative; showed Sir
William a pass for the interior which he had obtained by false pretences
from the sheriff, authorising him to travel from Clare to make inquisition
for goods supposed to have been lost at sea, and which enabled him to
journey and sell his plunder without suspicion. He even proffered the
services of ten mariners who were hiding in the neighbourhood, and Monson,
of course, pretended heartily to accept their services, promising a
reward. He asked the man to write them a letter, which at once he did as
follows:—“Honest brother Dick and the rest, we are all made men, for
valiant Captain Manwaring and all his gallant crew are arrived in this
place. Make haste, for he flourisheth in wealth, and is most kind to all
men. Farewell, and once again make haste.” Monson took charge of the
letter, and would, doubtless, have used it, had not the approach of night
obliged him to bring about the _denouement_ of this play. The comedy was
all at once to change into a tragedy.

In the midst of their riotous mirth, he suddenly desired the harper to
cease, and in serious and solemn tones commanded silence. He told them
that, hitherto, “they had played their part, and he had no share in the
comedy; but though his was last, and might be termed the epilogue, yet it
would prove more tragical than theirs.” He undeceived them as to his being
a pirate, and declared his real business was to punish and suppress all
such, whom his Majesty did not think worthy the name of subjects. “There
now remained nothing but to proceed to their executions, by virtue of his
commission; for which purpose he had brought a gallows ready framed, which
he caused to be set up, intending to begin the mournful dance with the two
men they thought had been merry-making aboard the ship. As to the
Englishman, he should come next, because being an Englishman his offence
did surpass the rest. He told the schoolmaster he was a fit tutor for the
children of the devil, and that as members are governed by the head, the
way to make his members sound was to shorten him by the head, and
therefore willed him to admonish his scholars from the top of the gallows,
which should be a pulpit prepared for him. He condemned the merchant as a
receiver of stolen goods, and worse than the thief himself; reminding him
that his time was not long, and hoping that he might make his account with
God, and that he might be found a good merchant and factor to Him, though
he had been a malefactor to the law.” One can imagine the change which
came over the assembly; all their high spirits were quenched in a minute,
while the principals abandoned themselves to despair, believing that their
hour was at hand. When Sir William left them to go aboard, the carpenter
was still hammering away at the gallows.

Next morning the prisoners were brought out to meet their doom, and were
kept waiting in an agony of terror, while the people generally were sueing
for their lives, and promising that they would never assist or connive at
pirates again. Sir William had never really the intention to hang any of
them, and “after four-and-twenty hours’ fright in irons he pardoned them;”
the Englishman being the only one who suffered any actual punishment. He
was banished from the coast, and the sheriff was admonished to be more
careful in granting passes for the future.

The very next day, while still at Broad Haven, Sir William nearly captured
a pirate who was entering the harbour, when the latter took alarm at
seeing a strange vessel, and stood off to sea, where he remained six days
in foul weather. A day later the pirate anchored at an island near Broad
Haven, and contrived to forward a letter to Cormat, who having just
escaped one danger, did not desire to risk his neck again; he accordingly
showed the letter to Monson. It ran as follows:—“Dear Friend, I was
bearing into Broad Haven to give you corn for ballast, but I was
frightened by the king’s ship I supposed to be there. I pray you send me
word what ship it is, for we stand in great fear. I pray you, provide me
two kine, for we are in great want of victuals; whensoever you shall make
a fire on shore, I will send my boat to you.” This just suited Monson, who
had a particular aptitude for stratagem. He directed Cormat to answer his
request in the affirmative. “He bid him be confident this ship could not
endanger him; for she was not the king’s, as he imagined, but one of
London that came from the Indies with her men sick, and many dead. He
promised him two oxen and a calf; to observe his directions by making a
fire; and gave him hope to see him within two nights.” A few of the ship’s
company, disguised in Irish costumes of the period, were sent to accompany
the messenger, with instructions to remain in ambush. The hungry pirates
were keeping a sharp look out for the beacon fire, and it was no sooner
lighted, than they hastily rowed ashore, and received the letter, which
gave them great satisfaction. Sir William meanwhile was quietly laying
plans for their capture. Guided by the Irish peasantry, he took a number
of his company a roundabout trip by land and water till he brought them
suddenly upon the place where the fire was made, and the pirates were
taken so unawares that they yielded without an effort to escape. The whole
gang was seized and taken to Broad Haven, where the captain was hanged as
an example to the rest. Monson so completely cleared the coast of pirates,
and frightened those who had aided them, that on his way home, “groping
along the coast,” he could not obtain a pilot. Monson’s active career,
although it extended to the reign of Charles I., was now nearly over.





                               CHAPTER II.


        THE HISTORY OF SHIPS AND SHIPPING INTERESTS (_continued_).


    Charles I. and Ship Money—Improvements made by him in the Navy—His
         great Ship, the _Royal Sovereign_—The Navigation Laws of
     Cromwell—Consequent War with the Dutch—Capture of Grand Spanish
    Prizes—Charles II. seizes 130 Dutch Ships—Van Tromp and the Action
       at Harwich—De Ruyter in the Medway and Thames—Peace—War with
      France—La Hogue—Peter the Great and his Naval Studies—Visit to
    Sardam—Difficulty of remaining _incognito_—Cooks his own Food—His
     Assiduity and Earnestness—A kind-hearted Barbarian—Gives a Grand
       Banquet and _Fête_—Conveyed to England—His Stay at Evelyn’s
      Place—Studies at Deptford—Visits Palaces and Public Houses—His
     Intemperance—Presents the King a £10,000 Ruby—Engages numbers of
         English Mechanics—Return to Russia—Rapid increase in his
      Navy—Determines to Build St. Petersburg—Arrivals of the First
    Merchantmen—Splendid Treatment of their Captains—Law’s Mississippi
    Scheme and the South Sea Bubble—Two Nations gone Mad—The “Bubble”
    to Pay the National Debt—Its one Solitary Ship—Noble and Plebeian
        Stockbrokers—Rise and Fall of the Bubble—Directors made to
                                Disgorge.


Charles I., as we all know, had a fatal amount of belief in the royal
prerogative. One of his first acts, after ascending the throne, was to
assume the direct government of Virginia, and not only to treat the
charter of the company as annulled, “but broadly declared that colonies
founded by adventurers, or occupied by British subjects, were essentially
part and parcel of the dominion of the mother country.” The Virginia
Company vainly complained that they had expended a fifth of a million
sterling over the undertaking; their territory was appropriated to the
Crown, as were shortly afterwards North and South Carolina, Georgia,
Tennessee, and part of Louisiana. But these arbitrary acts were as nothing
to the ship-money tax. There was some precedent for it. “The ancient
princes of England, as they called on the inhabitants of the counties near
Scotland to arm and array themselves for the defence of the border, had
sometimes called on the maritime counties to furnish ships for the defence
of the coast. In the room of ships, money had sometimes been accepted.
This old practice it was now determined, after a long interval, not only
to revive but to extend. Former princes had raised ship-money only in time
of war; it was now exacted in a time of profound peace. Former princes,
even in the most perilous wars, had raised ship-money only along the
coasts; it was now exacted from the inland shires. Former princes had
raised ship-money only for the maritime defence of the country; it was now
exacted, by the admission of the Royalists themselves, with the object,
not of maintaining a navy, but of furnishing the king with supplies which
might be increased at his discretion to any amount, and expended at his
discretion for any purpose.”(6) The resistance which followed, and which
assisted the unfortunate monarch to his downfall, is too well known to
need recapitulation here. Worthy Monson, who, although bluff and hearty
enough as a sailor, was something of a courtier, defended the levy of the
obnoxious tax. But then he believed that Charles really wanted the money
for the navy alone, and for retaliation upon the Dutch, while the nation
at large had not much faith in their king, or in the alleged purposes for
which the tax was to be levied. This is not the place for any defence,
partial or otherwise, of Charles’s policy. He did, however, show a
considerable amount of energy in his attempts to improve the navy, and
constructed one vessel, the _Sovereign of the Seas_, or _Royal Sovereign_,
which was in every respect an advance on anything built before it. One
Thomas Heywood wrote a very learned and flowery tract concerning it.
“There is one thing” says he, “above all things for the world to take
speciall notice of, that shee is beside tonnage so many tons in burden, as
their have beene yeares since our blessed Saviour’s incarnation, namely,
1637, and not one under or over; a most happy omen, which, though it was
not the first projected or intended, is now by true computation found so
to happen.” A description of her ornamentation would occupy several pages
of this work; gold and black were the colours alone employed. She was 232
feet long, had three flush decks, besides quarter-deck and raised
forecastle. “Her lower tyre” had thirty ports; her middle tier the same;
and the third, twenty-six ports for guns. Her forecastle, half-deck,
stern, and bows were all pierced for heavy guns—that is, heavy for those
days. On the stern was painted a Latin inscription, thus “Englisht,” as
Heywood puts it:—

  “He who seas, windes, and navies doth protect,
  Great Charles, thy great ship in her course direct!”

She was built of the best oak, and no more seaworthy ship had ever been
turned out from Woolwich previously. _The Royal Prince_, built only
nineteen years before, seems to have been a mere holiday ship, and was at
the above-mentioned date laid up; the _Royal Sovereign_ was in active
service for nearly sixty years, and would have been rebuilt but for an
untoward accident. The history and fate of this fine ship are thus briefly
described by a descendant of the architect, Phineas Pett, writing in
January, 1696:—

“The _Royal Sovereign_ was the first great ship that was ever built in
England; she was then designed only for splendour and magnificence, and
was in some measure the occasion of those loud complaints against
ship-money in the reign of Charles I.; but being taken down a deck lower,
she became one of the best men-of-war in the world, and so formidable to
her enemies that none of the most daring among them would willingly lie by
her side. She had been in almost all the great engagements that had been
fought between France and Holland; and in the last fight between the
English and the French, encountering the _Wonder of the World_, she so
warmly plied the French Admiral, that she forced him out of his
three-decked wooden castle, and chasing the _Royal Sun_ before her, forced
her to fly for shelter among the rocks, where she became a prey to lesser
vessels, that reduced her to ashes. At length, leaky and defective herself
with age, she was laid up at Chatham to be rebuilt; but being set on fire
by negligence, she was, on the 27th of this month, devoured by the element
which so long and so often before she had imperiously made use of as the
instrument of destruction to others.”

Charles, in spite of his troubles, either rebuilt or added eighteen
vessels to the Royal Navy, leaving it not merely numerically stronger, but
improved in all other particulars. The immense square sterns and full bows
originally copied from the Dutch (who built their ships apparently on
their own model) gave place to more shapely sterns and sharper bows.
Extremely high poops and forecastles—copied, one would think, from the
Chinese—were abandoned as increasing the dangers of seamanship. Tonnage
and number of guns were largely increased. A “first rate” advanced from
fifty to sixty, and afterwards to a hundred guns.

Holland, during the reigns of James I. and Charles I., had been carrying
off all the commercial honours from England, and it was becoming evident
that prohibitory laws were needed to stop their triumphant progress on the
sea. In 1646, and again in 1650, two Acts were passed, both having the
same tendency, to prevent foreign ships trading with England’s new
plantations in Virginia, Bermuda, Barbadoes, “and other places in
America.”(7) On the 9th of October, 1651, the celebrated Navigation Act of
Cromwell came into operation. There were no half measures in that Act. It
declared that no goods or commodities whatever of the growth, production,
or manufacture of Asia, Africa, or America, should be imported either into
Great Britain or Ireland, or any of the colonies, except in _British-built
ships, owned by British subjects, and of which the master and
three-fourths of the crew belonged to that country_. This, literally
translated, meant that England wanted the carrying trade of everything
that concerned her own well being. The next enactment went further. It
provided that no goods of the growth, production, or manufacture of any
country in Europe should be imported into Great Britain except in British
ships, owned and navigated by British subjects, “_or in such ships as were
the real property of the people of the country or place in which the goods
were produced, or from which they could only be, or most usually were,
exported_.” This provision was aimed at the Dutch; they had little to
export. But unless one can understand the long-stifled animosity and
jealousy felt in England regarding their commercial supremacy on the seas,
and as regards the carrying trade, he can hardly understand why laws,
which would nowadays be considered ridiculous and unjust, were so popular
then. So strong had these feelings become, that when the Dutch despatched
an embassy to England for the purpose of obtaining a revocation of the
navigation laws, its members had to be guarded from the violence of the
mob.

England had now unmistakably asserted her right to carry on her own
over-sea trade in her own ships, and to enter the lists with any other
nation as regards foreign trade. This action was a defiance hurled at
Holland, and after a little manœuvring ended inevitably in war. A few
facts only regarding that war may be permitted here. The Dutch were at
first, and indeed for the most part, the sufferers. Within a month of its
declaration, Blake captured 100 of their herring boats, and twelve of
their frigates, sinking a thirteenth. In 1652-3 there were five actions.
In the first Blake was successful; in the second he was thoroughly beaten
by Martin Tromp (father of the Tromp best known in history). The third,
early in 1653, resulted in a victory for the English, the Dutch losing 300
merchantmen they had captured not long before; the fourth was a decided
victory for England, and the fifth was an indecisive action. The English,
however, took possession of the Channel, and scarcely a day passed without
Dutch prizes being brought into English ports. Many of the Dutch ships,
returning from distant parts of the world, rounded Scotland, rather than
pass up the Channel. On the fifth of April, 1654, a treaty of peace was
concluded; Cromwell requiring, before it was signed, an admission of the
English sovereignty of the seas, and the Dutch consenting to strike their
flag to the ships of the Commonwealth.

One of the greatest maritime successes of the Protector’s time was the
capture of Spanish galleons worth, with their freight, £600,000. The fleet
had been lying idly off Cadiz endeavouring to provoke the Spanish squadron
to an engagement, or trusting to intercept their returning treasure ships.
Captain Stayner in the _Speaker_, accompanied by the _Bridgewater_ and
_Plymouth_, left the English fleet temporarily with the intention of
taking water on board in a neighbouring bay. On his course he luckily fell
in with eight galleons from America. Such an opportunity warmed up the
hitherto drooping spirits of the English sailors, and they fought with
fury. In a few hours one of the galleons was sunk, a second burned, two
ashore, and four taken prizes. They were loaded with plate, ore, and
money. When the treasure reached London it was placed in open carts and
ammunition wagons, and carried in triumph through the streets to the
Tower, with a guard of only _ten_ soldiers. This rather ostentatious
display of confidence in the people proved an excellent move for Cromwell;
nothing added more to his popularity among the lower classes. The Earl of
Montague, who convoyed it home, but who in reality had nothing to do with
its capture, was the subject of universal panegyrics and parliamentary
thanks.

If Charles II. could have reversed any of Cromwell’s legislative measures,
he and his court would most assuredly have done so. But they were simply
modified, and not to the advantage of the Dutch, who were very much
irritated, but attempted to gain time. Charles, however, without waiting
for a formal declaration of hostilities, seized 130 of their ships laden
with wine and brandy, homeward bound from Bordeaux, which were taken into
English ports, and condemned as lawful prizes, although such an act could
not be justified by any law of nations. War was again declared in 1665,
and an action occurred off Harwich, in which the celebrated Van Tromp was
engaged. The Dutch lost nineteen ships, burnt or sunk, with probably 6,000
men; the English lost only four vessels, and about 1,500 men. Then came a
coalition between the French and Dutch, and the great battle of June 1st,
1666, in which England lost two admirals, and twenty-three great ships,
besides smaller vessels, 6,000 men, and 2,600 prisoners; and the Dutch
four admirals, six ships, and 2,800 soldiers. The Dutch could fairly claim
the victory here, but less than eight weeks later, July 24th, were
thoroughly beaten, De Ruyter being driven into port, and a large number of
merchant ships and two men-of-war being taken immediately afterwards.
While negotiations were going on for peace next year, the Dutch, believing
Charles to be trifling, despatched De Ruyter to the Thames. All London was
in a panic. A strong chain had been thrown across the Medway, but the
Dutch, with favourable wind and strong tide, broke through it, destroyed
the fortifications of Sheerness, burnt royal and merchant ships, and
pushed up the river as far as Upnor Castle, near Chatham. It was even
feared that the fleet would sail up to London Bridge, and to prevent it,
thirteen ships were sunk in the river at Woolwich, and four at Blackwall.
Numerous platforms furnished with artillery were hastily prepared at
various points. After committing all the damage that he could in the
Thames, De Ruyter sailed for Portsmouth, intending to cause similar havoc,
but finding the fleet well prepared, he passed down the Channel and
captured several vessels at Torbay. Thence turning back, he hovered about
hither and thither, keeping the coast in continual alarm until the treaty
of peace was signed in the following summer. By its provisions each nation
retained the goods and prizes it had captured, while all ships of war and
merchant vessels belonging to the United Provinces meeting our men-of-war
in British waters, were required to “strike the flag and lower the sail as
had been formerly practised.” From this date the merchant navy of England
steadily increased, and London became that which Amsterdam had been, the
mart of nations, the chief emporium of the commercial world. In spite of
De Ruyter, England had therefore greatly gained by this war.

                 [Illustration: DE RUYTER ON THE MEDWAY.]

And now France sought to pluck from England the laurels she had won from
the Dutch. Her naval force had become formidable, and augmented by
privateers, played havoc with our merchant vessels. By the destruction or
capture of nearly the whole of our Smyrna fleet, with two English ships of
war convoying them, and other captures, it was estimated that the loss to
England was a million sterling. But May 12th, 1692, brought its revenge.
On that day the memorable battle of La Hogue was fought, and the French
lost nearly the whole of their navy to us.

From 1688 to the death of Queen Anne, the trade of the American
plantations had steadily and rapidly increased, till at the latter date it
employed 500 vessels, a large proportion of which were engaged in the
slave trade from Africa. It started as a monopoly in the hands of the
African Company, incorporated at first under Act of Parliament as traders
in gold and ivory, but soon developing into traffickers in human flesh. In
1698 an Act of Parliament gave permission to all the king’s subjects,
whether of England or America, to trade to Africa on payment of a certain
percentage to the company on all goods exported or imported, negro slaves
being, nevertheless, exempted from this tax. How great this inhuman and
nefarious trade had developed may be gathered from the fact that the
French, _in one year_, and to supply _one_ island, that of St. Domingo,
transported 20,000 slaves from Africa.

                     [Illustration: PETER THE GREAT.]

Passing rapidly over the pages of history, we come to an important epoch
in the progress of merchant shipping, when the trade to Russia was
practically thrown open to our merchants by an Act “entitling any person
to admission to the Russia Company upon payment of an entrance fee of five
pounds.” It was about this time that the Czar abdicated temporarily, and
made a voyage to Holland and England, travelling _incognito_, or as much
so as he could. Many popular accounts of Peter the Great’s stay in these
two countries are so full of errors that the present writer may be
permitted to give, moderately in detail, some account of them, derived
from the best authorities.(8) They have a distinct bearing on our subject,
not merely because one of Peter’s leading objects was the study of
ship-building and maritime affairs, but because his studies led to an
immense increase in Russia’s naval power. Previously, in fact, she could
hardly be said to have had any at all.

In many published accounts the Czar is represented as a mere youth at the
period of his visit to the dockyards of Holland and England. The fact is
that he was twenty-five years of age, and had already served in two
campaigns. Indeed, it may be said that the latter campaign, in which he
conquered Azoff, partly by the assistance of foreigners and ships built by
foreigners, was the means of opening his eyes to the superiority of the
Western Europeans over his own barbarous subjects. Resolute, ambitious,
and intelligent, he determined that his people should not remain half
savages. Influenced by such motives, he dispatched, in 1697, sixty young
Russians, selected out of the army, to Venice and Leghorn, under orders to
make themselves instructed in everything pertaining to the arts of
ship-building and navigation; forty more were sent to Holland for the same
purpose, and his own voyage had largely the same object. “It was a thing,”
says Voltaire, “unparalleled in history, either ancient or modern, for a
sovereign of five-and-twenty years of age to withdraw from his kingdom for
the sole purpose of learning the art of government.” It happened that
Peter was not as yet represented at any of the foreign courts, and he
therefore appointed an embassy extraordinary to proceed, in the first
instance, to the States-General of Holland, while he would accompany it
simply in the character of an _attaché_. The three ambassadors were
General Le Fort, a native of Geneva, who had been of immense service to
the Czar, and was now his confidential friend; Alexis Golowin, Governor of
Siberia; and Voristzin, Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs. With
secretaries, attachés, pages, and guards, the retinue numbered 200
persons. Their passage through Germany was a grand carouse, and the hard
drinking for which the Russians are still noted, was very much observed.
At one of these bacchanalian debauches, the Czar, who was a hot-headed
man, took such violent offence at something said by Le Fort, that he drew
his sword and ordered him to defend himself. “Far be it from me,” said Le
Fort; “rather let me perish by the hand of my master.” Peter had raised
his arm, but one of the retinue dared to interfere, and caught hold of it.
Peter’s anger was of short duration; he displayed, says Voltaire, “_autant
de regret de cet emportement passager qu’Alexandre en eut du meurtre de
Clitus_,” and immediately asked Le Fort’s pardon, saying, “that his great
desire was to reform his subjects, but he was ashamed to say he had not
yet been able to reform himself.”

Having reached Emmerich, the impetuous and youthful monarch left the
embassy, and proceeded in a boat down the Rhine, not halting till he
reached Amsterdam, “through which,” says one authority, “he flew like
lightning, and never once stopped till he arrived at Zardam,(9) fifteen
days before the embassy reached Amsterdam.” One of his small party in the
boat happened to recognize a man there who was fishing in a boat, as one
Kist, who had worked for some time in Russia. He was called to them, and
his astonishment may be conceived at seeing the Czar of all the Russias in
a little boat, dressed like a Dutch skipper, in a red jacket and white
trousers. Peter told Kist that he should like to lodge with him; the poor
man did not know what to do, but finding the Czar in earnest procured him
a cottage behind his own, consisting of two small rooms and a loft. Kist
was instructed not to let any one know who the new lodger was. A crowd
collected to stare at the strangers; and to the questions put to them,
Peter used to answer in Dutch that they were all carpenters and labourers
hard up for a job. But the crowd did not believe it, for the dresses of
some of his companions belied the statement. The Czar, shortly after
arriving at Zardam, paid visits to a number of the families of Dutch
seamen and carpenters whom he was employing at Archangel and elsewhere,
representing himself as a brother workman. Among others he called upon a
poor widow, whose deceased husband had once been a skipper in his employ,
and to whom he had some time before sent a present of 500 guilders. The
poor woman begged him to tell the Czar how “she never could be
sufficiently thankful” for his great kindness, little dreaming that the
rough-looking young man before her was that monarch. He assured her that
the Czar should most certainly be acquainted with her message. Peter
proceeded to purchase a quantity of carpenter’s tools, and his companions
were ordered to clothe themselves in the common garb worn in the
dockyards.

Next day was Sunday, and it became evident that some one had let the cat
more or less out of the bag, for crowds of sailors and dock-hands
assembled before Peter’s lodgings, which annoyed him terribly. But the
fact is that a Dutch resident of Archangel had written home to his
friends, informing them of the projected voyage, and enclosing a portrait
and description of the Czar. Among the crowd a garrulous barber, who
believed he had recognised him, shouted out, “Dat is der Tzar!” and all
poor Peter’s little stratagems could not save him from the curiosity of
the populace. A Hollander has left a description of him, which would
indicate that he was too noticeable to be mistaken by any who had once
seen him. He was very tall and robust, quick and nimble of foot, and
dexterous and rapid in all his actions; his face was plump and round,
fierce in his look, with brown eyebrows, and short curling hair of a
brownish colour. His gait was quick, and he had a habit of swinging his
arms violently, while he always carried a cane, which he occasionally used
very freely over the shoulders of those who had offended him. “His
extraordinary rapidity of movement in landing or embarking used to
astonish and amuse the Dutch, who had never before witnessed such
‘_loopen, springen, en klauteren over der schepen_.’”

       [Illustration: THE IMPERIAL WORKMAN RECEIVING A DEPUTATION.]

When the embassy entered Amsterdam formally, Peter took part in the
procession, but only as a private gentleman in one of the last carriages,
and he was not recognised. But little of his time was given to the
ambassadors; it was almost entirely spent in the docks, among
shipbuilders, and on the shipping, and in sailing about the Zuyder Zee and
elsewhere, where he was accustomed to carry so much sail on his little
boat as to alarm his companions for his safety. “His first exploit in the
dockyard of Mynheer Calf, a wealthy merchant and shipbuilder, with whom he
was prevailed on to lodge, after quitting his first cabin, was to purchase
a small yacht, and to fit her with a new bowsprit, made entirely with his
own hands, to the astonishment of all the shipwrights; they could not
conceive how a person of his high rank could submit to work till the sweat
ran down his face, or where he could have learned to handle the tools so
dexterously.” While in the dockyard he was entered in the books as a
ship-carpenter, and conformed in every way to its regulations. He was
known among the workman as Pieter Zimmerman, sometimes as Pieter Bass, or
Master Peter. Dutch authorities speak of his simple habits; he was an
early riser, lighted his own fire, and frequently cooked his own food
while living in the cottage. When any one wished to speak to him, “he
would go with his adze in his hand, and sit down on a rough log of timber
for a short time, but seemed always anxious to resume and finish the work
on which he had been employed.” An English nobleman visited the yard, and
asked the superintendent to point out the Czar to him unnoticed. This was
done, and the superintendent, seeing that the Czar was resting for a
moment, called out to him, “Pieter Zimmerman, why don’t you assist those
men?” Peter immediately got up and helped to shoulder the heavy log they
were carrying. He would lend a helping hand at everything connected with
ships, even rope and sail making, and smith’s work. Once, at Müller’s
manufactory, at Istia, he forged several bars of iron, and put his own
mark on them, making his companions blow the bellows and fetch the coals.
The Czar insisted upon receiving the same payment as the other workmen,
and bought a pair of shoes with the money, remarking “I have earned them
well, by the sweat of my brow, with hammer and anvil.” Peter finished his
labours at ship-carpentering by assisting to put together a yacht, which,
at the suggestion of one of the burgomasters, was to be presented to him
as a _souvenir_ of his visit to Holland. He worked at it every day till it
was finished, when he christened it the _Amsterdam_. His numerous
investigations into science included surgery, and he carried his
instruments about with him, ever ready to pull a tooth, or bleed, or even
tap a patient for the dropsy. In short, his desire for practical knowledge
was insatiable. Ten times a day, while accompanying his friend Calf and
others about the ships, and yards, and factories, and mills, he would ask,
“Wat is dat?” and being told, would answer, “Dat wil ik zien,”—“I shall
see that.” His companions were not half so earnest as their master, and
after awhile they hired a large house, kept a professed cook, and enjoyed
themselves in idleness.

While in Holland, the news arrived of a Russian victory over the Turks and
Tartars, and the imperial workman received the congratulations of the
Emperor of Germany, the Kings of Sweden, Denmark, and other countries. He
celebrated the event by giving a grand entertainment to the principal
officials and merchants of Amsterdam, their wives and daughters. “The
sumptuous dinner was accompanied and followed by a band of music, and in
the evening were plays, dancing, masquerades, illuminations, and
fireworks. His respectable friend, Witsen, told him that he had
entertained his countrymen like an emperor.” And now, after nine months’
hard work at Zardam, he had an interview with King William at the Hague,
who arranged to transport him and his suite in one of the royal yachts,
accompanied by two men-of-war.

                [Illustration: OLD DOCKYARD AT DEPTFORD.]

                 [Illustration: SAYE’S COURT, DEPTFORD.]

No secret was made of the Czar’s rank in London, although he tried to live
as privately as possible. He was placed under the special charge of the
Marquis of Carmarthen, and a great intimacy sprang up between them. A
large house was hired for him and his suite at the bottom of York
Buildings, where the marquis and he used to spend their evenings together
frequently in drinking “hot pepper and brandy.” But then a pint of brandy
and a bottle of sherry was nothing uncommon as a morning draught for the
Czar. After seeing all the sights of London, he paid visits to Chatham,
Portsmouth, and elsewhere, but the larger part of his time was spent at
Deptford, where he repaired to investigate and learn the higher branches
of naval architecture and navigation. There is little or no evidence,
popular tradition to the contrary notwithstanding, that he ever worked as
a shipwright there,(10) or engaged in more laborious employment than
rowing, or in sailing yachts and boats about the Thames. The writer has
before him now one of the conventional pictures of “Peter at Deptford.” It
represents a smooth-faced youth of feminine appearance, and about sixteen
years old at most, vigorously engaged, apparently, in doing damage to a
ship’s bulwarks with a gigantic hammer and formidable spike. The fact is
that Peter was in his twenty-sixth year, had been the ruler of a great
empire for several years, and was beyond his years in acquirements and
earnestness; a man of strong passions, and sadly given to drink. Peter was
glad to get out of town. Crowds gave him an amount of annoyance that was
inexplicable to a Londoner; and he avoided, as much as he could, balls and
assemblies and public gatherings for the same reason. Nor could he have
desired a more pleasant and suitable place than that which was provided
for him, the celebrated Saye’s Court, Evelyn’s charming house and
grounds(11) close to Deptford Dockyard, which had just become vacant by
the removal of Admiral Benbow, who had been its tenant. A special doorway
was broken through the boundary wall of the dockyard to facilitate
communication for the Czar. Benbow had given poor Evelyn much
dissatisfaction, but the new occupant was rather worse. His servant wrote
to him, “There is a house full of people, right nasty. The Tzar lies next
your study, and dines in the parlour next your study. He dines at ten
o’clock, and six at night; is very seldom at home a whole night; very
often in the king’s yard, or by water, dressed in several dresses. The
king is expected there this day; the best parlour is pretty clean for him
to be entertained in. The king pays for all he has.” But, alas for poor
Evelyn’s hedges! The Czar, by way of exercise, and to prove his strength,
used to trundle a wheel-barrow, full tilt, through a favourite
holly-hedge, “which,” says Evelyn, “I can still show in my ruined gardens
at Saye’s Court (thanks to the Tzar of Muscovy).” The Czar employed his
days in acquiring information on all branches of naval architecture, and
in sailing about the river with Carmarthen and Sir Anthony Deane,
commissioner of the navy. “The Navy Board received directions from the
Admiralty to hire two vessels to be at the command of the Tzar whenever he
should think proper to sail on the Thames,” and the king made him a
present of a small vessel, the _Royal Transport_, giving orders to have
such alterations and accommodations made in her as the Czar might desire.
“But his great delight was to get into a small-decked boat, belonging to
the dockyard, and taking only Menzikoff, and three or four others of his
suite, to work the vessel with them, he being the helmsman; by this
practice he said he should be able to teach them how to command ships when
they got home. Having finished their day’s work, they used to resort to a
public house in Great Tower Street, close to Tower Hill, to smoke their
pipes, and drink beer and brandy. The landlord had the Tzar of Muscovy’s
head painted and put up for his sign.” The original sign remained till
1808.

Greenwich Hospital surprised him, and King William, having one day asked
him how he liked his hospital for decayed seamen, Peter answered simply,
“If I were the adviser of your Majesty, I should counsel you to remove
your court to Greenwich, and convert St. James’s into a hospital.” In the
first week of March a sham naval fight was organised near Spithead, for
his amusement, eleven ships being engaged. The _Postman_, a journal of the
period, says, “The representation of a sea engagement was excellently
performed before the Tzar of Muscovy, and continued a considerable time,
each ship having twelve pounds of powder allowed; but all the bullets were
locked up in the hold, for fear the soldiers should mistake.” The
enterprising journal did not, probably, send down a special
representative, as would any leading paper of to-day, and the small
quantity of powder allowed must be a mistake. The Czar was greatly pleased
with the performance, and told Admiral Mitchell, who arranged the
performance, that “he considered the condition of an English admiral
happier than that of a Tzar of Russia.” On their way home from Portsmouth,
the Russian party, twenty-one in all, stopped a night at Godalming. The
sea air had done so much good to their appetites that at dinner they
managed to get through an entire sheep, three quarters of lamb, five ribs
of beef, weighing three stone, a shoulder and loin of veal, eight fowls,
eight rabbits, two dozen and a half of sack, and one dozen of claret.
Their light breakfast consisted of half a sheep, a quarter of lamb, ten
pullets, twelve chickens, seven dozen eggs, salad “in proportion,” three
quarts of brandy, and six quarts of mulled wine.

When residing at Deptford, he made the acquaintance of the celebrated Dr.
Halley, “to whom he communicated his plan of building a fleet, and in
general of introducing the arts and sciences into his country,” and asked
his opinions and advice on various subjects. The doctor spoke German
fluently, and the Tzar was so much pleased with the philosopher’s
conversation and remarks that he had him frequently to dine with him; and
in his company he visited the Royal Observatory in Greenwich Park. An
important concession was made by him to some leading merchants, through
the influence of the Marquis of Carmarthen. Tobacco had been so highly
taxed that none but the wealthy Russians could afford it. The Czar agreed
that on paying him down £12,000 (some accounts say £15,000) it should go
in duty free. He stipulated that his friend Carmarthen should receive five
shillings for every hogshead so admitted. Peter stuck to his friends, and
his kindheartedness in general does much to obliterate the memory of some
traits of character which are not to his credit. On leaving England, he
“gave the king’s servants, at his departure, one hundred and twenty
guineas, which was more than they deserved, they being very rude to him,”
says one plain-speaking historian. To the king he presented a rough ruby
which the jewellers of Amsterdam had valued at £10,000 sterling. Peter
carried this gem to King William in his waistcoat pocket, wrapped up in a
piece of brown paper. The king had treated him in a royal fashion, so far
as Peter would allow him, and before he departed induced him to sit to Sir
Godfrey Kneller for his portrait, which is now at Windsor. Four yachts and
two ships of the Royal Navy were placed at his disposal when he departed
once more for Holland. Peter took with him to Russia three English
captains who had served in the Royal Navy, twenty-five captains of the
merchant service, thirty pilots, thirty surgeons, two hundred gunners, and
a number of mechanics and smiths, making a total of little less than five
hundred persons, all natives of Great Britain. A letter from one of them
to a relative in England shows how much Peter did, almost immediately on
his return to Russia, in the interests of his navy. He had already
thirty-six ships of war: twenty, ranging from thirty to sixty guns each,
were to be launched the following spring; eighteen galleys were being
constructed by Italian workmen, and one hundred smaller vessels were on
the stocks. The forests of masts he had seen at London and Amsterdam had
fired his ambition, and we now find him not merely determined to have a
navy, but a port of the first class. Hence St. Petersburg.

Passing over events in the history of Peter the Great not bearing on
maritime subjects, we learn that “Five months had scarcely elapsed from
laying the first stone of St. Petersburg, when a report was brought to the
Tzar that a large ship, under Dutch colours, was standing into the river.
It may be supposed this was a joyful piece of intelligence for the
founder. It was nothing short of realising the wish nearest his heart: to
open the Baltic for the nations of Europe to trade with his dominions, it
constituted them his neighbours; and he at once anticipated the day when
his ships would beat the Swedish navy, and drive them from a sea on which
they had long ridden triumphant with undivided sway. When Peter was
employed in building his fleet at Voronitz, Patrick Gordon one day asked
him, ‘Of what use do you expect all the vessels you are building to be,
seeing you have no seaports?’ ‘My vessels shall make ports for
themselves,’ replied Peter, in a determined tone; a declaration which was
now on the eve of being accomplished.

“No sooner was the communication made, than the Tzar, with his usual
rapidity, set off to meet this welcome stranger. The skipper was invited
to the house of Menzikoff: he sat down at table, and to his great
astonishment, found that he was placed next the Tzar, and had actually
been served by him. But not less astonished and delighted was Peter on
learning that the ship belonged to, and had been freighted by his old
Zaardam friend, with whom he had resided, Cornelius Calf. Permission was
immediately given to the skipper to land his cargo, consisting of salt,
wine, and other articles of provisions, free of all duties. Nothing could
be more acceptable to the inhabitants of the new city than this cargo, the
whole of which was purchased by Peter, Menzikoff, and the several
officers, so that Auke Wybes, the skipper, made a most profitable
adventure. On his departure he received a present of five hundred ducats,
and each man of the crew, one hundred rix-dollars, as a premium for the
first ship that had entered the port of St. Petersburg.”(12) The second
ship to arrive was also Dutch; the third was an English vessel; both
received the same premium. The rapidity with which the swampy banks of the
Neva were covered with wharfs and buildings has been almost unexampled in
history. Peter had Amsterdam in his eye when he laid out St. Petersburg,
and he had secured the services of a number of Dutch ship-builders and
masons, architects, and surveyors well versed in making solid foundations
on swampy land.

And now, while England was distracted by the civil war of the first
Pretender, and by the rupture with Charles XII. of Sweden, she had much
trouble with the Barbary pirates, who, in the West Indies in particular,
constantly harassed her shipping interests. So great a nuisance had these
“water-rats” become that £100 head-money was offered for every captain,
£40 for any rank from a lieutenant to a gunner, and £20 for every pirate
seaman. Any private who delivered up his commander was entitled to £200 on
the conviction of the latter. But there were also at that period
“land-rats” at home, as bad as any pirate, preying on the public purse.
This was the epoch when Hamlet’s words “they’re all mad there,” might
almost have been said of England, and with even greater truth of our
neighbours across the Channel. Two extraordinary schemes, one of which was
to make France the richest of commercial nations, and the second of which
was to pay the national debt of England, were propounded, great companies
raised, and supported by half the people, from princes to petty tradesmen.
As projects depending upon commerce with foreign countries, they, of
course, are intimately connected with our subject. Need it be said that
the writer refers to the two extraordinary delusions known as the
Mississippi Scheme and the South Sea Bubble?

The first of these projects was designed to develop the resources of the
great country lying round the Mississippi, especially Louisiana; to open
up mineral deposits supposed to be wonderfully rich; and to carry on a
general trade with that part of America. The second, which more intimately
concerns us, included a monopoly of trade with the South Sea, a somewhat
elastic title, but which meant at the time commerce with the countries of
Spanish America. The South Sea Company was originated by Harley, Earl of
Oxford, in 1711, with the distinct view of “providing for the discharge of
the army and navy debentures, and other parts of the floating debt,
amounting to nearly ten million sterling.” A company of merchants took
this debt upon themselves, the Government agreeing to secure them, for a
certain period, six per cent. interest, and grant them the monopoly of the
trade to the South Seas. The most exaggerated ideas relating to the
mineral wealth of South America were prevalent at the time, and when a
report, most industriously spread, was circulated that Philip V. of Spain
was ready to concede four ports of Chili and Peru for purposes of trade,
South Sea stock rose in value with extraordinary rapidity. That monarch,
however, never meant to grant anything like a free trade to the English.
After sundry negotiations had been opened the royal assent was given to a
contract, conceding the privilege of supplying the colonies with negroes
for thirty years, and of sending _once a year one vessel_ “limited both as
to tonnage and value of cargo” to trade with Mexico, Peru, and Chili, the
king to enjoy one-fourth of the profits. On these hard conditions and
slender privileges was the great Bubble blown into popular esteem. Rumours
of commercial treaties between England and Spain were circulated, whereby
the latter was to grant free trade to all her colonies; the rich produce
of the Potosi mines “was to be brought to England until silver should
become almost as plentiful as iron. For cotton and woollen goods, with
which we could supply them in abundance, the dwellers in Mexico were to
empty their golden mines. The company of merchants trading to the South
Seas would be the richest the world ever saw, and every hundred pounds
invested would produce hundreds per annum to the stockholder.”(13) These
and still more lying statements were spread in every direction. The stock
rose like a rocket. And, so far as the present writer can discover, the
first voyage of the one annual ship, not made till 1717, six years after
the first establishment of the company, was also its last! The following
year the trade was suppressed by the rupture with Spain.

“It seemed at that time as if the whole nation had turned stock-jobbers.
Exchange Alley was every day blocked up by crowds, and Cornhill was
impassable for the number of carriages. Everybody came to purchase stock.
‘Every fool aspired to be a knave.’ In the words of a ballad published at
the time, and sung about the streets—

  “‘Then stars and garters did appear
      Among the meaner rabble;
  To buy and sell, to see and hear
      The Jews and Gentiles squabble.

  ‘The greatest ladies thither came,
      And plied in chariots daily;
  Or pawned their jewels for a sum
      To venture in the Alley.’”

Not merely South Sea stock, but schemes of even a wilder nature now
deluged the market. It would seem incredible, but it is vouched for on
good authority, that one adventurer started “_A company for carrying on an
undertaking of great advantage, but nobody to know what it is_,” and in
one day sold a thousand shares, the deposit on which was £2 per share. He
thought it prudent to decamp with the £2,000, and was no more heard of.
Mackay publishes a list of eighty-six bubble companies, which were
eventually declared illegal and abolished. But the South Sea Bubble was a
Triton among these minnows, and the directors, having once tasted the
profits of their scheme by the rapid rise of its shares, kept their
emissaries at work. Nor indeed were they much needed, for every person
interested in the stock endeavoured to draw a knot of listeners round him
in ’Change Alley, or its purlieus, to whom he expatiated on the treasures
of the South American Seas. Then came the rumour that Gibraltar was to be
exchanged for certain places on the coast of Peru. Instead of paying a
tribute to the King of Spain, the company would be able to trade freely,
and send as many ships as they liked.

  “Visions of ingots danced before their eyes,”

and the directors opened their books for a subscription of a million, and
then for a second million, and the frantic speculators took it all. Swift
described ’Change Alley as a gulf in the South Seas:—

  “Subscribers here by thousands float,
    And jostle one another down,
  Each paddling in his leaky boat,
    And here they fish for gold and drown.

  “Now buried in the depths below,
    Now mounted up to heaven again,
  They reel and stagger to and fro,
    At their wits’ end, like drunken men.

  “Meantime, secure on Garraway cliffs,
    A savage race, by shipwrecks fed,
  Lie waiting for the foundering skiffs,
    And strip the bodies of the dead.”

The directors used every art to keep up the price of the stock. It rose
finally to £1,000 per share. A few weeks afterwards it was down to £175,
then to £135, and the Bubble had burst.

To detail the various plans tried or suggested to bolster up the company,
the Parliamentary inquiries, or the stringent measures adopted to punish
the directors, would be out of place here. Suffice it to say that a bill
was brought in for restraining the South Sea directors and officers from
leaving the kingdom for a twelvemonth. They were forbidden to realise on
their estates and effects, neither must they will or remove them.
Eventually they were obliged to disgorge their gains. “A sum amounting to
two million and fourteen thousand pounds was confiscated from their
estates towards repairing the mischief they had done, each man being
allowed a certain residue in proportion to his conduct and circumstances,
with which he might begin the world anew. Sir John Blunt was only allowed
£5,000 out of his fortune of upwards of £183,000; Sir John Fellows was
allowed £10,000 out of £243,000; Sir Theodore Janssen £50,000 out of
£243,000; Mr. Edward Gibbon £10,000 out of £106,000; Sir John Lambert
£5,000 out of £72,000.” After every effort on the part of the Committee of
Investigation, a dividend of about 33 per cent. was divided among the
unfortunate proprietors and stock-holders. It took long before public
credit was restored.

                     [Illustration: COMMODORE ANSON.]





                               CHAPTER III.


        THE HISTORY OF SHIPS AND SHIPPING INTERESTS (_continued_).


    A Grand Epoch of Discovery—Anson’s Voyage—Difficulties of manning
     the Fleet—Five Hundred Invalided Pensioners drafted—The Spanish
       Squadron under Pizarro—Its Disastrous Voyage—One Vessel run
       ashore—Rats at Four Dollars each—A Man-of-war held by eleven
      Indians—Anson at the Horn—Fearful Outbreak of Scurvy—Ashore at
     Robinson Crusoe’s Island—Death of two-thirds of the Crews—Beauty
     of Juan Fernandez—Loss of the _Wager_—Drunken and Insubordinate
    Crew—Attempt to blow up the Captain—A Midshipman shot—Desertion of
         the Ship’s Company—Prizes taken by Anson—His Humanity to
      Prisoners—The _Gloucester_ abandoned at Sea—Delightful Stay at
       Tinian—The _Centurion_ blown out to Sea—Despair of those on
        Shore—Its Safe Return—Capture of the Manilla Galleon—A Hot
    Fight—Prize worth a Million and a half Dollars—Return to England.


The second of the greatest epochs of discovery—one, indeed, hardly
inferior to that of Columbus and Da Gama, when Dampier, Byron, Wallis, and
Carteret, Cook, and Clerke may be said to have substantially completed the
map of the world in its most essential and leading features—would follow
in proper sequence here, but for a pre-arranged plan, which will place
“The Decisive Voyages of the World” by themselves. One voyage of this
period, that of Commodore Anson, deserves mention, inasmuch as it was
instigated for the purpose of making reprisals on the Spaniards for their
behaviour in searching English ships found near any of their settlements
in the West Indies or Spanish Main, and not for attempts at discovery. It
also gives some little insight into the condition of the navy at the
period. It was most wretchedly equipped and manned, and although the ships
were placed under Anson’s command in November, 1739, they were not ready
to sail till ten months later, so great was the difficulty in obtaining
men. They had to be taken from all and any sources. Five hundred
out-pensioners from Chelsea Hospital were sent on board, many of whom were
sixty years of age, and some threescore and ten. Before the ships sailed,
240 of them, fortunately for themselves, deserted, their place being
filled by a nearly equal number of raw marines, recruits who were so
untrained that Anson would not permit them to fire off their muskets, for
fear of accidents! Of the poor pensioners who sailed, not one returned to
tell the story of their disasters, while of the whole squadron, consisting
of six ships of war, mounting 226 guns, one alone, the _Centurion_,
commanded by Anson himself, reached home, after a cruise of three years
and nine months. The history of this voyage, as told by the chaplain of
the vessel,(14) is one round of miseries and disasters.

“Mr. Anson,” says the narrator of this eventful voyage, “was greatly
chagrined at having such a decrepit attachment allotted to him; for he was
fully persuaded that the greatest part of them would perish long before
they arrived at the scene of action, since the delays he had already
encountered necessarily confined his passage round Cape Horn to the most
rigorous season of the year. Sir Charles Wager (one of the Lords of the
Admiralty) too, joined in opinion with the Commodore, that the invalids
were no way proper for this service, and solicited strenuously to have
them exchanged; but he was told that persons who were supposed to be
better judges than he or Mr. Anson, thought them the properest men that
could be employed on this occasion.” All of the poor pensioners “who had
limbs and strength to walk out of Portsmouth deserted, leaving behind them
only such as were literally invalids.... Indeed, it is difficult to
conceive a more moving scene than the embarkation of these unhappy
veterans. They were themselves extremely averse to the service they were
engaged on, and fully apprised of all the disasters they were afterwards
exposed to, the apprehensions of which were strongly marked by the concern
that appeared in their countenances, which were mixed with no small degree
of indignation.” Nor can one read these facts without sharing the same
feeling. Brave men who had spent the best of their youth and prime in the
service of their country, were ruthlessly sent to certain death.

On the 18th of September, 1740, the squadron, consisting of five
men-of-war, a sloop-of-war, and two tenders, or victualling ships, made
sail. The vessels comprised the _Centurion_, of sixty guns and 400 men,
commanded by George Anson; the _Gloucester_ and _Severn_, each fifty guns
and 300 men; the _Pearl_, of forty guns and 250 men; the _Wager_, of
twenty-eight guns and 160 men; and the _Tryal_ sloop, eight guns and 100
men. On their way down the Channel they were joined by other men-of-war
convoying the Turkey, Straits, and American merchant fleets, so that for
some distance out to sea the combined fleet amounted to no less than
eleven vessels of the Royal Navy, and 150 sail of merchantmen. Anson
called at Madeira, and refreshed his crews, from thence appointing the
Island of St. Catherine’s, on the coast of Brazil, as the rendezvous for
his fleet. Arrived there it was found that a large number of the men were
sickly, as many as eighty being so reported on the _Centurion_ alone, and
the other ships in proportion. Tents were erected ashore for the invalids,
and the vessels were thoroughly cleaned, smoked between decks, and finally
washed well with vinegar. The vessels themselves required many repairs to
fit them for the intended voyage round the Horn. The then governor of this
Portuguese island, one Don Jose Sylva De Paz, behaved very badly, doing
all in his power to prevent Anson from obtaining fresh provisions, and
secretly dispatched an express to Buenos Ayres, where a Spanish squadron
under Don Josef Pizarro then lay, with an account of the number and
strength of the English ships. The history and disasters of this squadron
would fill a long chapter.

Pizarro had with him six ships of war, and a very large force of men, two
of the vessels having seven hundred each on board. But in spite of his
superior strength, he avoided any engagement at this time, and seems to
have been extremely desirous of rounding Cape Horn before Anson, for he
left before his provision ships arrived. Notwithstanding this haste the
two squadrons were once or twice very close together on the passage to
Cape Horn, and the _Pearl_, being separated from the fleet, and mistaking
the Spanish squadron for it, narrowly escaped falling into their hands. In
a terrible gale off the Horn the Spanish vessels became separated, and
Pizarro turned his own ship’s head, the _Asia_, for the Plata once more.
One of his squadron, the _Hermiona_, of fifty-four guns and 500 men, is
believed to have foundered at sea, for she was never heard of more.
Another, the _Guipuscoa_, a still larger ship, with 700 souls on board,
was run ashore and sunk on the coast of Brazil. Famine and mutiny were
added to the horrors of these voyages. On the latter-named ship 250 died
from hunger and fatigue, for those who were still strong enough to work at
the pumps received only an ounce and a half of biscuit _per diem_, while
the incapable were allowed an ounce of wheat! Men fell down dead at the
pumps, and out of an original crew of 700, not more than eighty or a
hundred were capable of duty. The captain had conceived some hopes of
saving his ship by taking her into St. Catherine’s. When the crew learned
his intention, they left off pumping, and “being enraged at the hardships
they had suffered, and the numbers they had lost (there being at that time
no less than thirty dead bodies lying on the deck) they all, with one
voice, cried out, ‘On shore! on shore!’ and obliged the captain to run the
ship in directly for the land, where the fifth day after she sunk with her
stores and all her furniture on board her.” Four hundred of the crew got,
however, safely to shore. On another of the Spanish ships they became so
reduced “that rats, when they could be caught, were sold for four dollars
apiece; and a sailor who died on board had his death concealed for some
days by his brother, who during that time lay in the same hammock with the
corpse, only to receive the dead man’s allowance of provisions.” The
_Asia_ arrived at Monte Video with only half her crew; the _Esperanza_, a
fifty-gun ship, had only fifty-eight remaining out of 450 men, and the
_St. Estevan_ had lost about half her hands. The latter vessel was
condemned, and broken up in the Plata.

When Pizarro determined, in 1745, to return to Spain, they managed to
patch up the _Asia_, at Monte Video, but had only 100 of the original
hands left. They pressed a number of Portuguese, and put on board a number
of English prisoners (not, however, of Anson’s squadron) and some Indians
of the country. Among the latter was a chief named Orellana, and ten of
his tribe, whom the Spaniards treated with great inhumanity. The Indians
determined to have their revenge. They managed to acquire a number of long
knives, and employed their leisure in cutting thongs of raw hide, and in
fixing to each end of the thongs the double-headed shot of the
quarter-deck guns, which when swung round their heads, became powerful
weapons. In two or three days all was ready for their scheme of vengeance.

It was about nine in the evening, when the decks were comparatively clear,
that Orellana and his companions, having divested themselves of most of
their clothes, came together to the quarter-deck, approaching the door of
the great cabin. The boatswain ordered them away. Orellana, however, paid
no attention to him, placed two of his men at either gangway, and raising
a hideous war-cry, they commenced the massacre, slashing in all directions
with the knives, and brandishing the double-headed shot. The six who
remained with the chief on the quarter-deck laid nearly forty Spaniards
low in a few minutes, of whom twenty were killed on the spot. Many of the
officers fled into the great cabin, and hastily barricaded the door. A
perfect panic ensued on board. Many attempting to escape to the forecastle
were stabbed as they passed by the four Indian sentries, and others jumped
into the waist, where they thought themselves fortunate to lie concealed
among the cattle on board; a number fled up the main shrouds and kept on
the tops or rigging. The fact is that those on board did not know whether
it was not a general mutiny among the pressed hands and prisoners, and the
yells of the Indians and groans of the dying, and the confused clamour of
the crew, were all heightened in effect by the obscurity of the night. And
now Orellana secured the arm-chest, which had been placed on the
quarter-deck for security a few days before. It was of no use to him, as
he only found a quantity of fire-arms, which he did not understand, or for
which he had no ammunition; the cutlasses, for which he was in search,
were fortunately hidden underneath. By this time Pizarro had established
some communication with the gun-rooms and between decks, and discovered
that the English prisoners had not intermeddled in the mutiny, which was
confined to the Indians. They had only pistols in the cabin, and no
ammunition for them; at last, however, they managed to obtain some by
lowering a bucket out of the cabin window, into which the gunner, out of
one of the gun-room ports, put a quantity of cartridges. After loading,
they cautiously and partially opened the cabin door, firing several shots,
at first without effect. At last, Mindinuetta, one of the captains of the
original squadron, had the fortune to shoot Orellana dead on the spot, on
which his faithful companions one and all leaped into the sea and
perished. For full two hours these eleven Indians had held a ship of
sixty-six guns, and manned by nearly 500 hands!

Pizarro, having escaped this peril, reached Spain in safety, “after having
been absent between four and five years, and having,” says the narrator,
“by his attendance on our expedition, diminished the naval power of Spain
by above three thousand hands (the flower of their sailors), and by four
considerable ships of war and a patache.” He had not encountered Anson,
nor done any of his ships damage. To the disasters and adventures
encountered by that commander we must now return.

              [Illustration: THE “CENTURION” OFF CAPE HORN]

Off Cape Horn the weather was so terrible that it obliged the oldest
mariners on board “to confess that what they had hitherto called storms
were inconsiderable gales.” Short, mountainous waves pitched and tossed
the vessels so violently that the men were in perpetual danger of being
dashed to pieces. One of the best seamen on the _Centurion_ was canted
overboard and drowned; his manly form was long seen struggling in the
water, he being a good swimmer, while those on board were powerless to
assist him. Another man was thrown violently into the hold and broke his
thigh; a second dislocated his neck, and one of the boatswain’s mates
broke his collar-bone twice. The squalls were so sudden that they were
obliged to lie-to for days together, almost under bare poles, and when in
a lull they ventured to set a little canvas, the blasts would return and
carry away their sails. Squalls of rain and snow constantly occurred. The
_Centurion_, labouring in the heavy seas, “was now grown so loose in her
upper works that she let in the water at every seam, so that every part
within board was constantly exposed to the sea-water, and scarcely any of
the officers ever lay in dry beds. Indeed, it was very rare that two
nights ever passed without many of them being driven from their beds by
the deluge of water that came in upon them.” Shrouds snapped, and yards
and masts were lost on several of the squadron. Two of the vessels, the
_Severn_ and the _Pearl_, became separated from the fleet, and were no
more seen by them on the voyage.

But their worst trouble was a terrible outbreak of that insidious disease,
the scurvy. In April, May, and part of June, the loss on the _Centurion_
alone was two hundred men, and at length they could not muster more than
six fore-mast hands in a watch capable of duty. The symptoms of this
horrible complaint are various; but apart from the universal scorbutic
manifestations on the body, diseased bones, swelled legs, and putrid gums,
there is an extraordinary lassitude and weakness, which degenerate into a
proneness to swoon, and even die, on the least exertion of strength, and a
dejection of spirits which leads the invalid to take alarm at the most
trifling accident. Let the reader imagine what all this meant on
closely-packed ships, tempest-tossed off the dreaded Horn. When at length
the _Centurion_ reached the famed Crusoe Island, Juan Fernandez, the
lieutenant “could muster no more than two quartermasters, and six
fore-mast hands capable of working.” Without the assistance of the
officers, servants, and boys, they might never have been able to reach the
island after sighting it, and with such aid they were _two hours_ in
trimming the sails. When their sloop, the _Tryal_, followed them to this
haven of refuge, only the captain, lieutenant, and three men were able to
stand by the sails. When, ten days later on, the _Gloucester_ was seen in
the offing, and Anson had sent off a boat laden with fresh water, fish,
and vegetables for the crew, it was found that they had already thrown
overboard two-thirds of their complement. It took them, with some
assistance sent by Anson, a month before they could fetch the bay,
contrary winds and currents, but more their utterly exhausted condition,
being the causes. They were now reduced to eighty out of an original crew
of three hundred men. Severe as have been the sufferings from scurvy
endured on many of the Arctic expeditions, there is no case on record as
painful as this. The three ships which reached Juan Fernandez had on board
when they left England 961 men; before the ravages of the disease were
stopped the number was reduced to 335, scarcely sufficient to man the
_Centurion_ alone. And it must be remembered that all this time they were
uncertain of the movements of Pizarro and his fleet, which might appear
among them at any moment. The refreshment obtained at the island, fresh
water, vegetables, fruit, fish in abundance, a little goat’s flesh, and
seal-meat, proved of great value to those of the crew whose constitutions
were not thoroughly undermined by the fell disease; but it was as much as
they could do to effect the many repairs required on the vessels, to the
extent even of removing and replacing masts.

Of the beauty of many parts of Juan Fernandez the chaplain speaks in
enthusiastic terms. “Some particular spots occurred in these valleys,
where the shade and fragrance of the contiguous woods, the loftiness of
the overhanging rocks, and the transparency and frequent falls of the
neighbouring streams, presented scenes of such elegance and dignity, as
would with difficulty be rivalled in any other part of the globe.... I
shall finish this article with a short account of the spot where the
commodore pitched his tent, and which he made choice of for his own
residence, though I despair of conveying an adequate idea of its beauty.
The piece of ground which he chose was a small lawn, that lay on a little
ascent, at the distance of about half a mile from the sea. In the front of
his tent there was a large avenue cut through the woods to the seaside,
which, sloping to the water with a gentle descent, opened a prospect of
the bay and the ships at anchor. This lawn was screened behind by a tall
wood of myrtle sweeping round it, in the form of a theatre; the slope on
which the wood stood rising with a much sharper ascent than the lawn
itself, though not so much but that the hills and precipices within-land
towered up considerably above the tops of the trees, and added to the
grandeur of the view. There were besides two streams of crystal water,
which ran on the right and left of the tent within a hundred yards’
distance, and were shaded by the trees which skirted the lawn on either
side, and completed the symmetry of the whole.”

Meantime, the other vessels of the squadron did not put in an appearance.
That two of them, the _Pearl_ and _Severn_, were not to be expected, we
have already learned; but what had become of the _Wager_? It was learned
afterwards that while making the passage to the island of Socoro, one of
the rendezvous of the squadron, she had become entangled among the rocks
and grounded, soon becoming an utter wreck. The Honourable John Byron,
afterwards a commodore in his Majesty’s service, but then a youngster on
board, has left an account of the disaster in his well-known work.(15) “In
the morning, about four o’clock,” says he, “the ship struck. The shock we
received upon this occasion, though very great, being not unlike a blow of
a heavy sea, such as in the series of preceding storms we had often
experienced, was taken for the same; but we were soon undeceived by her
striking again more violently than before, which laid her upon her
beam-ends, the sea making a fair breach over her. Every person that now
could stir was presently upon the quarter-deck; and many of those were
alert upon this occasion that had not showed their faces upon deck for
above two months before; several poor wretches, who were in the last stage
of the scurvy, and who could not get out of their hammocks, were
immediately drowned.” Some seemed bereaved of their senses; one man was
seen stalking about the deck flourishing a cutlass over his head, calling
himself king of the country, and striking everybody he came near, till he
was knocked down by some of those he had assaulted. “Some, reduced before
by long sickness and the scurvy, became on this occasion as it were
petrified and bereaved of all sense, like inanimate logs, and were bandied
to and fro by the jerks and rolls of the ship, without exerting any
efforts to help themselves.... The man at the helm, though both rudder and
tiller were gone, kept his station; and being asked by one of the officers
if the ship would steer or not, first took his time to make trial by the
wheel, and then answered with as much respect and coolness as if the ship
had been in the greatest safety; and immediately after applied himself
with his usual serenity to his duty, persuaded it did not become him to
desert it as long as the ship kept together.” The captain, who had
dislocated his shoulder by a fall the day before, was coolness itself, and
one of the mates did all in his power to inspire them with the belief that
they would not be lost so near land. This wrought a change in many who but
a few minutes before had been in despair, praying on their knees for
mercy. It was another illustration of—

  “When the devil was sick,”

for they commenced breaking in the casks of brandy or wine as they came up
the hatchway, and several got so intoxicated that they were drowned on
board, and lay floating about the decks for several days. The boatswain
and some of the men would not leave the ship so long as there was any
liquor to be found on her; and Captain Cheap, having got off as many of
the crew as would come, about a hundred and forty in number, suffered
himself to be helped out of his bed, put into the boat, and carried
ashore.

After passing a miserable night, almost without shelter, the calls of
hunger—most of them having fasted forty-eight hours—obliged them to seek
for sustenance. Two or three pounds of biscuit dust, one sea-gull, and
some wild celery, were boiled up into a kind of soup, which made all very
ill who partook of it. It was at first supposed that the wild herb was the
cause, but it was soon discovered that the biscuit dust, the sweepings of
the bread-room, had been gathered in a tobacco bag, and that the tobacco
dust mingled with it had acted as an emetic.

Still a number of the wretched crew remained on board, pilfering all they
could find, often whether it could be of use to them or not, and showing a
particular desire to provide themselves with arms and ammunition. They
averred that the authority of the officers must cease with the loss of the
ship; but as they came ashore, the arms were taken from them. When the
boatswain came ashore in laced clothes, Captain Cheap knocked him down.
“It was scarce possible to refrain from laughter at the whimsical
appearance these fellows made, who, having rifled the chests of the
officers’ best suits, had put them on over their greasy trousers and dirty
checked shirts. They were soon stripped of their finery, as they had
before been obliged to resign their arms.” The cutter, turned keel
upwards, was now placed on props and covered, so that it made a reasonably
comfortable habitation. Shell-fish were found in tolerable abundance, “but
this rummaging of the shore,” says Byron, “was now become extremely
irksome to those who had any feeling, by the bodies of our drowned people
thrown among the rocks, some of which were hideous spectacles, from the
mangled condition they were in by the violent surf that drove in upon the
coast. These horrors were overcome by the distresses of our people, who
were even glad of the occasion of killing the gallinazo (the carrion crow
of that country) while preying on these carcases, in order to make a meal
of them.”

Such stores as could be landed were placed in a guarded tent, and doled
out carefully. A few Indians arrived, and, after some parley, proved
friendly, and were presented with sundry trifles. The looking-glasses
astonished them; “the beholder could not conceive it to be his own face
that was represented, but that of some other behind it, which he therefore
went round to the back of the glass to find out.” They left, and in two
days returned with three sheep, which astonished the officers, inasmuch as
they were far from any of the Spanish settlements.

And now mutiny and desertion ensued. One section of the men, “a most
desperate and abandoned crew,” attempted, by placing a barrel of gunpowder
close to the captain’s hut, with a train to be lighted at a distance, to
destroy their commander and his authority by one fell blow, but were
dissuaded by one of their number, who had some conscience left. They
eventually built a punt, and converted the hull of one of the ship’s masts
into a canoe, escaping therewith to the mainland. They were never heard of
more. These men were a good riddance, but a more unfortunate event was to
follow. Mr. Cozens, a midshipman, had been placed under confinement for
being drunk, and using abusive language to the captain, but was soon after
released. Subsequently he had a dispute with the surgeon, and later with
the purser. The latter told him that he had “come to mutiny,” and fired
his pistol at him, narrowly missing him. The captain, hearing all this,
rushed out, and, without asking any questions, shot Cozens through the
head, and then declined to allow him to be removed to shelter. The
wretched young man (whom Byron believes to have been purposely “kept warm
with liquor, and set on by some ill-designing persons,” as he had always
been a good-natured, inoffensive man when sober) was allowed by the
captain to die like a dog, “with no other covering than a bit of canvas
thrown over some bushes,” fourteen days afterwards. This gave the men a
good excuse for that which they were about to execute.

It had been arranged that the long-boat, rescued from the wreck, should be
lengthened. The captain proposed that they should proceed northwards in
the Pacific, hoping that they might encounter and master one of the
enemy’s ships, and rejoin Commodore Anson; the men, very generally, were
bent on making their voyage home through the Straits of Magellan. While
the alterations were in progress, the matter rested temporarily, as they
were occupied in saving portions of, or stores from, the wreck, or in
obtaining shell-fish and sea-fowl, which seem not to have been too
abundant. Byron had cherished in his little hut a poor Indian dog, which
had become much attached to him. One day a hungry party of the men came to
him, and, after a little ineffectual remonstrance, took the dog away and
killed it; “upon which,” says Byron, “thinking that I had at least as good
a right to a share as the rest, I sat down with them, and partook of their
repast. Three weeks after that I was glad to make a meal of his paws and
skin, which, upon recollecting the spot where they had killed him, I found
thrown aside and rotten.” One of the men constructed a novel craft from a
large cask, to which he lashed two logs, one on either side. In this he
ventured out to sea, and often managed to get wild fowl. One day he was
upset by a heavy sea, but managed to scramble to a solitary rock, where he
remained two days, till accidentally rescued by a boat party.

While the coast was being reconnoitred, the “old cabal” had been revived,
the debates of which generally ended in riot and drunkenness. The meeting
of the leading mutineers was held in a large tent, which had been made
snug, by lining it with bales of broadcloth driven from the wreck.
Eighteen of the ship’s company had possession of this tent, from whence
committees were dispatched with their resolutions, and quite as often with
demands for liquor. The captain seemingly acquiesced, so far as their
projected voyage was concerned; but when they began to stipulate that his
powers as commander must be restricted, he naturally insisted upon the
full exercise of his rights. “This broke all measures between them, and
they were from this time determined he should go with them, whether he
would or no.” The unfortunate affair concerning Cozens was raked up, and
they threatened to put him under confinement, and bring him to trial in
England. When, however, they found that the long boat, cutter, and barge
were barely large enough to carry all, they agreed to leave him behind,
with the surgeon, and one of the officers of marines. Byron was taken on
board, but, as he says, “was determined, upon the first opportunity, to
leave them.” They were in all eighty-one when they left the island. Their
intention was to put into some harbour, if possible, every evening, as
they were in no condition for long sea-trips, neither would their scanty
provisions have lasted many days. Their water was contained in a few small
powder barrels; their flour was to be lengthened out by a mixture of
sea-weed; and their other supplies must depend upon their success in
hunting or fishing. Next day they considered it necessary to send back the
barge for some spare canvas, and Byron took the opportunity of leaving
them. When they were clear of the long-boat, he found that the men on
board contemplated deserting the deserters also. They “were extremely
welcome to Captain Cheap.” Some attempts were made to get a share of the
provisions from the mutineers, but they absolutely refused. When they had
left the captain and the two other officers, they had given them six
pieces of beef, the same of pork, and ninety pounds of flour. For a day or
two after Byron’s return with a few of the men, a small allowance was
doled out to them; “yet it was upon the foot of favour,” and soon ceased,
after which they had to subsist on “a weed called laugh,” fried in the
tallow of some candles they had saved, and wild celery. The account of
their sufferings, and eventual escape to Chili, forms the bulk of the
volume from which this narrative is taken. What became of the long-boat
and its crew of mutineers? More than three months after they deserted the
captain, thirty of them arrived at Rio Grande, on the coast of Brazil;
twenty had been left at various points, and a larger number had died from
starvation.

But to return once more to Anson. Just at the time they were straining all
points to make ready for leaving Juan Fernandez, a sail was espied far in
the offing. Whilst the vessel advanced, they fancied that she might be one
of their own ships; but when she hauled off, it was determined to pursue
her. The _Centurion_ being in the most forward state, immediately got
under sail; but the wind being light, they soon lost sight of the
stranger. Persuaded that she was an enemy, they steered in the direction
of Valparaiso for a couple of days; then considering that she must have
reached her port, were on the point of abandoning the chase, when a gale
blew them out of their course, at the same time bringing them once more in
sight of the unknown vessel, which at first bore down upon them, showing
Spanish colours. She appeared to be a large ship which had mistaken the
_Centurion_ for her consort, and was thought to be one of Pizarro’s
squadron; this induced Anson to clear the guns of all casks of water or
provisions which encumbered them, and prepare for action. When near
enough, she was discovered to be only a merchantman, the _Carmelo_,
without even as much as a tier of guns. A little later, four shot were
fired among her rigging, on which not one of the crew would venture aloft.
The ship yielded immediately. When the first lieutenant went on board, he
was received with abject submission; and the passengers on board,
twenty-five in number, were terrified at the prospect of the ill-treatment
they should receive. But Anson was always humane and generous with a
fallen foe, and they were soon re-assured. His kindness was not thrown
away. When at length Captain Cheap and his brother-officers of the wrecked
_Wager_ arrived in Chili (then an appanage of the Spanish Crown) they were
particularly well treated at Santiago. “We found,” says Byron, “many
Spaniards here that had been taken by Commodore Anson, and had been for
some time prisoners on board the _Centurion_. They all spoke in the
highest terms of the kind treatment they had received; and it is natural
to imagine that it was chiefly owing to that laudable example of humanity
our reception here was so good.” They even said that they should not have
been sorry had he taken them to England.(16) Anson’s prize on this
occasion had on board large quantities of sugar, cloth, and some little
cotton and tobacco; and in addition, that which was more valuable, several
trunks of wrought plate, and over _two tons_ of dollars (“twenty-three
serons of dollars, each weighing upwards of 200 lbs. avoirdupois”).

Shortly afterwards, Anson noted two sail, one of which appeared to be “a
very stout ship,” and which made for them, whilst the other stood off. By
evening they were within pistol-shot of the nearest, “and had a broadside
ready to pour into her, the gunners having their matches in their hands,
and only waiting for orders to fire.” The ship was hailed in Spanish, when
the welcome voice of Mr. Hughes, lieutenant of the _Tryal_, answered in
English that it was a prize taken by him a couple of days before. She had
tried to escape in the night by showing no lights, but an opening or
crevice in one of the ports had betrayed them. She was a merchantman of
about 600 tons, and had much the same cargo as that taken by Anson, but
not so much money on board. Her capture at that moment was invaluable, for
the _Tryal_ had sprung her mainmast, and was altogether unseaworthy. She
was condemned, and her crew, guns, and stores, with some additions, were
put on board the prize, now appropriately christened _The Tryal’s Prize_.
The sloop herself was scuttled and sunk. Shortly afterwards a third prize
was taken, on which several Spanish lady passengers were found, who hid
themselves in corners, till assured of honourable and courteous treatment.
Anson ordered that they should retain their own cabins, with all the other
conveniences and privileges they had enjoyed before, and ordered the
Spanish pilot, the second in command, to stay with them as their guardian
and protector. A fourth prize, of little value to the captors, as they
could not dispose of much of the cargo in any way, but a clear loss to the
Spaniards of 400,000 dollars, was taken a few days afterwards.

Next followed the capture of Paita, Peru, an important place in those
days, though it offered little or no resistance. When the sailors in
search of private pillage found the clothes of the Spaniards who had fled,
they were seized with an irresistible impulse to try them on; and soon
their dirty unmentionables and jackets were covered by embroidered clothes
and laced hats, not forgetting the bag-wig of the day. Those who could not
find men’s clothes put on women’s, and half the _Centurion’s_ crew were
transformed into masqueraders. The town was burned to the ground, after
treasure, in the shape of plate, dollars, and other coin, to the amount of
upwards of £30,000, had been taken, besides a number of valuable jewels,
and plunder generally, which became the property of the immediate captors.
A vessel in the harbour was taken, and five others scuttled and sunk. The
Spaniards, in their representations sent to the Court of Madrid, estimated
their total loss at a million and a half of dollars. After Anson left
Paita, there were dissensions on board regarding the miscellaneous
plunder, between those who had been ordered ashore and those whose duty
obliged them to remain on board. The Commodore ruled that it should be put
into one common fund, to which he gave his entire share, and then divided
impartially, in proportion to each man’s rank and commission. To all but a
few greedy grumblers this was perfectly acceptable, and the discontent,
which might easily have been fanned into mutiny, was quashed at once.

               [Illustration: SURRENDER OF THE “CARMELO.”]

A day or two afterwards, they rejoined the _Gloucester_, and found that
its captain had taken a couple of small prizes, one of them with a cargo
of wine, brandy, and olives in jars, and about £7,000 in specie. The
people on the other, which was hardly more than a large boat or launch,
pleaded poverty, and that their cargo was only cotton. The men on the
barge had surprised them at dinner upon pigeon pie served on silver
dishes, and suspicion was aroused, which subsided when some little
examination had been instituted. When the packages, however, were more
carefully examined on board the _Gloucester_, a considerable quantity of
doubloons and dollars, to the amount of near £12,000, was discovered
concealed among the cotton. Before leaving the South American coast, Anson
sent fifty-nine prisoners, in two well-equipped launches taken from his
prizes, to Acapulco, where they arrived safely, and spoke highly of the
treatment they had received.

Anson was now on his way to the China Seas, to intercept, if possible, the
Manilla galleon, of which he had received some tidings. On the voyage it
became necessary to abandon the _Gloucester_. Besides the loss of masts,
which were literally rotted out of her, she was tumbling to pieces from
sheer rottenness; and when her captain reported on her condition, she had
seven feet of water in the hold, although his officers and men had been
kept constantly at the pumps for the past twenty-four hours. Her crew had
become greatly reduced in numbers, and out of her total complement of
ninety-seven, officers included, only sixteen men and eleven boys were
capable of keeping the deck. The removal of the _Gloucester’s_ people, and
such stores as could most easily be taken, occupied two days. It was with
difficulty that the prize-money taken in the South Seas was secured; the
prize goods were necessarily abandoned. “Their sick men, amounting to
nearly seventy, were conveyed into the boats with as much care as the
circumstances of that time would permit; but three or four of them expired
as they were hoisting them into the _Centurion_.” The _Gloucester_ was set
on fire in the evening, but did not blow up till six o’clock the following
morning.

At Tinian, one of the Ladrone Islands, Anson stopped some time, refreshing
his worn-out crew, and strengthening the ship. The island abounded in
cattle, hogs, and poultry, running wild; in oranges, limes, lemons,
cocoa-nuts, and bread-fruit. “The country did by no means resemble that of
an uninhabited and uncultivated place; but had much more the air of a
magnificent plantation, where large lawns and stately woods had been laid
out together with great skill, and where the whole had been so artfully
combined, and so judiciously adapted to the slopes of the hills and the
inequalities of the ground, as to produce a most striking effect, and to
do honour to the invention of the contriver.” These compliments to Nature
may often be paralleled in writers of the last century. When they had
dropped anchor, such was the weakness of the crew that it took them five
hours to furl their sails. “All the hands we could muster capable of
standing at a gun,” says the narrator, “amounted to no more than
seventy-one, most of whom, too, were incapable of duty, except on the
greatest emergencies. This, inconsiderable as it may appear, was the whole
force we could collect in our present enfeebled condition from the united
crews of the _Centurion_, the _Gloucester_, and the _Tryal_, which, when
we departed from England, consisted of near a thousand hands.” Some
Indians ashore fled when they landed, leaving their huts, one of which,
used as a large storehouse, was converted into a hospital for the sick,
one hundred and twenty-eight in number. Numbers of these were so helpless
that they had to be carried from the boats, the commodore assisting, as he
had before at Juan Fernandez, and the officers following suit. The poor
invalids soon felt the benefit of the abundant fresh fruits and water; and
although twenty-one were buried in the first and succeeding day, they did
not lose above ten more during the two months of their stay at the island.

One of the drawbacks of a stay at Tinian was the roadstead, which, with
its coral bottom, afforded a bad anchorage during the western monsoons.
This was convincingly proved to the people of the _Centurion_. In the
third week of September the wind blew with such fury that all
communication with the shore was cut off, as no boat could live in the sea
raised by it. The small bower cable, and afterwards their best bower,
parted. The waves broke over the devoted ship, and the long-boat, at that
time moored astern, was on a sudden canted so high that it broke the
transom of the commodore’s cabin on the quarter-deck, and was itself stove
to pieces, the poor boat-keeper, though extremely bruised, being saved
almost by a miracle. The end of all this was that the ship was driven to
sea, leaving Anson, several officers, and a great part of the crew on
shore, amounting in the whole to one hundred and thirteen persons. The
poor wretches on the ship expected each moment to be their last, as they
were altogether too few and weak to work a large vessel.

“The storm which drove the _Centurion_ to sea blew with too much
turbulence to permit either the commodore or any of the people on shore to
hear the guns which she fired as signals of distress; and the frequent
glare of the lightning had prevented the explosions from being observed;
so that when at daybreak it was perceived from the shore that the ship was
missing, there was the utmost consternation amongst them, for much the
greatest part of them immediately concluded that she was lost.” Anson,
whatever he thought himself, did all in his power to reason them out of
the idea, and immediately proposed that if she did not return in a few
days they should cut in half a small bark, a Spanish prize they had taken,
and lengthen her about twelve feet, which would enable her to carry them
all to China. After some days the men began to consider this their only
chance, and worked zealously at their allotted employments. These were
interrupted one day by “A sail!” being announced. Presently a second was
descried, which quite destroyed the conjecture that it was the ship
herself. The revulsion of feeling in Anson’s bosom was so strong, that for
once he was quite unmanned, and retired to his tent, with the bitter
feeling that now he could not hope to signalise the expedition by any
great exploit. He was, however, soon relieved by finding that the boats
were Indian proas, which, after cruising off the island for a time,
suddenly departed, and were lost to sight. The recital of the details
connected with the transformation of the bark would be tedious; suffice it
to say, that they had to manufacture many of the necessary tools, cut down
trees, and saw them into planks, and dig a dry dock, while others were
employed in collecting provisions. They were much mortified to find that
all the powder ashore did not amount to more than ninety charges. What if
the Spaniards should appear at this juncture?

However, in spite of all obstacles, they had proceeded so far with their
work as to have fixed upon a date for their departure from the island.
“But their project and labours were now drawing to speedier and happier
conclusion; for, on the 11th of October, in the afternoon, one of the
_Gloucester’s_ men, being upon a hill in the middle of the island,
perceived the _Centurion_ at a distance, and, running down with his utmost
speed towards the landing-place, he in the way saw some of his comrades,
to whom he hallooed out with great ecstasy, ‘The ship! the ship!’” It was
indeed the ship; and when Anson heard of it, we can well believe that he
broke through “the equable and unvaried character” he had hitherto
preserved. The men were in a perfect state of frenzy. A boat with eighteen
men, and fresh meats and fruits, was sent off to the _Centurion_, which
came to anchor next day. She had been nearly three weeks absent. The
chaplain who has left us the narrative of Anson’s voyage was on board at
the time. He describes their deplorable condition in a leaky ship, with
three cables hanging loose, from one of which dragged their only remaining
anchor; not a gun lashed or port closed; shrouds loose, and topmasts
unrigged, and no sails which could be set except the mizen. The pumps
alone gave employment for the whole of the available crew. “In these
exigencies,” says he, “no rank or office exempted any person from the
manual application and bodily labour of a common sailor. They eventually
raised their sheet anchor, which had been dragging at the bows, got up
their mainyard, and generally got the ship in something like sailing trim.
They were quite as rejoiced to see the island once more as were their
companions to see them.”

After a long stay at Macao, where the Chinese officials put all kinds of
obstacles in the way of refitting and provisioning his ship, Anson set
sail for the express purpose of intercepting the Manilla galleon or
galleons, which, indeed, had been the object of his long cruise off Mexico
and South America. The annual ship plying between Acapulco and Manilla,
and _vice versâ_, was always richly laden with the best the Spanish
colonies afforded, and all on board the _Centurion_ were now eager for the
fray. Anson determined to lay off Cape Spiritu Santo, Samal (one of the
Philippine group of islands), as the galleons always made that land first
on the voyage to Manilla. It was a month after they had gained the station
that the coveted prize hove in sight. “On this a general joy spread
through the whole ship.” The Spaniards had determined to risk the fight,
and it is needless to say that Anson was ready for them. He picked out
about thirty of his choicest marksmen, whom he distributed among the tops,
and they eventually did great execution. “As he had not hands enough
remaining to quarter a sufficient number to each great gun in the
customary manner, he therefore on his lower tier fixed only two men to
each gun, who were to be solely employed in loading it, whilst the rest of
his people were divided into different gangs of ten or twelve men each,
who were continually moving about the decks, to run out and fire such guns
as were loaded. By this management he was enabled to make use of all his
guns; and instead of whole broadsides, with intervals between them, he
kept up a constant fire without intermission; whence he doubted not to
procure very signal advantages. For it is common with the Spaniards to
fall down upon the decks when they see a broadside preparing, and to
continue in that posture till it is given; after which they rise again,
and presuming the danger to be for some time over, work their guns and
fire with great briskness, till another broadside is ready; but the firing
gun by gun, in the manner directed by the commodore, rendered this
practice of theirs impossible.” Several squalls of wind and rain about
noon often obscured the galleon from their sight; but when the weather
cleared up she was observed resolutely lying to, waiting her impending
doom. Towards one o’clock the _Centurion_ hoisted her colours, the enemy
being within gunshot. Anson noted that the Spaniards had neglected to
clear the decks, as they were still engaged in throwing overboard cattle
and lumber; and as all is supposed to be fair in war, he determined to
worry them at once, and ordered the chase-guns to be fired into them. The
galleon returned the fire with two of her stern chase-guns; “and the
_Centurion_ getting her sprit-sail-yard fore and aft, that if necessary
she might be ready for boarding, the Spaniards, in a bravado, rigged their
sprit-sail-yard fore and aft likewise. Soon after, the _Centurion_ came
abreast of the enemy, within pistol-shot, keeping to the leeward of them,
with a view of preventing their putting before the wind, and gaining the
port of Talapay, from which they were about seven leagues distant. And now
the engagement began in earnest, and for the first half-hour Mr. Anson
over-reached the galleon, and lay on her bow, where, by the great wideness
of his ports, he could traverse almost all his guns upon the enemy, whilst
the galleon could only bring a part of hers to bear. Immediately on the
commencement of the action, the mats with which the galleon had stuffed
her netting took fire, and burnt violently, blazing up half as high as the
mizen-top. This accident, supposed to be caused by the _Centurion’s_ wads,
threw the enemy into the utmost terror, and also alarmed the commodore,
for he feared lest the galleon should be burnt, and lest he himself might
suffer by her driving on board him. However, the Spaniards at last freed
themselves from the fire by cutting away the netting, and tumbling the
whole mass which was in flames into the sea. All this interval, the
_Centurion_ kept her first advantageous position, firing her cannon with
great regularity and briskness; whilst at the same time the galleon’s
decks lay open to her top-men, who, having at their first volley driven
the Spaniards from their tops, made prodigious havoc with their
small-arms, killing or wounding every officer but one that appeared on the
quarter-deck, and wounding in particular the general of the galleon
himself.”

Then for a little the _Centurion_ lost the superiority of her original
position; but still her grape-shot raked the Spaniard’s decks with such
cruel precision that they were covered with the dead and dying,
encumbering the movements of those still fighting, who kept up as brisk a
fire as they could. But the general himself was pretty nearly _hors de
combat_, while the Spanish officers were rushing hither and thither,
endeavouring vainly to keep the now disheartened men at their posts. They
made one last effort, pointed and fired five or six guns with more
precision than usual, and then yielded the contest. The galleon’s colours
had been singed off the ensign-staff in the beginning of the engagement,
so she had to haul down the royal standard from her main-top-gallant-mast
head, “the person who was employed to perform this office having been in
imminent peril of being killed, had not the commodore, who perceived what
he was about, given express orders to his people to desist from firing.”
And so the great _Nostra Signora de Cabadonga_ became Anson’s prize.

            [Illustration: ANSON TAKING THE SPANISH GALLEON.]

And she was indeed a prize. She had on board 35,682 ounces of virgin
silver, 1,313,843 pieces of eight, besides some cochineal and other
trifles, which hardly counted in comparison with the specie. She was a
much larger vessel than the _Centurion_, and had five hundred and fifty
men, and thirty-six large guns, besides twenty-eight pedreroes each
carrying four-pound balls. During the action she had sixty-seven men
killed, and eighty-four wounded; whilst the _Centurion_ had only two
killed, and seventeen wounded. Shortly after the galleon had struck, an
officer came quietly to Anson, and told him the ship was on fire near the
powder-room. The commodore showed no emotion, and gave orders to a few in
regard to extinguishing it, which was happily done, without alarming the
crew or informing the enemy. The galleon was constituted by Anson a
post-ship in his Majesty’s navy, the command being given to his first
lieutenant, Mr. Saumarez. All but the officers and wounded of the
prisoners were kept in the hold of the _Centurion_, two guarded hatchways
being left open. As the Spaniards were two to one of the English, every
precaution was necessary, but otherwise they were treated as well as
possible. Unfortunately their allowance of water was necessarily small,
one pint per day, the crew only receiving a pint and a half; and although
not one died on the passage to the river of Canton, they were reduced to
ghastly skeletons when they were discharged. Anson refitted and sold the
galleon to the merchants of Macao, and, with about £400,000 worth of
Spanish treasure, sailed for England, where he arrived in safety. The
damage done by him to Spain was probably three or four times that
represented by the above amount. The great galleon was alone, with her
cargo, valued at a million and a half dollars; whilst the destruction of
Paita, and the minor Spanish prizes, with large parts of their cargoes,
were serious losses to Spain.





                               CHAPTER IV.


        THE HISTORY OF SHIPS AND SHIPPING INTERESTS (_continued_).


          Progress of the American Colonies—Great Prevalence of
        Piracy—Numerous Captures and Executions—A Proclamation of
             Pardon—John Theach, or “Black Beard”—A Desperate
    Pirate—Hand-and-glove with the Governor of North Carolina—Pretends
     to accept the King’s Pardon—A Blind—His Defeat and Death—Unwise
       Legislation and consequent Irritation—The Stamp Act—The Tea
          Tax—Enormous Excitement—Tea-chests thrown into Boston
     Harbour—Determined Attitude of the American Colonists—The Boston
         Port Bill—Its Effects—Sympathy of all America—The final
     Rupture—England’s Wars to the end of the Century—Nelson and the
                        Nile—Battle of Copenhagen.


During the early part of the eighteenth century, while Europe was
distracted by war, the American colonies were, “by peaceful and
undisturbed pursuits, laying the foundation of that prosperity which
enabled them, before the close of the century, to demand and obtain their
severance from the mother country, and their social and political
independence.” So early as 1729, Philadelphia had 6,000 tons of shipping,
and received in that year 6,208 emigrants from Great Britain. New York was
then carrying on a large trade in grain and provisions with Spain and
Portugal, besides forwarding considerable quantities of furs to England.
New England was furnishing the finest spars and masts in the world, while
that part of it which is now the State of Massachusetts had already
120,000 inhabitants, employing 40,000 tons of shipping, or about 600
vessels of all sizes. The fisheries were of great value, as much as a
quarter of a million quintals of dried fish being annually exported to
Spain, Portugal, and the Mediterranean. Carolina was doing a magnificent
business in the export of rice, Indian corn, and provisions of all kinds;
in pitch, turpentine, and lumber.

But one serious evil caused the colonists great annoyance and loss—the
prevalence of piracy. The State last named suffered far more than the
rest. Commercial restrictions, unwisely imposed by Great Britain, gave
rise to a large amount of smuggling, and from smuggling to piracy was an
easy transition. “These gangs of naval robbers were likewise frequently
recruited by British sailors, who had been trained to ferocity and
injustice by the legalised piracy of the slave-trade.”(17) One Captain
Quelch, the commander of a vessel which had committed numerous piracies,
ventured to take shelter, with his crew, in Massachusetts in the year
1704. He was detected, tried, and hanged, with six of his accomplices, in
Boston. In 1717 several vessels were captured on the coasts of New England
by a noted pirate, Captain Bellamy, a man who carried matters with a high
hand, having a vessel with twenty-three guns, and a crew of one hundred
and thirty men. The vessel was wrecked shortly afterwards on Cape Cod, the
captain and the whole of his crew, except six, perishing in the waves. The
pitiful remainder gained the shore, their fate literally realising Defoe’s
words—

  “When what the sea would not, the gallows may;”

for they were immediately conveyed to Boston, tried, and executed. A
number of pirates were about the same time hanged in Virginia. In
consequence of the repeated complaints of British merchants regarding
these freebooters, George I. issued a proclamation offering a pardon to
all pirates who should surrender to any of the colonial governors within
twelve months; and in 1718 dispatched a few ships of war under Captain
Rogers, who, repairing to New Providence, then a perfect den of
sea-thieves, took possession of the place, and nearly all the pirates
there took the benefit of the royal proclamation. Steed Bennet and Richard
Worley, two pirate chiefs who had fled from New Providence at the approach
of Rogers, took possession of the mouth of Cape Fear River. They were
captured by Governor Johnson and Captain Rhett; and Bennet, who was a man
of good education, and had held the rank of major in the British army, was
executed at Charlestown, with forty-one of his accomplices. North Carolina
had been for a long time the haunt of one of the most desperate villains
of his time, John Theach, generally known as “Black Beard,” from an
enormous beard he wore, and which was adjusted, Grahame records, “with
elaborate care in such an inhuman disposition as was calculated to excite
both disgust and terror.... In battle, he has been represented with the
look and demeanour of a fury; carrying three braces of pistols on holsters
slung over his shoulders, and lighted matches under his hat, protruding
over each of his ears. The authority and admiration which the pirate
chiefs enjoyed among their fellows was proportioned to the audacity and
extravagance of their outrages on humanity; and none in this respect ever
challenged a rivalship with Theach.... Having frequently undertaken to
personify a demon for the entertainment of his followers, he declared at
length his purpose of gratifying them with an anticipated representation
of hell; and in this attempt had nearly stifled the whole crew with the
fumes of brimstone under the hatches of his vessel. In one of his
ecstasies, whilst heated with liquor, and sitting in his cabin, he took a
pistol in each hand, and, cocking them under the table, blew out the
lights, and then with crossed hands fired on each side at his companions,
one of whom received a shot that maimed him for life.” He was an early
Mormon, for he had fourteen women whom he called his wives. His chief
security had been the fact that Charles Eden, the governor, and Tobias
Knight, the secretary of the province, shared in his plunder and protected
him. As he was rich, and had been apprised of Rogers’ operations at New
Providence, he judged it wise to accept the benefit of the king’s
proclamation, and, with twenty of his men, pretended to surrender to Eden,
who had been a receiver of goods or gold stolen by him.

                        [Illustration: CAPE COD.]

This was, however, only a blind. He fitted out almost immediately
afterwards a sloop, which he entered at the Custom House as a regular
trader. In a few weeks he returned to North Carolina, bringing with him a
French ship in a state of perfect soundness, and with a valuable cargo on
board, which he deposed on oath that he had found deserted at sea, a
statement which quite satisfied Eden and Knight. Nobody else believed him,
and some of the Carolinians who had suffered by his hands appealed to the
Government of Virginia for aid in hunting down this pest of humanity.
Maynard, the lieutenant of a ship of war, was dispatched after him, found
him in Pamlico Sound, and, after a close encounter, prevailed. “Foreboding
defeat, Theach had posted one of his followers with a lighted match over
his powder magazine, that in the last extremity he might defraud human
justice of a part of its retributive triumph. But some accident or mistake
prevented the execution of this act of despair. Theach himself, surrounded
by slaughtered foes and followers, and bleeding from numerous wounds, in
the act of stepping back to cock a pistol, fainted from loss of blood, and
expired on the spot.” The few survivors threw down their swords, and were
spared—to die on the gallows shortly afterwards. Piracy was checked, but
not obliterated, by these means; and about five years after this period no
less than twenty-six of these “sea rats” were executed in Rhode Island.

            [Illustration: THE “DARTMOUTH” IN BOSTON HARBOUR.]

This not being a history of America, the writer is spared all allusion to
events of the period except so far as they bear on the sea and maritime
matters. One of the greatest among a long series of mistakes made at the
time by Great Britain was an expedient, ascribed to George Grenville,
intended to strike a death-blow at smuggling. All the commanders and other
officers of British ships of war stationed off the American coasts, or
cruising in the American seas, now received injunctions and authority from
the Crown to act as officers of the customs; they were compelled to take
the usual oaths of office administered to the civil functionaries ashore;
and, to reconcile them to what they might think a service degrading to
them, they were to receive an ample share of contraband and confiscated
cargoes. It must be remembered that they were totally ignorant of the laws
which they were now required not merely to guard, but to administer; and
they had not the restraints of the ordinary Custom House officials, for
whatever wrong they might commit, no nearer redress was open to the
sufferer than an appeal to the Admiralty or Treasury of England. Many
cargoes were unjustly confiscated, and a number of others unreasonably
detained, to the great detriment of the owners; “and in several instances
these violations of justice were ascribed rather to eager cupidity and
confidence of impunity than to involuntary error.” In other words, the
legitimate merchant was often put in the same box as though he had been a
pirate or smuggler. A traffic had long sprung up between the British and
Spanish colonies of North and South America, advantageous to both. The
same existed, in a lesser degree, between America and the French West
India Islands. These new auxiliaries of the Custom House now and again
seized indiscriminately and confiscated the ships, American or foreign,
engaged in this trade. Meantime, the Government at home, ill-informed as
it was, learned that there was much discontent in America, and hastened to
repair the damage by passing a special Act of Parliament, declaring the
legitimacy of the commerce between the American colonies and those of
France and Spain. Unfortunately, they at the same time loaded the more
valuable articles with duties which were nearly prohibitive, and must
encourage smuggling.

Then came the passage of the Stamp Act, which was to tax every paper of a
commercial, legal, or social nature, and which was so unpopular that the
merchants of New York directed their correspondents in England to ship no
more goods to them till it should be repealed. The people very generally
agreed to confine their purchases to native productions. “I will wear
nothing but homespun!” exclaimed one angry citizen. “I will drink no
wine,” echoed another, angry that wine must pay a new duty. “I propose,”
cried a third, “that we dress in sheepskins, with the wool on.”(18) To
encourage a woollen manufacture in America, it was recommended to the
colonists to abstain from eating the flesh of lambs, and not a butcher
durst afterwards expose lamb for sale. Its operations were ushered in at
Boston by the tolling of bells; effigies of the authors and abettors were
carried about the streets, and afterwards torn in pieces by the populace.
At Portsmouth, New Hampshire, a funeral procession was organised, and a
coffin bearing the inscription, “LIBERTY, AGED CXLV. YEARS,” was paraded,
amidst the booming of minute guns, and the roll of muffled drums. An
oration was made over a grave prepared for its reception, at the
conclusion of which some remains of life were, it was pretended,
discovered in the body, which was thereupon snatched from the grave. The
inscription was altered to “LIBERTY REVIVED,” and a cheerful and hilarious
procession then marched off with it. In several instances the residences
of the governors, officials, and tax-collectors of States were burned to
the ground, or greatly damaged. So strong was the current of popular will
that the Custom House officers did not, in a large number of cases,
attempt to stamp the clearances of vessels sailing. The law courts
remained open, and ignored the want of stamps on legal documents, and
marriages were consummated simply after putting up the banns, and not by
stamped certificate. The almost total suspension of business with English
shippers and merchants alarmed them greatly, and they were among the first
to petition for its repeal. In Parliament, among many others, Pitt was a
warm friend to the American cause. In answer to a taunting speech from
Grenville, he replied: “We are told that America is obstinate—that America
is almost in open rebellion. _Sir, I rejoice that America has resisted._
Three millions of people so dead to all the feelings of liberty as
voluntarily to submit to be slaves, would have been fit instruments to
make slaves of all the rest.” The Stamp Act was repealed March 19th, 1766,
and in London itself was received with so much joy, that there was a
general illumination, amid the ringing of church bells; and in America it
was hailed with satisfaction, although subsequent action on the part of
the English Government soon obliterated all memory of the concession.

Passing over political complications which led to the American Revolution,
we must allude to the Tea Tax, the resistance to which was as strong as to
any previous measure of our misguided Government. The Government decided
to enforce it, although they were aware of its unpopularity, and the East
India Company, which had the vast stock of 17,000,000 lbs. on hand,
freighted several of their ships to America. Mark the result.(19)

On the 28th November, 1773, the ship _Dartmouth_ appeared in Boston
Harbour with one hundred and fourteen chests of the East India Company’s
tea. To keep the Sabbath strictly was the New England usage. But hours
were precious; let the tea be entered, and it would be beyond the power of
the consignee to send it back. The Select men held one meeting by day, and
another in the evening, but they sought in vain for the consignees, who
had taken sanctuary in the castle.

The Committee of Correspondence was more efficient. They met also on
Sunday; and obtained from the Quaker, Potch, who owned the _Dartmouth_, a
promise not to enter his ship till Tuesday; and authorised Samuel Adams to
invite the Committees of the five surrounding towns, Dorchester, Roxbury,
Brookline, Cambridge, and Charlestown, with their own townsmen and those
of Boston, to hold a mass meeting the next morning. Faneuil Hall could not
contain the people that poured in on Monday. The concourse was the largest
ever known. Adjourning to “The Old South” Meeting House, on the motion of
Samuel Adams, the assembly, composed of five thousand persons, resolved,
unanimously, that “the tea should be sent back to the place from whence it
came at all events, and that no duty should be paid on it.” “The only way
to get rid of it,” said Mr. Young, “is to throw it overboard.” The
consignees asked for time to prepare their answer; and, “out of great
tenderness,” the body postponed proceeding with it till the next morning.
Meantime the owner and master of the ship were _convented_, and forced to
promise not to land the tea. A watch was also proposed. “I,” said Hancock,
“will be one of it, rather than that there should be none;” and a party of
twenty-five persons, under the orders of Edward Proctor as its captain,
was appointed to guard the tea-ship during the night.

The next morning the consignees jointly gave in their answer:—“It is
utterly impossible to send back the teas; but we now declare to you our
readiness to store them, until we shall receive further directions from
our constituents!”—that is, until they could notify the British
Government. The wrath of the meeting was kindling, when the Sheriff of
Suffolk entered with a proclamation from the governor, warning the
assembly to disperse. The notice was received with hisses, derision, and a
unanimous vote not to disperse. In the afternoon Potch, the owner, and
Hall, the master, of the _Dartmouth_, yielding to an irresistible impulse,
engaged that the tea should return as it came, without touching land or
paying duty. A similar promise was exacted of the owners of the other
tea-ships, whose arrival was daily expected. In this way “it was thought
the matter would have ended.” Every shipowner was forbidden, on pain of
being deemed an enemy to the country, to import or bring as freight any
tea from Great Britain, till the unrighteous Act taxing it should be
repealed; and this vote was printed and sent to every seaport in the
Province, and to England. Six persons were chosen as foot-riders, to give
due notice to the country towns of any attempt to land the tea by force;
and the Committee of Correspondence, as the executive organ of the
meeting, took care that a military watch was regularly kept up by
volunteers armed with muskets and bayonets, who at every half-hour in the
night regularly passed the word “All is well!” like sentinels in a
garrison. Had they been molested in the night, the tolling of the bells
would have been the signal for a general uprising.

The ships, after landing the rest of their cargo, could neither be cleared
in Boston with the tea on board, nor be entered in England, and on the
twentieth day from their arrival would be liable to seizure.

The spirit of the people rose with the emergency. Two more tea-ships which
arrived were directed to anchor by the side of the _Dartmouth_, at
Griffin’s Wharf, that one guard might serve for all. In the meantime the
consignees conspired with the Revenue officers to throw on the owner and
master of the _Dartmouth_ the whole burden of landing the tea, and would
neither agree to receive it, nor give up their bill of lading, nor pay the
freight. Every movement was duly reported, and the town became as furious
as in the time of the Stamp Act. On the 9th there was a vast gathering at
Newburyport, of the inhabitants of that and the neighbouring towns, and
they unanimously agreed to assist Boston, even at the hazard of their
lives. “This is not a piece of parade,” they say, “but if an occasion
shall offer, a goodly number from among us will hasten to join you.”

In this state of things it was easily seen by the people of Boston that,
the ships lying so near, the teas would be landed by degrees,
notwithstanding any guard they could keep or measures taken to prevent it;
and it was as well known that if they were landed nothing could prevent
their being sold, and thereby the purpose of establishing the monopoly and
raising a revenue fulfilled.

The morning of Thursday, the 16th of December, 1773, dawned upon Boston, a
day by far the most momentous in its annals. The town of Portsmouth held
its meeting on that morning, and, with six only protesting, its people
adopted the principles of Philadelphia, appointed their Committee of
Correspondence, and resolved to make common cause with the Colonies. At
ten o’clock the people of Boston, with at least two thousand men from the
country, assembled in the Old South. A report was made that Potch (the
owner of the _Dartmouth_) had been refused a clearance from the collector.
“Then,” said they to him, “protest immediately against the Custom House,
and apply to the governor for his pass, so that your vessel may this very
day proceed on her voyage to London.”

The governor had stolen away to his country house at Milton. Bidding Potch
make all haste, the meeting adjourned to three in the afternoon. At that
hour Potch had not returned. It was incidentally voted, as other towns had
already done, to abstain totally from the use of tea. Then, since the
governor might refuse his pass, the momentous question recurred, “Whether
it be the sense and determination of this body to abide by their former
resolutions, with respect to the not suffering the tea to be landed?”
After hearing addresses from Adams, Young, the younger Quincy, and others,
the whole assembly of seven thousand voted unanimously, that the tea
should not be landed.

It had been dark for more than an hour. The church in which they met was
dimly lighted; when, at a quarter before six, Potch appeared, and
satisfied the people by relating that the governor had refused him a pass,
because his ship was not properly cleared. As soon as he had finished his
report, Samuel Adams rose and gave the word: “This meeting can do nothing
more to save the country!” On the instant a shout was heard at the porch;
the war-whoop resounded; a body of men, forty or fifty in number,
disguised as Indians, passed by the door, and, encouraged by Samuel Adams,
Hancock, and others, repaired to Griffin’s Wharf, posted guards to prevent
the intrusion of spies, took possession of the three tea-ships, and in
about three hours three hundred and forty chests of tea, being the whole
quantity that had been imported, were emptied into the bay, without the
least injury to other property. All things were conducted with great
order, decency, and perfect submission to Government. The people around,
as they looked on, were so still that the noise of breaking open the
tea-chests was plainly heard.

             [Illustration: DESTRUCTION OF THE TEA CARGOES.]

In Philadelphia, when a tea-ship arrived, the captain fearing the loss of
his cargo, agreed to sail back again the following day.

During the whole period of her controversy with Great Britain, America was
deriving a constant increase of strength, not merely from domestic growth,
but by the immense volume of emigration from Europe. No complete record
remains of its amount, but sufficient facts are known to show how vast it
had become. “Within the first fortnight of August, 1773, there arrived at
Philadelphia 3,500 emigrants from Ireland; and from the same document
which has recorded this circumstance, it appears that vessels were
arriving every month freighted with emigrants from Holland, Germany, and
especially from Ireland and the Highlands of Scotland. About 700 Irish
settlers repaired to the Carolinas in the autumn of 1773; and in the
course of the same season no fewer than ten vessels sailed from Britain
with Scottish Highlanders emigrating to the American States.” Connecticut
in ten years gained 50,000 in population, and when the final rupture
occurred with the mother country, the United States had already reached
the important number of about three and a quarter millions, or say a good
million over the united populations of the Australasian colonies of
to-day, including New Zealand. And it must never be forgotten that of the
new-comers a large proportion were flying from grievances at home to which
they could no longer submit, and that they therefore added to and fanned
the discontent prevailing in America. In view of such facts the action of
the home Government is nearly inexplicable.

When the intelligence of the destruction of the tea reached England,
although it was obvious that the opposition which had been shown was
common to all the colonies, it was determined to make an example of
Boston. “It was reckoned that a partial blow might be dealt to America
with much greater severity than could be prudently exacted in more
extensive punishment; and it was, doubtless, expected that the Americans
in general, without being provoked by personal suffering, would be struck
with terror by the rigour inflicted on a city so long renowned as the
bulwark of their liberties. Without even the decent formality of requiring
the inhabitants of Boston to exculpate themselves, but definitely assuming
their guilt in conformity with the despatches of a governor who was
notoriously at enmity with them, the Ministers introduced into Parliament
a bill for suspending the trade and closing the harbour of Boston during
the pleasure of the king. They declared that the duration of this severity
would depend entirely upon the conduct of the objects of it; for it would
doubtless be relaxed as soon as the people of Boston should make
compensation for the tea that had been destroyed, and otherwise satisfy
the king of their sincere purpose to render due submission to his
Government.” The bill encountered little or no opposition in Parliament, a
few members only contending that milder measures should be tried. It is
impossible to imagine such an occasion to-day. Think of the ports of
Sydney or Melbourne, for example, being closed to all trade and commerce
from outside, and hundreds of vessels prevented from unloading or loading
there, because of irritation prevailing among the Australians, entirely
produced by unwise legislation, and unjust taxation on the part of the
mother country. Yet this is what was done with our American colonies
little more than a hundred years ago.

Mark what followed. On the arrival of the first copy of the Boston Port
Bill a town meeting was convened in that city, and it was recommended,
“That all commercial intercourse whatever with Britain and the West Indies
should be renounced by the American States till the repeal of the Act.” At
Philadelphia a liberal subscription was made for the relief of such of the
poorer inhabitants of Boston whose livelihood had been ruined by this
arbitrary proceeding. The Virginian House of Burgesses appointed the date
on which the operation of the Act was to commence as a day of fasting,
humiliation, and prayer.

On the 1st of June, 1774, the operation of the Boston Port Bill commenced.
All the commercial business of the capital of Massachusetts was concluded
at noon, and the harbour of this flourishing port was closed—till the
gathering storm of the Revolution was to re-open it. “At Williamsburgh, in
Virginia, the day was devoutly consecrated to the religious exercises
which had been recommended by the Assembly. At Philadelphia it was
solemnised by a great majority of the population with every testimonial of
public grief; all the inhabitants, except the Quakers, shut up their
houses; and after divine service a deep and ominous silence reigned
through the city. In other parts of America it was also observed as a day
of mourning; and the sentiments thus widely awakened were kept alive and
exasperated by the distress to which the inhabitants of Boston were
reduced from the continued operation of the Port Bill, and by the
fortitude with which they endured it. The rents of all the land-holders in
and around Boston now ceased, or were greatly diminished; all the wealth
which had been vested in warehouses and wharfs was rendered unproductive;
from the merchants was wrested the commerce which they had reared, and the
means alike of providing for their families and paying their debts; all
the artificers employed in the numerous occupations created by an
extensive trade shared the general hardships; and a great majority of that
class of the community who earned daily bread by their daily labour were
deprived of the means of support.” The sympathy shown by the sister
colonies was highly creditable, and often took the form of substantial
relief. The inhabitants of Marblehead offered to the Boston merchants the
use of their harbours, wharfs, and warehouses, together with their
personal services in lading and unlading goods, free of all expense. The
citizens of Salem (in the same State as Boston) concluded a remonstrance
against the British measures as follows:—“By shutting up the port of
Boston, some imagine that the course of trade might be turned hither, and
to our benefit.... We must be lost to every idea of justice, and dead to
all the feelings of humanity, could we indulge one thought of raising our
fortunes on the ruins of our suffering neighbours.” A country so
thoroughly bound together surely deserved the independence which a couple
of years later it secured.

No better excuse can be urged for England than that her hands were
constantly full at this period. When there was not actual war there were
always rumours of war. Fortunately for our country, in its greatest need
its greatest hero’s star was in the ascendant. How often in these pages
must we recur again and again to the name of Nelson? The year after
America had declared her independence, he was, it is true, but simply a
lieutenant, and scarcely over nineteen years of age. He had already seen
some service. He had been to the West Indies and to the Arctic Ocean,
where, on Captain Phipps’ expedition, occurred one of those little
incidents which indicated a hero in embryo. Young Nelson was one day
missing, and though every search was instantly made for him, it seemed
entirely in vain, and all imagined he was lost. Somebody at length
discovered him at a considerable distance off, on the ice, armed with a
single musket, and fighting away with some object which, on nearer
approach, proved to be an immense bear. Always slight in frame, and
comparatively feeble in body, what was the youngster about? It was found
that the lock of his musket proving useless, he had pursued the animal
with the hope of tiring him, and then intended to knock him on the head.
On his return he was reprimanded for leaving the ship without permission,
and asked why he had been so rash. The young hero replied, “I wished, sir,
to get the skin for my father;” and although there is no record of the
fact, it may well be believed that his little escapade was not very
severely punished. Almost immediately after his return from the frozen
regions, we find him in the East Indies, where his health nearly gave way.
For the second time in Nelson’s career we find him almost abandoning the
sea. “I felt impressed,” wrote he long afterwards, “with an idea that I
should never rise in my profession. My mind was staggered with a view of
the difficulties which I had to surmount, and the little interest I
possessed. I could discover no means of reaching the object of my
ambition. After a long and gloomy reverie, in which I almost wished myself
overboard, a sudden glow of patriotism was kindled within me, and hope
presented my king and country as my patrons. ‘Well then,’ I exclaimed, ‘I
will be a hero, and confiding in Providence, I will brave every danger.’”
From that moment his aspirations became inspirations, and he believed
fully that

  “The light which led him on,
  Was light from Heaven.”

                   [Illustration: NELSON AND THE BEAR.]

The young sailor, or he who may become one, may learn very much from the
earlier part of Nelson’s career. Again and again was he disappointed, and
although momentarily irritable, he always ended by looking forward to the
inevitable reward due to the man who places country and duty above all
other considerations. After his services at Bastia and Calvi, where he
lost that eye which afterwards served him so well from its blindness, his
bravery was altogether overlooked in the despatches. “One hundred and ten
days,” said he, “I have been actually engaged at sea and on shore against
the enemy; three actions against ships, two against Bastia in my own ship,
four boat actions, two villages taken, and twelve sail of vessels burnt. I
do not know that any one has done more; I have had the comfort to be
always applauded by my commanders-in-chief, but never to be rewarded; and,
what is more mortifying, for services in which I have been wounded, others
have been praised who, at the time, were actually in bed, far from the
scene of action. They have not done me justice; but never mind—I’ll have a
gazette of my own!”

And what a gazette it was! When, in 1797, Nelson received a special grant
for his services, a memorial had to be drawn up, when it was found that he
had been engaged against the enemy upwards of _one hundred and twenty
times_! During the latest war up to the above date he had assisted at the
capture of seven sail of the line, six frigates, four corvettes, and
eleven privateers; he had taken or destroyed nearly fifty sail of merchant
vessels.

Then followed the great battle of the Nile. The French fleet having been
discovered by Captain Samuel Flood, the action commenced at sunset. The
shores of the Bay of Aboukir were lined with spectators, who beheld the
approach of the English and the terrible conflict which ensued, in silent
and awe-stricken astonishment. A brisk fire was opened by the _Vanguard_,
which ship covered the approach of those in the rear; in a few minutes
every man stationed at the first six guns in her fore part were all down,
killed or wounded. Admiral Nelson was so entirely resolved to conquer, or
to perish in the attempt, that he led into action with six ensigns, red,
white, and blue—he could not bear the idea of his colours being carried
away by a random shot from the enemy.

Nelson—long minus one eye and one arm—in this battle received a severe
wound in his head, the skin of the forehead hanging down over his face.
Captain Berry, who was standing near, caught him in his arms. It was the
opinion of everyone, including the sufferer, that he was shot through the
head. On being carried down in the cockpit, where several of his gallant
crew were stretched with shattered limbs and mangled wounds, the surgeon
immediately came with great anxiety to the admiral. “No,” replied the
hero, “I will take my turn with my brave fellows!” The agony of his wound
increasing, he became convinced that he was dying, and sent for the
chaplain, begging him to remember him to Lady Nelson; he even went so far
as to appoint Hardy post-captain for the _Vanguard_. When the surgeon came
to examine and dress the wound, it clearly appeared that it was not
mortal, and the joyful intelligence spread quickly through the ship. As
soon as the operation was over, Nelson sat down, and that very night wrote
the celebrated official letter which appeared in the _Gazette_. He came on
deck just in time to witness the conflagration of _L’Orient_. So terrible
was the carnage at the battle of the Nile that the Bay of Aboukir was
covered for a week with the floating corpses, and though men were
continually employed to sink them, many of the bodies, having slipped from
the shot, would re-appear on the surface. Alas! the accounts of these
horrible scenes, painful as they are, yet pale before the latest horror in
our own Thames—the loss of the _Princess Alice_, where more perished than
in many a recorded sea-fight of days gone by.

After the battle, the officers vied with each other in sending various
presents to the admiral, to show their delight that he had, though
severely wounded, escaped death. Captain Hallowell, who had long been on
the most intimate terms with Nelson, hit on the extraordinary idea of
having an elegantly-furnished coffin constructed by his carpenter from the
wreck of _L’Orient_, a grim present, which he ordered to be made for the
admiral. It was conveyed on board, and it is stated that Nelson highly
appreciated the present of his brave officer. Nelson kept it for some
months upright in his cabin, till at length an old servant tearfully
entreating him, he allowed it to be carried below. Nelson was now at the
height of glory; never had before, or has since, any admiral received
honours from so many various nations and crowned heads. The following is a
list of presents bestowed on him for his services in the Mediterranean
between October, 1798, and October, 1799:—

      From his king and country, a peerage of Great Britain and gold
      medal.
      From Parliament, for his own life and two next heirs, per annum,
      £2,000.
      From the Parliament of Ireland, per annum, £1,000.
      From the East India Company, £10,000.
      From the Turkey Company, a piece of plate of great value; from the
      City of London, a magnificent sword.
      From the Grand Signor, a diamond aigrette and rich pelisse, valued
      at £3,000.
      From the Grand Signor’s mother, a rose set with diamonds, valued at
      £1,000.
      From the Emperor of Russia, a box set with diamonds, valued at
      £2,500.
      From the King of the Two Sicilies, a sword richly ornamented with
      diamonds, valued at £5,000.
      From the King of Sardinia, a box set with diamonds, valued at
      £1,200.

In addition to these, all accompanied by complimentary addresses or
letters, he received presents from the Island of Zante, the city of
Palermo, and private individuals. Had he not attained a “_Gazette_ of his
own?”

                       [Illustration: LORD NELSON.]

The battle of Copenhagen made Nelson’s talents, in some respects, even
more conspicuous. The Danes were admirably prepared for defence. Upwards
of a hundred pieces of cannon were mounted on the Crown Batteries at the
entrance of the harbour, while a line of twenty-five two-deckers,
frigates, and floating batteries were moored across its mouth. A Dane who
came on board during the ineffectual negotiations which preceded
hostilities, having occasion to express his proposals in writing, found
the pen thick and blunt, and holding it up, sarcastically said, “If your
guns are not better pointed than your pens, you will make little
impression on Copenhagen.” Nelson himself said that of all the engagements
in which he had borne a part, this was the most terrible. He had with him
twelve ships of the line, besides frigates and smaller craft, the
remainder of the fleet being with Sir Hyde Parker, the Commander-in-chief,
four miles off. Three of his squadron grounded, and, owing to the fears of
the masters and pilots, the anchors were let go nearly a cable’s length
from the enemy, whereas, had they proceeded a little further, they would
have reached deeper water, and the victory would have been effected in
half the time. The fight, which commenced at ten o’clock in the morning,
was by no means decided at one in the afternoon, when Sir Hyde Parker
signalled for the action to cease. It was reported to Nelson, who took no
notice of it. The signal-lieutenant meeting him at the next turn, asked
him if he should repeat it. “No,” answered Nelson, “acknowledge it.”
Shortly afterwards he called after him to know if the signal for close
action was still hoisted, and being answered in the affirmative, said,
“Mind you keep it so.” He now rapidly paced the deck, moving the stump of
his right arm in a manner which always denoted great agitation; for the
Commander-in-chief still signalled “leave off action.” At last, turning to
the captain, he said, “You know, Foley, I’ve only one eye, and I have a
right to be blind sometimes,” and he ordered his signal for closer battle
to be nailed to the mast. Admiral Graves disobeyed the Commander-in-chief
in similar manner, but the squadron of frigates moved off. About two
o’clock great part of the Danish line had ceased to fire, some of their
lighter ships were adrift, and some had struck. It was, however, difficult
to take possession of them, as they were protected by the batteries of an
island, and they themselves fired on the English boats as they approached.
This irritated Nelson: “We must either,” he said, “send on shore and stop
these irregular proceedings, or send in fire-ships and burn the prizes.”
In this part of the battle the victory was complete, but the three ships
ahead were still engaged, and considerably exposed. Nelson, with his usual
presence of mind, seized the occasion to open a negotiation, and wrote to
the Crown Prince as follows: “Vice-Admiral Lord Nelson has directions to
spare Denmark when she no longer resists. The line of defence which
covered her shores has struck to the British flag; but if the firing is
continued on the part of Denmark, he must be obliged to set on fire all
the prizes that he has taken, without having the power of saving the brave
Danes who have defended them.” Captain Frederick Thesiger was sent in with
it. During his absence the remainder of the enemy’s line eastward was
silenced; the Crown Batteries continued to fire, till the Danish General
Lindholm returned with a flag of truce, when the action closed. His
message from the prince was to inquire what was the object of Nelson’s
note? Nelson replied that “it was humanity; he consented that the wounded
Danes should be taken on shore, and that he on his part would take his
prisoners out of the vessels and burn or carry off his prizes as he
thought fit. He presented his humblest duty to the prince, saying that he
should consider this the greatest victory he ever gained if it might be
the cause of a happy reconciliation between the two countries.” This
proposal was accepted in the course of the evening, and a suspension of
hostilities for twenty-four hours agreed upon, during which it was
resolved that Nelson should land and negotiate in person with the prince.

                  [Illustration: NELSON AT COPENHAGEN.]

Accordingly next morning he landed, being protected by a strong guard from
the possible vengeance of the Danish population. “The battle so dreadfully
destructive to the Danes was in sight of the city; the whole of the
succeeding day was employed in landing the wounded, and there was scarcely
a house without its cause for mourning. It was no new thing for Nelson to
show himself regardless of danger, and it is to the honour of Denmark that
the populace suffered themselves to be restrained. Some difficulty
occurred in adjusting the duration of the armistice. He required sixteen
weeks, giving, like a seaman, the true reason, that he might have time to
act against the Russian fleet and return. This not being acceded to, a
hint was thrown out by one of the Danish commissioners of the renewal of
hostilities. ‘Renew hostilities!’ said he to the interpreter, ‘tell him we
are ready at a moment; ready to bombard this very night!’ Fourteen weeks
were at length agreed upon; the death of the Emperor Paul intervened, and
the Northern Confederacy was destroyed. Nelson was raised to the rank of
viscount, and, indeed, had not the Government dealt out honours to him
slowly and by degrees, their stock would long ere that have been
exhausted.” The grand sea battle in which he saved his country and lost
his life has been already described in these pages.





                                CHAPTER V.


        THE HISTORY OF SHIPS AND SHIPPING INTERESTS (_continued_).


       Early Paddle-boats—Worked by Animal Power—Blasco de Garay’s
     Experiment—Solomon de Caus—David Ramsey’s Engines—The Marquis of
        Worcester—A Horse-boat—Boats worked by Water—By Springs—By
    Gunpowder—Patrick Miller’s Triple Vessel—Double Vessels worked by
     Capstans—The First Practical Steam-boat—Symington’s Engines—The
     Second Steamer—The _Charlotte Dundas_—American Enterprise—James
         Rumsey’s Oar-boats worked by Steam—Poor Fitch—Before his
      Age—Robert Fulton—His Torpedo Experiments—Wonderful Submarine
    Boat—Experiments at Brest and Deal—His first Steam-boat—Breaks in
            Pieces—Trip of the _Clermont_, the first American
    Steamer—Opposition to his Vessels—A Pendulum-boat—The first Steam
                      War-ship—Henry Bell’s _Comet_.


The employment of animal power in the propulsion of vessels is of very
ancient date, and we shall see that steam-power was proposed for the same
purpose as soon as the steam-engine had been utilised for pumping mines,
although it was some time before it could be applied practically and
profitably. We are told that “in some very ancient manuscripts extant in
the King of France’s library, it is said that the boats by which the Roman
army under Claudius Caudex was transported into Sicily, were propelled by
wheels moved by oxen. And in many old military treatises the substitution
of wheels for oars is mentioned.”(20) “Although an old work on China,”
says another authority,(21) “contains a sketch of a vessel moved by four
paddle-wheels, and used perhaps in the seventh century, the earliest
distinct notice of this means of propulsion appears to be by Robertus
Vulturius, in A.D. 1472, who gives several wood-cuts representing
paddle-wheels.”

The first use of steam in connection with the propulsion of vessels is
perhaps that said to have been made by Blasco de Garay, in 1543. He had
proposed to the Emperor Charles V. the construction of an engine capable
of moving large vessels in a calm, and without the use of sails or oars.
“In spite of the opposition this project encountered, the emperor
consented to witness the experiment, which was accordingly made in the
_Trinity_, a vessel of 200 tons, laden with corn, in the port of
Barcelona, on the 17th June, 1543. Garay, however, would not uncover his
machinery, or exhibit it publicly, but it was evident that it consisted of
a cauldron of boiling water (_una gran caldera de aqua hirviendo_), and of
two wheels set in motion by that means, and applied externally on each
side (_banda_) of the vessel.

“The persons commissioned by the emperor to report on the invention seem
to have approved it, commending especially the readiness with which the
vessel tacked. The Treasurer Ravago, however, observed that a ship with
the proposed machinery could not go faster than two leagues in three
hours; that the apparatus was complex and expensive; and that there was
danger of the boiler bursting. The other commissioners maintained that
such a vessel might go at the rate of a league an hour, and would tack in
half the time required by an ordinary ship. When the exhibition was over,
Garay removed the apparatus from the _Trinity_, depositing the woodwork in
the arsenal at Barcelona, but retaining himself the rest of the machinery.
Notwithstanding, however, the objections urged by Ravago, the emperor was
inclined to favour his project, but his attention at the time was
engrossed by other matters. Garay was, however, promoted, and received a
sum of money, besides the expenses of the experiment made at Barcelona.”
The above account is from Spanish sources, supposed to be authentic, till
Mr. MacGregor, in 1857, made a journey into Spain for the express purpose
of verifying them. The conclusions to which he came were that the
paddle-wheels were turned by men.

About this epoch, however, frequent mention is made of means of propulsion
other than by sails or oars, and it is evident that men of learning in
various places were nearly simultaneously musing and thinking over the
matter. J. C. Scaliger (who died 1558) published at Frankfort a short
account of a vessel to be propelled without oars. Another inventor(22) a
few years later, says quaintly, “And furthermore you may make a boat to
goe without oares or sayle, by the placing of certain wheeles on the
outside of the boate, in that sort, that the armes of the wheeles may goe
into the water, and so turning the wheeles by some provision, and so the
wheeles shall make the boate goe.” Bessoni, in 1582, describes a vessel
consisting of two hulls decked above,—like the _Castalia_ or
_Calais-Douvres_—and a wheel worked by ropes and a windlass in the
interval between them. Ramelli, in 1588, designed a paddle-wheel
flat-bottomed boat, worked by men turning a winch-handle. Indeed, Roger
Bacon had, three centuries and a half before, spoken of a “vessel which,
being almost wholly submerged, would run through the water against waves
and winds with a speed greater than that attained by the fastest London
pinnaces.”

The power of steam was rapidly becoming understood. In 1601, Baptista
Porta (the inventor of the magic-lantern) made many experiments on steam
and its condensation, and its relative bulk to water. Rivault shortly
after describes the power of steam in bursting a strong bomb-shell, partly
filled by water, tightly plugged, and then heated. In 1615, we find
Solomon de Caus proving that “water will mount by the help of fire higher
than its level;” and Branca, in 1629, applying steam to the vanes of a
wheel to make it revolve, as in some toys to-day. In our own country we
find David Ramsey, one of the Pages of the King’s Bedchamber, obtaining,
with a partner, a patent in 1618, “To exercise and put in use _divers newe
apt formes or kinds of Engines_, and other pfitable Invenc’ons, as well to
plough grounds without horse or oxen, and to make fertile as well as
barren peats, salts and sea lands, as inland and upland grounds within the
Realmes of England, &c. As, also, to raise waters, _and to make boats for
carriages runnin upon the water as swift in calmes, and more safe in
storms, than boats fall sayled in great windes_.” Twelve years later we
find Ramsey applying alone for a patent of most comprehensive character.
It was designed “_To raise water from lowe pitts by fire_ [the
steam-engine]. To make any sort of Milles to go on standing Waters by
continual moc’on without the helpe of Windes, Weight, or Horse. To make
all sortes of Tapestry without any weaving loome or way even yet in use in
this kingdom. _To make Boats, Ships, and Barges to goe against the Wind
and Tyde, &c._” And so on through the century. Woodcroft, in his standard
work,(23) enumerates over a dozen more patents having for their object the
propulsion of boats and vessels, which were granted before 1700, including
one to the celebrated Marquis of Worcester, which, however, did not
contemplate the use of steam. In the “Century of Invencions” Lord
Worcester says: “By it, I can make a vessel, of as great burden as the
river can bear, to go against stream, _which the more rapid it is, the
faster it shall advance_, and the moveable part that works it, may be by
one man still guided to take advantage of the stream, and yet to steer the
boat to any point; and this engine is applicable to any vessel or boat
whatsoever, without being, therefore, made on purpose, and worketh these
effects:—_it roweth, it draweth, it driveth_, (if needs be) to pass London
Bridge against the stream at low water; and a _boat laying at anchor, the
engine may be used for loading or unloading_.” Woodcroft explains this as
follows: “It is obvious that the Marquis did not, by this, mean a
steam-propelled paddle-wheel boat, the action of which would not have been
such as he describes; but a rope fastened at one end up the stream, and at
the other to the axis of water-wheels laying across the boat, and dipping
into the water, so as to be turned by the wheels, would fulfil the
conditions proposed of advancing the boat faster, the more rapid the
stream; and when at anchor such wheels might have been applied to the
other purposes.” Floating mills, worked by large water-wheels, may be seen
on the Rhine to-day.

Papin, the French philosopher, while in England, witnessed an experiment
on the Thames, in which a boat, fitted with revolving oars or paddles, was
worked from a kind of treadmill turned round by horses. “The velocity with
which this horse-boat was impelled was so great, that it left the king’s
barge, manned with sixteen rowers, far astern in the race of trial.” In
1682, a horse tow vessel was used at Chatham. It was “constructed with a
wheel on each side of the vessel, connected by an axle going across the
boat, and the paddles were made to revolve by horses moving a wheel turned
by a trundle fixed on the axle. It drew but four and a half feet of water,
and towed the greatest ships by the help of four, six, or eight horses.”

In 1729, Dr. John Allen obtained a patent for his new invention, one which
has been revived with some success in later days. It was to propel a
vessel by forcing water through the stern, at a convenient distance under
the surface of the water, into the sea, by suitable engines on board.
“Amongst,” says the doctor, “the several and various engines I have
invented for this purpose, is one of a very extraordinary nature, whose
operation is owing to the explosion of _gunpowder_, I having found out a
method of firing gunpowder in vacuo, or in a confined space, whereby I can
apply the whole force of it, which is inconceivably great, so as to
communicate motion to a great variety of engines, which may also be
applied in working mines and other purposes.” And again, in 1760, a Swiss
clergyman published a pamphlet in London, in which oars worked with
springs were to be used, and the expansive power of gunpowder was to be
used to bend the springs. He states, candidly enough, that since he
arrived in England he had learned that thirty years before a Scotchman had
proposed to make a ship proceed by means of gunpowder, but that thirty
barrels had scarcely forwarded it ten miles. We may smile at these
attempted uses of gunpowder, but they were doubtless suggested by the
scientific studies of the day, which were particularly directed to the
expansive power of vaporised water. In our own day, steam has been
substituted for powder in discharging a cannon. Perkins’ “steam-gun” was
long one of the curiosities of the Polytechnic Institution.

On the 5th of January, 1769, James Watt obtained a patent for a series of
improvements in the steam-engine, one of which was most important in its
bearing on naval engines. It was that which provided for steam acting
_above_ the piston as well as below it, in, of course, the same cylinder.
Here was a grand move at once. Previously every engine for pumping, the
only practical purpose to which steam was yet put, was worked by a beam
engine and pair of cylinders. In 1779, Matthew Wasborough, an engineer of
Bristol, obtained a patent, as others, indeed, had before him, for
converting a rectilinear into a continuous circular motion. It failed, as
the others had done, because they required ratchet wheels, pulleys, &c.
The following year James Pickard invented the present connecting-rod and
crank, with fly-wheel, and removed the great obstacle to propelling
vessels by steam. The following year, again, Watt invented what is now
known as the “sun and planet motion,” another step in the same direction.

We now approach the name of one of those who are most intimately connected
with the history of steam navigation, Patrick Miller of Dalswinton. In
1787 he published a pamphlet(24) describing a _triple vessel_, propelled
by paddle-wheels, and worked by cranks. In it he very distinctly says: “I
have also reason to believe that the power of the _steam-engine_ may be
applied to work the _wheels_, so as to give them a quicker motion, and
consequently to increase that of the ship. In the course of this summer I
intend to make the experiment,” &c. A statement was presented to the Royal
Society, Dec. 20th, 1787, regarding experiments made by Mr. Miller in the
Firth of Forth, the previous summer, in a _double_ vessel, sixty feet long
and fourteen and a half feet broad, put in motion by a water-wheel,
wrought by a capstan of five bars. On the lower part of the capstan a
wheel was fixed, with teeth pointing upwards, to work in a trundle fixed
on the axis of the water-wheel. She was worked at from three and a half to
five miles an hour, with four or five men at the capstan. Two men
propelled her at the rate of two and a half miles.

The vessel was three-masted, and sailed well with a smart breeze, when the
wheel was invariably raised above the surface of the water. “After making
sundry tacks in the Firth,” says the narrator, “with all the sails set,
the wind fell to a gentle breeze, when all the sails were taken in, and
the following experiments made:—

“The vessel being put in motion by the water-wheel, wrought by five men at
the capstern (_sic_) was steered so as to keep the wind right ahead, and
her going was found by the log to be three and a half miles in the hour.

“After this the wind was brought on the beam (that situation being
considered as the nearest to trying the effect of the wheel in a calm),
when five men at the capstern made the vessel to go at the rate of four
miles an hour.

“With the wind brought on the quarter, five men caused her to go at the
rate of four and a half miles an hour,” &c.

And so it goes on. Miller made some very distinct statements as to the
distance the different vessels should be placed from each other, and
further states that the objection that the sea would separate the
different bottoms is not well founded, “top weight not being detrimental
to these ships in point of stiffness, all the beams on the different decks
may be of the same size; and the strength of these united must be very
superior to any weight or force which can operate against it when the ship
is afloat, however agitated or high the sea may be.” These early
experiments are particularly interesting now, when the _Calais-Douvres_, a
vessel which must be described hereafter, has proved a success.

Mr. James Taylor may also be considered as one of the authors or inventors
of the present system of steam navigation. In a memorial laid before a
Select Committee of the House of Commons in 1824, he says:—

“Before, however, entering upon the main object, permit me to introduce it
by a short statement explanatory of my connection with Mr. Miller. In the
autumn of 1785, I went to live in Mr. Miller’s house as preceptor to his
two younger sons. I found him a gentleman of great patriotism, generosity,
and philanthropy, and at the same time of a very speculative turn of mind.
Before I knew him he had gone through a very long and expensive course of
experiments upon artillery, of which the carronade was the result. When I
came to know him he was engaged in experiments upon shipping, and had
built several (ships or vessels) upon different constructions, and of
various magnitudes. The double vessel seemed to fix his attention most. In
the summer of 1786 I attended him repeatedly in his experiments at Leith,
which I then viewed as parties of pleasure and amusement. But in the
spring of 1787 a circumstance occurred which gave me a different opinion.
Mr. Miller had engaged in a sailing match with some gentlemen at Leith,
against a Custom House boat (a wherry), which was reckoned a first-rate
sailer. A day was appointed, and I attended Mr. Miller. His was a double
vessel, sixty feet deck, propelled by two wheels, turned by two men each.
* * * Being then young and stout, I took my share of the labours of the
wheels, which I found very severe exercise, but it satisfied me that a
proper power only was wanting to produce much utility from the invention.”
This led to long and interesting discussions on the subject, and Miller
explained that his principal object was to enable vessels to avoid or
extricate themselves from dangerous situations, and also give them powers
of motion during calms. He asked Mr. Taylor to give him the benefit of his
brains. At last the latter told him that he could suggest no power equal
to the steam-engine. The question then became how to apply it. Taylor made
sketches according to his ideas, and Mr. Miller then said, “Well, when we
go to Edinburgh we will apply to an operative engineer, and take an
estimate for a small engine, and if it is not a large sum, we will set
about it; but as I am a stranger to the steam-engine, you shall take
charge of that part of the business, and we will try what we can make of
it.”

“At this time William Symington, a young man employed at the lead mines at
Wanlockhead, had invented a new construction of the steam-engine, by
throwing off the air-pump. I had seen a model work, and was pleased with
it, and thought it very answerable for Mr. Miller’s purpose. Symington had
come into Edinburgh that winter for education. Being acquainted with him,
I informed him of Mr. Miller’s intentions and mine, and asked if he could
undertake to apply his engine to Mr. Miller’s vessels, and if he could I
would recommend him. He answered in the affirmative, and from friendship I
recommended both himself and engine, and afterwards introduced him to Mr.
Miller. After some conversation, Symington engaged to perform the work,
and Mr. Miller agreed to employ him. It was finally arranged that the
experiment should be performed on the lake at Dalswinton, in the ensuing
summer (1788). Accordingly in the spring, after the classes of the College
broke up, I remained in town to superintend the castings, &c., which were
done in brass, by George Watt, founder, back of Shakspear Square. When
they were finished I sent the articles to the country, and followed
myself. After some interval I took Symington with me to Dalswinton to put
the parts together. This was accomplished about the beginning of October,
and the engine, mounted in a frame, was placed upon the deck of a very
handsome double pleasure-boat, upon the lake. We then proceeded to action,
and a more complete, successful, and beautiful experiment was never made
by any man at any time, either in art or science. The vessel moved
delightfully, and notwithstanding the smallness of the cylinders (four
inches diameter), at the rate of five miles an hour. After amusing
ourselves a few days, the engine was removed, and carried into the house,
where it remained as a piece of ornamental furniture for a number of
years.” The vessel was 25 feet long and 7 broad. Thus was steam navigation
inaugurated! How few of the readers of the _Dumfries Newspaper_, the
_Edinburgh Advertiser_, or the _Scots’ Magazine_, when reading the brief
account printed in their columns, dreamt of the revolution which this
interesting and successful little experiment involved. The latter could
not see farther than its utility in canals, and other inland navigation.
The _Annual Register_ for the year does not even mention it.

It was now agreed to repeat the experiment. A double engine with
eighteen-inch cylinder was constructed at Carron under Symington’s
directions. In November, 1789, she was tried on the Forth and Clyde Canal.
“After passing Lock 16,” says Taylor, “we proceeded cautiously and
pleasantly for some time, but after giving the engine full play the arms
of the wheels, which had been constructed too slight, began to give way,
and one float after another broke off, till we were satisfied no accuracy
could be attained in the experiment until the wheels were replaced by new
ones of a stronger construction. This was done with all possible speed,
and upon the 26th December, we again proceeded to action. This day we
moved freely without accident, and were much gratified to find our motion
nearly seven miles per hour. Next day we repeated the experiment with the
same success and pleasure. Satisfied now that everything proposed was
accomplished, it was unnecessary to dwell longer upon the business; for,
indeed, both this and the experiment of last year were as complete as any
performance made by steam-boats, even to the present day.” Mr. Miller, who
paid all the expenses of these steam experiments, did not pursue them
further, and it is to be regretted, inasmuch as his name has not been so
popularly associated with the infancy of steam navigation as could be
wished. He was an enthusiast in many branches of practical science, and
seems latterly to have given his mind more particularly to improvements in
agriculture. Mr. Taylor’s connection with steam-boat experiments ceased
with those of the second boat in 1789. “And it is clear,” says Woodcroft,
“from his own statement and those of his friends, that he was neither the
inventor of the machinery by which either of those boats was driven, nor
of the mode of connecting the engines to the boat and wheels.” His widow
received a small pension from Government, and in 1837 each of his four
daughters received a gift of £50 for their father’s connection with the
experiments. Miller sought no pecuniary aid or reward of any kind; and,
although he devoted his time and talents, and expended nearly £30,000 of
his own fortune in the improvement of artillery and naval architecture,
his services were wholly overlooked by the powers that were. Mr. Woodcroft
has very clearly shown that Miller, in spite of the apparent success of
the experiments, had not great faith in Symington’s machinery, which he
describes in a letter “as the most improper of all steam-engines for
giving motion to a vessel.” We find him much later describing, in a patent
specification, a new form of flat boat, with centre-boards and
paddle-wheels, still worked by his favourite capstans.

                 [Illustration: THE “CHARLOTTE DUNDAS.”]

More than ten years elapsed before Symington, the builder of Miller’s
engines, found another patron. In 1801, Thomas, first Lord Dundas,
employed him to fit up a steam-boat for the Forth and Clyde Canal Company,
in which he was a large shareholder. “Having,” says Lindsay,(25) “availed
himself of the many improvements made by Watt and others, Symington
patented his new engine on the 14th of March of that year, and fitting it
on board the _Charlotte Dundas_, named after his lordship’s daughter,
produced, in the opinion of most writers who have carefully and
impartially inquired into this interesting subject, ‘the first _practical
steam-boat_.’” In March, 1802, the _Charlotte Dundas_ made her trial trip
on the canal. It was in one sense a fortunate day for the experiment, for
a gale of wind blew, and no other vessel attempted to move to windward.
The little steamer, towing two barges of seventy tons burden, accomplished
the trip to Port Dundas, Glasgow, a distance of 19½ miles, in six hours,
or at the rate of 3¼ miles per hour. Lord Dundas, who was on board,
thought favourably of the experiment, and in a letter of introduction to
the Duke of Bridgewater, recommended Symington’s new engine to his notice.
His grace almost immediately gave him an order to construct eight vessels
similar to the _Charlotte Dundas_, and the struggling engineer naturally
thought that his fortune was made. Alas! before the arrangements could be
consummated the duke died, and the committee who had charge of the canal
after his decease, came to the conclusion that the wash from steam-boats
would injure its banks. Woodcroft considers that “this vessel might, from
the simplicity of its machinery, have been at work to this day with such
ordinary repairs as are now occasionally required for all steam-boats,”
and claims that to Symington belonged “the undoubted merit of having
combined for the first time those improvements which constitute the
_present system of steam navigation_.” The success of the engine consisted
in this: that, “after placing in a boat a double-acting reciprocating
engine, he _attached his crank to the axis of the paddle-wheel_,” a
combination on which there has been no improvement to the present day, as
rotatory motion is secured without the interposition of a lever or beam.
So much for the engine, but how about the poor engineer? This boat was
laid up in a creek of the canal, where she remained for many years exposed
as a curiosity, and perhaps also as a warning to ambitious speculators.
Symington’s means were nearly exhausted, and after having had to fight
Taylor at law in regard to some of the minor inventions employed, we find
him in 1825 receiving the miserable gift of £100 from the Privy Purse, and
later, a further sum of £50. What a return for labours which so distinctly
led to our present system of steam navigation!

                        [Illustration: SYMINGTON.]

In 1797, an experiment which took place in the neighbourhood of Liverpool
is recorded in the _Monthly Magazine_, on oars worked by steam; the engine
made eighteen strokes per minute, and propelled a vessel, heavily laden
with copper slag, through the Sankey Canal. The claims of other countries
have also been put forth, but the first attempts at _practical_ steam
navigation belong to Scotland, and, as we shall see, were improved to such
an extent in America, that to that country belongs the credit of having
first organised a steam-boat line for continuous and paying traffic.

The Americans had at an early period turned their attention to new modes
of propelling vessels. As early as 1784, James Rumsey proposed to General
Washington a project of steam navigation, but having been refused a patent
in Pennsylvania, came to England, and succeeded in inducing a wealthy
countryman of his own, then in London, and others to disburse the expenses
of an experiment, for which he afterwards obtained a patent. In this also
oars were worked by steam. A couple of years later, Fitch obtained from
the States of Pennsylvania and New York the exclusive right to run
steamers on their waters, and is said to have attained with one of his
vessels the rate of four or five miles an hour against the current of the
Potomac. In 1787 he built another vessel, 12 feet beam and 45 feet long,
with a 12-inch cylinder, which progressed at the rate of seven miles an
hour. In 1790 he completed another and larger boat, which was advertised
and used for a time as a regular passenger boat on the Delaware. The oars
or paddles were worked from the stern.

              [Illustration: OUTLINE OF FITCH’S FIRST BOAT.]

                   [Illustration: FITCH’S SECOND BOAT.]

Poor Fitch! He, in common with many others of the day who did and did not
give their ideas to the world, was on the right track, but could not put
them into practical and practicable shape. He was really a man of
remarkable genius. The son of a Connecticut farmer, he had been
apprenticed to a watch and clock maker, where doubtless he increased his
knowledge of the mechanical arts. During the early part of the
Revolutionary War, he was armourer to the State of New Jersey, and later,
became a land surveyor. While acting in that capacity, the idea first
suggested itself to him, as it did almost simultaneously to Symington in
Scotland, of propelling carriages by steam, but he soon abandoned it on
account of the roughness of the American roads. After that he turned his
attention almost exclusively to the propulsion of vessels by steam,
visiting England and France, but obtaining no pecuniary advantage from the
experiments he proposed or consummated. In a sketch of his life, which
appeared a few years since,(26) the writer describes Fitch’s difficulties
in raising the money to finish his second steam-boat: “In a letter to
David Roltenhouse, when asking an advance of £50 to finish the boat, he
says, ‘This, sir, whether I bring it to perfection or not, will be the
mode of crossing the Atlantic for packets and armed vessels.’ But
everything failed, and the poor projector loitered about the city for some
months, a despised, unfortunate, heart-broken man. ‘Often have I seen
him,’ said Thomas P. Cope, many years afterwards, ‘stalking about like a
troubled spectre, with downcast eyes and lowering countenance, his coarse
soiled linen peeping through the elbows of a tattered garment.’ Speaking
of a visit he once paid to John Wilson, his boat-builder, and Peter Brown,
his blacksmith, in which, as usual, he held forth upon his hobby, Mr. Cope
says: ‘After indulging himself for some time in this never-failing topic
of deep excitement, he concluded with these memorable words: “Well,
gentlemen, although I shall not live to see the time, you will, when
steam-boats will be preferred to all other means of conveyance, and
especially for passengers; and they will be particularly useful in the
navigation of the river Mississippi.” He then retired, on which Brown,
turning to Wilson, exclaimed, in a tone of deep sympathy, “Poor fellow!
what a pity he is crazy!”’” Fitch, reduced to utter poverty and despair,
threw himself into the Alleghany in 1798, and thus terminated his
chequered life.

The experiments of John Cox Stevens, of New York, were not particularly
successful, although made at an expense of some 20,000 dollars. His vessel
was a “stern-wheeler,” similar to those common enough on many American
rivers to-day. But he deserves the credit, apparently, of having been the
first to practically apply a tubular boiler to marine engines. His boiler,
only 2 feet long by 15 inches wide and 12 inches high, consisted of no
less than 41 copper tubes, each an inch in diameter. While Fitch and
Stevens were experimenting, another American citizen, Oliver Evans, was
endeavouring to mature a plan for using steam at a very high pressure, to
be employed in propelling road wagons, and in an account of his plans,
which he published in 1786, he suggests a mode of propelling vessels by
steam. “He states,” says Lindsay, “that in 1785 he placed his engine, used
to clean docks, in a boat upon wheels, the combined weight being equal to
200 barrels of flour, which he transported down to the water, and when it
was launched he fixed a paddle-wheel to the stern, and drove it down the
Schuylkill to Delaware, and up the Delaware to the city, ‘leaving all the
vessels going up behind, one at least half-way, the wind being ahead.’” In
1794 and 1797 one Samuel Morey, of Connecticut, is said to have built two
steamers, which were publicly exhibited and made passages, but which do
not appear to have been afterwards employed. It is to Robert Fulton, who
all this time was working at naval applications of many kinds, that not
merely America, but the whole world owes the practical and continuous use
of steam-vessels. He and his associates started the first paying line of
steam-boats.

The life of this remarkable man is little known in England, and not
generally even in his own country. Pursuing then the plan which has guided
the writer throughout this work, he proposes to give it, for these very
reasons, in fuller detail than has been usual with better known examples
of patient and struggling inventors.

Robert Fulton was born in the year 1765, in the village of Little Britain,
Pennsylvania, of respectable, but not wealthy, parents. From his earliest
years he showed a great aptitude for the study of the mechanical arts,
and, indeed, for the fine arts also. So marked was his progress in drawing
and painting, that he was recommended to go to England and study art
seriously. This at length he did, and for several years we find him an
inmate of Benjamin West’s house. Most readers will remember that West,
although he spent the larger part of his life in England, and made his
great successes there, was by birth American. Fulton afterwards lived in
Devonshire and other parts of England, and practised art for a time, while
his brain was busy with schemes for improving inland navigation by the
construction of canals, with new forms of bridges and aqueducts. Next we
find him in France living with the family of one of his countrymen, Joel
Barlow; during this period he painted a panorama, which was a great
success. In 1797 he experimented with carcases of gunpowder—practically
torpedoes—under water, and was engaged in perfecting a wonderful submarine
boat. The French and Dutch Governments gave him some little encouragement,
so far as fair words were concerned, and he wasted a considerable amount
of time in hanging about public offices, to be eventually disappointed,
for his plans were rejected.

But the French Government changed. Bonaparte placed himself at the head of
it, with the title of First Consul. Mr. Fulton soon presented an address
to him, soliciting him to patronise the project for submarine navigation,
and praying him to appoint a commission with sufficient funds and powers
to give the necessary assistance. This request was immediately granted,
and the citizens Volney, La Place, and Monge were named the commissioners.
In the spring of the year 1801, Mr. Fulton repaired to Brest, to make
experiments with the plunging-boat he had constructed the previous winter.
This, so he says, had many imperfections, natural to a first machine of
such complicated combinations; added to this, it had suffered much injury
from rust in consequence of his having been obliged to use iron instead of
brass or copper for bolts and arbours. Notwithstanding these
disadvantages, he engaged in a course of experiments with the machine,
which required no less courage than energy and perseverance. Of his
proceedings he made a report to the committee appointed by the French
executive, from which report we learn the following interesting facts:—

“On the 3rd July, 1801, he embarked with three companions on board his
plunging-boat in the harbour of Brest, and descended in it to the depth of
five, ten, fifteen, and so to twenty-five feet; but he did not attempt to
go lower, because he found that his imperfect machine would not bear the
pressure of a greater depth. He remained below the surface one hour.
During this time they were in utter darkness. Afterwards, he descended
with candles; but, finding a great disadvantage from their consumption of
vital air, he caused, previously to his next experiment, a small window of
thick glass to be made near the bow of his boat, and he again descended
with her, on the 24th July, 1801. He found that he received from his
window, or rather aperture covered with glass, for it was no more than an
inch and a half in diameter, sufficient light to enable him to count the
minutes on his watch. Having satisfied himself that he could have
sufficient light when under water, that he could do without a supply of
fresh air for a considerable time, that he could descend to any depth, and
rise to the surface with facility, his next object was to try her
movements as well on the surface as beneath it. On the 26th July he
weighed his anchor and hoisted his sails; his boat had one mast, a
mainsail, and a jib. There was only a light breeze, and, therefore, she
did not move on the surface at more than the rate of two miles an hour,
but it was found that she would tack and steer, and sail on a wind or
before it, as well as any common sailing-boat. He then struck her mast and
sails; to do which, and perfectly to prepare the boat for plunging,
required about two minutes. Having plunged to a certain depth, he placed
two men at the engine, which was intended to give her progressive motion,
and one at the helm, while he, with a barometer before him, governed the
machine which kept her balanced between the upper and lower waters. He
found that with the exertion of one hand only, he could keep her at any
depth he pleased. The propelling engine was then put in motion, and he
found, upon coming to the surface, that he had made, in about seven
minutes, a progress of four hundred meters, or about five hundred yards.
He then again plunged, turned her round while under water, and returned to
near the place he began to move from. He repeated his experiments several
days successively, until he became familiar with the operations of the
machinery and the movements of the boat. He found that she was as obedient
to her helm under water as any boat could be on the surface; and that the
magnetic needle traversed as well in the one situation as in the other. On
the 7th August, Mr. Fulton again descended with a store of atmospheric air
compressed into a copper globe of a cubic foot capacity, into which two
hundred atmospheres were forced. Thus prepared, he descended with three
companions to the depth of about five feet. At the expiration of an hour
and forty minutes, he began to take small supplies of _pure_ air from his
reservoir, and did so, as he found occasion, for four hours and twenty
minutes. At the expiration of this time he came to the surface, without
having experienced any inconvenience from having been so long under
water.”

Fulton’s boat is pretty evidently the original from which Jules Verne took
the idea of his wonderful submarine ship, the _Nautilus_. It was utilised
for an important torpedo experiment, and a shallop was successfully blown
up at Brest in the presence of Admiral Villaret and other officials. The
submarine boat approached within two hundred yards of the hull which was
to be destroyed, and fired its torpedo under water. The French Government
employed him for a time to cruise about and watch our vessels, but no
opportunity seems to have occurred for any attack, and he was evidently
looked upon as a failure. In 1803, a correspondence passed between the
English Government and Fulton, and he was induced to come to London, where
he had an interview with Mr. Pitt and Lord Melville. “When Mr. Pitt first
saw a drawing of a torpedo, with a sketch of the mode of applying it, and
understood what would be the effects of its explosion, he said, that if
introduced into practice, it could not fail to annihilate all military
marines.” Fulton accompanied an expedition sent against the French
flotilla in the roads of Boulogne, where his torpedoes were launched, but
did no damage.

On the 15th October, 1805, he blew up a strongly built Danish brig, of the
burden of 200 tons, which had been provided for the experiment, and which
was anchored in Walmer roads, near Deal; within a mile of Walmer Castle,
the then residence of Mr. Pitt. He has given an interesting account of
this experiment in a pamphlet which he published in this country, under
the title of “Torpedo War.” In a letter to Lord Castlereagh, of the 16th
October, 1805, he says, “Yesterday, about four o’clock, I made the
intended experiment on the brig, with a carcass of one hundred and seventy
pounds of powder; and I have the pleasure to inform you that it succeeded
beyond my most sanguine expectations. Exactly in fifteen minutes from the
time of drawing the peg and throwing the carcass into the water, the
explosion took place. It lifted the brig almost bodily, and broke her
completely in two. The ends sunk immediately, and in one minute nothing
was to be seen of her but floating fragments. Her mainmast and pumps were
thrown in the sea; her foremast was broken in three pieces; her beams and
knees were thrown from her deck and sides, and her deck planks were rent
to fibres. In fact, her annihilation was complete, and the effect was most
extraordinary. The power, as I had calculated, passed in a right line
through her body, that being the line of least resistance, and carried all
before it. At the time of her going up she did not appear to make more
resistance than a bag of feathers, and went to pieces like a shattered
egg-shell.”

Notwithstanding the complete success of the experiment, the British
ministry seem to have been but little disposed to have anything further to
do with Mr. Fulton and his projects. Indeed, the evidence it afforded of
their efficiency may have been a reason for this. However Mr. Pitt and
Lord Melville may have thought on the subject, there had been a change in
the administration, and the new ministers probably agreed with the Earl
St. Vincent, that it was great folly in them to encourage a project which,
if it succeeded, would revolutionise all maritime questions. Lord
Grenville and his Cabinet were not only indisposed to encourage Mr.
Fulton, but they were unwilling to fulfil the engagements which their
predecessors had made, and that inventor, after some further experiments,
of which we have no particular account, wearied with incessant
applications, disappointments, and neglect, at length embarked for his
native country.

But Fulton’s greatest fame rests on his steam-boats. In his first attempt
made in France, where he was aided by Mr. Robert R. Livingston, a
fellow-countryman, he was not successful. Their experimental boat was
completed early in the spring of 1803; they were on the point of making an
experiment with her, when one morning, as Mr. Fulton was rising from a bed
in which anxiety had given him but little rest, a messenger from the boat,
whose precipitation and apparent consternation announced that he was the
bearer of bad tidings, presented himself to him, and exclaimed in accents
of despair, “Oh, sir, the boat has broken to pieces and gone to the
bottom!” Mr. Fulton, who himself related the anecdote, declared that the
news created a despondency which he had never felt on any other occasion;
but this was only a momentary sensation. Upon examination, he found the
boat had been too weakly framed to bear the great weight of the machinery,
and that, in consequence of an agitation of the river by wind the
preceding night, what the messenger had represented had literally
happened. The boat had broken in two, and the weight of her machinery had
carried her fragments to the bottom. It appeared to him, as he said, that
the fruits of so many months’ labour, and so much expense, were
annihilated, and an opportunity of demonstrating the efficiency of his
plan was denied him at the moment he had promised it should be displayed.
His disappointment and feelings may easily be imagined, but they did not
check his perseverance. On the very day that this misfortune happened, he
commenced repairing it. He did not sit down idly to repine at misfortunes
which his manly exertions might remedy, or waste in fruitless lamentations
a moment of that time in which the accident might be repaired. Without
returning to his lodgings, he immediately began to labour with his own
hands to raise the boat, and worked for four and twenty hours incessantly,
without allowing himself rest or refreshment; an imprudence which, as he
always supposed, had a permanently bad effect on his constitution, and to
which he imputed much of his subsequent ill health.

The accident did the machinery very little injury; but they were obliged
to build the boat almost entirely anew. She was completed in July; her
length was sixty-six feet, and she was eight feet wide. Early in August,
Mr. Fulton addressed a letter to the French National Institute, inviting
them to witness a trial of his boat, which was made in their presence, and
in the presence of a great multitude of the Parisians. The experiment was
entirely satisfactory to Mr. Fulton, though the boat did not move
altogether with as much speed as he expected. But he imputed her moving so
slowly to the extremely defective fabrication of the machinery, and to
imperfections which were to be expected in the first experiment with so
complicated a machine, but which he saw might be easily remedied. Such
entire confidence did he acquire from this experiment, that immediately
afterwards he wrote to Messrs. Watt and Boulton, of Birmingham, ordering
certain parts of a steam-engine to be made for him and sent to America. He
did not disclose to them for what purpose the engine was intended, but his
directions were such as would produce the parts of an engine that might be
put together within a compass suited to a boat. Mr. Fulton then designed
to return to America immediately; but, as we have seen, he first visited
England, and it is probable that he then gave new orders on this subject,
as we find that the engine which was employed in the first American Fulton
boat was of the manufacture of Messrs. Watt and Boulton, but it did not
arrive in America till long after the time of which we are speaking.

Mr. Livingston also wrote immediately after this experiment to his friends
in America, and through their interference, an Act was passed by the
Legislature of the State of New York, on the 5th of April, 1803, by which
the rights and exclusive privileges of navigating all the waters of that
State, by vessels propelled by fire or steam, granted to Mr. Livingston by
the Act of 1798, were extended to Mr. Livingston and Mr. Fulton for the
term of twenty years from the date of the new Act. By this law, the time
for producing proof of the practicability of propelling by steam a boat of
twenty tons’ capacity, at the rate of four miles an hour, with wind
against the ordinary current of the Hudson River, was extended for a
period of two years. And by a subsequent law the time was enlarged to
April, 1807.

Very soon after Mr. Fulton’s arrival in New York he commenced building the
first American boat. While she was constructing, he found that her
expenses would greatly exceed his calculation. He endeavoured to lessen
the pressure on his own finances by offering one-third of the exclusive
right which was secured to him and Mr. Livingston by the laws of New York,
and of his patent rights, for a proportionate contribution to the expense.
He made this offer to several gentlemen, and it was very generally known
that he had made such propositions; but no one was then willing to afford
this aid to his enterprise.

“In the spring of 1807, the first Fulton boat built in America was
launched from the ship-yards of Charles Brown, on the East River. The
engine from England was put on board of her; in August she was completed,
and was moved by her machinery from her birth-place to the Jersey shore.
Mr. Livingston and Mr. Fulton had invited many of their friends to witness
the first trial. Nothing could exceed the surprise and admiration of all
who witnessed the experiment. The minds of the most incredulous were
changed in a few minutes. Before the boat had made the progress of a
quarter of a mile, the greatest unbeliever must have been converted. The
man who, while he looked on the expensive machine, thanked his stars that
he had more wisdom than to waste his money on such idle schemes, changed
the expression of his features as the boat moved from the wharf and gained
her speed; his complacent smile gradually stiffened into an expression of
wonder. The jeers of the ignorant, who had neither sense nor feeling
enough to suppress their contemptuous ridicule and rude jokes, were
silenced for a moment by a vulgar astonishment, which deprived them of the
power of utterance, till the triumph of genius extorted from the
incredulous multitude which crowded the shores shouts and exclamations of
congratulation and applause.”

There can be no doubt that Fulton derived his general plan from the
experiments of Symington. While that engineer was conducting his
experiments under the patronage of Lord Dundas, a stranger came to the
banks of the Forth and Clyde Canal and requested an interview, announcing
himself as Mr. Fulton, of the United States, whither he intended to
return, and expressing a desire to see Mr. Symington’s boat and machinery,
and to procure some information of the principles on which it was moved,
before he left Europe. He remarked that, however beneficial the invention
might be to Great Britain, it would be of more importance to North
America, considering the numerous navigable rivers and lakes of that
continent, and the facility for procuring timber for building vessels and
supplying them with fuel; that the usefulness of steam-vessels in a
mercantile point of view could not fail to attract the attention of every
observer; and that, if he were allowed to carry the plan to the United
States, it would be advantageous to Mr. Symington, as, if his engagements
would permit, the constructing or superintending the construction of such
vessels would naturally devolve upon him. Mr. Symington, in compliance
with the stranger’s request, caused the engine-fire to be lighted, and the
machinery put in motion. Several persons entered the boat, and along with
Mr. Fulton were carried from where she then lay to Lock No. 16 on the
Forth and Clyde Canal, about four miles west, and returned to the
starting-place in one hour and twenty minutes, being at the rate of six
miles an hour, to the astonishment of Mr. Fulton and the other gentlemen.
Mr. Fulton obtained leave to take notes and sketches regarding the boat
and engine, “but he never afterwards communicated with Mr. Symington.”(27)
He, it has been shown, almost immediately afterwards ordered a marine
engine from Messrs. Boulton and Watt, of Soho, near Birmingham. This
engine reached America before the _Clermont_, which had been constructed
at the instance of Fulton and Livingston, had been launched from the yard
of Charles Brown, on the East (Hudson) River. She was decked for a short
distance only, at stem and stern, her engines being open to view, while a
house on deck, and over the boiler, accommodated passengers and crew. _The
boiler was set in masonry._ Her engine was of almost identical size to
that of the _Charlotte Dundas_. It is right to add that Fulton claimed no
patent or privilege for this engine, which was so evidently founded on
that of Symington. Her hull was quite as distinctly his own design, and
was vastly superior in build to the Scotch vessel. The first trip of the
_Clermont_ was from New York to Clermont, the seat of Mr. Livingston,
returning to Albany, and the average speed was five miles per hour.

                     [Illustration: THE “CLERMONT.”]

“The _Clermont_, on her first voyage, arrived at her destination without
any accident. She excited the astonishment of the inhabitants of the
shores of the Hudson, many of whom had not heard even of an engine, much
less of a steam-boat. There were many descriptions of the effects of her
first appearance upon the people on the banks of the river; some of those
were ridiculous, but some of them were of such a character as nothing but
an object of real grandeur could have excited. She was described by some
who had indistinctly seen her passing in the night, to those who had not
had a view of her, as a monster moving on the waters, defying the winds
and tide, and breathing flames and smoke. She had the most terrific
appearance from other vessels which were navigating the river when she was
making her passage. The first steam-boats, as others yet do, used dry
pine-wood for fuel, which sends forth a column of ignited vapour many feet
above the flue, and whenever the fire is stirred a galaxy of sparks fly
off, and in the night have a very brilliant and beautiful appearance. This
uncommon light first attracted the attention of the crews of other
vessels. Notwithstanding the wind and tide were adverse to its approach,
they saw with astonishment that it was rapidly coming towards them; and
when it came so near as that the noise of the machinery and paddles was
heard, the crews (if what was said in the newspapers of the time be true),
in some instances, shrunk beneath their decks from the terrific sight, and
left their vessels to go on shore, while others prostrated themselves, and
besought Providence to protect them from the approaches of the horrible
monster which was marching on the tides and lighting its path by the fires
which it vomited.”

The _Clermont_ was soon afterwards lengthened and considerably improved in
appearance and usefulness. Her hull was covered from stem to stern with a
flush deck, beneath which two cabins were formed, surrounded by double
ranges of berths, and fitted up with great regard to comfort. Her
dimensions now were—length, 130 feet; breadth, 16½ feet; diameter of
paddle-wheels, 15 feet, the paddles dipping into the water 2 feet. Fulton
afterwards built a number of steam-boats, and, it will be well understood,
encountered a vast deal of opposition from the owners of sailing craft and
ferry-boats. Attempts were also made to put forward rival inventions, and
a company was started who proposed to navigate boats on the Hudson by the
following somewhat incomprehensible mode of propulsion. The quotation is
from the biography of Fulton(28) by his friend, C. D. Colden:—

“The opposition boats on the Hudson, which the owners had built to rival
the steam-boats, were at first to have been propelled by a pendulum,
which, according to the calculations of some ingenious gentlemen, would
give a greater power than steam, but when their boat came to be put in the
water they soon found that their wheels, which were turned with great
facility and velocity while their vessel was on the stocks, could not be
made to perform their functions without the application of a great power
to the pendulum. The projectors were utterly at a loss to account for so
extraordinary a phenomenon, and could not conceive why the wheels, which
had moved so much to their satisfaction when they were resisted only by
the air, should require so much force when they turned in the water, and
were to drag the weight of the vessel. But having by actual experiment
determined that a pendulum would not supply the place of steam, and
knowing no other way of supplying steam than that which they saw practised
in the Fulton boats, they adopted all their machinery with some very
insignificant alterations, which were made with no other view than to give
those persons who had set out by professing to make a pendulum-boat a
pretence for claiming to be the inventors of improvements in steam-boats.”

Fulton, without doubt, designed and superintended the construction of the
first steam war-vessel. On the 20th June, 1814, the keel was laid, and in
little more than four months, that is, on the 29th October, she was
launched from the yard of Adam and Noah Brown, her able and active
architects. The scene exhibited on that occasion was magnificent. It
happened on one of the brightest autumnal days. “Spectators,” says Colden,
“crowded the surrounding shores, and were seen upon the hills which
limited the beautiful prospect. The river and bay were filled with vessels
of war, dressed in all their variety of colours, in compliment to the
occasion. In the midst of these was the enormous floating mass whose bulk
and unwieldy form seemed to render her as unfit for motion as the land
batteries which were saluting her. Through the fleet of vessels which
occupied this part of the harbour were seen gliding in every direction
several of our large steam-boats, of the burden of three or four hundred
tons. These, with bands of music, and crowds of gay and joyous company,
were winding through passages left by the anchored vessels as if they were
moved by enchantment. The heart could not have been human that did not
share in the general enthusiasm expressed by the loud shouts of the
multitude. He could not have been a worthy citizen, who did not then say
to himself, with pride and exultation, ‘This is my country!’ and when he
looked on the man whose single genius had created the most interesting
objects of the scene, ‘This is my countryman!’”

By May, 1815, her engine was put on board, and she was so far completed as
to afford an opportunity of trying her machinery. But, unhappily, before
this period the mind that had conceived and combined it was gone. Fulton,
almost to the last day of his life, worked incessantly at this, the first
steam war-vessel.

On the 4th July, in the same year, the steam frigate made a passage from
New York to the ocean and back, and went the distance—which, going and
returning, is fifty-three miles—in eight hours and twenty minutes, by the
mere force of her engine. These trials suggested the correction of some
errors, and the supplying of some defects in the machinery. In September
she made another passage to the sea, and having at this time the weight of
her whole armament on board, she went at an average of five and a half
miles an hour, with and against tide. When stemming the tide, which ran at
the rate of three miles an hour, she advanced at the rate of two and a
half miles an hour.

We now reach the period which brings us to practical steam navigation in
Europe. In January, 1812, Henry Bell, of Helensburgh, Scotland, completed
the construction of a small passenger steam vessel, the _Comet_, of thirty
tons burden. She was only forty feet in length, with an engine of
three-horse power. The circular which announced its regular trips is worth
reprinting, as it is the first advertisement of the kind made in all
Europe. It reads as follows:—






“STEAM PASSAGE BOAT, THE _COMET_, BETWEEN GLASGOW, GREENOCK, AND
HELENSBURGH FOR PASSENGERS ONLY.

“The Subscriber having, at much expense, fitted up a handsome vessel to
ply upon the river Clyde, between Glasgow and Greenock, to sail by the
power of wind, air and steam, he intends that the vessel shall leave the
Broomielaw on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays about mid-day, or at such
hour thereafter as may answer from the state of the tide; and to leave
Greenock on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays in the morning, to suit the
tide.

“The elegance, comfort, safety, and speed of this vessel requires only to
be proved to meet the approbation of the public; and the proprietor is
determined to do everything in his power to merit public encouragement.

“The terms are for the present fixed at four shillings for the best cabin,
and three shillings for the second, but beyond these rates nothing is to
be allowed to servants or any other person employed about the vessel.

“The Subscriber continues his establishment at Helensburgh Baths, the same
as for years past, and a vessel will be in readiness to convey passengers
in the _Comet_ from Greenock to Helensburgh.

“Passengers by the _Comet_ will receive information of the hour of sailing
by applying at Mr. Houslem’s office, Broomielaw, or Mr. Thomas Blackney’s,
East Quay Head, Greenock.

                                                    “(Signed), HENRY BELL.
“Helensburgh Baths, Aug. 5, 1812.”






                     [Illustration: BELL’S “COMET.”]

Bell’s claims to recognition are very much the same as those of Fulton and
Livingston in the United States. He was instrumental in bringing steam
navigation to a practical issue, but was not its inventor or first
introducer. In 1816, he addressed an interesting letter to the _Caledonian
Mercury_, showing the intimacy which existed between himself and Fulton,
and proving that the leaders of the new steam movement were in frequent
communication. In this letter he commences by recapitulating Miller’s
experiments in propelling vessels or rafts by paddles worked by capstans
or by wind, like a windmill. These ideas were communicated to all the
Courts of Europe, and the French, at one time, actually proposed something
of the nature of rafts worked by Miller’s plan, for the conveyance of
troops to England. Miller sent one of his capstan vessels as a present to
the King of Sweden. Bell makes the following statement:—

“Fulton came to the knowledge of steam-boats by employing me (H. Bell)
about some plans of machinery, and begged me to call on Miller and see how
he had succeeded in his steam-boat plan; and if it answered, to send him
full drawings and description along with my machinery. I had a
conversation with Miller, who gave me every information. I (H. Bell) told
him that his engineer was wrong, and that I intended giving Fulton my
opinion on steam-boats. I left Fulton’s letter with Miller.

“Two years after, a letter from Fulton arrived, stating that he had
constructed a steam-boat from the drawings I had sent him, but
improvements were required. This letter I also sent to Miller.”

He goes on to say that he set on foot his steam-boat after making various
models, and when convinced they would answer, contracted with John Wood
and Co., ship-builders, Port Glasgow, to build the _Comet_, so called from
a comet which appeared in Scotland at that period. He claims that the
_Comet_ was the first steam-vessel built in Europe “that would work,” but
this is unfair to the memories of Miller and Symington.

Oddly enough, while Bell was experimenting on the Clyde, Mr. Dawson was
doing the same in Ireland. He even claims that he built a fifty-ton
steamer in 1811, and which, by a coincidence simply, as it would seem, he
had also named the _Comet_. He put the first steamer for public
accommodation on the Thames in 1818, to run between London and Gravesend.
Mr. Lawrence, of Bristol, introduced a steam-boat on the Severn shortly
after Bell put the _Comet_ on the Clyde, and brought her to London, but so
great was the opposition from the watermen that he took her back to
Bristol. She was afterwards taken to Spain, and long plied between Seville
and St. Lucar. These were the precursors of those grand steam-ship lines
which now run to every part of the habitable world. Bell’s steamer was
made, in the second year of its career, a pleasure-boat to many parts of
the coasts of England, Scotland, and Ireland, and may therefore count as
one of the first ocean-going as well as river steamers.

                  [Illustration: FOUR GREAT ENGINEERS.]





                               CHAPTER VI.


        THE HISTORY OF SHIPS AND SHIPPING INTERESTS (_continued_).


       The Clyde and its Ship-building Interests—From Henry Bell to
       Modern Ship-builders—The First Royal Naval Steamer—The First
    Regular Sea-going Steamer—The Revolution in Ship-building—The Iron
               Age—“Will Iron Float?”—The Invention of the
         Screw-propeller—Ericsson, Smith, and Woodcroft—American
    ’Cuteness—Captain Stockton and his Boat—The First Steamer to Cross
       the Atlantic—Voyages of the _Sirius_ and _Great Western_—The
     International Struggle—The Collins and Cunard Lines—Fate of the
    _Arctic_—The _Pacific_ never heard of more—Why the Cunard Company
    has been Successful—Splendid Discipline on Board their Vessels—The
                      Fleets that Leave the Mersey.


What a contrast to the days of Henry Bell does the Clyde now present! From
a mere salmon stream it has become, in little more than half a century, by
far the largest and most important ship-building river in the wide world.
“Ancient historians have told us that when the first Punic war roused the
citizens of Rome to extraordinary exertions in the equipment of a fleet
for the destruction of the maritime supremacy of Carthage, the banks of
the Tiber resounded with the axe and the hammer, and that the extent of
the ship-building operations then carried on was a matter not merely of
surprise, but of wonder. How insignificant, however, was that sound when
compared with that of the steam-hammer and the anvil, and the din of the
work now to be heard on the banks of the Clyde. For miles on both sides of
the river stupendous ship-building yards line its banks, employing tens of
thousands of hardy and skilled mechanics earning their daily bread, as God
has destined all men to do, by ‘the sweat of their brow.’... Along those
banks there is now annually constructed a much larger amount of steam
tonnage than in all the other ports of Europe combined, those of England
alone excepted.” These great private yards have been and will be
invaluable in war times. Take such a firm as that of John Elder and Co.,
Fairfield, Glasgow, whose works cover sixty acres of ground. They have
built vessels in the course of a year aggregating 35,000 to 40,000 tons,
and have contracted for as many as six 4,000-ton steam-ships at a time.
One of these was delivered to her owners complete and ready for sea, with
steam up, within thirteen months of the time she was contracted for.
Bell’s _Comet_ was only of thirty tons, and its engine but of four-horse
power! Mr. James Deas, C.E., in a work on the Clyde and its commerce, &c.,
says:—“It was no uncommon occurrence for the passengers, when the little
steamer was getting exhausted, to take to turning the fly-wheel to assist
her.”(29) Poor Bell, like so many of the pioneers of grand and important
undertakings, did not profit much by his successful application of steam
to navigation, and in his declining years was chiefly supported by an
annuity of £50 granted by the Clyde trustees.

While the public, after the successful experiments already mentioned, and
others which followed, were beginning to appreciate the value of steamers,
the Admiralty would have nothing to do with them, and it took them about
forty years before they reluctantly applied steam to war vessels. The
absolutely first steam vessel built for the Royal Navy was a tug, also
named the _Comet_. She was constructed in 1819, after some experiments had
convinced Lord Melville and Sir George Cockburn of the value of steam
power in towing men-of-war. “At this period, Mr. Ronnie, who planned the
breakwater at Plymouth and new London Bridge, was ‘advising engineer’ to
the Admiralty, and on every occasion urged the application of steam power
to vessels of war. More than this, he hired at his own cost the Margate
steam-boat, the _Eclipse_, and successfully towed the _Eastings_, 74,
against the tide from Woolwich to Gravesend, June 14th, 1819. On this, the
Admiralty, supported by Lord Melville, gave up their objections.”(30)

Still, practically, it was not till after the Crimean war that steam
became the leading motive power in our war navy. The merchants were more
sensible. Mr. David Napier had, in 1818, launched a steamer of ninety tons
burden—the _Rob Roy_—from the yard of Mr. William Denny, of Dumbarton. For
two years she ran between Glasgow and Belfast, carrying the mails, and was
the first regular _sea-going steamer_ which had been built in either
Europe or the United States. But she also calls for particular mention for
another reason: she was subsequently transferred to the English Channel as
a packet-boat between Dover and Calais. And there are still, no doubt,
many travellers or residents of those towns who can remember the
inauguration of what is now a most important service. The same Napier,
whose name is very intimately connected with the history of the marine
engine, which he was constantly striving to improve, inaugurated, with the
assistance of capitalists, a line between Liverpool, Greenock, and
Glasgow. Next followed a line from London to Leith, which commenced with
two steamers, each fitted with engines of fifty horse-power. Now came an
immense advance, for in 1826, the first of the then considered “leviathan”
class of steamers—the _United Kingdom_—was built for the trade between
London and Edinburgh. She was 160 feet long, with engines of 200
horse-power. “People flocked from all quarters to inspect and admire her.”

                  [Illustration: THE “UNITED KINGDOM”.
                 (_From a Drawing by E. W. Cooke, R.A._)]

Although these two lines of regular steam communication between Liverpool
and the river Clyde, and between London and Edinburgh, were now
successfully established and proved of considerable importance in the
encouragement of steam navigation elsewhere, some years elapsed before
those rapid strides were made in its adaptation as a propelling power
which have rendered it one of the wonders of the present age. Indeed, this
power would probably never have made such an extraordinary advance had
iron not been adopted instead of wood for the construction of our ships.

Hitherto throughout all ages, timber alone had been used in ship-building.
The forests of Lebanon had supplied the naval architects of Tyre with
their materials; Italy cultivated her woods with unusual care so that
sufficient trees might be grown for the timber-planking and masts of ships
for its once powerful maritime republics; and in our own time how often
have we heard fears expressed that Great Britain would not be able to
continue the supply of sufficient oak for her royal dockyards, much less
for her merchant fleets? Yet, when shrewd, far-seeing men, no farther back
than the year 1830, talked about substituting iron for the “ribs” of a
ship instead of “timber,” and iron plates for “planking” instead of oak,
what, a howl of derision the public raised.

“‘Who ever heard of iron floating?’ they derisively inquired,” says
Lindsay. “It is true they might have seen old tin kettles float on every
pool of water before their doors almost any day of their lives—nay,
floating even more buoyantly than their discarded wooden coal-boxes, but
such common-place instructors were beneath their notice. Timber-built
ships had from time immemorial been in use in every nation and on every
sea, and had bravely battled with the storm from the days of Noah, and
were these, they sneeringly asked, to be supplanted by a material which in
itself would naturally sink? Such was the reasoning of the period; and,
indeed, the best of the arguments against the use of iron rested on
scarcely more solid foundation.”(31)

It is true that so early as 1809, Richard Trevethick and Robert Dickenson
had proposed to build “large ships with decks, beams, and sides of plate
iron,” and had even suggested “masts, yards, and spars” of iron, which
latter are now by no means uncommon. “But,” says Lindsay, “as these
inventors or patentees did not put their ideas into practice, no other
person (if, indeed, any other person gave even a passing thought to the
subject) was convinced that any craft beyond a boat or a river-barge could
be constructed of iron, much less that if made in the form of a ship, this
material would oppose more effectual resistance to the storms of the
ocean, or, if dashed upon the strand, to the angry fury of the waves, than
timber, however scientifically put together. But though no available
substance can withstand the raging elements with less chance of
destruction than plates of iron riveted together in the form of a boiler
(the principle on which iron ships are now constructed), the public could
not then appreciate their superior value; and it was not until 1818 that
the first _iron vessel_ was built.” This vessel is in use even now. Three
years afterwards a steam-engine was, for the first time, fitted into a
vessel built of iron—the _Aaron Manby_—constructed for Mr. Manby and
Captain Napier, afterwards Admiral Sir Charles Napier. Gradually the
suitableness of these vessels was becoming apparent, and from this time
dates the establishment of some of the greatest ship-building yards, like
those of the Lairds and Fairbairns. In 1834 the first-named firm built the
_Garry Owen_ for service between Limerick and Kilrush. Almost fortunately,
she was driven on shore with a number of wooden vessels, all of which were
wrecked or seriously damaged, while she got off with scarcely any damage,
and the credit of iron vessels became improved. But another of the chief
and more tenable objections to the extended use of iron vessels was the
perturbation of the compass. This has been clearly shown to proceed almost
entirely from the proximity of iron _not_ forming a part of the _hull_ of
the ship, the magnetic influence of which is comparatively even all round.
A funnel, tank, boilers, the machinery, the iron fastenings even of a
deck-house, &c., may all have their influences. Still these influences are
now regulated and understood, and iron ships are more commonly employed
than those of wood, showing that it is not an objection which can be urged
to-day. After the early steamers came by degrees iron sailing vessels,
till at length we find iron applied to a grand steamer, magnificent then
and first-class still, the _Great Britain_. “Experience by degrees
successfully met almost every objection; and science was again triumphant
over prejudice and ignorance. Iron had been made not merely to float, but
to ride buoyantly over the crest of the wave amid the raging elements.”

    [Illustration: SECTION AND PLAN OF THE STERN OF A SCREW STEAMER.]

Then came the introduction of the screw-propeller, which, if we are to
believe some authorities, is an early invention of the Chinese. There have
been many claims to its invention in modern times. In May, 1804, Mr. J.
Stevens, of the United States, put to sea with a steam-boat propelled with
some form of screw. Trevethick, the engineer, in 1815, patented “a worm or
screw revolving in a cylinder at the head, sides, or stern of a vessel;”
and the following year, Robert Kinder applied for a patent for a shaft and
screw almost of exactly the form now in use. The French claim it, and only
a few years since erected at Boulogne a monument to Frédéric Sauvage, as
its inventor. On the front is a bronze bas-relief showing a vessel with a
screw-propeller. Sauvage’s life was similar to those of many other
inventors, in that he spent his days and fortune in perfecting inventions
which brought him no profit. Having lost his own money, and got into great
difficulties, he was thrown into a debtors’ prison, and subsequently ended
his days in a madhouse. Lindsay remarks properly that “the number of
claimants to every important invention is remarkable. An impartial student
will, however, probably come to the conclusion that the invention of the
screw and its application was, like that of the steam-engine itself, the
sole property of no one man.” The time for its development and proper use
had come, and many scientific students were inquiring concerning its
value.

There can be little doubt that the first demonstration in our country of
its value on a proper scale and in convincing form, was that made by
Captain John Ericsson, a Swedish engineer resident in London. After a
successful experiment with a model, he had a boat built forty-five feet in
length, and fitted with engine and two propellers. She was named the
_Francis B. Ogden_. “The result of her first trial went far beyond his
most sanguine expectations. No sooner were the engines put at full speed,
than she shot ahead at the rate of more than ten miles an hour.”
Afterwards she towed a schooner of 140 tons burden at seven miles an hour.
The next experiment was made in the presence of the Lords of the
Admiralty, and they were minute in their inspection. Ericsson felt
confident that they were convinced, and would soon order the construction
of a war-vessel on the new principle. In this, however, he was
disappointed, though he had given them a tolerably good proof of its value
by towing their barge at the rate of ten miles an hour for a considerable
distance. Scientific theorists reported against it, and said that a ship
thus propelled would be unsteerable. Lindsay records how Admiral Beechey,
one of the old school, in 1850, stated that “he did not believe that the
navy of the future—the Royal Navy—ever could consist of steamers! Nor
could he endure iron ships.”

While Ericsson was thus employed, Mr. Thomas Pettit Smith, who, on the
31st May, 1836, had taken out a patent for a “sort of screw or ‘worm,’
made to revolve rapidly under water in a recess or open space formed in
that part of the after-part of the vessel commonly called the dead rising
or dead wood of the stern,” was experimenting, and the following year
exhibited it in practical form in a small vessel. It appeared to several
gentlemen so satisfactory that a company was formed in July, 1839, to
purchase the patent. It was now applied to a vessel called the
_Archimedes_, the burden of which was 237 tons, and although her speed was
somewhat less than Ericsson’s vessel, the trial was undeniably
satisfactory, more especially as it was obvious that her engine was really
not large enough for a propeller of the size. In her next trials against
the _Widgeon_, the fastest paddle-wheel steamer then running between Dover
and Calais, the success of the screw might be regarded as an established
fact. The _Archimedes_ laboured under the disadvantage of having ten
horse-power less steam, while her burden was seventy-five tons more; she
had the advantage of carrying more sail. On the first three trials the
_Widgeon_ had a very slight advantage, in spite of her superior
steam-power and smaller tonnage, while on the last two the _Archimedes_
made the trip in less time than it had ever previously been performed by
any of the mail packets. Captain Chappell, R.N., afterwards took her clear
round England and Scotland, calling at numerous ports. The Admiralty at
length ordered the construction of a screw vessel, and the lines of the
_Rattler_ were laid down on the same model as the _Alecto_, a paddle-wheel
steamer then building.

Another claimant as an inventor, who should be mentioned most honourably,
is Mr. Woodcroft, some of whose experiments were being patented in 1826.
They were not tried on a suitable scale till after the successes of
Ericsson and Smith. Woodcroft’s “varying pitch screw-propeller,” patented
in 1844, the title of which describes itself, is to-day “considered the
best and most useful type.”

In following the progress of the screw, as applicable to the propulsion of
merchant vessels,(32) and its use in other countries, we must now recur to
the period when Ericsson was making his experiments on the Thames. At that
time an intelligent gentleman, Captain Robert F. Stockton, of the United
States’ Navy, was on a visit to London; being of an inquisitive turn of
mind, like most of his countrymen, he watched with great interest the
trials with the screw then in progress, and having obtained an
introduction to Ericsson, he accompanied him on one of his experimental
expeditions on the Thames. Unlike the Lords of the British Admiralty, who
allowed eight years to elapse before they built their first
screw-propeller, the _Rattler_, Captain Stockton was so impressed with the
value and utility of the discovery, that, although he had only made a
single trip in the _Francis B. Ogden_, and that merely from London Bridge
to Greenwich, he there and then gave Ericsson a commission to build for
him two boats for the United States, with steam machinery and propeller as
proposed by him. Stockton, impressed with its practical utility for war
purposes, was undismayed by the recorded opinions of scientific men, and
formed his own judgment from what he himself witnessed. He, therefore, not
only ordered the two iron boats on his own account, but at once brought
the subject before the Government of the United States, and caused various
plans and models to be made at his own expense, explaining the fitness of
the new invention for ships of war. So sanguine was he, indeed, of the
great importance of this new mode of propulsion, and so determined that
his views should be carried out, that he encouraged Ericsson to believe
that the Government of the United States would test his propeller on a
large scale; Ericsson, relying upon these promises, abandoned his
professional engagements in England, and took his departure for the United
States. But it was not until a change in the Federal administration, two
years afterwards, that Captain Stockton was able to obtain a favourable
hearing. Orders were then given to make an experiment in the _Princeton_,
which was successful. The propeller, as applied to this war vessel, was
similar in construction to that of the _Francis B. Ogden_, as well in
theory as in minute practical details. One of the boats, named after her
owner, the _Robert F. Stockton_, was built by Messrs. Laird, of
Birkenhead, and launched in 1838. She was 70 feet in length, 10 feet wide,
and drew 6 feet 9 inches of water. Her cylinders were 16 inches diameter
with 18 inches stroke, and her propellers 6 feet 4 inches in length. On
her trial trip on the Thames, made in January of the following year, she
accomplished a distance of nine miles in about half an hour with the tide,
proving the speed through the water to be between eleven and twelve miles
an hour. On her second trial, between Southwark and Waterloo Bridges, she
took in tow four laden barges with upright sides and square ends, having a
beam of fifteen feet each, and drawing four feet six inches of water. One
of these was lashed on each side, the other two being towed astern, and
though the weight of the whole must have been close upon 400 tons, and a
considerable resistance was offered by their forms, the steamer towed them
at the rate of 5½ miles an hour in slack water, or in eleven minutes
between the two bridges, a distance of one mile.

                [Illustration: THE “ROBERT F. STOCKTON.”]

These experiments having been considered in every way satisfactory, the
_Robert F. Stockton_ left England for the United States in the beginning
of April, 1839, under the command of Captain Cram of the American merchant
service. Her crew consisted of four men and a boy; and having accomplished
the voyage _under sail_ in forty days, Captain Cram was presented with the
freedom of the city of New York for his daring in crossing the Atlantic in
so small a craft, constructed only for river navigation.

The first steamer to cross the Atlantic was the _Savannah_, of 300 tons,
which arrived in Liverpool from Savannah, Georgia, in thirty-one days, her
voyage having been made partly under sail. So to America belongs the
credit of having shown the practicability of employing steam power for the
most difficult and dangerous voyages. The _Savannah’s_ horse-power was too
small for her size, and although she arrived safely, the experiment was
not regarded by men of science as particularly successful. Dr. Lardner in
particular, and other scientists, expressed their belief that no vessel
could carry coal enough to steam the whole distance, and their discussions
greatly retarded the progress of Transatlantic steam navigation. The
voyage of the _Savannah_ was made in 1819; ten years elapsed before the
Atlantic traffic was renewed, so far as steam was concerned, by the
dispatch of an English-built steam-ship, the _Curaçoa_, which made several
trips from Holland to the West Indies. In 1833 a steam-ship, named the
_Royal William_, sailed from Quebec, and arrived safely at Gravesend. But
it was not till 1838 that the practicability of profitably employing
steam-ships on the Atlantic was demonstrated by the voyages of the
_Sirius_ and _Great Western_, the latter one of the finest vessels of the
day. Their arrival at New York is thus described by one of the journals of
that city:—

       [Illustration: ARRIVAL OF THE “GREAT WESTERN” AT NEW YORK.]

“At three o’clock p.m., on Sunday the 22nd of April, the _Sirius_ first
descried the land, and early on Monday morning, the 23rd, anchored in the
North River immediately off the battery. The moment the intelligence was
made known, hundreds and thousands rushed, early in the morning, to the
battery. Nothing could exceed the excitement. The river was covered during
the whole day with row-boats, skiffs, and yawls, carrying the wondering
people out to get a close view of this extraordinary vessel. While people
were yet wondering how the _Sirius_ made out to cross the rude Atlantic,
it was announced, about eleven a.m. on Monday, from the telegraph, that a
huge steam-ship was in the offing. ‘_The Great Western! The Great
Western!_’ was on everybody’s tongue. About two o’clock p.m., the first
curl of her ascending smoke fell on the eyes of the thousands of anxious
spectators. A shout of enthusiasm rose in the air.” The movements of a
great steam-ship in and out of port are always watched with interest—why,
even the arrival of the “husbands’ boat” at Margate or Ramsgate is an
event! One can, then, well imagine and understand the excitement caused in
New York by the arrival of two fine vessels almost simultaneously from
England. It meant, in some branches of commerce, a complete revolution.
These first passages were made in seventeen and fifteen days respectively.
Almost immediately after this, the great Cunard Company commenced
operations, the Admiralty awarding them the mail contract. Then came the
great contest for the maritime supremacy, commercially regarded, of the
Atlantic Ocean, when American enterprise came into the field, and
organised a formidable rival to the English company in the Collins Line.
The history of this contest would fill a volume.

                [Illustration: THE FIRST CUNARD STEAMER.]

The national pride of the Americans had been touched by the commercial
success of British steam-ships frequenting their ports, and they
determined, vulgarly speaking, “to have a piece of the pie.” American
genius and enterprise had sent forth a fleet of steamers to trade on their
coasts, lakes, and rivers, which a leading English authority considers
“were marvels of naval architecture, unsurpassed in speed, and in the
splendour of their equipment.” Their clipper-sailing ships “were the
finest the world had then produced, while their perfection in the art of
ship-building had even reached so high a point that they constructed
steamers to ascend rivers where there was hardly depth of water for an
Indian canoe; indeed, it was proverbially said, in honour of their skill
in the art, that their vessels would traverse valleys if only moistened by
the morning dews.” Why should they not have a great ocean line? It was
looked upon in Congress and by the country generally as almost a national
question, and it resulted in a heavy mail subsidy to Mr. Collins and his
colleagues. They immediately made arrangements for the construction of
four large vessels. Later, the Government increased the subsidy by over
one-third (from $19,250 per trip to $33,000) _but increased speed was
required in return_. How much this may have had to do with the two
terrible disasters about to be related will no doubt strike the reader.
The Collins Line commenced its voyages in 1850.

“A voyage across the Atlantic,” says Lindsay, “must ever be attended with
greater peril than almost any other ocean service of similar length and
duration; arising, as this does, from the boisterous character and
uncertainty of the weather, from the icebergs which float in huge masses
during spring along the northern line of passage, and from the many
vessels of every kind to be met with either employed in the Newfoundland
fisheries, or in the vast and daily-increasing intercourse between Europe
and America.

“In such a navigation the utmost care requires to be constantly exercised,
especially by steam-ships. Nevertheless, although the Collins Line of
steamers performed this passage with a speed hitherto unequalled, they
encountered no accidents worthy of notice during the first four years of
their career; but terrible calamities befell them soon afterwards.”

On the 21st of September, 1854, the _Arctic_, according to the usual
course, left Liverpool for New York. She had on board 233 passengers, of
whom 150 were first-class, together with a crew of 135 persons and a
valuable cargo. At mid-day on the 27th of that month, when about sixty
miles south-east of Cape Race, and during a dense fog, she came in contact
with the French steamer _Vesta_. By this collision the _Vesta_ seemed at
first to be so seriously injured, that in their terror and confusion, her
passengers, amounting to 147, and a crew of fifty men, conceived she was
about to sink, and that their only chance of safety lay in their getting
quickly into the _Arctic_. Impressed with this idea many of them rushed
into the boats, of which, as too frequently happens, one sank immediately,
and the other, containing thirteen persons, was swamped under the quarter
of the ship, all on board of her perishing. When, however, the captain of
the _Vesta_ more carefully examined his injuries, he found that though the
bows of his vessel were partially stove in, the foremost bulk-head had not
started. He therefore at once lightened his ship by the head,
strengthening the partition by every means in his power, and by great
exertions, courage, forethought, and seamanship, brought his shattered
vessel, without further loss, into the harbour of St. John’s.

In the meantime a frightful catastrophe befell the _Arctic_, and was so
little anticipated that the persons on board of her supposing that she had
only sustained a slight injury by the collision, had launched a boat for
the rescue of the passengers and crew of the _Vesta_. It was soon,
however, discovered that their own ship had sustained fatal injuries, and
the sea was rushing in so fast through three holes which had been pierced
in the hull below the water-line, that the engine fires would soon be
extinguished. The _Arctic’s_ head was therefore immediately laid for Cape
Race, the nearest point of land; but within four hours of the collision
the water reached the furnaces, and soon afterwards she foundered. As it
was blowing a strong gale at the time, some of the boats into which the
passengers and crew rushed were destroyed in launching; others which got
clear of the sinking ship were never again heard of, and only two, with
thirty-one of the crew and fourteen passengers, reached Newfoundland.
Among those who perished were the wife of Mr. Collins, and their son and
daughter; but the captain, who remained on board to the last, and the
first as well as the second and fourth officers, were saved. Seventy-two
men and four females sought refuge on a raft, which the seamen, when they
found the ship sinking, had hastily constructed; but one by one they were
swept away—every wave as it washed over the raft claiming one or more
victims as its prey; and at eight o’clock on the following morning _one_
human being alone was left out of the seventy-six persons, who only twelve
or fifteen hours before had hoped to save their lives on this temporary
structure. The solitary occupant of this fragile raft must have had a
brave heart and a strong nerve to have retained his place on it for a day
and a half after all his companions had perished, for it was not until
that time had elapsed that he was saved by a passing vessel. His tale of
how he and they parted was of the most heart-rending description.(33)

As a large portion of the first-class passengers of the _Arctic_ consisted
of persons of wealth and extensive commercial relations in the United
States, as well as in England and the colonies, and besides more than one
member of her aristocracy, the loss of the _Arctic_, and the terrible
incidents in connection with her fate, caused an unusual amount of grief
and consternation on both sides of the Atlantic.

Within little more than twelve months from this time another great
calamity befell the Collins Company, and the sad loss of their steamer
_Pacific_—from the mystery in which it was shrouded, if not as lamentable
as that of the _Arctic_ (for the soul of man has never been harrowed with
its details)—was equally deplorable. Although the ocean in this instance
has left no record of its ravages, the stern fact announced in the brief
words, “_she was never heard of_,” tells itself the sad, sad tale that a
great ship, with all her living inmates, in infancy, in manhood and old
age, and it may be full of hope and joy, had been engulfed in the blue
waters of the Atlantic—summoned, perhaps in a moment, to an eternity more
mysterious than that which surrounded their melancholy fate.

The splendid but unfortunate ship left Liverpool on the 23rd of January,
1856, having on board twenty-five first-class passengers, twenty
second-class passengers, and a crew of 141 persons, almost all of whom
were Americans. She carried the mails and a valuable cargo, the insurances
effected on her being 2,000,000 dollars. But no living soul ever returned
to tell where or how she was lost, nor were any articles belonging to her
ever found to afford a clue to her melancholy fate; it can only be
supposed that she sprang an overflowing leak, or more probably struck
suddenly when at full speed on an iceberg, and instantly foundered.

The Collins Line ceased to exist a few years after these serious
disasters, but the Cunard became more firmly established than ever, and
entered on that career of prosperity which has been the most remarkable of
any in the long list of steam-ship lines. Its fleet consisted of
forty-nine vessels in 1875, running not merely on the Atlantic service,
but to Mediterranean and other ports. A competent authority puts the money
value of the ships at about seven millions sterling. In the ocean line the
crews are engaged for a single voyage out and home. The company shipped
and discharged during the year ending July 1st, 1872, 43,000 men, which
means that they continuously employed about 8,600 persons on their ships.
About 1,500 men find regular employment in loading and unloading the
steam-ships, and from 500 to 1,500 more are engaged at the docks of the
company in Liverpool in fitting and refitting these vessels. “Hence the
company, although a private enterprise in the hands of only three
families, is entitled to rank with the great railway and other public
companies as an employer of labour.”(34) The Cunard Company, in 1861,
enrolled a regiment of Volunteer Artillery (the 11th Lancashire) 500
strong, composed entirely of their own _employés_, and they have always
shown much public spirit in Liverpool in the promotion of schools,
asylums, and other provident and charitable institutions for the seamen’s
benefit. During the Crimean war, and in 1861, when the friendly relations
between Great Britain and America were put in jeopardy by the forcible
arrest of Messrs. Mason and Slidell, when on board the Royal Mail steamer
_Trent_, the resources of the company were put into requisition for the
conveyance of troops and stores. Their two largest ships, the _Bothnia_
and _Scythia_, each of 4,535 tons burden, have saloons where 300 persons
can dine at one time, while their decks afford an unbroken promenade, for
passengers, of 425 feet.

          [Illustration: THE CUNARD SCREW STEAM-SHIP “BOTHNIA.”]

The wonderful exemption from shipwreck and casualties, which is the just
pride of this company, is due to the admirable discipline and order
enforced. Take the following description of life on the _Bothnia_ as
detailed in the columns of our leading journal:—“The _Bothnia_ carries ten
boats, which are capable of containing her full complement of people; and
she has a crew of 150 officers and men, all told, divided into the three
classes of seamen, engineers and firemen, and stewards. It has always been
part of the Cunard Company’s system that every man, whatever his duties on
board the ship, should be a member of some particular boat’s crew, and
that the crew of each boat should be formed from all three of the classes
which have been mentioned.... As soon as all are on board, each man is
informed to which boat he is attached, and who is the commanding officer
of that boat, and each boat’s officer is expected to know every member of
his boat’s crew. In order to prevent mistakes, each man wears a metal
badge, with a brooch-fastening, which bears the number of his boat,” and
so forth. Before the passengers are on board, there is an inspection, the
crew being drawn up in two lines, each man being expected to answer to his
name. The muster-roll having been called, orders are given to prepare for
boat service; and the men break up into the necessary number of crews.
After the order “Boats out!” is given, the men fall to work with a will,
and the ten boats, each containing a keg of water, oars, spars, sails, an
axe, &c., are in three minutes properly launched into the water, the
captain from his place of vantage on the bridge looking sharply after
laziness or awkwardness. The same organisation of crews is applied to fire
duty. Some have charge of the buckets; others fetch and join the hose, or
take care of the jets; others are ready with wet blankets to throw over
the flames; but the essential matter is that each man has his place and
his duty. So for manning the pumps and other essential matters. These
drills over, the inspecting party proceeds to make a complete tour of the
vessel. The store-rooms are visited, and the steward cautioned never to
use any other light than a closed and locked lamp. The supply of rockets
and other signals is examined, the steering and signalling apparatus
tried, and only after everything has been found in order is the word given
for the ship to embark her passengers and proceed on her course. “If the
smallest defect,” says the _Times_, before quoted, “is discovered in any
part of a ship, no question is raised whether it will bear one voyage or
two voyages more, but the order, ‘Out with it!’ is given at once.” The
reign of order is as complete as on board a well-regulated man-of-war. On
the many other great steam-ship lines more or less of the same inspection
occurs, and on some, no doubt, the precautions taken are nearly as
careful. The Cunard Line is generally admitted to be, however, pre-eminent
in the care taken of life and property on board, the fact being that the
company has never lost a ship on the Atlantic. The illustration on page
109 shows one of their finest ships, the _Scotia_.

            [Illustration: CUNARD PADDLE STEAM-SHIP “SCOTIA.”]

From the Mersey alone there are ten distinct fleets sailing to America,
including such magnificent steam-ships as those of the White Star and
Inman Lines. In the former the luxurious saloons are placed amidships, the
motion being less felt there. The Inman Line has made the quickest
passages across the Atlantic on record, and has carried as many as 50,000
steerage passengers in one year. In 1856 and 1857 this line carried 85,000
passengers, of both classes, to and from the United States, or about
one-third of all those crossing “the Great Ferry” for those years. The
shortness of time to which the Inman steamers have reduced the passage
across the Atlantic was conspicuously shown by the voyage of Prince Arthur
in 1869, who attended service at Queenstown on the Sunday morning of his
departure, and was landed at Halifax in time to attend morning service at
that place on the Sunday following. Their ship, the _City of Berlin_, of
5,500 tons, is the largest vessel afloat except the _Great Eastern_, and
has accommodation for 1,700 passengers. The White Star Line has two
vessels of 5,004 tons each, the _Britannic_ and _Germanic_. These few
facts will indicate—although we may not be able to grasp them in their
entirety—the immense growth of the ocean steam navigation in a period so
short as that which has elapsed from the first steam-voyage across the
Atlantic.

                      [Illustration: MR. PLIMSOLL.]





                               CHAPTER VII.


        THE HISTORY OF SHIPS AND SHIPPING INTERESTS (_continued_).


      A Contrast—Floating Palaces and “Coffin-ships”—Mr. Plimsoll’s
         Appeal—His Philanthropic Efforts—Use of Old Charts—Badly
       Constructed Ships—A Doomed Ship—Owner’s Gains by her Loss—A
      Sensible Deserter—Overloading—The Widows and Fatherless—Other
      Risks of the Sailor’s Life—Scurvy—Improper Cargoes—“Unclassed
                   Vessels”—“Lloyd’s,” and its History.


Turning by way of that contrast which our subject so abundantly presents,
let us pass from the consideration of well-regulated, well-found
steam-ship lines, to a different class of vessels—those “coffin-ships” of
which we heard so much a few years since. As we all know, the term has
been lately used to signify unseaworthy ships of all kinds—such as that
mentioned by Mr. Plimsoll, which was loaded at Newcastle with nearly twice
her proper tonnage, and dispatched to the Baltic in mid-winter, _with her
main-deck two feet two inches below the level of the water_. She foundered
eighteen miles from the coast. We are told of one man who had in six years
lost twelve rotten ships, and 105 men; and of the _Elizabeth_, a vessel so
weak and leaky, that it was necessary to pump her every hour when floating
empty in harbour, but which was sent to sea with 180 tons of coal to
founder with three out of five hands. It was certainly time for
legislation when the statement could be made truly that a ship which had
been refused a class by Lloyd’s Committee, and had been declared utterly
unfit to go to sea by Lloyd’s surveyor, was dispatched across the
Atlantic, or rather to the bottom of the Atlantic, there to lie with one
crew, while another was safe in an English prison for refusing to proceed
in her.

In 1870, Mr. Samuel Plimsoll first commenced, so far as Parliament is
concerned, those benevolent efforts for the amelioration of the sailor’s
hard life, which must always place him among the highest ranks of
philanthropists. Moved evidently by the purest motives, there are one or
two mistakes to be recorded against him, but they were of the head, not of
the heart. Government was at the time endeavouring, as far as can be seen,
to accomplish nearly the same ends, but was hampered by the pressure of
Parliamentary business. Lindsay, who was somewhat opposed to the views
expressed by Plimsoll, and it is rather unfortunate that he was so, having
been so long a ship-owner himself, yet endorses the remarks of a friend—a
Vice-Admiral of Her Majesty’s service—who wrote to him: “Should there not
be some more stringent provisions with respect to the inspection of
sailing vessels? It is an old proverb, ‘Who ever saw a dead donkey?’ But
who ever saw an old sailing-ship broken up? I am inclined to think that it
is more to the interest of small owners to let an old tub go on shore than
to bring her safe into port. This works two evils:—1, the danger to human
life; 2, the greater rate of insurance on honest owners to make up an
average for the dishonest.” The evil had become a most terrible one, and,
in spite of some little reform, it is to be feared, goes on to-day with
only partially-abated vigour.

“Imperfect charts,” says Lindsay, “were often made to cover, as I fear may
be the case to some extent now, incompetency, drunkenness, or
carelessness. Indeed, about that period, they frequently served as excuses
when other objects were in view. I remember a ludicrous example of this.
When a boy at school at Ayr, I used to accompany my uncle to ‘the meeting
of owners’ of the brig _Eclipse_, in which he held some eight or ten 64th
shares. Every spring the owners met on board to discuss matters relating
to her affairs, and to dispose of what I recollect best, a round of salt
beef, sea-biscuits, and rum and water. The _Eclipse_ had hitherto been
invariably employed during the summer season in the conveyance of timber
from some one or other of the ports of New Brunswick for Ayr. On one
occasion, a tempting freight had been offered for her to proceed to
Quebec, and the owners in conclave assembled, had all but unanimously
decided to send her to that port. While, however, the discussion was going
on, her skipper, Garratt, or, ‘old Garratty,’ as he was called, seemed
very uneasy, and gulping down an extra tumbler of rum and water, he at
last said, ‘Weel, gentlemen, should you send the _Eclipse_ to Quebec, I’ll
not be answerable for her safety.’ ‘How so?’ asked one of the owners.
‘Ah,’ said Garratty, drawing his breath, ‘_the charts are a’wrang in the
St. Lawrence_. Ye’ll ne’er see the _Eclipse_ again gin ye send her to
Quebec.’ The skipper carried the day.

“It is much to be regretted that ship-owners, when they leave their
captains to provide their own charts (instead of supplying them) do not
stipulate that they are to be the best and the _latest_. I remember a ship
and cargo (numerous other instances could be produced), valued at £70,000,
lost near Boulogne from the master mistaking the two lights at Etaples for
the South Foreland lights; and this, as appeared from the Board of Trade
inquiry, because his Channel chart, which was thirty years old, had not
the Etaples lights marked on it.” The terrible wreck of the _Deutschland_
steam-ship, on the 30th December, 1875, was caused, with hardly the shadow
of a doubt, from the use of an old chart.

Mr. Plimsoll in a most remarkable and vigorous book,(35) published in
1873, puts the matter of “coffin-ships” forcibly before his readers. He
says, “No means are neglected by Parliament to provide for the safety of
life ashore; and yet, as I said before, you may build a ship in any way
you please, you may use timber utterly unfit, you may use it in quantity
utterly inadequate, but no one has any authority to interfere with you.

“You may even buy an old ship 250 tons burden by auction for £50, sold to
be broken up, because extremely old and rotten; she had had a narrow
escape on her last voyage, and had suffered so severely that she was quite
unfit to go to sea again without more being spent in repairs upon her than
she would be worth when done. Instead of breaking up this old ship, bought
for 4s. per ton (the cost of a new ship being from £10 to £14 per ton), as
was expected, you may give her a coat of paint—she is too rotten for
caulking—and to the dismay of her late owners, you may prepare to send her
to sea. You may be remonstrated with, in the strongest terms, against
doing so, even to being told that if you persist, and the men are lost,
you deserve to be tried for manslaughter.

“You may engage men in another port, and they, having signed articles
without seeing the ship, you may send them to the port where the ship lies
in the custody of a mariner. You may then (after re-christening the ship,
which ought not to be allowed), if you have managed to insure her heavily,
load her until the main deck is within two feet of the water amidships,
and send her to sea. Nobody can prevent you. Nay, more, if the men become
riotous, you may arrest them without a magistrate’s warrant, and take them
to prison, and the magistrates, who have no choice (they have not to make,
but only to administer the law), will commit them to prison for twelve
weeks with hard labour, or, better still for you, you may send for a
policeman on board to overawe the mutineers, and induce them to do their
duty! And then, if the ship is lost with all hands, you will gain a large
sum of money and you will be asked no questions, as no inquiry will ever
be held over those unfortunate men, unless (which has only happened once,
I think) some member of the House asks for inquiry.

“The river policeman who in one case threatened a refractory crew with
imprisonment, and urged them to do their duty (!) told me afterwards (when
they were all drowned) that he and his colleagues at the river-side
station had spoken to each other about the ship being dreadfully
overloaded as she passed their station on the river, before he went on
board to urge duty (!) and that he then, when he saw me, ‘rued badly that
he had not locked ’em up without talk, as then they wouldn’t have been
drowned.’”

Here Mr. Plimsoll indicates another risk for the poor sailor: “There is, I
fear, great reason to think that ships are occasionally lost from the very
imperfect manner in which some of them are built; in some cases, I think
you will see that something worse ought to be said. I do not say the cases
are many; still, they exist, and we have done nothing to prevent it. The
first time I introduced a bill to prevent overloading, I alluded
(mentioning no names) to the case of one ship-owner who, trading to the
West Indies for sugar (a good voyage, deep water, and plenty of sea room
all the way) had, out of a fleet of twenty-one vessels, lost no less than
ten of them in less than three years.

“After I had concluded my speech in moving the second reading, a member
accosted me in the lobby and said: ‘Mr. Plimsoll, you were mistaken in
that statement of yours.’ ‘What statement?’ I answered. ‘Oh, that when you
said a ship-owner had lost ten ships in less than three years from
overloading.’ ‘I mentioned no names,’ I said. ‘No, but I know who you
meant. He is one of my constituents, and a very respectable man indeed. It
is not his fault; it is the fault of the man who built his ships, for one
of them was surveyed in London and was found to be put together with
devils. He knew nothing about it, I assure you.’ ‘Devils?’ I said. ‘Yes.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’ ‘Oh, devils are sham bolts, you know; that
is, when they ought to be copper, the head and about an inch of the shaft
are copper, and the rest is iron.’

“I have since found there are other and different sham bolts used, where
merely a bolthead (without any shaft at all) is driven in, and only as
many real bolts used as will keep the timbers in their places. Now these
bolts are used to go through the outside planking, the upright timber, not
the inner planking (ceiling) of a ship, and through the vertical or
drooping part of a piece of iron called a knee, on the upper part of which
the deck-beams rest, and to which the deck-beams are also bolted from
above. These bolts, therefore, are from thirteen to eighteen inches in
length.”

The following examples will speak for themselves. Mr. Plimsoll says:—“On
the occasion of one of my visits to a port in the north, I was met by a
gentleman who knew what my errand there was likely to be, and he said,
‘Oh, Mr. Plimsoll, you should have been here yesterday: a vessel went down
the river so deeply loaded, that everybody who saw her expects to hear of
her being lost. She was loaded under the personal directions of her owner,
and the captain himself said to me, “Isn’t it shameful to send men with
families to sea in a vessel loaded like that?” Poor fellow, it is much if
ever he reaches port.’ Half a dozen others confirmed this statement. The
captain ‘was greatly depressed in spirits,’ and a friend—not the owner,
mark you!—gave him some rockets—‘in case of the worst.’ Two men averred
that they would not go if the owner gave them the ship.

“She was sent. The men were some of them threatened, and one at least had
a promise of 10s. extra per month if he would go. As she went away, the
police-boat left her; the police had been on board to overawe the men with
going. As the police-boat left her side, two of the men, deciding that
they would rather be taken to prison, hailed the police, and begged to be
taken by them. The police said, ‘they could not interfere,’ and the ship
sailed. My friend was in great anxiety, and told me that if the wind came
on to blow, the _ship could not live_.

      [Illustration: MR. PLIMSOLL SPEAKING IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.]

“It did blow a good half-gale all the day after Sunday—the ship sailed on
Friday. I was looking seaward from the promontory on which the ruins of
T—— Castle stand, with a heavy heart; the wind was not above force
7—nothing to hurt a well-found and properly-loaded vessel: I had often
been out in much worse weather; but then this vessel was not properly
loaded (and her owner stood to gain over £2,000 clear if she went down, by
over insurance), and I knew that there were many others almost as unfit as
she was to encounter rough weather—ships so rotten that if they struck
they would go to pieces at once; ships so overloaded that every sea would
make a clean sweep over her, sending tons and tons of water into her hold
every time, until the end came.

“On Monday we heard of a ship in distress having been seen, rockets had
been sent up by her; it was feared she was lost. On Tuesday the nameboard
of a boat was picked up, and this was all that ever we heard of her.”

Some cases seemed to be looked on as matters of course, and a gentleman as
he saw his wife reading the newspaper, said to her, “Look out, for the ——
in a day or two; I saw her go out of the river. She is sure to be lost.”
She was lost, and nearly twenty men returned home never more.

Mr. Plimsoll tells another story of two gentlemen, who told him one day
that they saw a vessel leaving dock; she was so deep that, having a list
upon her, the scuppers on the bow side were half in the water and half
out. (A “list” means that she was so loaded as to have one side rather
deeper down than the other; the “scuppers” are the holes in the bulwarks
that let the water out that comes on deck from the rain, the washing, or
the seas breaking over her.) They heard a slight commotion on board, and a
voice said to the captain: “Larry’s not on board, sir.” He had run for it.
Nothing could be done, for lack of time, to seek him, so they sailed
without him. And these gentlemen heard the crew say, as they slowly moved
away from the dockyard: “Then Larry’s the only man of us’ll be alive in a
week.” That vessel was lost.

Another large ship was sailing on a long voyage, from a port in Wales,
with a cargo of coal. A gentleman called a friend’s attention to her
state. She was a good ship, but terribly deep in the water. He said, “Now,
is it possible that vessel _can_ reach her destination unless the sea is
as smooth as a mill-pond the whole way?” The sea evidently was not as
smooth as a mill-pond, for that ship was never heard of again, and
twenty-eight of our poor, hard-working, brave fellow-subjects never more
returned to gladden their wives and play with their children.

Mr. Plimsoll saw a large ship put to sea one day. She was so deep that a
friend who was standing by said to him as she went: “She is nothing but a
coffin for the poor fellows on board of her.” He watched and watched,
almost fascinated by the deadly peril of the crew, and he did not watch
for nothing. Before he left his look-out to go home, he saw her go down.

Even more touching are the records of some visits made by him to the
sufferers left behind to mourn the fate of their husbands, drowned in
leaky ships which should never have left port.

“In this house, No. 9, L——ll Street, lives Mrs. A——r R——e. Look at her—she
is not more than two or three and twenty, and those little ones are hers.
She has a mangle, you see. It was subscribed for her by her poor
neighbours: the poor are very kind to each other. That poor little fellow
has hurt his foot, and looks wonderingly at the face of his young mother.
She had a loving husband but very lately, but the owner of the ship on
which he served, the _S——n_, was a very needy man, who insured her for
£3,000 more than she had cost him. So if she sank he would gain all this.
Well, one voyage she was loaded _under the owner’s personal
superintendence_; she was loaded so deeply that the dockmaster pointed her
out to a friend as she left the dock, and said emphatically, ‘That ship
will never reach her destination.’ She never did, for she was lost with
all hands—twenty men and boys. A—— R—— complained to him before he sailed
that she was ‘so deep loaded.’ She tried to get to the sands to see the
ship off with Mrs. J——r, whose husband was on board. They never saw their
husbands again.

“In this most evil-smelling room, E—— Q—— C—— Street, you may see in the
corner two poor women in one bed, stricken with fever (one died two days
after I saw them), mother and daughter. The husband of the daughter, who
maintained them both, had been lost at sea a little while before, in a
ship so loaded that when Mr. B——l, a Custom House officer who had to go on
board for some reason while she was lying in the river, was told, ‘She’s
yonder; you can easily find her, she is nearly over t’head in the water,’
Mr. B——l told me, ‘I asked no questions, but stepped on board; this
description was quite sufficient.’

“Mrs. R——s, H——n Place, told me her young brother was an orphan with
herself. She said her sister brought him up till she was married. Then her
husband was kind to him, and apprenticed him to the sea. He had passed as
second mate in a sailing ship, but (he was a fine young fellow—I have his
portrait) he was ambitious to ‘pass in steam’ also, and engaged to serve
in the _S——_ ship, leaking badly, but was assured on signing that she was
to be repaired before loading. The ship was not repaired, and was loaded,
as he told his sister-mother, ‘like a sand-barge.’ Was urged by his sister
and her husband not to go. His sister again urged him as he passed her
door in the morning. He promised he would not, and went to the ship to get
the wages due to him. Was refused payment unless he went, was
over-persuaded and threatened, and called a coward, which greatly excited
him. He went, and two days afterwards the ship went down. Her husband and
Mrs. R——s also told me that he and his wife ‘had a bit crack,’ and decided
to do all they could to ‘persuade Johnnie not to go.’ The young man was
about twenty-two.

“Mr. J—— H——l told me that the captain was his friend, and the captain was
very down-hearted about the way in which she was loaded (mind, she was
loaded under the owner’s personal supervision). The captain asked him (Mr.
A——) to see his wife off by train after the ship had sailed. She, poor
soul, had travelled to that port to see him off. The captain said to him,
‘I doubt I’ll never see her more!’ and burst out crying. Poor fellow, he
never did see her more.

“Now come with me to 36, C——, and see Mrs. J——e R——e. She is a young woman
of superior intelligence, and has a trustable face—very. She may be about
seven-and-twenty. She lost her husband in the same ship. He was thirty
years of age, and, to use her own words, ‘such a happy creature; so full
of jokes.’ He was engaged as second engineer, at £4 10s. and board. ‘After
his ship was loaded he was a changed man; he got his tea without saying a
word, and then sat looking into the fire in a deep study, like. I asked
him what ailed him, and he said, more to himself than to me, “She’s such a
beast!” I thought he meant the men’s place was dirty, as he had complained
before that there was no place to wash. He liked to be clean, my husband,
and always had a good wash when he came home from the workshop, when he
worked ashore. So I said, “Will you let me come on board to clean it out
for you?” And he said, still looking at the fire, “It ain’t that.” Well,
he hadn’t signed, only agreed, so I said, “Don’t sign, Jim,” and he said
he wouldn’t, and went and told the engineer he shouldn’t go. The engineer
“spoke so kindly to him,” and offered him 10s. a month more. He had had no
work for a long time, and the money was tempting,’ she said, ‘and so he
signed. When he told me I said, “You won’t go, Jim, will you?” He said,
“Why, Minnie, they will put me in gaol if I don’t go.” I said, “Never
mind, you can come home after that.” “But,” said he, “they called me a
coward, and you would not like to hear me called that.”’

“The poor woman was crying very bitterly, so I said gently, ‘I hope you
won’t think I am asking all these questions from idle curiosity;’ and I
shall never forget her quick disclaimer, for she saw that I was troubled
with her: ‘Oh no, sir; I am glad to answer you, for so many homes might be
kept from being desolate if it was only looked into.’

“I ascertained that she is ‘getting a bit winning for a livelihood,’ as my
informant phrased it, by sewing for a ready-made clothes-shopkeeper. She
was in a small garret with a sloping roof and the most modest fireplace I
ever saw; just three bits of iron laid from side to side of an opening in
the brickwork, and two more up the front; no chimney-piece, or jambs, or
stone across the top, but just the bricks laid nearer and nearer until the
courses united. So I don’t fancy she could be earning much. But with the
very least money value in the place, it was as beautifully clean as I ever
saw a room in my life.

“I also saw a poor woman, who had lost her son aged twenty-two. She too
cried bitterly, as she spoke with _such_ love and pride of her son, and of
the grief of his father, who was sixty years of age. Her son was taken on
as a stoker, and worked on the ship some days before she was ready for
sea. He did not want to go when he saw how she was loaded. She looked like
a floating wreck, but they refused to pay him the money he had earned
unless he went, and he too was lost with the others.

“Just one more specimen of the good, true, and brave men we sacrifice by
our most cruel and manslaughtering neglect. This time I went and called
upon an old man I knew, and, after apologising for intruding upon his
grief, I asked him to tell me if he had any objection to tell me if his
son had had any misgiving about the ship before he went. He said, ‘Yes, I
went to see the ship myself, and was horrified to see the way in which she
was loaded. I tried all I could to persuade him not to go, but he’d been
doing nothing for a long time, and he didn’t like being a burden on me.
He’d a fine sperret, he had, my son,’ said the poor old man.

“Here a young woman I had not observed (she was in a corner with her face
to the wall) broke out into loud sobs and said, ‘He was the best of us
all, sir—the best of the whole family. He was as fair as a flower, and
vah-y canny-looking.’”

But it is not merely rotten hulks which may become coffin-ships: many
superior vessels are woefully deficient in accommodation for the sailor’s
comfort. He may, and often does, wade to his bunk through water, and the
forecastle is too often a miserable hole, full of dirt and filth, where
the men are packed like herrings. The food provided is principally “salt
horse” and “hard bread,” _i.e._, sailor’s biscuit of the most inferior
description; and when scurvy ensues, as a natural consequence of exposure
to damp and cold, with poor living superadded, the very lime-juice, which
is nearly worthless if not pure, is found to be a miserable imitation or
grossly adulterated with citric acid, which, strange as it may appear, has
no anti-scorbutic properties. In the Russian and French mercantile marines
there is little or no scurvy, in consequence of the pretty general use of
common sour wine, which in some degree makes up for the lack of fresh
vegetables. And in French mercantile ships the sailor may at any time
demand the same rations as those served out in the navy of the Republic.
Owing to the carefully prepared dietary of our Royal Navy, scurvy has
entirely disappeared, except in extreme cases of exposure and lack of
precaution, as in the late Arctic Expedition.(36)

“In the West India Docks, which contain vessels trading to the West
Indies, I observed a very different class of ships. Some are large and
well supplied with provisions, but the majority are small, with wretched
accommodation, badly manned, provisions indifferent in quality and
deficient in quantity. Even in the larger vessels there is not that care
taken of the men, and that amount of attention paid to their quarters and
to the nature of their provisions, as in the ships belonging to the owners
engaged in the East Indian and China trade. Captain Henry Toynbee strongly
advocates the better ventilation and comfort of the forecastles, which he
thinks should be under the control of Government. He has himself seen
forecastles and seamen’s chests in first-class ships black from the gas
which rises from the cargo, and which smells like sewage, which is
especially the case in sugar ships. Captain Toynbee informed me a day or
two since that he had actually seen a place containing two packs of
foxhounds and three horses, which received half its ventilation by a hatch
which opened into the sailors’ forecastle!...

“In the Commercial Docks are to be seen both English and foreign ships,
varying in size and class, most of which are in the timber trade, and have
arrived from Norway, Sweden, or Memel, or the Baltic. The number of
patients taken from ships in these docks to the _Dreadnought_ hospital
ship usually exceeds that from any other dock; but the cases are those not
of scurvy, but consumption, bronchitis, and other chest diseases, which
occur not so frequently in English sailors as in Norwegians, Swedes, and
Russians—a fact due more, I think, to national predispositions than to
hygienic conditions. In ships belonging to northern countries the
provisions are abundant and good, the men’s quarters are roomy, and there
is nearly always a house upon deck in which there is a fair amount of
space and good ventilation. The hygienic condition of the men on board
Swedish and Norwegian ships is far superior to that of the ships of our
own country; the chief fault is the extremely dirty and lazy habit of the
men themselves, who allow filth of all kinds to accumulate in the
deck-house and galley, without taking the slightest trouble to remove it.
In English ships belonging to owners in the timber trade the state of
things is disgraceful; a house on deck is an exception, and the men live
and sleep in a small, close, ill-ventilated hole called a forecastle. The
quality of provisions varies in different ships, some owners being more
liberal than others; most of the men, however, live upon salt meat and
biscuit, and sometimes a little salt fish. Timber in itself is considered
a healthy cargo, but the ship is in most cases so overladen that the
forecastle is very much reduced in size—too much so, considering the
number of men that form the crew; these have either to remain on deck
exposed to wet and cold, or have to breathe the foul atmosphere of a small
forecastle, in which are stowed rusty chains, wet ropes, and all kinds of
animal decaying matter....”

The vessels used for the coal trade are now principally screw steamers,
though there are still many of the old class, generally found lying
between Blackwall and Woolwich. Our authority describes them as
follows:—They “are of small size (varying from 150 to 600 tons), and are
built as sloops, schooners, or brigs. The majority are brigs; a visit to
two or three presents a view of a state of things which is common to all.
A collier brig is generally worked by a captain and a mate, who live in a
small dirty cabin, and by four men and a boy, who live and sleep in the
most miserable of forecastles. This forecastle is very small, and so low
that no person of ordinary stature can stand upright in it. It is dark,
and the only approach is by a very small hatchway. It generally contains a
quantity of old ropes, some rusty chains, a large tub of grease, and some
damp canvas. These things, together with three or four dirty hammocks,
take up the whole space, and it is only from sickness and the most urgent
necessity that the sailor remains there for any length of time. So old and
ill-constructed are some of these colliers, that in rough weather the
forecastle is deluged with water. This condition of things is made much
worse by the negligence of the sailor himself, for it seems to be a rule
that the cook, instead of throwing over the side of the ship the refuse of
material used for food, as dirty water, potato parings, &c., deposits
these with great care in some corner of the forecastle. No attention is
paid by the captain to the sanitary state of the ship; during the voyage,
which is often a rough one, he is engaged in working the vessel, and while
she is in harbour he is on shore waiting upon the owners of the vessel, or
transacting their business in the Coal Exchange. I was informed the other
day by a friend, who was engaged during the recent cholera epidemic as a
sanitary inspector, that a patient afflicted with cholera was taken to the
Belleisle in the month of September, who had been lying in his hammock for
two days prostrate, and with much vomiting and purging, and during this
time the captain, although on board, was not aware of the man’s absence
from deck. The provisions supplied in this class of ships vary both in
quality and quantity; the supply, though, is very deficient, and there is
an almost universal complaint among the men and boys that they have not
sufficient to eat. Although coasting voyages last not longer than three or
four days, and the ship is very seldom far away from land, the men
scarcely ever get fresh meat; the supply always consists of salt beef—the
coarsest parts of the animal. To this I may add that the biscuits are of
the worst description, very hard, and are masticated with the greatest
difficulty. The quality of provisions depends entirely upon the liberality
of the captain, who not unfrequently has a share in the ship, and whose
interest is consequently concerned in keeping down all expenses; the
comfort of the men seems to be made subservient to pecuniary advantages.”

And now—for a change—to good owners. There are many, and the present
writer believes fully that the average ship-owner not merely wishes to
preserve his ship, but all on board—crew, passengers, and cargo. The
proprietor of a grand vessel feels, as he should, that her loss is a very
great deal more than his loss. Dr. Stone, some years ago made an
inspection of the docks, and his remarks, published in our leading
journal,(37) deserve to be recorded. He says:—

“From conversations I had with many of the officers and crews engaged in
Green’s, Wigram’s, Smith’s, the Black Ball, and other services, and from
what I saw, I judged that the provisions are good and ample, and I was
informed that scurvy is seldom met with in the vessels belonging to these
owners, owing to the fact of the masters not being content with simply
ordering the crew to take a certain quantity of lime-juice every day
during the ship’s voyage, but satisfying themselves by personal inspection
that the juice is actually drank. Outside the dock gates, and off Plaistow
Wharf, may occasionally be seen American vessels which have arrived with
petroleum. An inspection confirmed the opinion I have always entertained
regarding the superior accommodation met with in the vessels of the United
States; they are large, well manned, and supplied with good provisions.
The berths and sleeping quarters are better even than those in large East
Indiamen; every ship has a raised house on deck, spacious, well
ventilated, and clean, which, being furnished with a stove, the men are
thereby enabled in wet weather to dry their clothes, which is of course a
great preservation of their health. The general condition of the men is
far better than that of the sailor of any other nation. Although the cruel
treatment exercised by the officers of American ships is proverbial, there
is seldom any difficulty in obtaining a good crew. The masters in the
commercial marine of America pride themselves upon the general appearance
of their crews, and they say that it is the best economy to give them good
and abundant food, and to pay rigid attention to their sleeping quarters.”

Sometimes it is the cargo itself which is a fatal cause of disease or
death. Ships carrying large quantities of minerals, sulphur, petroleum,
&c., sometimes smell intolerably, but are not considered unhealthy places
of residence. But how of guano and other manure ships? In one of Dr.
Stone’s letters to the _Times_, published in 1867, he says:—“The most
objectionable and unhealthy cargoes brought into the Thames are those
consisting of the different kinds of manure. A large bone trade is carried
on in the port of London; barges are constantly passing up and down the
Pool laden with bones collected from bone-dealers and the slaughter-houses
of London. Many of the bones are not dry, but are covered with decomposing
flesh. The smell is very bad, and is not limited to the immediate
neighbourhood of the barge itself, but may be carried for a long distance.
These bone barges discharge their cargoes into some small coasting
ship.... The sailors and bargemen engaged in work of this kind suffer very
much: they are nauseated by the offensive smell; their appetites fail
entirely; they consume large quantities of spirit; and, as a consequence,
are invariably attacked by diarrhœa, accompanied with vomiting. In the
summer time it is a matter of surprise how anyone can remain, for a short
time even, in the neighbourhood of the vessel; a thick offensive steam is
constantly rising from the bones, and the decks and rigging are covered
with large blue flies. When the vessel (generally a small, very old, and
ill-manned schooner) puts to sea, the hatchways are kept open, so as to
give free egress to the gaseous products of decomposition and to prevent
the ship from taking fire.”

Many have been the instances of ships’ decks being blown up by the gas
from coal becoming ignited, and loss of life has been caused thereby.
Gunpowder may, under certain conditions, become a most dangerous cargo.
Take the case of the _Great Queensland_, which was blown up entirely,
leaving no survivors to tell the tale. The cause is not far to seek when
we learn that two tons of impure wood powder, sufficient of itself to
burst the ship to pieces, and from its condition likely to explode, were
stored in the same compartment with thirty tons of ordinary black
gunpowder.

Compulsory survey and no overloading were Mr. Plimsoll’s main remedies for
the prevention of the terrible loss of life in the mercantile marine. He
cites two cases of great firms—the first engaged in the coal carrying, and
the second in the guano trade—who do not permit overloading, and the
first, in fifteen years had not, out of a large fleet of steamers, lost a
single vessel, although they made from fifty to seventy double trips per
annum. And yet the voyage from the Thames to the Tyne is more dangerous
than an over-sea voyage. There are a whole crowd of dangerous shoals off
the Essex coast alone, to be avoided or steered between, as the case may
be, as soon as the ship leaves the Thames, followed by equal dangers on
the Suffolk and Norfolk coasts. The latter sands are all under water even
when the tide is at ebb, but there is not water enough on them to float a
ship; hence the losses when ill-found, overloaded, and undermanned vessels
get on them. Further north there are others, and then come the dangerous
rocky coasts of Yorkshire and Durham. The second case deserves particular
mention. About the year 1860, the firm of Anthony Gibbs and Co., of
London, took a contract from the Peruvian Government to charter and load
ships from the Chincha Islands with guano, and as many as three or four
hundred ships left those islands annually for different parts of the
world. At first they were allowed to load and proceed to sea without
inspection or surveying, and were permitted to load as deeply as the
masters thought fit. What was the result? Accidents and losses were
reported every few days, and many of their ships foundered at sea, some
with all hands on board. When the head of the house at Lima, Peru,
introduced proper surveying before loading, to discover what repairs were
needed, &c., allowing no overloading, and not permitting the ships to go
to sea without full inspection of her pumps and gear, a sudden and
wonderful change took place, and for years after not one of these ships
foundered at sea.

                   [Illustration: EXTERIOR OF LLOYD’S.]

We often hear and read of “unclassed” ships; does the reader understand
the term? Nearly all new ships are fit to take valuable merchandise—silks,
tea, provisions, cloth, or what not; and if “tight,” _i.e._, not leaky,
would be classed A 1 by Lloyd’s Committee. The letter refers to the ship
proper; the numeral to its equipment, rigging, boats, cables, anchors, &c.
The term or period for which she is classed varies with the quality and
kind of timber employed, and the quality of the workmanship is also taken
into account. A ship built mainly of hemlock, yellow pine, beech, or fir,
will generally be classed A 1 for four or five years; of elm or ash five
to seven years; and so on through various grades, until, if built of
English oak or teak, she may be rated nine to twelve years. All are
subject to the “half-time” survey of a strict character; thus a ship
classed A 1 for eight years is examined by Lloyd’s surveyors at the end of
four years. “She may again, at the request of the owner, be examined for
continuation, _i.e._, to be continued A 1 for a further term; usually
two-thirds of that originally granted. She may again and again be
re-examined for continuation, or, if she have meantime gone into a lower
class, be examined for restoration to the character A, but each of these
surveys is increased in thoroughness and stringency as the age of the ship
increases. When from age she ceases to be entitled to the character A in
the opinion of Lloyd’s surveyor, but is still tight enough and strong
enough to carry valuable merchandise to any part of the world, she is
classed A red, usually for a term of half or two-thirds the original term
granted her in the first character.... When from increasing age she is no
longer fit to carry valuable goods for long voyages, she falls back into
class black, diphthong Æ; while in this class she is deemed fit to carry
the same class of goods, but only on short voyages (not beyond Europe).
And when after survey and re-survey at intervals, as before, she is no
longer fit to carry valuable goods at all, she falls into class E, and is
deemed fit only to carry goods which sea-water won’t hurt, as metallic
ores, coal, coke, &c.” And so it goes on till she is classed 1; and when
she is run through her terms here she is said to have run out of her
classes: to be, in fact, an “unclassed ship.” The lettering is slightly
varied for iron ships. But it must be remembered that all this submitting
to survey is entirely optional, and that a newly-built ship may be
“unclassed” also. In the former case—a ship which has run out of all its
classes—the vessel is usually fit for nothing more than a river trip, and
ought really to be broken up. It is then that the disreputable shipowner
steps in and purchases her. Happy is it for its poor crew if she does not
prove their coffin!

                   [Illustration: INTERIOR OF LLOYD’S.]

It may be asked, as Lloyd’s will now have nothing to do with such a rotten
tub, How does the owner get anyone to insure it? It is generally done by
mutual insurance clubs formed among these very owners, though not
exclusively. Plimsoll says: “It almost seems as if there was a race who
should lose his ships first on the formation of a new club, so great are
the sums the members are called upon to pay as premium;” and such clubs
are constantly failing.

To be classed A 1 in anything is good, and, as applied to a ship at
Lloyd’s, means, as we all know, that the vessel is first-class in every
particular. But what is Lloyd’s? Many readers would find it difficult to
give a clear answer to this query. The secretary of that institution told
M. Esquiros, when that distinguished writer was visiting England, that he
received many business letters addressed to “Mr. Lloyd,” and we all know
there was long, in fact, a celebrated Lloyd’s Coffee-house in the City,
where the merchants interested in maritime matters used to congregate. A
poem, “The Wealthy Shopkeeper, or Charitable Christian,” published in
1700, alludes to the establishment, and the writer adds, as an addendum,
that the London merchant at that time never missed “resorting to Lloyd’s
to read his letters and attend sales.” Later, Steele and Addison both
spoke of it in the same light. “The veritable, personal Lloyd,” says
Esquiros, “as we see, has made a great deal more noise in the world after
his death than he ever did during his lifetime.” The name of the
coffee-house keeper has become inseparably connected with the greatest
maritime institution of the world.

The original Lloyd was a wonderfully good example of a pushing London
citizen. Little was, speaking in these later days, known of Edward of that
ilk till Mr. Frederick Martin unearthed, in the vaults of the Royal
Exchange, a long-forgotten series of its archives. Then he found “huge
stores of manuscript papers and immense leather-cased folios, partly
singed in the great fire which, in 1838, destroyed the Royal Exchange
above them.” Now we know that Lloyd, early in the reign of Charles II.,
kept a coffee-house in Tower Street, and contrived to make it the
gathering point for the underwriters, who had been previously scattered
all over the city. This house was near the Custom House, the Navy Office,
and the Trinity House, as well as to the Thames “below bridge,” and the
position was obviously a good one for the purpose. Having surrounded
himself with a growing connection in Tower Ward, Lloyd found himself in a
position to approach the haunts of the leading merchants and bankers, and
we find him in 1693 securely established at the corner of Lombard Street
and Abchurch Lane, near the spot where the Lombard Street post-office now
stands. Here he held periodical auction sales “by the candle,” and started
a weekly paper devoted to maritime affairs, the first of its kind: indeed
it was, saving the _London Gazette_, the only London newspaper yet in
existence. But he now met a severe blow, for, as we learn from Macaulay,
“the judges were unanimously of opinion that this liberty (of printing)
did not extend to gazettes,” and that, by English law, no man not
authorised by the Crown had the right to publish political news. The said
political news in this case consisted of mere headings and brief
paragraphs, as, “Yesterday the Lords passed the Bill to restrain the
wearing of all wrought silks from India,” or that they had received a
“petition from the Quakers.” Lloyd had to succumb and stop the
publication, but his sales of ships and cargoes increased, so that in
fifteen or twenty years Lloyd’s had become the recognised London centre of
maritime business, including marine insurance. From this comparatively
small beginning has sprung the all-powerful organisation whose agents are
to be found in every part of the habitable globe.

“When,” says a writer already quoted, “I landed, about three years back,
upon one of the group of rocks lost in the bosom of the waves, and which
are called the Scilly Islands, there was only one thing which brought
London to my mind, and that was the name ‘Lloyd’s’, in letters of brass,
on the door of one of the least poor-looking houses. I might have gone
much further afield, into some of the still wilder islands of the Old or
New World, and there, even at the very ends of the earth—provided only
that there was a town or port of some sort—I should have found an agent of
this English society. The definition of Lloyd’s which was given by a City
merchant can now be better understood by us. ‘It is,’ said he, ‘a spider
planted in the centre of a web which covers the whole sea, and the
shipwrecked vessels are the dead flies.’”(38)

“The loose connection existing between the underwriters of London,” says
the leading authority on the subject,(39) “as frequenters of the same
coffee-house, where they carried on their business transactions, formed
itself into a final ‘system of membership’ by transmigration to the Royal
Exchange in 1774. The author and leading spirit in this all-important
movement, which had far-reaching consequences for the commerce, not only
of England, but for that of the whole world, was Mr. John Julius
Angerstein, a native of St. Petersburg, but of German extraction,
descended from an old and highly respected family of merchants.” The
writer goes on to show how young Angerstein, from junior clerk, had risen
to be a successful merchant and underwriter. He became one of the most
honoured of those who assembled at Lloyd’s Coffee-house, as he was a most
sagacious and far-seeing man, of unimpeachable integrity, and when the
movement for obtaining a suitable home for the underwriters was mooted he
was its greatest supporter. He became virtually the leader in the whole
matter, and seventy-nine underwriters agreed to pay one hundred pounds
each to start it fairly. Thus was the “New Lloyd’s,” as it was then
called, first organised. It is not, nor ever has been, an insurance
_company_, but rather a fraternity of merchants, shipowners, bankers, and
capitalists subscribing for a place where they could meet and transact
business. It is a maritime exchange. But each man is guided by his own
intelligence, and must measure the extent of business which he undertakes
by the standard of his personal capital.

“The English merchant especially,” says Esquiros, in his charming work,
“having so many bonds of union with the ocean, can hardly expect to always
have tranquil sleep. Let the south-west squalls be ever so little let
loose, the ruin of his house and family is hoarsely muttered through his
dreams. Oh, if he could only see from afar the good ship in which he has
risked the better part of his fortune! In the morning he rushes to
Lloyd’s, the fountain-head of all marine news. Nothing, either in his face
or conduct, shows the least emotion—he has the art of veiling his features
with a mask of indifference; but what a tempest of anxiety rages under
this outward calm! He asks himself a thousand questions: What does the
telegraph say? What ships have touched at distant ports? What are the
names of those which have reached England? To all these questions and many
more he finds answers affixed to the walls of the vestibule. There the
lists and advices give exactly the maritime bulletin of the day. But the
critical moment has yet to come; this man, whose whole fortune perhaps is
on the sea, has not at present consulted the ‘Loss Book,’ or, as it is
also called, the ‘Black Book.’”

This gloom-inspiring volume is placed by itself on a high desk, and each
can refer to it in turn. It is, of course, written by hand, and contains
every day the wreck record, briefly told. Laconic as is the formal
record—the name of the ship, destination, nature of cargo, coast on which
shipwrecked, and so forth—there have been as many as twelve pages
blackened with the sad summary of the losses announced by telegraph during
one day. “In each of these announcements—frigid and taciturn as fate
itself—the mind may conjure up many a sad drama. How many human lives are
there sacrificed? This is often the fact of which the ‘Black Book’ takes
but little notice; the matter with which it has exclusively to deal is the
property insured against the perfidy of the sea. Who was the insurer? and
who has lost? These are the great questions. It is also remarkable, after
a storm, to see with what anxious and fidgety hands some of the insurance
speculators turn over the pages of this sibylline book.” And no wonder:
for the underwriter(40) is a speculator who is taking long odds against a
terrible gambler—the ocean.

The Underwriters’ Room at Lloyd’s to-day is a splendid hall, with
Scagliola columns and richly decorated ceiling, and mahogany tables placed
at intervals all round the room. “What an animated, yet demure, hubbub is
here!” says the French writer before quoted. “One might fancy that the
sea, with the thoughts of which every brain is occupied here, had imparted
some of its agitation and uproar to the business world. The current of
news, transactions taking place, and chat going on, runs from one end of
the hall to the other with a kind of deep murmuring roar.” Those going to
and fro are of two very distinct classes—the insurers of ships and the
insurance brokers. The latter have become very necessary, the reason being
as follows:—The merchant who wishes to insure a ship, or a certain kind of
merchandise that he is about to export, may by no means always meet the
underwriter who is prepared to take that particular risk. While he is
trying to insure his ship she may have already started—may even be at the
bottom of the sea. In the latter case a delay might be fatal, for the news
once arrived that his ship had been wrecked, he could not, of course,
effect any insurance. He therefore goes to a broker who knows the habits
of the place, and probably the very underwriter whose means or known
predilections for certain forms of investment will make him desirous of
taking the risk.

The business of Lloyd’s is conducted by a committee of twelve influential
members, while the working staff includes a secretary, clerks, and a staff
of assistants technically known as “waiters,” which would make it seem as
though the odour of the original Lloyd’s Coffee-house still clung to the
body. The funds of Lloyd’s Association, as it might be termed, are large,
and are used to great advantage: partly in charity bestowed upon
deserving, though unfortunate seamen, and partly in rewards, in various
forms, to special cases of merit. It costs an underwriter £50 entrance fee
and £12 annual subscription to belong to it; the brokers are let off for
about half the above rates; an ordinary subscriber pays £5 per annum for
the privilege of entering the rooms of the Association. We have now traced
the history of the greatest maritime company of the world, one that could
only belong to a great nation. No other could devise, much less support
it.

      [Illustration: THE “GREAT EASTERN” IN A GALE OFF CAPE CLEAR.]

[Illustration: MR. I. K. BRUNEL. MR. SCOTT RUSSELL. (_From a Photograph by
                             Mayall, 1858._)]





                              CHAPTER VIII.


        THE HISTORY OF SHIPS AND SHIPPING INTERESTS (_continued_).


     The Largest Ship in the World—History of the _Great Eastern_—Why
           she was Built—Brunel and Scott Russell—Story of the
    Launch—Powerful Machinery Employed—Christened by Miss Hope—Failure
       to move her more than a few feet—A Sad Accident—Launching by
        inches—Afloat at last—Dimensions—Accommodations—The Grand
    Saloon—The Paddle-wheel and Screw Engines—First Sea Trip—Speed—In
     her first Gale—Serious Explosion on Board off Hastings—Proves a
          fine Sea-boat—Drowning of her Captain and others—First
      Transatlantic Voyage—Defects in Boilers and Machinery—Behaves
      splendidly in Mid-ocean—Grand Reception in New York—Subsequent
    Trips—Used as a Troop-ship to Canada—Carried out 2,600 Soldiers—An
    eventful Passenger Trip—Caught in a Cyclone Hurricane—Her Paddles
     almost wrenched away—Rudder Disabled—Boats Carried Away—Shifting
     of Heavy Cargo—The Leviathan a Gigantic Waif on the Ocean—Return
                                 to Cork.


Many competent authorities doubt whether the ships of the future will be
so very much larger than the largest now in use, but it is one of those
questions on which it is idle to theorise, and absurd to dogmatise. The
greatest ship of this or any other age has not proved a success, except
for some very special purposes for which no other vessel would have proved
available. The history of the _Great Eastern_ is one of interest to all,
and especially to too sanguine and over-ambitious individuals and
companies.

In reply to an advertisement from the Admiralty in 1851 for the conveyance
of the East Indian and Australian mails, was an application from a new
organisation, the Eastern Steam Navigation Company. This offer was
declined, and then some of the directors, on the suggestion of Mr. I. K.
Brunel, the great engineer, recommended the construction of a steam-ship
of extraordinary dimensions to trade with India. Having made calculations
that the big ship intended could maintain a speed of fifteen knots an
hour, there was, in their judgment, no doubt that they would attract a
proportion of the traffic so handsome as to afford full cargoes both
outward and homeward. Many of the original shareholders withdrew, but a
large number held firm. Brunel argued that there need be no limit to the
size of a ship, except what quality of material imposed. He further urged
from scientific theory and actual experience, that upon the “tubular
principle,” which provided the greatest amount of strength of construction
with any given material, it was possible to construct a ship of six times
the capacity of the largest vessel then afloat,(41) and one, too, that
would steam at a speed hitherto unattainable by smaller vessels. Mr. Scott
Russell, the eminent ship-builder, shared these views. The idea of having
two sets of engines and two propellers—paddle-wheels and screw—was solely
due to Mr. Brunel, as was also the adoption of the cellular construction,
like that at the top and bottom of the Britannia Bridge. Her model in
general construction was like that of the ships built by Scott Russell, on
the principle of the “wave line,” which he had carried out during the
previous twenty years. In spite of much virulent criticism, the
construction of a 25,000 ton vessel was commenced on May 1st, 1854, in
Scott Russell’s yard, at Millwall, on the north side of the Thames.

Novel as was the construction of the ship, the mode devised for her launch
was no less novel. As her immense length would render it impossible to
launch her in the usual manner and by the force of her own gravity, she
was built lengthwise to the river on cradles, which carried her upright
and dispensed with “shores.” These cradles were made to travel on a double
series of “ways,” each 120 feet in breadth, which were carried to
low-water mark. The ways were 300 feet in length, with an incline of one
in twelve. At the stem and stern were placed a powerful hydraulic ram to
give the first start, and when she was once in motion her progress was to
be kept up in the following manner. On the river-side four large lighters
were moored in the tideway, and were to work with crabs and sheaves or
pulleys upon chains, fastened to the vessel amidships. Two lighters were
also moored at the stem and two at the stern of the vessel. The chains
passing from the ship to these latter were returned again on shore, so as
to be worked with a double purchase. Small stationary engines on land were
to be used to haul on these, making a force available to pull the vessel
off the shore. The calculations, as the event proved, were made on a false
notion of the amount of friction to be overcome, and the attention of the
engineer had been chiefly directed to prevent her dashing into the water
with too great a speed. For this purpose two powerful drums had been
constructed, to which the cradles were attached by enormous sheaves of
cast iron, expressly cast for this purpose, and weighing five tons each.
One sheave was fastened to each cradle, and wrought-iron chain cables of
the largest size connected these with two other sheaves, each of which was
screwed to the drum which was to pay out the chain and, in fact, regulate
the whole operation. The axle of the drum was set in a frame of iron,
while around its outer edge passed a band of iron, to work in the manner
of a friction-clutch, or break. This, with the aid of strong iron levers
twenty feet long, brought such a pressure to bear upon the discs of the
drum as to entirely stop them in case of the chain being paid out too
fast. Everything being thus prepared that human ingenuity could devise (as
was supposed), the launch was fixed for the 3rd of November, 1857. On that
day, although the sight-seeing public did not congregate in large numbers,
and the scaffolding erected on many points was untenanted, yet there was a
swarm of well-laden craft of all kinds on the river, and crowds on both
its banks and around the yard. The engineers and men of science mustered
strongly, not only from all parts of England, but from Germany, France,
America, and Russia. The Comte de Paris, the Duke d’Aumale, the Siamese
Ambassadors, and some of the Lords of the Admiralty, were the most
conspicuous persons present.

At half-past one Miss Hope, the daughter of the chairman of the company,
appeared, and dashing a bottle of wine on the bows, bade the Leviathan, as
she was originally called, “God speed!” amid the cheers of those
assembled. In a few moments afterwards the word was passed to commence the
launch. At the signals the lighters slowly but steadily commenced to haul
taut their tackle from the river. This strain appeared to have no effect
on the vessel. It remained stationary for about ten minutes, when the
peculiar hissing noise of the hydraulic rams at work to push her off was
heard. It should have been mentioned that each of the drums was
constructed so as to be turned by ordinary windlasses, in order to wind up
the slack chain between the drums and the cradles; otherwise, if any slack
were left when the hydraulic rams started the vessel, it would run it
rapidly out, and dreadful consequences might ensue. When the “rams” began
to work, the order was distinctly given to “wind up” the slack between the
drum and the cradle. This was done at the forward drum; but,
unfortunately, at the stern of the vessel the men did precisely the
reverse, and uncoiled more slack chain. Suddenly there was a cry “She
moves! She moves!” The fore part of the vessel slipped, and the stern
rushed down some three or four feet in the space of a couple of seconds,
in consequence of the slack chain from the after drum offering not the
least check. In an instant the strain came upon the drum, which was
dragged round, and, of course, as that was connected with the windlass by
multiplying wheels, the latter turned round some ten or fifteen times for
every foot the drum moved. The men at the windlass madly tried to hold it,
but the heavy iron handle flew round like lightning, striking them, and
hurling five or six high into the air as if they had been blown up by some
powerful explosion. A panic seemed to spread as this disastrous accident
took place, and the men stationed at the tackle and fall of the lever next
the windlass rushed away. Fortunately for the lives of hundreds of the
spectators, the men at the lever at the other side of the drum stood firm,
and, hauling on their tackle, drew their lever up, and applied the break
on the drum with such terrific force that the ship instantly stopped,
though she seemed to quiver under the sudden shock as if she had received
a violent blow. The injured men were then carried off to a neighbouring
house, where one of them shortly died. When the wreck of the accident had
been cleared away, it was determined to make another effort to launch the
vessel, but without effect; for all pressure that the “rams” could apply
was found insufficient to move her. After straining for some time, the
piston-rod of one of the hydraulic rams gave way, and this accident put an
end to the attempt to launch the great ship for this day.

Numerous hydraulic machines were now borrowed and fixed, fresh tackle
applied, and many novel and ingenious expedients adopted. It was thought
necessary to await the next spring tides, in order that the monster when
she should be launched might find a sufficient depth of water. The
precaution was needless; many weary weeks were to pass before she was
afloat. On some days, when every exertion seemed vain, she would
capriciously slip a few inches at the stem or stern. After a long
interval, another small distance would be accomplished; sometimes a day’s
journey would be three or four feet, sometimes twenty or thirty. Finally,
by continued perseverance, she was brought down the ways until she was
immersed some eight or ten feet at high water, and then, as the final
launch was certain of accomplishment, it was thought desirable to leave
her till the high tides of January should rise so far as to aid materially
in her final flotation, and make it practicable to tow her to a secure
berth, where her last fittings could be put in, and she could be made
ready for a voyage.

With the spring tides the water rose under the great ship nearly eighteen
feet; and on the 31st January she gave such signs of buoyancy that it was
resolved to float her on that day. The tide ran up with unusual swiftness,
and as the flood relieved the weight upon the launching ways some of the
hydraulic machines were set to work, for the last time, to push the
monster as far as possible towards the centre of the river. She moved
easily; and at half-past one the men in the rowing boats stationed
alongside observed that she no longer rested on the cradles—that she was,
in fact, afloat. The tugs fastened to her began steaming ahead, and showed
that at last she was fairly under way. Then the cheers which arose from
the yard and from the decks, from the boats in the river, and the crews of
the ships at anchor up and down the stream, spread the great news far and
wide; and thus, under the most favourable circumstances, the huge vessel
commenced her first voyage on the Thames.

            [Illustration: THE LAUNCH OF THE “GREAT EASTERN.”]

And now we must give some description of her internal arrangements and
accommodations. The hull is divided transversely into ten separate
compartments of 60 feet each, and rendered perfectly watertight by
bulkheads, through which there is no opening whatever below the second
deck. Two longitudinal walls of iron, 36 feet apart, traverse 350 feet of
the ship. This mighty vessel was destined to afford accommodation for
4,000 passengers, viz., 800 first class, 2,000 second class, and 1,200
third class, and a crew of 400. The series of saloons, which were
elegantly fitted and furnished, together with the sleeping apartments, are
situated in the middle of the ship, and extend over 350 feet of her
length. The lofty saloons and cabins are very imposing, more resembling
the drawing-rooms of Belgravia than ordinary cabins. The “Grand Saloon” is
62 feet long, 36 feet wide, and 12 feet high, with a ladies’ cabin, or
rather boudoir, 20 feet in length. Massive looking-glasses in highly
ornamented gilt frames decorate its sides. The strong iron beams overhead
are encased in wood, the mouldings being delicately painted and enriched
with gilt beading. Around two of the funnels which pass through this
gorgeous apartment are large mirrors, with alternate highly ornamented
panels, and at their base are groupings of velvet couches. The walls are
hung with rich patterns in raised gold and white, and at the angles are
arabesque panels, while sofas covered with Utrecht velvet, buffets of
richly carved walnut-wood, carpets of surpassing softness, and _portières_
of rich crimson silk to all the doorways, give an elegance to the whole
far surpassing the gigantic toy ships of ancient monarchs. The
paddle-wheel engines can be made to give 5,000 horse-power, and the
screw-engines 6,000 horse-power; making 11,000 in all.

On the 9th September, 1859, the vessel, which had now been re-christened
the _Great Eastern_, took her first trip from the Thames under the most
favourable circumstances, the weather being very fine, with a light breeze
of wind, and blue sky overhead. Starting with four tugs, two on the bow
and two at the quarter, to guide her through the narrow parts of the
river, after some delay and a few slight mishaps, she reached Purfleet,
where she anchored for the night. At daylight on the following morning,
she started for the Nore, where she arrived about noon, having attained a
speed of thirteen knots an hour, though going only at half-speed, her
engines making not more than eight revolutions a minute. From the Nore the
_Great Eastern_ proceeded successfully to Whitstable, where she anchored,
getting under weigh there at a quarter past nine on the following morning,
with a fresh breeze. After passing Margate she encountered a stiff gale,
in which she appeared quite at ease when large ships were under
double-reefed topsails, and small vessels were obliged to lie to. But an
unfortunate accident occurred to her when off Hastings, through the
explosion of one of her funnel-casings, causing the death of six men
employed in the engineering department, injuring various others, and,
destroying nearly all the mirrors and other ornamental furniture in the
grand saloon. No injury was, however, done to the hull or machinery of the
vessel sufficient to prevent her proceeding on her voyage to Weymouth,
which she reached without any further misfortune, on the afternoon of
Friday, within the time anticipated for her arrival. On her arrival, the
pilot who had been in charge of her from Deptford to Portland (Weymouth
Bay) made an official report of her performances to the Company,
confirming, in some measure, the glowing accounts in many of the public
journals, and realising the sanguine expectations of the directors, though
their hopes of profit had been somewhat damped by the accident which,
apart from the loss of life, entailed an outlay of £5,000. The necessary
repairs having been completed, the _Great Eastern_ proceeded from Portland
to Holyhead, but without passengers as originally contemplated. Starting
at noon of the 8th of October she made the run to Holyhead in forty hours,
at an average speed of close upon thirteen knots, or more than fifteen
statute miles in the hour, having on some occasions attained a speed of
fifteen knots an hour. But upon the whole the expectations that had been
formed of her were disappointed. The paddles proved defective either in
power or mode of fitting; and the utmost speed attained fell far short of
calculation. It began to be suspected that the power of her engines was
not proportioned to her tonnage, and the ship was found to roll
considerably. It should have been mentioned that, whilst lying outside
Holyhead harbour for the purpose of further trials, she became exposed to
the full fury of the hurricane of the 26th October. In this terrific storm
the ship behaved nobly, but was at one time in considerable danger of
being driven ashore. She returned to Southampton, and was berthed for the
winter in Southampton Water.

On the 21st January, the captain of the _Great Eastern_, Captain Harrison,
was drowned in Southampton Water by the capsizing of a small boat carrying
him from the ship to the town. The boat, which was fully manned by six
picked seamen and the captain’s coxswain, was seized in a sudden squall
near the dock-gates, and upset before the trysail could be lowered. Boats
were at once put off from the _Indus_ to the rescue, but when Captain
Harrison was reached, the body was floating a little under water, and life
was quite extinct—death being apparently the result of apoplexy caused by
the intense cold. The coxswain was found insensible close by, and survived
only till the evening. A fine youth, son of the chief purser, was also
drowned; the chief purser himself (Mr. Lay), and Dr. Watson were amongst
those saved with the crew.

The _Great Eastern_ made her first Transatlantic voyage to New York after
a very successful but by no means rapid passage of ten days and a half. In
many respects the vessel fully answered the expectations of her builders.
Her vast bulk aided the fineness of her lines in cutting through the
opposing waves without any apparent shock. To those which rolled upon her
sides she rose with a easy swing, and they passed to leeward, seemingly
deprived of their fury; others struck her with full force, but no
vibration or shock was communicated to the vast mass. It was speedily
discovered that there were two prime defects in her appointments—it was
impossible to raise the steam in the boilers which animate the
paddle-wheel engines to the full power; and the wheels themselves were not
so placed as to act on the water with effect.

On the 21st, the power of the ship was put to a most trying test. A strong
northwesterly gale had raised a rough sea. “It has always been said that
she never could or would pitch, but the truth is this ship does just the
same on a small scale that ordinary vessels in a sea may do on a very
large one. The _Great Eastern_ against a head sea makes a majestic rise
and fall, where a steamer of 2,000, or even 3,000, tons would be labouring
heavily, and perhaps taking in great seas over her bows. On this Thursday
she dipped down below her hawse pipes. It was a fine sight to watch her
motion from the bows, splitting the great waves before her into two
streams of water, like double fountains, and to look along her immense
expanse of deck as she rose and fell with a motion so easy and regular
that the duration of each movement could be timed to the very second.”

On the 23rd, the ship being off the banks of Newfoundland, the temperature
decreased so rapidly that it was feared that floating icebergs were near,
and the speed was slackened, and precautions taken against accident; and,
on the 26th, when not more than 450 miles from New York, the ship ran into
a dense fog, through which she had to feel her way. These circumstances
materially affected the duration of the voyage. The most anxious part of
the whole navigation was now at hand—the passage over the shoals and bars
which impede the passage to New York harbour, and the ship was repeatedly
stopped to take soundings. All dangers were boldly passed, and the dawn of
the 27th showed the coast in a dim blue line, with the spit of Sandy Hook
lying like a haze across the sea. The lighthouse was passed at 7·20 a.m.,
and the _Great Eastern_ had completed her first Transatlantic voyage. From
Sandy Hook the vessel passed into the harbour, stirring up the sand on the
bar, but escaping all danger by the admirable readiness with which she
answered her helm. The advent of the great ship had been expected in
America with an eagerness which cast into the shade even the interest
taken in her at home. She was a great and startling “fact.” Therefore, no
sooner was her arrival telegraphed, than the bay was studded with yachts,
schooners, and steam-ships, whose passengers marked every portion of her
progress with vociferous cheers; all the ships were covered with flags,
the bells rang out, the cannon roared, the wharfs and houses were crowded
with enthusiastic welcomers. Even the Government Fort Hamilton fired a
salute of fourteen guns. The return voyage was uneventful. In May, 1861,
she again started from Milford Haven for New York, on an ordinary
passenger voyage, and made a very successful, but not very rapid, passage
of nine days thirteen and a half hours, the greatest distance run in one
day being 410 statute miles. She commenced the return voyage on the 25th
May, and arrived off Liverpool in nine and a half days, running in one day
416 statute miles.

       [Illustration: ARRIVAL OF THE “GREAT EASTERN” AT NEW YORK.]

When civil war in the United States forced on the English Government the
fact of the defenceless state of Canada, it was resolved to send out
reinforcements with the greatest speed, and the _Great Eastern_ was taken
up as a troop-ship to convey 2,500 men, 100 officers, and 122 horses. In
addition to these, were about 350 wives and children of the soldiers. She
sailed from the Mersey on the 27th of June, and made her voyage with such
speed and safety that her real use appeared to have been discovered at
last. This success inspired confidence, and when she was next announced to
sail with passengers, nearly 400 persons engaged first and second-class
berths. Among them were several parties, and an unusual proportion of
ladies. A very considerable cargo was also sent on freight. She left the
Mersey on the 10th September, and commenced her voyage with every prospect
of success. But, when about 250 miles westward of Cape Clear, she was
caught in a tremendous gale. She appears to have been in the very centre
of a cyclone hurricane. In the midst of this whirlwind one of the forward
boats broke loose. The captain ordered the helm to be put down, in order
to bring the ship up into the wind, that the boat might clear the wheel.
The ship refused to answer her helm. Some hand-sails were then set with
the same object, but they were instantly blown to shreds. Soon a terrific
noise was heard, and it was clear that something had gone wrong with her
machinery. The waves had struck her paddles with such force that they were
bent, and scraped the ship’s side at every revolution, threatening to
shear away her iron planking. Under these circumstances it was necessary
to stop the paddle engines and trust to the propeller for progress. This,
of course, did not add to the power of steering; for, if the helm was
insufficient when the power was amidships, it was, of course, still less
effectual when the power was all astern. The ship, therefore, lay exposed
to the tremendous lashing of the sea, which ran mountains high. One by one
the floats were struck away, and at daybreak the next morning nothing of
the paddle-wheels was left except twisted iron rods attached to the shaft.
Nor was this the extent of the misfortune. The stress upon the rudder, now
that it had to control the entire length of the ship, was tremendous, and
about 5.45 a.m., during a terrific sea, the top of the rudder-post, a bar
of iron ten inches square, was wrenched away. The ship had now entirely
lost steerage power, and lay utterly at the mercy of the waves. She rolled
tremendously. The hapless passengers were dashed from side to side; the
cabin furniture broke loose, as well as the cargo, crushing everything
they touched. In the hold, tallow-casks, weighing many hundredweight, and
a chain cable of many tons, got loose in one of the compartments, and
threatened to burst out the ship’s side at every roll. Many of the
passengers were severely injured. The decks were swept, six boats were
carried away, and two were broken to pieces. In this precarious condition
the ship lay from Thursday to Sunday evening, a waif upon the ocean. At
length, on Sunday afternoon, the violence of the wind abated, the sea went
down, and chains were got out and connected with the rudder, so that some,
though a very imperfect, purchase was obtained. Some apparatus was
constructed and got overboard, by which the ship was steadied and the
steering power increased. By these means her head was got round and a
course was made for Cork Harbour. On Tuesday she was off the Old Head of
Kinsale, and in the afternoon at the entrance of Cork Harbour, but she was
unable to enter. She therefore remained outside in great peril, for she
was blown out to sea again, and drifted to some distance before she was
enabled to enter. Her subsequent history, in connection with the laying of
the Atlantic cable, belongs to another section of this work.

      [Illustration: THE “MONITOR” PASSING THE VICKSBURG BATTERIES.]





                               CHAPTER IX.


        THE HISTORY OF SHIPS AND SHIPPING INTERESTS (_continued_).


     The Ironclad Question—One of the Topics of the Day—What is to be
       their Value in Warfare?—Story of the Dummy Ironclad—Two Real
        Ironclads vanquished by it—Experience on board an American
    Monitor—Visit of the _Miantonoma_ to St. John’s—Her Tour round the
      World—Her Turrets and Interior Arrangements—Firing off the Big
        Guns—Inside the Turret—“Prepare!”—Effects of the Firing—A
      Boatswain’s-mate’s Opinion—The _Monitor_ goes round the World
        safely—Few of the Original American Ironclads left—English
                     Ironclads—The _Warrior_—Various
     Types—Iron-built—Wood-built—Wood-covered—The Greatest Result yet
        attained, the _Inflexible_—Circular Ironclads—The “_Garde
      Côtes_”—Cost of Ironclads—The Torpedo Question—The Marquis of
      Worcester’s Inventions—Bishop Wilkins’ Subaqueous Ark—Fulton’s
     Experiments—A Frightened Audience—A Hulk Blown Up—Government Aid
     to Fulton—The _Argus_ and her “Crinoline”—Torpedoes successfully
    foiled—Their use during the American War—Brave Lieut. Cushing—The
          _Albemarle_ Destroyed—Modern Torpedoes: the “Lay;” the
    “Whitehead”—Probable Manner of using in an Engagement—The Ram and
                                its Power.


Early in these chapters, allusion was made to one of the most important of
all vital topics connected with shipping interests—the ironclad
question—and as it concerns the well-being of the Royal Navy, it concerns
that of the nation itself, and no excuse can be needed for its discussion
here. Day by day we hear of new types of armoured vessels, single
specimens costing the price of a small fleet of former days. That, under
certain conditions, they must prove very formidable, there can be no
doubt. But, it must be asked, are the bulk of them seaworthy ships? How
far is torpedo warfare to interfere with their employment? Are they worth
their price to the nation?

Their history so far has been one as much, and indeed far more, of failure
than success. “Our submarine fleet” has become a byword, while none of
their exploits have excelled those of the _Merrimac_ and _Monitor_, two of
the very earliest examples constructed. Indeed, the writer knows no more
successful results attained than by an improvised “dummy” ironclad during
the American war. The ridiculous often merges into or mingles with the
important and the sublime, and the story, little known in England, is
inserted here to show how much may sometimes be done in warfare with
insignificant means.

                      [Illustration: PEACE AND WAR.]

The incident occurred in February, 1863. An old coal barge(42) adrift had
been picked up in the James River, and the brilliant idea seized some of
Admiral Porter’s men to convert her into a “monitor.” The whole scheme was
carried out in twelve hours. In fact, her construction was hardly more
solid than the “paper forts” built of canvas and boards by the Chinese
during our war with them, and which collapsed after a shot or two as
readily as would the “Rock of Gibraltar” or “Mount Vesuvius” at a firework
display. The barge was built up high with boards, while funnels and
turrets constructed of pork-barrels reared above, and two old canoes did
duty for quarter-boats. A small house, taken from the back yard of a
planter’s dwelling, stood for the pilot-house. Her furnaces were built of
mud or clay; they were only intended to make smoke, not steam. Then a good
coat of black paint or pitch; her furnaces were filled with pitch and
other inflammable materials, and she was ready. As soon as the “dummy”
turned adrift on the Mississippi came in range of the Vicksburg batteries,
the alarmed garrison opened fire upon it. The black monitor glided down
the stream, belching out fire and smoke, but gave not a shot in return.
With amazement the Vicksburg soldiers found that they could not make the
slightest impression on the turreted monster. They did not know that it
was full of water, and had not a man on board! In ominous and silent
disdain she seemed to be making for the Confederate ironclads; one of
them, the _Queen of the West_, leaving part of her crew ashore,
incontinently fled, with all her steam power, making the best of her way
to the Red River. The _Indianola_, a vessel previously captured from the
Northerners, was lying aground, and not to be taken by this ruthless
monster of a monitor, was ordered to be blown up, which was accordingly
done. Thus was this bloodless victory gained by the dummy ironclad. It is
not impossible that we may hear of similar tricks in future warfare, as
all is fair therein.

The following experiences on board an American monitor are kindly sent to
the writer by a friend, formerly in the Royal Navy.

“Great, indeed, was the excitement caused by the deeds of the _Monitor_
and _Merrimac_ amongst the officers and men of Her Majesty’s North
Atlantic Squadron. Whether dancing in Halifax, chasing French fishermen on
the Newfoundland coast, or ‘sunning’(43) in St. George, there was always
to be found some one, from captain to loblolly boy, with a new story of
the prowess of these formidable monsters of the _shallows_! I write
‘shallows’ advisedly, for if the experience which I am about to narrate
proves anything, it will be that as a ‘deep water’ or sea-going craft the
_Monitor_ is practically useless.

“Notwithstanding a certain eagerness to behold a specimen of their
floating batteries, curiosity was not destined to be gratified until
nearly two years after the close of the American War, when the United
States Government determined on sending a representative—the
_Miantonoma_—to make a tour of the world. The object of this resolution
was to prove that the American invention was not a mere floating battery,
but was destined to revolutionise the system of armour-plated ships. The
_Miantonoma_ was accompanied when she made her appearance in the harbour
of St. John’s, Newfoundland, by two tenders, one a second-class corvette,
the other a captured blockade-runner, which had been mounted with a single
‘Parrot’ pivot gun, throwing a spherical shot of 180 lbs. This projectile
was dubbed ‘the Devil’ by those on board, who were by no means anxious to
hear its voice, for the lightly-built blockade-runner trembled in every
knee at each discharge. Nevertheless, such a vessel properly built is
destined to play an important part in the navy of the future, when our
present unwieldy ironclads shall have been relegated to that bourne where
torpedoes cannot terrify.

                    [Illustration: THE “MIANTONOMA.”]

“The _Miantonoma_ was a twin-turreted monitor, carrying two of Parrot’s
480 pounder smooth-bore. Her spar-deck, which was flush fore and aft, was
about two and a half to three feet above the surface of the water in
harbour. What we would call the gun-deck was below the water-line some
eight feet, and here at sea during any sort of rough weather, the men were
compelled to live. Air was supplied (faugh! what an atmosphere it was,
even in harbour!) by means of pipes which ran up to a scaffolding—I can
find no better name for the structure—elevated above the spar-deck fifteen
feet. Here were the wheel-house and a place for the look-out. But as it
was apprehended that the first respectable gale would take charge of the
flimsy structure and sweep it all away, a ‘preventer’ steering apparatus
worked below, and knowledge was gained of what was going on in the upper
world by means of reflectors. Two things struck the eye of an observant
stranger on gaining the side. The first was the formidable appearance of
the turrets—the latter, _mirabile dictu_, the number of spittoons! At once
it became evident that such a craft as that which, if you please, we are
now aboard of, could never be taken by boarding. Given the flush deck
filled with an armed host; one of these terrible turrets would slowly turn
round, the shield protecting the embrasure would fly back, a gaping
volcano would belch forth, a whirlwind of flame and smoke only—no need,
indeed, would there be for iron orbs at such quarters—and, ere its shield
had once more covered grinning death, the armed host would have been swept
away.

                [Illustration: INTERIOR OF A TURRET SHIP.]

“It is Her Majesty’s birthday, and the _Miantonoma_ steams away with those
who have been invited on board to witness the firing of the big guns. The
salute cannot be fired in the little harbour, else surely every pane of
glass from the block-house to Riverhead will pay the penalty. So
Freshwater Bay is to have the honour of hearing man’s thunder
reverberating along its hill-girded shores.

“Bang, bang—pop, pop, bang. You hear the Armstrongs and old field-pieces
go off from Her Majesty’s men-of-war in harbour, and Her Majesty’s Fort
William and water batteries. Then you descend to utter silence. You ascend
again through a trapdoor, and find yourself in a circular room, some
twelve feet in diameter, padded from top to bottom like the interior of a
carriage. By your side is a huge mass of iron. You are inside the turret.
A glimmering lamp sheds its feeble light on the moving forms around you,
and from below comes the faint whispering of the men, until the trap is
shut and you are again in utter silence.

“‘_Prepare!_’ The gunner’s mates stand you on your toes, and tell you to
lean forward and thrust your tongue out of your mouth. You hear the
creaking of machinery. It is a moment of intense suspense. Gradually a
glimmer of light—an inch—a flood. The shield passes from the opening—the
gun runs out. A flash, a roar—a mad reeling of the senses, and crimson
clouds flitting before your eyes—a horrible pain in your ears, a sense of
oppression on your chest, and the knowledge that you are not on your
feet—a whispering of voices blending with the concert in your ears—a
darkness before your eyes—and you find yourself plump up in a heap against
the padding, whither you have been thrown by the violence of the
concussion. Before you have recovered sufficiently to note the effects I
have endeavoured to describe, the shield is again in its place and the gun
ready for re-loading. They tell you that the best part of the sound has
escaped through the port-hole, otherwise there would be no standing it,
and our gunner’s mate whispers in your ear: ‘It’s all werry well, but they
busts out bleeding from the chest and ears after the fourth discharge, and
has to be taken below.’ You have had enough of it too, and are glad that
they don’t ask you to witness another shot fired.

“Since the _Miantonoma’s_ time vast improvements have been made in the
matter of turret firing. The guns are now discharged by means of an
electric spark, which obviates the necessity for having anyone in the
turret, and is certainly a great blessing.

“‘And what do you think of her?’ I asked a boatswain’s-mate. ‘Think of
her, sir!’ he replied. ‘I think, sir, that she’s a floating coffin, and I
would as soon live in ——. Every time we’re out of harbour she goes under
water, and don’t come up till we get in again, as the saying is. We are
just cooped up here waiting for a big wave to come and swallow us, for she
don’t rise to the waves, she goes through ’em.’ Then, becoming more
confidential, ‘Tower of the world be hanged, sir! None of us believe we’ll
ever see Queenstown, and if we only had a chance to get ashore, there
ain’t a man but what would desert, I guess.’

“I must draw the reader’s attention to the fact that I give this sailor’s
statement for what it is worth. The officers, one and all, as far as my
memory serves me, stated that she was a very good sea boat; better,
indeed, than they expected, though somewhat sluggish in the water. I may
add that the _Miantonoma_ not only reached Queenstown, but _did_ succeed
in making a tour of the world. Yet it was alleged that her crew, with the
exception of some twenty men, were put into the tenders, and that she was
towed across the ‘herring pond’ and round the Horn by them. From these
facts and rumours the reader may form his own opinion as to the
seaworthiness of the American monitor. My belief is, that for a sea-fight,
especially should one occur in a gale of wind, they are practically as
useless as a hay-barge, while for harbour defences they have proved
themselves invaluable. Of all the splendid fleet of monitors possessed by
America at the close of the Federal and Confederate war, there are scarce
any left to keep up the reputation of the United States as a naval power.
They were contract built, of green oak. The Philadelphia and San Francisco
navy yards afford ample proof that a decade has sufficed to destroy what
shot and shell found almost invulnerable. Such splendid specimens of naval
architecture as the _Brooklyn_ and _Ohio_ alone are left to keep up the
appearance of America’s naval strength on foreign stations. But let us
hope that her ‘shoddy’ monitors, like her shoddy blankets or wooden
nutmegs, have passed away with her convalescence from intestine wounds,
and that the next decade may witness the Stars and Stripes floating
powerfully and peacefully side by side with the Union Jack, omnipotent for
good.”

Any such expression of feeling in regard to the safety of English
ironclads, in spite of the terrible loss of the _Captain_, and that of the
_Vanguard_ (only less serious inasmuch as no lives were sacrificed), would
not be echoed by any British sailor on board them. The accommodations,
barring the general darkness and sense of gloom inside, only partially
illumined by the fitful light of lamps, are generally good, and it is by
no means certain that when the electric light has attained that perfection
at which its promoters are aiming, there can be any complaint on that
score at all. Still, until some grand success has been attained by
ironclads, it is very questionable whether they can be thoroughly popular,
except to courageous, scientific, and ambitious officers, of whom the
service, the writer is certain, does not stand in need. We have had a “Man
of iron” ashore, and we shall have him afloat when the occasion requires.

The first types of ironclads introduced into the Royal Navy, as for
example, the _Warrior_ and _Black Prince_, were nearly identical in
general appearance to the war-ships of the day. Now _all_ British
ironclads are built with sides approaching the upright or vertical above
water. At first they only attempted broadside fire; now bow and stern guns
are common. The _Warrior_, as the earliest example of an ironclad in the
Royal Navy, deserves special mention. She is doing duty to-day, and is by
no means an effete example, but an excellent and useful vessel. She is
armoured at the middle only, in the most exposed parts. In other words,
her engines and leading guns are protected, while the rest of her hull,
though strong, is not armour-covered. _Now_, whatever weight of armour
this central, or “box-battery,” as it has been termed, may have, there is
always a continuous belt of iron extending from stem to stern, and
protecting the region of the water-line and steering gear, the counter of
the ship being carried below the water in order to screen the rudder-head.
This improvement is due to Sir Spencer Robinson. The _Warrior’s_ armour
was uniform in thickness; now it is strongest in the vital parts. The
_Warrior_ had only a main-deck battery armour plated; recent ships have
had a protected upper-deck battery given them. The _Warrior_ carried a
large number of guns in an outspread battery; all later ships, of whatever
type, have had a _concentrated_ battery of much heavier guns. This early
armoured ship is long; nearly all later examples are much shorter in
proportion to their breadth.

And now to the armour itself, which is sometimes affixed to an iron and
sometimes to a wooden hull, and in a few cases has wood _outside_ it.
These facts, by no means generally known, must be studied, for it can
hardly yet be said to be determined which is the better form. It may be
said, in general terms, that the “adoption of armour-plating was
accompanied in this country by the introduction of iron for the
construction of the hulls of ships of war, and our ironclad fleet is for
the most part _iron-built_. We have, it is true, a number of wood-built
ironclads, but most of these are converted vessels.”(44) Several were
built of wood (and then armoured) for the purpose of utilising the large
stocks of timber accumulated in the dockyards. In the future it is
probable that nearly all will be of iron, with wood backing. The armour of
the _Warrior_ is only 4½ inches thick, with, however, a “backing” of 18
inches of timber. This type includes the _Black Prince_, _Achilles_,
_Defence_, _Hector_, _Valiant_, and _Prince Albert_. Then we come to
another series, of which the _Bellerophon_, _Penelope_, _Invincible_,
_Audacious_, _Swiftsure_, _Triumph_, _Iron Duke_, and unfortunate
_Vanguard_ furnish examples. They average 6 inches of iron-plating to 10
inches of wood backing. The lost _Captain_ was somewhat heavier in both
plating and backing. Then again we advance to a still heavier type—12
inches of iron to 18 inches of wood: the _Glatton_, _Thunderer_, and
_Devastation_ furnish examples. Then there is the _wood-built_ class, the
thickness of their (wooden) sides ranging from 19½ to as high as 36
inches, with 4½ to 6 inches of armour. The _Royal Sovereign_ (a turret
ship) is a leading example of this class; she has 5½ inches of armour,
covering 36 inches of wood.

To speak of all the types of armour-clad ships would most undoubtedly
weary the reader. Let us examine a leading example. The _Inflexible_
(double turret ship) is probably the greatest result yet attained. She is
an ironclad of 11,400 tons, with 8,000 horse-power, her estimated first
cost being considerably over half a million sterling. She is 320 feet
long, and has armour of 16 to 24 inches thick, with a backing of 17 to 25
inches of wood. She has no less than 135 compartments, while her engines
are so completely isolated that if one breaks down the other would be
working. “But already, as if to show the impossibility of attaining the
stage of finality as regards the construction of our men-of-war, there is
every reason to believe that she has been excelled.... Designed,” says our
leading journal,(45) “as an improvement upon the Russian _Peter the
Great_, she will herself be surpassed by the two Italian frigates which
are building at La Spezzia and Castellamare.... While the _Inflexible’s_
turrets are formed of a single thickness of 18-inch armour, and her
armament consists of four 81-ton guns, the turrets of the _Dandolo_ and
the _Duilio_ are built of plates 22 inches thick, and are armed with four
100-ton guns.” The writer then enlarges on recent gunnery experiments,
showing that even the enormous thickness of the _Inflexible’s_ iron sides
have been pierced, and concludes by saying that, “so far as the exigencies
of the navy are concerned, the limit of weight seems to have already been
reached, for the simple reason that the buoyancy of our ironclads cannot
with safety be further diminished by the burden of heavier armour and
armaments.” The leading feature in this vessel is the situation of the
turrets. In most turret ships afloat these batteries are placed on the
middle line, and in consequence only one-half the guns can be brought to
bear on an enemy either right ahead or directly astern. In the
_Inflexible_ the turrets rise up on either side of the ship _en échelon_
within the citadel walls, the fore turret being on the port side and the
after turret on the starboard side. By these means the whole of the four
guns can be discharged _simultaneously_ at a ship right ahead or right
astern, or, in pairs, towards any point. What vessel could withstand such
a fire rightly directed?

                    [Illustration: THE “INFLEXIBLE.”]

As we have seen, the forms and proportions of ironclads have undergone
enormous changes from the days when the success of the plated floating
batteries at Kinburn called the special attention of Europe to the
possibility of successfully protecting vessels in the same way. The shot
of the enemy had no effect on these batteries. A special correspondent of
the _Times_ said: “The balls hopped back off their sides without leaving
an impression, save such as a pistol-ball makes on the target of a
shooting gallery. The shot could be heard distinctly striking the sides of
the battery with a ‘sharp smack,’ and then could be seen flying back,
splashing the water at various angles according to the direction in which
they came, till they dropped exhausted.”

One of the greatest novelties is the _circular_ ironclad, proposed long
ago by Mr. John Elder, in a paper read before the United Service
Institution, and carried out by Admiral Popoff, of the Russian navy, who
designed one which was afterwards constructed and was christened the
_Novgorod_. She was 100 feet in diameter, with curved deck, the highest
point of which was only five or six feet above the water. She carried two
28-ton guns. Its model might be described as a floating saucer with a
comparatively flat covering. It is even asserted that a good speed is
attainable with such vessels, and that they are steerable, if hydraulic
machinery is employed. Mr. Elder’s plan was as follows:—When a revolving
pilot-house on the vessel turned, a jet of water was ejected in a backward
line to the very course proposed to steer. The pilot or steersman—having a
complete control of the movements of the pilot-house, and a clear look out
a-head—only arranged to steer in a particular direction, and the water jet
propelled the vessel to its destination. Such vessels are fit for nothing
better than river or harbour protection.

The _Alexandra_, whose batteries we show on the opposite page, is one of
the most efficient of our English armour-plated ships. She was built at
Chatham, and launched in 1875. She was specially built for speed, and
carries the maximum weight of armour consistent with sea-going qualities.
She is armed with three guns of twenty-five tons each and nine of eighteen
tons.

               [Illustration: SECTION OF THE “ALEXANDRA.”]

A new form of ironclad, destined for coast duty, has also been introduced
in Holland and France. These Governments consider that for the defence of
a coast-line, fixed land batteries are not sufficient. They have,
therefore, adopted a ponderous form of turreted ironclad, which the French
term _garde-côtes_. They are not supposed to be adapted for long sea
voyages, as they are veritable floating iron castles, carrying not merely
heavy guns, but whole batteries of smaller guns. They have good engine
power, and can, therefore, be moved to any part of the coast with ease.

The cost of ironclads to this country has been very serious. Mr. Reed puts
it down at a million sterling a year since their inauguration.(46) For the
eighteen years preceding 1876, they cost £16,738,935, and with the cost of
wear and tear, repair, and maintenance, not less than £18,000,000.
£300,000 was required for repairs and maintenance alone in one year,
perhaps an exceptional case. The _Warrior_, built in the year 1860, cost,
to 1876, for maintenance and repair, no less than £124,245, or about a
third of her original cost. She is the earliest type of ironclad, and of
small tonnage compared with several of her successors. What _they_ may
cost to maintain is a still more serious problem. Single ironclads have
cost the country half a million sterling; the _Inflexible_, £600,000.

     [Illustration: PREPARING FOR TORPEDO EXPERIMENTS AT PORTSMOUTH.]

Connected intimately with the ironclad question is the torpedo movement.
From an early date schemes have been devised for injuring an enemy’s
vessel by submarine apparatus and otherwise than by guns. In the
seventeenth century, we find the celebrated Marquis of Worcester
describing such apparatus. The ninth of his “Century of Inventions”
describes a small engine, portable in one’s pocket, which might be carried
and fastened on the inside of the ship, and at any appointed time, days or
weeks after, at the will of the operator, it should explode and sink that
vessel.

In his tenth invention, the Marquis of Worcester describes “a way from a
mile off to dive and fasten a like engine to any ship, so as it may
punctually work the same effect, either for time or execution.” The
details of construction and working are left to the reader’s imagination.

Bishop Wilkins, in a curious work on “Mathematical Magick,” published in
1648, describes a possible submarine vessel, or “ark,” as he terms it. He
says that it “may be effected beyond all question, because one Cornelius
Dreble hath already experimented on it here in England.” Of Dreble very
little is known; but it is on record that he constructed a subaqueous
boat, which he exhibited before James I., which carried twelve rowers and
some passengers, and further, that that monarch was so pleased with it
that he sent a duplicate as a present to the grand Duke of Muscovy
(Russia). The bishop discusses the matter very fully. The boat is, of
course, to be watertight, all openings being sealed for the nonce by
leather bags, with two sets of fastenings. The oars were to project also
through leather bags, giving freedom of motion and yet excluding the
water. A serious difficulty—the lack of fresh air on board—is partially
slurred over; but he considers that the sailors, “by long use and
custome,” will practically get used to it. The raising or lowering of the
vessel is to be accomplished by the lifting or depression of an enormous
stone hung to its keel. He considered that the steering would be easier
than on the surface, there being no contrary winds or atmospheric
disturbances to interfere. The vessel is to be well manned by artisans,
and children are to be born in the “ark:” one of the points specially
mentioned being their inevitable astonishment when they for the first time
behold the light of day at the surface, and are landed on _terra firma_!
The log is not merely to be written but is to be printed on board. “Among
the many conveniences of such a contrivance, it may be of very great
advantage against a navy of enemies, who, by this means, may be undermined
in the water and blown up.”

Another old writer, Schott, in a rare and curious work, entitled
“Mirabilia Mechanica,” offers several schemes for submarine vessels, and
gives a drawing of one with a paddle-wheel as the propelling power. The
wheel, worked by men, was to work in a watertight box in the centre of the
vessel, the paddles projecting below the keel. A Frenchman built a vessel
of this description at Rotterdam in 1653, and publicly exhibited it.
Pepys, in his “Diary,” writes, on the 14th of March, 1662: “This afternoon
came the German Dr. Knuffler, to discourse with us about his engine to
blow up ships. We doubted not the matter of fact—it being tried in
Cromwell’s time—but the safety of carrying them in ships; but he do tell
us that when he comes to tell the King his secret (for none but kings
successively, and their heirs, must know it) it will appear of no danger
at all.” We have before described Fulton’s submarine boat, the _Nautilus_,
and his torpedo experiments in France and England; let us now follow him
to the New World.

Fulton arrived in America in December, 1806, and so far from being
discouraged by the apathy displayed towards his inventions in Europe,
inaugurated fresh experiments, under Government sanction, a certain
expenditure being authorised. An amusing account of one of his semi-public
exhibitions is given by his biographer:(47)—“In the meantime, anxious to
prepossess his countrymen with a good opinion of his project, he invited
the magistracy of New York and a number of citizens to Governor’s Island,
where were the torpedoes and the machinery with which his experiments were
to be made; these, with the manner in which they were to be used and were
expected to operate, he explained very fully. While he was lecturing on
his blank torpedoes, which were large empty copper cylinders, his numerous
auditors crowded round him. At length he turned to a copper case of the
same description, which was placed under the gateway of the fort, and to
which was attached a clockwork lock. This, by drawing out a peg, he set in
motion, and then said to his attentive audience, ‘Gentlemen, this is a
charged torpedo, with which, precisely in its present state, I mean to
blow up a vessel; it contains one hundred and seventy pounds of gunpowder,
and if I were to suffer the clockwork to run fifteen minutes, I have no
doubt but that it would blow this fortification to atoms!’ The circle
round Mr. Fulton was very soon much enlarged, and before five of the
fifteen minutes were out there were but two or three persons remaining
under the gateway; some, indeed, lost no time in getting at the greatest
possible distance from the torpedo with their best speed, and did not
again appear on the ground till they were assured it was lodged in the
magazine.” Fulton, of course, displayed the utmost coolness, knowing that
his torpedo could not explode till the clockwork had run its allotted
time, and of course taking care that it should be stopped long before the
expiration of the fifteen minutes.

On the 20th of July, 1807, he attempted to blow up with torpedoes, in the
harbour of New York, a large hulk brig which had been provided for the
purpose. Several unsuccessful attempts were made at first, owing to some
derangements connected with the locks of the exploding apparatus. At
length, however, the explosion took place, and was a thorough success. He
has left a full account of it in his own work.(48) Nothing was left of the
brig; all that was seen in her place was a high column of water, smoke,
and fragments. It showed, as Fulton always believed, that the torpedo
should, if possible, be exploded _under_ the vessel to be blown up. In his
cool but yet enthusiastic way he says: “Should a ship of the line
containing five hundred men contend with ten good row-boats, each with a
torpedo and ten men, she would risk total annihilation, while the boats,
under the cover of the night and quick movements, would risk only a few
men out of one hundred.”

Fulton, after this, lectured frequently before the members of Congress,
and so favourably impressed them that a sum of 5,000 dollars was voted in
aid of his experiments. One of the plans he proposed was to couple by a
line two torpedoes, then letting them drift on the bow of the vessel to be
destroyed, the line would catch on the cable or bows, and the torpedoes
would drift towards the vessel on either side. He also proposed “block
ships” of 50 or 100 tons, with cannon-proof sides and musket-proof decks
(_i.e._, virtually ironclads), to be propelled by machinery, _which was to
be worked by the crew_. “On each quarter and bow she was to be armed with
a torpedo fastened to a long spar, the interior end of which was to be
supported and braced by ropes from the yards.... By means of these spars
the torpedoes were to be thrust under the bottom of the vessel to be
destroyed.” Half the many plans proposed for torpedo warfare may be traced
back to Robert Fulton at the end of the last and beginning of the present
century. Among his inventions was a “cable-cutting machine,” a description
of which would occupy an undue amount of space in a popular work. Suffice
it to say that by its means he succeeded in cutting, several feet below
the surface of the water, the cable—a 14-inch one—of a vessel lying at
anchor.

One of the most important experiments made at this time was his attempt,
under sanction of Government, to blow up the sloop-of-war _Argus_, and the
case demonstrates very clearly the ingenuity of the _defence_, and the
means taken to foil the assailing torpedo. We have heard quite recently of
propositions to defend a vessel by means of a kind of “crinoline,” as it
has been termed, a strong network, &c., surrounding the whole or a part of
the vessel at some distance from it, which should prevent the torpedo from
exploding near the hull. Such was actually the means devised by Commodore
Rodgers, of the United States Navy, in the year 1809, and which proved
entirely successful in foiling Fulton’s torpedo. Colden says:—“She had a
strong netting suspended from her spritsail-yard, which was anchored at
the bottom; she was surrounded by spars lashed together, which floated on
the surface of the water, so as to place her completely in a pen; she had
grappling-irons and heavy pieces of the same metal suspended from her
yards and rigging, ready to be plunged in any boat that came beneath them;
she had great swords, or scythes, fastened to the ends of long spars,
moving like sweeps, which unquestionably would have mowed off as many
heads as came within their reach.”

  [Illustration: THE OLD STYLE AND THE NEW (A THREE-DECKER AND A TORPEDO
                                 BOAT).]

By these devices the torpedo-boat was unable to get near the _Argus_,
while the netting, anchored to the bottom of the harbour, prevented any
probability of the torpedo being fired under the vessel. The Government
had practically said to Fulton, “Do your best, and we’ll do our best to
defeat you.” The experiment was not one-sided, as are so many. Fulton, far
from complaining, thus wrote: “I will do justice to the talents of
Commodore Rodgers. The nets, booms, kentledge, and grapnels which he
arranged around the _Argus_ made a formidable appearance against one
torpedo-boat and eight bad oarsmen. I was taken unawares. I had explained
to the officers of the navy my means of attack; they did not inform me of
their means of defence. The nets were put down to the ground, otherwise I
should have sent the torpedoes under them. In this situation, the means
with which I was provided being imperfect, insignificant, and inadequate
to the effect to be produced, I might be compared to what the inventor of
gunpowder would have appeared had he lived in the time of Julius Cæsar,
and presented himself before the gates of Rome with a four-pounder, and
had endeavoured to convince the Roman people that by means of such
machines he could batter down their walls. They would have told him that a
few catapultas casting arrows and stones upon his men would cause them to
retreat; that a shower of rain would destroy his ill-guarded powder; and
the Roman centurions, who would have been unable to conceive the various
modes in which gunpowder has since been used to destroy the then art of
war, would very naturally conclude that it was a useless invention; while
the manufacturers of catapultas, bows, arrows, and shields would be the
most vehement against further experiments.”

       [Illustration: LIEUT. CUSHING’S ATTACK ON THE “ALBEMARLE.”]

Torpedoes were used extensively during the civil war in America, but
almost entirely for rivers or harbour defence. One of the most prominent
examples was the following:—The ironclad ram _Albemarle_(49) had been
carrying all before it, till Lieutenant Cushing, a brave young officer,
scarcely twenty-one years of age, took a steam-launch, equipped as a
torpedo-boat, on the night of October, 1864, up the Roanoake River. He had
with him thirteen men. The launch was steered directly for the ironclad,
which lay at one of the wharfs of Plymouth, protected by a raft of logs
extending thirty feet. The enemy’s fire was at once very severe, but the
torpedo-boat went bravely on, and succeeded in pressing in the logs a few
feet. Cushing, in his despatch, says—“The torpedo was exploded at the same
time that the _Albemarle’s_ gun was fired. A shot seemed to go crashing
through my boat, and a dense mass of water rushed in from the torpedo,
filling and completely disabling her. The enemy then continued to fire at
fifteen feet range, and demanded our surrender, which I twice refused.”
Cushing leaped into the water and, with one of his party, made good his
escape. The rest of the little crew were either captured, killed, or
wounded. The object of the attack was, however, successful, and the
_Albemarle_ was found to be a complete wreck. Torpedoes were also employed
with great effect by the Paraguayans in their war against the Brazilians
in 1866.

   [Illustration: PARAGUAYAN TORPEDO BLOWING UP A BRAZILIAN IRONCLAD.]

Great are the varieties of torpedoes invented at various times in late
years, and a technical description of them, which would be wearying to the
reader, would fill a large volume. An ingenious kind, known as the “Lay”
torpedo, after the name of its inventor, comes from the New World. It is
of cylindrical form, with conical ends, the forward cone calculated to
hold a hundred pounds of some explosive substance—dynamite,(50) probably,
being used. A forward section of the main cylinder holds a powerful gas,
condensed into _liquid_ form, and used as the motive power, and connected
with the machinery by a valve operated by electricity. The torpedo has a
cable coiled as harpoon-ropes are arranged in whaling-vessels, which may
be of any length, the wires connected with the battery following its
course. This instrument of destruction is entirely under the control of
the operator, who may be stationed with his small portable battery on the
shore or on a vessel. It is said that they have been sent out half a mile
and brought back to the starting-point at a rate of twelve miles an hour,
and that the rapidity and precision with which the machine obeyed the
operator demonstrated them to be among the most formidable weapons ever
invented for naval warfare.

      [Illustration: _Porter Torpedo Boat. Fulton’s Torpedo Boat._
          _ Spar Torpedo. (Front and Side Views.) Lay Torpedo._
                      DIFFERENT FORMS OF TORPEDOES.]

These subaqueous weapons have never been used in an engagement between
fleets. In an interesting essay(51) on the subject by Commander Noel,
R.N., he recommends or proposes that four torpedo vessels should accompany
a fleet, and describes their probable operations as follows:—

   [Illustration: TORPEDO EXPERIMENTS AT PORTSMOUTH, WITH THE ELECTRIC
                                 LIGHT.]

“Let us imagine ourselves, then, on board a rakish little craft, fitted
for Harvey torpedo work; we can steam sixteen knots; we tow a torpedo on
each quarter; and we are so admirably fitted with steel-protecting
mantelets that neither officer nor man is exposed either to view or to
rifle fire. Our instructions are that on the approach of a hostile force
we and our three consorts are to hold ourselves in readiness to charge the
enemy’s line, passing through at full speed, and doing all the damage that
lies in our power: these orders to be carried into effect in obedience to
a preconcerted signal. The enemy is observed approaching, and apparently
moving at about ten knots’ speed. The torpedo vessels are let loose, and,
choosing the centre of the enemy’s fleet, rush on, steering for a
flag-ship leading a column in line ahead. Heavy guns are fired at us as we
near, but we are so small and rapid in our movements that no shot takes
effect; we are reducing our distance at the rate of a mile in two and a
half minutes; soon comes the time of suspense; in a second or two we are
passing the flag-ship; the port torpedo is dipped—will it strike her?
Suddenly a tug on the wire towing-rope, and it parts. Her bow has been
protected, and our torpedo is torn away harmless. However, another mine
tows on the opposite quarter, still in working order; we are in the midst
of the enemy’s fleet, rushing past one after another at half-minute
intervals; our only chance of using our other torpedo is in breaking
through the line; our commander is eminent for his skill, courage, and
confidence. Little choice is given us, but he observes a rather great
interval astern of the fourth ship. ‘Starboard’ is the order, and we break
through under her stern; our starboard torpedo is at the same time dipped,
and passes under the fifth ship. Owing to a combination of luck and good
management, the torpedo takes effect and the enemy is blown up. The other
torpedo vessels have thrown the enemy into considerable disorder, but none
have succeeded in using their torpedoes with effect. One of them has been
struck by a heavy shell and totally disabled, but the whole fleet has
passed on without finding it possible to capture or sink her without
losing their position in station and being left behind; the thought
foremost in every captain’s mind also being that the enemy’s fleet is
almost in contact with them, and that the moment to act has arrived.

“This is an example of an attack with ‘Harvey’ torpedoes from ahead and
across the bow.... In my opinion, it would invariably be rendered
fruitless if the bows of the ships attacked were protected by an iron
framework of the simplest description.

“But let us return to our little craft, in which we have already run the
gauntlet of the hostile fleet. Having cleared the enemy with little or no
damage, we look back and see our fleet of ironclads breaking through their
lines, which have been so shaken by our assault. When through, our fleet
re-forms and wheels for the next charge. We must be at work again; our
torpedoes are replaced, and everything is in working order. This time we
follow our ironclads to the charge. We are, if anything, more hopeful of
success. The enemy will not see us till we are at them; our blood is
warming to the work, and we feel that we have gained experience and
confidence by the first charge. Pressing on, we observe the second charge
of the fleet, amidst smoke, confusion, and thundering of cannon. The enemy
is prepared, and it is a case of ‘Greek meeting Greek.’ Our vessel is put
at full speed, and, with our consorts (now reduced to two), we go at the
enemy. However, in the charge that is made only one of us succeeds in
exploding a torpedo, and that without much damage to the enemy; one of our
consorts is run down and sunk, and we pass through, only dipping one
torpedo, and that too late to take effect. The enemy are not in the steady
line they were in before, and consequently we have not such an opportunity
of creating disorder, and have more difficulty in manœuvring to use our
weapon. Passing on, fortune still favours us. We come across an enemy
disabled, stern on to us with her ensign flying. ‘At her!’ is the order.
Another moment and we are close to her, our torpedo in beautiful position,
and the enemy helpless. Down comes her ensign, just in time; we are able
to let go the torpedo so as to clear her—now a lawful prize.

“So it is that I believe a torpedo vessel will be handled in an action. It
will be ticklish work; and all I can say is that the men who undertake it
should be gifted with coolness and courage above their fellows, as well as
with the utmost proficiency in handling their vessels.”

Perhaps the most formidable _ocean-going_ torpedo vessel yet constructed
is the American despatch-vessel _Alarm_, designed by Admiral David Porter,
of the United States Navy. It is 172 feet long, including a ram of
twenty-seven feet in length. One of her special qualities is the power of
launching torpedoes from almost any point, from cylinders specially
constructed for the purpose, that at the bow being thirty-two feet in
length. A torpedo-boat, built by the Messrs. Yarrow, of Poplar, for the
Russian Government during the late war, appears to have special merits. It
is built of light steel, with what is called a “whale-back”—a
semi-circular covering, which resists any ordinary shot and throws off any
sea whatever. The funnel is not in the centre, but towards the side, in
order not to interfere with the steersman’s view nor with the torpedo
boom. It has a boom which can be lowered in the water, the torpedo being
submerged ten feet before it is started off on its deadly errand. And,
finally, it can be projected from the stern, which gives it a splendid
chance of leaving before the final explosion.

In the late Turko-Russian war torpedoes were often attached to logs of
wood or clumps of brushwood, and floated into the stream of the Danube.
These often attracted little attention; and when they came into contact
with any obstacle the mine exploded by means of percussion, the blow being
delivered by a projecting arm or other contrivance driven back upon some
detonating substance within. The Harvey torpedo, one of the leading types,
consists of a stout wooden casing, strengthened on the outside with iron
straps, and containing a metal shell, which holds the powder charge. The
largest size of this weapon measures 4 feet 6 inches in length by 2 feet
in depth, and 2 feet 6 inches in width, and carries 100 lbs. of dynamite.
The torpedo is fired by being brought into hugging contact with an enemy’s
ship, when one or other of two projecting levers acts upon an exploding
bolt causing the ignition of the charge. The exploding apparatus consists
of a tube containing a chemical agent and a bulb holding another. The
nature of these chemicals is such that when they combine violent
combustion ensues, which explodes the charge. These torpedoes are towed at
the end of a long hawser, connected to a spar, so arranged that the
torpedo itself, instead of following immediately in the wake or trail of
the vessel towing it, diverges in the same manner that an otter float
does: from which device Captain Harvey took his idea. Attached to the
torpedo are two large buoys, for the purpose of supporting it when the
vessel is not moving through the water, or when the towing-line is
slackened. Another variety is fired by electricity.

The Whitehead, or “fish” torpedo, is a cigar-shaped steel cylinder 14 to
19 feet in length, and from 14 to 16 inches in diameter. It is sent off,
requiring no crew, against the ship to be destroyed; and if one torpedo
fails to deal the death-blow it can be followed up by another, or yet a
third. It consists of three compartments. The head contains the
explosive—say 360 lbs. of gun-cotton; the centre holds the machinery; and
the tail the highly-condensed air which works the engine. The engine is
about thirty-five pounds weight, and can be worked to forty horse power!
The explanation of this is simply that the working pressure of the
condensed air is 1,000 lbs. per square inch. The tail holds compressed air
sufficient to propel the torpedo 200 yards, at a rate of twenty-five miles
an hour, or 1,000 yards at the rate of seventeen miles.

The “battle of the guns” has not yet been fought; but how about the rams?
They have been proved the deadliest weapons of destruction in modern
times. The lessons of Lissa have been already cited in these pages; so
have the lessons taught by the loss of the _Vanguard_ and the _Grosser
Kurfurst_. In the latter cases it was friends that struck the blow. Some
of our greatest authorities consider that nothing can exceed the power of
the ram of a modern ironclad, properly applied. Admiral Touchard, of the
French Navy, says: “The ‘beak’ (_i.e._ ‘ram’) is now the principal weapon
in naval combats—the _ultima ratio_ of maritime war.” Captain Colomb, a
distinguished English authority, says: “Let us just recall the fact that
the serious part of a future naval attack does not appear to be the guns,
but the rams.” Yet again another authority, Captain Pellew, says: “Rams
are the arm of naval warfare to which I attach the chief importance. In my
opinion, the aim of all manœuvring and preliminary practice with the guns
should be to get a fair opportunity for ramming.”





                                CHAPTER X.


                     THE LIGHTHOUSE AND ITS HISTORY.


        The Lighthouse—Our most noted one in Danger—The Eddystone
       Undermined—The Ancient History of Lighthouses—The Pharos of
     Alexandria—Roman Light Towers at Boulogne and Dover—Fire-beacons
         and Pitch-pots—The Tower of Cordouan—The First Eddystone
       Lighthouse—Winstanley and his Eccentricities—Difficulties of
      Building his Wooden Structure—Resembles a Pagoda—The Structure
         Swept Away with its Inventor—Another Silk Mercer in the
         Field—Rudyerd’s Lighthouse—Built of Wood—Stood for Fifty
    Years—Creditable Action of Louis XIV.—Lighthouse Keeper alone with
       a Corpse—The Horrors of a Month—Rudyerd’s Tower destroyed by
        Fire—Smeaton’s Early History—Employed to Build the Present
     Eddystone—Resolves on a Stone Tower—Employment of “Dove-tailing”
     in Masonry—Difficulties of Landing on the Rock—Peril incurred by
    the Workmen—The First Season’s Work—Smeaton always in the Post of
           Danger—Watching the Rock from Plymouth Hoe—The Last
       Season—Vibrations of the Tower in a Storm—Has Stood for 120
     Years—Joy of the Mariner when “The Eddystone’s in Sight!”—Lights
                         in the English Channel.


                              [Illustration]

Round the history of ships and shipping interests innumerable subjects
intertwine. But for the good ship, we should not need coast
fortifications, grand breakwaters, and artificial harbours, lighthouses,
lifeboats, and coast-guard organisations. Just as England stands
pre-eminent on the sea, so in all subsidiary points connected therewith
she is fully represented. To the lighthouse and its history attention is
now invited.

Not long since many an anxious eye was turned Channelwards from Plymouth
Hoe towards that group of rocks, on one of which the famous Eddystone
Light stood—and happily, still stands—for the light that should have
illumined the stormy waters was apparently quenched. Not till morning dawn
had nearly come was a re-assuring glimmer noted in the lantern of that
famed Pharos of our coasts. And there was good reason for anxiety,
although the immediate occasion was a mere temporary derangement of the
lighting apparatus: for the report had spread that Smeaton’s greatest
architectural triumph had collapsed before the power of the sea. One
trembles to think what that might have meant, not merely to its few
inhabitants, but to scores of sailors and owners. “Happily,” said one of
our leading journals, “the Eddystone is still safe, despite the terrible
effects of winds and waves, and the serious weakness of its own
foundations, which was discovered a few years ago. For the tower which
lights the way of the sailor into Plymouth Sound is, after all, not so
secure a structure as could be desired. Built of solid masonry and with
immense skill, by the clever architect from Hull who designed and carried
out the work, it had yet to trust for its foundation to the rock upon
which it stood. Should that give way the stone-work of the edifice might
be strong enough, and yet some day fall into hopeless ruin. Strange to
say, this very weakness has been self-revealed. The rock upon which the
lighthouse stands, and which, of the twenty-three that comprise the group,
is most exposed to the action of the sea, has been so violently attacked
by what Ovid calls the ‘insane waters’ as to have become very seriously
undermined. Gradually the waves have cut away the foundations of the
stone, rising now and then against the lighthouse, and pressing against
the structure with such force as to make the building itself serve the
turn of a crowbar, and so, little by little, creating fissures in the
foundations, and gradually preparing the way to the end.” Many attempts
have been made to obviate these evils by the removal of rock which it was
supposed acted as a lever to the water, and by other means: but in vain.
At length the Board of Trinity House finding their efforts futile,
determined to erect another lighthouse. Meantime, a light-ship has been
provided, which, in case of accident to Smeaton’s tower, will be moored in
the neighbourhood. A larger building is now in course of erection on an
adjacent rock, which affords a more durable foundation and is less exposed
to the merciless waves. It will be nearly double the height of the older
structure, which was seventy-two feet high, and is being built on a
principle of dovetailing, which, it is hoped and believed, will secure it
against the worst fury of the sea. Think what that fury is sometimes,
gentle reader! At the Skerryvore Rock they have an apparatus for
registering the power of the waves per square foot surface; once recently
it registered _three tons_ to the foot!

The most noted lighthouse in the world was undoubtedly the Pharos of
Alexandria, named from the island on which it stood. The French, Italians,
and Spaniards to-day use the term almost in its original purity: thus,
French for lighthouse, _phare_; Italian and Spanish, _faro_. It was
commenced by the first Ptolemy, and finished about 280 B.C., the
workmanship, according to all accounts, being superb. This tower of white
stone was 400 feet high. It is stated by Josephus that the light, which
was always kept burning on its top at night, was visible over forty miles.
It is believed to have been destroyed by an earthquake, though the date of
its destruction is unknown.

The Romans were the first to erect anything approaching a Pharos, or
lighthouse, on our coasts. Beacon fires may have been occasionally used
before; the conquerors made the matter an organised affair. On either side
the Channel, at Boulogne and Dover, structures of no mean altitude were
raised for this purpose. That at Boulogne is supposed to have been erected
by Caligula; all vestiges of it have passed away. It was originally called
_Turris Ardens_, afterwards corrupted to the _Tour d’Ordre_. From a
description left by Claude Châtillon, engineer to Henry IV., it appears
that it was built about a stone’s throw from the edge of the cliff, above
and overlooking the high tower and the castle. Its form was octagonal,
with a base 192 feet in circumference. It was built of grey stone with
thin red bricks between. That at Dover still exists. It occupies the
highest point of the lofty rock on which the famous castle is built. This
Pharos was also octagonal in outward form, being square within. It is 33
feet in diameter, and formerly about 72 feet high. On the summit three
holes on the three exterior sides indicate their purposes, both for
look-out and for exhibiting a light seawards.

Long after, and indeed almost down to our days, fire-beacons were far more
common on exposed parts of our coasts than lighthouses. “The first idea of
a lighthouse,” said Faraday, “is the candle in the cottage window, guiding
the husband across the water or the pathless moor.” Lambarde says of the
lights shown along the coast that, “Before the time of Edward III., they
were made of great stacks of wood; but about the eleventh yeere of his
raigne it was ordained that in our shyre (Kent) they should be high
standards with their pitchpots.” Such were long used.

Lighthouses in these days differ greatly in material and mode of
construction. Stone, brick, cast and wrought iron, and even wood, are
used, according to the necessities of the case, or the lacks of the
special locality where they are placed. In the case of some iron
lighthouses they are literally screwed into the rock or hard ground.
Seventy of this class of structures now exist in the United States.

                  [Illustration: THE TOWER OF CORDOUAN.]

One of the most remarkable early lighthouses is the Tower of Cordouan,
situated on a ledge of rocks at the mouth of the Garonne, which empties
into the Bay of Biscay. It was commenced in 1584, and completed in 1610,
by Louis de Foix.

The ledge is about 3,000 feet long and 1,500 feet broad, and is bare at
low water. It is surrounded by detached rocks, upon which the sea breaks
with terrific violence. There is but one place of access, which is a
passage 300 feet wide, where there are no rocks, and which leads to within
600 feet of the tower. The tower was a circular cone, rising from its
rocky base to a height of 162 feet. It is now shorter. The apartments of
the tower are highly ornamented, consisting of four storeys, all of
different orders of architecture, and adorned with busts and statues of
Kings of France and heathen gods. The basement, or lower storey, appears
to have been intended as a store-room; the second storey is called the
“King’s apartments;” the third is a chapel; and the fourth consists of a
dome supported by columns, a kind of lower lantern; above this was
originally a lantern formed of a stone dome and eight columns. In the
upper lantern a fire of oak wood was kept burning for about a hundred
years, when, in 1717, the fire having weakened the stone supports by
calcining them, the upper lantern was taken down, and the light was kept
up in the lower lantern. As it did not show well there, an iron lantern
was erected in 1727 above this, in the place of the old stone lantern, and
coal was then used for fuel instead of wood.

The following history of the Eddystone is largely derived from one of Mr.
Samuel Smiles’ graphic and learned works.(52)

In 1696, Mr. Henry Winstanley (a mercer and country gentleman), of
Littlebury, in the county of Essex, obtained the necessary powers to erect
a lighthouse on the Eddystone. That gentleman seems to have possessed a
curious mechanical genius, which first displayed itself in devising sundry
practical jokes for the entertainment of his guests. Smeaton tells us that
in one room there lay an old slipper, which, if a kick was given it,
immediately raised a ghost from the floor; in another the visitor sat down
upon a chair, which suddenly threw out two arms and held him a fast
prisoner; whilst, in the garden, if he sought the shelter of an arbour,
and sat down upon a particular seat, he was straightway set afloat in the
middle of the adjoining canal. These tricks must have rendered the house
at Littlebury a somewhat exciting residence for the uninitiated guest. The
amateur inventor exercised the same genius, to a certain extent, for the
entertainment of the inhabitants of the metropolis, and at Hyde Park
Corner he erected a variety of _jets d’eau_, known by the name of
Winstanley’s Waterworks, which he exhibited at stated times at a shilling
a head.

This whimsicality of the man in some measure accounts for the oddity of
the wooden building erected by him on the Eddystone Rock; and it is matter
of surprise that it should have stood the severe weather of the English
Channel for several seasons. The building was begun in the year 1696, and
finished in four years. It must necessarily have been a work attended with
great difficulty as well as danger, as operations could only be carried on
during fine weather, when the sea was comparatively smooth. The first
summer was wholly spent in making twelve holes in the rock, and fastening
twelve irons in them, by which to hold fast the superstructure. “Even in
summer,” Winstanley says, “the weather would at times prove so bad that
for ten or fourteen days together the sea would be so raging about these
rocks, caused by out-winds and the running of the ground seas coming from
the main ocean, that although the weather should seem and be most calm in
other places, yet here it would mount and fly more than two hundred feet,
as has been so found since there was lodgment on the place, and therefore
all our works were constantly buried at those times, and exposed to the
mercy of the seas.”

The second summer was spent in making a solid pillar, twelve feet high and
fourteen feet in diameter, on which to build the lighthouse. In the third
year all the upper work was erected to the vane, which was eighty feet
above the foundation. In the midsummer of that year Winstanley ventured to
take up his lodging with the workmen in the lighthouse; but a storm arose,
and eleven days passed before any boats could come near them. During that
period the sea washed in upon Winstanley and his companions, wetting all
their clothing and provisions, and carrying off many of their materials.
By the time the boats could land, the party were reduced almost to their
last crust; but, happily, the building stood, apparently firm. Finally,
the light was exhibited on the summit of the building, on the 14th of
November, 1698.

The fourth year was occupied in strengthening the building round the
foundations, making all solid nearly to a height of twenty feet, and also
in raising the upper part of the lighthouse forty feet, to keep it well
out of the wash of the sea. This timber erection, when finished, somewhat
resembled a Chinese pagoda, with open galleries and numerous fantastic
projections. The main gallery, under the light, was so wide and open that
an old gentleman who remembered both Winstanley and his lighthouse,
afterwards told Smeaton that it was possible for a six-oared boat to be
lifted up on a wave and driven clear through the open gallery into the sea
on the other side. In the perspective print of the lighthouse, published
by the architect after its erection, he complacently represented himself
as fishing out of the kitchen window!

                 [Illustration: WINSTANLEY’S LIGHTHOUSE.]

When Winstanley had brought his work to completion, he is said to have
expressed himself so satisfied as to its strength that he only wished he
might be there in the fiercest storm that ever blew. In this wish he was
not disappointed, though the result was the reverse entirely of the
builder’s anticipations. In November, 1703, Winstanley went off to the
lighthouse to superintend some repairs which had become necessary, and he
was still in the place with the light-keepers, when, on the night of the
26th, a storm of unparalleled fury burst along the coast. As day broke on
the morning of the 27th, people on shore anxiously looked in the direction
of the rock to see if Winstanley’s structure had withstood the fury of the
gale, but not a vestige of it remained. The lighthouse and its builder had
been swept completely away.

The building had, in fact, been deficient in every element of stability,
and its form was such as to render it peculiarly liable to damage from the
violence both of wind and water. “Nevertheless,” as Smeaton generously
observes, “it was no small degree of heroic merit in Winstanley to
undertake a piece of work which had before been deemed impracticable, and,
by the success which attended his endeavours, to show mankind that the
erection of such a work was not in itself a thing of that kind.” He may,
indeed, be said to have paved the way for the more successful enterprise
of Smeaton himself; and its failure was not without its influence in
inducing that great mechanic to exercise the care which he did, in
devising a structure that should withstand the most violent sea on the
south coast. Shortly after Winstanley’s lighthouse had been swept away,
the _Winchelsea_, a richly laden homeward-bound Virginian, was wrecked on
the Eddystone Rock, and almost every soul on board perished; so that the
erection of a lighthouse upon the dangerous reef remained as much a
necessity as ever.

                  [Illustration: RUDYERD’S LIGHTHOUSE.]

Mr. Smiles graphically describes the coming architect of the period. He
did not, however, come from the class of architects or builders, or even
of mechanics; and as for the class of engineers, it had not even yet
sprung into existence. The projector of the next lighthouse for the
Eddystone was again a London mercer, who kept a silk shop on Ludgate Hill.
John Rudyerd—for such was his name—was, however, a man of unquestionable
genius, and possessed of much force of character. He was the son of a
Cornish labourer, whom nobody would employ—his character was so bad; and
the rest of the family were no better, being looked upon in their
neighbourhood as “a worthless set of ragged beggars.” John seems to have
been the one sound chick in the whole brood. He had a naturally clear head
and honest heart, and succeeded in withstanding the bad example of his
family. When his brothers went out pilfering, he refused to accompany
them, and hence they regarded him as sullen and obstinate. They ill-used
him, and he ran away. Fortunately he succeeded in getting into the service
of a gentleman at Plymouth, who saw something promising in his appearance.
The boy conducted himself so well in the capacity of a servant, that he
was allowed to learn reading, writing, and accounts; and he proved so
quick and intelligent, that his kind master eventually placed him in a
situation where his talents could have better scope for exercise than in
his service, and he succeeded in thus laying the foundation of the young
man’s success in life.

We are not informed of the steps by which Rudyerd marked his way upward,
until we find him called from his silk-mercer’s shop to undertake the
rebuilding of the Eddystone Lighthouse. But it is probable that by this
time he had become well known for his mechanical skill in design, if not
in construction, as well as for his thoroughly practical and reliable
character as a man of business; and that for these reasons, amongst
others, he was selected to conduct this difficult and responsible
undertaking.

After the lapse of about three years from the destruction of Winstanley’s
fabric, the Brothers of the Trinity, in 1706, obtained an Act of
Parliament enabling them to rebuild the lighthouse, with power to grant a
lease to the undertaker. It was taken by one Captain Lovet for a period of
ninety-nine years, and he it was that found out and employed Rudyerd. His
design of the new structure was simple but masterly. He selected the form
that offered the least possible resistance to the force of the winds and
the waves, avoiding the open galleries and projections of his predecessor.
Instead of a polygon he chose a cone for the outline of his building, and
he carried up the elevation in that form. In the practical execution of
the work he was assisted by two shipwrights from the king’s yard at
Woolwich, who worked with him during the whole time he was occupied in the
erection.

The main defect of the lighthouse consisted of the faultiness of the
material of which it was built; for, like Winstanley’s, it was of wood.
The means employed to fix the work to its foundation proved quite
efficient; dove-tailed holes were cut out of the rock, into which strong
iron bolts or branches were keyed, and the interstices were afterwards
filled with molten pewter. To these branches were firmly fixed a crown of
squared oak balks, across these a set of shorter balks, and so on till a
basement of solid wood was raised, the whole being firmly fitted and tied
together with tre-nails and screw-bolts. At the same time, to increase the
weight and vertical pressure of the building, and thereby present a
greater resistance to any disturbing forces, Rudyerd introduced numerous
courses of Cornish moorstone, as well jointed as possible, and cramped
with iron. It is not necessary to follow the details of the construction
further than to state that outside the solid timber and stone courses
strong upright timbers were fixed, and carried up as the work proceeded,
binding the whole firmly together. Within these upright timbers the rooms
of the lighthouse were formed, the floor of the lowest—the
store-room—being situated twenty-seven feet above the highest side of the
rock. The upper part of the building comprehended four rooms, one above
another, chiefly formed by the upright outside timbers, scarfed—that is,
the ends overlapping, and firmly fastened together. The whole building
was, indeed, an admirable piece of ship-carpentry, excepting only the
moorstone, which was merely introduced, as it were, by way of ballast. The
outer timbers were tightly caulked with oakum, like a ship, and the whole
was payed over with pitch. Upon the roof of the main column Rudyerd fixed
his lantern, which was lit by candles, seventy feet above the highest side
of the foundation, which was of a sloping form. From its lowest side to
the summit of the ball fixed on the top of the building was ninety-two
feet, the timber column resting on a base of twenty-three feet four
inches. “The whole building,” says Smeaton, “consisted of a simple figure,
being an elegant frustum of a cone, unbroken by any projecting ornaments,
or anything whereon the violence of the storm could lay hold.” The
structure was completely finished in 1709, though the light was exhibited
in the lantern as early as the 28th of July, 1706.

That the building erected by Rudyerd was, on the whole, well adapted for
the purpose for which it was intended, was proved by the fact that it
served as a lighthouse for ships navigating the English Channel for nearly
fifty years. The lighthouse was at first attended by only two men. It
happened, however, that one of the keepers was taken ill and died, and
only one man remained to do the work. He signalled for assistance, but the
weather prevented any boat from reaching the rock for nearly a month.
What, then, was the surviving man to do with the dead body of his comrade?
The thought struck him that if he threw it into the sea, he might be
charged with murder. He determined, therefore, to keep the corpse in the
lighthouse until a boat should come off from the shore. At last a boat
came off, but the weather was still so rough that a landing was only
effected with the greatest difficulty. By this time the effluvia from the
corpse was overpowering; it filled the apartments of the lighthouse, and
the men were compelled to dispose of the body by throwing it into the sea.
In future three men were always employed.

           [Illustration: DESTRUCTION OF RUDYERD’S LIGHTHOUSE.]

The chief defect of Rudyerd’s building consisted of the material of which
it was constructed; the necessary lights and heat proceeding from them
made it a very dangerous structure. “The immediate cause of the accident
by which the lighthouse was destroyed was never ascertained. All that
became known was, that about two o’clock in the morning of the 2nd
December, 1755, the light-keeper on duty, going into the lantern to snuff
the candles, found it full of smoke. The lighthouse was on fire! In a few
minutes the wooden fabric was in a blaze. Water could not be brought up
the tower by the men in sufficient quantities to be thrown with any effect
upon the flames raging above their heads; the molten lead fell down upon
the light-keepers, into their very mouths,(53) and they fled from room to
room, the fire following them down towards the sea. From Cawsand and Rame
Head the unusual glare of light proceeding from the Eddystone was seen in
the early morning, and fishing-boats, with men, went off to the rock,
though a fresh east wind was blowing. By the time they reached it, the
light-keepers had not only been driven from all the rooms, but, to protect
themselves from the molten lead and red-hot bolts and falling timbers,
they had been compelled to take shelter under a ledge of the rock on its
eastern side, and after considerable delay the poor fellows were taken
off, more dead than alive. And thus was Rudyerd’s lighthouse also
completely destroyed.” The Eddystone rocks being in such an exposed place,
right in the way of so much shipping, it was resolved at once to rebuild
the lighthouse.

Previous to the date of the destruction of Rudyerd’s timber building,
Captain Lovet, the former lessee of the lighthouse, had died, and his
interest in it had been acquired by Mr. Robert Weston and two others.
Weston immediately applied to the Earl of Macclesfield, President of the
Royal Society, who strongly recommended John Smeaton, then away in the
north. Weston immediately wrote to him, but Smeaton, thinking apparently
that it only referred to some repairs required in the building, declined
to come up, unless there was to be some degree of permanency in his
engagement. The answer he received was to the effect that the building was
no more; that it must be rebuilt; and concluded with the words, “thou art
the man to do it.”

The life of Smeaton is one of the most interesting to be found among “The
Lives of the Engineers.” He was born near Leeds, on the 8th of June, 1724,
his father being a respectable attorney, and he received an excellent
education. “Young Smeaton,” says Mr. Smiles, “was not much given to boyish
sports, early displaying a thoughtfulness beyond his years. Most children
are naturally fond of building up miniature fabrics, and perhaps still
more so of pulling them down. But the little Smeaton seemed to have a more
than ordinary love of contrivance, and that mainly for its own sake. He
was never so happy as when put in possession of any cutting tool, by which
he could make his little imitations of houses, pumps, and windmills. Even
whilst a boy in petticoats, he was continually drawing circles and
squares, and the only playthings in which he seemed to take any real
pleasure were his models of things that would ‘work.’ When any carpenters
or masons were employed in the neighbourhood of his father’s house, the
inquisitive boy was sure to be among them, watching the men, observing how
they handled their tools, and frequently asking them questions. His
life-long friend, Mr. Holmes, who knew him in his youth, has related, that
having one day observed some millwrights at work, shortly after, to the
great alarm of his family, he was seen fixing something like a windmill on
the top of his father’s barn. On another occasion, when watching some
workmen fixing a pump in the village, he was so lucky as to procure from
them a piece of bored pipe, which he succeeded in fashioning into a
working pump that actually raised water. His odd cleverness, however, does
not seem to have been appreciated; and it is told of him that amongst
other boys he was known as ‘Fooly Smeaton,’ for though forward enough in
putting questions to the workpeople, amongst boys of his own age he was
remarkably shy, and, as they thought, stupid.” He made great progress at
the Leeds Grammar School in geometry and arithmetic, still carrying on his
mechanical studies at home. It happened one day that some mechanics came
into the neighbourhood to erect a “fire-engine,” as the steam-engine was
then called, for pumping water from the Garforth coal mines. Smeaton
watched their operations, and thereupon commenced the erection of a
miniature engine at home, provided with pumps and other apparatus, which
he succeeded in getting to work before the colliery engine was ready. He
immediately set it to work on one of his father’s fish-ponds, which he
succeeded in pumping completely dry, killing all the fish, much to his
father’s annoyance. By the time he had arrived at his fifteenth year, he
had contrived to make a turning-lathe, on which he turned wood and ivory,
making little presents of boxes and other articles for his friends. His
father had destined young Smeaton for the law, but at last consented to
his son’s wish to become a mathematical instrument maker. The son came to
London, and was soon enabled to earn enough for his own maintenance. He
did not, however, live a mere workman’s life, but frequented the society
of educated men, and was a regular attendant at the meetings of the Royal
Society. We find him at the age of twenty-six reading papers before that
most learned society. He had already attempted improvements in the
mariner’s compass; had invented a machine for measuring the amount of
“way” on a ship at sea; and designed improvements in the air-pump, in
ships’ tackle, and in water and wind-mills. He had already acquired an
honourable reputation as a scientific engineer when the question of
rebuilding the Eddystone Lighthouse arose.

This afforded Smeaton a grand opening for advancement, and as soon as some
preliminaries were arranged, he came to town, where he studied the subject
in its entirety. He soon came to the conclusion that stone was the only
material to employ in the construction of a lighthouse, contrary to the
opinion of the Brethren of the Trinity House, who had faith in wood, and
that only. He also devised a system of dovetailing, then scarcely known in
masonry, though common enough in carpentry. All these investigations were
made before Smeaton had even paid a visit to the exposed site on which the
lighthouse was to be built. It was not till March, 1756, that he set out
from London to Plymouth, a journey which occupied him six days, on account
of the badness of the roads. At Plymouth he met Josias Jessop, to whom he
had been referred for information as to the previous lighthouse. Jessop
was then a foreman of shipwrights in the dockyard, and a first-class
draughtsman, full of ingenuity and mechanical knowledge. Smeaton was very
anxious to go out to the rocks at once; but the sea was so heavy that no
opportunity occurred till the 2nd of April, when they were able to reach
them. The sea was breaking over the landing-place with such violence that
there was no possibility of landing. All that the enthusiastic engineer
could do was to view the cone of bare rock—the mere crest of the mountain
whose base was laid so far in the sea-deeps beneath. Three days later
another voyage was made, and he was enabled to land on the site of his
future triumph. He stayed there more than two hours, when he was compelled
by the roughness of the sea to leave the rock. Several subsequent trials
were unsuccessful. On the 22nd of the same month, after a lapse of
seventeen days, Smeaton was able to effect his second landing at low
water. After a further inspection, the party retreated to their sloop,
which lay off until the tide had fallen, when Smeaton again landed, and
the night being perfectly still, he says, “I went on with my business till
nine in the evening, having worked an hour by candlelight.” The following
day he again landed, and pursued his operations until interrupted by the
ground-swell, which sent the surf and waves high upon the reef, and the
wind rising, the sloop was forced to put for Plymouth. This is, as we
shall see, but a sample of the difficulties attending the actual
construction of the tower. Lord Ellesmere said of him that “bloody battles
had been won, and campaigns conducted to a successful issue, with less of
personal exposure to physical danger on the part of the
commander-in-chief, than was constantly encountered by Smeaton during the
greater part of those years in which the lighthouse was in course of
erection. In all works of danger he himself led the way—was the first to
spring upon the rock and the last to leave it; and by his own example he
inspired with courage the humble workmen engaged in carrying out his
plans; who, like himself, were unaccustomed to the special terrors of the
scene.”(54)

On his return to town, after several other visits, when he arranged for
the formation of a better landing-place, he made his report to the
proprietors, and was fully authorised to proceed with the design. He
accordingly proceeded to make a careful model of the lighthouse as he
intended it to be built. This having been approved by the proprietors and
by the Lords of the Admiralty, the engineer set out for Plymouth,
arranging at Dorchester, on his way, for a supply of Portland stone, of
which it was finally determined that the lighthouse should be mainly
constructed. Artificers and foremen were engaged; vessels provided for the
transport of men and material, and Mr. Jessop was appointed general
assistant, or as it is now termed, Resident Engineer. Mr. Smeaton fixed
the centre, and laid down the lines on the afternoon of the 3rd of August,
1756, and from that time the work proceeded, though with many
interruptions from bad weather and heavy seas. At best, six hours’ work
was all that could be performed at one time, and when it was possible the
men worked by torchlight. One principal object of the first season was to
get the dovetail recesses cut out of the rock for the reception of the
foundation-stones. The _Neptune_ buss was employed as a store-ship, and
rode at anchor a convenient distance from the rock in about twenty fathoms
of water. For many days the men could not land from her, and even had they
been able to do so, must have been washed off the rock, unless lashed to
it. At such times the provisions ran short, no boat being able to come off
from Plymouth. Towards the end of October, the yawl riding at the stern of
the buss broke loose by stress of weather and was lost. Smeaton was very
anxious to finish the boring of the foundation-holes during that season,
and the men still persevered when the weather gave the slightest chance,
although sometimes only able to labour two hours out of the twenty-four.

On the completion of the work at the end of November, the party prepared
to return to the yard on shore. The voyage proved most dangerous. Not
being able, in consequence of the gale that was blowing, to make Plymouth
Harbour, the _Neptune_ was steered for Fowey, on the coast of Cornwall.
The wind rose higher and higher, until it blew quite a storm; and in the
night, Mr. Smeaton, hearing a sudden alarm and clamour amongst the crew
overhead, ran upon deck in his shirt to ascertain the cause. It was
raining hard, and quite a hurricane was raging. “It being dark,” he says,
“the first thing I saw was the horrible appearance of breakers almost
surrounding us; John Bowden, one of the seamen, crying out, ‘For God’s
sake, heave hard at that rope if you mean to save your lives!’ I
immediately laid hold of the rope at which he himself was hauling as well
as the other seamen, though he was also managing the helm. I not only
hauled with all my strength, but called to and encouraged the workmen to
do the same thing.” Their sails were carried away or torn to ribbons,
while the sea could be heard beating on the rocks, though nothing of the
coast could be seen. Fortunately the vessel obeyed her helm, and they put
to sea again. At daybreak they found themselves out of sight of land, and
driving for the Bay of Biscay. Wearing ship, they stood once more for the
coast, and before night sighted the Land’s End. Finally, after having been
blown to sea for four days, they came to anchor in Plymouth Sound, much to
their own joy and that of their friends.

Winter was very fully occupied in dressing stones at the yards ashore for
next season’s work. Mr. Smeaton himself laid all the lines on the workshop
floor in chalk, in order to insure the greatest possible accuracy in
fitting. Nearly 450 tons of stone were thus dressed by the time the
weather was sufficiently favourable to continue operations on the rock.
During one of his visits to the quarries, a severe storm of thunder and
lightning occurred, by which the spire of Lostwithiel Church was
shattered, and this turned his attention to the necessity of protecting
his lighthouse in some way from the similar danger to which it would be
exposed. Franklin had just before published his mode of protecting tall
buildings by conductors, and Smeaton decided to adopt his plan. The work
of building fairly commenced in the summer of 1757, the first stone, of
two and a quarter tons weight, being in its place on the morning of
Sunday, the 12th of June. By the evening of the following day the first
course of four stones was laid, these being all required from the sloping
nature of the Eddystone Rock. The actual diameter of the tower itself kept
increasing until it reached the upper level of the rock. Thus the second
course consisted of thirteen pieces, the third of twenty-five, and so on.
The workmen were sometimes interrupted by ground-swells and heavy seas,
which kept them off the rock for days together, but, at length, on the
sixth course being laid, it was found that the building had been raised
above the average wash of the sea, and thenceforward the progress of the
work was much more rapid. The stones, when brought off from the vessels,
were all landed in their proper order, and everything was done to
facilitate the rapid progress of the work. Smeaton superintended the
construction of nearly the whole building, and was ever foremost in the
post of danger. Whilst working at the rock on one occasion, an accident
occurred which might well have proved more serious in its results. “The
men were about to lay the centre stone of the seventh course, on the
evening of the 11th of August, when Mr. Smeaton was enjoying the limited
promenade afforded by the level platform of stone which had, with so much
difficulty, been raised; but, making a false step into one of the cavities
made for the joggles, and being unable to recover his balance, he fell
from the brink of the work down among the rocks on the west side. The tide
being low at the time, he speedily got upon his feet, and at first
supposed himself little hurt, but shortly after he found that one of his
thumbs had been put out of joint. He reflected that he was fourteen miles
from land, far from a surgeon, and that uncertain winds and waves lay
between. He therefore determined to reduce the dislocation at once; and,
laying fast hold of the thumb with his other hand, and giving it a violent
pull, it snapped into its place again, after which he proceeded to fix the
centre stone of the building.” The work now proceeded steadily, occasional
damage being done by the heavy seas washing over the stones, tools, and
materials.

                [Illustration: THE EDDYSTONE LIGHTHOUSE.]

The following winter was very tempestuous, and the floating light-ship,
stationed about two miles from the rock, was driven from its moorings,
though it eventually reached harbour in safety. It was the 12th of May
before Smeaton, anxious to see how his tower had stood the winter storms,
could land on the rock. He was delighted to find that the entire work
remained intact, as he had left it. At the end of this season, the
twenty-ninth course of stones had been laid, and the apartments of the
lighthouse-keepers commenced. While living at Plymouth, Smeaton used to
come out upon the Hoe(55) with his telescope and, from the spot where the
Spanish Armada was first descried making for the English coast, peer out
towards the rocks on one of which his lighthouse stood. “There were still
many who persisted in asserting that no building erected of stone could
possibly stand upon the Eddystone; and again and again the engineer, in
the dim grey of the morning, would come out and peer through his telescope
at his deep-sea lamp-post. Sometimes he had to wait long, until he could
see a tall white pillar of spray shoot up into the air. Thank God! it was
still safe. Then, as the light grew, he could discern his building,
temporary house and all, standing firm amidst the waters; and, thus far
satisfied, he could proceed to his workshops, his mind relieved for the
day.”

The winter following the third season was spent by Smeaton in London,
where he made the designs for the cast and wrought iron and copper works
of the lantern, the glass, and rails of the balcony, which were carried
out under his own eye. The ensuing season proved so stormy that it was the
5th of July before a landing could again be made on the rock, but from
this point the work proceeded with such rapidity that in thirteen days two
entire rooms were erected, and by the 17th of August the last pieces of
the corona were set, and the forty-sixth and last course of masonry laid,
bringing the tower to its specified height of seventy feet. “The last
mason’s work done was the cutting out of the words ‘_Laus Deo_’ upon the
last stone set over the door of the lantern. Round the upper store-room
upon the course under the ceiling, had been cut, at an earlier period,
‘Except the Lord build the house, they labour in vain that build it.’ The
iron-work of the balcony and the lantern were next erected, and, over all,
the gilt ball, the screws of which Smeaton fixed with his own hands, ‘that
in case,’ he says, ‘any of them had not held quite tight and firm, the
circumstance might not have been slipped over without my knowledge.’
Moreover, this piece of work was dangerous as well as delicate, being
performed at a height of some hundred and twenty feet above the sea.
Smeaton fixed the screws while standing on four boards nailed together,
resting on the cupola; his assistant, Roger Cornthwaite, placing himself
on the opposite side, so as to balance his weight whilst he proceeded with
the operation. Smeaton worked with the men in fitting the lantern and
interior arrangements. The light was first exhibited on the night of the
16th of October, 1759. About three years after its completion, one of the
most terrible storms ever known raged for days along the south-west coast;
and though incalculable ruin was inflicted upon harbours and shipping by
the hurricane, all the damage done to the lighthouse was repaired by a
little gallipot of putty.”

Whatever may be the truth regarding the foundations of the Eddystone, the
old lighthouse has done good work for considerably over a century.
Sometimes when the sea rolls in with more than usual fury the lighthouse
is enveloped in spray, and when struck by a strong wave, the central
portion shoots up the perpendicular shaft and leaps quite over the
lantern, but soon its brilliant light shines forth again, a warning and a
guide to the mariner. When a wave hurls itself upon the lighthouse, the
report of the shock is like a cannon, and a tremor passes through the
building. At first the lighthouse-keepers were afraid for their lives. The
year after the completion of the tower, a terrible storm raged, the sea
dashing over the lighthouse so that those inside dare not open the lantern
door, nor any other, for even an instant. A man who visited the rock after
some similar storm wrote to Mr. Jessop, “The house did shake as if a man
had been up in a great tree. The old men were almost frightened out of
their lives, wishing they had never seen the place, and cursing those that
first persuaded them to go there. The fear seized them in the back, but
rubbing them with oil of turpentine gave them relief.” The men, however,
soon became used to the life; and Smeaton mentions the case of one of them
who was even accustomed to give up to his companions his turn for going on
shore.

                   [Illustration: PORTRAIT OF SMEATON.]

“Many a heart,” says Mr. Smiles, “has leapt with gladness at the cry of
‘The Eddystone in sight!’ sung out from the maintop. Homeward-bound ships,
from far-off ports, no longer avoid the dreaded rock, but eagerly run for
its light as the harbinger of safety. It might even seem as if Providence
had placed the reef so far out at sea as the foundation for a beacon such
as this, leaving it to man’s skill and labour to finish His work. On
entering the English Channel from the west and the south, the cautious
navigator feels his way by early soundings on the great bank which extends
from the Channel into the Atlantic, and these are repeated at fixed
intervals until land is in sight. Every fathom nearer shore increases a
ship’s risks, especially on dark nights. The men are on the look-out,
peering anxiously into the dark, straining the eye to catch the glimmer of
a light, and when it is known that ‘the Eddystone is in sight!’ a thrill
runs through the ship, which can only be appreciated by those who have
felt or witnessed it after long months of weary voyaging.

     [Illustration: INTERIOR OF THE LIGHT-CHAMBER OF THE EDDYSTONE.]

“By means of similar lights, of different arrangements and of various
colours, fixed and revolving, erected upon rocks, islands, and headlands,
the British Channel is now lit up along its whole extent, and is as safe
to navigate in the darkest night as in the brightest sunshine. The chief
danger is from fogs which alike hide the lights by night and the land by
day. Some of the homeward-bound ships entering the Channel from North
American ports first make the St. Agnes Light, on the Scilly Isles,
revolving once a minute, at a height of 138 feet above high water. But
most Atlantic ships keep further south in consequence of the nature of the
soundings about the Scilly Isles; and hence they oftener make the Lizard
Lights first, which are visible about twenty miles off.

“From this point the coast retires, and in the bend lie Falmouth (with a
revolving light on St. Anthony’s Point), Fowey, the Looes, and Plymouth
Sound and Harbour; the coast line again trending southward until it juts
out into the sea, in the bold craggy bluffs of Bolt Head and Start Point,
on the last of which is another house with two lights—one, revolving, for
the Channel, and another, fixed, to direct vessels inshore clear of the
Skerries Shoal. But between the Lizard and Start Point, which form the two
extremities of this bend in the land of Cornwall and Devonshire, there
lies the Eddystone Rock and Lighthouse, standing fourteen miles out from
the shore, almost directly in front of Plymouth Sound and in the line of
coasting vessels steaming or beating up Channel.

“On the south are seen the three Croquet Lights on the Jersey side; and on
the north the two fixed lights on Portland Bill. The west is St.
Catherine’s, a brilliant fixed light on the extreme south point of the
Isle of Wight. Next are the lights exhibited on the Nab, and then the
single fixed light exhibited on the Ower vessel. Beachy Head, on the same
line, exhibits a powerful revolving light 285 feet above high water, its
interval of greatest brilliancy occurring every two minutes. Then comes
Dungeness, exhibiting a fixed red light of great power, situated at the
extremity of the low point of Dungeness beach. Next are seen Folkestone,
and then Dover Harbour Lights, whilst on the south are the flash light,
recently stationed on the Verne Bank; and further up Channel, on the
French coast, is seen the brilliant revolving light on Cape Grisnez. The
Channel is passed with the two South Foreland Lights, one higher than the
other, on the left; and the Downs are entered with the South Sandhead
floating light on the right; and when the Gull and the North Sandhead
floating lights have been passed on the one hand, and North Foreland on
the other, then the Tongue, the Prince’s Channel, and the Girdler are
passed.” The Nore Light passed, the navigation of the Thames commences.





                               CHAPTER XI.


                      THE LIGHTHOUSE (_continued_).


          The Bell Rock—The good Abbot of Arberbrothok—Ralph the
    Rover—Rennie’s grand Lighthouse—Perils of the Work—Thirty-two Men
          apparently doomed to Destruction—A New Form of Outward
     Construction—Its successful Completion—The Skerryvore Lighthouse
      and Alan Stevenson—Novel Barracks on the Rock—Swept Away in a
        Storm—The Unshapely Seal and Unfortunate Cod—Half-starved
    Workmen—Out of Tobacco—Difficulties of Landing the Stones—Visit of
        M. de Quatrefages to Héhaux—Description of the Lighthouse
      Exterior—How it Rocks—Practice _versus_ Theory—The Interior—A
                        Parisian Apartment at Sea.


Some eleven miles eastward from the mainland of Scotland, near the
entrances to the Firths of Forth and Tay, lies an extensive ledge of very
dangerous rocks, nearly two miles in length. This sunken reef was a source
of much peril to the unfortunate sailors driven too near its nearly hidden
dangers, and early in the fourteenth century the Abbot of Arbroath, or
Arberbrothok, caused a bell to be placed upon the principal rock, so that—

  “When the Rock was hid by the surge’s swell,
  The mariners heard the warning bell;
  And then they knew the perilous Rock,
  And blessed the Abbot of Arberbrothok.”

Southey has, in his ballad of “The Inchcape Rock,” immortalised the
tradition(56) that a notorious pirate cut the bell from the rock—

  “Down sank the bell with a gurgling sound,
  The bubbles arose and burst around;
  Quoth Sir Ralph, ‘The next who comes to the Rock,
  Won’t bless the Abbot of Arberbrothok.’”

And so the rover sailed away, and grew rich with plundered store, till at
length he thought of Scotland once again, and turned his vessel’s head for
home. He approached her coasts in haze and fog, and knew he could not be
far from the rocky shore.

  “They hear no sound, the swell is strong;
  Though the wind hath fallen they drift along,
  Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock,—
  ‘Oh, Christ! it is the Inchcape Rock!’

  “Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair;
  He curst himself in his despair;
  The waves rush in on every side,
  The ship is sinking beneath the tide.”

Nothing was done to replace the bell or set a beacon on the reef until the
beginning of the present century, when, after many plans had been
discussed, John Rennie was ordered by the Board of Commissioners to
examine the site and report on the subject generally. He recommended a
substantial stone lighthouse, similar to that on the Eddystone. Although
the Inchcape Rock was not so long uncovered by the tide as the former,
after a few courses had been laid, there would be no greater delay in
completing the building. The Commissioners obtained from Parliament the
requisite powers in 1806; Rennie was appointed engineer, with Robert
Stevenson as assistant engineer.

The whole of the year 1807 was occupied in constructing the necessary
vessels for conveying the stones, and in erecting suitable machinery and
building shops at Arbroath, which was fixed upon as the most convenient
point on the coast for carrying on the land operations. Some progress was
made on the rock itself, where a smith’s forge was erected and a temporary
beacon raised, while a floating light, fitted up on an old fishing-boat,
was anchored near the reef until the lighthouse could be completed. During
the short period in which the rocks were uncovered or unexposed to the
fury of the waves, some progress was made with the excavations for the
foundations. The dangerous nature of the employment may be illustrated by
the following brief account of an accident which happened to the workmen
on the 2nd of September, before the excavation for the first course of
stones had been completed. An additional number of masons had that morning
come off from Arbroath in the tender named the _Smeaton_, in honour of the
engineer of the Eddystone, and had landed them safely on the rock. The
vessel rode off at some distance. The wind rising, the men began to be
uneasy as to the security of the _Smeaton’s_ cables, and a party went off
in a boat to examine whether she was secure, but before they could reach
the vessel’s side they found she had already gone adrift, leaving the
greater part of the men upon the reef in the face of a rising tide.

By the time the _Smeaton’s_ crew had got her mainsail set, and made a tack
towards their companions, she had drifted about three miles to leeward,
with both wind and tide against her, and it was clear that she could not
possibly make the rock until long after it had been completely covered.
There were thirty-two men in all on the rock, provided with but two boats,
capable of carrying only twenty-four persons in fine weather. Mr.
Stevenson seems to have behaved with great coolness and presence of mind;
though he afterwards confessed that of the two feelings of hope and
despair the latter largely predominated. Fully persuaded of the perils of
the situation, he kept his fears to himself, and allowed the men to
continue their occupations of boring and excavating.

“After working for about three hours, the water began to rise along the
lower parts of the foundations, and the men were compelled to desist. The
forge-fire became extinguished; the smith ceased from hammering at the
anvil, and the masons from hewing and boring; and when they took up their
tools to depart, and looked around, their vessel was not to be seen, and
the third of their boats had gone after the _Smeaton_, which was drifting
away in the distance! Not a word was uttered, but the danger of their
position was comprehended by all. They looked towards their master in
silence; but the anxiety which had been growing in his mind for some time
had now become so intense that he was speechless. When he attempted to
speak, he was so parched that his tongue refused utterance. Turning to one
of the pools on the rock, he lapped a little water, which gave him relief,
though it was salt; but what was his happiness when, on raising his head,
some one called out, ‘A boat! a boat!’ and sure enough a large boat was
seen through the surge making for them. She proved to be the Bell Rock
pilot-boat, which had come off from Arbroath with letters, and her timely
arrival doubtless saved the lives of the greater part of the workmen. They
were all taken off and landed in safety, though completely drenched and
exhausted.”

Rennie, accompanied by one of his sons, visited the rock on the 5th of
October, 1807, the day before the works were suspended for the winter.
They came off from Arbroath, and stayed on board the lighthouse-yacht all
night, where Stevenson met him, and has recorded the delightful
conversations held on general and professional matters. On the following
morning Rennie landed, amidst great _éclat_ and a display of all the
available colours, to inspect the progress made. The whole party, workmen
and all, returned to shore for the season that day.

The preparation of the stone blocks occupied next winter, and by the
spring large numbers were ready and were floated off. In May, 1808, the
excavations on the rock were continued, and on the 10th of July the first
stone was laid with considerable ceremony. By the last week of November
three courses of masonry had been laid. By the end of 1809 the tower had
been built to a height of thirty feet, and was almost secure from the fury
of the waves. “In his report to the commissioners he stated that he found
that the form of slope which he had adopted for the base of the tower, as
well as the curve of the building, fully answered his expectations—that
they presented comparatively small obstructions to the roll of the waves,
which played round the column with ease.” The curve of this tower at the
base is much greater than that of the Eddystone. The Bell Rock Lighthouse
was completed by the end of 1810, and the light was regularly exhibited
after the 1st of February, 1811. Counting to the top of the lantern, it is
127 feet high. It may here be remarked that in many works the credit of
designing and building this lighthouse has been given to Robert Stevenson,
the resident engineer. Rennie, however, has the only rightful claim to be
so considered; he acted throughout as chief engineer, furnished the design
down to the pettiest details, settled the kind of stone and other
materials to be used, down even to the mortar and mode of mixing it.

Another work of great labour and difficulty was the erection of a
lighthouse on the Skerryvore Rocks, which lie twelve miles W.S.W. of the
Isle of Tyree in Argyllshire, and were formerly the scene of numerous
wrecks. The operations were commenced in 1838, the architect being Alan
Stevenson, son of the Robert Stevenson who was employed on the Bell Rock
Lighthouse. The engineer gave the world a succinct account(57) of the
difficulties, dangers, and successful issue of the undertaking.

             [Illustration: LIGHTHOUSE ON THE INCHCAPE ROCK.]

The actual construction of the lighthouse had no very remarkable points of
difference with the works of Smeaton or Rennie. Stevenson built a rather
novel structure on the rock as a temporary barrack for the workmen. It
consisted of a wooden tower perched upon a triangular framework, under
which was an open gallery, the floor of which was removed at the end of
each season, so as to allow free space for the passage of the sea during
the storms of winter, but on which, during summer, they kept the stock of
coals, the tool-chest, the beef and beer casks, and other smaller
material, which they could not, even at that season of the year, leave on
the rock itself. Next came the kitchen and provision-store, a six-sided
apartment about twelve feet in diameter, and somewhat more than seven feet
high, in which small space—curtailed as it was by the seven beams which
passed through it—stood a caboose, capable of cooking for forty men, and
various cupboards and lockers lined with tin, for holding biscuits, meal
and flour, &c. The next storey held two apartments: one for Mr. Stevenson,
in which he had his hammock, desk, chair and table, books and instruments.
The top storey was surmounted by a pyramidal roof, and was lined with four
tiers of berths, capable of accommodating thirty people. The framework was
erected on a part of the rock as far removed as possible from the proposed
foundation of the lighthouse tower; but in a great gale which occurred on
the 3rd of November it was entirely destroyed and swept from the rock,
nothing remaining to point out its site but a few broken and twisted iron
stanchions, and attached to one of them a piece of a beam, so shaken and
rent by dashing against the rock as literally to resemble a bunch of
laths. Thus did one night obliterate the traces of a season’s toil, and
blast the hopes which the workmen fondly cherished of a stable dwelling on
the rock, and of refuge from the miseries of sea-sickness, which the
experience of the season had taught many of them to dread more than death
itself. A more successful attempt was subsequently made, and the second
erection braved the storm for several years after the works were finished.
“Perched forty feet above the wave-beaten rock,” says Stevenson, “in this
singular abode, the writer of this little volume(58) has spent many a
weary day and night at those times when the sea prevented any one going
down to the rock, anxiously looking for supplies from the shore, and
earnestly longing for a change of weather favourable to the
re-commencement of the works. For miles around nothing could be seen but
white foaming breakers, and nothing heard but howling winds and lashing
seas. At such seasons most of our time was spent in bed; for there alone
we had effectual shelter from the winds and the spray, which searched
every cranny in the walls of the barrack. Our slumbers, too, were at times
fearfully interrupted by the sudden pouring of the sea over the roof, the
rocking of the house on its pillars, and the spirting of water through the
seams of the doors and windows: symptoms which, to one suddenly aroused
from sound sleep, recalled the appalling fate of the former barrack, which
had been engulfed in the foam not twenty yards from our dwelling, and for
a moment seemed to summon us to a similar fate. On two occasions, in
particular, those sensations were so vivid as to cause almost every one to
spring out of bed; and some of the men flew from the barrack by a
temporary gangway to the more stable but less comfortable shelter afforded
by the bare wall of the lighthouse tower, then unfinished, where they
spent the remainder of the night in the darkness and the cold.”

Yet life on the Skerryvore was by no means destitute of its peculiar
pleasures. The grandeur of the ocean’s rage, the deep murmur of the waves,
the hoarse cry of the sea-birds, were varied by peaceful hours, when the
sea was glassy and the deep blue vault of heaven was studded with a
thousand stars. “Among the many wonders of the ‘great deep,’” says
Stevenson, “which we witnessed at the Skerryvore, not the least is the
agility and power displayed by the unshapely seal. I have often seen half
a dozen of these animals round the rock, playing on the surface or riding
on the crests of curling waves, come so close as to permit us to see their
eyes and head, and lead us to expect that they would be thrown _high and
dry_ at the foot of the tower; when suddenly they performed a somersault
within a few feet of the rock, and diving into the flaky and wreathing
foam, disappeared, and as suddenly re-appeared a hundred yards off,
uttering a strange low cry.”

On one occasion the tender could not come off to the poor people on the
rock for seven weeks. The seamen passed a most dreary time. Their
provisions and fuel were short; their clothes were worn to rags; and, what
was to them of more importance still, they _were out of tobacco_!

One of the great difficulties experienced was landing the stones on the
rock from the lighters, which, towed out by a steamer, were cast off as
near the landing-place as possible and then towed in by boats. The landing
service throughout the whole progress of the works was one of danger and
anxiety, and many narrow escapes were made. On many occasions the men who
steered the lighters ran great risks, and it was often found necessary to
lash them to the rails, to prevent them being thrown overboard by the
sudden bounds of the vessels, or being carried away by the weight of water
which swept their decks as they were towed through a heavy sea. Sometimes
they were forced, owing to the heavy seas which threatened to throw the
vessels on the top of the rock, to draw out the lighters from the wharf
without landing a single stone, after they had been towed through a stormy
passage of thirteen miles. One day, during the very best part of the
season, so sudden were the jerks of the vessel before the sea, that eight
large warps, or cables, were snapped like threads, and the lighter was
carried violently before a crested wave which rolled unexpectedly upon
her. Those who stood on deck were thrown flat on their faces, and imagined
that the vessel had been laid high and dry on the top of the rock. Yet, in
spite of the short season and great difficulties of the work, no less than
120 lighters were towed out and discharged in the summer and autumn of
1841. During the progress of building the lighthouse, cranes and other
materials were swept away by the waves, and daily risks were run in
blasting the splintery gneiss, or by the falling of heavy bodies from the
tower on the narrow space below, to which so many persons were necessarily
confined. Yet no loss of life or limb occurred; and “our remarkable
preservation was viewed,” says Stevenson, “as in a peculiar manner the
gracious work of Him by whom ‘the very hairs of our head are all
numbered.’”

The light was first exhibited on the 1st of February, 1844. It is a
revolving apparatus, and the light appears at its brightest state once in
every minute. The lantern is no less than 150 feet above the sea, and its
flashes may be seen from the deck of a vessel eighteen miles off. It is
frequently seen from the high land of Barra, distant thirty-eight miles.
The mass of stonework is double that of the Bell Rock Lighthouse, and five
times that of the Eddystone; it measures 58,580 cubic feet. The Skerryvore
Light-tower was erected at a cost of £86,977 17s. 7d.

                [Illustration: THE SKERRYVORE LIGHTHOUSE.]

The eminent French naturalist, M. de Quatrefages, has given us an
admirable description(59) of a visit paid by him to the lighthouse of
Héhaux, on a rock near the Isles of Bréhat, off the coast of Brittany. He
says, after some very beautiful remarks on the contemplation of nature,
and its alleviation of the worst heart-sorrows: “Twilight often surprised
me in the midst of my reveries, and often, too, the shades of night fell
around me while I lay stretched beneath the star-bespangled deep azure
canopy of heaven. I could then see another star shining in the far
distance, which had been lighted by the hand of man. From the position I
had chosen I could recognise the beacon-towers of Héhaux, of which the
seamen of the islands had spoken to me with the liveliest expressions of
enthusiasm, and which I had frequently watched by day as it stood out like
a black line drawn along the whitish background of the sky. I would not
leave Bréhat without visiting it. A few slight services had secured me the
good-will of the officers of customs, who willingly consented to take me
to Héhaux. Accordingly, one splendid day in October we left the harbour of
La Corderie in a pinnace, manned by six sturdy seamen. The weather was
splendid; not a cloud obscured the sky, which was reflected on the
mirror-like surface of the ocean, whose depths it seemed to double.
Impelled by the combined action of a light wind, which swelled out two
small square sails, and of the rapid current imparted to the waters of
Kerpont by the force of the tide, our pinnace shot across the waves as a
sledge glides over the snow. Sometimes, indeed, we passed through a
whirling eddy, which shook every part of our frail craft, and betrayed the
vicinity of some submarine rock; but we soon regained the unruffled sea,
and without having taken cognisance of the rapid rate at which we were
moving, we saw Bréhat sink below the distant horizon behind us, whilst
rock after rock and islet after islet seemed at every moment to emerge
from the waves towards which we were advancing.... The nearer we drew to
Héhaux the taller seemed the beacon-tower, which stood forth from the
tower, with its lofty granite column and glass lantern, protected by that
magical rod which is able to attract and safely conduct to earth the
destructive force of the thunderbolt. We landed, and at once began our
inspection of this colossal block, which has been upreared by the hand of
man on the Epées de Tréguier, which, once the dread of the seaman, have
become his protecting guides through the storms and darkness of night.

“The Héhaux Lighthouse would be regarded as a most remarkable monument
even in our principal towns, but standing, as it does, alone in the midst
of the ocean, it acquires by its very isolation a character of severe
grandeur, which impresses the mind most powerfully. Figure to yourself a
wall of granite, where the current and the storm do not even permit the
hardiest ferns to take root, with here and there a twisted and deeply
wave-worn mass projecting beyond the rest of the rocky ledge. It is here
that the architect has laid the foundation of the tower. The base, which
is of a conical form, is surmounted by a circular gallery. The lower
portion curves gracefully outwards, spreading over the ground like the
root of some colossal marine plant springing up from the foundation
stones, which have been inserted far within the rock. On this base, which
measures about twenty yards across, rises a column twenty-six feet in
diameter, surmounted by a second gallery, whose supports and stone
balustrades call to mind the portcullis and battlements of some feudal
donjon. From the summit to the base this part of the edifice is composed
of large blocks of whitish granite, arranged in regular strata, and
carefully dove-tailed into one another. As far as a third of the height of
the building the rows of stones are bound together by granite joggles,
which at the same time penetrate into the two superposed stones. The
stones have been cut and arranged with such precision that there has been
hardly any reason for using cement, which has only been employed in
filling up a few imperceptible voids: and hence the lighthouse, from the
base to the summit, seems to form one solid block, which is more
homogeneous and probably more compact than the rocks which support it. The
platform which crowns this magnificent column, at an elevation of more
than 140 feet above high tide watermark, is surmounted by a stone cupola,
at once solid and graceful, supported by pillars which are separated by
large panes of glass. It is within this frame of glass that the beacon is
lighted, which may be distinctly seen from every direction at a distance
of twenty-seven miles.

“At low tide the sea leaves a space of several hundred square yards
uncovered round the base of the edifice; at high tide it entirely
surrounds it. It is then that the tower of Héhaux rises in its solemn
isolation from the midst of the waves, as if it were a standard of
defiance upraised by the genius of man against the demon of the tempest.
At times one might almost fancy that the heavens and the sea, conscious of
the outrage offered to them, were leagued together against the enemy,
which seems to brave them by its imperturbability. The north-west wind
roars round the tower, darkening its thick glass windows with torrents of
rain and drifts of snow and hail. These impetuous blasts bear along with
them from the far-spread ocean colossal waves, whose crests not
unfrequently reach the first gallery, but these fluid masses slide away
from the round and polished surfaces of the granite, which leave them no
points of adhesion, and darting their long lines of foam above the cupola,
they break with thundering roar against the rocks of Stallio-Bras or the
boulders of Sillon. The tower supports these terrific assaults without
injury, although it bends, as if in homage, before the might of its foes.
I was assured by the keepers that during a violent storm the oil in the
lamps of the highest rooms presents a variation of level exceeding an
inch, which would lead us to assume that the summit of the tower describes
an arc of about a yard in extent. This very flexibility seems, however, in
itself a proof of durability. At all events, we meet with similar
conditions in several monuments, which for ages have braved the inclemency
of recurring seasons. The spire of Strasburg Cathedral, in particular,
bends its long ogives and slender pinnacles beneath the force of the
winds, while the cross on its summit oscillates at an elevation of more
than 450 feet above the ground.

“To construct a monument on these rocks, which seemed the very focus of
all the storms which raged on that part of our coasts, was like building
an edifice in the open sea. Such a project must, indeed, have appeared at
first sight almost impracticable. After their third season of labour, the
workmen completed the foundations of the tower and fixed the key-stone of
the cupola. In vain did difficulties of every kind combine with the winds
and waves to oppose the work; human industry has come forth victorious
from the struggle, and although a thousand difficulties and dangers beset
the labourers, no serious accident to them or their work troubled the joy
of their triumph. Only on one occasion was science at fault. In order to
facilitate the arrival of the stones, which had to be brought from a
distance of several leagues, and cut at Bréhat, the skilful engineer who
had furnished all the plans and superintended their execution wished to
construct a wooden pier for the disembarkation of the stones at the spot
where they were required. Several of the older seamen objected to the plan
as impracticable, but M. Reynaud, who was not familiar with the sea, and
who, moreover, was proud of having stemmed the current of rapid rivers,
trusted to the stability of his massive piles, clamped together with iron
and bronze. But he was soon compelled to admit his mistake. The first
storm sufficed to scatter over the waters the whole of these ponderous and
solid materials like so many pieces of straw. So a crane was attached to
the summit of a rock, to which boats could be moored, and the materials
for building were then drawn up to a railway which had been thrown over
the precipice that separated this natural landing-place from the site of
the tower.

“Now that we have admired the exterior of the lighthouse, follow me into
the interior by the help of these steps, which have been formed by the
insertion of bars of copper into the stone. Let us pause for a moment to
admire the ponderous bronze doors which hermetically seal the entrance,
before we plunge into those vaults which look as if they had been cut out
of the solid rock. We are in the first storey, surrounded by stores of
wood and ropes and workmen’s tools. Above, we perceive cases of zinc,
which, we are told, contain oil to feed the lamps and water for the use of
the men employed in the building. In the third storey is the kitchen, with
its pantry and larder, on a level with the first gallery. We need not
enter the three apartments appropriated to the use of the men, for, beyond
being very simple and clean, there is nothing to record concerning them.
But we have now reached the seventh storey, and we must rest for a few
moments in the little octagonal saloon, set apart for the engineers, when
they come to inspect the condition of the lighthouse. Here, in the midst
of the ocean, more than a hundred feet above the level of the sea, you
will find the comfort and almost the elegance of a Parisian apartment.

“Let us now return to the spiral staircase which has brought us thus far,
and which will carry us at once to the portion of the edifice which is
more particularly destined to fulfil the special purpose for which the
tower is designed. The eighth storey contains vessels of oil, glasses,
revolving lamps, some admirable instruments intended for meteorological
observations, a thermometer, barometer, and chronometer. Here the spiral
staircase terminates in a flattened arch, which supports a slender pillar,
cut into steps, which are the only means of communication with the
watch-tower above, in which the men take it by turns to keep guard every
night. You will be surprised on looking round to perceive that this
apartment is coated with different coloured marbles, which line the walls
and vaulted roof, and even cover the floor. But this luxury, which may
appear to you so much out of place, has been introduced from necessity.
The apparatus for lighting the building enters the room through a circular
aperture in the ceiling, and hence the most extreme cleanliness becomes
necessary, which could alone be obtained by the aid of perfectly polished
surfaces.”

The tenth and last flight of steps brings one beneath the cupola, and to
the machinery by which a light of the first order is maintained.





                               CHAPTER XII.


                      THE LIGHTHOUSE (_concluded_).


      Lighthouses on Sand—Literally screwed down—The Light on Maplin
        Sands—That of Port Fleetwood—Iron Lighthouses—The Lanterns
      themselves—Eddystone long Illuminated with Tallow Candles—Coal
          Fires—Revolution caused by the invention of the Argand
         Burner—Improvements in Reflectors—The Electric Light at
    Sea—Flashing and Revolving Lights—Coloured Lights—Their Advantages
      and Disadvantages—Lanterns obscured by Moths, Bees, and Birds.


The difficulties involved in constructing a lighthouse on solid rock have
been shown, and it was at one time thought absolutely impossible to
erect—with any prospect of permanent duration—one upon storm-exposed
sands. _Nous avons changé tout cela._ It is no longer necessary to place
floating lights in places of great danger, although for other reasons they
are constantly used. One of the greatest modern triumphs of engineering is
Mitchell’s screw-mooring apparatus. To describe it fully would necessitate
several pages of technical matter. Suffice it to say that enormous
cast-iron screws, having hollow cylindrical centres, through which
wrought-iron spindles pass, are literally screwed down into the sand, or
its substratum of other soil. One of the earliest experiments was made on
the verge of the Maplin Sand, at the mouth of the Thames. Nine of the
mooring-screws were inserted into the sand 21½ feet, one in the centre,
the rest forming an octagon 42 feet in circumference, having standards or
posts which stood 5 feet above the surface of the sand. A raft of timber
was floated over the spot, and a capstan in its centre drove the screws to
the required depth. This raft was afterwards sunk, by covering it with 200
tons of rough stone. Two years were allowed to elapse, at the termination
of which time the whole mass was found firmly embedded, and then a
lighthouse, raised on a strong open framework, was erected over this
sub-structure. During these long preparations a very similar structure was
commenced and finished at Port Fleetwood, on the River Wyre, near
Lancaster.

The preparatory steps were similar to those already described. The
foundation of the lighthouse was formed of seven screw-piles, six of them
occupying the angles of a hexagon 46 feet in diameter, the seventh being
in the centre. From each screw proceeds a pile 15 feet in length, having
at the upper end another screw for securing a wooden column. These columns
are of Baltic timber, the one in the centre being 56 feet, the others 46
feet in length, firmly secured with iron hoops and coated with pitch. The
platform, upon which the house stands, is 27 feet in diameter, the house
itself being 20 feet in diameter and 9 feet high. From the summit of the
house rises a twelve-sided lantern, 10 feet in diameter and 8 feet high.
Altogether the light is elevated about 46 feet above low-water level, and
ranges over an horizon of eight miles. The light is of the dioptric
kind—bright, steady, and uniform, and when the weather is too foggy to
allow it to be seen, a bell is tolled by machinery, to give the needful
warning.

At the period when screw-pile lighthouses were being thus successfully
erected, other and most valuable suggestions were being made for the
building of bronze and cast-iron lighthouses. The great advantage of iron
over stone and other materials in those portions of the building not
actually in contact with sea-water soon became apparent. Upon a given base
a much larger internal capacity could be obtained; plates could be cast in
large surfaces and with few joints, and a system of binding adopted which
should ensure the perfect combination of every part. The comparatively
small bulk and weight also of the component parts gave great facilities
for the transport and rapid construction of such structures. The initial
cast-iron lighthouse was designed by Mr. Gordon in 1840, and was cast and
put together within three months from the date of the contract. It was
then taken to pieces and shipped for Jamaica, on which island it now
lights up Morant Point, a point of great danger. The Commissioners of the
House of Assembly had applied to Mr. Gordon to supply a suitable
lighthouse at the smallest possible cost, and in furnishing them with the
structure of cast-iron he fulfilled their wishes admirably, the expense
not exceeding one-third of the cost of a similar building in stone. This
elegant lighthouse, the outline of which resembles that of the Celtic
towers of Ireland, was exhibited to visitors while it stood complete in
the contractor’s premises. The diameter of the tower is 18 feet 6 inches
at the base, diminishing to 11 feet under the cap. The tower is formed of
nine tiers of iron plates, each tier being 10 feet high and about
three-quarters of an inch thick. At the base of the structure eleven
plates are required to form the circumference, at the top nine plates;
they are cast with a flange around their inner edges, and when put
together these flanges form the joints, which are fastened together with
nut-and-screw bolts and caulked with iron cement. The interior of the
tower, to the height of 27 feet, was to be filled up with masonry and
concrete of the weight of 300 tons; the remainder is divided into
store-rooms and berths for the attendants. The tower is finished by an
iron railing, within which rises the light-room, also of cast-iron, with
windows of plate-glass. A copper roof and a short lightning-rod complete
the whole. The Admiralty notice announced the exhibition of this light on
Morant Point November 1st, 1842, and stated that the elevation of the
light is 97 feet above the level of the sea, and that in clear weather it
is visible at a distance of twenty-one miles. The light is of the
revolving kind, consisting of fifteen Argand lamps and reflectors, five in
each side of an equilateral triangle, and so placed as to produce a
continuous light, but with periodical flashes. The tower is painted white,
and the lower portion is coated with coal-tar to preserve it from rust. It
rests on a granite base, and is also cased with granite near the
foundation, the more certainly to prevent the action of the sea-water on
the metal.

While the engineer had attained some of his greatest triumphs in the
construction of lighthouses, the optician had not once directed his
attention to the invention of a brilliant light, worthy to be placed upon
the structure which proudly rose high above the fierce waves with the
strength and solidity of a rock. During a period of forty years after the
completion of the Eddystone tower by Smeaton, the lantern was illuminated
by tallow candles stuck in hoops, just as a stand or booth is lighted at a
country fair, and so lately as the year 1811 it was lighted with
twenty-four wax candles. In 1812 the Lizard Light was maintained with coal
fires; and in 1816, when the Isle of May Light, in the Firth of Forth, was
taken possession of by the Commissioners of the Northern Lighthouses, a
coal fire was exhibited in a _chauffer_—a description of light which had
been exhibited for 181 years. In 1801 the light at Harwich, in addition to
the coal fire, had a _flat_ plate of rough brass on the landward side, to
serve as a reflector. Such methods of lighting were of course very
deficient in power, and did not enable the mariner to distinguish one
light from another—a point which is often of as much importance as the
brilliancy of the light itself. Prior to the invention of the Argand lamp
(about 1784) the production of a strong and brilliant light from a single
source was scarcely possible, and even such a lamp, by its unassisted
powers, would not be of very great value in giving early notice to the
mariner of his approach to the coast, which ought to be the primary object
of a lighthouse. As the rays of a luminous body proceed in all directions
in straight lines, it is obvious that in the case of a single lamp the
mariner would derive benefit only from that small portion of light which
proceeded from the centre of the flame to his eye. The other rays would
proceed to other parts of the horizon, or escape upwards to the sky, or
downwards to the earth, and thus be of no value to him. By increasing the
number of burners a small portion of light from each burner would slightly
increase the effective action, but by far the greater portion of the light
produced would escape uselessly above and below the horizon and also at
the back of each flame. Next, these defects were remedied, and the
efficiency of the light greatly increased, by placing behind each lamp a
reflector of such a form as to collect the rays that would otherwise be
lost, and throw them forward to the horizon. The adoption of such a method
has led to what is called the catoptric system of lights.

 [Illustration: HOLOPHOTAL REVOLVING LIGHT. (FIRST ORDER) FLOATING LIGHT
          LANTERN. HOLOPHOTAL REVOLVING LIGHT. (FOURTH ORDER.)
                       REVOLVING LIGHT APPARATUS.
         (_From Drawings supplied by Messrs. W. Wilkins & Co._)]

Alan Stevenson states that the earliest notice he has been able to find of
the application of paraboloidal mirrors to lighthouses is in a work on
“Practical Seamanship” (Liverpool, 1791), by Mr. William Hutchinson, who
notices the erection of the four lights at Bidstone and Hoylake for the
entrance of the Mersey, in 1763, and describes large paraboloidal moulds
of wood lined with mirror glass and smaller ones of polished tin-plate, as
in use in those lighthouses. In France M. Téulère, a Member of the Royal
Corps of Engineers of Bridges and Roads, is regarded as the inventor of
the catoptric system of lights. In a memoir dated 26th June, 1783, he is
said to have proposed for the Cordouan Lighthouse a combination of
paraboloidal reflectors with Argand lamps, arranged on a revolving frame,
a plan which was actually carried into execution, under the direction of
the Chevalier Borda.(60) The plan was so successful that it was soon
adopted in England by the Trinity House of London; and in Scotland the
first work of the Northern Lights Board, in 1787, was to light a lantern
on the Old Castle of Kinnaird Head, in Aberdeenshire, by means of
parabolic reflectors and lamps. These reflectors were formed of facets of
mirror-glass placed in hollow paraboloidal moulds of plaster. The more
complicated arrangement of lenses placed round a centre in concentric
circles is due to the great Fresnel, a practical man of science, whose
abilities are acknowledged as fully in England as in France.

The oil used in the lighthouses of the United Kingdom has generally been
sperm. Colza, the expressed oil of the wild cabbage (_Brassica oleracea_),
was very generally used in France, and occasionally in Great Britain. Gas
is used in a few places, where its application is easy. There can hardly
be any doubt now, however, that the coming light will be the electric,
since its steady production is becoming a matter of scientific certainty.
As early as 1857 Professor Holmes submitted to the Trinity House a method
of employing this light, which was submitted to Faraday, and approved. The
Board then allowed a trial at the South Foreland Lighthouse. The light was
first displayed on the 8th of December, 1858. In June, 1862, it was
permanently fixed at Dungeness. In Faraday’s Report to the Trinity House,
published in 1862, he says: “Arrangements were made on shore by which
observations could be made at sea, about five miles off, on the relative
light of the electric lamp and the metallic reflectors with their Argand
oil-lamps, for either could be shown alone, or both together. At the given
distance the eye could not separate the two lights, but by the telescope
they were distinguishable. The combined effect was a glorious light up to
five miles; then, if the electric light was extinguished, there was a
great falling off in the effect, though, after a few moments’ rest to the
eye, it was seen that the oil-lamps and reflectors were in their good and
proper state. On the other hand, when the electric light was restored, the
glory rose to its first high condition.... During the day-time I compared
the intensity of the light with that of the sun, and both looked at
through dark glasses. Its light was as bright as that of the sun, but the
sun was not at its brightest.”

The number of lights on a well-frequented coast being considerable, it is
of the utmost importance to arrange them so as to enable the mariner
easily to distinguish them from each other. Catoptric lights admit of nine
separate distinctions:—1, fixed; 2, revolving white; 3, revolving red and
white; 4, revolving red with two whites; 5, revolving white with two reds;
6, flashing; 7, intermittent; 8, double fixed lights; 9, double revolving
white lights. Mr. Stevenson thus defines their distinctive features:—“The
first exhibits a steady and uniform appearance which is not subject to any
change, and the reflectors used for it are of smaller dimensions than
those employed in revolving lights. This is necessary in order to permit
them to be ranged round the circular frame, with their axes inclined at
such an angle as shall enable them to illuminate every point of the
horizon. The _revolving_ light is produced by the revolution of a frame
with three or four sides, having reflectors of a larger size grouped on
each side with their axes parallel, and as the revolution exhibits once in
two minutes or once in a minute, as may be required, a light gradually
increasing to full strength and in the same gradual manner decreasing to
total darkness, its appearance is extremely well marked. The succession of
red and white lights is produced by the revolution of a frame whose
different sides present red and white lights, and these afford three
separate distinctions, namely, alternate red and white, the succession of
two white lights after one red, and the succession of two red lights after
one white light. The flashing light is produced in the same manner as the
revolving light; but, owing to a different construction of the frame, the
reflectors on each of eight sides are arranged with their rims or faces in
one vertical plane, and their axes in a line inclined to the
perpendicular. A disposition of the mirrors, which, together with the
greater quickness of the revolutions, which shows a flash once in five
seconds of time, produces a very striking effect, totally different from
that of a revolving light, and presenting the appearance of the flash
alternately rising and sinking, the brightest and darkest periods being
but momentary; this light is further characterised by a rapid succession
of bright flashes, from which it gets its name. The intermittent light is
distinguished by bursting suddenly into view and continuing steady for a
short time, after which it is suddenly eclipsed for half a minute. Its
striking appearance is produced by the perpendicular motion of circular
shades in front of the reflectors, by which the light is alternately hid
and displayed. This distinction, as well as that called the flashing
light, is peculiar to the Scotch coast. The double lights (which are
seldom used except where there is a necessity for a _leading_ line, as a
guide for taking some channel or avoiding some danger) are generally
exhibited from two towers, one of which is higher than the other. At the
Gulf of Man a striking variety has been introduced into the character of
leading lights, by substituting for two fixed lights two lights which
revolve in the same periods and exhibit their flashes at the same instant;
and these lights are of course susceptible of the other variety enumerated
above, that of two revolving red and white lights, or flashing lights,
coming into view at equal intervals of time. The utility of all these
distinctions is to be valued with reference to their property of at once
striking the eye of an observer and being instantaneously obvious to
strangers. The introduction of colour as a source of distinction is
necessary in order to obtain a sufficient number of distinctions; but it
is in itself an evil of no small magnitude, as the effect is produced by
interposing coloured media between the burner and the observer’s eye, and
much light is thus lost by the absorption of those rays which are held
back in order to cause the appearance which is desired. Trial has been
made of various colours, but red, blue, and green alone have been found
useful, and the two latter only at distances so short as to render them
altogether unfit for sea-lights. Owing to the depth of tint which is
required to produce a marked effect, the red shades generally used absorb
from four-sevenths to five-sixths of the whole light—an enormous loss, and
sufficient to discourage the adoption of that mode of distinction in every
situation where it can possibly be avoided. The red glass used in France
absorbs only four-sevenths of the light, but its colour produces, as might
be expected, a much less marked distinction to the seaman’s eye. In the
lighthouses of Scotland a simple and convenient arrangement exists for
colouring the lights, which consists in using chimneys of red glass,
instead of placing large discs in front of the reflectors.”

The construction of the lantern is a point of importance; and one of the
first order will cost about £1,260. On the level of the top of the lower
glass a narrow gangway is usually built for the keeper to stand upon in
order to clean the panes, an operation which in snowy weather may have to
be frequently repeated during the night. At some of the lighthouses on the
Mediterranean the lantern is at certain seasons so completely covered with
moths as to obscure the light and to require the attendance of men with
brooms. Mr. Tomlinson was informed by the keepers at the Eddystone that
bees and other insects were much attracted by the light, and collected
round the lantern in great numbers. Larks and other birds flew against it,
and, becoming stunned with the blow, were picked up on the balcony and
were cooked by the men for breakfast. The lantern is very liable to injury
in high winds, or the glass may be broken by large sea-birds coming
against it on a stormy night, or by small stones violently driven against
it by the wind. Extra plates of glass are always kept to take the place of
broken panes. The number of light-keepers employed varies, ranging from
two to four, and in the latter case one is usually allowed to remain on
shore, the men taking the privilege in turns. When the situation admits,
it is usual to have the keeper’s rooms in a building outside the
lighthouse to avoid dust, which is most injurious to the delicate
apparatus of the light-room. Great cleanliness is enforced in all that
belongs to a lighthouse, the reflectors and lenses being constantly
burnished, polished, and cleansed.

And so we have traced the history and progress of lighthouses, and it is
hard to believe that any great change can be advantageously made in their
construction, though their mode of illumination will doubtless be greatly
improved. As we have seen, the electric light was used practically in a
lighthouse long before it was in the streets of the great metropolis, and
not in a merely experimental way, but with the most successful results.

                  [Illustration: BREAKWATER AT VENICE.]





                              CHAPTER XIII.


                             THE BREAKWATER.


      Breakwaters, Ancient and Modern—Origin and History of that at
       Cherbourg—Stones Sunk in Wooden Cones—Partial Failure of the
        Plan—Millions of Tons dropped to the Bottom—The Breakwater
    Temporarily Abandoned—Completed by Napoleon III.—A Port Bristling
         with Guns—Rennie’s Plymouth Breakwater—Ingenious Mode of
       Depositing the Stones—Lessons of the Sea—The Waves the Best
        Workmen—Completion of the Work—Grand Double Breakwater at
          Portland—The English Cherbourg—A Magnificent Piece of
    Engineering—Utilisation of Otherwise Worthless Stone—900 Convicts
      at Work—The Great Fortifications—The Verne—Gibraltar at Home—A
    Gigantic Fosse—Portland almost Impregnable—Breakwaters Elsewhere.


A breakwater, we are told on the highest authority, is an obstruction of
wood, stone, or other material, as a boom or raft of wood, sunken vessels,
&c., placed before the entrance of a port or harbour, or any projection
from the land into the sea, as a mole, pier, or jetty, so situated as to
break the force of the waves and prevent damage to shipping lying at
anchor within them. Thus the piers of the ancient Piræus and of Rhodes;
the moles of Venice, Naples, Genoa, and Castellamare; the piers of
Ramsgate, Margate, Folkestone, Howth, and the famous wooden dike thrown
across the port of Rochelle. The term, of late years, has been almost
exclusively applied to insulated dikes of stone. Of this description of
dike for creating an artificial harbour on a grand scale, Cherbourg,
Plymouth, and Portland present leading examples. The former, already
mentioned in this work, claims our attention.

The French, happily our good friends to-day, were not always so, and there
was a period when the splendid natural harbours, bays, and roadsteads of
this country were a source of annoyance to them. While nature had been
more than kind to us, their coast presented a series of sandy shores,
intermingled with iron-bound coasts, bristling with rocks. De Vauban, the
great engineer, was employed by Louis, the _Grand Monarque_, to inspect
the Channel shores of France, and his natural sagacity and great knowledge
caused him at once to select Cherbourg as one of the best points for
forming an artificial harbour, protected by suitable fortifications. Other
engineers recommended the same port, and one, M. de la Bretonnière,
proposed that a number of old ships should be loaded with stones and sunk,
while a large quantity of stone should be also thrown around them to form
a grand breakwater, which should rise fifty feet from the bottom. This
idea was abandoned, as it appears, partly from the fact that France had
not old vessels enough to spare for the purpose, and that it would cost
too much to purchase them from foreign nations.

In 1781 an eminent French engineer proposed that, instead of one
continuous breakwater, a number of large masses or congregations of
stones, separated from each other on the surfaces but touching at the
bases, should be built on the sea bottom, believing that they would break
the force of the waves almost equally well. As a part of his plan he
suggested that they should be sunk in large conical _caissons_ of wood,
150 feet in diameter at the base and sixty feet broad at the top. These
wooden cones were practically to bind and keep the stones together. They
were to be floated to the site with a number of empty casks attached as
floats, then detached, filled with stones, and sunk. An experiment at
Havre having been considered satisfactory, the Government accepted the
idea, and ordered that operations should be immediately commenced at
Cherbourg. A permanent council was appointed, as were officers and
engineers. In 1783 barracks and a navy-yard were built, and at Becquet, a
short distance from Cherbourg, an artificial harbour, capable of holding
eighty small vessels for the transport of the stone, was literally dug
out.

On June 6th, 1784, the first cone was floated to its destination, and a
month later a second was similarly conveyed, in the presence of 10,000
spectators. Before the latter could be filled with stones a storm, which
lasted five days, half demolished it. In the course of the summer and
autumn not less than 65,000 tons of stone were deposited in and around the
cones. In 1785 several more cones were completed and sunk; at the end of
the year the quantity of stone deposited amounted to a quarter of a
million tons, and at the end of 1787 a million tons. At the end of 1790,
when the works had been seven years in progress and the Government was
getting very tired of the whole matter, between five and six million tons
of stone had been dropped into the sea. M. de Cessart, the engineer, found
that, in order to sink five cones per annum, he had to employ 250
carpenters, 30 blacksmiths, 200 stone-hewers, and 200 masons.

One could hardly expect much permanency from a wooden covering sunk into
the sea, and it is not surprising that, one by one, they burst, few
lasting more than a year. The outbreak of the Revolution put an end, for
some time, to the operations at Cherbourg.

When the construction of the Cherbourg breakwater was resumed, the wooden
cone system was abandoned, and the stone was simply sunk from vessels of
peculiar construction. The breakwater was completed under Napoleon III.,
at a cost exceeding two and a half million pounds sterling. The actual
breakwater itself was finished in 1853,(61) but since that time most
important fortifications have been constructed on the upper works. This is
the greatest breakwater in the world, its length being nearly two and a
half miles; it is 300 feet wide at the base and 31 at the top. The
water-space shut in and protected is about 2,000 acres, much of this great
area being, however, too shallow for very large vessels.

Taken in connection with the fortifications, this breakwater has a value
greater than any other in the world. At the apex of the angle formed by
the junction of the two branches of the breakwater there is a grand fort,
and it bristles generally with batteries and forts, as indeed does
Cherbourg generally. Dr. W. H. Russell wrote of it, in our leading journal
in 1860 that, “Wherever you look you fancy that on the spot you occupy are
specially pointed dozens of the dull black eyes from their rigid lids of
stone.” With its twenty-four regular forts and redoubts, not including
those on the mole, floating harbours, building slips, navy-yards,
arsenals, and barracks, Cherbourg is a most formidable place.

                 [Illustration: CHERBOURG, FROM THE SEA.]

In England Rennie’s great Plymouth breakwater is the most remarkable
specimen, among many others. Its dimensions are not as great as that of
Cherbourg, but it was, nevertheless, a vast undertaking. It consists of an
immense number of blocks of stone thrown into the Sound, and forms a
barrier nearly a mile in length above the surface of the water. This grand
work was commenced in 1812, and by the end of the second year about 800
yards of the breakwater began to appear at low water, and the swell was so
much broken that ships of all sizes began to take shelter behind it; while
the fishermen within its shelter could not judge accurately of the weather
outside the Sound, so great was the change. Several limestone quarries
near the Catwater were purchased of the Duke of Bedford for £10,000, and
some fifteen vessels were constantly employed in removing the blocks,
which ranged in weight from one to ten tons. These vessels were of
ingenious construction; they had two railways laid along them parallel to
each other, with openings in the stern to admit the cars or trucks laden
with stones. These were wheeled from the quarry to the quay, and so on to
the vessels, till the lines of rails were filled with trucks. The vessels
then proceeded to the works, each bearing its load of stone-laden trucks.
On reaching the breakwater each truck was wheeled to the opening, and the
stones tipped into the sea. During the first five years the amount of
stone deposited gradually rose from 16,000 to 300,000 tons per annum. The
large masses were first lowered, and then smaller stones, quarry rubbish,
&c., to fill up the interstices. The structure was completed in 1841, with
the use of 3,670,444 tons of stone(62) and at a cost of something like a
million and a half of money. A distinguished French engineer, M. Dupin,
who visited the works during their progress, describes in glowing terms
the admirable arrangements, the order and regularity visible in all the
proceedings. “Those enormous masses of stone,” he remarks, “which the
quarrymen strike with heavy strokes of their hammers; and those aerial
roads of flying bridges, which serve for the removal of the superstratum
of earth; those lines of cranes, all at work at the same moment; the
trucks, all in motion; the arrival, the loading, and the departure of the
vessels, all this forms one of the most imposing sights that can strike a
friend to the great works of art. At fixed hours the sound of a bell is
heard, in order to announce the blasting of the quarry. The operations
instantly cease on all sides; all becomes silence and solitude. This
universal silence renders still more imposing the noise of the explosion,
the splitting of the rocks, their ponderous fall, and the prolonged sound
of the echoes.”

“The waves,” said Rennie, “were the best workmen” in the construction of a
breakwater of rough stones, and on the whole his belief was confirmed, for
the storms by which his great work was assailed rather helped than
hindered it, by showing the most desirable slope on the sea-side, while
comparatively little damage was done. The slope of the stone barrier was,
however, by their force changed very greatly. An inclination of three to
one was altered to about five to one, and Rennie had recommended that the
authorities should take a lesson from nature and finish the breakwater
according to her teachings. “It would appear,” says Mr. Smiles,(63) “that
Mr. Whidbey, the resident engineer, contrived to finish most of the
exterior face at a slope of only three to one, as before; and that it
stood without any material interruption until several years after Mr.
Rennie’s death. By that time nearly the whole of the intended rubble,
amounting to 2,381,321 tons, had been deposited, and the main arm, with
200 yards of the west arm, making 1,241 yards in length, had been raised
to the required level. The work had arrived at that stage when it had to
experience the full force of another terrific storm, which took place on
the 23rd of November, 1824. It blew at first from the south-south-east and
then veered round to the south-west, and the effect of this concurrence of
winds was to heap together the waters of the Channel between Bolt Head and
Lizard Point, and drive them, with terrific force, into the narrow inlet
of Plymouth Sound. This storm was not only greatly more violent, but of
much longer duration than that of 1817. When the breakwater could be
examined it was found that out of the 1,241 yards of the upper part, which
had been completed with a slope of three to one, 796 yards had been
altered as in the previous storm, and the immense blocks of stone which
formed the seaface of the work had, by the force of the waves, been rolled
over to the landward sides thus reducing the sea-slope, as before, to
about five to one. The accuracy of Mr. Rennie’s view as to the proper
slope—which was indicated by the action of the sea itself—was thus a
second time confirmed;” and a board of eminent engineers reporting in
accordance, the work was so finished. When the action of the sea had
formed its own slope and had wedged together and settled the great mass of
materials which form the breakwater, and when no further movement was
apparent, but the whole appeared consolidated together, then the slope
towards the sea was cased with regular courses of masonry, dove-tailed and
cramped together, the diving-bell being brought into requisition for
placing the lower courses. A lighthouse has been erected on its western
extremity, and the work may be regarded as a magnificent success, worthy
of a great maritime nation.

A third leading illustration of a magnificent breakwater is afforded at
Portland, and it is deserving of particular mention inasmuch as all
authorities agree that it was constructed with little or no waste of the
public money. “In the mind of the inquiring tax-payer,” said our leading
journal,(64) “breakwaters are always associated with millions of money
thrown broadcast into the sea, in out-of-the-way bays and inlets, which
even without these obstacles to make them more dangerous, the most
distressed mariner would be particularly careful to avoid;” and the writer
goes on to mention several which either ought not to have been attempted,
or where extravagant expenditure has been incurred. “In such a woeful list
of hideous failure and costly mismanagement, it is a comfort to perceive
that the long lane begins to turn at last, and that from our now having
one good standard to go by, we may hope for better things for the future.
Portland breakwater is a really grand and magnificent work, and one of
which the nation may well be proud if it is inclined to let bygones be
bygones, and forget the many successive failures before it was able to
attain so much.” Portland breakwater is the right construction in the
right place, and before its erection the Roads afforded doubtful shelter
to vessels in distress. One advantage it enjoys, that of possessing a
splendid anchorage of stiff blue clay, and being free from rock or shoal
from the island of Portland itself up to the very esplanade of Weymouth.
There, too, was the stone on the very spot; steep and rugged heights for
fortifications, a noble harbour for shipping, and rail communication with
all parts. But all these advantages might have been ignored but for the
formidable nature of the works constructed at Cherbourg. The port itself
is about five hours’ steaming from the French Cronstadt it was designed,
_sub rosâ_, to keep an eye upon. So, in 1844, the commissioners
recommended that it should be made a grand fortified naval station. In
1847 an Act was passed authorising the construction of a breakwater, and
in 1849 the foundation-stone was laid by the Prince Consort.

                        [Illustration: PORTLAND.]

Nature has provided, in the mighty bank known as the Chesil Beach,
practically a great shingle embankment, protection to Portland Harbour on
the west and south-west, and the object of the breakwater was to secure,
by engineering art, a similar protection to the bay on the south-east
side. The Chesil Bank, though now and for long perfectly impregnable to
the tremendous rollers of the south-westerly gales, was not always so, and
as late as the reign of Henry VIII, great breaches had been temporarily
effected by the power of the sea. Still it affords a splendid protection,
as does now the mighty double breakwater designed by Rendel, and brought
to completion by Coode. The breakwater leaves the shore at the
north-eastern extremity of the island, and runs out due east to a distance
of 600 yards. “This inner limb alone,” wrote an authority in
engineering,(65) “is a splendid achievement of human labour and skill. It
has been top-finished by a grand superstructure of hewn granite, and ends
in a circular head, which has been completed as a fort and mounts eight
guns. The foundations of this massive bastion have been most carefully
planned, with especial reference to the safe passage of the largest
vessels through the 400 feet gap which the fort flanks on one side. The
masonry is continued in a perpendicular line to a point 25 feet below the
lowest water-line of spring-tides. A ship of the line, as is well-known,
draws at the utmost 24 feet. An extra foot of perpendicular masonry,
therefore, having been allowed, the lower masses of the fort begin to
slant outwards, and continue to do so till they reach the firm clay
bottom. This lower portion consists of a well-consolidated mass of unhewn
stone. The outer, and by far the longer limb, of the breakwater begins to
bend away to a point very near due north shortly after leaving the gap,
the further side of which is also flanked by a circular head.... The whole
of this vast outer limb, with the exception of the circular head at its
inner extremity and a fort at the other end, consists of nothing more than
a stupendous bank of rough unhewn stones of all shapes and sizes, tumbled
out of the wagons on the timber staging above. Divers, constantly
employed, have effectually prevented the chance of any holes being left in
the rising mass, and have been able to indicate the precise spot over
which a given number of loads were required to be ‘tipped.’ The security
of the bank is further guaranteed by its enormous width at the base; and
although the waves have already rounded many a giant block below the
water-line and made it look as if its present place had been its abode
ever since the Creation, yet this polishing and grinding is the extent of
the effect which they will be able to produce upon a work probably
destined to hold its own as long as Portland itself.”

The rapidity with which the breakwater was constructed reflected great
credit on Mr. Coode. The actual routine of the construction followed, when
the line for the structure had been sounded and carefully marked out, was
to commence piling for the railway that was to carry the long trains of
wagons filled with the stone; and when a short piece of this was
completed, to go on “tipping in” the rubble and rough stone till they made
their appearance above water at last; then the piling was carried forward
a few yards more, and the process repeated, and so on by successive stages
to the completion of the work. All appears very simple on paper until we
learn that it had to be accomplished through eleven fathoms of rough
tumbling waves. One night’s rough weather often swept away the timber-work
that cost many thousands of pounds, and many months of labour to construct
and fix in its position in the sea. The piling that had to resist the
action of a deep and heavy sea, and to carry also, at a height of 90 feet,
a railway for the heaviest traffic, required to be something more than a
common framework of timber. Every log used had to be first of all
saturated to its very centre with creosote, and this was done in a most
ingenious manner. A great boiler, 100 feet long and 7 feet in diameter,
was filled with the largest and finest logs procurable; the mouth being
closed with a solid air-tight cover, the air was pumped out, not only from
the tube, but from the very pores of the wood itself. When the vacuum was
as complete as possible, the creosote was admitted from tanks at the
bottom and forced into the timber by hydraulic power of about 300 lbs. to
the square inch. In this the logs remained for two or three days, by which
time the creosote was forced into the fibre of the wood. Several of the
logs thus prepared were bolted and bound together, till one huge spar 90
feet long, and eight or nine tons in weight, was formed. Then an iron
“Mitchell” screw—as used in the lighthouses built on sands, already
described—was affixed at the lower end, and the whole sunk till it rested
on the bottom, when it was worked round by a capstan till it was firmly
screwed into the clay. Thus secured, they were tolerably safe, though
single heavy waves would uproot piles and moorings together, to obviate
which two or three piles were generally set at the same time, and well
bound together by powerful cross timbers.

The stone quarried for the breakwater from the very top of Portland Island
was largely excavated and brought to the spot by convict labour. The stone
itself used was unfit for architectural purposes, but quite suitable for
the breakwater. The convict prison, also on the top of the island, was
virtually the barracks for 900 labourers, who were more profitably
employed than in walking a treadmill or picking oakum. The quarries were
some 400 or 500 feet above the level of the breakwater, and the stone was
conveyed to it by three inclines of broad double gauge rails. The trains
of trucks or wagons were worked up and down with a wire rope over a drum,
the weight of the loaded descending wagons winding the empty ones up again
to the quarries. A powerful locomotive pushed the loaded trains to the end
of the work, where the stone was tipped into the sea, as much as 3,000
tons a day having been sunk at Portland. The total amount so committed to
the deep was about 5,360,000 tons, and the area protected by the
breakwater would accommodate sixty of the very largest men-of-war, and
almost any number of smaller vessels.

“During the progress of the works,” wrote Mr. Moule, “the engineer has
from time to time instituted some highly interesting investigations into
the structure of the Chesil Bank.... During a single night’s gale, between
three and four _millions of tons_ weight of pebbles have been found to be
swept away into the gulfs of the Atlantic, being gradually thrown back
again in the three or four following days. The size of the pebbles had
long been observed to vary greatly at the two opposite ends of the beach.
At the western, or Abbotsbury end, they are exceedingly small, more
resembling gravel than shingle. At the Portland end it is not uncommon to
meet with them several inches in diameter, and several pounds in weight.
This phenomenon has been explained by the very probable assumption that
the pebbles are driven eastward by the wind-waves, and not moved by the
slow and (for purposes like this) powerless tidal current. The larger
pebbles, presenting a broad surface to the waves, are easily rolled
forward, while the smaller ones are passed by, offering a less surface,
and becoming more easily imbedded in the sand.” It is said that a
practised smuggler on that coast could tell his whereabouts on the bank in
the darkest night or thickest fog, by feeling the size of the pebbles on
which he stood. And smugglers and “wreckers” were once very numerous among
the Portlanders. In these better days their courage and great personal
strength has saved many a life and ship endangered off the bank.

An old and popular song says that—

  “Britannia needs no bulwarks,
  No towers along the steep,”

but recent legislators have evidently not been so thoroughly satisfied of
the fact, or they would not have authorised the construction of the great
fortifications at Portland, which make it almost the Gibraltar of the
Channel. The splendid breakwater there did not need protection. All the
battering it is ever likely to get could not injure it seriously, and
whatever ruins Macaulay’s New Zealander may stand upon, they are not
likely to be those of a great breakwater, each year of the existence of
which renders it generally more compact. But it was for good reasons that
the extensive works of Portland were undertaken. “We,” said the _Times_,
“of all people in the world, who so toiled and suffered, lavishing blood
and treasure under the walls of Sebastopol, should be the last to
underrate the importance of a good fortification as a check to an invading
army.” The reader will hardly require any defence of such policy, for
naval arsenals contain the very germ of our power, as the iron safe of the
prudent man contains his valuables.

The Bill of Portland greatly resembles the situation of Gibraltar. There
are the same bold, steep, rocky headlands; the breakwater stands in place
of the Mole, and Chesil Bank connects it with the mainland, as the neutral
ground does our great Mediterranean citadel with Spanish soil. “Its
height, its isolation, and the harbour it commands, all pointed it out as
a place for an impregnable—we had almost said an inaccessible—fortress. To
the late Prince Consort is due the credit of having seen its vast
importance in this respect, as it was also owing to his enlightened
judgment that the breakwater was begun at last, and he himself laid the
foundation-stone. Portland is rising, as we have said, into a first-class
fortress, of which the Verne is the great key or citadel.” So spoke the
_Times_, in 1863; and now Portland is the best fortified port and naval
station in the kingdom.

The Verne is a height which, like La Roche at Cherbourg, dominates over
all around it for miles, especially on the side which overlooks the
breakwater and the sea. On the north side it is protected by nearly
perpendicular cliffs; elsewhere it is fully protected by art. One of its
greatest defences is the dry ditch which completely encircles the whole
work, except on the north side just mentioned, where it is both
unnecessary and impossible. This ditch is one of the greatest ever
undertaken in ancient or modern days. Its depth is 80 feet, and its width
100, and in some places 200 feet; its length is nearly a mile, and its
floor is 368 feet up the hill-side. Nearly two million tons of stone had
to be blasted to form it; and it would never have been excavated on the
colossal scale indicated, but that all the said stone was utilised in
building the breakwater. With this tremendous artificial ravine to cross,
with fortifications and bastions fully prepared with heavy Armstrong
ordnance towering above, what enemy is ever likely to attack the citadel
of the Verne? Our leading journal spoke of it as more compact than
Cherbourg, Cronstadt, or Sebastopol, while it is more than three times
their elevation above the sea.

Jutting out from the main fortress are two bastionettes, one of which has
eight faces, mounting guns on each so as to sweep with a murderous fire
two-thirds of the whole length of the fosse or ditch. The other is nearly
as formidable, and both are pierced with loop-holes in all directions for
the fire of riflemen. The great barracks in the enclosure of the Verne
can, at a pinch, accommodate 10,000 men, the peace garrison being about a
third of that number. The arrangements for water supply are perfect, great
reserve tanks having been cut from the solid rock, and covered with
shot-proof roofs. These are kept full, and, protected from air and light;
the water is always sweet. Portland bristles with batteries; but the Verne
commands everything in range of cannon, inside or outside the breakwater,
including all parts of the island, and can cross fire with other important
forts. It is probably the strongest fortified harbour in the world.

                   [Illustration: HOLYHEAD BREAKWATER.]

Other and important breakwaters, like that of Holyhead, which cost a
couple of million sterling, and which is generally cited as an example of
much money thrown into the sea; Alderney, which has swallowed up close on
three-fourths of the above sum; and Dover, which has a fine _vertical_
sea-wall, might be mentioned. Enough has been said to show the general
importance of the subject to a maritime people, and that, on the whole,
England has been fully alive to the fact. Indeed, counting large and small
breakwaters and sea-walls, more has been expended in this country for
these works than in any two or three foreign countries possessing
sea-boards.





                               CHAPTER XIV.


                  THE GREATEST STORM IN ENGLISH HISTORY.


       The Dangers of the Seas—England’s Interest in the Matter—The
     Shipping and Docks of London and Liverpool—The Goodwin Sands and
       their History—The “Hovellers”—The Great Gale of 1703—Defoe’s
     Graphic Account—Thirteen Vessels of the Royal Navy Lost—Accounts
    of Eye-witnesses—The Storm Universal over England—Great Damage and
      Loss of Life at Bristol—Plymouth—Portsmouth—Vessels Driven to
     Holland—At the Spurn Light—Inhumanity of Deal Townsmen—A worthy
    Mayor Saves 200 Lives—The Damage in the Thames—Vessels Drifting in
        all Directions—800 Boats Lost—Loss of Life on the River—On
     Shore—Remarkable Escapes and Casualties—London in a Condition of
      Wreck—Great Damage to Churches—A Bishop and his Lady Killed—A
               Remarkable Water-Spout—Total Losses Fearful.


“The dangers of the seas” are little enough to some countries, but to
England they mean much indeed. Think of the maritime interests of the port
of London, the docks of which cover considerably over 300 acres of
water-space, and to which 7,000 or more vessels enter annually. Over 100
vessels, exclusive of small craft, enter the port daily; its exports form
nearly one-fourth of the total exports of the United Kingdom. Liverpool in
some maritime interests excels it. This, the second largest city in Great
Britain, had, as late as 1697, a population of only 5,000; 80 small
vessels then belonged to the port. In this year of grace, Liverpool, with
her virtual suburbs, Birkenhead and West Derby, has a population
considerably over 700,000. In 1872, Liverpool exported, in British and
Irish productions, a total value of £100,066,410, which meant little short
of forty per cent. of the total exports, of the same kind, from the United
Kingdom, while its imports of many staples exceeded those of London.
Liverpool has nearly sixty docks and basins, extending along the Mersey
for five miles. She possesses nineteen miles of quays, nearly the whole of
which have been built since 1812, and warehouses on a scale of
magnificence unknown elsewhere.

But such a commerce means much more. Hundreds of thousands of hardy men
risk their lives that we may have bread and butter, sugar with our tea,
and all the necessaries and luxuries of modern civilised life. England has
not forgotten them, and for their use has built the lighthouse, the
breakwater, and the harbour of refuge. But there are sources of danger
which nearly defy human power. Take, among all dangerous shoals and sands,
the Goodwin Sands as a prominent example; they are replete with danger to
all sailing vessels at least, resorting to the Thames or to the North Sea,
while even steamships have been lost on their treacherous banks.

These Sands, so well known to, and feared by, the mariner, are ten miles
in length, running in a north-east and south-west direction off the east
coast of Kent. They are divided into two portions by a narrow channel, and
parts are uncovered at low water. When the tide recedes, the sand is firm
and safe, but when the sea permeates it, the mass becomes pulpy,
treacherous, and constantly shifting. Three light-vessels (one seven miles
from Ramsgate) mark the most dangerous points, and these are themselves
exposed to a considerable amount of danger. The only advantage derived
from the existence of the Sands is that they form a kind of breakwater,
securing a safe anchorage in the roadsteads of the Downs. But if the wind
blows strongly off shore, let the mariner beware!

The ancients thought that Britain was distinguished from all the world by
unpassable seas and northern winds. The shores of Albion were dreadful to
sailors, and our island was for a time regarded as the utmost bounds of
the northern known land, beyond which none had ever sailed.

These dangerous Goodwin Sands, if we may believe the chronicles, and there
seems no reason why we should not, consisted at one time of about 4,000
acres of low coast land, fenced from the sea by a wall. One tradition, not
usually credited, ascribes their present state to the erection of the
Tenterden Steeple, by which the funds which should have maintained the
sea-wall were diverted. An old authority, Lambard, says, “Whatsoever old
wives tell of Goodwyne, Earle of Kent, in tyme of Edward the Confessour,
and his sandes, it appeareth by Hector Boëtius, the Brittish chronicler,
that theise sandes weare mayne land, and some tyme of the possession of
Earl Goodwyne, and by a great inundation of the sea, they weare taken
therefroe, at which tyme also much harme was done in Scotland and
Flanders, by the same rage of the water.” At the period of the Conquest,
these lands were taken from Earl Goodwin and bestowed on the abbey of St.
Augustine, Canterbury, and some accounts say that the Abbot allowed the
sea-wall to become dilapidated, and that in the year 1100 the waves rushed
in and overwhelmed the whole. The inroads of the sea in many parts of the
world would account for anything of the kind.

In dangerous or foggy weather, bells are constantly sounded from the
light-ships. A considerable amount of difficulty is experienced in finding
proper anchorage for these vessels; and all efforts to establish a fixed
beacon have been hitherto unsuccessful. In 1846 a lighthouse on piles
_screwed_ into the sands(66) was erected, but it was carried away the
following year by the force of the waves. As soon as a vessel is known to
have been driven on the Goodwins, rockets are thrown up from the
light-ships, and as soon as recognised on shore a number of boatmen, known
as “hovellers,” all over that portion of the coast, immediately launch
their boats, and make for the Sands, whatever may be the weather. The
“hovellers” look upon the wreck itself as in part their property, and make
a good deal of money at times, leading, as a rule, a thoroughly reckless
sailor’s life ashore. But how many poor seamen have had cause to bless
their bravery and intrepidity!

The great gale of 1703, one of the most terrible, if not absolutely _the_
most terrible which has ever visited our coasts, occasioned the loss of
thirteen vessels of the Royal Navy, four on the Goodwin Sands, one in the
Yarmouth Roads, one at the Nore, and the rest at various points on the
coasts of England and Holland. The record, as preserved by the immortal
author of “Robinson Crusoe,” is terribly concise in its details. Take a
part only of it. The italics are our own.

“_Reserve_, fourth-rate; 54 guns; 258 men. John Anderson, com. Lost in
Yarmouth Roads. The captain, purser, master, chyrurgeon, clerk, and 16 men
were ashore; _the rest drowned_.

“_Northumberland_, third-rate; 70 guns; 253 men. James Greenway, com. Lost
on Goodwin Sands. _All their men lost._

“_Restoration_, third-rate; 70 guns; 386 men. Fleetwood Emes, com. Lost on
Goodwin Sands. _All their men lost._

“_Sterling Castle_, third-rate; 70 guns; 349 men. John Johnson, com. Lost
on Goodwin Sands. Third lieutenant, chaplain, cook, chyrurgeon’s mate,
four marine captains, and 62 men saved.

“_Mary_, fourth-rate; 64 guns; 273 men. Rear-Admiral Beaumont, Edward
Hopson, com. Lost on Goodwin Sands. _Only one man saved_, by swimming from
wreck to wreck, and getting to the _Sterling Castle_; the captain ashore,
as also the purser.” And so the sad story proceeds, Defoe adding that the
loss of small vessels hired into the service, and tending the fleet, is
not included, several such vessels, with soldiers on board, being driven
to sea, and never heard of more.(67)

             [Illustration: GREAT STORM IN THE DOWNS, 1703.]

A master on board a vessel which was blown “out of the Downs to Norway,”
describes the sights he saw on those fatal days, the 25th and 26th of
November, in homely but graphic language. He says: “By four o’clock we
miss’d the _Mary_ and the _Northumberland_, who rid not far from us, and
found they were driven from their anchors; but what became of them, God
knows. And soon after, a large man-of-war came driving down upon us, all
her masts gone, and in a dreadful condition. We were in the utmost despair
at this sight, for we saw no avoiding her coming thwart our haiser; she
drove at last so near us, that I was just gowing to order the mate to cut
away, when it pleas’d God the ship sheer’d contrary to our expectation to
windward, and the man-of-war, which we found to be the _Sterling Castle_,
drove clear of us, not two ships’ lengths, to leeward.

“It was a sight full of terrible particulars to see a ship of eighty guns
(_sic_) and about six hundred men(68) in that dismal case. She had cut
away all her masts; the men were all in the confusion of death and
despair; she had neither anchor, nor cable, nor boat to help her, the sea
breaking over her in a terrible manner, that sometimes she seem’d all
under water. And they knew, as well as we that saw her, that they drove by
the tempest directly for the Goodwin, where they could expect nothing but
destruction. The cries of the men, and the firing their guns, one by one,
every half minute for help, terrified us in such a manner, that I think we
were half dead with the horror of it.” The same writer describes the
collision of two vessels, which he saw sink together, and several great
ships fast aground and beating to pieces. “One,” says he, “we saw founder
before our eyes, and all the people perish’d.”

“We have,” says Defoe, “an abundance of strange accounts from other parts,
and particularly the following letter from the Downs, and though every
circumstance in this letter is not literally true, as to the number of
ships or lives lost, and the style coarse and sailor-like, yet I have
inserted this letter, because it seems to describe the horror and
consternation the poor sailors were in at that time; and because this is
written from one who was as near an eye-witness as any could possibly be,
and be safe.






“‘SIR,—These lines I hope in God will find you in good health. We are all
left here in a dismal condition, expecting every moment to be all drowned;
for here is a great storm, and is very likely to continue. We have here
the Rear-Admiral of the Blue in the ship called the _Mary_, a third-rate,
the very next ship to ours, sunk, with Admiral Beaumont, and above 500 men
drowned; the ship called the _Northumberland_, a third-rate, about 500
men, all sunk and drowned; the ship called the _Sterling Castle_, a
third-rate, all sunk and drowned, above 500 souls; and the ship called the
_Restoration_, a third-rate, all sunk and drowned. These ships were all
close by us, which I saw. These ships fired their guns all night and day
long, poor souls, for help, but the storm being so fierce and raging,
could have none to save them. The ship called the _Shrewsbury_, that we
are in, broke two anchors, and did run mighty fierce backwards, within
sixty or eighty yards of the Sands, and as God Almighty would have it, we
flung our sheet-anchor down, which is the biggest, and so stopt; here we
all prayed God to forgive us our sins, and to save us, or else to receive
us into his heavenly Kingdom. If our sheet-anchor had given way, we had
been all drowned; but I humbly thank God, it was his gracious mercy that
saved us. There’s one, Captain Fanel’s ship, three hospital ships, all
split, some sunk, and most of the men drowned.

“‘There are above forty merchant ships cast away and sunk; to see Admiral
Beaumont, that was next us, and all the rest of his men, how they climbed
up the main-mast, hundreds at a time crying out for help, and thinking to
save their lives, and in the twinkling of an eye were drowned; I can give
you no account, but of these four men-of-war aforesaid, which I saw with
my own eyes, and those hospital ships, at present, by reason the storm
hath drove us far distant from one another; Captain Crow, of our ship,
believes we have lost several more ships of war, by reason we see so few;
we lie here in great danger, and waiting for a north-easterly wind to
bring us to Portsmouth, and it is our prayer to God for it; for we know
not how soon this storm may arise, and cut us all off, for it is a dismal
place to anchor in. I have not had my clothes off, nor a wink of sleep
these four nights, and have got my death with cold almost.—Yours to
command,

                                                  “‘MILES NORCLIFFE.’”(69)






The following is also a characteristic letter from Captain Soanes of
H.M.S. _Dolphin_, then at Milford Haven, showing also how far the storm
extended on our coasts:—






“_Sir_,—Reading the advertisement in the _Gazette_ of your intending to
print the many sad accidents in the late dreadful storm, induced me to let
you know what this place felt, though a very good harbour. Her Majesty’s
ships the _Cumberland_, _Coventry_, _Loo_, _Hastings_, and _Hector_, being
under my command, with the _Rye_, a cruiser on this station, and under our
convoy, about 130 merchant ships bound about land; the 26th of November,
at one in the afternoon, the wind came at S. by E. a hard gale, between
which and N.W. by W. it came to a dreadful storm; at three the next
morning was the violentest of the weather, when the _Cumberland_ broke her
sheet-anchor, the ship driving near this, and the _Rye_ both narrowly
escap’d carrying away; she drove very near the rocks, having but one
anchor left, but in a little time they slung a gun, with the broken anchor
fast to it, which they let go, and wonderfully preserved the ship from the
shore. Guns firing from one ship or other all the night for help, though
’twas impossible to assist each other, the sea was so high, and the
darkness of the night such, that we could not see where any one was, but
by the flashes of the guns; when daylight appeared, it was a dismal sight
to behold the ships driving up and down, one foul of another, without
masts, some sunk, and others upon the rocks, the wind blowing so hard,
with thunder, lightning, and rain, that on the deck a man could not stand
without holding. Some drove from Dale, where they were sheltered under the
land, and split in pieces, the men all drowned; two others drove out of a
creek, one on the shore so high up was saved; the other on the rocks in
another creek, and bulged; an Irish ship that lay with a rock through her,
was lifted by the sea clear away to the other side of the creek on a safe
place; one ship forced ten miles up the river before she could be stopped,
and several strangely blown into holes, and on banks; a ketch, of
Pembroke, was drove on the rocks, the two men and a boy in her had no boat
to save their lives, but in this great distress a boat which broke from
another ship drove by them, without any in her, the two men leaped into
her and were saved, but the boy was drowned. A prize at Pembroke was
lifted on the bridge, whereon is a mill, which the water blew up, but the
vessel got off again; another vessel carried almost into the gateway which
leads to the bridge, and is a road, the tide flowing several feet above
the common course. The storm continued till the 27th, about three in the
afternoon; that by computation nigh thirty merchant ships and vessels
without masts are lost, and what men are lost is not known; three ships
are missing, that we suppose men and all lost. None of her Majesty’s ships
came to any harm; but the _Cumberland_ breaking her anchor in a storm
which happen’d the 18th at night, lost another, which renders her
incapable of proceeding with us till supplied. I saw several trees and
houses which are blown down.—Your humble servant,

                                                            “JOS. SOANES.“






The disasters caused by this terrible gale extended over the English
coasts. At Bristol the tide filled the merchants’ cellars, spoiling 1,000
hogsheads of sugar, 1,500 hogsheads of tobacco, and any quantity of other
produce, the damage being estimated at £100,000. Eighty people were
drowned in the marshes and river. Among the shipping casualties, the
_Canterbury_ store-ship went ashore, and twenty-five men were drowned from
her. The Severn overflowed the country, doing great damage at Gloucester;
and 15,000 sheep were drowned on the levels and marshes. Four merchant
ships were lost in Plymouth Roads, and most of the men were drowned. At
Portsmouth a number of vessels were blown to sea, and some of them never
heard of more. About a dozen ships were driven from our coasts to Holland,
the crews, for the most part, being saved. At Dunkirk, twenty-three or
more vessels were dashed to pieces against the pier-head.

Mr. Peter Walls, master or chief lighthouse-keeper of the Spurn Light at
the mouth of the Humber, was present on the 26th of November, the fatal
night of the storm. He thought that his lighthouse must have been blown
down, and the tempest made the fire in it burn so fiercely that “it melted
down the iron bars, on which it laid, like lead,” so that they were
obliged when the fire was nearly extinguished to put in fresh bars, and
re-kindle the fire, keeping it up till the morning dawn, when they found
that some six or seven-and-twenty sail of ships were driving helplessly
about the Spurn Head, some having cut, and others broken their cables.
These were a part of two fleets then lying in the Humber, having put in
there by stress of weather a day or two before. Three ships were driven on
an island called the Don. The first no sooner touched bottom than she
completely capsized, turning keel up; strange to say, out of six men on
board, only one was drowned, the other five being rescued by the boat of
the second ship. They landed at the Spurn Lighthouse, where Mr. Walls got
them good fires and all the comforts they needed. The second ship, having
nobody on board, was driven to sea and never seen or heard of more. The
third broke up, and next morning some coals that had been in her were all
that was to be seen. Of the whole number of vessels in the Humber, few, if
any, were saved.

Defoe estimates that 150 sea-going vessels of all sorts were lost in this
terrific gale; but this is, in all probability, a very low estimate. And
it is as nothing to the fearful loss of life, which amounted to 8,000
souls.

The townspeople of Deal, in particular, were blamed for their inhumanity
in leaving many to their fate who could have been rescued. Boatmen went
off to the sands for booty, some of whom would not listen to poor wretches
who might have been saved. Many unfortunate shipwrecked persons could be
seen, by the aid of glasses, walking on the Goodwin Sands in despairing
postures, knowing that they would, as Defoe puts it, “be washed into
another world” at the reflux of the tide. The Mayor of Deal, Mr. Thomas
Powell, asked the Custom House officers to take out their boats and
endeavour to save the lives of some of these unfortunates, but they
utterly refused. The mayor then offered, from his own pocket, five
shillings a head for all saved, and a number of fishermen and others
volunteered, and succeeded in bringing 200 persons on shore, who would
have been lost in half an hour afterwards. The Queen’s agent for sick and
wounded seamen would not furnish a penny for their lodging or food, and
the good mayor supplied all of them with what they required. Several died,
and he was compelled to bury them at his own expense; he furnished a large
number with money to pay their way to London. He received no thanks from
the Government of the day, but some long time after was re-imbursed the
large sums he had expended.

           [Illustration: THE STORM IN THE THAMES AT WAPPING.]

“Nor,” says Defoe, “can the damage suffered in the river of Thames be
forgot. It was a strange sight to see all the ships in the river blown
away, the Pool was so clear, that, as I remember, not above four ships
were left between the upper part of Wapping and Ratcliffe Cross, for the
tide being up at the time when the storm blew with the greatest violence,
no anchors or landfast, no cables or moorings, would hold them, the chains
which lay across the river for the mooring of ships, all gave way.

“The ships breaking loose thus, it must be a strange sight to see the
hurry and confusion of it; and, as some ships had nobody at all on board,
and a great many had none but a man or boy just to look after the vessel,
there was nothing to be done but to let every vessel drive whither and how
she would.

“Those who know the reaches of the river, and how they lie, know well
enough that the wind being at south-west-westerly, the vessels would
naturally drive into the bite or bay from Ratcliffe Cross to Limehouse
Hole, for that the river winding about again from thence towards the new
dock at Deptford runs almost due south-west, so that the wind blew down
one reach and up another, and the ships must of necessity drive into the
bottom of the angle between both.

“This was the case, and as the place is not large, and the number of ships
very great, the force of the wind had driven them so into one another, and
laid them so upon one another, as it were in heaps, that I think a man may
safely defy all the world to do the like.

“The author of this collection had the curiosity the next day to view the
place, and to observe the posture they lay in, which nevertheless it is
impossible to describe; there lay, by the best account he could take, few
less than seven hundred sail of ships, some very great ones, between
Shadwell and Limehouse inclusive; the posture is not to be imagined but by
them that saw it; some vessels lay heeling off with the bow of another
ship over her waist, and the stern of another upon her forecastle; the
boltsprits of some drove into the cabin-windows of others; some lay with
their sterns tossed up so high that the tide flowed into their forecastles
before they could come to rights; some lay so leaning upon others that the
undermost vessels would sink before the other could float; the numbers of
masts, boltsprits and yards split and broke, the staving the heads and
sterns, and carved work, the tearing and destruction of rigging, and the
squeezing of boats to pieces between the ships, is not to be reckoned; but
there was hardly a vessel to be seen that had not suffered some damage or
other in one or all of these articles.

“There were several vessels sunk in this hurricane, but as they were
generally light ships the damage was chiefly to the vessels; but there
were two ships sunk with great quantity of goods on board: the _Russell_
galley was sunk at Limehouse, being a great part laden with bale goods for
the Straits; and the _Sarah_ galley, laden for Leghorn, sunk at an anchor
at Blackwall, and though she was afterwards weighed and brought on shore,
yet her back was broken, or so otherwise disabled that she was never fit
for the sea. There were several men drowned in these last two vessels, but
we could never come to have the particular number.

     [Illustration: THE WEST-INDIAMEN DRIVEN ASHORE AT TILBURY FORT.]

“Near Gravesend several ships drove on shore below Tilbury Fort, and among
them five bound for the West Indies; but as the shore is oozy and soft,
the vessels sat upright and easy.” The loss of small craft in the river
was enormous; not less than 300 ships’ boats and 500 wherries were sunk or
dashed to pieces. Barges and lighters were sunk and broke loose by the
score, and twenty-two watermen and others working on the river were
drowned.

The effect of this tempest was felt very severely on shore, not less than
123 persons being killed by falling buildings, &c. It is said that not
less than 800 dwellings were blown down, while barns, stacks of chimneys,
pinnacles, steeples, and trees, were strewed all over the country.

Dozens of remarkable cases might be given of wonderful preservations at
sea during this storm, and one or two have been cited. A small vessel ran
on the rocks in Milford Haven and was fast breaking up, when an empty
boat, which had got loose, drifted past so near the wreck that two men
jumped into it and saved their lives. A poor boy on board could not jump
so far, and was drowned. A poor sailor of Brighthelmston was taken off a
wreck after he had hung by his hands and feet on the top of a mast for
eight-and-forty hours, the sea raging so high that no boat durst approach
him. A waterman in the river Thames, lying asleep in the cabin of a barge
near Blackfriars, was driven below London Bridge, “and the barge went of
herself into the Tower Dock, and lay safe on shore. The man never waked
nor heard the storm till it was day; and, to his great astonishment, he
found himself safe, as above.” Two boys, lodging in the Poultry, and
living in a top garret, were, by the fall of chimneys, which broke through
the floors, carried quite to the bottom of the cellar, and received no
hurt at all.

It has been shown how universal was the storm on the English coasts, and
it extended to all parts of the interior.(70) In Norfolk, a small town
experienced the horrors of fire simultaneously with the gale. The
inhabitants were powerless to extinguish it; and the wind blew the ruins,
almost as much as the fire, in all directions. If the people came to
windward they were in danger of being blown into the flames, and to
leeward they dared not approach the fire, which would have scorched them
up. Those who escaped the conflagration ran the imminent risk of being
knocked on the head by bricks and tiles, which flew about as though they
were tinder. The storm, although most severe on the Friday
before-mentioned, lasted almost continuously for a week.

The city of London was a strange spectacle at this time. “The houses
looked like skeletons,” says Defoe, “and an universal air of horror seemed
to sit on the countenances of the people. All business seemed to be laid
aside for the time, and people were generally intent upon getting help to
repair their habitations.” The streets lay covered with tiles and slates,
bricks and chimney-pots. Common tiles rose from 21s. per thousand to £6.
Above 2,000 great stacks of chimneys were blown down in and about London,
besides gable-ends and roofs by the score, and about twenty whole houses
in the suburbs. In addition to those killed by the fall of various parts
of buildings, above 200 were reported as wounded and maimed. And it must
be remembered that these were not the days of morning and evening and
special editions, and copious and generally correct reports. Had
telegraphs and railways and steamships brought in the news collected by
innumerable correspondents, as they would to-day, Defoe’s book would never
have been compiled. And it may be here observed, in honour of the memory
of that immortal author, that he never cites a case, or speaks of it as a
positive fact, without giving his authority or authorities. He says in one
place, “Some of our printed accounts give us larger and plainer accounts
of the loss of lives than I will venture to affirm for truth: as of
several houses near Moorfields levelled with the ground; fourteen people
drowned in a wherry going to Gravesend and five in a wherry from Chelsea.
Not that it is not very probable to be true, but, as I resolve not to hand
anything to posterity but what comes very well attested, I omit such
relations as I have not extraordinary assurance as to the fact.” This is
hardly the way with all book-makers!

Most of those killed were buried or crushed by the broken fragments and
rubbish of falling stacks of chimneys or walls. The fall of brick walls
made a serious item in the losses. At Greenwich Park several pieces of the
wall were down for a hundred rods at a place; the palace of St. James’s
was greatly damaged; the roof of the guard-house at Whitehall blown off,
seriously hurting nine soldiers; the lead stripped off and rolled up like
parchment from scores of churches and public buildings, including
Westminster Abbey and Christ Church Hospital. “It was very remarkable,”
Defoe notes, “that the bridge over the Thames [_i.e._, Old London Bridge]
received so little damage, the buildings standing high and not sheltered
by other erections, as they would be in the streets. Above a hundred elms,
some of them said to have been planted by Wolsey, were blown down in St.
James’s Park. Very fortunately the storm was succeeded by fine weather:
for had rain or snow followed, the misery and damage to hundreds and
hundreds of tenants would have been fearfully increased.”

At Stowmarket, in Suffolk, one of the largest spires—100 feet high above
the steeple—was completely carried away, with all its heavy timbers and an
immense quantity of lead. So in Brenchly and Great Peckham, Kent, the
former doing damage to the church and porch as it fell, and entailing a
total loss of £800 to £1,000, which would represent much more in these
days. “The cathedral church of Ely,” said one of Defoe’s correspondents,
“by the providence of God, did, contrary to all men’s expectations, stand
out the shock, but suffered very much in every part of it, especially that
which is called the body of it, the lead being torn and rent up a
considerable way together; about 40 lights of glass blown down and
shattered to pieces; one ornamental pinnacle, belonging to the north
aisle, demolished; and the lead in divers other parts of it blown up into
great heaps. Five chimneys falling down in a place called the Colledge,
the place where the prebendaries’ lodgings are, did no other damage
(prais’d be God!) than beat down some part of the houses along with them.
The loss which the church and college of Ely sustained being, by
computation, near £2,000.” Accounts of nearly irretrievable damage done to
valuable painted church windows, for one of which—at Fairford,
Gloucester—£1,500 had been offered, came from many points. In some cases
the lead blown from roofs, amounting to tons in weight, was so tightly
rolled up that it took a number of men to unroll it without cutting or
other damage.

The Bishop of Bath and Wells was killed under rather remarkable
circumstances. The palace was the relic of a very old castle, only one
corner of it being modernised for his lordship’s use. Had the bishop slept
in the new portion his life would have been spared; but he remained in one
of the older apartments. Two chimney-stacks fell and crushed in the roof,
driving it upon the bishop’s bed, forcing it quite through the next floor
into the hall, and burying both himself and lady in the rubbish. The
former appears to have risen, perhaps perceiving the approaching danger,
and was found, with his brains dashed out, near a doorway.

One of the most remarkable cases of the power of the wind ashore was the
removal of a stone of four hundredweight, which lay sheltered under a
bank, to a distance of seven yards. On the Kingscote estate, in
Gloucester, 600 trees, all about eighty feet in height, were thrown down
within a compass of five acres. The storm was accompanied by thunder and
lightning and waterspouts. A clergyman, writing from Besselsleigh,
says:—“On Friday, the 26th of November, in the afternoon, about four of
the clock, a country fellow came running to me, in a great fright, and
very earnestly entreated me to go and see a pillar, as he called it, in
the air in a field hard by. I went with the fellow, and when I came found
it to be a spout marching directly with the wind; and I can think of
nothing I can compare it to better than the trunk of an elephant, which it
resembled—only much bigger. It was extended to a great length, and swept
the ground as it went, leaving a mark behind. It crossed a field, and,
which was very strange (and which I should scarce have been induced to
believe had I not myself seen it, besides several countrymen, who were
astonished at it, meeting with an oak that stood towards the middle of the
field, snapped the body of it asunder. Afterwards, crossing a road, it
sucked up the water that was in the cart-ruts. Then, coming to an old
barn, it tumbled it down, and the thatch that was on the top was carried
about by the wind, which was then very high and in great confusion. After
this I followed it no farther, and therefore saw no more of it, but a
parishioner of mine, going from hence to Hincksey, in a field about a
quarter of a mile off of this place, was on the sudden knocked down and
lay upon the place till some people came by and brought him home; and he
is not yet quite recovered.” An earthquake is also said to have followed
the great storm.

Enough has now been written to show how universal were the effects of this
terrible gale. The details, as recorded by Defoe and others, would fill
several chapters like the present. The author of “Robinson Crusoe” puts,
as we have seen, the loss of life partly on land but principally by sea,
at 8,000, but a French authority places it at the enormous number of
30,000! It can well be believed that a large proportion of the casualties
were never reported or recorded.

                  [Illustration: A LIFE-BOAT GOING OUT.]

                  [Illustration: GREATHEAD’S LIFE-BOAT.]





                               CHAPTER XV.


                           “MAN THE LIFE-BOAT!”


      The Englishman’s direct interest in the Sea—The History of the
       Life-boat and its Work—Its Origin—A Coach-builder the First
      Inventor—Lionel Lukin’s Boat—Royal Encouragement—Wreck of the
     _Adventure_—The Poor Crew Drowned in Sight of Thousands—Good out
    of Evil—The South Shields Committee and their Prize Boat—Wouldhave
    and Greathead—The latter Rewarded by Government, &c.—Slow Progress
     of the Life-boat Movement—The Old Boat at Redcar—Organisation of
      the National Life-boat Institution—Sir William Hillary’s Brave
          Deeds—Terrible Losses at the Isle of Man—Loss of Three
    Life-boats—Reorganisation of the Society—Immense Competition for a
           Prize—Beeching’s “Self-righting” Boats—Buoyancy and
             Ballast—Dangers of the Service—A Year’s Wrecks.


The history of the life-boat is one that concerns every Englishman. In
this isle of the sea, our own beloved Britain, our sympathies are
constantly excited on behalf of those who suffer from shipwreck. It would
not be too much to say that one-half the population of the United Kingdom
have some direct interest in this matter. Let us not be misunderstood.
Pecuniary interests in shipping are held here more largely than in any
other country, but we are not all shipowners or merchants. But how many of
us have some brother or friend a seafarer! Of the writer’s own direct
relatives six have travelled and voyaged to very far distant lands, and
the friends of whom the same might be said would aggregate several score.
This is no uncommon case.

The origin of the life-boat, as now understood, is of very modern date.
Those who would study the matter in its entirety cannot do better than
consult the work(71) from which the larger part of the material
incorporated in the present chapter is derived. One of the very earliest
inventors of a life-boat was Mr. Lionel Lukin, a coach-builder of Long
Acre, who turned his attention to the subject in 1784, from purely
benevolent motives. The then Prince of Wales (afterwards George IV.), who
knew Lukin personally, not only encouraged him to test his inventions, but
offered to pay the expenses. Lukin purchased a Norway yawl, to the outer
frame of which he added a projecting gunwale of cork, tapering from nine
inches amidships to very little at the bows and stern. Hollow water-tight
enclosures gave it great buoyancy, while ballast sufficient for stability
was afforded by a heavy false keel of iron. On this principle several
boats were constructed, and found to be, as the inventor describes them,
“unimmergible.” The Rev. Dr. Shairp, of Bamborough, hearing of the
invention, and having charge of a charity for saving life at sea, sent a
boat to Lukin to be made “unimmergible.” This was done, and satisfactory
accounts were afterwards received of the altered boat, which was reported
to have saved several lives in the first year of its use. The Admiralty
and Trinity House would have nothing to do with it, in spite of the Prince
of Wales’ interest in the matter. It has been said that a committee is a
body without a conscience; it was true in those good old days. Lukin
retired from business in 1824, and went to live at Hythe in Kent, where,
ten years after, he died; the inscription on his tomb in Hythe churchyard
says that he was the first to build a life-boat.

Notwithstanding Lukin’s increasing efforts to bring his life-boats into
general use, hardly any progress had been made in their general adoption
till 1789, when the _Adventure_, of Newcastle, was wrecked at the mouth of
the Tyne. While this vessel lay stranded on a dangerous sand at the
entrance of the river, in the midst of tremendous breakers, her crew
“dropped off one by one from the rigging,” only three hundred yards from
the shore, and in the presence of thousands of spectators. This horrible
disaster led to good results, for a committee was immediately appointed at
a meeting of the inhabitants of South Shields, and premiums offered for
the best model of a life-boat “calculated to brave the dangers of the sea,
particularly of broken water.” From many plans submitted two were
selected, those of Mr. William Wouldhave and Mr. Henry Greathead. The idea
of the first is said to have been suggested by the following circumstance.
Wouldhave had been asked to assist a woman in putting a “skeel” of water
on her head, when he noticed that she had a piece of a broken wooden dish
lying in the water, which floated with the points upwards, and turning it
over several times, he found that it always righted itself. Greathead’s
model had a curved instead of a straight keel, and he, as the only
practical boatbuilder who had competed, was awarded the premium, some of
Wouldhave’s ideas in regard to the use of cork being incorporated. This
first boat, thirty feet in length, had a cork lining twelve inches thick,
reaching from the deck to the thwarts, and a cork fender outside sixteen
inches deep, four inches wide, and twenty-one feet long, nearly 7 cwts. of
cork being fitted to the boat altogether. Greathead’s curved keel was,
however, the main point, and he is regarded as the inventor of the first
practicable life-boat. From 1791 to 1797 his first boat was the means of
saving the whole or larger part of the crews of five ships.
Notwithstanding all this, no other life-boat was built till 1798, when the
then Duke of Northumberland ordered one to be built at his own expense,
which in two years saved the crews of three vessels. Others were soon
after constructed, and before the end of 1803 Greathead built no less than
thirty-one, eight of which were for foreign countries. In the beginning of
1802, when two hundred lives had been saved at the entrance of the Tyne
alone, Greathead applied to Parliament for a national reward. Possibly it
is more remarkable that he obtained it. £1,200 was voted to him, to which
the Trinity House, Lloyd’s, and the Society of Arts added substantial
presents. The Emperor of Russia sent a diamond ring to the inventor.

After this, one might have reasonably thought that life-boats had become a
recognised institution and a national necessity. Not so. For years
afterwards there was hardly an advance made, and there was no organised
society to work them. The Government was apathetic. In 1810, one of
Greathead’s life-boats, carried overland to Hartley on the coast of
Northumberland, rescued the crews of several fishing-boats. On returning
toward the shore, the boat got too near a fatal rock-reef, and was split
in halves; thirty-four poor fellows—a moment before the savers and the
saved—were drowned. The authority before cited says that even now several
of Greathead’s boats—exclusively rowing boats—are to be found on the
coast; the oldest one is that in the possession of the boatmen at Redcar,
it having been built in 1802. On seeing this fine old life-boat, which had
saved some scores of lives, Viscount Stratford de Redcliffe composed some
years ago the following verses, which were set to music:—

  “The Life-boat! Oh, the Life-boat!
    We all have known so long,
  A refuge for the feeble,
    The glory of the strong.
  Twice thirty years have vanished,
    Since first upon the wave
  She housed the drowning mariner,
    And snatched him from the grave.
      *     *     *     *
  The voices of the rescued,
    Their numbers may be read,
  The tears of speechless feeling
    Our wives and children shed;
  The memories of mercy
    In man’s extremest need,
  All for the dear old Life-boat
    Uniting seem to plead.”

As already stated, the important movement for saving life from shipwreck
languished for some time. To Sir William Hillary and Thomas Wilson, then
one of the Members of Parliament for London, is due the organisation of
that most excellent society which has done more in the cause of humanity
than, perhaps, any other whatever, and has done it on means which even
to-day are too limited. Sir William Hillary was not a talker or subscriber
merely, but had been personally active in saving life. When a Government
cutter, the _Vigilant_, was wrecked in Douglas Bay, Isle of Man, where he
was then residing, he was one of the foremost in rescuing a part of the
crew. Listen to our authority: “Between the years 1821 and 1846, no fewer
than 144 wrecks had taken place on the island, and 172 lives were lost;
while the destruction of property was estimated at a quarter of a million.
In 1825, when the _City of Glasgow_ steamer was stranded in Douglas Bay,
Sir William Hillary assisted in saving the lives of sixty-two persons; and
in the same year eleven men from the brig Leopard, and nine from the sloop
_Fancy_, which became a total wreck. In 1827-32, Sir William, accompanied
by his son, saved many other lives; but his greatest success was on the
20th of November, 1830, when he saved in the life-boat twenty-two men, the
whole of the crew of the mail steamer _St. George_, which became a total
wreck on St. Mary’s Rock. On this occasion he was washed overboard among
the wreck, with other three persons, and was saved with great difficulty,
having had six of his ribs fractured.” No wonder that a genuine hero of
this character should have succeeded in obtaining the assistance and
encouragement of His Majesty King George IV., and any number of royal
highnesses, archbishops, bishops, noblemen, and other distinguished
people,(72) when the formation of a “Royal National Institution for the
Preservation of Life from Shipwreck” was mooted. The Society was
immediately organised, and the receipts for the first year of its
existence were £9,800 odd. The Committee, in their first report, were able
to state that they had built and stationed twelve life-boats, while,
doubtless, from their good example, thirty-nine life-boats had been
stationed on our shores by benevolent individuals and associations not
connected with the Institution. In its early days, the Society assisted
local bodies to place life-boats on the coast, such being independent of
its control. The good work done by the Association in its early days is
indicated in the following statement. In the second annual report the
Committee showed that up to that period the Society had contributed to the
saving of 342 lives from shipwreck, either by its own life-saving
apparatus or by other means, for which it had granted rewards. And its
total revenue for the second year was only £3,392 7s. 5d.!(73) For fifteen
years afterwards the annual receipts were still smaller.

      [Illustration: LIFE-BOAT SAVING THE CREW OF THE “ST. GEORGE.”]

Between 1841 and 1850 the Institution lost three life-boats, and this was
the smallest part of the loss. In October, 1841, one of the boats at
Blyth, Northumberland, while being pulled against a strong wind, was
struck by a heavy sea, causing her to run stern under, and to half fill
with water. A second sea struck her, and she capsized. Ten men were
drowned. The second case occurred at Robin Hood’s Bay, on the coast of
Yorkshire, in February, 1843. The life-boat went off to the assistance of
a stranded vessel, the _Ann_, of London, during a fresh northerly gale.
The life-boat had got alongside the wreck, and was taking the crew off,
when, as far as can be understood, several men jumped into her at the
moment when a great wave struck her, and she capsized. Many of the crew
got on her bottom, while three remained underneath her, and in this state
she drifted towards the shore on the opposite side of the bay. On seeing
the accident from the shore, five gallant fellows launched a boat and
tried to pull off to the rescue, but had hardly encountered two seas, when
she was turned _end over end_, two of her crew being drowned. An officer
of the Coastguard service and eleven men lost their lives on this
occasion; a few were saved, coming to shore safely on the bottom of the
life-boat, and even under it, in its reversed condition.

    [Illustration: LOSS OF A LIFE-BOAT AT THE SHIPWRECK OF THE “ANN.”]

A still worse accident occurred, in December, 1849, to the South Shields
life-boat, which had gone out with twenty-four experienced pilots to the
aid of the _Betsy_ of Littlehampton, stranded on the Herd Sand. She had
reached the wreck, and was lying alongside, though badly secured. The
shipwrecked men were about to descend into the boat, when a heavy sea,
recoiling from the bows of the vessel, lifted her on end, and a second sea
completed the work of destruction by throwing her completely over. She
ultimately drifted ashore. Twenty out of twenty-four on board were
drowned. On seeing the accident, two other life-boats immediately dashed
off, and saved four of the pilots and the crew of the _Betsy_.

The year 1850 marked an epoch in the history of life-boats, for then the
Institution was thoroughly re-organised. It was arranged that the boats
should be periodically inspected by qualified officers, and that a fixed
scale of payment, both for actual service or quarterly exercise, should be
made to the coxswains and crews.(74) His Grace the late Duke of
Northumberland offered a prize of one hundred guineas for the best model
of a life-boat, and a like sum towards constructing a boat on that model.
No less than 280 plans and models were sent in, not merely from all parts
of the United Kingdom, but from France, Holland, Germany, and the United
States. After some six months’ detailed examination on the part of the
committee, Mr. James Beeching, of Great Yarmouth, was awarded the prize.
That gentleman constructed several boats shortly afterwards, embodying
most or all of the leading improvements, and was the first to build a
“self-righting” life-boat. All of the Institution’s modern boats are on
this principle.

“The chief peculiarity of a life-boat,” says our authority, “which
distinguishes it from all ordinary boats, is its being rendered
unsubmergible, by attaching to it, chiefly within boards, water-tight
air-cases, or fixed water-tight compartments under a deck.... Especially
it is essential that the spare space along the sides of a life-boat,
within boards, should be entirely occupied by buoyant cases or
compartments; as when such is the case, on her shipping a sea, the water,
until got rid off, is confined to the midships part of the boat, where, to
a great extent, it serves as ballast, instead of falling over to the
lee-side, and destroying her equilibrium, as is the case in an ordinary
open boat.” The Institution’s self-righting boats are ballasted with
_heavy_ iron keels (up to 21 cwts.), and _light_ air-tight cases, cork,
&c. The advantage of employing a ballast of less specific gravity than
water is, that in the event of the boat being stove in, the buoyancy of
the material itself then comes into play.

“Self-righting” is, of course, a most important principle in life-boats,
and out of some 250 boats of the Institution there are scarcely more than
twenty which do not possess it. Up to twenty years or so ago it was
derided by many otherwise practical men. Yet as early as 1792 we find the
Rev. James Bremner, of Walls, Orkney, proposing to make all ordinary boats
capable of righting themselves in the water by placing two water-tight
casks, parallel to each other, in the head and stern sheets, and by
affixing a heavy iron keel. The self-righting power of to-day is obtained
by the following means. The boat is built with considerably higher
gunwales at the bows and stern than in the centre, while four to six feet
of the space at either end are water-tight air-chambers. A heavy iron keel
is attached, and a nearly equal weight of light air-cases, and cork
ballast cases are stowed betwixt the boat’s floor and the deck. “No other
measures are necessary to be taken in order to effect the self-righting
power. When the boat is forcibly placed in the water with her keel
upwards, she is floated unsteadily on the two air chambers at bow and
stern, while the heavy iron keel and other ballast then being carried
above the centre of gravity, an unstable equilibrium is at once effected,
in which dilemma the boat cannot remain, the raised weight falls on one
side or the other of the centre of gravity, and drags the boat round to
her ordinary position, when the water shipped during the evolution quickly
escapes through the relieving tubes, and she is again ready for any
service that may be required of her.”

Nearly all life-boat stations are provided with a transporting carriage,
built especially for the particular boat. The use of this, in many cases,
is to convey the boat by land to the point nearest the wreck. On some
coasts the distance may be several miles. In addition to this, a
boat-carriage is of immense service in launching a boat from a beach
without her keel touching the ground; so much so, indeed, that one can be
readily launched from a carriage through a high surf, when without one she
could not be got off the beach. The carriage is often backed sufficiently
far into the water to enable the boat to float when she is run off.

          [Illustration: A life-boat and carriage—latest form.]

The foregoing will give a sufficient idea of the boat itself, and now to
its work. Courage and ability are required to put it into action, and the
dangers to which the crew of a life-boat are exposed entitle those who
encounter them to the greatest honour. “It is impossible to exaggerate the
awful circumstances attending a shipwreck. Let us picture the time, when,
after a peaceful sunset and the toils of the day are over, the hero of the
life-boat has retired to rest, and the silence of the night is unbroken
except by the murmur of the winds and the noise of the sea breaking on the
shore. With the approach of the storm, however, the winds and waves rise
in fury upon the deep, and with their mingled vengeance lash the cliffs
and the beach. A signal of distress arouses the coxswain and his men;
crowds rush in curiosity to the cliffs, or line the shore, heedless of the
driving rain or the blinding sleet. Barrels of tar are lighted on the
coast, and the signal gun and the fiery rocket make a fresh appeal to the
brave. The boat-house is unlocked, and the life-boat with her crew is
dragged hurriedly to the shore. The storm rages wildly, and the mountains
of surf and sea appal the stoutest heart. The gallant men look dubiously
at the work before them, and fathers and mothers and wives and children
implore them to desist from a hopeless enterprise. The voice of the
coxswain, however, prevails. The life-boat is launched among the breakers,
cutting bravely through the foaming mass—now buried under the swelling
billows, or rising on their summit—now dashed against the hapless wreck
still instinct with life—now driven from it by a mountain wave—now
embarking its living freight, and carrying them, through storm and danger
and darkness, to a blessed shore. Would that this was the invariable issue
of a life-boat service! The boat that adventures to a wreck meets with
disaster itself occasionally; and in the war of the elements some of its
gallant crew have sometimes been the first of its victims.” And when we
consider that the number of wrecks on the coasts of the United Kingdom
alone, averaged 1,446 per annum for the twenty years between 1852 and
1871, we can form an idea of the importance of life-boat work on these
shores. In the succeeding chapter some special instances of perilous and
successful rescues will be presented.





                               CHAPTER XVI.


                   “MAN THE LIFE-BOAT!” (_continued_).


    A “Dirty” Night on the Sands—Wreck of the _Samaritano_—The Vessel
       boarded by Margate and Whitstable Men—A Gale in its Fury—The
     Vessel breaking up—Nineteen Men in the Fore-rigging—Two Margate
    Life-boats Wrecked—Fate of a Lugger—The Scene at Ramsgate—“Man the
       Life-boat!”—The good Steamer _Aid_—The Life-boat Towed out—A
       Terrible Trip—A Grand Struggle with the Elements—The Flag of
       Distress made out—How to reach it—The Life-boat cast off—On
      through the Breakers—The Wreck reached at last—Difficulties of
    Rescuing the Men—The poor little Cabin Boy—The Life-boat Crowded—A
        Moment of great Peril—The Steamer reached at last—Back to
    Ramsgate—The Reward of Merit—Loss of a Passenger Steamer—The Three
      Lost Corpses—The Emigrant Ship on the Sands—A Splendid Night’s
                                  Work.


The waves are tearing over the fatal Goodwin Sands, but the life-boats of
Ramsgate, Margate, Deal, and Kingsdown are ready for their work. At
Ramsgate, in particular, the life-boat is ready at her moorings in the
harbour, while a powerful steam-tug—the _Aid_, whose interesting history
would form many a chapter—is lying with steam partially up, prepared to
tow out the boat as near the Goodwin Sands as may be with safety. The
“storm warriors,” as the Rev. Mr. Gilmore calls them with so much
appropriateness, in his fascinating and powerfully-written work,(75) “are
on the watch, hour after hour, through the stormy night walking the pier,
and giving keen glances to where the Goodwin Sands are white with the
churning, seething waves that leap high, and plunge and foam amid the
treacherous shoals and banks. Look! a flash is seen; listen, in a few
seconds, yes, there is the throb and boom of a distant gun, a rocket
cleaves the darkness; and now the cry—‘Man the life-boat! Man the
life-boat! Seaward ho! Seaward ho!’ Storm warriors to the rescue!”

One Sunday night in the month of February, a few years ago, the weather
was what sailors call “dirty,” and accompanied by sudden gusts of wind and
snow-squalls. Before the light broke on Monday morning, the Margate
lugger, _Eclipse_, put out to sea to cruise round the shoals and sands in
the neighbourhood of Margate, on the look-out for the victims of any
disasters that might have occurred during the night, and the crew soon
discovered that a vessel was ashore on the Margate sands. She proved to be
the Spanish brig _Samaritano_, bound from Antwerp to Santander, and laden
with a valuable cargo; she had a crew of eleven men under the command of
the captain, Modesto Crispo. Hoping to save the vessel, the lugger, as she
was running for the brig, spoke a Whitstable fishing-smack, and borrowed
two of her men and her boat. They boarded the brig as the tide went down,
and hoped to be able to get her off the sands at the next high water. For
this purpose, six Margate boatmen and the two Whitstable men were left on
board.

With the rising tide the gale came on again with renewed fury, and it soon
became a question not of saving the vessel, but of saving their own lives.
The sea dashed furiously over the wreck, lifting her, and then letting her
fall with terrific violence on the sands. Her timbers quivered and shook,
and a hole was quickly knocked in her side. She filled with water, and
settled on one side. “The waves began now to break with great force over
the deck; the lugger’s boat was speedily knocked to pieces and swept
overboard; the hatches were forced up; and some of the cargo which floated
on the deck was at once washed away. The brig began to roll and labour
fearfully, as wave after wave broke against her, with a force that shook
her from stem to stern, and threatened to throw her bodily upon her
broadside; the men, fearing this, cut the weather rigging of the mainmast,
and the mast soon broke off short with a great crash, and went over the
side.” All hands now had to take to the fore-rigging; nineteen souls with
nothing between them and death but the few shrouds of a shaking mast! The
waves threw up columns of foam, and the spray froze upon them as it fell.
The Margate and Whitstable men were caught in a trap, for neither lugger
nor smack would have lived five minutes in the sea that surrounded the
vessel. Would the life-boat come?

As soon as the news of the wreck reached Margate, the smaller of the two
life-boats was manned and launched. By an oversight in the hurry of
preparation, the valves of the air-tight boxes had been left open, and she
was fast filling. Although she succeeded in getting within a quarter of a
mile of the brig, she had to be speedily turned towards shore, or she
would have been wrecked herself. After battling for four hours with the
sea and gale, she was run ashore in Westgate Bay. There the coastguardmen
did their best for them. Meantime, when it was learned in Margate that the
first boat was disabled, the larger one was launched. Away they started,
the brave crew doing all they could to battle with the gale, but all in
vain; their tiller gave way, and they had to give up the attempt. They
were driven ashore about one mile from the town. Next, two luggers
attempted to get out to the wreck. The fate of the first was soon settled:
a fearful squall of wind struck her before she had got many hundred yards
clear of the pier, and swept her foremast clean out of her. The second
lugger was a little more fortunate; she beat out to the Sands, but only to
find the surf so heavy, that it was impossible to cross them, or to get
near the wreck. “The Margate people became full of despair; and many a
bitter tear was shed for sympathy and for personal loss as they watched
the wreck, and thought of the poor fellows perishing slowly before their
eyes, apparently without any possibility of being saved.” And now let us
change the scene to Ramsgate.

About nine o’clock the news came to Ramsgate that there was a brig ashore
on the Woolpack Sands, off Margate, but it was naturally concluded that
the life-boats of the latter place would go to the rescue, and no one
supposed that the services of the Ramsgate boat would be required. “But
shortly after twelve, a coastguard-man from Margate hastened breathless to
the pier and to the harbour-master’s office, saying, in answer to eager
inquiries, as he hurried on, that the two Margate life-boats had been
wrecked. The order was, of course, at once given, ‘Man the life-boat!’ and
the boatmen rushed for it. First come, first in; not a moment’s
hesitation, not a thought of further clothing: they will go in as they
are, rather than not go at all. The news rapidly spreads; each boatman as
he heard it, hastily snatched up his bag of waterproof overalls and
south-wester cap, and rushed down to the boat; and for some time, boatman
after boatman was to be seen racing down the pier, hoping to find a place
still vacant; if the race had been to save their lives, rather than to
risk them, it would hardly have been more hotly contested.

“Some of those who had won the race and were in the boat were ill-prepared
with clothing for the hardships they would have to endure, for if they had
not their waterproofs at hand, they did not delay to get them, fearing
that the crew might be made up before they got to the boat. But these men
were supplied by the generosity of their disappointed friends, who had
come down better prepared, but too late for the enterprise; the famous
cork jackets were thrown into the boat and at once put on by the men.

“The powerful steam-tug, well-named the _Aid_, that belongs to the
harbour, and has her steam up night and day ready for any emergency that
may arise, speedily got her steam to full power, and with her brave and
skilful master, Daniel Reading, in command, took the boat in tow, and
together they made their way out of the harbour. James Hogben, who with
Reading has been in many a wild scene of danger, was coxswain, and steered
and commanded the life-boat.

“It was nearly low water at the time, but the force of the gale was such
as to send a good deal of spray dashing over the pier; the snow fell in
blinding squalls, and drifted and eddied in every protected nook and
corner. It was hard work for the excited crowd of people who had assembled
to see the life-boat start, to battle their way through the drifts and
against the wind, snow, and foam, to the head of the pier; but there at
last they gathered, and many a one felt his heart fail as the steamer and
boat cleared the protection of the pier, and encountered the first rush of
the wind and sea outside. ‘She seemed to go out under water,’ said one old
fellow; ‘I would not have gone out in her for the universe.’ And those who
did not know the heroism and determination that such scenes call forth in
the breasts of the boatmen, could not help wondering much at the eagerness
which had been displayed to get a place in the boat—and this although the
hardy fellows knew that the two Margate life-boats had been wrecked in the
attempt to get the short distance which separated the wreck from Margate,
while they would have to battle their way through the gale for ten or
twelve miles before they could get even in sight of the vessel.” And so
the steamer with its engines working full power plunged heavily along, the
life-boat towed astern with fifty fathoms (300 feet) of five-inch hawser
out, an enormously strong rope about the thickness of a man’s wrist. The
water flowed into and over the boat, and still, like any other good
life-boat, she floated, and rose in its buoyancy, almost defying the great
waves, while her crew were knee-deep in water.

              [Illustration: RAMSGATE—THE “AID” GOING OUT.]

They, making their way through the Cud channel, had passed between the
black and white buoys, so well-known to Ramsgate visitors, when a fearful
sea came heading towards them. It met and broke over the steamer, buried
her in foam and then passed on. The life-boat rose to it, and for a moment
hung with her bows high in air, then plunged bodily almost under water.
The men were nearly washed out of her, for at that moment the tow rope
broke, and the boat fell across the sea, which swept in rapid succession
over her. “Oars out! oars out!” was the cry, but they could do nothing
with them. The steamer was, however, cleverly brought within a few yards
to windward of the boat, and a hauling line, to which was attached a new
hawser, was successfully passed to the boat, and they again proceeded in
the teeth of the blinding snow and sleet and spray which swept over the
boat, till the men looked, as one said at the time, “like a body of ice.”

Still they struggled on, till they reached the North Foreland, where the
sea was running mountains high, and although early in the afternoon, the
air was so darkened by the storm that the captain of the boat could not
see the steamer only a hundred yards ahead, and still less able were the
men on board the steamer to see the life-boat. Now they sighted Margate,
and could plainly see the two disabled life-boats ashore. But where was
the wreck? A providential break in the drift of snow suddenly gave them a
glimpse of it, and the master of the steamer made out the flag of distress
flying in the rigging of the fated vessel. But she was on the other side
of the sand, and to tow the boat round would take a long time in the face
of such a gale; while for the boat to make across the sand seemed almost
impossible. But although it seemed a forlorn hope, it was resolved to
force her through the surf and sea under sail, and the hawser was cast
off. Now a new complication arose. The tide was found to be running so
furiously that they must be towed at least three miles to the eastward
before they would be sufficiently far to windward to make certain of
fetching the wreck. The tow rope had to be got on board again, and it was
a bitter disappointment to all, that an hour or more of their precious
time must be consumed before they could possibly get to the rescue of
their endangered brother seamen. The snow-squalls increased, and they lost
sight of the wreck again and again. “The gale, which had been increasing
since the morning, came on heavier than ever, and roared like thunder
overhead, the sea was running so furiously and meeting the life-boat with
such tremendous force that the men had to cling on their hardest not to be
washed out of her, and at last the new tow rope could no longer resist the
increasing strain, and suddenly parted with a tremendous jerk; there was
no thought of picking up the cable again—they could stand no further
delay, and one and all of her crew rejoiced to hear the captain of the
life-boat give orders to set sail.”

                     [Illustration: “CURLY” WEATHER.]

Straight for the breakers they made in the increasing gloom; no faltering
or hesitation, brows knit, teeth clenched, hands ready, and hearts firm.
The boat, carrying the smallest amount of sail possible, was driven on by
the hurricane force of the wind, till she plunged through the outer range
of the breakers into the battling, seething, boiling sea, that marked the
treacherous shallows. “When they saw some huge breaker heading towards
them like an advancing wall, then the men threw themselves breast down on
the thwart, curled their legs under it, clasped it with all their force
with both arms, held their breath hard, and clung on for very life against
the tear and wrestle of the waves, while the rush of water poured over
their backs and heads, and buried them in its flood. Down, down, beneath
the weight of the water, the men and boat sank; but only for a moment; the
splendid boat rose in her buoyancy, and freed herself of the seas, which
for a moment had overcome her and buried her, and her crew breathed again;
and a struggling cry of triumph rises from them, ‘Well done, old boat!
well done.’”

A sudden break in the storm, and the wreck is revealed to them half a mile
to leeward. Her appearance made even these hardy men shudder. She had
settled down by the stern, her uplifted bow being the only part of the
hull that was to be seen, and the sea was making a clean breach over her.
“The mainmast was gone, her foresail and foretopsail were blown adrift,
and great columns of foam were mounting up, flying over her foremast and
bow. They saw a Margate lugger lying at anchor just clear of the Sands,
and made close to her. As they shot by they could just make out, amid the
roar of the storm, a loud hail, ‘Eight of our men on board!’ and on they
flew, and in a few minutes were in a sea that would instantly have swamped
the lugger, noble and powerful boat though she was.

“Approaching the wreck, it was with terrible anxiety they strained their
sight, trying to discover if there were still any men left in the tangled
mass of rigging, over which the sea was breaking so furiously. By degrees
they made them out. ‘I see a man’s head. Look! one is waving his arm.’—‘I
make out two! three! why, the rigging is full of the poor fellows;’ and
with a cheer of triumph, as being yet in time, the life-boat crew settled
to their work.” Four hours they had been battling the elements, while the
shipwrecked crew had waited eight hours despairingly, within a few miles
of shore, shivering in the rigging. The sails were lowered, and anchor
cast overboard. “No cheering! no shouting in the boat now, no whisper
beyond the necessary orders; the risk and suspense are too terrible! Yard
by yard the cable is cautiously paid out, and the great rolling seas are
allowed to carry the boat, little by little, nearer to the vessel. The
waves break over the boat, for the moment bury it, and then as the sea
rushes on, and breaks upon the wreck, the spray, flying up, hides the men
lashed to the rigging from the boatmen’s sight. They hoist up a corner of
the sail to let the boat sheer in; all are ready; a huge wave lifts them.
‘Pay out the cable! sharp, men! sharp!’ the coxswain shouts; ‘belay all!’
The cable was let go a few yards by the run, and the boat is alongside the
wreck. With a cry, three men jump into the boat and are saved! ‘All hands
to the cable! haul in hand over hand, for your lives, men, quick!’ the
coxswain cries; for he sees a tremendous wave rushing in swiftly upon
them. They haul in the cable, draw the boat a little from the wreck, the
wave passes and breaks over the vessel; if the life-boat had been
alongside she would have been dashed against the wreck, and perhaps
capsized, or washed over, and utterly destroyed. Again the men watch the
waves, and as they see a few smaller ones approaching, let the cable run
again, and get alongside; this time they are able to remain a little
longer by the vessel; and, one after another, thirteen of the shipwrecked
men unlash themselves from the rigging and jump into the boat, when again
they draw away from the vessel in all haste, and avoid threatened
destruction.” At last three Spaniards are left in the rigging; they seem
nearly dead, and scarcely able to unlash themselves, and crawl down the
shrouds. The boat must be placed dangerously near the vessel, and two of
the life-boatmen must get on to the wreck and lift the men on board. They
do it quietly, coolly, determinedly. The last one left is a poor little
cabin-boy; he seems entangled in the rigging, and yet he holds fast to a
canvas bag of trinkets and things he was taking as presents to the loved
ones at home. “God only knows,” says Gilmore, “whether the loved ones at
home were thinking of and praying for him, and whether it was in answer to
their prayers and those of many others that the life-boat then rode
alongside that wreck, an ark of safety amid the raging seas.

“They shout, the boy lingers still, his half-dead hands cannot free the
bag from the entangled rigging. A moment and all are lost; a boatman makes
a spring, seizes the lad with a strong grasp, and tears him down the
rigging into the boat—too late, too late; they cannot get away from the
vessel; a tremendous wave rushes on: hold hard all, hold anchor! hold
cable! give but a yard and all are lost. The boat lifts, is washed into
the fore-rigging, the sea passes, and she settles down again upon an even
keel. Thank God! If one stray rope of all the torn and tangled rigging of
the vessel had caught the boat’s rigging, or one of her spars—if the
boat’s keel or cork fenders had caught in the shattered gunwale, she would
have turned over, and every man in her been shaken into the sea to speedy
and certain death. Thank God! it is not so, and once more they are safe.”
Look at the boat now; thirteen of its own crew, eight of the Margate and
Whitstable men, the captain, mate, eight seamen, and the boy, thirty-two
souls in all. Will she be able to bring all this human freight safely to
land? Their dangers are not yet over; in fact, to the poor Spaniards, the
terrors of death have not yet passed away; for they know little of the
grand properties of a first-class English life-boat.

Now come the difficulties of clearing the wreck. The anchor holds, and
there is no thought of getting her up in such a gale and sea. The hatchet
is passed forward; there is a moment’s delay, a delay by which indeed all
their lives are saved. Already one strand out of the three of which the
strong rope is composed is severed, when a fearful gust of wind sweeps by,
the boat heels over almost on her side—a crash is heard, and the mast and
sail are blown clean out of the boat! she is carried straight for the
wreck; the cable is slack, they haul it in as fast as they can, but on
they are carried swiftly, as it would seem to certain destruction. “Let
them hit the wreck full, and the next wave must throw the boat bodily upon
it, and all her crew will be swept at once into the sea; let them but
touch the wreck, and the risk is fearful; on they are carried, the stem of
the boat just grazes the bow of the vessel, they must be capsized by the
bowsprit and entangled in the wreckage; some of the crew are ready for a
spring into the bowsprit to prolong their lives a few minutes, the others
are all steadily, eagerly, quietly, hauling in upon the cable might and
main, as the only chance of safety to the boat and crew; one moment more
and all are gone, one more haul upon the cable, a fathom or so comes in by
the run, and at that moment mercifully taughtens and holds, all may yet be
safe! another yard or two and the boat would have been dashed to pieces.”
This danger over, they have to think of the mast and sail dragging over
the side of the boat; it is with great difficulty that they get them on
board, and rig them up once more. At last they sail away from the Sands,
the breakers and the wreck.

And now for the steamer, which at length they reach, passing on the way
the lugger _Eclipse_ and the Whitstable smack, to the crews of which they
were able to impart the good tidings. When they reached the steamer the
sea was raging, and the gale blowing as much as ever, and it was no easy
task to get the poor shipwrecked fellows on board, as they were too
exhausted to spring up her sides as the opportunity occurred; and one poor
fellow was literally hauled on board with a rope. The return voyage was
little less dangerous than the voyage out, but at last the Ramsgate
pier-head light shone out with its bright welcome, and cheers broke out
from the anxious crowd, as it was known that nineteen men had been saved
from a terrible and certain death. The Spanish sailors were well cared
for, and their captain, in speaking of the rescue, was almost overcome by
his feelings of gratitude and wonder, for he had made up his mind for
death. He had a picture made of the rescue to take home with him to show
the Spanish authorities. It is gratifying to know that so much bravery did
not go unrewarded. The English Board of Control presented each of the men
with £2 and a medal, while the Spanish Government gratefully acknowledged
the heroic exertions put forth, by granting each a medal and £3. And all
the above is but one example of the work of our “Storm Warriors,” whose
glorious mission is to save.

One stormy night some years ago the _Aid_ and the life-boat started from
Ramsgate in answer to rockets fired from one of the Goodwin light-vessels.
They knew well what it meant, but on reaching the edge of the Sands could
not, after cruising about some distance, find any traces of a vessel in
distress. They waited till daylight, and then were just able to
distinguish the lower mast of a steamer standing out of the water. They
made towards it, but found no trace of life, no signs of any floating
wreck to which a human being could cling. They were forced to the
conclusion that almost immediately upon striking, the vessel must have
broken up and sunk in the quicksand. Poor crew! poor passengers, maybe! a
sharp, sudden death! Would that the vessel could have held together a
little longer!

They had not proceeded much farther ahead in the hopes of assisting
another vessel ashore not far from Kingsgate, when the captain of the
_Aid_ saw a large life-buoy floating by. “Ease her!” he cries, and the way
of the steamer slackens; “God knows but what that life-buoy may be of some
use to us.” The helmsman steers for it; a sailor makes a hasty dart at it
with a boat-hook, misses it, and starts back appalled from a vision of
staring eyes, and pale and agonised faces, matted hair, and arms
outstretched for help. The life-boat crew steer for the buoy; the bowman
grasps at it, but cannot lift it; his cry of horror startles the whole
crew. Some of them hasten to help him. To that buoy three dead bodies were
found lashed with ropes round their waists. Slowly and reverently, one by
one, the crew lifted them on board, and laid them out under the sail.
Those three pale corpses were all that were ever found of the crew and
passengers—to what number is not known precisely to-day—of the steamer
_Violet_, which had left Ostend late the previous evening. At two o’clock
she struck the Sands; a little after three there was no one left on board
to answer the signals of a steamboat that had come to their rescue, and
show their position; a little later and the _Violet_ was lying a worthless
wreck below the breakers and quicksands.

Happily the efforts of the life-boat and steamer’s men are almost
invariably crowned with success, where such is anything like possible. A
grand success was scored some years ago when the passengers and crew of a
large emigrant ship, and the crew of another vessel, one hundred and
twenty in all, were rescued and brought into Ramsgate as the result of one
long night’s work. The first ship, the _Fusilier_, was found hard and fast
on the Sands, in a perfect boil of waters, and the life-boat alone dare
approach her, the _Aid_ being obliged to lay off at some distance. The
terrified passengers looked down upon the life-boat from the high ship’s
deck, which quivered with every thump on the sands, wondering how many she
could possibly save, and despairingly crowding round the two life-boat’s
men who had sprung to the man-ropes when the boat had been lifted by a sea
close to the wreck. The lights from the ship’s lamps and the faint
moonlight revealed a trembling, pale, and horror-stricken crowd,
nine-tenths of whom had known nothing before of the terrors of the sea,
and who still despaired of ever seeing land again. But every one of them,
and the list included more than sixty women and children, were saved. The
women and children were taken off first, helped down by sailors slung in
bowlines over the vessel’s side, to the plunging, restless boat, the
dangers being greatly enhanced by the helplessness and frantic terror of
the poor creatures. Yet not even a baby was lost, although many were
thrown from the vessel to the outstretched arms of the life-boat men.
About thirty persons were conveyed at a time to the steamer, where the
difficulties of transference were nearly as great as from the wreck, but
at last all were safe on board. Then, as the heavily-freighted steamer
turned her head for Ramsgate, the emigrants mentioned how, during the
previous night, they had seen a large ship drifting fast for the Sands,
and how in the darkness they had lost sight of her. A sharp look-out was
therefore kept, and as they proceeded down Prince’s Channel, and neared
the lightship, their search was rewarded. They noted the remnants of a
wreck well over on the north-east side of the Girdler Sands, and
immediately put back for the lifeboat, which had been left alongside the
emigrant ship, where the captain remained in the faint hope of saving her
eventually. Both put back to the second wreck, the hull of which was
almost torn to pieces, the timbers started, rent, and twisted—a mere
skeleton of a ship. To the foremast—hardly held in position by a remnant
of shattered deck—clung sixteen of an exhausted crew, including a pilot
and a boy of eleven. But a rope was successfully thrown round the
fore-rigging, and slowly, one by one, the poor fellows dropped from the
mast to the boat. Then “oars out,” lest a hole should be knocked through
the boat’s bottom by some part of the wreckage, and every rower strained
his utmost to get clear of her. This done, and the sail hoisted, the
steamer was soon reached, and a grand night’s work consummated. One can
imagine the keen interest of the emigrants watching from the steamer the
rescue of men from dangers similar to, but even greater than, those
through which they had themselves just passed, and the enthusiasm ashore,
at an almost unparalleled example of successful life-boat work.





                              CHAPTER XVII.


                   “MAN THE LIFE-BOAT!” (_continued_).


        A Portuguese Brig on the Sands—Futile Attempts to get her
         off—Sudden Break-up—Great Danger to the Life-boat—Great
        Probability of being Crushed—An Old Boatman’s Feelings—The
      Life-boat herself on the Goodwin—Safe at Last—Gratitude of the
          Portuguese Crew—A Blaze of Light seen from Deal—Fatal
         Delay—Twenty-eight Lives Lost—A Dark December Night—The
      almost-deserted Wreck of the _Providentia_—A Plucky Captain—An
       Awful Episode—The Mate beaten to Death—Hardly saved—The poor
    little Cabin-boy’s Rescue—Another Wreck on the Sands—Many Attempts
        to rescue the Crew—Determination of the Boatmen—Victory or
      Death!—The _Aid_ Steamer nearly wrecked—A novel and successful
              Experiment—Anchoring on Board—The Crew Saved.


The emigrant ship mentioned in the preceding chapter was eventually got
off the Sands; but although similar efforts are often made, they are by no
means usually attended by similar results. The danger of waiting by the
ship is very considerable. Gilmore gives us a good example of this in his
account of a Portuguese brig on the Sands, of which there were, at first,
strong hopes of saving. Her masts and rigging, as at first seen by the
Ramsgate men, were all right, and her clean new copper was intact. “A
grand thing for all hands—for owners, underwriters, crew, and boatmen—the
men think, if they can only get her safely off when the tide rises, and
bring her into harbour; a fine vessel and perhaps valuable cargo saved,
and a pretty piece of salvage, which will be well earned, and nobody
should grudge, for the boatmen have to live, as well as to save life.” The
captain had at first refused to employ the services offered by the crews
of two Broadstairs luggers, but at last was glad to avail himself of their
assistance, coupled with that of the life-boat men and the steam-tug
_Aid_. The boatmen got an anchor out astern as quickly as possible, the
vessel being head on to the Sands, and used other means to assist the
steamer’s work. They hoped that the _Aid_ would be able to back close
enough to them, to get a rope on board fastened to the flukes of the
brig’s anchor, and to drag the anchor out, and drop it about one hundred
fathoms astern of the vessel. All hands would then have gone to the
windlass, keeping a strain upon the cable, and, each time the vessel
lifted, heaved with a will—the steamer, with a hundred and twenty fathoms
of nine-inch cable out, towing hard all the time. By these means they
expected to be able gradually to work the vessel off the Sands. But they
soon lost hope of doing this. The gale freshened about one o’clock in the
morning; the heavy waves rolled in over the sands, and she lifted and fell
with shocks that made the masts tremble and the decks gape open. The
life-boat remained alongside, afloat in the basin that the brig had worked
in the sands, and it took all the efforts of the men on board to prevent
her getting under the side of the vessel, and being crushed. The
Portuguese captain still refused to desert his vessel, while the boatmen,
who knew the danger, were almost ready to force the crew to leave the
ship.

Suddenly a loud sharp crack, like a crash of thunder, pealed through the
ship. One of her large timbers had snapped like a pipe-stem, and now the
Portuguese sailors were only too anxious to leave. Even then, however,
they made a rush to get their things, and soon eight sea-chests hampered
the life-boat. The captain did not like to refuse the poor fellows,
although every moment was of consequence. The surf flew over the brig, and
boiled up all around her; the life-boat, deluged with spray, had all her
lights washed out. The snapping and rending of the brig’s timbers was
heard over the fury of the storm; she was breaking up fast. The boy was
handed to the boat, the sailors following, and the brig was abandoned. But
the danger was far from over.

The steamer and the luggers, exposed to the full fury of the increasing
gale, were outside, the former head to wind, steaming half-power. The
steamer endeavoured to keep in the neighbourhood of the wreck and of the
life-boat. One of the luggers had to cut her cable, without attempting to
save her anchor, and make with all speed for Ramsgate; the second sprung
her mast, which was fished with great difficulty, and she too made the
best of her way for the harbour. The crew of the steamer could see nothing
of the boat—Was she swamped or stove, and all lost? They made signals, but
to no purpose; and the _Aid_ cruised up and down the edge of the dangerous
sands as near as might be, hoping against hope. The night was pitchy dark,
and the storm remained at its worst. Through the thick darkness the bright
light of the Goodwin light-vessel shone out like a star. With a faint
hope, the crew of the steamer wrestled their way through the storm, and
spoke the light-ship. Nothing had been seen of the life-boat. They
hastened to their old cruising-ground. How they longed for the light! All
hands were still on watch, and as the faint grey light of dawning came,
they sought with straining eyeballs to penetrate the twilight, and find
some sign of their lost comrades. It was almost broad daylight before they
could find the place where the wreck was lying, and when they discovered
it, lost all hope, for the brig was found completely broken up, actually
torn to pieces. They could see great masses of splintered timber and
tangled rigging, but not a sign of life. Sadly they turned from the fatal
Goodwin, and made for the harbour.

To return to the life-boat, afloat within the circle of the bed worked by
the brig in her wild careering. She could not by any possibility leave,
though the wreck threatened to roll over her every moment, for outside
were the shallow sands, and she was grounding every few moments. “Crash!
the brig heaves, and crushes down upon her bilge; again and again,” says
the narrator, “she half lifts upon an even keel, and rolls and lurches
from side to side; each time that she falls to leeward she comes more and
more over, and nearer to the boat.

“This is the danger that may well make the stoutest heart quail. The boat
is aground—helplessly aground; her crew can see through the darkness of
the night the yards and masts of the brig swaying over their heads, now
tossing high in the air as the brig rights, and now falling nearer and
nearer to them, sweeping down over their heads, swaying and rending in the
air, the blocks, and ropes, and torn fragments of sails flying wildly in
all directions. Let but one of the swaying yards hit the boat, she must be
crushed, and all lost. The men crouch down closer and closer, clinging to
the thwarts as the brig falls to them, casting dread glances at the
approaching yards; all right once more; another pull at the cable—hard,
men, hard; over again comes the brig; stick to it, stick to it, my men;
crushed or drowned, it will be soon over if we cannot move the boat;
another pull, all together; again and again they make desperate efforts to
stir the boat, but she will not move one inch; they must wait, and, if
needs be, wait their doom.” And so through hours of fearful suspense, half
dead with cold and the ceaseless rush of surf over them, watching in the
shadowy darkness the swaying masts and flying blocks, expecting each
moment to be their last.

But at length a dawn of hope arrived; the boat lifted on the swell of the
tide that was beginning to reach her, and though she immediately grounded
again, the men knew that all was not lost. After desperate hauling on the
cable they at last were able to ride to their anchor a few yards clear of
the brig. But to get away from the sand in the face of the fierce gale and
tide was impossible, and so there was no alternative, they must beat right
across the sands, and this in the wild fearful gale, and terrible sea, and
pitch-dark night. Breaker after breaker rushed furiously towards and over
them; the men were nearly washed out of the boat; and, worse, the anchor
began to drag, and every moment they drifted nearer to the wreck again.
There might now be water enough to take them clear; at all events, they
must risk it. The foresail was hoisted and the cable cut, and she leaped
forward, but only for a few yards, when she grounded upon the sands again
with a terrible shock, and again within reach of the brig. Huge breakers
came tearing along, and, at last, after many such experiences, they were
once more clear of the wreck. Then another danger arose. A small life-boat
belonging to the Broadstairs men had been in tow all this time, and when
the Ramsgate boat grounded she came crashing along into her. The Ramsgate
men had, in the midst of the boiling sea, to fend her off with their feet,
and at last cut her adrift. The sea-chests of the Portuguese sailors—or at
least those not already washed away—were thrown overboard. Again and again
she grounded on the sand ridges washed up by the surf—ridges giant
editions of the little sand-ripples on the sea-shore so well remembered by
all visitors to our coasts, but two and three feet high, instead of as
many inches.

“One old boatman,” says Gilmore, “afterwards thus described his
feelings:—‘Well, sir, perhaps my friends were right when they said I
hadn’t ought to have gone out—that I was too old for that sort of work’
(he was then about sixty years of age), ‘but, you see, when there is life
to be saved, it makes one feel young again; and I’ve always felt I had a
call to save life when I could, and I wasn’t going to hang back then. And
I stood it better than some of them, after all. I did my work on board the
brig, and when she was so near falling over us, and when the _Dreadnought_
life-boat seemed knocking our bottom out, I got on as well as any of them;
but when we got to beating and grubbing over the sands, swinging round and
round, and grounding every few yards with a jerk that bruised us sadly,
and almost tore our arms out from the sockets; no sooner washed off one
ridge, and beginning to hope that the boat was clear, than she thumped
upon another harder than ever, and all the time the wash of the surf
nearly carrying us out of the boat—it was truly almost too much for any
man to stand. There was a young fellow holding on next to me; I saw his
head begin to drop, and that he was getting faint, and going to give over;
and when the boat filled with water, and the waves went over his head, he
scarcely cared to struggle free. I tried to cheer him a bit, and keep his
spirits up. He just clung to the thwart like a drowning man. Poor fellow!
he never did a day’s work after that night, and died in a few months.’ And
then the old man described how he took his life-belt off, that he might
have it over all the quicker; how the captain cheered them up by crying
out, ‘We’ll see Ramsgate yet again, my men, if we steer clear of old
wrecks;’ and how he was going off into a kind of stupor when the clouds
broke a little, and one bright star shone out, a star of life and hope to
him. For seven whole days after the poor old man reached shore he lost his
speech, and lay like a log on his bed, while all the men were considerably
shaken. ‘I cannot describe it,’ said he, ‘and you cannot, neither can any
one else; but when you say you’ve beat and thumped over those sands,
almost yard by yard, in a fearful storm on a winter’s night, and live to
tell the tale, why it seems to me about the next thing to saying that
you’ve been dead, and brought to life again.’”

But suddenly the swinging and beating of the boat ceased: she was in a
heavy sea, but in deep water, and she answered her helm. The crew soon got
more sail on her, and she made good way before the gale. Even the
Portuguese sailors lifted their heads. They had been clinging together and
to the boat, crouching down under the lee of the foresail, utterly
despairing of life; now their joy knew no bounds. They were noticed
earnestly consulting together. They had lost their kits, and only
possessed the clothes they stood in and a few pounds in money (about £17)
between them, but the latter they determined to present to the crew. “I,
for one, won’t touch any of it,” said the coxswain of the boat. “Nor I!”
“Nor I!” all added; “put your money up.” And so to the harbour, where
their consul took care of them. When the steamer arrived later on, what
was not the surprise and delight of the captain and all hands to find the
life-boat at her old moorings, and their comrades in so many dangers all
safe in port!

For by far the larger proportion if not indeed nearly the whole of these
life-savers work _con amore_, and a mishap or positive disaster is often
to them an agonising disappointment. One stormy New Year’s Eve some years
ago “a ship was seen off Deal beach in almost a blaze of light, burning
tar-barrels and firing rockets, to tell of her distress; an intervening
fog seemed to prevent the look-out on board the light-vessel seeing her,
and some boatmen on Deal beach, who could not possibly get their boats off
the sands in the face of the strong gale blowing straight on shore, put
their halfpence together to pay for a telegraph message—the messages were
dearer then than they are now—and sent their swiftest runner to telegraph
to Ramsgate; and, after all, there was some unfortunate mistake, and fatal
delay, and a telegram at last sent for further particulars, which was
answered with a demand for urgent speed, and away then flew steamer and
life-boat, and they neared the wreck, and rounded to, to send the
life-boat in, when some of the boatmen thought they heard an agonising
shriek, and others thought it was only the wail of the storm; but they
looked, and the great green seas swept over the wreck, turned her right
over, and she was seen no more, and twenty-eight lives went to their
account. A piteous New Year’s tale it was that was told next morning. A
boat’s crew got away from the ship soon after she struck, and, battling
through the broken seas, made way before the wind to Dover, and they told
the story that the lost vessel had picked up a shipwrecked crew, who were
thus a second time wrecked, and at the second time lost; and that more of
the crew would have come away in the boat, and in other boats, but it was
a great risk; and there was a Deal pilot on board, who pointed out the
danger, and said that the Ramsgate life-boat was sure to be out to their
rescue, they might be sure of her; and so they stayed and lighted
tar-barrel after tar-barrel, and fired rocket after rocket; and when the
sea washed their signal-fires out and swept the decks, they took to the
rigging, and waited for the life-boat; and as they waited, the poor Deal
pilot could watch the light on the beach, by the house where slept his
wife and eight children, who were to call him husband—father—no more.” The
life-boat men hardly like to speak of such a cruel disaster—blameless
though they be in the matter. In this particular case a Board of Trade
inquiry acquitted them and all else concerned of any blame whatever.

                [Illustration: A GROUP OF LIFE-BOAT MEN.]

A dark December night, and a large ship reported ashore on the Goodwins.
The harbour-master hurries to Ramsgate pier-head; he and all with him can
see nothing; they cross-question the man who asserts that he observed
during a lift in the fog a vessel on the sands. Although there is no
signal from the light-vessels, the harbour-master decides to send out
steamer and life-boat. The crews of both soon discover the vessel looming
through the mist, a complete wreck, her bow to the sea, her mizen-mast
down to the deck, and the wild seas running over her. There are no sailors
to be seen lashed in her rigging. Have all on board perished?

Thank God! not so. After infinite difficulty, and after nearly getting
entangled with some of the wreckage, the life-boat crew get near the
vessel, and find that three men and a boy are crouching under the shelter
of the deck-house; they must be a small proportion of the original crew,
for she is a large ship, and must have had some fifteen or sixteen hands
aboard. The men have been crouching there for hours, and their confidence
in the advent of the life-boat had been so strong that they had prepared
for her coming by preparing a life-buoy, with a long line fastened to it,
ready to throw overboard.

As the long hours passed, fervent hope had been dashed by wild despair.
Suddenly the life-boat appears, coming up to her cable just astern of the
vessel; it is to them as a reprieve from death, and they wake to life and
action. They throw the life-buoy and line to the life-boat men, and after
much trouble the latter get it on board. All hands lay hold on the rope,
and do their utmost to haul the life-boat nearer to the wreck, but the
heavy gale, terrific sea, and strong tide, render it impossible. A
tremendous sea comes rushing over the vessel, and for the moment swamps
the boat, knocking down five or six of the men, hurting some of them
severely, but she lifts again, and no one is lost. But what of the poor
crew? The life-boat men feel that it is impossible to haul their boat
nearer the ship.

“To their great surprise, they see the captain spring up from the lee of
the deck-house, hurriedly take off his oilskin coat, throw it into the
water, and then, jumping on the gunwale, grasp the hawser that holds the
boat, and slide down into the boiling sea. A huge wave breaks over him and
washes him away from the rope; he now tries to swim to the boat, but the
life-boat is not directly astern—the sheer she has to her cable that is
fastened to the anchor, which was thrown over some distance to the side of
the vessel, prevents her dropping right astern; and although the captain
has but to swim a few yards out of the direction of the sweep of sea and
tide, it is impossible for him to manage it. He is perfectly overwhelmed
by the boil of sea, tossed wildly up and down, wave after wave beating
over him: it is all that he can do to keep his head above water, and
cannot guide his course in the least; the boatmen try all they can to make
the boat sheer towards him, so as to reach him or throw him a rope, but it
is impossible: they cannot get sufficiently near, and in a few seconds
they see him swept rapidly by in the swift tide. Jarman, the coxswain of
the boat, seizes a life-buoy, and throws it with all his force towards
him; the wind catches it, and helps the throw; it falls near him; he makes
a spring forward and reaches it; the men gladly see that he has got it;
they see him put his two hands upon one side, as if to get upon it; as he
leans forward it falls over his head like a hoop; he gets his arms through
it, and shouting to the boatmen, ‘All right!’ he waves his hand as if to
beckon them to follow him, and goes floating down in the strong tide and
among the raging, leaping seas, in a strange wild dance, that threatens
indeed to be a dance of death.” With terror and dismay they watch him in
his fearful struggle, till he is lost to their view, quite out of sight
among the waves; they could not follow him, however much they might have
wished it, for it might be hours before they could get back to the ship,
and the two men and boy still aboard.

And had they thought of so doing the next episode would have obliged them
to desist. A tremendous crash startles them all; the mainmast has fallen
over the port side of the vessel. The men on board give a loud cry; the
chief mate springs wildly to the starboard quarter, and, making the end of
the mainbrace hanging there fast round his waist, drops into the sea. He
is a powerful swimmer; but what can he do in a tide and sea so tremendous
that twelve strong men cannot haul the boat one foot against them? And so
a fearful tragedy is worked out before their very eyes. Now he is buried
in a sea; now he is thrown high in the air on the crest of a wave, but he
never nears the boat, nor can it near him. He strikes out wildly, as if to
make a last effort, and cries aloud in his agony and despair. They try
again and again to throw the lead-line over the rope which holds the poor
fellow, but the boat is pitching and tossing so much that their efforts
are all in vain. “‘Now he rises on a wave; now try; heave with a will,
well clear of his head. Ah! missed again; look out; hold on all!’ A wave
rushes over them, boat and all; another half minute, and they make another
attempt. No! all in vain, each time it falls short. The struggle cannot
last long; strong and young as the man is, his strength cannot possibly
endure long in such a conflict; his cries grow more feeble, and soon
cease; they see him try and get back to the ship, climbing up the rope,
but his strength fails, and he falls back; his arms and legs are still
tossed wildly about, but it is by the action of the waves; his head drops
and sinks; yes! it is all over!—all over with him!” Think of the second
mate and cabin-boy on the wreck, watching in helpless horror the death
they could not avert, and which may be theirs in a few moments!

The deck-house under which they have been crouching is beginning to break
up, and the remaining man, throwing himself on the rope by which the
life-boat is made fast to the ship, attempts to reach the boat. The
breakers rush over him as he painfully struggles on, and he is again and
again buried in the waves. At last he reaches the high bow of the
life-boat, which is leaping and falling and jerking, tearing the hawser up
and down in the seas, as if trying to throw him from his hold. His hands
convulsively clutch the rope; pale, and with jaw dropping, he seems about
to swoon, and in another moment he will be gone. “The man in the bow of
the boat has been watching his every movement, has shuddered with dismay
as he saw the seas wash over him, expecting him to be carried away in the
strong tide. No; he still grasps the rope, and at last is within reach! In
one spring, and with a cry to his mates, ‘Hold me! hold me!’ the boatman
throws himself upon the raised fore-deck of the life-boat, and, with his
body half-stretched over the stern, he grasps the collar of the sailor.
The drowning man throws his arm around the boatman’s neck, and clings to
him convulsively, by his weight dragging the man’s head down and burying
it in the water; but the brave fellow clings as hard to the half-dead
sailor as the sailor does to him; the seas wash bodily over them and over
the bow of the boat; up and down the boat plunges them both, but he still
holds on; three or four of the boatmen have hold of his legs, and are
doing their utmost to pull him back into the boat, but they cannot do so;
and so the struggle goes on: it is only as the boat rises on a wave and
throws her bow up in the air that the men can breathe.” And now a new
horror, for right down upon them comes the wreck of one of the ship’s
largest boats, which has just got free of the wreckage. Thank God! it just
passes clear of them. The boatmen cannot get the men in over the high bow
of the boat, and the two poor fellows are drowning fast, and so they drag
them along the side of the boat, still clinging together, to the waist of
the boat, where the gunwale is very low, and with more assistance succeed
in getting them aboard.

                  [Illustration: ON THE COAST AT DEAL.]

And now for the poor boy, still clinging to the gunwale, and crying out in
piteous tones. Each moment, as the waves dash over the vessel, the boatmen
expect to see him washed overboard like a cork. What can be done? No one
can mount the rope in the face of the seas and tide which had really
helped the poor fellow now safely on the boat. There seems no hope of
taking him off by any means whatever, but the coxswain determines to haul
the boat up to the ship sharply, and attempt it. Scarcely are the orders
given, when some of the men give a cry, “‘What’s that? look out!’ Yes, he
is overboard, washed over by that big sea. ‘Where is he? where is he?
There he is! No; only his cap! there he lifts on that sea—he is coming
straight for the boat!’ From the change and eddy of the tide, the rush of
the sea past the boat is not nearly so rapid as it was, and the poor boy
comes floating slowly from the ship; once or twice he has been rolled
under by the waves, now he is on the surface again, and near the boat.
‘Here he comes! look! on that wave! Lost! No, he floats again! Slacken
hawsers! Now he is within reach! Carefully, quick! Now you have got him!
He is making no effort, and floating with his head under water!’ A boatman
manages to hook his jacket with a long boat-hook, and pulls him towards
the boat; gently the men lift him in, sorrowfully, and tears are in the
eyes of more than one as they look upon the small face. ‘Poor little chap!
Too late! too late! he’s gone!’” Their efforts are now all needed to get
clear of the wreck, cut the cable, and raise the sail, all which being
done successfully, they go off smartly before the wind, and have time to
look to the poor boy again. Kind hands chafe his hands and rub his back
and limbs, and put a little rum to his lips, and after about half an hour
they have the joy of seeing him show signs of life, and their efforts are
redoubled. Some of the men take the dryest of their jackets and wrap him
up tenderly, lying him under the mizen-sail. He eventually recovers.

But, strangest part of all this eventful story, the captain, who had been
two hours in the seething waters, is picked up alive, although, it may
well be believed, in a terrible state of exhaustion. At first he seems to
be dying, but at length, after the men have done their best in chafing and
rubbing, he gets a little better, and is able to tell them that his
vessel, the _Providentia_, was a full-rigged ship from Finland, and that
he himself is a Russian Fin, which accounts for his miraculous
preservation in the water, as the Fins are the hardiest of sailors. Eleven
of his men had left the ship in their best boat, and were, it was
eventually found, blown over to Boulogne.

The waves are rolling along in all their fury, and beat down upon the
sands with tremendous force, and among them, and settled down somewhat, is
a large barque. The life-boat men look at the awful rage of sea, and say
to each other, “We have indeed our work cut out for us.” There are no
signs of life on board the wreck, but the flag of distress is still
flying, and the steamer tows the boat nearer to her. Then the crew is
discovered crouching in the shelter of the deck-house, while the huge
waves make a complete breach over the vessel, threatening to wash away
both house and crew. The steamer takes the boat to windward and lets her
go. The boat’s sail is hoisted, and she makes for the wreck. A minute more
and they are in the broken water, the seas falling in tangled volumes over
the boat, and she is tossed in all directions by the wild broken waves.
She fills again and again, and the men have to cling with all their
strength to the thwarts; but still the wind drives the boat on, and they
get within about sixty yards of the wreck, when the anchor is thrown out
and the cable paid out swiftly. The men shout out, to encourage the poor
trembling wretches on board, and, just as they expect to make a first
successful rescue of a part of them, are nearly swamped by a fearful wave,
which carries them a hundred yards away. They prepare for another attempt,
hoist the sail, and try to sheer her to the vessel, but all their efforts
are in vain. Wave after wave breaks over them, and the boat is tossed in
all directions by the broken seas. Sometimes the coxswain feels as if he
would be thrown bodily forward on the men, as the waves almost lift the
boat end on end. They must give it up for this time; the very oars are
blown from the row-locks and out of the men’s hands. Again and again they
are baulked in their efforts to reach the ill-starred vessel. Yet again
and again they cheer, to keep up the spirits of its half-drowned and
frozen crew.

The ship’s hull has now been under water for some time, and is breaking up
fast. On board the _Aid_ the mortar apparatus is got ready, in the hope of
getting near enough to the vessel to fire a line into her rigging.
“Cautiously the steamer approaches; the tide has been for some time rising
fast; the steamer does not draw much water; they are almost within firing
distance; the waves come rushing along and nearly overrun the steamer; at
last a breaker, larger than the rest, catches her, lifts her high upon its
crest, and letting her fall down into its trough as down the side of a
well, she strikes the sands heavily; the engines are instantly reversed;
she lifts with the next wave, and being a very quick and handy boat, at
once moves astern before she can thump again, and they are saved from
shipwreck; and thus the fifth effort to save the shipwrecked crew fails.”
No time is lost; at once the steamer heads for the life-boat, and makes
ready to again tow her into position for a fresh attempt. The masts of the
wreck are quivering, and it is evident that she is breaking up fast.

The life-boat men consult together as to the plan of their next effort. At
last one of the men proposes a mode, most assuredly novel, and which must,
indeed, either prove rescue to the shipwrecked or death to all. “I’ll tell
you what, my men, if we are going to save those poor fellows, there is
only one way of doing it: it must be a case of save all or lose all, that
is just it! We must go in upon the vessel straight, hit her between the
masts, and throw our anchor over right upon her decks.” This is, almost
naturally, derided by some as a hair-brained trick. Let us see the result.

“Once more the boat heads for the wreck—this time to do or to die; each
man knows it, each man feels it. They are crossing the stern of the
vessel. ‘Look at that breaker! Look at that breaker! Hold on! hold on! It
will be all over with us if it catches us; we shall be thrown high into
the masts of the vessel, and shaken out into the sea in a moment! Hold on
all, hold on! Now it comes! No, thank God! it breaks ahead of us, and we
have escaped. Now, men, be ready, be ready!’ Thus shouts the coxswain.
Every man is at his station; some with the ropes in hand ready to lower
the sails, others by the anchor, prepared to throw it overboard at the
right moment; round, past the stern of the vessel, the boat flies, round
in the blast of the gale and the swell of the sea; down helm; round she
comes; down foresail; the ship’s lee gunwale is under water; the boat
shoots forward straight for the wreck, and hits the lee rail with a shock
that almost throws all the men from their posts, and then, still forward,
she literally leaps on board the wreck. Over! over with the anchor. It
falls on the vessel’s deck. All the crew of the vessel are in the mizen
shrouds, but they cannot get to the boat: a fearful rush of sea is chasing
over the vessel, and between them and it. Again and again the boat thumps
on the wreck as on a rock, with a shock that almost shakes the men from
their hold.” The waves carry her off, but the anchor holds, and they
manage to haul on board another line. Again and again the boat washes
away, but comes up to the vessel again; and, one by one, ten poor Danes
are got on board. One sailor jumps from the rigging; the boat sinks in the
trough of the sea, and he falls between her and the wreck; a second, and
he would be crushed; two boatmen seize him, and are themselves seized by
their companions, or they would go overboard.

               [Illustration: RESCUE OF THE DANISH VESSEL.]

The long battle was over; was it not one worth fighting? So thought the
King of Denmark, who sent two hundred rix-dollars to be divided among the
men, who were also rewarded by the Board of Trade. The boatmen are poor
men, and such presents come in very acceptably; but their greatest
satisfaction must ever come from the memory of their own brave deeds.

      [Illustration: SURVIVORS RESCUED FROM THE RIGGING OF A WRECK.]





                              CHAPTER XVIII.


                       “WRECKING” AS A PROFESSION.


    Probable Fate of a rich Vessel in the Middle Ages—Maritime Laws of
          the Period—The King’s Privileges—Cœur de Lion and his
          Enactments—The Rôles d’Oleron—False Pilots and Wicked
          Lords—Stringent Laws of George II.—The Homeward-bound
     Vessel—Plotting Wreckers—Lured Ashore—“Dead Men Tell no Tales”—A
      Series of Facts—Brutality to a Captain and his Wife—Fate of a
     Plunderer—Defence of a Ship against Hundreds of Wreckers—Another
           Example—Ship Boarded by Peasantry—Police Attacked by
        Thousands—Cavalry Charge the Wreckers—Hundreds of Drunken
      Plunderers—A Curious Tract of the Last Century—A Professional
                Wrecker’s Arguments—A Candid Bahama Pilot.


The great historian, Hallam, says: “In the thirteenth and fourteenth
centuries a rich vessel was never secure from attack, and neither
restitution nor punishment of the criminals was to be obtained from
Government, who sometimes feared the plunderer, and sometimes connived at
the offence.” As we have seen before, some of the greatest names of the
Elizabethan and later days were often not much better than legalised
pirates. But the poor sailors and owners were not merely the prey of these
sea wolves; there were then and for centuries afterwards, nearly to our
own days, “land-rats” ashore, who were to the pirates what sneak-thieves
were to the highwaymen of romance. Those “good old days,” when “wrecking”
was considered a legitimate pursuit!

In preceding chapters the maritime laws and customs of successive ages
have been briefly traced. Piracy was almost openly recognised in the
thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, and a foreign ship with a rich cargo
was too often regarded as rightful prey. There was a constant petty
warfare between maritime nations, and frequently even between towns of the
same nation. Thus, in the year 1254 some Winchelsea mariners attacked a
Yarmouth vessel, and killed some of her crew.

Prior to the reign of Henry I. _all_ wrecked property belonged to the
king. Whether it was found necessary to make the king the owner of
wreckage, in order to lessen the temptation to wreck vessels and murder
the crews—no unfrequent occurrence, even in the last century—or “however
it was,” says Gilmore, “the law existed, and the shipwrecked merchant
might come struggling ashore upon a broken spar, and find the coast strewn
with scattered but still valuable goods so lately his, but now by law his
no longer any more than they belonged to the half-dozen rude fishermen who
stood watching the torn wreck and dispersed cargo being wave-lifted high
upon the beach.” Henry I. decreed that neither wreck nor cargo should
become the property of the Crown if any man of the crew escaped with life
to shore. It is to be feared that this well-meant law led to many a
heartless murder. His successor expanded the law to the extent that if
even a beast came ashore alive, the wreck and goods should belong to the
original owners. Even the proverbial cat with nine lives might thus save a
vessel.

Richard Cœur de Lion, always truly chivalrous, would have nought to do
with plundering the plundered, and he decreed “that all persons escaping
alive from a wreck should retain their goods; that wreck or wreckage
should only be considered the property of the king when neither an owner
nor the heir of a late owner could be found for it.” Some authorities will
not couple the name of Richard with the “Rôles d’Oleron,” but it is
certain that they were first promulgated in or about his time. They afford
us some idea of the terrible system of wrecking then prevalent; such laws
would not have been promulgated without good reason. Note their
stringency.

“An accursed custom prevailing in some parts; inasmuch as a third or
fourth part of the wrecks that come ashore belong to the lord of the manor
where the wrecks take place, and that pilots, for profit from these lords
and from the wrecks, like faithless and treacherous villains, do purposely
run the ships under their care upon the rocks,” the law declares “that all
false pilots shall suffer a most rigorous and merciless death, and be hung
on high gibbets;” while “the wicked lords are to be tied to a post in the
middle of their own houses, which shall be set on fire at all four
corners, and burnt, with all that shall be therein, the goods being first
confiscated for the benefit of the persons injured, and the site of the
houses shall be converted into places for the sale of hogs and swine.” And
again, “If people, more barbarous, cruel, and inhuman than mad dogs,
murdered shipwrecked folk, they were to be plunged into the sea until half
dead, and then drawn out and stoned to death.” The pilot who negligently
caused shipwreck was to make good the losses or lose his head; but the
master and sailors were, as a saving clause (principally for the owners!),
to be persuaded that he had not the means to make good the loss _before
they cut off his head_.

And so, without much change, the laws stood till the reign of George II.;
and, alas! it does not seem that human nature, on our coasts at least, had
greatly improved, for otherwise there would hardly have been necessity for
a new Act, bristling with threats. The preamble states:—“That
notwithstanding the good and salutary laws now in being against plundering
and destroying vessels in distress, and against taking away shipwrecked,
lost, and stranded goods, that still many wicked enormities had been
committed, to the disgrace of the nation;” and it was therefore enacted
that death should be the punishment for hanging out false lights to lure
vessels to their destruction; death for those who killed shipwrecked
persons; and death for stealing cargo or wreckage, whether any one on
board remained alive or not.

Every now and again some fearful tragedy, reported in our ever-vigilant
press, opens our eyes to the possibilities of human degradation and
depravity; but, in spite of all, thank God! these examples are few and far
between. Does this not tend, at least, to show that the world now-a-days
_is_ better and kinder, and, in a word, more Christian-like, than in
former days? Let the reader think—aye, and ponder, and think again—over
the preceding paragraph. Could men—aye, and women too—assist not merely in
robbery and plunder, but in first causing the wreck, and then, to cover up
all, in murdering the few poor survivors? A writer from whom we have
already quoted says:—

“Imagine a homeward-bound vessel, some two hundred and fifty years ago,
clumsy in build, awkward in rig, little fitted for battling with the gales
of our stormy coast, but yet manned with strong, stout-hearted men, who
made their sturdy courage compensate for deficiency of other means; think
of many perils overcome, a long weary voyage nearly ended, the crew
rejoicing in thoughts of home, of home-love and home-rest, the headlands
of dear Old England—loved by her sons no less then than now—lying a dark
line upon the horizon, the night growing apace, the breeze freshening,
ever freshening, adding each moment a hoarser swell to the deep murmurs of
its swift-following blasts, the ship scudding on, breasting the seas with
her bluff bows, rising and pitching with the running waves, which cover
her with foam!

“Look on land! Keen eyes have watched the signs of the coming storm; men,
more greedy than the foulest vulture, ‘more inhuman than mad dogs,’ have
cast most cruel and wistful glances seaward! Yes, their eyes light up with
the very light of hell as they see in the dim distance the white sail of a
struggling ship making towards the land!

“And now try to imagine the scene as the night falls and the storm
gathers. Two or three ill-looking fellows drop in, say, to a low tavern
standing in a bye-lane that leads from the cliff to the beach in some
village on our south-western coast. Soon muttered hints take form, and in
low whispers the men talk over the chances of a wreck this wild night.
They remember former gains; they talk over disappointments, when, on
similar nights of darkness, wildness, and storm, vessels discovered their
danger too soon for them, and managed to weather the headlands of the bay.

“The plot takes form; with many a deep and muttered curse the murderous
decision is taken that if a vessel can be trapped to destruction it shall
be.

“There is an old man of the party whose brow is furrowed with dread lines;
he does not say much, but every now and then his eyes glare, and his
features work as if convulsed. His comrades look at him—twice—and, as a
terrific squall shakes the house, a third time. Silently he rises, and
leaves the inn.... Now in the pitch darkness of the night, with bowed
head, and faltering steps battling against the storm, the old man leads a
white horse along the edge of the cliff. To the top of the horse’s tail a
lantern is tied, and the light sways with the movement of the horse, and
in its movements seems not unlike the masthead light of a vessel rocked by
the motion of the sea. A whisper has gone through the village of a chance
of something happening during the night, and most of the men and many of
the women are on the alert, lurking in the caves beneath the cliff, or
sheltered behind jutting pieces of rock.

“The vessel makes in steadily for the land; the captain grows uneasy, and
fears running into danger; he will put the vessel round, and try and
battle his way out to sea.

“The look-out man reports a dim light ahead. What kind? and Whither away?
He can make out that it is a ship’s light, for it is in motion. Yes, she
must be a vessel standing on in the same course as that which they are on.
It is all safe, then; the captain will stand in a little longer; when
suddenly, in the lull of the storm, a hoarse murmur is heard—surely the
sound of the sea beating upon rocks! Yes! look! a white gleam upon the
water! Breakers ahead! breakers ahead! Oh, a very knell of doom! The cry
rings through the ship, ‘Down, down with helm—round her to!’ Too late, too
late! A crash, a shudder from stem to stern of the stout ship, the shriek
of many voices in their agony, green seas sweeping over the vessel, and
soon broken timbers, bales of cargo, and lifeless bodies scattered along
the beach, while the shattered remnant of the hull is torn still further
to pieces with each insweep of the mighty seas as they roll it to and fro
among the rocks. Fearful and crafty the smile that darkened the dark face
of the willing murderer who was leading the horse with the false light as
he heard the crash of the vessel and the shrieks of the drowning crew!
Fearful the smile that darkened the faces of the men and women waiting on
the beach as they came out from their places, ready to struggle and fight
among themselves for any spoil that might come ashore! A homeward-bound
ship from the Indies! Great good fortune—rich spoil! Bale after bale is
seized upon by the wreckers, and dragged high upon the beach out of the
way of the surf. But, see! a sailor clinging to a bit of broken mast! With
his last conscious effort he gains a footing on the shore, staggers
forward, and falls. Is he alive? Not now! Why did that fearful old woman
kneel upon his chest and cover his mouth with her cloak? Dead men tell no
tales—claim no property!”

Alas! the above is no imaginary or exaggerated statement of facts.

A few examples, which have occurred for the most part within the last
hundred years or so, are appended. They have been culled from that most
rigidly correct chronicler, the _Annual Register_:—

_Lent Circuit, 1774._—At Shrewsbury Assizes, bills of indictment were
preferred by Captain Chilcot, late of the _Charming Jenny_, against three
opulent inhabitants of the Isle of Anglesea, one of whom is said to be
possessed of a considerable estate, and to have offered five thousand
pounds bail in order to their being tried at the next assizes on a charge
of piracy, when the bills were found. It appeared that on the 11th
September, 1773, in very bad weather, in consequence of false lights being
discovered, the captain bore for shore, when his vessel, whose cargo was
valued at £19,000, went to pieces, and all the crew, except the captain
and his wife, perished, the latter being brought on shore on a portion of
the wreck. Nearly exhausted, they lay for some time, till the savages of
the adjacent places rushed down upon them. The lady was just able to lift
a handkerchief up to her head when her husband was torn from her side.
They cut the buckles from his shoes, and deprived him of every covering.
Happy to escape with his life, he hasted to the beach in search of his
wife, when, horrible to relate, her half-naked and plundered corpse
presented itself to his view. What to do Captain Chilcot was at a loss.
Providence, however, conducted him to the roof of a venerable pair, who
bestowed upon him every assistance. The captain’s wife, it seems, at the
time the ship went to pieces, had two bank bills of a considerable value
and seventy guineas in her pocket. At the Summer Assizes at Salop, Roberts
and Parry, two of the above-named, were found guilty of plundering the
_Charming Jenny_, but their counsel pleading an arrest of judgment,
sentence was suspended. Eventually one was executed, and one had his
sentence commuted.

On the 7th September, 1782, one John Webb was executed at Hereford for
having plundered a Venetian vessel drawn on shore on the coast of
Glamorganshire by stress of weather. No mention is made of hurting or
molesting the crew, and it is evident that the laws were, about this time,
stringently carried out. “This,” said the _Annual Register_, “it is hoped,
will put a final stop to that inhuman practice of plundering ships wrecked
upon the coast.”

Next follows an example in the present century:—“_Jany. 8, 1811._—Another
daring attempt (says the _Register_) was made by a party of country-people
at Clonderalaw Bay to take possession of the American ship _Romulus_ on
this day. They assembled at about ten in the evening, to the amount of
about two or three hundred, and commenced a firing of musketry, which they
kept up at intervals for three hours; when, finding a steady resistance
from the crew, and guard of yeomanry which had been put on the vessel on
her first going on shore, they retired. The shot they fired appeared to be
cut from square bars of lead, about half an inch in diameter. One of these
miscreants dropped, and was carried away by his companions.”

The following is an extract from a letter:—“On Friday, the 27th of
October, 1811, the galliot _Anna Hulk Klas Boyr_, Meinerty master, from
Christian Sound, laden with deals, for Killalu, was driven on shore at a
place called Porturlin, between Killalu and Broadhaven. The captain and
crew providentially saved their lives by jumping on shore on a small
island or rock. At this time the stern and quarter were stove in. The crew
remained two hours on the rock, when they were taken off by a boat and
brought to the mainland. Shortly after, the captain’s trunk, with all the
sailors’ clothes in general, came on shore, when the country-people
immediately began to plunder, leaving the unfortunate sufferers nothing
but what they had on their backs. The plunderers repaired to the wreck,
and cut away everything they could come at of the sails, rigging, &c.,
while hundreds were taking away the deals to all parts of the country.
Though the captain spoke good English, and most pitifully inquired to whom
he might apply for assistance, yet he could not hear of any for fourteen
hours, when he was told that Major Denis Bingham was the nearest and only
person he could apply to. With much difficulty he procured a guide, and
proceeded to Mr. Bingham’s, a distance of twenty miles through the
mountains. In the meantime, after thirty-six hours’ concealment of this
very melancholy circumstance, Captain Morris, of the _Townshend_ cruiser,
who lay at Broadhaven, a distance of about ten miles from the wreck, heard
of it, and, approaching it, landed with twenty men, well armed. In coming
near the wreck he first fired in the air, in order to disperse the
peasantry, which had no effect; he therefore ordered his men to fire
close, which had the desired effect, when he immediately pursued them into
the interior, from three to five miles distance, dividing his party in
different directions, when, by great exertion and fatigue, they saved
about 1,800 deals and a remnant of the wreck. Captain Morris had some of
the robbers taken, but his party being so scattered, they were rescued by
a large mob of the country. The unfortunate captain and crew were taken by
Captain Morris on board his cutter, where they got a change of clothing,
and were taken every possible care of.”

              [Illustration: WRECKERS WAITING FOR A WRECK.]

The following particulars of the wreck and plunder of the _Inverness_, in
the river Shannon, loaded at Limerick with a cargo of provisions, under
contract for the Victualling Board, and bound to London, will be found
interesting:—






         “From Captain Miller to Mr. Spaight, Merchant, Limerick.
                                                  “Kilrush, Feb. 24, 1817.

“DEAR SPAIGHT,—As I am now in possession of most of the particulars of the
wreck of the _Inverness_, I shall detail them to you as follows:—

“She went on shore on Wednesday night, the 19th instant, mistaking
Rinevaha for Carrigaholt, and would have got off by the next spring-tide
had the peasantry not boarded her, and rendered her not seaworthy by
scuttling her and tearing away all her rigging; they then robbed the crew
of all their clothes, tore their shirts, which they made bags of to carry
away the plunder, and then broached the tierces of pork, and distributed
the contents to people on shore, who assisted to convey them up the
country. The alarm having reached this on Thursday, a sergeant and twelve
of the police were sent down, with the chief constable at their head, and
they succeeded in re-taking some of the provisions and securing them,
driving the mob from the wreck. The police kept possession of what they
had got during the night; but very early on Friday morning the people
collected in some thousands, and went down to the beach, where they formed
into three bodies, and cheered each other with hats off, advancing with
threats, declaring that they defied the police, and would possess
themselves again of what had been taken from them, and of the arms of the
police. The police formed into one body, and, showing three fronts,
endeavoured to keep them at bay, but in vain; they assailed them with
stones, sticks, scythes, and axes, and gave some of our men some severe
blows, which exasperated them so much that they were under the necessity
of firing in self-defence, and four of the assailants fell victims, two of
whom were buried yesterday. During their skirmishing, which began about
seven o’clock, one of the men, mounted, was despatched to this town for a
reinforcement, when Major Warburton, in half an hour, with twenty cavalry,
and a few infantry mounted behind them, left this, and in one hour and a
half were on board the wreck, and took twelve men in the act of cutting up
the wreck. One of them made a blow of a hatchet at Major Warburton, which
he warded off, and snapped a pistol at him; the fellow immediately threw
himself overboard, when —— Troy charged him on horseback, up to the
horse’s knees in water, and cut him down. The fellows then flew in every
direction, pursued by our men, who took many of them, and wounded several.
Nine tierces of pork had been saved. Her bowsprit, gaff, and spars are all
gone, with every stitch of canvas and all the running rigging. The shrouds
are still left; two anchors and their cables are gone, and even the ship’s
pump. A more complete plunder has seldom been witnessed. Yesterday the
revenue wherry went down to Rinevaha, and returned in the evening with the
Major and a small party, with thirty-five prisoners, who now are all
lodged in Bridewell. The women in multitudes assembled to supply the men
with whisky to encourage them. Nothing could exceed the coolness of ——
Balfice and his party, who certainly made a masterly retreat to the slated
store at Carrigaholt, where I found them. He and Fitzgerald were wounded,
but not severely. Fitzgerald had a miraculous escape, and would have been
murdered, but was preserved by a man he knew from Kerry, who put him under
his bed.

                                                              “J. MILLER.“






     [Illustration: MAJOR WARBURTON AT THE WRECK OF THE “INVERNESS.”]

A late case of plundering on a large scale occurred the 26th September,
1817. The Norwegian brig _Bergetta_, Captain Peterson, was wrecked on the
Cefu-Sidau sands, in Carmarthen Bay. She was bound from Barcelona for
Stettin, with a cargo of wine, spirits, &c., when the master, losing his
reckoning, owing to a thick fog, fell into the fatal error of taking the
coast of Devon for that of France, and acted under that persuasion. So
circumstanced, a violent gale, together with the tide, drove the vessel
into the Bristol Channel, and she struck upon the above sands, and in the
space of two or three hours went to pieces. The master and crew, with
great difficulty, got into the boat, and were all happily saved.
Notwithstanding the greatest exertions on the part of the officers of the
Customs, supported by several gentlemen and others, acts of plunder were
committed to a considerable extent. Of 266 pipes and casks of wine, &c.,
not above 100 were saved. Hundreds of men and women were reduced to nearly
a state of insensibility through intoxication.

                     [Illustration: A WRECK ASHORE.]

A scarce and curious tract, published in 1796, exists in the library of
the British Museum, and a few extracts from it will show the arguments by
which the wreckers of the last century salved their consciences. It is
supposed to be a dialogue between one Richard Sparkes, a chandler by
trade, but a professional wrecker also, and John Trueman, “an honest
taylor.”

“‘Good news! good news, neighbour!’ said Richard Sparkes, the chandler, as
he entered a shop where John Trueman, an honest taylor, was at work. ‘The
vessel which has been these three hours fighting with the surge and winds
for the harbour has at last bulged. It is a trader from Amsterdam, they
say, and faith! two thumping casks were floating before I left the beach.
Rare sport, Master Trueman, rare sport, let me tell you! A good blustering
wind and a high surf is no bad thing for a seaport.’

“Honest Trueman, who had not been long an inhabitant of the place, and was
quite unacquainted with this language—which, to the disgrace of humanity,
is too often used by the unfeeling on such occasions in seaport
towns—suspended his work, and listened to this harangue with too much
surprise to interrupt it. At length, said he, ‘Do you call this rare
sport? Do you call this good news?’

“SPARKES. ‘To be sure I do. I mean to be out all night; the tide will
return in about three hours, and I warrant it will bring us something
worth looking after. But mayhap, as you are a new-comer, Master Trueman,
you do not know the go at these seasons, so I will tell you. You must know
that when a vessel strikes it is catch as catch can for her lading: one
has as good a right as another, and he is the luckiest who can get most.
We call it _going a wrecking_; and let me tell you it is no bad business.
There is my neighbour Perkins, the pilot, got the Lord knows what by the
smuggling cutter that was wrecked about three leagues from hence two
months ago. Ay, cask upon cask of the best French brandy, and tea, and I
cannot tell you what he got; but he has held his head pretty high ever
since, for, as good luck would have it, she struck upon a shoal of rock
where the Custom-house officers would not venture, so Perkins and a few
more knowing ones had it all to themselves. As I told you before, Master
Trueman, this _going a wrecking_ is no bad business, so look about you.’”

Trueman upbraids the first speaker with dishonesty and want of humanity.

“‘Humanity,’ says Sparkes, ‘odds my life! neighbour, there’s not a more
tenderhearted fellow alive. Many is the life my boat, when I was in the
fishing trade, has saved from pure good-will; but as to the matter of the
_wrecking_, every man must take care of his own interest. Charity, you
know, Master Trueman, should begin at home.’” And he goes on to say that
it was no fault of his that the vessel bulged, or that the master or
cabin-boy were drowned; that it is all the chance of war, and that one
vessel was the same to him as another, provided it were well laden. He
added that he did not pretend to be better than his grandfather, and that
wrecking was in fashion in his days and in those of his good old father
before him.

Mr. D. Mackinnen, who made a tour through the West Indies early in the
present century, particularly mentions the Bahamas as the home of
wreckers. He says that the immense variety of banks, shallows, and unknown
passages between the hundreds of islands which form the group render the
chances of shipwreck frequent. In order to save the crews and property so
constantly exposed to danger, the Governor of the Bahamas, about the
commencement of this century, licensed a number of daring adventurers to
ply up and down and assist ships in peril, and there could not have been
collected a more skilful and hardy set of men. But, unfortunately, the
governor’s good intentions were baulked by the larger part of them
becoming wreckers. Mr. Mackinnen asking one of these men what success he
had lately had, was told that there had been about forty sail of pilots
along the Florida coast for four months. He remarked that they must have
rendered great service to the crews wrecked in that dangerous passage. The
pilot said, “No; they generally _went on_ in the night.” “But could not
you light up beacons on shore?” “No, no,” said the man, laughing, “we
always put them out for a better chance by night.” “But it would have been
more humane——” “I did not go there for humanity; I went _racking_!”





                               CHAPTER XIX.


                        “HOVELLING” _v._ WRECKING.


     The Contrast—The “Hovellers” defended—Their Services—The Case of
    the _Albion_—Anchors and Cables wanted by a disabled Vessel—Lugger
    wrecked on the Beach—Dangers of the Hoveller’s Life—Nearly swamped
     by the heavy Seas—Loss of a baling Bowl, and what it means—Saved
        on an American Ship—The Lost Found—A brilliant example of
       Life-saving at Bideford—The Small Rewards of the Hoveller’s
    Life—The case of _La Marguerite_—Nearly wrecked in Port—Hovellers
        _v._ Wreckers—“Let’s all start fair!”—Praying for Wrecks.


The wrecker was a land-ghoul, a monster in human form, who preyed on human
life and property. The “hovellers,” a distinctive term on many parts of
the coasts of this sea-girt isle, is applied to the hardy men who, in all
weathers and at all risks, go to the assistance of ships in distress, and
occasionally benefit by a wreck, but they are not wreckers. The Rev. Mr.
Gilmore, who has so well described the dangers, perils, and triumphs of
the life-boat service, very properly includes among the storm warriors the
honest men who perform these practical deeds of naval daring. Visitors to
Ramsgate and other seaside resorts of the southern coast will remember the
luggers in which holiday excursions are made; many of these same boats
are, in winter more especially, engaged in very serious work. “The more
threatening and heavy the weather,” says our authority, “the greater the
probability of disaster occurring or having occurred, then the more ready
are the crew to work their way out to the Goodwin Sands, and to cruise
round them on the look-out for vessels in distress; they dare not take the
lugger into the broken water—there a life-boat alone can live: but still,
she is a grand sea-boat, one that will stagger on, with a ship’s heavy
anchor and chain on board, through weather bad enough for anything—a boat
that is well suited for the hard and dangerous service which employs her
during the winter months.” The hovelling lugger has generally a crew of
ten men, and these receive no regular pay. Any salvage or reward the
vessel earns is commonly divided into fourteen shares; the boat takes
three and a half for the owners, half a share goes for the provisions, and
each man of the crew receives one share. Mr. Gilmore says that “complaints
are sometimes made of the amounts charged by these men for services
rendered; but the cases of a good hovel are few and far between; and often
the luggers put out to sea night after night throughout a stormy winter,
hanging about the sands, in wind and rain, and snow and mists, the men
half-frozen with the cold and half-smothered with the flying surf and
spray, and often week after week they thus suffer and endure, and do not
make a penny-piece each man; then at last, perhaps, comes a chance: a big
ship is on the tail of a sandbank; they render assistance and get her off;
they have saved thousands of pounds worth of property; and the captain,
and the owners, and the underwriters all look aghast, and cry out with
indignation when they ask perhaps a sum that will give them ten or fifteen
pounds a man.”

Not uncommonly the lugger speaks a vessel, and finds that an anchor or
anchors, cables, &c., have been lost, and must be replaced. They must make
in all haste for shore, and obtain what is needed, and put out again to
the distressed vessel. What all this may mean on occasions to the owners
and men of the hovelling vessels is shown in the following example—the
case of the _Albion_ lugger.

The _Albion_ meets a vessel driving before the gale, having lost both her
anchors and cables; receives orders to supply her from shore; and the
hardy crew, putting the vessel round, beat through the heavy seas, and
make for Deal. “They have to force the boat against wind and tide, and
much skill is required to prevent her being filled by the rising seas
which sweep around her; now she rushes upon the beach, the surf breaks
over her and half fills her with water; with a tremendous thump and shake
she strikes the shore with her iron keel.

“As the wave which bore the lugger in upon the beach recedes, a man
springs overboard from the bow with a rope in his hand; many catch hold of
the rope, and haul their hardest to keep the boat straight, head on to the
beach; there is a stem strap—a chain running through a hole in the front
part of the keel; a boatman watches his opportunity, and, as a wave sweeps
back, rushes down and passes a rope through the loop of the strap; the
other end of this rope is fastened to a powerful capstan, which is placed
high up on the beach. ‘Man the capstan! Heave with a will!’ and the strong
men strain at the capstan bars until the capstan creaks again. There is no
starting the lugger: she is so full of water from the surf breaking on the
beach that she is too heavy for the men at one capstan to move her; ropes
are led down from two other capstans, and rove through a snatch-block
fastened to a boat on the beach; all put out their strength, round they
tramp, with a ‘Ho! heave ho!’ and slowly the lugger travels up the beach,
and is safe from the roll of the breakers. The men get the water out of
her, haul her higher up on to a swivel platform, turn her round head to
the sea, and the leading hands hurry away to inquire about an anchor and
cable. The agent supplies them with such as seem suitable for the size of
the vessel, and which will perhaps weigh together about seven tons.” Then
follows the labour of getting them on board, but in a short time all are
ready for sea.

“The gale has rapidly increased in force, and a frightful surf is running
on the beach; the roar of the breakers on the shingle, the howling of the
storm, the gleam of white foam shining out of the mist and gloom, all
picture the wildness of the storm; but the undaunted boatmen do not
hesitate. All is ready; the signal given; the boat rushes down the steep
ways, and is launched into the sea. A breaking wave rolls in swiftly, it
meets the bow of the lugger in its rush, fills her; for a moment the big
boat runs under water, and then is lifted and twisted like a toy in the
grasp of the sea, and is thrown, in the heave of the wave, broadside on to
the beach; a cry of horror from all on shore, and a rush down to aid the
crew, who are all—there are fifteen of them—struggling in the surf: now
the men are washed up by the wave, and feel the ground and stagger
forward; now they are caught again by a breaker and rolled over; it is for
each of them a terrible battle with the fierce seas; here one gets on his
feet and stumbles forward, he is caught by the men on shore and dragged up
the beach; there a man is lying struggling on the shingle, trying in vain
to rise, exhausted and confused, two men seize his collar, and pull him
forward a yard or two, then get him to his feet, and he escapes the next
wave, which would have washed him out to sea again. Now all the men seem
to be saved; names are shouted—do all answer? No; there is one missing!
All rush to the water’s edge and gaze into the darkness, eagerly watching
each shadow mid the surf. ‘There he is! No! Yes it is! there—lifting on
the surf! there, rolling-over!’ ‘Quick! quick! form a line!’ And the brave
boatmen grasp each other’s hands with iron strength, and form a chain, the
lowest of the four or five men at the sea end of the chain being in the
water. The waves battle with them, but sturdily they persevere. At last
the body is within reach of the seaward man; he grasps it; the men are
dragged up the beach, and the poor insensible man is carried ashore. Alive
or dead? They cannot say; and with a great fear in their hearts they carry
him hurriedly up the beach, and soon, to the great joy of all, he gives
signs of life, and gradually recovers.

“In the meanwhile, the poor boatmen on the beach have nothing that they
can do but watch their fine boat, which was worth five hundred pounds,
being torn and hammered to pieces in the surf. Plank after plank is
wrenched from her. Now, with a loud crash, she is broken in half; the two
halves part; the anchor and cable fall through her. They can see part of
the forepeak, with one side torn away, floating in the breakers; soon that
also is rent to pieces, and nothing but fragments of the boat float in the
surf or are strewn about the beach; and the boatmen, heavy-hearted, but
thankful that they have escaped with their lives, go slowly to their homes
to rest for a few hours and recruit their strength, and then be ready to
form part of the crew of any other boat, and at the first summons to rush
out again to the encounter with the stormiest seas.” And that what the men
of Deal are _par excellence_—hardy, brave, and skilful—the men of our
coasts are very generally.

               [Illustration: LOSS OF THE “ALBION” LUGGER.]

Sometimes the hovellers are distinctly associated with the life-boat men
in their efforts to save life. Gilmore cites a case where a lugger’s boat
had succeeded in taking a number of men off a wreck, when they themselves
were caught in a squall, and were only too glad to make for the life-boat,
to which the larger part were transferred. Then came a chapter of
difficulties, for neither steamer nor lugger could be discovered through
the fog, which obscured everything within a few yards of them. When they
at length reached the _Champion_ lugger, the shipwrecked crew refused to
leave the life-boat. They had been as nearly as possible wrecked a second
time in the lugger’s boat. What a story had these poor men to relate!

Their vessel, the _Effort_, had been beaten about for days in the North
Sea previous to grounding on the fatal Goodwins. They hoisted lamps, and
were preparing to set a tar-barrel on fire, when their ship, which was
very light, rolled from side to side, almost yard-arms under, and then
suddenly capsized altogether. “At once,” said one of the narrators, “and
with difficulty, we made for the weather rigging, and were glad to find
that not any of the crew were lost as she fell over. We lashed ourselves
to the rigging. We knew, to our great joy, that the tide was falling; had
it been rising, we must have very soon been overrun by it, the vessel
broken up, and every man of us lost. We were in danger enough as it was,
for the brig, soon after she capsized, was caught by the tide, and worked
round, with her deck towards the seas; and as the heavy seas broke over
and came rushing up the deck, they fell on us with terrible weight, and
beat us and crushed us against the ship’s rail, so that we were forced to
unlash ourselves from the rigging; and what to do we did not know, till
one of us said, ‘Our only chance is to lash the end of the ropes round our
waists, and let go the rigging as the waves come.’ And so we did; and
terrible work it was. As the waves came we slackened the ropes and went
away a little with them; and as they passed, half smothered as we were,
hauled ourselves back to the rigging and held on a bit; and then, when the
next wave came, we let go, and were all adrift in the wash again; our
hands were almost torn to pieces with the strain on the ropes and grasping
at the side of the vessel.... You see, too, how our clothes were nearly
dragged off us: it was indeed an awful time!” One man grew terribly
excited as they told the dismal story. His limbs and features worked, and
as the waves dashed over the life-boat he fancied himself being washed off
the wreck, and his reason quite gave way for the time. He shouted out,
“Let me drown myself! Let me drown myself! I can stand it no longer!” and
was with the greatest difficulty held back by three men, who would not
relinquish their hold till they got safe into harbour.

The hoveller’s life is necessarily full of danger, for his services are
usually only required in the very worst weather; and if he can save
anything from a wreck, it will generally be done under circumstances of
great difficulty. Gilmore cites an example where some of these men were
endeavouring to save the rigging of a wrecked vessel, when a squall came
on, with driving snow and hail. The men in the rigging were somewhat
interested in their work, and were at first inclined to risk the weather,
but the gale increased so rapidly that it became evident that they must
leave in their boat at once. Away for their lives the men pull, the little
boat seethes through the troubled waters, and they soon near the edge of
the sand, and are making for deep water, when they suddenly hear the noise
of the surf beating on the shallows immediately ahead of them. They pull
ahead a little, and can see the huge waves rolling in out of the deep
water, mounting up, curling over, and breaking, meeting other breakers,
foaming up against them—in fact, a sea of raging waters surrounding the
sands in which their little boat would be swamped at once. As they mount
on a wave they can see the lugger riding safely just outside the surf,
only a quarter of a mile off, but that quarter of a mile it is impossible
for them to pass, and equally impossible for the lugger to get any nearer
to them. The seas break over them constantly, and for a while they return
to the dangerous shelter of the wreck.

   [Illustration: MAP SHOWING COAST OF RAMSGATE AND THE GOODWIN SANDS.]

“The Goodwin Sands are about nine miles long; in the middle of them there
is, at low water, a large lake, which is called on the chart ‘Trinity
Bay,’ but which is known to the boatmen as the ‘In-Sand.’ The men row in
the direction of the lake, and row over the sandbanks which surround it,
as soon as the tide has flowed sufficiently to enable them to do so. Now
they find themselves in completely smooth water, and are safe; but for how
long? a short hour or so, for the hungry waves are following them up fast.
Still higher and higher comes the tide, and a furious surf begins to rage
over the banks that for a time protect the lake.” Well do the men know how
short must be their period of rest.

Soon the heavy rollers come in and threaten to swamp them; the boat is
nearly full of water. At this juncture the steersman, who has been
steering and baling the boat for about four hours, suddenly lets the bowl
with which he is baling fly from his hand; he gives a cry of horror, and
the men cannot help repeating it, for may not this apparently small
accident be fatal to them? To keep the boat afloat without baling is
impossible; the surf breaks into her continually, and that bowl is
indispensable to their safety, for the men cannot use their sou’westers
for the purpose when both hands are so busily employed in freeing their
oars from the seas and keeping the blades from being blown up into the air
by the force of the gale. Most happily, the bowl is a wooden one, and it
floats a few yards from them. The men watch it anxiously as they are
tossed up and down by the quick waves. Back the boat down upon the bowl
they cannot, and it is drifting away faster than they are floating. It
would seem a simple matter to pick up a bowl floating within a distance so
small, but the waves long render it impossible. Suddenly the coxswain
cries, “Here is a lull; round with her sharp!” The men on the starboard
side give a mighty pull, and the others back their hardest; then a pull
altogether; the bowl is within reach; the coxswain grasps it with a hasty
snatch. “Round! round with her quick!” and the boat is got head straight
to the seas again before the waves can catch her broadside and roll her
over. All breathe again: they have another chance of life.

They get clear of the Sands, but a fierce gale is still raging. “As they
get into the Gull stream, they see vessel after vessel running with
close-reefed topsails before the gale; the boatmen hail them, but they get
no answer. One little sloop affords them slight hope, for she is evidently
altering her course, but after a moment’s apparent hesitation, away she
goes again before the gale, and abandons them to their fate. The captain
of the little vessel related afterwards how, in the height of the storm,
he saw some poor fellows in a small boat, and had a great wish to try and
save them, but the sea was running so high that he felt it was impossible
to heave his vessel to, and so had to leave them, and that they must have
been driven on the Sands and lost. This sloop was about a quarter of a
mile from the boat, and the men do not again get as near to any other
ship; and as vessel after vessel passes, and the night begins to grow
dark, the position of the men becomes more and more hopeless, and they all
feel that if no vessel picks them up they must soon be blown in again upon
the sands, and there perish.” The men work on, but solemnly, very
solemnly.

But one vessel, a large American ship, remains at anchor in the Downs;
vessel after vessel had slipped their cables and run before the gale. It
is their last hope. “As they drop slowly towards her, they shout time
after time, but cannot make themselves heard, and it is getting too dusk
for them to be seen at any distance; the seas are running alongside the
ship almost gunwale high, and it is impossible to get nearer to her than
within fifty yards. Hail after hail the men give; still they get no
answer. They can see a man on the poop, but he evidently neither sees nor
hears them, and their last chance seems slipping away, for they are fast
drifting past the vessel. ‘Get on the thwart, Dick, and shout with all
your might!’ the coxswain says to the man pulling stroke oar. ‘I’ll hold
you!’ hauling in his oar and catching it under the seat. The man springs
upon the thwart, and balancing himself for a second, hails with all his
force.”

“The man is moving; he hears us, hurrah!” is the glad cry in the boat; and
they can soon see several astonished faces peering over them. The boat
drifts by the ship; they give a pull or two, to get her under the stern of
the vessel; a coil of rope with a life-buoy is thrown to them, and they
manage to get it on board. The captain is now on deck; he orders other
ropes to be sent down, and soon another life-buoy, with cord attached,
comes floating by. Still the boat is in great danger; their safety
hitherto has been in floating with the waves, yielding to them as they
rolled on, but now the little boat has to breast the waves, and is tossed
high in the air, and again plunged far down, running great risk of being
overturned. “The difficulty now is how to get the men out of the boat, for
they dare not haul her up closer to the vessel, as she will not ride with
a shorter scope of rope. They send another rope down to the boat, with a
bowline knot made in it, for the men to sit in, and then shout to the men,
‘We will haul you on board one at a time!’” A moment’s question as to the
order in which the men shall go is quickly decided, for each feels that at
any moment the boat may sink or upset. They leave in the order in which
they sit, and one after another they plunge into the waves, and are hauled
on board, dripping, but saved! Very soon the boat fills and turns over,
and hangs by the ropes till morning.

The captain will hardly credit their story at first. “Impossible!
impossible!” says he. “No boat could live in such a sea, and over the
Sands. Impossible!” But he becomes convinced at last, and all on board
show every attention and kindness. A little brandy and some dry clothes at
once, a beefsteak supper and a glass of grog later on, followed by warm
beds made up on the captain’s cabin floor, and their adventures in an open
boat were but the memory of a horrid dream. The coxswain, however, fell
very ill soon after, and was nigh death’s door; he did not recover his
strength for a twelvemonth, so greatly had the anxiety of that night’s
work told upon him.

Meantime, the lugger, after cruising backwards and forwards, the crew
keeping an anxious and fruitless look-out for their comrades in the boat,
is obliged to put in for Dover, from whence they telegraph the sad news
that six of their men are to all appearance lost. Next morning they make
one more effort to find some traces of their lost companions, and then
steer, sad and disheartened, for Ramsgate. There the arrival of the lugger
is most anxiously awaited. Alas! it is as they feared, and many a
household is plunged in grief. While this is going on, the boatmen leave
the American ship and row steadily for Ramsgate, near which they fall in
with another lugger, on which they are taken. The lugger’s flag is
hoisted, in token that they are the bearers of good news, and great is the
curiosity of the men about the harbour. A crowd hurries down the pier to
watch her arrival, and as soon as the men missing from the _Princess
Alice_ are recognised, the cheers and excitement are wild in the extreme.
Men rush off to bear the good news. “One poor woman, in the midst of her
agony and mourning for her husband, and surrounded by her weeping friends,
is surprised by her door being burst violently open, and at seeing a
boatman, almost dropping with breathlessness, gasping and gesticulating
and nodding, but trying in vain to speak; and it is some seconds before he
can stammer out, ‘All right! all right! Your husband is safe—coming now!’”

          [Illustration: THE LUGGER REACHING RAMSGATE HARBOUR.]

The danger incurred by the hovellers is well illustrated by the following
example, recorded by our leading journal(76) some years since. Nine of
these men endeavoured to save a sloop, the _Wool-packet_, of Dartmouth,
stranded on Bideford Bar, and the crew must have lost their lives but for
the noble service performed, under great risks, by Captain Thomas Jones,
master of the steam-tug _Ely_, of Cardiff. A shipowner of Bideford, who
was an eye-witness of the brave deed, stated that the crew of the vessel
had abandoned her, and the two boats’ crews, consisting of nine men,
afterwards boarded the wreck, with the view of trying to get her off the
bar; but when the tide rose the sea broke heavily over the vessel, and the
men hoisted a flag of distress. The steam-tug _Ely_ now hastened to the
rescue, against a strong tide and wind. Before, however, she could get
near the wreck, the nine men were driven to seek refuge in the rigging.
The sea was breaking fearfully in all directions and the vessel rolling
from side to side, but Captain Jones and his crew bravely proceeded
through the broken water, at the risk of their lives and vessel, and
succeeded, at the first attempt, in saving three of the men. This was all
that they could then accomplish, for the sea was now breaking so furiously
over the wreck that the steamer was driven away; and the same want of
success attended a second and third attempt to approach the wreck. The
captain then backed astern, and, with consummate skill and boldness,
actually placed the steamer alongside the vessel’s rigging, with her bow
over the deck of the wreck, thus saving the six men in the rigging; and
within the short space of two minutes the wreck had actually disappeared,
and was not seen afterwards. But for this bold and successful service,
nine widows (for the nine rescued men were all married) and forty
fatherless children would to-day be lamenting the loss of husbands and
fathers. The National Life-boat Institution presented a medal, &c., to the
captain, and £1 each to the eight men forming the crew.

       [Illustration: WRECK OF THE “WOOL-PACKET” ON BIDEFORD BAR.]

The greatness of the risk to the hoveller, and the comparative smallness
of his reward, are illustrated in the case of _La Marguerite_, a small
French brig, rescued from the Goodwin Sands and brought safely into
Ramsgate Harbour. She was owned by her captain, and represented to him the
labours of a hardworking life. She was bound from Christiania to Dieppe,
with a cargo of deals, and was considerably hampered on deck, the timber
being piled up almost to her gunwale. She lost her course in the night,
and grounded on the Sands. “Where are they? Where can they be? What
horrible mistake have they made?” writes Mr. Gilmore in his forcible
manner. “They think they must have run somewhere on the mainland on the
Kent coast; one man proposes to swim ashore with a rope, but the seas come
sweeping over them with a degree of violence that quite does away with any
thought of making such an attempt. They hurry to the long-boat, to try and
get it out, but it and the only other boat which is in the brig are
speedily swept overboard by the seas. The vessel is on the edge of the
Sands, and feels all the force of the waves as they roll in and leap and
break upon the bark. With every inrush of the seas she lifts high, and
pitches, crushing her bow down upon the Sands, each time with a thump that
makes her timbers groan, and almost sends the men flying from the deck.”
For some twenty minutes she keeps thrashing on the Sands, when they glide
off into deep water, and after much delay get their anchor overboard. The
gale continues, and, after much entreaty—for the captain is a poor man—the
crew succeed in inducing him to cut the foremast away, and the brig rides
more easily when this is accomplished. They wait for daylight. They are
then seen from Margate, and two fine luggers have a race to see which can
get first to the vessel. The life-boat also puts off. One of the luggers
gets alongside in fine shape, and the men at once recommend the captain to
cut away the remaining mast, but he will not be persuaded. They raise the
anchor, and passing a hawser on board, attempt to tow the brig from the
Sands, but make little progress. To their satisfaction, they see the
Ramsgate steam-boat and life-boat making their way round the North
Foreland.

“The coastguard officer at Margate, when he saw that the Margate life-boat
could not reach the brig, and knowing that if any sea got up where the
vessel was that the luggers could be of no use, telegraphed to Ramsgate
that the vessel was on the Knock Sands. The steamer and life-boat get
under weigh at once, and proceed as fast as possible to the rescue. There
is a nasty sea running off Ramsgate, but it is not until they get to the
North Foreland that they feel the full force of the gale. Here the sea is
tremendous, and as the steamer pitches to it the waves that break upon her
bows fly right over her funnel—indeed, she buries herself so much in the
seas that they have to ease her speed considerably to prevent her being
completely overrun with them.” The boatmen at last get on board the brig;
a glance shows that no time must be lost, and as rapidly as possible the
steamer is enabled to take the water-logged vessel in tow. The French crew
are utterly exhausted with fatigue and excitement, and are quite ready to
leave their vessel in English hands. Away the brig goes, plunging and
rolling, with the seas washing over her decks, which are scarcely out of
the water, while the two boats are tossing astern, all being towed by the
gallant little steamer. They have nearly reached the harbour.

In spite of the rough cold night, the interest in life-boat work is too
great for all sympathisers to be driven away from the pier-head; and there
is a crowd there ready to watch the boats return and to welcome the men
with a cheer. The steamer approaches cautiously, and the brig seems well
under command. A couple of minutes more and all will be safe, when
suddenly the rush of tide catches the wreck on the bow; she overpowers the
lugger, which is towing astern; round her head flies; she lurches heavily
forward, and strikes the east pier-head. Crash goes her jib-boom first,
and the steamer, towing with all its might, cannot prevent her again and
again crushing against the pier. Her bowsprit and figure-head are broken
and torn off, her stern smashed in. Ropes and buoys are thrown from the
pier. “The poor Frenchmen are almost paralysed by the scene and by
excitement—they cannot make it out; the harbour-master, Captain Braine,
has enough to do: he sees the danger of the men on board the brig, but he
sees more than this—he sees the danger of the crowd at the pier-head, for
the brig’s mainmast is swaying backwards and forwards, coming right over
the pier as the vessel rolls, and threatens to break and come down upon
the people as the brig strikes the pier; and if it does it will certainly
kill some, perhaps many.” Women shriek and men shout, and it looks as
though the _Marguerite_ would be wrecked in sight of all. Meantime the
crew of the hovelling lugger are in equal, if not greater, danger.

“As soon as the men on board the lugger saw the brig sweep and crash
against the pier, they cast off their tow-rope, but before they could
hoist any sail, the way they had on the boat and the rush of the tide
carried the lugger almost between the vessel, as she swung round, and the
pier. The men, however, escaped that danger, and indeed death, but the
boat was swept to the back of the pier, and in the eddy of the tide was
carried into the broken waters; then she rolls in the trough of the sea;
wave after wave catches and sweeps her up towards the pier, as if to crush
her against it, but each time the rebound of the water from the pier acts
as a fender and saves her from destruction; but she is an open boat, and
if one big wave leaps on board it will fill her, and she must sink at
once; and the seas around her are very wild, the surf from their crests
breaks into her continually. The people on the pier see her extreme peril;
some run to the life-boat men, who are preparing to moor the boat, and
shout to them to hasten out—that the brig is breaking up, and that the
lugger will be swamped; before, however, the life-boat can get out the
brig is towed clear of the pier, and, the lugger having drifted to the end
of the pier, the men are able to get up a corner of the foresail; it cants
the lugger’s head round; the men get the foresail well up: it fills; she
draws away from the pier and away from the broken water, and is clear.”
But now the brig, the rudder of which had been wrenched out of her on the
Sands, has no boat to help her steer, and lurches about in all directions.
A heavy sea strikes her bow; the steamer’s hawser tightens, strains, and
breaks! Excited people on the pier crowd round the harbour-master, and beg
him to order the life-boat men to take the crew and the boatmen off the
wreck at once. That official knows, however, the boatmen too well: _they_
will not leave her while a stitch holds together.

The captain of the steamer knows their peril, and backs his vessel down to
the wreck, now not over a hundred yards from the Dyke Sand. She is rolling
heavily, and the seas sweep over her; her crew can hardly keep the deck.
The steamer gets close to the brig, and soon another cable is out. Each
time the brig sheers heavily to one side or the other she is brought up
with a jerk that makes the steamer tremble from stem to stern, but that
plucky little boat is not to be beaten. Five brave fellows come off from
the pier in a small boat, bringing a line with them: with this they haul a
second hawser to the wreck; a crowd of people on the pier pull their
hardest, and succeed in moving the wreck. This cable breaks shortly
afterwards, but the steamer has by this time again got hold of the vessel,
and tows her safely into the harbour, a miserable wreck, with masts and
rudder gone, her bow and stern crushed, but with everybody safe on board.
The _Marguerite_ was ultimately repaired and sent to sea again, though she
could never be the vessel she once was. And the Margate and Ramsgate men
got a few pounds each for work that required each one to be a hero, and a
very practical and seamanlike hero too. The old wreckers made ten times
the money, with an infinitesimal proportion of the trouble.

Yes, times _have_ changed for the better. Individuals may, of course, be
found capable of any amount of brutality for the sake of gain, but the
shipwrecked mariner of to-day is morally certain that his life and
remaining property are safe when he reaches the shore of any part of the
United Kingdom, and that for every ruffian there will be twenty kindly and
hospitable people ready to pity and to aid him. The same could not be said
of the early part of this very century. It seems almost incredible, too
horrible, to be possible, that in 1811 the remnant of a poor crew of a
frigate wrecked on the Scotch coast were, after buffeting the breakers and
struggling ashore for dear life, absolutely murdered on the beach for the
sake of their wretched clothes, or, at all events, stripped and left to
die. When morning dawned the beach was found strewn with naked corpses.
The inhabitants of many fishing villages and seaside hamlets were open to
similar imputations late in the last, and indeed early in the present,
century. Whole communities have in bygone times—let us trust gone for
ever—turned out at the tidings of a vessel in danger; solely with a view
to plunder. A tolerably well-known yarn, in which, probably, implicit
confidence should not be placed, tells us of a wreck which occurred near
the village of St. Anthony, Cornwall, one Sunday morning. This being the
case, and the parishioners assembling at the church, the clerk announced
that “Measter would gee them a holladay,” for purposes on which that
excellent clergyman well knew they were intent. This is only one part of
the story, for it is stated that as the members of the congregation were
hurrying pell-mell from the church, they were stopped by the stentorian
voice of the parson, who cried out, “Here! here! let’s all start fair!”
The fact is that the contents or material of a wreck scattered around a
coast were, and, no doubt, are still in many places, looked upon as
legitimate prey by fishermen and others who would scorn anything in the
form of treachery, in luring the good ship ashore, or in brutal treatment
to the survivors of her crew. “Within the past five-and-twenty years,”
said a leader-writer a short time since, “it is said that a candidate for
Parliamentary honours, while canvassing in a district near the coast,
found that his opinion on the subject of wrecking was made a crucial
point. Wrecking, indeed—so far as the appropriation of shipwrecked
property is implied in the word—seems to have held very much the same
position in popular ethics as smuggling has done. ‘Such was the feeling of
the wreckers,’ writes one who was at one time Commissioner of the
Liverpool Police, ‘that if a man saw a bale of goods or a barrel floating
in the water, he would run almost any risk of his life to touch that
article, as a sort of warrant for calling it his own. It is considered
such fair game, that if he could touch it he called out to those about
him, “That is mine!” and it would be marked as his, and the others would
consider he had a claim to it, and would render him assistance.’” We are
told that the natives of Sleswig-Holstein considered wrecking so
legitimate that prayers were offered up in their churches at one time that
“their coasts might be blessed.” Pastor and flock looked upon wrecks as
much of blessings as they did a good fishing season. The parson, however,
it was explained, did not really pray for wrecks. Certainly not! What he
meant was that if there _must_ be wrecks, those wrecks might happen on
their coasts!

The question of “salvage” is of a nature too technical for these columns.
In some minor matters it would seem that the authorities do not offer
proper encouragement to fishermen and others to be decently honest or
humane. At the period of the wreck of the _Schiller_, on the Scilly
Islands, a correspondent of our leading journal(77) tells us “that many
floating bodies of drowned passengers and seamen were picked up by the
fishing boats which abound in that part of Cornwall. Upon some of them
money or valuables were found, and these were given up to the Customs when
the body was sent ashore. In such cases the valuables were retained for
the friends of the drowned persons, and a uniform reward of five shillings
was paid to the finders. Now, for the sake of taking ashore such a body as
I have described, the fishermen—seven or eight in number—would have lost
their night’s fishing, for it would not have been safe, even if the crew
were willing, to have done otherwise. The smallness of the reward given in
return for the services rendered would therefore operate as a strong
inducement to the more selfish among them to prefer their fishing to the
dictates of humanity. My informants even told a story of a fishing boat
which picked up a floating body, and, having collected all the papers and
valuables from it, restored the body itself to the deep, and went on its
way. The papers and valuables were given up in due course, and no charge
of dishonesty was preferred against the crew; but the want of humanity
caused (and not unnaturally) a strong feeling of indignation against the
perpetrators of this act. The fishermen, however, argued that if they
brought the bodies into port (as they were instructed to do), they would
get, at most, a sum of sevenpence per man for their night’s work; and if
they brought merely the property to the proper authorities, they were
abused for their inhumanity; and that, therefore, their only alternative
was to pass the bodies by, and attend to their own work. Should the view
that I have here stated be found to be a general one, I think that it will
be allowed that it is an argument for either paying more highly for the
finding of bodies at sea, or allowing the finders the same salvage upon
the property found upon the bodies that they would have received had the
property been picked up in a chest.”

Pleasant it is to turn from what we may well believe is only an occasional
example of want of feeling to such a case as the following—one out of
thousands that might be cited. It is slightly abridged from a little
publication(78) which should be in the hands of all readers of “The Sea”
interested in benevolent efforts for the seaman’s welfare.

                    [Illustration: RONAYNE’S BRAVERY.]

Some twelve miles westward from Tramore—a favourite watering-place and
summer resort for the citizens of Waterford, and nearly half a mile from
the coast—a farm is situated which has been long occupied by John Ronayne,
a hardy and typical Irish farmer. The farm-house has few of the
necessaries and none of the luxuries of civilised life, it is a true type
of the poor class of farm-houses in many parts of Ireland, consisting of
but two rooms—one the sleeping apartment, where Ronayne’s family of twelve
children have been born, and the other the living-room, where it is to be
suspected sundry four-footed friends occasionally find their way, and bask
or grunt before the fire. Rather less than half a mile from the farm is
the rugged shore, approached by a rough “boreen,” or narrow lane, emerging
on the cliff near the course of a stream, which is a roaring foaming
torrent in winter and spring-time. On winter days and nights, brown and
turbulent, this stream rushes foaming into the ocean over crags and rocks
and pebbly shore; but before it joins its fresh water with the salt sea
foam, it plunges into a crevice, narrow and deep and deadly. Every
coastman along the rock-bound shore knows this deep, treacherous hole, and
warns the traveller to beware of it—for, once in it, there is no return.
But this source of peril is little enough to that which is beyond.

A hundred yards or so from the cove into which this impetuous torrent
pours frown two massive ridges of rock, offering to any venturesome ships
attempting to run between their threatening sides destruction on either
hand, while only some dozen yards of foaming breakers separate the one
from the other. Skilful must be the steersman, and bold the skipper, who
would dare the narrow channel, even though the only one by which they
might hope to beach their sinking ship. And yet, on one fearful night in
January, 1875, a large vessel, the _Gwenissa_, bound from Falmouth to
Glasgow, and new but a few weeks before, successfully accomplished the
dangerous passage. Not that any skill was shown, for none on the doomed
ship knew of their proximity to rocks or shore, but, driving blindly on
before the full fury of the gale, by chance were brought safely through.
But in another instant the ship struck the rocky shore, and in a moment
was shattered to pieces, timbers and tackle, cargo and living freight,
being thrown, scattered and helpless, into the angry surf. Escaping, as by
a miracle, the rocky dangers of Charybdis, the good ship _Gwenissa_ had
been hurled upon Scylla, and her doom sealed.

The family at Killeton Farm little suspected, as they went to their humble
beds, the tragedy which was being enacted on the shore; and even when some
of the boys thought they heard cries of distress, little wonder—when the
wind was blowing in great fitful gusts, sweeping round the homely cottage,
shaking windows and doors, and moaning down the chimneys—that, after
listening a while and hearing nothing further, they thought no more of the
cries, and went to bed. Ronayne had, however, not been long in bed when a
loud knocking awoke him, and he jumped up, and on opening the door was
accosted by three men in sailor’s garb.

The first surprise over, the instincts of hospitality asserted themselves,
and he heaped up the turf fire, and, as they warmed themselves, learned
that they alone of the crew of the _Gwenissa_, nine in number, were
certainly saved. But there was a possibility that one or two might yet
survive; and though the wintry blast roared loud without, Ronayne lingered
not a moment. Hurrying on his clothes, and taking a large sod of flaming
turf by way of lantern, he rushed down the “boreen,” and soon reached the
cove. Cautiously he made his way, and approached the edge of the stream,
whence he now heard the shouts of several men. He followed up the cries of
distress, and soon came upon a man in a most dangerous position.

Ronayne blew the turf until it glowed brightly, and, holding it down, saw
a man waist-deep in the water, but so jammed between the crags that it was
impossible for him to move, far less climb the overhanging rocks. He was
bruised, stunned, and nearly insensible. Ronayne saw at a glance that the
only way to help him was himself to go down, extricate his bruised legs
from the rocks and wreck that held him like a vice, and then assist him to
climb from his perilous position. This, by means of much pulling and
hauling, he at length accomplished, and ultimately had the satisfaction of
leading the poor fellow to a place of safety, where, for a time, he left
him, sorely bruised, faint, and well-nigh frozen, for the others, who had
never ceased calling for assistance from the moment of his arrival. They
were four in number, and, as far as could be judged through the increasing
darkness, lay in the very gorge down which rushed the swollen stream; and
so it proved, for one was hanging to a spar which had become fixed in the
rocks, while another was grasping a projecting crag, by which he contrived
to keep afloat. The others, more fortunate, had been thrown on a ledge,
which left them in comparative safety, though they were waist-deep in
water. But though secure upon this ledge, they were quite as helpless as
their companions, for the beetling face of the rocks defied their utmost
efforts to scale them unaided. Here Ronayne’s knowledge stood him in good
stead, and after much active assistance in the shape of climbing,
swimming, pulling, and scrambling, he succeeded in rescuing one after the
other, each assisting afterwards to make the task easier. Five men stood
beside him, cold and hurt, but saved by his perseverance and bravery from
a watery grave.

“But,” says the narrator—and here especially he should tell his own
tale—“not without great labour had this been effected, for one of the men
had his leg broken, and all were more or less bruised, and perishing of
cold and exposure. Three men were at his house and five here; but where
was the other? for nine men were on board the luckless vessel, and here
were but eight. Leaving the rescued men in the lane, Ronayne ran again to
the cove, and the dim spark expiring in the turf showed him where he had
left it. He scraped off the ash, and, the wind fanning it, again it burned
up brightly—too brightly, for now it burned down to his frozen fingers;
but he only grasped it the tighter, for did it not light him on his errand
of mercy? and if another life might be saved at the expense of a few
burns, would it not be great gain? So on sped he along the shore,
searching into every cranny and cleft and crevice lighted by the turf,
and, burning and shouting between his labours, at length was rewarded by a
faint cry as of a man in distress—more a moan than a cry, and at a
distance. Rapidly but carefully he had scanned the beach, and partially
searched every gully and cleft, and now and again receiving to his cries a
faint response, but always from far away. No doubt the man was out on the
rocks, to which he had been carried by a receding wave after the ship
struck, and Ronayne knew that some further help must be procured before he
could be reached. So he hastened back to the five men he had left in the
lane. They then all proceeded to the farm-house—a melancholy
_cortége_—carrying as best they could the helpless between them. He then
started off, wet and weary as he was, to the coastguard station at
Bonmahon, where he gave information of the wreck, and demanded assistance
for the poor fellow out on the rocks.” The coastguard men lost no time in
turning out with the rocket apparatus; but just as they were fixing it in
position, Ronayne, who had been hunting about, came upon the very last and
ninth man of the crew, lying, half in the water and half out, upon the
beach among a quantity of wreck. His supposition had been correct in
regard to his position on the rocks, but while assistance was being
procured he had been washed ashore, with shattered limbs—bruised,
helpless, unconscious, but _alive_! The poor fellow, who remained
unconscious, was carried to the farm, where some old whisky-jars were
filled with hot water and placed to his feet. The little whisky in the
house was divided among the benumbed men, and more solid provision set
before them.

And now Ronayne’s house contained over twenty inmates, most of them
standing round the turf fire wringing the water from their clothes and
warming their frozen limbs; the few beds, too, had their occupants. For
Ronayne the work had but barely commenced. Saddling his young mare, he
started to lay information of the wreck before Lloyd’s Deputy Receiver at
Tramore, some _twelve miles_ distant, for eight shillings were to be
earned, and for this trifling reward he was prepared to ride some
twenty-four miles on a cold winter night.

On his road he passed the doctor’s house, and sent him to attend the
injured men, arriving at Tramore a few minutes before the telegram from
the coastguard station. Two of the sailors were afterwards removed to the
hospital, and recovered, and they and the remainder cared for by the
Shipwrecked Mariners’ Society’s agents. Ronayne was indemnified for any
expense he had incurred by the same Society, and the Life-boat Institution
shortly after rewarded him.





                               CHAPTER XX.


                 SHIPS THAT “PASS BY ON THE OTHER SIDE.”


      Captains and Owners—Reasons for apparent Inhumanity—A Case in
     Point—The Wreck of the _Northfleet_—Run down by the _Murillo_—A
     Noble Captain—The Vessel Lost, with a Hundred Ships near her—One
         within Three Hundred Yards—Official Inquiry—Loss of the
       _Schiller_—Two Hundred Drowned in one heavy Sea—Life-saving
       Apparatus of little use—Lessons of the Disaster—Wreck of the
         _Deutschland_—Harwich blamed unjustly—The good Tug-boat
     _Liverpool_ and her Work—Necessity of proper Communication with
         Light-houses and Light-ships—The new Signal Code and old
                               Semaphores.


From time to time there appear in the public journals accounts given by
sailors who have been saved from imminent peril from drowning by passing
ships. Many and many an honourable case could be cited; but there are,
alas! ships that “pass by on the other side.” An article in the
journal(79) issued quarterly by that grand society the National Life-boat
Institution explains some of the reasons for this sad state of affairs.
The writer generally denies that the majority of the masters of ships who
would pass another vessel in distress are brutal or callous, and thinks
that were many of them brought face to face with an isolated case of
probable drowning, they would not hesitate to expose their own lives to
preserve the one endangered. There must be some strong causes operating on
the minds of the men who act in the inhuman manner indicated. Among them
are the following:—

“1st. That the loss of time which the most trifling service of this kind
causes would possibly represent a very considerable money loss to the
owners, by the delay in the arrival in port of the ship and cargo.

“2nd. That the cost of maintenance of the persons saved is insufficiently
repaid by the Government.

“3rd. That in all but the largest kind of ships the amount of food and
water habitually kept on board is rarely sufficient to meet the strain of,
say double, or, it may be quadruple, the number of men they were intended
for; and if a ship of the smaller class, towards the end of her voyage,
has to take on board the crew of a vessel greater in number than her own,
she is, from shortness of provisions and water, in nine cases out of ten,
compelled to make for the nearest port, which may be a cause of
incalculable loss, unless it chances to be the one she is bound for.

“4th. Every captain knows that all owners are more or less inimical to
their ships rendering either salvage service or life-saving service. Not,
as we suppose, that any owner deliberately sets to himself the axiom that
no ship of his shall save life, but that they, not unnaturally, view with
suspicion salvage service, because they can receive nothing from it but
loss in time and money; and cases are not infrequent in which pretence of
saving life is made a source of real loss to the owners.”

One case among the many which could be presented is here given. It
appeared before the magistrates of Falmouth in 1873, in consequence of the
refusal of a crew to proceed to sea. The ship had come from a Chinese port
to _a port in Europe_: it being uncertain, from the fluctuating state of
the market, which it would be. The vessel fell in with a distressed ship,
from which she took seventeen persons. When in the entrance to the English
Channel, the captain found himself short of provisions and water, and put
into Falmouth, to land the shipwrecked crew and replenish his provisions.
His own crew thereupon claimed their discharge, as having arrived “_at a
port in Europe_.” The Bench ruled the men’s claim to be just, and it took
the captain a fortnight to obtain a fresh crew, to whom higher wages had
to be paid. “The actual and immediate loss to the owners, by this act of
humanity of their captain, was stated at £270. The only reimbursement was
the usual State grant for feeding so many men so many days, amounting
altogether to £16 and a few shillings.” The delay in delivering cargo
entailed a heavy loss, and having put into a port not named, she had, it
was said, vitiated her policy. How might the owners feel towards that
captain in future? And again, how might he feel next time, when duty
called him one way and interest the other? In an indirect way, this and
foreign Governments recognise humane services of the kind indicated by
presents of telescopes or binocular glasses. Such recognition is
undoubtedly valued by the sort of men who would do their duty under any
adverse circumstances, and whether they were to be thanked or no; but it
is to be feared that captains who were as unfortunate as the one at
Falmouth might think twice before they performed that which their
consciences could only approve as right.

The owner of the relieving vessel should have the right of being recouped
to the full extent of the loss incurred by delay and service—though many
would never accept it; and a ship’s insurance should never be vitiated by
its calling at a port on a matter of any such necessity as landing a
shipwrecked crew or obtaining provisions. It is certain that we should do
all that is possible to reduce that annual list of ships whose only record
is “Not since heard of.”

A successful mail-steamer passage or quick run, the first clipper from
China with the season’s tea, make not only a certain stir in a pretty wide
circle, but represent a considerable increase of actual wealth. The
despairing cry of those few poor seamen—who, in their sinking craft, or
who, perishing from hunger or thirst, see fading away on the distant
horizon the white royals of some lofty ship which they had watched with
such agonising alternation of hope and despair—is heard by God alone.

                    [Illustration: THE “NORTHFLEET.”]

The wreck of the _Northfleet_, and loss of life to over 300 souls, on
January 22nd, 1873, will illustrate some of the above remarks.(80) The
_Northfleet_ was a fine old ship of 940 tons, built at Northfleet, near
Gravesend, and so named. After various vicissitudes in the service of
Dent’s China and other lines, she had become the property of Messrs. John
Patton and Co., of Liverpool and London, and was at the time of which we
are about to speak chartered by the contractors of the Tasmanian Line
Railway to convey 350 labourers and a few women and children to Hobart
Town. The vessel left the East India Docks on Friday, the 17th December,
1872, with a living freight of about 400 persons. The cargo consisted
principally of railway material. At the very last moment of leaving the
docks, her commander for the previous five years, Captain Oates, was
subpoenaed by a Treasury warrant to attend the Tichborne trial, and the
command was given to his chief officer, Mr. Knowles. He was allowed to
take on board the lady to whom he had been married about a month.

After leaving Gravesend the _Northfleet_ encountered very stormy weather,
and Captain Knowles felt it prudent to anchor under the North Foreland,
where the vessel remained until the following Tuesday, when, the weather
having moderated, she sailed down Channel, and was reported at Lloyd’s as
having passed Deal, “All well” being the signal. On the Wednesday, at
sunset, she came to an anchor off Dungeness, about two miles from shore,
in eleven fathoms of water. She was then almost opposite the coastguard
station. About ten o’clock the ship was taut and comfortable for the
night; almost all the passengers had turned in, and none but the usual
officers and men of the watch were on deck. Just as the bells were
striking the half-hour past ten the watch observed a large steamer,
outward-bound, coming directly towards them. She appeared to be going at
full speed, and the shouts of the men on watch who called upon her to
alter her course roused Captain Knowles, who was on the after deck. But in
another moment the steamer came on to the _Northfleet_, striking her
broadside almost amidships, making a breach in her timbers beneath the
water-line, and crushing the massive timbers traversing the main deck.

  “’Midst the thick darkness, Death,
    The dread, inexorable monarch, stalked;
  And, lo! his icy breath
    Encircled the devoted barque, where talked,
  Or laughed, or watched, or slept,
    The doomed three hundred of her living freight,
  Unconscious that there crept
    Through the still air the stealthy steps of Fate.

    *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

  “Oh God, that fearful crash!
    The stout ship reels, her planks disrupted wide;
  Fast through the yawning gash
    The green sea pours its dark, resistless tide.
  What followed then, O heart,
    Thou scarce may’st realise! ’Tis well for thee:
  Ne’er would that sight depart
    From gentle mind that had been there to see.

  “For maddening terror reigned;
    Honour, and manhood, and calm reason fled,
  And brutal instincts gained
    The mastery; and even shame was dead.
  Each one, to save his life
    Would give to death the lives of all beside;
  Nor cared in that fell strife
    What awful end his fellows might betide.(81)

  “Yet ’mid that wild despair
    Nobility of soul found room to stand,
  And lustre bright and rare
    Enfolds the memory of Knowles and Brand;
  Who, face to face with death,
    Save of dishonour, showed no coward dread,
  Brave hearts to the last breath,
    They joined the galaxy of Britain’s dead.”

The shock was described by the survivors as like the concussion of a very
powerful cannon. The reader will here make his own reflections.
Immediately after the collision the steamer cleared the ship, and before
many of the terrified people below could reach the deck she was out of
sight. Most of the passengers were awakened by the shock, and a fearful
panic ensued. Captain Knowles acted with singular calmness, promptitude,
and decision. He caused rockets to be sent up, bells to be rung, and other
signals of distress; but the gun to be fired would not go off, the
touch-hole being clogged. Meantime he directed the boats to be launched,
giving orders that the safety of the women and children should be first
secured. There was a disposition to set these orders at defiance, and, on
some of the crew crowding to the davits, with a view of effecting their
own safety, Captain Knowles drew a revolver, and declared he would shoot
the first man who attempted to save himself in the boats before the women
were cared for. Most of the crew seemed to understand that the captain was
not to be trifled with; but one man, Thomas Biddle, refused to obey the
order, and the captain fired at him in a boat alongside the ship. The
bullet entered the man’s leg just above the knee.

Meantime the pumps were set to work, but with little or no effect, the
water pouring in through the opening in the ship’s side. The scene on deck
was frightful. Many of the passengers were in their night-dresses; others
had only such scanty clothing as they could secure on quitting their
berths. Children were screaming for their parents, and parents searching
in vain for their children; husbands and wives were hopelessly separated.
The horror was increased by the darkness of night. The captain’s wife was
placed with other women in the long-boat, under the charge of the
boatswain; but the tackle being too suddenly set adrift, the boat was
stove in.

                [Illustration: WRECK OF THE “NORTHFLEET.”]

By this time the _City of London_ steam-tug, having perceived the signals
of distress, reached the spot, and succeeded in rescuing nearly the whole
of the occupants of the boat, as well as several others of the passengers
and crew, to the number of thirty-four. She remained cruising about the
spot till early next morning, picking up such of the passengers as could
get clear of the wreck, and in the last hope, which proved vain, of
rendering assistance to those who might have floated on fragments of the
ship after she settled down. The Kingsdown lugger _Mary_ was likewise
attracted by the signals of distress, and succeeded in rescuing thirty
passengers. The London pilot-cutter No. 3, and the _Princess_, stationed
at Dover, also got to the spot, and succeeded in rescuing twenty-one, ten
of them from the rigging. The total number thus rescued was eighty-five
persons.

The ship went down about three-quarters of an hour after she was struck,
the captain remaining at his post till she sank. One of the survivors
states that he was standing close to the captain when she went down. The
former managed to lay hold of some floating plank, and was borne to the
surface. The captain, however, was not again seen. The pilot and ten
others had taken to the mizen-mast, from which they were rescued. The
whole of the officers perished.

It must seem remarkable that while the _Northfleet_ showed lights and
other signals of distress within two miles of shore during twenty minutes
or half an hour no notice was taken of them. When a ship is in
difficulties in the night, it is usual for her either to fire guns or to
exhibit a flare of light. But here, even the vessels close at hand thought
that the ship was only signalling for a pilot; and at the time there were
nearly a hundred vessels at anchor in the roadstead, with their lights
burning brilliantly. Those on board the three ships nearest the wreck
would have instantly sent help had they imagined there was a vessel in
distress, and they could have got to the ship in a few minutes, for,
though the night was dark and squally, it was clear at intervals, and any
boat could live, the sea not being rough. It appears that the _Corona_, an
Australian clipper, was lying at anchor within 300 yards of the
_Northfleet_ when the disaster occurred, but neither the terrible shock of
the collision, the subsequent cries for aid, nor the rockets continuously
fired from the deck of the sinking ship, could arouse the man who was the
only watch on deck to call up either his comrades or the officers of his
ship. Various reports were at first current as to the name of the vessel
which ran the _Northfleet_ down, and which passed straight on her way,
without taking any heed of the disaster she had caused, though it must
have been clearly known on board of her, if not—it is to be hoped—to the
full extent of the calamity. Suspicion attached to the _Murillo_, a
Spanish steamer, bound for Lisbon from Antwerp. The _Murillo_ arrived at
Cadiz on the evening of Thursday, the 30th, having stopped at Belem, the
entrance to the port of Lisbon, on the day before, and having then been
warned by a telegram to go on to Cadiz without landing her Lisbon cargo.
Upon her arrival at Cadiz an official inquiry was commenced, at the
instance of the British Consul. From the report of Mr. Macpherson, Lloyd’s
agent at Cadiz, it appeared that her starboard bow had been newly painted
black and red to the water line, and her port bow showed marks of a slight
indentation near the anchor davit. It was stated, however, on behalf of
her owners, that the painting was done in London or Antwerp, before she
started on her present journey, and that the indentation had been made on
entering the port of Havre two years before. An inquiry was instituted in
the Spanish Courts, and the committee appointed for that purpose declared
that the _Murillo_ was not the vessel which ran down the _Northfleet_. The
_Murillo_ was therefore released. But some time afterwards justice was
avenged.

The official report of the inquiry made—at the instigation of the English
Government—by Mr. Daniel Maude, stipendiary magistrate, assisted by
Captains Harris and Hight acting as assessors, stated that there was no
doubt that the ship which came into collision with the _Northfleet_ was
the Spanish iron screw-steamer _Murillo_, trading between London and
Cadiz, which left London on the 12th of January, proceeded to Antwerp,
and, after leaving that port, arrived off Dungeness on the night of
January 22nd. The _Northfleet_ was anchored in an apparently most safe
position, a mile and a half or more inside the usual fair course for
vessels outward-bound. The _Murillo_ came down inside the _Northfleet_,
and struck her nearly amidships. It would appear, both from observation on
board the _Northfleet_ and also from the evidence given by the chief
engineer of the _Murillo_, that the latter had slackened her speed some
little time before the collision, or probably both ships would have sunk.
There is no doubt the shock was a slight one; but the sharp stem of the
iron steamer having struck the weakest part of the wooden ship will
account for the mischief done. The master of the _Murillo_, in his log,
stated that the reason for not laying by to inquire as to the injury
sustained by the shock was that a boat had immediately left the ship and
examined the damage, and that the boat and crew having returned again, he
concluded nothing of moment had happened. The Court was satisfied that no
such incident had occurred, nor was it mentioned by the witnesses who had
previously been examined by the Court. The survivors of the collision were
unanimously of opinion that if the _Murillo_ had lain by, the whole of the
_Northfleet_ people could have been saved. They thoroughly believed that
the _Murillo_ steamed away, and left them to perish, in defiance of their
signals, rockets, blue lights, and the shouts and screams of the whole
ship’s company, which must have been noticed. On the other hand, it
appears that Captain Knowles did not apprehend immediately the damage his
ship had suffered, and that no rockets were fired for a quarter of an hour
after the collision. During this time the _Murillo_ was steaming away at
half-speed, and was probably two miles off. Upon this evidence the Court
felt they ought not to impute to the captain of the _Murillo_ the full
apparent brutality of his offence in not staying by the injured ship. The
Court added a strong expression of opinion that no master of a ship should
be allowed to take his wife to sea with him.

On Friday, the 7th of May, 1875, one of those sad events occurred which
show the imperfection of many of the most carefully-devised schemes for
life-saving at sea. Although it occurred in British waters, neither the
ship nor the larger part of the passengers were British subjects. The
_Schiller_ was a fine iron steamship of 3,600 tons, belonging to the Eagle
line of Hamburg; she was nearly a new vessel, having been built at Glasgow
in 1873. She left New York on the 27th of April, having on board at the
time 264 passengers, while the officers and crew numbered 120 souls. All
went well till the 7th of May, on which day she was due at Plymouth, when,
in the afternoon, a fog set in; nevertheless, the vessel was kept at full
speed until 8.30 p.m., when the density of the fog having greatly
increased, she was put at half-speed, and an hour after she struck on the
Retarrier Rocks, off the Scilly Islands, and within two-thirds of a mile
of the lighthouse on the Bishop’s Rock. Although going at slow speed at
the time, and although the engines were immediately reversed, the
unyielding rocks had done their work: the ship was immovable, and
immediately filled. All was at once confusion, and a panic ensued, cries
of terror rising from every lip. Orders were given by the captain to lower
the boats, and until he was himself washed off the bridge, at about 4
a.m., and drowned, he did his best to preserve some order, even
threatening the frantic crowd with his pistol. All the boats, however,
except two, were swept away by the sea before they could be lowered, many
perishing with them, and one was crushed by the funnel falling on it. The
ship held together for several hours, and had there been any means of
making their hopeless condition known at St. Mary’s, the chief of the
Scilly Islands, a steamer, and a first-class lifeboat(82) belonging to the
National Lifeboat Institution, might have arrived in time to save a large
number of lives. Such, however, was not to be, and when the morning dawned
all that remained of the crew and passengers who, a few hours before, had
been looking forward to happy meetings in the Fatherland with fathers,
mothers, sisters, brothers, and friends at home, were those who had
succeeded in mounting the rigging of the fore and main masts, and a few
others in the half-swamped boat, the only one which had been safely
lowered. The women and children who had crowded the deck-houses and
saloon, and the male passengers and those of the crew who were on the
upper deck or the bridge, had perished. Alarm-guns were fired and signal
lights thrown up continually, until the seas breaking over the ship
prevented such efforts attracting attention; and some of the former were
heard on the islands, but as steamers from America had been in the habit
of firing guns to mark their arrival off the islands, they were not
supposed to be danger signals. It is said, however, that at St. Agnes, the
nearest island to the wreck, the guns were believed to be from a vessel in
distress, but the fog was so thick that boats were afraid to venture out.

                   [Illustration: THE SCILLY ISLANDS.]

The mainmast fell at about seven o’clock in the morning, and the foremast
an hour later, when most of those who remained in their rigging were lost.
Just before the foremast had fallen, four boats from the shore arrived,
and picked up several persons from the water, but finding the sea too
heavy to allow them to go alongside the ship, one of them went to St.
Mary’s, to convey intelligence of the disaster and to procure the aid of
the steam-tug and lifeboat. As soon as possible the latter arrived in tow
of the steamer, but all, alas! was then over, and they only picked up
twenty-three bags of mail matter and a few bodies. Out of 384 souls only
53 were saved.

It was about ten o’clock in the evening when the ship struck. A little
festive party had been given in honour of the birthday of one of the
officers, but there is no evidence to show that the working of the ship
was thereby neglected. The majority of the passengers were on deck, on the
look-out for land, which they knew was near. Nearly all the women and
children and a few men were in their berths; others were sitting about,
talking, smoking, playing cards or dominoes, and thinking little of the
fate which was so soon to befall them. There was not the slightest
premonition of the disaster, and the shock appears to have been so slight
that few were at first aware that the ship had struck on a rock. But in a
few minutes the sea which ran over her forced her on her broadside, where
she lay constantly washed over by the breakers. Let the reader imagine, if
he can, the sudden change from the gaiety and hopefulness on board, the
anticipations of soon reaching shore and home, to that scene of wild
terror and dismay!

               [Illustration: THE BISHOP ROCK LIGHTHOUSE.]

About midnight the funnel fell overboard and smashed two of the starboard
boats. Soon after the fog cleared away, and a gleam of hope arose when the
bright clear light of the Bishop Rock Lighthouse shone out. But it was
only momentary, and dense darkness soon surrounded them. When the
deck-house was swept away by a sea so heavy that it ran up to the top of
the mainmast, a heartrending cry, mingled with shrieks and groans, rent
the air. Nearly two hundred perished by this one catastrophe. Then the
captain gathered for safety some people on the bridgeway, the highest
place, in the vain hope of saving them. Every one, including the captain,
engineers, and doctor, were swept off. The riggings of both masts were now
crowded with people. With every lurch the steamer careened over to the
starboard side until the yards touched the water, and the cargo began to
float about on all sides. Bales of wool and cotton, feathers, trunks,
boxes, and woodwork of all kinds, strewed the waves.

A survivor—one of seven who left the ship in a boat and was afterwards
instrumental in picking up others—said that they cruised about the greater
part of the night near the vessel, and that the screaming all the time was
heartrending, and lasted almost from the commencement of the disaster to
four o’clock in the morning, when it ceased. Alas! by that time nearly all
had gone to their long account. The last screams he heard, and which he
could never forget, were from a little child. Mingled with all was the
cracking of the ship’s timbers as wave after wave broke over her. One by
one the lights disappeared, till, at three o’clock, not one was left but
the masthead light.

A proportion of the bodies only were recovered, among them those of
several ladies wearing valuable jewellery; one had £200 in money upon her,
which she had endeavoured to save. That with 1,200 life-belts on board so
few should have escaped seems nearly incredible; but the panic and other
circumstances help to account for the sad fact. The second mate stated
that he had much trouble in getting the passengers to understand the
importance of wearing them well under the armpits, and that if the belt
got below the waist it would at once force the head under water. From the
position of some of the corpses recovered, it is evident that many must
have perished in this manner. In a number of cases the lower strings of
the life-belts had broken. The larger part of the dead were buried on the
various islands of the Scilly group.(83)

The main features of this disaster teach some important lessons. “We
find,” says a writer in _The Lifeboat_, “in this instance, a noble ship,
under full control of steam and sail; the captain(84) an able,
experienced, and careful officer, whose devotion to his duty and sense of
the responsibility thrown on him were shown by the fact of his not having
had his clothes off for five nights previous to the loss of his ship; and
the weather fine, with the exception of the prevalence of a dense fog.

“If we further inquire whether the owners of the ship had done their duty
in providing their passengers with all available means of safety, we find
that she had an ample and competent crew, had eight boats, six of them
being life-boats, and that life-belts more than sufficient for every one
on board were provided, and were to a large extent used, since all, or
nearly all, the bodies that were picked up had life-belts on them. The
latter may, however, have been of inferior quality—indeed, are said to
have been so. With so many elements of safety, what then caused them to be
of no avail?

“The immediate causes of the loss of the ship were apparently the dense
fog and an insufficient allowance for the set of the well-known current
which sets out of the Bay of Biscay to the northward, across the entrance
of the British Channel, which has sometimes considerable strength.

“A secondary cause was the old offence, so general in the merchant
service, despite all the warnings of experience—neglect of sounding, the
lead not having been used during the day or night, nor on the two previous
days.

“Lastly, the chief cause of so few lives being saved, there can be little
doubt, was the same as that which led to such fearful results in the case
of the _Northfleet_, viz., the custom of making use of night signals of
distress for other objects, such as to call for pilots, to signify
arrival, &c., a folly admonished in advance in the old fable of the boy
raising the alarm of ‘Wolf, wolf!’ when there was no wolf, and then
receiving no succour from his neighbours when the wolf came.

“It appears to be customary for the German steamers to make the Scilly
Islands to enable their agents there to telegraph to Plymouth the approach
of their steamers, in order that the necessary preparations should be made
for a prompt disembarkation of their passengers for England on their
arrival at that port.

“The saving of time, which, looking to the great daily expense of such
vessels, with their hundreds of mouths to be fed, and their immense
consumption of coal, is the saving of money to the shareholders, and is,
of course, the motive for communicating by signal with Scilly, just as the
maintenance of high speed in all weathers, and by night as by day at all
hazards, is so, and which leads to so many disasters.

“All that we would suggest, in the interest of humanity, is that such
communication should be left discretionary with the captain of every ship
in the case of fogs, when it should be optional for him to proceed
directly for Plymouth, or to heave to, or to feel his way at greatly
diminished speed by frequent sounding, which would be a certain guide to
him for a distance of many miles round the islands.” The writer suggests
that, in view of the too common neglect of sounding, such neglect, when
discovered, should be punishable by heavy penalties. It was proved in
evidence that the Eagle line of steamers were expressly prohibited from
firing guns, or exhibiting other distress signals, to make themselves
known, but that other German steamers had done so, of which those on board
this unfortunate ship now reaped the evil consequences.

On the morning of the 6th December, 1875, one of those sad disasters
occurred which ever and again remind us of the dangerous nature of our
shores. But a few months before the _Schiller_ had been wrecked, with the
loss of 331 lives, and now an emigrant steamship, of the same nationality,
was to share the same terrible fate off the Essex coast. Happily, the loss
was not so serious, and led to the establishment of a life-boat station
where one had not existed before.

               [Illustration: WRECK OF THE “DEUTSCHLAND.”]

Few maritime disasters of modern times have excited more general interest
than the wreck of the _Deutschland_: partly from the fact that it occurred
so near the mouth of the Thames, and partly because a part of the German
press, in a strange and reckless manner, advanced serious charges against
the town of Harwich and the boatmen of that port, accusing them of
allowing the unfortunate emigrants to perish before their eyes, and
refusing them succour. The circumstances are as follows:—In the first
place, the spot where the _Deutschland_ was wrecked—on the Kentish
Knock—is twenty-four miles from Harwich, and, therefore, at too great a
distance for the vessel herself, and far less for any signals of distress
or national flag to be seen from that place, even in clear weather.
“Accordingly, the only modes by which intelligence of the disaster could
be conveyed to Harwich would have been by the different light-vessels
repeating the signals from one to another, and finally to that town, or by
some vessel or boat proceeding there. Now it so happened that all the
hovelling smacks belonging to that and adjacent places had themselves been
driven into port by the violence of the gale and the heavy sea, and that
the only available means of communication was, therefore, by signals from
the light-ships. It appears from the evidence of the officers in charge of
those vessels at the Board of Trade inquiry, although the _Deutschland_
had been on shore since five and six o’clock in the morning on Monday, the
6th of December, and had immediately commenced to throw up rockets, and
continued to do so until daylight, none of them were seen even from the
nearest light-ship—the Kentish Knock—no doubt, owing to the thickness of
the weather and almost continuous snow-storms, the master of that vessel
first perceiving the unfortunate steamer at 9.30 a.m. He then fired guns,
sounded the fog-horn, and continued to do so at half-hour intervals during
the day, and at 4.30 p.m. commenced to throw up rockets, which were
answered by the steamer.

“At 5.20 the mate of the Sunk light-ship first saw two rockets, which he
supposed to be from a vessel on the Long Sand, whereupon he fired guns and
sent up rockets throughout the night, but did not see the wrecked ship
until 7.30 on the morning of Tuesday, the 7th. His first rockets had,
however, been seen by the look-out on board the Cork light-ship, from
which vessel rockets were then immediately discharged; and at 7.30 these
were replied to from Harwich, they having given the first intimation to
the good people of that town that anything was amiss at sea; and even then
not that a German emigrant steamer was ashore on the Kentish Knock, but
merely that some vessel was in danger somewhere on one of the numerous
sandbanks which lie in all directions off that port. We have thus
accounted for the circumstance of these unfortunate shipwrecked persons
being allowed to remain for fourteen hours in their perilous position
without succour from the shore, from the simple cause that no one knew of
their danger; and we have arrived at another stage of our inquiry: viz.,
Were the means then adopted all that could be reasonably expected from
humane people, who would gladly afford succour, if in their power, to any
one in distress, to whatever country they might belong?”

The writer of the critical article from which the above quotations are
taken(85) shows, firstly, that there was not at that time a life-boat
station at Harwich. It had always been considered that the sands were too
distant from that port for the successful employment of such a boat, and
that, in the event of wrecks upon them, the numerous hovelling smacks
would have anticipated its services. There was, however, a small but
serviceable steam-tug—not, be it remembered, Government or town property,
but that of a private individual. It is right that this should be fully
understood. The circumstance of this tug, the _Liverpool_, not going off
instantly on perceiving the rockets thrown up by the Cork light-ship was
much criticised by some ignorant persons at the time. “Fortunately, she
was commanded by an able and experienced seaman, Captain Carrington, who
knew what he was about; who knew the difficulties of navigating in the
intricate passages between the numerous shoals off the port on a dark
night and gale of wind, and he could only do so at great risk of losing
his owner’s vessel and the lives of those intrusted to him; that he might
spend the whole night in vainly searching for the vessel in distress, and,
even if he should find her, that, with the small tug’s boats, it would be
quite impossible for him to render any assistance to a vessel surrounded
by broken water, in a dark night and heavy sea; and, moreover, that if any
mishap should disable his own vessel, the only chance of saving the
wrecked persons might be destroyed.” He judiciously waited till shortly
before daylight, and then proceeded, first, to the Cork light-ship, where
he ascertained that the Sunk light-ship had been firing all night. He then
steamed to the latter, and was misinformed (unintentionally) regarding the
locality of the wreck. He, after searching in vain for some little time,
steamed for the Kentish Knock, and when half-way to it saw the
_Deutschland_ on that sandbank. He then went to the Knock light-ship, and
hailed her, inquiring whether those on board knew anything about the
wreck, or whether there were any people remaining on board her, but could
get no information. He soon proceeded to the spot, and, finding there were
a large number of persons on board her, anchored his vessel under her lee,
at about sixty fathoms’ distance, and sent his boats to her. After taking
off three boat-loads, he weighed his anchor, placed his vessel alongside
the ship, and took off the remainder of the survivors—173 in all. In spite
of the time which had elapsed and the great dangers to which the vessel
had been exposed, the loss of life had not been so serious as might well
have been anticipated. Fifty-seven poor men and women had, however,
perished in the raging waves. The tug(86) had done her work of saving
nobly and well, and had performed it at a time when the hovelling smacks
could have done nothing at all. On the same occasion the Broadstairs
life-boat proceeded as soon as possible to the scene of the wreck, twenty
miles distant, but too late to be of service. In these days of nearly
universal telegraphy, it would seem strange that our light-ships on
dangerous sands, and our lighthouses on dangerous rocks, are almost
entirely without the means of proper communication with the nearest
shores. From the light-ship, indeed, rockets and guns are constantly
fired, as we have seen in many preceding examples, but fogs and heavy
weather often prevent either from being of service. The expense of
connecting _all_ of them with the coasts by means of submarine cables
might be sufficient to frighten any Government; but some such
communication, however costly, should be made with many of those exposed
and dangerous spots where shipwrecks are of constant occurrence.

Excellent authorities on maritime matters have strongly advocated the
necessity for the establishment of a sound system of day and night signals
from all outlying lighthouses, light-ships, and coastguard stations, and
the laying of submarine cables to many of the more prominent stations. A
formula of “signals of distress” was included in the new “Merchant
Shipping Act of 1873,” which came into operation on the 1st of November of
that year. Prior to that time such signals were too vague and too
indiscriminately used to have much value, and sometimes were calculated to
mislead. Thus, in the case of the _Northfleet_ already cited, 400 of those
on board were drowned, “although she was surrounded by other ships, and
the rockets which she discharged as signals of distress were seen by the
coastguard and life-boat men ashore, but were unheeded, it being a common
custom for homeward-bound ships to discharge rockets for pilots, or as
_feux de joie_ on their safe return from distant lands.” The following
signals of distress are now required. In _the daytime_ the following
signals, when used together or separately, shall be deemed sufficient and
proper. 1. A gun fired at intervals of about a minute. 2. The
International Code signal of distress. This is a square flag with
chess-board pattern, blue and white, having beneath it a long triangular
white pennant, with a red ball in the centre. 3. The distant signal,
consisting of a square flag, having above or below it a ball or anything
resembling a ball. _At night_ the following signals:—1. A gun fired at
intervals of about a minute. 2. Flames on the ship, as from a burning
tar-barrel or oil-barrel, &c. 3. Rockets or shells, of any colour or
description, fired, one at a time, at short intervals. And “any master of
a vessel who uses or displays, or causes or permits any person under his
authority to use or display, any of the said signals, except in the case
of a vessel being in distress, shall be liable to pay compensation for any
labour undertaken, risk incurred, or loss sustained, in consequence of
such signal having been supposed to be a signal of distress, and such
compensation may, without prejudice to any other remedy, be recovered in
the same manner in which salvage is recoverable.”

The signals for pilots are also definitely fixed as follows:—_By day_, the
“Jack” or other national colour usually worn by merchant ships, having
round it a white border, is to be displayed at the fore; _or_ the
International Code pilotage signal, this consists of two square flags, the
upper of which is a blue flag with a white square in its centre, and the
lower of which is a striped flag, red, white, and blue, similar to the
French flag. _At night_, “blue lights,” or bright white lights, are to be
flashed at frequent intervals, just above the bulwarks. If these signals
are used for any purpose other than that for which they are intended, a
penalty, not exceeding twenty pounds, is incurred. Residents at, and
visitors to, seaports and sea-side resorts will, from the above
description, be able to judge whether a vessel in the offing is in dire
distress or simply requires the ordinary services of a pilot.

In the eighteenth century, the requirements of a maritime country
constantly at war obliged the Government to establish a complete system of
signals and signal stations all round our coasts. At the conclusion of our
wars with France that system was in full force, and at that time the
movements of nearly every vessel, friend or foe, were telegraphed from
point to point with a facility which contributed in an important degree to
the security of the country. “This Government telegraph system was also
available for summoning such aids as then existed for the preservation of
life from shipwreck. Accounts of wrecks at what may be called the
life-boat era all tend to show that the system of coast telegraphy then in
existence played an important part in most notable life-boat and other
rescues from shipwreck. With the long peace the need for information on
the part of the Government as to the movements of its own or other ships
became less urgent, though the coast system of signals maintained a
precarious existence for many years, to assist the coastguard in
protecting the revenue. As smuggling decreased, the coastguard men were
reduced in number, and the chain of signallers became broken into gaps,
which widened year by year. The final blow was given by railways and
electricity to the old line of semaphores stretching between Portsmouth
and the Admiralty, and elsewhere, and from headland to headland. But while
the Government, by the help of modern invention, enormously increased its
facilities of communication with the great dockyards and arsenals, it,
conceiving itself to be in no way concerned (we suppose) with the safety
of merchant ships or saving life, failed to supply a substitute for the
old semaphore system along the coast line; and year by year the evil has
increased from the reduction of the coastguard, and the consequent
lengthening of the interval on lines of coasts in which watch has ceased
to be kept. The result is that during the last twenty-five years, and up
to the present time, there has been greater difficulty in communicating
along the coast and summoning aid to distressed vessels at all
out-of-the-way parts of the coast than existed at the end of the last
century.

“The First Lord of the Admiralty or the President of the Board of Trade
can converse at leisure with Plymouth, Deal, Leith, or Liverpool, but the
Eddystone has no means of letting the authorities at Plymouth know that a
ship is slowly foundering before the eyes of the keepers, though the two
points are in sight of each other. The light-keepers at the Bishop have no
means of telling the people at St. Mary’s that a ship full of passengers
is slowly but surely tearing to pieces on the Retarrier reef; and the
hundreds of vessels that yearly are in deadly peril on the Goodwins, the
Kentish Knock, the Norfolk Sands, and elsewhere, have no means of
summoning prompt aid from the land, though they are only a few miles
distant from it.”(87) The writer notes that the number of cases of
shipwreck, where the vessels might have been saved, which reach the
National Life-boat Institution is considerable. These come largely from
obscure and detached parts of the coasts. A foreign barque was wrecked on
the Ship-wash, a sandbank eight miles from land, the nearest port being
Harwich, from which its southern end is distant ten miles. The wreck was
discovered by several smacks soon after seven o’clock on the morning of
January 7th, 1876, and the news of the disaster was in the possession of
the coastguards at Walton, Harwich, and Aldborough, before ten o’clock
that day. Yet the crew were not taken off the wreck till the following
morning, after they had been more than twenty-four hours exposed to all
the horrors of a pitiless easterly gale, and the momentary expectation of
being swept into eternity. So ill-adapted was the system of sending
information along the coast that the news did not reach Ramsgate till the
next morning, and tug-boat and life-boat then started on a gallant but
fruitless expedition, to find that they had only just been forestalled by
the Harwich steamer. The Ramsgate men were thus needlessly exposed for
fourteen hours in a storm, with the cold so intense that the salt water
froze as it fell on the boat. “It is also significant,” says a writer in
_The Lifeboat_, “that the Aldborough life-boat’s crew declined to launch
their boat (they being fifteen miles from the wreck), mainly because there
were no sure grounds for concluding that the crew were still on board
it—information which could certainly have been conveyed by the Ship-wash
lightship had it had an electric wire communication with the shore; or,
failing that, by properly arranged ‘distant signals’ visible to the eye.”
The writer shows that had the information been telegraphed from the point
which it actually did reach about 10 a.m., either to the Admiralty or the
Board of Trade, or any other public department, assistance could with ease
have been sent to the wreck, by orders from London, not the day after, but
on the forenoon of the same day. And what might not have been the sad
consequences of delay, had the vessel been carrying a lot of helpless
passengers instead of nine hardy seamen?

A case occurred shortly after the above occurrence, illustrating the
necessity for prompt and suitable communication with land. The steamer
_Vesper_, of Hartlepool, was lost on the Kish Bank, four miles south of
the Kish light-ship. The crew of this wreck, which struck the bank at 5
a.m., though only _four_ miles from the light-ship, six of a coastguard
station on shore, and seven of another point, received no assistance, nor
did the light-ship pass the intelligence till 10 a.m., when a boatman at
Kingstown saw masts sticking out of the water on the Kish Bank, with
signals of distress flying from them. Promptly enough then the life-boat,
towed by H.M. steam-tender _Amelie_, proceeded to the wreck, only to find,
however, that on the steamer sinking the crew had taken to their own
boats, and being unburdened with passengers, had escaped to land. The
weather was moderate; had there been a gale, the story might have been far
different. What a reproach to our system! first, that the light-ship had
no means of signalling for assistance; and, second, that it had no means
afterwards of indicating that all hands were happily saved.





                               CHAPTER XXI.


               A CONTRAST—THE SHIP ON FIRE!—SWAMPED AT SEA.


        The Loss of the _Amazon_—A Noble Vessel—Description of her
       Engine-rooms—Her Boats—Heating of the Machinery—The Ship on
     Fire—Communication Cut off—The Ominous Fire-bell—The Vessel put
     before the Wind—A Headlong Course—Impossibility of Launching the
    Boats—“Every Man for Himself!”—The Boats on Fire—Horrible Cases of
             Roasting—Boats Stove in and Upset—The Remnant of
     Survivors—“Passing by on the Other Side”—Loss of a distinguished
      Author—A Clergyman’s Experiences—A Graphic Description—Without
    Food, Water, Oars, Helm, or Compass—Blowing-up of the _Amazon_—“A
    Sail!”—Saved on the Dutch Galliot—Back from the Dead—Review of the
    Catastrophe—A Contrast—Loss of the _London_—Anxiety to get Berths
    on her—The First Disaster—Terrible Weather—Swamped by the Seas—The
     Furnaces Drowned out—Efforts to Replace a Hatchway—Fourteen Feet
     of Water in the Hold—“Boys, you may say your Prayers!”—Scene in
    the Saloon—The Last Prayer Meeting—Worthy Draper—Incidents—Loss of
         an Eminent Tragedian—His Last Efforts—The Bottle Washed
    Ashore—Nineteen Saved out of Two Hundred and Sixty-three Souls on
        Board—Noble Captain Martin—The _London’s_ Last Plunge—The
                Survivors picked up by an Italian Barque.


No greater horror can occur at sea than for the good ship to be on fire.
At first sight, indeed, it might appear that in the midst of an unbounded
waste of waters nothing could be easier than to extinguish a conflagration
on board a vessel, but examples already cited in this work have shown the
difficulties in the way. Steam-ships have special facilities for pumping
water into almost any part of their hulls, yet one of the saddest examples
of a ship on fire is afforded in the loss of the _Amazon_, a steam-ship of
the first-class.

The _Amazon_ was one of a fleet of new vessels placed by the Royal Mail
Steam-ship Company on the West India service, and was stated to be, at the
time of her launching, the largest _timber-built_ steam-ship ever
constructed in England. She was of 2,256 tons burden, and fitted with
every improvement known at the time; her entire cost was stated at over
£100,000. When, on the 16th of December, 1851, she arrived at Southampton,
she was regarded as the perfect model of a passenger vessel. In due time
she was ready for sea, and having received her crew and engineers aboard,
and a little later her passengers and the Admiralty agent with mails, she
left Southampton on Friday, January 2nd, 1852. The officers were all tried
men, and her commander, Captain Symons, was one of those seamen whom large
steam-ship companies are only too glad to employ and retain. He was not
merely an officer of thoroughly competent skill, but a man of unbending
resolution, a man fitted to be a ruler among men, as should be every
commander of a great vessel. Only a few weeks before he had received the
thanks of the American Government, accompanied by a present of a silver
speaking-trumpet, for interposing, at the risk of his own life, in an
affair at Chagres between the Americans and the natives. On this occasion
he not only was the means of saving much valuable property, but by his
energetic conduct arrested a conflict, which, but for his intervention,
might probably have been attended with much bloodshed and slaughter. The
_Amazon_, a pioneer of the service she was to inaugurate, left Southampton
amidst a considerable amount of _éclat_, and commenced her voyage.

“And so,” says the work(88) from which much of the following account is
compiled, “the gallant ship sped on. The wind was right ahead, but her
engines were powerful, and she passed rapidly through the water. But it is
necessary, in order to make clear what follows, to describe the position
of her engines and boats.

“The engine-room was about the middle of the vessel, having sixteen
boilers—eight in the forward and as many in the after part. There were,
consequently, two funnels: one about midships, the other immediately
behind the foremast. In those vessels which have but one set of boilers
and one funnel these are placed in the after part of the engine-room,
while the store-room, containing tallow, oil, and other inflammable
materials, is placed forward. But the _Amazon_ having boilers at both
ends, it happened that the floor of the store-room rested directly on the
wood casing that surrounded the upper part or steam-chest of the forward
boilers.

“Then, with regard to the boats: most of the older vessels have life-boats
resting, bottom up, on the top of the paddle-boxes, according to a plan
much approved in the navy, and the smaller boats swing suspended over the
water, from two curved iron props, or davits, as they are technically
termed, by ropes that, running through a pulley, enable men seated in the
boats to lower themselves from the ship’s side to the water, when the
hooks by which the tackle is attached to the boats may at once be cast
off. But as it would be inconvenient that the boats so hung from the
davits should be swinging backward and forward with every roll of the
ship, ropes are lashed round them and fastened to the bulwark of the
vessel, in order to keep them steady. Now, in order to get quit of this
latter somewhat clumsy contrivance, as well as to ease the strain of the
boat upon the tackling by which it swings, a different mode of fastening
was adopted in the _Amazon_. There were the davits as usual, and the
common contrivance for lowering the boats into the water; but instead of
the undergirding ropes or guys, two iron props were introduced, each of
which, branching out at the top into two prongs, received in its groove
the keel of the boat, in which she sat as in a cradle, thus taking away
all strain from the ordinary tackling. This change in the mode of securing
the boats had, however, this effect: that, whereas in the former case the
boat’s crew had but to lower the boat and themselves into the water, by
the new mode it became necessary, before they could do that, to hoist the
boat up a few feet till it was got clear of the projecting points of the
crutch on which it rested. Of what fatal consequence this necessity was
will become too apparent in the course of the narrative.”

The machinery was perfectly new, and, as is frequently the case on first
trials, became much heated in the bearings: so much so, indeed, that water
had to be pumped over them. Whether or not the terrible disaster about to
be described resulted from that fact will never be known; it much more
probably occurred from some light being dropped upon the waste, &c., of
the oil-room. No neglect of duty was attributed to the engineers, who seem
to have been exceptionally careful.

About a quarter before one o’clock, Sunday, when the ship was about
entering the Bay of Biscay, Mr. Treweeke, the second officer, a most
promising and practical sailor, being then officer of the watch, was on
the bridge. Just before, Dunsford, quartermaster, had gone the rounds to
see that the lights were all out, and had reported that all was right; Mr.
Treweeke then was on the bridge, and Mr. Dunsford was standing under him
to receive orders. Mr. Vincent, one of the midshipmen, was on the
quarter-deck; all was still as the grave, save the monotonous throbbing of
the engines. He happened to look towards Mr. Treweeke at that moment, and
saw him leaning listlessly against the railing of the bridge. Suddenly
Treweeke started up, and looked earnestly at something apparently issuing
from the engine-room. That officer had discovered flames issuing thence,
and Dunsford was detailed to call the captain: and although he should have
performed his duty noiselessly, he managed, rather boisterously, to
disturb some of the passengers. The captain immediately ran out of his
cabin, half nude, and after finding that the fire was serious, ran back
and put on some clothes, immediately returning to the scene of action. At
the same time, Mr. Stone, the fourth engineer, saw fire on the starboard
foremost boiler from the iron platform on which he was standing, and
instantly gave the alarm. He even attempted to stop the engines, but the
smoke was so dense that he was obliged to retreat. One of the men, who was
going to the engine-room to warm himself, observed a glare of light in the
fore stoke-hole, and on examination found between the starboard
fore-boiler and the bulkhead a flame issuing as far as he could see. The
firemen’s backs were turned at the time, and he shouted out to them,
“Don’t you see the fire? Why don’t you get water?” They did not, however,
seem to notice it. He rushed aft, where the hose was kept, and tried to
drag it forward, shouting for assistance; but by the time the hose was
brought the flames of fire were rushing up through the oil, tallow, and
waste store-rooms. The flames were leaping upwards to the deck above.
Owing to the smoke, he was obliged to give up the hose, and rush on deck,
it being impossible to remain below any longer. The chief engineer, Mr.
Angus, and one of his assistants, tried to put on the hose, and kept by it
till they could not breathe. Hearing a cry for buckets on deck, Angus ran
aft as fast as he could, and the passengers were then breaking open the
saloon door to get on deck. Several attempts to get water to the flames
were unsuccessful or utterly ineffective.

The second engineer, Mr. William Angus, stated that when he was alarmed by
the cry of “Fire!” he was in the act of “blowing off”(89) the
after-boiler, and on coming up the lower platform ladder of the
engine-room, ran to set the “donkey” engine (which pumps the ship and
keeps the boilers a-going). A blast of smoke stopped him, and when he
recovered more or less from the suffocation he attempted to work her, but
failed. All the lamps were extinguished by the smoke. Mr. Stone, the
fourth engineer, came to his assistance, but was forced to retire. The
stokers and others found it equally impossible to remain. One of the
survivors described the progress of the flames in the engine-room “as that
of a great wave of fire, before which no man could stand and live.” He
stated that it rushed upon his mind that if the boilers were left in their
then state the water would soon become exhausted, and the boilers
themselves explode, so he turned on the water into them, and attempted to
remove the weights from the safety valves, so as to ease the pressure of
the steam. The glass above was cracking with the intensity of the heat.
“It was not three minutes from the time that the fire was discovered till
the ship was in flames.”

Above, on deck, all was horror, confusion, and despair, among the
passengers and crew. The flames, having broken out abaft the foremast,
rapidly extended across the whole breadth of the ship, forming a wall of
fire as high as the paddle-boxes, cutting off all communication. One or
two of the sailors, indeed, managed to get across the paddle-boxes,
cautiously creeping up one side and sliding down the other, but all other
means of access were effectually debarred. It was the sole chance of
safety, for the boats were all in the after part of the ship. “It would be
needless here to tell of the screams and shrieks of the horror-stricken
passengers, mixed with the cries of the animals aboard; of the wild
anguish with which they saw before them only the choice of death almost
equally dreadful—the raging flame or the raging sea, and of those fearful
moments when all self-control, all presence of mind, appeared to be lost,
and no authority was recognised, no command obeyed.” Meanwhile the ominous
fire-bell was ringing—the knell of many a poor man and woman that night.

                 [Illustration: BURNING OF THE “AMAZON.”]

                 [Illustration: THE “AMAZON” STEAM-SHIP.]

When Captain Symons rushed on deck, his first order was to “put up the
helm,” which was instantly obeyed. The helmsman, assisted by Mr. Treweeke,
the gallant second officer, worked at the wheel till the vessel “paid off”
and turned so as to go before the wind. The effects of the wind were, by
this device, somewhat moderated, but it had almost advanced to a gale, and
the paddles were revolving rapidly, carrying the doomed vessel through the
water with headlong speed. The flames were driven, however, forward and
away from the passengers and greater number of those on board. To this
movement, in fact, is to be attributed the preservation of the few boats
which, as we shall see, succeeded in leaving the ship. To extinguish the
fire was now out of question; while it was equally impossible to shut off
the steam and stop the vessel’s way. Yet, without this being done, no boat
could be launched into the water while the vessel was driving on at the
rate of thirteen knots an hour. Buckets of water were still thrown on the
burning mass; trusses of lighted hay and loose spars thrown overboard.
“Keep fast the boats for a while, and try to save the ship!” cried the
captain. But, alas! ship and crew were alike doomed. “Don’t lower the
boats!” repeated Captain Symons again and again; and the danger—at the
rate of the _Amazon’s_ speed—of attempting it was too obvious. Lieut.
Grylls, R.N., a passenger on board, was attempting to lower the tackle of
one of the boats, when Symons “seized him by the arm, and besought him to
desist, as he said everybody would be drowned. Lieut. Grylls then called
out to the person by the foremast fall, imploring him not to lower, as the
ship was going so fast. The person at the foremast fall, by constant and
urgent request of the people in the boat, let the fall go, by which means
the boat turned over, and, as nearly as could be seen, every one was
washed out of her. Seeing this at the moment, Lieut. Grylls attempted to
let go the after fall so as to save them, but the fall being jammed, and
having fouled, and the boat thus not being clear, her stern hung in the
air for a moment, until cut adrift by some one, when she turned over, and,
seeing the people washed away, Lieutenant Grylls turned away from the
appalling sight in horror. He then met, face to face, Captain Symons, who
called out for some one to help him to clear away the port life-boat,
which was stowed on the sponson, abaft the port paddle-box, and at the
same moment leaped into the boat, using every endeavour to clear her away.
Lieut. Grylls followed, and also exerted himself, but the flames having
reached the boat, and Captain Symons’s hair having caught in a blaze, and
one sleeve of his shirt, he was obliged to run off, and Lieut. Grylls was
compelled to follow him, both rushing through the flames and fire.”

About this time it was discovered that the ship was veering round, owing
to the helm having been lashed. A fresh order was shrieked out to keep her
before the wind, and two of the officers sprang forward to execute the
captain’s bidding. The passengers were now all on deck, with what feelings
we can imagine. “At last the shout was raised, ‘Every man for himself!’
but not by the captain. The captain called out, ‘Lower the starboard
life-boat!’ to which the answer was, ‘She is on fire!’ ‘Lower the larboard
(port, or left-hand) life-boat!’ ‘She is on fire!’ was still the cry. The
captain dropped the bucket which he idly held in his hand. ‘It’s all over
with us!’” But though he knew it so well, he did not relax an effort; nor
did Mr. Roberts, the chief officer, nor any of the officers, all of whom
went down with the ship. They were last seen collected in a group near the
helm; and to the close of that appalling scene nobly did their duty. The
last words the captain was heard to say were, “It has got too far.” He
then turned aft, took the wheel, and that appears to have been the last
that was seen of Captain Symons.

When it was discovered that the two life-boats were on fire, attention
could only be given to the other boats. All efforts must be made: better
to drown than to die in the midst of flames—suffocated, scorched. “One of
the passengers, Mr. Alleyne, of the West Indies, was observed pacing the
deck, with his hands clasped in prayer, patiently waiting that awful fate
from which he knew there was no escape. A gentleman and lady, in their
night-dresses only—both of which were on fire—came on deck, and, with
their arms round each other, walked over to one of the ship’s hatches, and
fell together into the flames. They had previously been seen standing
right abaft and looking perfectly collected, the gentleman before the
lady, apparently to keep the heat from her. A female passenger rushed on
deck, having on only her night-gown, the bottom of which and her legs were
much burnt. Three times she was placed in one of the boats which was
saved, but she refused to remain. Several persons hurriedly said to her
that they would soon give her plenty of clothing when she got away from
the ship, but modesty prevailed over the love of life, and she remained
behind to perish.”

A horrible story of one standing near the helm is given: his face and side
burnt, and a huge blister formed, which burst in; the skin was falling
away in ribbons. A little boy was also burnt black, and the skin was
falling from him in a similar manner. Still the vessel was dashing forward
in headlong speed, but still efforts were made to launch the boats; but
here, in consequence of the manner in which they were stowed—resting on
iron crutches or brackets, instead of being simply suspended, as
usual—unexpected difficulties presented themselves. It was necessary first
to raise them, put them over the bulwarks, and lower them—a work of time
and labour. In the hurry two of the boats were stove in; and in the case
of others, one end would be lowered properly, the other remaining high in
the air, so that the wretched passengers and sailors who crowded into them
were plunged violently into the water, escaping the fury of one element
only to be devoured by another. In one single case fifteen were thus
drowned, while one only escaped. Not to accumulate the details of horrors,
which constantly repeated themselves, it may be here stated that the whole
number of persons on board the _Amazon_ when she left Southampton was 162;
of these 110 formed the crew; there were 50 passengers, and the mail agent
and his servant. The first boat which landed at Plymouth brought in 21;
the _Gertruida_, a Dutch galliot, picked up a boat containing 16 on Sunday
night, and another containing 8 on the following morning. Another vessel,
also a Dutch galliot, picked up 13 more. The total number lost amounted,
therefore, to 104, and 58 only were saved.

A survivor stated that during the time they were drifting in their boat
towards the ship, which was burning broadside on to the wind, her mainmast
went first, the foremast following; it was a considerable time before the
mizen-mast fell, directly after which he noted a slight explosion of
gunpowder. Previous to this a barque hove in sight, and passed between
their boat and the burning ship. They judged her to be outward-bound from
her being under close-reefed topsails. As she passed at between three and
four hundred yards they hailed her several times with their united voices,
strengthened by all the energy of despair. She answered them, and brailed
her spanker, and they naturally thought she was preparing to bear up for
their rescue. “I shall never forget,” said the narrator, “the deep sob of
hope with which I noticed these preparations, or the bitterness of feeling
with which I saw him spread his canvas to the wind, and wear round past
the stern of the burning vessel, as he left us to our fate.”

Among those who perished on that terrible night was a distinguished
author, whose writings are, or should be, familiar to all readers.
Warburton(90) perished either in the flames or, as some thought, in one of
the boats which was swamped. He had been sent out by the Atlantic and
Pacific Junction Company, specially deputed to make a friendly arrangement
with the Indians of the isthmus of Darien. As an old and practised
traveller, he had proposed to stay on the isthmus for some time, in order
to study its topography, scenery, climate, and resources. The Rev. Acton
Warburton, his brother, on receipt of the fearful news, and with the fact
before him that there were boats not yet accounted for which had been seen
to leave the ship, proceeded in a steamer from Plymouth on January 17th,
in the hope that, by cruising about in the Channel and entrance to the Bay
of Biscay, some traces might be found of his missing relative. All was in
vain; no further vestiges of the crew or passengers were found. A few days
afterwards a homeward-bound vessel picked up at sea, among other fragments
of the wreck, three settees, or backed forms, which had stood on the deck
of the _Amazon_, and which had been lashed together, doubtless for the
purpose of supporting some of the crew or passengers in the water. Other
pieces of the wreck were washed ashore on different parts of the coast,
and a piece of burnt timber was picked up near the Eddystone, having
attached to it a fragment of a lady’s dress. One of the mail bags,
containing newspapers, unscorched, but very much damaged by sea-water, was
washed ashore near Bridport three weeks after the occurrence of the wreck.

         [Illustration: RESCUE OF THE SURVIVORS OF THE “AMAZON.”]

The Rev. William Blood, who was one of the survivors, was landed at
Plymouth in one of the boats late on Thursday night, and was much too ill
to commit his thoughts to paper during the Friday and Saturday following.
But on the Sunday following, in presence of 4,000 people, he, in the
course of an extempore sermon, gave his hearers a graphic description of
the catastrophe and of his escape from the wreck.(91) The first evening of
the voyage he sat up till between eleven and twelve o’clock, enjoying the
sea-breeze and the beauty of the scene. He had then retired, undressing
himself as at home, and had slept well. On the fatal night, however, he
seems to have had an indefinite presentiment that something was about to
occur. On that evening, says he, “without any cause, I was induced to
retire early (nine o’clock), and when going to bed it was deeply impressed
on my mind not to undress. I accordingly lay down upon the bed with my
clothes on, even my boots, and immediately fell into a sound sleep. At
about half-past twelve I awoke, greatly refreshed, and prepared for what
was to follow. No voice awoke me; no alarm had been given; no bell aroused
me. When I awoke, I felt surprised by a peculiar indescribable sensation
as of solitude, of vacancy; and on opening the window of my cabin, I
looked out, but saw no person; still all was silent; and with the same
feeling I arose, went out of the cabin, without even taking my watch,
which lay beneath my pillow, and, as I passed along the saloon, I
overheard the voice of the stewardess in the distance, saying, ‘The ship
is on fire!’ I then hastened towards the stairs at the fore part of the
ship, and saw (oh, horror!) the blaze ascending right across the vessel. I
ascended the stairs just in time to escape the flames. When on the deck, I
had merely time to walk across to the bulwarks, for on the deck the flames
were spreading with terrific rapidity.

“When I got on deck I saw no one, and heard no noise or confusion, so that
much of the disaster must have been over by that time. I then saw some men
endeavouring to lower one of the boats near the paddle-box, and at the
same moment I became fully aware of my awful position, and that I had to
choose between death by fire or by water, unless I made some effort to
save myself. With this conviction on my mind, I laid hold of a rope, and
swung myself over the ship’s side, and was just about to precipitate
myself into the boat beneath me, which was then swinging with her stern in
the water. In another moment her human freight were in the death struggle
in an element not less terrible or destructive than that from which they
had been making such frantic efforts to escape; and even at this moment
their appalling shrieks, as they struggled amidst the dark and gloomy
waves, seem to ring in my ears. Here, again, I think Divine interference
was manifested on my behalf, for an apparent accident saved me from that
boat. Almost crippled as I was, I managed, by the aid of the rope to which
I clung, to regain the now blazing deck, just as some of the crew were
endeavouring to release one of the life-boats from her very embarrassing
fastenings. They succeeded. She was turned over the ship’s side. I was in
her then; and, while suspended midway between fire and water, she turned
keel up, and her oars were thrown out. She righted in a few minutes after,
and when she did so I was still in her—by what means I know not, but that
the All-seeing eye was still upon me. In a minute or two more she was
lowered into the sea with her freight of thirteen human souls, and amidst
cries of ‘She is leaking!’ ‘She is stove in!’ ‘She will be swamped!’ but
at the same moment one of the crew in her cut the rope that bound her to
the blazing ship, and she at once dropped astern. We now made the terrible
discovery that she was really leaking, and with the apparent certainty of
having escaped one horrible death only to perish by another, we set our
wits to work to staunch the leak and bale out the water. Michael Fox, one
of the sailors—a man who merits much honour for his coolness and bravery
throughout—actually thrust his arm through the leak to arrest the ingress
of the water; while I handed him my cap, another gave his stockings;
others did likewise; and then, with such means as these, and with the aid
of our boots and two little empty casks, we managed to prevent the
life-boat from being swamped. While thus occupied, and being tossed about,
without food, water, oars, helm, or compass, totally at the mercy of the
contending elements, we had dropped about two miles astern of the doomed
ship. She was apparently motionless, while the sea continually broke over
us. A barque passed between the blazing pile and our ill-omened craft. Her
hull, sails, and rigging were reflected against that fearful blaze with a
blackness of shadow that appeared to render still deeper the depth of our
calamity, and which the morning’s light helped not to lessen, for the
barque had disappeared. After the barque had departed, we fancied we saw a
boat, somewhat like our own, close to us, and we hailed her, with all the
power of our united voices, for oars; but she either heeded or heard us
not, and quickly disappeared, and the impression was that she had been
swamped. Our frail tenement was still knocked about as I have stated,
still within sight of the burning ship; and at about five o’clock on
Sunday morning, when the powder on board caught light, she blew up,
presenting to our terror-stricken gaze a most awful and sublime spectacle.
Vast beams of flaming timber were hurled about in the air, and seemed
suspended there for a moment, and then disappeared with a hissing noise in
the roaring waters. A moment after, and all that remained unconsumable by
fire of that once noble specimen of our mercantile marine vanished like a
shot beneath the waves. And then came upon us that intensity of darkness
that lent an additional horror to our truly forlorn condition. However,
the merciful Ruler of our destinies had not deserted us; for as the
Sabbath morning’s light dawned the wind abated and the sea became
comparatively calm, except that there was still a heavy swell; but still,
there we were, thirteen human beings, in a frail, leaky boat, without an
atom of food of any sort, the vast ocean around us, and in a state of
perfect ignorance as to our geographical position, while our other
physical wants, such as of clothes, boots, &c., made our case truly
deplorable. By about twelve o’clock at noon, on Sunday, we had drifted, as
nearly as possible, to the spot where the Amazon had sunk; and upon the
then comparatively calm sea were strewn about but too many evidences of
the last night’s fearful devastation—immense spars, charred timbers,
barrels, bales, and boxes innumerable. We drew up one of the latter, got
it on board, forced it open, and found that it contained only a quantity
of shoes. To those each helped himself to a pair, and then threw the
remainder overboard.

“As the Sabbath morning advanced towards noon-day the glorious sun burst
forth, and appeared as a happy harbinger of the fortunate release in store
for us. The weather was fine, though there was a heavy swell in the sea,
and we were all up to our middle in water. William Angus, poor fellow, was
of no use in the boat. When leaving the ship, he had thrown himself
overboard, fell upon my back, and cut his head severely. He appeared in a
state of despondency for the loss of his brother; and another poor fellow
had part of the fingers of one of his hands chopped off. At two o’clock
the sun shone forth in all his splendour. By this time we had taken up
some of the bottom boards of the boat, and these we had converted into
paddles, rudder, and mast. Lieut. Grylls took from off his head his shirt,
which he had previously wrapped around it, and made a flag of it; and in
lieu thereof I tore off the skirts of my coat, one of which I tied around
his head, and with the other I made a cap for myself. The remainder of
that coat I still have, and will preserve as a memento; and so I ought,
for it served as a protection against the pouring rain, while our bodies
lay partially submerged in the water and the waves at times dashed over
us. This coat became most useful to me afterwards, during the eleven days
on board the galliot, for it served as a pocket-handkerchief, napkin, &c.

“There was a peculiar death-like feeling produced by being obliged to sit
in the water all night, while at the same time the whole body was
saturated with the rain and the billows poured their waters over us. At
one time, shivering with cold and wet, I strove to keep my back pressed
against another person to preserve the vital heat. Such cold I never felt
before. The casks which we found in the boat were of essential use. How
wonderful that they should have remained in the boat when she capsized and
threw out the oars, for without them she must have swamped.

“Dismal were the thoughts suggested on that day as to the future. Will a
storm arise? If so, our little vessel cannot live; she must be overwhelmed
by the raging billows! How long can we remain in the midst of the wide
extended ocean? Shall we starve—perish with hunger? Such were the gloomy
forebodings, when the thrilling, joyful exclamation of ‘A sail!’ burst
from the lips of one of the crew. Then followed the exclamation of, ‘Oh, I
hope she sees us! Does she hear us? Is she coming this way?’ She was then
on the very verge of the horizon, and—disappeared! Mute despair was then
plainly perceptible in every face. I had made up my mind to die of
starvation, but thought I could exist without food for a long time, for
having once been ill in Paris for three weeks without even having tasted
food of any sort during the whole of the time, I felt now prepared to go
through the same ordeal. But again the joyful sound was uttered by Lieut.
Grylls, ‘I see another sail!’ We then commenced tearing up the boards from
the bottom of the boat, and converting one of them into a mast, upon which
we attached a shirt as a signal of distress, and breaking the rest of them
into paddles and a helm, we determined, as our lives depended upon it, to
make a desperate effort to approach the welcome visitor. Hour after hour
was passing away—our progress through the waves was slow, and the sailors
were beginning to relax their efforts at the paddles in utter
hopelessness. The sun was fast fading away, and the horrors of another
night at sea in an open boat stared us in the face. I begged, prayed, and
entreated the men to continue their exertions, that with the light of day
we still had hope; an hour—perhaps a few minutes—may bring us near enough
to be seen. Alas! there were four out of the thirteen quite helpless—viz.,
poor Angus, the man who had lost his fingers, a boy, and a Spanish
gentleman, who appeared to have become quite paralysed. The sun was just
about to shed his last ray of light upon our eyes and hope in our hearts,
when those on board the vessel saw us, heard us, bore down upon us, and
took us on board. Had not the great God sent us this timely succour, no
account of our fate could have ever been made known, for any one of the
storms which prevailed during the following eight or nine days must have
destroyed us. We were hauled on board by means of ropes, and stowed in a
little cabin, 6 feet by 4½ only; but yet, what a palace compared to the
horrors from which we had just been rescued! This vessel was a small Dutch
galliot, and had a cargo of sugar from Amsterdam, consigned to Leghorn;
and was, therefore, desirous of landing at Gibraltar, it being on her
course. However, adverse winds set in; the captain of the galliot knew not
his position; he was unable to take an observation; and was, in
consequence, knocked about for nine days with this serious addition to his
crew. I had been visiting the house of a noble friend but a few weeks
before, but what was it compared to our present little home?” They were at
length safely landed at Plymouth.

Among so many gloomy incidents, one of another nature may well be
recorded. The name of Lieutenant Grylls has been mentioned as one of the
survivors. But the _Cornwall Gazette_ of January 8th had the following
announcement:—“Lost, on board the _Amazon_, mail steam-packet, on Sunday,
the 4th inst., in which vessel he had taken his passage to join H.M.S.
_Devastation_, to which ship he had been appointed as first lieutenant,
Lieutenant Charles Gerveys Grylls, R.N., aged twenty-five, eldest
surviving son of the Rev. Henry Grylls, vicar of St. Neots.” But early in
the morning of Friday a special messenger arrived at St. Neots, bearing a
letter to the good vicar from his son, stating that he was alive and safe,
and that he hoped to be with him in the evening. The news soon spread; all
the neighbouring hamlets turned out their inhabitants, the village bells
were rung, and a party of about 150 persons set off on the road to
Plymouth to draw him home by hand. This the gallant lieutenant would not
allow, being too anxious to return to his friends. A triumphal procession
was, however, formed, escorted by which this witness from the dead was
restored to his bereaved father. One can imagine the joy in the household,
and the strong revulsion of feeling there!

“On taking a review of this overwhelming catastrophe,” says the Rev. C. A.
Johns, “the reader will rise from a perusal of the narrative having his
mind painfully impressed with the fearful loss of human life; and as he
endeavours to picture to himself the incidents as they severally occurred,
he will be more inclined to doubt that any one was possessed of nerve
sufficiently strong to stand the first half-hour’s ordeal rather than to
wonder that so few escaped. A vessel, constructed of the best material
employed in ship-building—oak, teak, and Dantzic pine—but, nevertheless, a
structure of wood, bearing, in addition to cargo, crew, and passengers,
1,000 tons of inflammable coal, and a framework of massive iron,
unceasingly grinding with the force of 800 horses—sixteen furnaces and as
many huge boilers, all employed in generating the most powerful instrument
of usefulness or destruction (as the case may be) which man has reduced to
his will—a store-room in the vicinity of the boilers, plentifully stocked
with oil and tallow—well might the lip quiver and the cheek blanch at the
bare idea of FIRE being allowed to creep with but a flickering light
beyond its prescribed limits. But, besides all this, he will remember that
to this concatenation of perils—themselves too terrible to dwell on—must
be added contingencies which aggravated the danger in a tenfold degree.
The ship was new, her timbers were dry and resinous—not, as is the case
with sea-worn vessels, saturated with salt, and therefore less
inflammable, but converted into rapid fuel by the unusual heat, which from
some cause, explained or unexplained, was perceptible at a great distance
from her boilers; the crew, though young and efficient, and more than
one-half of them practised servants of the Company, were yet strange to
the ship, not even having had their various duties assigned to them, nor
familiar with the persons of their officers, as became evident afterwards
from the discrepancies in their statements of names; the wind was blowing
a gale in the direction which would most readily extend a conflagration
from the probable source of fire to the stern, where the majority of
passengers were congregated; the time was midnight; many of the officers,
weary with their previous exertions, were recruiting their strength by a
brief repose; most of the seamen and all the passengers were buried in
sleep; the sea was in a state of commotion; the place was the Bay of
Biscay, the dread of outward-bound mariners; the boats, though
unexceptionable as to number, capacity, and quality, were not stowed in
the usual simple way, but rested on brackets, from which it was necessary
for them to be lifted before they could be lowered even into that foaming
ocean. Suddenly the cry of Fire! is shrieked out; the bell is set
a-ringing—the death-knell—the knell of sudden, inevitable, agonising death
to many a stout heart on board that proud but perishing ship. He must
sleep soundly who failed to hear that piercing cry and the heartrending
shrieks which took it up. Some thought it of no consequence: ‘We will
dress, and hasten on deck, that we may help to extinguish it.’ But there
were some who knew better; they could look a hurricane in the face, they
could encounter a hailstorm of bullets in the execution of their duty, but
they knew that, with that enemy on board, the iron beams of the _Amazon_
could only be cooled by the water which rolled at the bottom of the ocean.
Those brave men did all they could—they gave their charge a brief space to
make their peace with God, if God were in their thoughts, and resigned
themselves to His keeping who alone could help them. Before the least
terrified could gain the deck the flames were soaring above the funnels. A
flight of fire was sweeping the deck; it extended from one side of the
vessel to the other; it separated those in the fore-part from those in the
stern; it shot forth from the port-holes; it singed the hair and scorched
the skin of those who were furthest from its reach; and the air of heaven
was one huge blast-pipe, fanning it into fury! Are the fire-engines of no
avail? They are themselves burning. Then stop the paddle-wheels, that the
boats may be launched. Alas! the engineers, half suffocated, have long
been driven from the engine-room, and the levers are beyond their reach.
But the ship yet answered her helm, and was put before the wind. And now
the flames were borne in an opposite direction, towards the bow, and the
gale seemed to be diminished. Now the captain cried, ‘Lower the larboard
lifeboat!’ ‘It is on fire!’ ‘Lower the starboard lifeboat!’ ‘It is on
fire!’ Other boats yet remain, and crew and passengers crowd into them.
Fatal haste! It was a work of time and difficulty to lift them from their
sockets before, with this addition to their weight it is next to
impossible. One after another they are tumbled, rather than lowered, into
a sea which, from the rapid motion of the vessel, appears to be rushing
from them. Some hang suspended, and their cargoes are swept away by the
boiling surge; one is swamped, another is stove in. Still the fire is
drawing nearer; it surrounds the boilers, and the water contained in them
is nearly exhausted. When that has happened they will burst, perhaps, and
then the engines will cease to work. Strange that success in effecting an
escape should be promoted by the bursting of a boiler—an accident which,
had it come alone, would have occasioned terror and dismay. No one knows,
amidst the overwhelming din of air, fire, water, steam, human shrieks, and
even the cries of dumb animals, whether this event happened or not. It was
not dreaded—it was hoped for. It could not have added to the dismay, so,
if it happened? it was unnoticed.

“However that may be, the ship could not free herself from her destroyer,
but moderated her speed. A few boats were put off—no living soul can say
how many—all, probably, that were left, and then, perhaps, the officers
embarked on a raft, and—we dare not carry our thoughts further in that
direction.

“The vessel lay a burning log on the waters for four or five hours, and
then, as if an evil demon had possessed her, or as if some gorgeous _fête_
had now reached its close, threw up a discharge of brilliant fireworks—and
the billows of the Atlantic swept unconcernedly over her hissing embers.”

The following example—the terrible loss of the _London_—presents a
striking contrast to that of the _Amazon_. She was literally _swamped_ at
sea, and there are no recorded parallels to the case on such a scale.
Vessels, indeed, are often lost by great leakage produced by collision,
but the cases are rare in modern days and in well-found ships, where
ordinary leakage and water “shipped” on deck makes any great difference,
and in steam-ships the pumps worked by the “donkey” engine, as a rule,
effectually prevent any danger from these sources.

                      [Illustration: THE “LONDON.”]

The _London_ was a first-class passenger steamship of her day. She was
nearly new, of 1,700 tons, and valued at £80,000. She belonged to a
distinguished firm, and had been constructed on the most approved
principles. Her commander, Captain Martin, was an officer of ripe
experience, and this was her third voyage. She had acquired a first-class
reputation; and for months before the time(92) of sailing, berths were so
eagerly engaged that it would have been difficult to accommodate, in the
roughest manner, many more, while in the saloon there were no vacancies.
One lady who was desirous of proceeding with her family from Plymouth to
Melbourne had made repeated applications to the owners’ agents, and the
captain had been consulted, but, fortunately for the applicant, had
declared that the cabins were so full that he could not possibly
accommodate her—a result that, at the time, caused her much
disappointment; afterwards she had reason to thank her good fortune. A
second-class male passenger was so alarmed at the rough weather which the
_London_ encountered on her way from the Thames to Plymouth, that on
arrival at the latter he went ashore, resigned his passage, and returned
to his home, thus unwittingly saving his life. A young man, as the result
of some family quarrel, had left his home, and taken a passage by the
_London_. He was advertised for in the _Times_, and importuned to return,
his friends being at first unaware of his whereabouts. Messengers were
sent down to Plymouth, his friends having later acquired some clue to his
movements, and an influential ship-broker in the town was employed to
intercept his flight should he attempt to sail thence. Fortunately, he was
detected among the passengers of the _London_, and the fact communicated
to his family by the broker, the result of which was that a brother of the
young man went down to Plymouth, and persuaded the would-be emigrant to
forego his voyage.

The _London_ left the East India Docks on December 29th, and on account of
the severity of the weather remained at anchor at the Nore during part of
the 30th and the whole of the 31st. This fact alone would indicate that
Captain John Martin, her commander, was a careful seaman. The weather
remained boisterous, and after getting out into the Channel the pilot
decided to take the vessel for shelter to Spithead. When the weather had
abated she proceeded to Plymouth, arriving there on the 5th of January.
Here an incident occurred, ominous in its nature, and particularly
distressing at the commencement of a voyage, more especially as many
passengers at such a time are nervous and fearful. The small boat from a
Plymouth pilot cutter, which had on board the pilot and his assistant, was
swamped. The latter was rescued by a boat from the _London_, but the pilot
was drowned. The remainder of the day was occupied in shipping an
additional number of passengers and filling up with coal. She sailed the
same evening. The weather is described as having been then moderate.

On the 6th and 7th of January the wind rose, accompanied by strong squalls
and a high sea, which caused the ship to roll considerably. Still the
weather was not so boisterous but that Divine service was held on the 7th,
it being the Sabbath. On Monday, the 8th, the wind freshened to a gale
from the south-west, and at 9 a.m. the captain ordered the engines to be
stopped, and to make sail. At 5 p.m. the weather improved, and all sails
were taken in, and steaming resumed. Early on Tuesday the wind increased
to a hard gale, with a very heavy sea, the ship going under steam only,
and at the reduced rate of two knots an hour. At this time she pitched
with terrible violence, taking whole seas over her bows. At 7 a.m. an
unusually heavy sea broke into the life-boat stowed on the port-quarter,
filled her completely, and carried her overboard with all her gear. At 9
a.m. the ship gave a tremendous pitch, so as to bury herself forward, when
the sea carried away the jib and flying jibbooms, and they took with them
the fore-top mast and fore-top gallant, the fore-royal and main-royal
masts, with all their spars, sails, and rigging. The masts fell in-board,
and hung suspended by the rigging, but the jibbooms remained under the
bows, fastened to the ship by their stays, which were of wire. Every
effort to get them clear failed till next morning, it having blown a
furious gale all night from the south-west, with a sea that kept
constantly washing all forward. On the morning of Wednesday, the 10th, the
gale continued without the least abatement, and at 3 a.m. the captain gave
orders to Mr. Greenhill, the engineer in charge, to get up full steam, as
he intended to put back to Plymouth, in order to refit. The ship’s course
was accordingly shaped for home, the fore and mizen stay-sails were set,
and she steamed along moderately at the rate of five or six knots. In the
course of the morning, the masts, which up to that time had been swinging
about aloft, were secured, and the wreck of the jibboom cleared away.
Observations taken that day indicated that she was about 200 miles from
the Land’s End. At 6 p.m. both the fore and mizen stay-sails were carried
away in a furious squall; another life-boat and the cutter were washed
clean overboard and lost. At 9 p.m. the wind increased to a perfect
hurricane from the north-west, the squalls blowing with a degree of fury
seldom paralleled. The engines were stopped, and the ship put under the
main top-sail only, which was soon blown away in shreds. The captain once
more ordered the engines to be set in motion. Up to this time,
notwithstanding the heavy seas she encountered, it does not appear that
the vessel had shipped much water.

                 [Illustration: THE “LONDON” GOING DOWN.]

At half-past 10 p.m. a terrific sea broke upon the ship over the weather
or port gangway, and an immense mass of water, the crest of a mighty wave,
descended almost perpendicularly over the hatch of the engine-room,
smashing it right in, admitting tons upon tons of water, washing from the
deck into the engine-room two men, a seaman and a passenger. There being
nothing to obstruct the influx of sea, the engine-room began to fill with
water. The fires were extinguished at once, and in about eight minutes the
engines ceased to work. The engineers remained below till the water was
above their waists, and they could work no more. The large bilge-pumps
also proved useless, and the condition of the ship became utterly
helpless, often rolling into the trough of the sea, rolling gunwale under,
and labouring heavily. The captain called on those who were baling, “Men,
put down your buckets, and come and try to secure the engine-room hatch,
for that’s our only chance of saving the ship! Secure that, and we may
keep her afloat yet.” Every endeavour, however, to replace the hatch
proved unavailing. Efforts were made to stop the opening with sails,
mattrasses, and spars, but without success; and although the donkey-engine
and pumps were kept at work, yet the water quickly gained upon them, and
all their efforts were fruitless. It was then that the captain uttered
words of which he knew the full meaning, and which must have thrilled
through many of the passengers’ bosoms who had hitherto been hoping
against hope—“Boys, you may say your prayers!” All was over with them.

At 4 a.m of the 11th a tremendous sea struck the ship abaft, which stove
in four windows, or stern-ports, of the upper or poop cabin. Through the
breaches thus made the sea rushed into the ship in such quantities that
the ’tween decks were soon half full of water. The ship at this time was
settling fast; the captain went into the engine-room, and, with the
engineer, took soundings, when it was found that there was fourteen feet
of water in her. The captain then told Greenhill that he had abandoned all
hope of saving her, and shortly afterwards made a similar communication to
the passengers. At about 10 a.m. the captain ordered the boats to be got
ready, which was done, and the starboard pinnace, which was of iron, was
lowered into the water, but was almost immediately upset by the sea, and
lost. Shortly after this the captain entered the saloon, and said,
“Ladies, there is no hope for us, I’m afraid. Nothing short of a miracle
can save us!”

During the hours of agony and horror which had preceded this announcement
the Rev. Mr. Draper,(93) a Wesleyan minister on board, was incessant in
administering religious comfort to his fellow-sufferers; and we are told
by the survivors that the women (all of whom perished in the sequel) sat
about him reading their Bibles, with their children grouped around; “and
occasionally some man or woman would step up to him and say, ‘Pray with
me, Mr. Draper’—a request that was always complied with.” What a scene
must have been presented at that last prayer-meeting in the cabin, the
ship labouring and tossing the while; the waves, with their ominous roar,
breaking over her and dashing against her; while by half-extinguished
lights little groups of earnest, pale-faced people huddled together,
shivering and trembling, before the doomed _London_ took her last leap
into the dark waters!

After the announcement by the captain that they must prepare for the
worst, Mr. Draper is stated to have stood erect, and with a clear, firm
voice, the tears streaming from his eyes, said, “The captain tells us
there is no hope—that we must all perish; but I tell you there is hope for
_all_!” The reader will know what the good old man meant. Mrs. Draper is
said at the last moment to have handed her rug to one of the seamen who
was attempting to get off in a boat, and when asked what she would do
without it, she replied, “It will only be for a few moments longer.”

As there were so few survivors to tell the tale, the incidents which must
have occurred during this terrible time are necessarily somewhat meagre.
One passenger rushed on deck labouring with a heavy carpet-bag, which he
expected to save with his life. The captain could hardly forbear, even at
that terrible time, a melancholy smile at the absurdity of a man at such a
moment taking any thought about his property. When the only boat which got
off safely was about to leave the fated ship, a lady entreated to be taken
on board, offering a thousand guineas as a reward. But it was
impossible—millions could not have saved her. A passenger who was saved,
just before leaving in the boat, went into the cabin to persuade a friend
to join him. “No,” said the other; “I promised my wife and children to
stay by them, and I will!” His friend helped him to remove the children to
a drier part of the cabin, and then, with a sad good-bye, ran up to the
deck. When last seen, the man was still standing with his wife and little
ones. Another passenger said to a friend, also one of the few saved,
“Jack, I think we are going to go.” “I think we are,” was the answer. “We
can’t help it,” rejoined the first; “but there’s one thing I regret:” and
he went on to explain how some £500 of his money was in the Bank of
Victoria, and he evidently feared some hitch in its recovery. “I should
have liked my poor father to have it.” He was a true son to the last.

As at the wreck of the _Amazon_ a distinguished author lost his life, so
on the _London_ a great actor, the celebrated G. V. Brooke, perished, but
perished nobly. The _Times_ (quoting the _Western Morning News_ of the
date) says:—

“Down into the waves, with 269(94) others, has sunk Gustavus V. Brooke,
the famed tragedian, who was bound for the country which had been the
scene of a reverse of fortune for him, but previously of many successes.
He was a tall man, of powerful build, and he is stated by the rescued
passengers to have exerted himself to the utmost in trying to keep the
ship afloat. The Dutch portion of the crew, twenty-one in number, refused
to work, and, according to the English sailors who were saved, these men
went to their berths and remained there, so that the passengers had to
work at the pumps for many hours with the English seamen. Mr. G. V. Brooke
exerted himself incessantly; attired only in a red Crimean shirt and
trousers, with no hat on, and barefooted, he went backwards and forwards
to the pumps, until working at them was found to be useless, and when last
seen, about four hours before the steamer went down, he was leaning with
grave composure upon one of the half-doors of the companion; his chin was
resting upon both hands, and his hands were on the top of the door, which
he gently swayed to and fro, while he calmly watched the scene. One of the
passengers who saw him said, ‘he had worked wonderfully—in fact, more than
any man on board the ship.’ To the steward, to whom Mr. Brooke made
himself known, he said, ‘If you succeed in saving yourself, give my
farewell to the people of Melbourne.’”



The last trace of the gifted tragedian is found in the following episode.
In the _Times_ of March 20, 1866, appeared the following letter from Mrs.
Brooke (Avonia):—






                      “To the Editor of the _Times_.

“Sir,—On Friday night I received the last written words of my dear
husband. They were found in a bottle on the Brighton beach, and forwarded
to me by Mr. C. A. Elliott, of Trinity College, Cambridge. They are
written in pencil on a torn envelope, and read as follows:—‘11th January,
on board the _London_. We are just going down. No chance of safety. Please
give this to Avonia Jones, Surrey Theatre.—Gustavus Vaughan Brooke.’

“Will you be kind enough to insert this fact in your valuable journal,
for, sad as the message is, he has many friends who will be glad once more
to hear from him, even though his words have come from his very grave.

                                                     “With respect, &c.,
                                                          “AVONIA BROOKE.”
“36, Albemarle Street, Piccadilly.”






At 2 p.m. there could not be a doubt—the vessel was sinking rapidly. The
captain then directed Greenhill that, as the port cutter was ready for
lowering, he had some chance of saving himself, and that he had better get
into her. The captain shook hands with him, and said, “There’s not much
chance for the boat; there’s none for the ship. Your duty is done, mine is
to remain here.” The boat was lowered, and four men, followed by others of
the crew, got into her. When asked to come into the boat, the captain
answered in the true spirit of a sailor-hero, “No, I will go down with the
passengers, but I wish you God speed, and safe to land!” Noble John Bohun
Martin!(95) But not, thank God! the only one on record; he was but one of
the noble army of sailor martyrs of whom Mrs. Hemans sung so touchingly:—

  “Yet more! the billows and the depth have more!
    High hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast!
  They hear not now the booming waters roar;
    The battle thunders will not break their rest.
  Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave!
    Give back the true and brave!

  “Give back the lost and lovely! those for whom
    The place was kept at board and hearth so long,
  The prayer went up through midnight’s breathless gloom,
    And the vain yearning woke ’midst festive song!
  Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers or throne—
    But all is not thine own.

  “To thee the love of woman hath gone down;
    Dark flow the tides o’er manhood’s noble head,
  Or youth’s bright locks, and beauty’s flowery crown:
    Yet must thou hear a voice—Restore the dead!
  Earth shall reclaim her precious things from thee!
    Restore the dead, thou sea!”

            [Illustration: GETTING OUT THE “LONDON’S” BOATS.]

The boat, into which the captain had thrown a compass, and to the
occupants of which he had shouted their course, “NNE. to Brest!” left the
sinking _London_ none too soon. The number in the boat consisted of
nineteen souls, all that were saved by any means, and comprised the first,
second, and third engineers, one midshipman, twelve of the crew, and
_three_ passengers (all second class; no first class or steerage
passengers whatever were saved). Shortly afterwards those who went in the
boat pushed off from the ship, seeing that she must immediately sink, and
apprehending that the boat might be sucked in as she went down. They had
hardly got eighty yards off, when the stern of the _London_ plunged
beneath the waves, with crew and passengers and all. Her bows stood
upright for a moment or two preceding the fatal plunge, exposing the keel
as far as the foremast. The wind was howling so fiercely that not a sound
could be heard of the shrieks and groans of over two hundred persons who
were going, in sight of the pitiful remnant in the boat, to their last
doom. They saw a whole group of passengers suddenly swept off the deck,
and they saw that the remaining boat, full of people, was drawn down into
the vortex made by the sinking ship. The third officer, Mr. Arthur Angel,
aged 20, with noble devotion to his duty, was observed still at his post
by the pumps as she went down. The next minute there was but a watery
waste over the grave of that devoted band, so full of hope and life but a
day before.

With but a few biscuits on board, and drenched to the skin by every wave,
the nineteen survivors in their open boat drifted about for twenty hours.
They fancied that they saw a ship through the gloom, and raised their
voices in one united shout. They were heard, and their hail returned; but
they were not seen, and had no light to show. The ship tacked again and
again in the hopes of finding them, and when their suspense was at its
highest, sailed away, and they saw her dim form disappearing in the
darkness. When day dawned another ship was sighted far in the distance. A
shirt was hoisted for a signal, and the oars were zealously plied. After
five hours they were rescued by this vessel, the Italian barque
_Marianople_, on board which they received a hearty welcome from the
captain and his men. They were eventually landed safely at Falmouth.





                              CHAPTER XXII.


                EARLY STEAMSHIP WRECKS AND THEIR LESSONS.


     The _Rothsay Castle_—An Old Vessel, unfit for Sea Service—A Gay
     Starting—Drifting to the Fatal Sands—The Steamer Strikes—A Scene
        of Panic—Lost Within easy reach of Assistance—An Imprudent
        Pilot—Statements of Survivors—A Father and Son parted and
       re-united—Heartrending Episodes—The Other Side: Saved by an
     Umbrella—Loss of the _Killarney_—Severe Weather—The Engine-fires
    Swamped—At the Mercy of the Waves—On the Rocks—The Crisis—Half the
         Passengers and Crew on an Isolated Rock—Spolasco and his
       Child—Holding on for Dear Life—Hundreds Ashore “Wrecking”—No
      Attempts to Save the Survivors—Several Washed Off—Deaths from
       Exhaustion—“To the Rescue!”—Noble Efforts—Failure of Several
        Plans—A Novel Expedient adopted—Its Perils—Another Dreary
     Night—Good Samaritans—A Noble Lady—Saved at Last—The Inventor’s
        Description of the Rope Bridge—The Wreck Register for One
               Year—Grand Work of the Lifeboat Institution.


The _Rothsay Castle_ was a steamship built in 1812, and was little enough
adapted for marine navigation. She was one of the first vessels of the
kind on the Clyde, and was perhaps constructed for the ordinary wear and
tear to which a river vessel is exposed, but certainly, at her age, should
never have been allowed to leave Liverpool for Beaumaris in weather so bad
that an American vessel which had been towed out that day had been
compelled to return to port. She had been, it was said, at one time,
condemned to be broken up, but other counsels had prevailed, and she had
been patched up and repaired for continued service.

At ten o’clock on Wednesday morning, the 17th August, 1831, the vessel was
appointed to sail from the usual place, George’s Pier-head, Liverpool; but
there was a casual delay at starting, and she did not leave till an hour
later. She was freighted heavily, and it was computed that hardly less
than 150 persons (if the children carried free were counted) were on
board. A majority were holiday seekers; the vessel was tricked out with
colours, and as the vessel left a band struck up its gayest music. Among
the pleasure parties on board was one from Bury, in Lancashire, consisting
of twenty-six persons. They set out in the morning, joyous with health and
pleasant anticipations, and before the next sun arose all of them, except
two, had been swallowed up in the remorseless deep!(96)

The vessel proceeded very slowly on its course, making so little way that
at three o’clock in the afternoon she had not reached a floating light
stationed about fifteen miles from Liverpool. Arrived off the light, the
sea was so rough that many of the passengers were greatly alarmed, and
one, who had his wife, five children, and servant on board, went down to
the captain and begged him to put back. The captain answered, with an
oath, that he thought there was “a deal of fear on board, and very little
danger.” The whole family was among the lost. The vessel drifted out of
her course, and proceeded so slowly that the alarm on board became
general.

              [Illustration: WRECK OF THE “ROTHSAY CASTLE.”]

One of the survivors stated that the leakage was so great that the fireman
found it impossible to keep the fires up, two being actually extinguished,
while the coals were so wet that it was with difficulty the others were
kept in. Yet there were no attempts made to sound the well or ascertain
what water was in the vessel. It was near twelve o’clock when they arrived
at the mouth of the Menai Strait, about five miles from Beaumaris, and
here her steam suddenly got so low that she drifted with the tide and wind
towards the Dutchman’s Bank, on the spit of which she struck. Now came a
time of awe and consternation. The crowded boat rolled in a frightful
manner, and the worst fears of the passengers seemed to be on the point of
realisation. The seas broke over her on either side. The engine had
previously stopped for about ten minutes, the coals being covered in
water, and the pumps were choked. On her striking, the captain said, “It
is only sand, and she will soon float.” Only sand! More vessels have been
lost on sands than ever were on rocks. In the meantime he and some of the
passengers got the jib up. No doubt he did this intending to wear her
round, and bring her head to the southward, but it did not, it proved,
make the least difference which way her head was turned, as she was on a
lee shore, and there was no steam to work her off. The captain also
ordered the passengers first to run aft, in the hope, by removing the
pressure from the vessel’s bow, to make her float.(97) This failing to
produce the desired effect, he then ordered them to run forward. But all
these exertions were unavailing; the ill-fated vessel stuck still faster
in the sands, and all gave themselves up for lost. The terror of the
passengers became excessive. Several of them urged the captain to make
some signal of distress, which he is said to have refused to do, telling
the passengers that there was no danger, and that the packet was afloat,
and _on her way_, knowing well that she was irretrievably stuck in the
treacherous sands, and that she was rapidly filling from her leaks. The
unfortunate man was fully aware of the imminent danger they were in, and
we may charitably suppose that he made such statements to prevent a panic.
The great bell was now rung, with so much violence that the tongue broke,
and some of the passengers continued to strike it for some time with a
stone. The bell was heard at Beaumaris, for the night was clear, with
strong wind; but it was not known from whence the sound came, and no
trouble appears to have been taken. The tide began to set in with great
strength, and a heavy sea beat over the bank on which the steam-packet was
firmly and immovably fixed. It was the duty of the captain now to make
every possible exertion, by signals, to procure assistance from shore. It
is said that if a light had been shown on board the unlucky steamer, the
boats from upwards of twenty vessels lying at Bangor would undoubtedly
have saved the larger part of the unfortunate passengers. The masts should
have been cut away, not merely to ease the vessel, but to afford some
chance to the poor people. At Penmaen Point an establishment of pilots had
been fixed by Lord Bulkeley, for the express purpose of rendering
assistance in such cases. “The world,” says Lieut. Morrison, “will hardly
credit the astonishing fact that their establishment is within little more
than a mile and a half from the scene of wretchedness, and that, the wind
being fair, the boats from thence could have reached the spot in about ten
minutes. A single blue light burned, a single rocket fired, or even a
solitary musket discharged, would have ensured this happy result.” The
evidence showed that there was nothing of the kind. Probably no sea-going
steamer, carrying 150 passengers, was ever left so utterly unprovided with
proper appliances.

The scene that now presented itself baffles description. A horrible death
seemed to be the doom of all on board, and the females in particular
uttered the most piercing shrieks. Some locked themselves in each other’s
arms, while others, losing all self-command, tore off their bonnets, caps,
and other portions of clothing, in wild despair. The women and children
gathered in a knot together, and kept embracing each other, uttering all
the while the most dismal lamentations. “When tired with crying,” says
Morrison, “they lay against each other, with their heads reclined, like
inanimate bodies. It was a few minutes before that a Liverpool Branch
pilot on board, William Jones, became aware in all its extent of their
dreadful situation. He is reported to have exclaimed, ‘We are all lost!’
which threw down whatever hopes any on board had till now entertained, and
induced them to give themselves up to bitter despair. This was sadly
imprudent, and little like the conduct I should have expected from such a
man. He ought to have set an example of preparing something in the nature
of a raft, to save what lives could be saved; and as he must have known
that it was low water, and the whole of the Dutchman’s Bank was dry within
a few yards of them, and the tide just setting on to it, there can be no
reason to doubt that he might have been by this means instrumental in
saving many of the unhappy victims as well as himself.”

                    [Illustration: THE MENAI STRAITS.]

One of the survivors stated that after the vessel had struck several times
his wife and some friends came to him, and asked if he thought they must
be lost. “I thought,” said he, “we should, and they proposed going to
prayer for the short time we had to live. We all went to prayer, myself
and wife in particular, and when we got from our knees I saw four men
getting upon the mast, and beginning to fasten themselves to it. I told my
wife I would look out for a better situation for us. I took her towards
the windlass, and began to fasten a rope to the frame where the bell hung;
and when I had got the rope made fast, and looked back for my wife, she
had again joined our friends near to the place at which we kneeled down. A
great wave almost took me overboard, but I held by the rope; then came a
second and a third wave before I could see my wife again; and when I
looked—they were all gone.(98)

“I then prepared to die myself in the place I was at, and remained in that
situation till daylight, at which time about fifty people remained on
board. As the waves came the people kept decreasing, until all were gone
except myself. I remained on the wreck until I saw a boat coming, which
took me on board, and also rescued those on the mast, and afterwards
others. We were then taken to Beaumaris, and treated with the greatest
hospitality and kindness.”

Another survivor, after detailing the facts preliminary to the disaster,
said: “The waves broke heavily on the vessel; the chimney became loose,
and first reeled to leeward, then to windward, and tumbled over with a
great crash. The mainmast then went overboard, and remained hanging to the
vessel by the rigging. The captain still assured us we should be saved,
and that assistance would shortly arrive. I requested him to fire a gun;
he said he had none on board. A small bell was then rung, but its noise
would probably be lost in the roar of the wind and waves. Some of the
passengers asked the captain to hoist a light; he said he had none; but we
knew he had a lantern, for one of the crew took it round when he collected
the checks, about half an hour before the vessel struck. The confusion
occasioned by the falling of the chimney and the mast, together with the
cries and shrieks of the women and children, defies description. Men were
seen taking leave of their wives; wives were clinging to their husbands;
and persons were running about in all directions, uttering the most
piteous and heartrending cries. From the weight of the chimney, the vessel
continued lying to windward, and very soon after the mast went the weather
boards gave way; and as the waves then swept the deck the passengers
stationed themselves on those parts of the vessel which lay highest.
Several climbed up the mast which was left standing; others got on the
poop. The weather boards on the leeward side were then washed away, taking
with them more than thirty people, who were clinging to them. The cries
were now more dreadful than before, every succeeding wave sweeping numbers
from the wreck. I took a situation beside one of the paddle-boxes, and
whilst there a young man came to me with a large drum, and said it would
save both of us, if I held on one side and he on the other. Some females
came and clung round us, but the young man stuck to the drum, and told
them to get hold of the first piece of timber they could.... Of what
further happened I have but a confused recollection, and it appears to me
like the traces of a horrible dream. It seemed as if I had been in the
water many days, when I heard the welcome sound of a human voice shout
‘Holloa!’ to which I also shouted ‘Holloa!’ Soon after I was lifted out of
the water, and placed in a boat belonging to R. Williamson, Esq., who,
when he was informed of the calamity which had befallen us, manned two
boats, and came out to pick up the sufferers. On being taken up I asked my
deliverers when it would be daylight, and they told me it was broad day—it
was about ten o’clock in the forenoon. I was stone blind. Mr. Williamson
and the boat’s crew were most kind to me. I was kept on board until I was
sufficiently restored to meet my sister and the other survivors at
Beaumaris. I cannot omit to express my most grateful thanks to my
deliverers and benefactors. Their noble humanity has left an impression on
my heart which will never be effaced but with my existence.”

“Amidst these almost overwhelming distresses,” says the Rev. Mr. Stewart,
in one of his letters to a friend, “involving in one general calamity men,
women, children, and even tender infants, it is a rest to the heart to
turn for a moment to some special marks of divine mercy. I am sure, my
very dear friend, the following incident, related to me by the father of
the boy, will deeply affect you. He was near the helm with his child,
grasping his hand, till the waves, rolling over the quarter-deck, and
taking with them several persons who were standing near them, it was no
longer safe to remain there. The father took his child in his hands and
ran towards the shrouds, but the boy could not mount with him. He cried
out, therefore, ‘Father! father! do not leave me!’ But finding that his
son could not climb with him, and that his own life was in danger, he
withdrew his hand. When the morning came, the father was conveyed on shore
with some other passengers who were preserved, and as he was landing he
said within himself, ‘How can I see my wife without having our boy with
me?’ When, however, the child’s earthly parent let go his hand his
Heavenly Father did not leave him. He was washed off the deck, but happily
clung to a part of the wreck on which some others of the passengers were
floating. With them he was almost miraculously preserved. When he was
landing, not knowing of his father’s safety, he said, ‘It is of no use to
take me on shore now I have lost my father.’ He was, however, carried,
much exhausted, to the same house where his father had been sent, and
actually placed in the same bed, unknown to either, till they were clasped
in each other’s arms.”

Among the victims was that of a lady entirely _unknown_. The body of this
poor creature had been picked up near Conway, and it was evident that she
had been one of fortune’s favourites, though destined to a death so cruel.
She was elegantly and fashionably attired, wearing rich earrings, gold
chain and locket, three valuable rings in addition to her wedding-ring,
and so forth. In a day or two she was buried in a common deal shell, and
followed to a nameless grave by strangers.

It appears, by the pilot’s statement, that early in the afternoon he had
been invited by the steward to take some refreshment with him, and in the
course of conversation a very strong opinion was given by the steward that
Captain Atkinson never _intended_ to reach Beaumaris, and that the voyage
he was now making would be his last. By the expression “intended” he
explained was meant _expected_, and the result proved the opinion to be
too fatally correct. Tired by what he had gone through before entering the
packet, the pilot lay down in the forecastle to sleep. He was aroused by a
sensation beyond all others most dreadful—he felt the vessel strike, and
his experience told him all was over. Hastily rushing upon deck, his
courage and coolness were for a moment quite overcome. “I saw,” said he,
“the quality huddled together in the waist of the vessel; and the praying
and crying was the most dreadful sight to witness. The waves broke over on
both sides, and took away numbers at once. They went like flights,
sometimes many, sometimes few; at last the bulwark went, and none were
left.”

The vessel had scarcely struck when the two stays of the chimney broke.
These, after many ineffectual efforts, were again made fast; but they soon
gave way a second time, and the chimney fell across the deck, bringing the
mainmast with it. The mast, it is stated, fell aft along the lee or
larboard side of the quarter deck, and struck overboard some of the
unfortunate creatures who had there collected. The steward of the vessel
and his wife lashed themselves to the mast, determined to spend their last
moments in each other’s arms. Several husbands and wives seem to have met
their fate together, whilst parents clung to their little ones. Several
mothers, it is said, perished with their little ones clasped in their
arms. The carpenter and his wife were seen embracing each other and their
child in the extreme of agony. The poor woman asked a young man, Henry
Hammond, to pull her cloak over her shoulders, when a tremendous wave came
and washed off, in a moment, twelve persons, and her among them.

Soon after the crash the captain’s voice was heard for the last time. He
and the mate appear to have been the very first that perished, and the
conclusion is that they must have been dragged overboard by the wreck of
the mainmast. It is true that an absurd report was spread in Beaumaris
that both captain and mate reached land safely in the boat, part of which
was found on shore early in the morning. This is unlikely; but it is quite
possible many lives might have been saved in the boat, _if she had been
provided with oars_. The absence of these, however, shows in a glaring
manner the utter recklessness of human life which marked the whole affair.
It was stated by Mr. Henry Hammond, ship-carver, of Liverpool, one of the
persons saved, that it was not true that a party of the passengers got
into the boat soon after the vessel struck, and were immediately swamped.
The statement he gave was that the boat was hanging by the davits over the
stern, nearly filled with water in consequence of the spray; when the
vessel struck, he and the wife and child of the carpenter got into the
boat, but left it again, being ordered out by the mate, who told them it
was of no use, as no boat could live in such a sea. The boat soon after
broke adrift and was lost, but there was no person in her.

“For above a mile and a half to the spit-buoy in the Friar’s Road,” says
Morrison, “the sand is dry at half ebb, and as the Dutchman’s Bank is dry
at low water, I have no hesitation in affirming that there was dry land
within half a mile of the wreck when she struck; and that if they had
_been informed_ of the fact, many of them on board might have swam or been
drifted over the Swash, and within two hundred yards of the vessel would
have found themselves in not more than three or four feet of water.”

The Swash is very few feet wide, and was easily passed by one individual,
who, being a resident in Bangor, knew the locality, and escaped, according
to Mr. Whittaker’s narrative, who states as follows:—“At this time a
gentleman from Bangor left the vessel, with a small barrel tied beneath
his chin, and an umbrella in his hand, which he unfurled when he got into
the water, in the hope of being drifted ashore in time to send some aid to
his fellow-sufferers.” This was Mr. Jones of Bangor. Now, if Mr. Jones,
the pilot, or the captain or mate, or any other person on board, who knew
of the vicinity of the dry sand, on which people walk at low water, had
explained to the persons who could swim the state of the case, many others
might have been saved as well as Mr. Jones.

A Mr. Tarry, who was exceedingly apprehensive during the passage, kept his
wife and children in the cabin; on the vessel striking he made immediate
inquiries respecting their probable fate; and Jones, the pilot, having
indiscreetly said that there was no hope of safety, he became at once
calm, and said in a tone of resignation, “I brought out my family, and to
return without them would be worse than death; I’ll, therefore, die with
them.” He then went down into the cabin and embraced his wife and
children. It would appear that they afterwards, impelled by a sense of
self-preservation, came on deck; one at least of his little girls was seen
afterwards in a state of pitiable helplessness. Mr. Duckworth, of Bury,
who survived the catastrophe, says that while sustaining his wife he saw
her on the quarter-deck. She was about ten years old. Each wave that broke
down on one side of the vessel hurled her along with impetuous force, and
dashed her against the gunwale on the other side; and then it would
recede, and draw her back again, a ready victim for another similar shock.
The poor innocent, bruised and half choked with the waves, sent forth the
most piteous cries for her father and mother between each rush of the
waters. Her shrieks were piercing beyond description, and she screamed
“Oh! won’t you come to me, father? Oh, mamma!” &c., till the narrator says
his heart yearned to save her; and though he dared not quit his wife, he
called to a fellow-passenger to make the effort; but he believes she was
washed away soon afterwards.

                      [Illustration: SAVED AT LAST.]

“A schooner, belonging to a nephew of Alderman Wright, was lying off
Beaumaris Green; the persons on board heard the bell ring in the _Rothsay
Castle_, but in consequence of no light being displayed, which the captain
refused to allow, they could not tell in what direction to go to render
assistance. They eventually saved several persons who had been seven hours
in the water. Such was the state of anxiety of the poor creatures, who had
been so long hanging to the wreck, that they imagined, when taken up at
seven o’clock in the morning, that it was noon.”

                        [Illustration: BEAUMARIS.]

Lieutenant Morrison speaks highly of the humanity and honesty of the
Welshmen of the coast on which the unfortunate vessel was wrecked, and
contrasts their conduct with that of the people of certain other places.
He remembered, in the year 1816, witnessing the wreck of a vessel near
Appledore, in the Bay of Barnstaple, when the country people came down in
crowds to plunder the wreck, and they drove the poor seamen back into the
surf when they attempted to rescue a part of their property. In the winter
of 1827 he recalled the case of a crowd surrounding the mate of a Welsh
sloop wrecked on the coast of Waterford, whom they knocked down and robbed
of a small bundle of clothes, all that he had saved from the wreck.

The wreck about to be described occurred in January, 1838, and has been
recorded in a graphic though somewhat verbose pamphlet,(99) which it is
very unlikely has reached the eyes of many of our readers. It has often
struck the writer that the most fascinating and interesting descriptions
of wrecks have not been written by sailors, and there is a sufficient
reason for this. Many of the episodes which strike a landsman forcibly,
and add greatly to the picturesque _ensemble_ of his narration, are taken
by the seaman as mere matters of course. Several of the more detailed and
interesting narratives already given have been taken from accounts
recorded by the members of other professions, clergymen and military men
more particularly. The present account is compiled from the narrative
furnished by a medical man.

The _Killarney_ sailed from Cork on the 19th January of the above year,
with about fifty on board, passengers and crew. The weather was very
severe, the wind blowing hard from the east, accompanied by snow and hail
squalls; and the captain, after vainly endeavouring to make headway,
turned the vessel round and returned to Cove Harbour. The weather
moderating, the _Killarney_ again got under weigh for her port of
destination, Bristol. Again a storm rose, and the mist became so dense
that they could scarcely see the vessel’s length ahead of them. During the
night 150 pigs—about a fourth of the number on the vessel—were washed
overboard; the cabin was a wreck of furniture and crockery; and Dr.
Spolasco’s gig had been forced from its lashings, broken up, and partly
washed away. The engine stopped for some time, and the vessel lay to, the
captain not knowing his position. A suspicious circumstance, showing that
the men were disheartened and greatly fatigued, was that they came down to
the cabin and asked for bottles of porter, &c.—a most unusual request, of
course. Lieut. Nicolay, a military passenger, remarked, “I don’t like to
see these men getting porter in this way; I was once at sea in great
danger, and the sailors through desperation commenced to drink.” If the
sailors were doubtful of the vessel’s safety, there can be little wonder
that the passengers generally were in a state of grave alarm. Baron
Spolasco had his boy, a helpless child of nine years of age, on board, and
between his care, giving advice to passengers, and setting the leg of the
under-steward, who had broken it in a violent fall caused by the lurching
of the ship, he had enough to do. At noon of Saturday it was whispered
that the captain intended to try for land, but no one on board appeared to
know whether they were twenty or fifty miles from it. The weather
increased in severity.

In these trying moments, the captain, mate, and crew, endeavoured to
perform their duties, and used every exertion in their power to weather
the dreadful storm; but the water gained incessantly on the pumps, and the
vessel continued to fill, and, being almost on her broadside, the deck was
nearly perpendicular. The sea broke over her continually, and the
passengers crawled about on hands and knees. Spolasco inquired of
M‘Arthur, the chief engineer, entreating him to let him know how the water
stood in the engine-room. He seemed much exhausted, and said, “We’re
getting the water down to the plates of the engines; the fires are
re-kindled, and we’ll soon have steam on.” For a time this was
successfully done.

Lieut. Nicolay was the first to announce “Land at last!” to the
passengers, and all hearts beat with joy at the welcome news. But they
were greatly puzzled, and indeed mortified, that they were unable to
ascertain what land it was. Some said that it was Poor Head, others that
it was Kinsale, and others that it was Youghal, and others again that it
was Cork Harbour. But the vessel was now utterly unmanageable.

                [Illustration: ENTRANCE TO CORK HARBOUR.]

The captain again did his best to re-make Cork Harbour, but it was out of
his power, the sails having been blown to ribbons, and the fires put out
owing to the repeated shipping of the seas. The engines went on pretty
well when they commenced working a second time, but they shortly became
less and less powerful from the cause just assigned. About three o’clock
in the afternoon she had drifted near some rocks, the vessel being then
nearly on her beam ends. It was all that the passengers or crew could do
to hold on the bulwarks or ropes, and from the terror depicted on every
countenance it was evident that the crisis was at hand. The vessel struck,
and a simultaneous thrill of horror passed through every breast. Two
gentlemen were, it was believed, washed overboard at this time.

A heavy sea then struck abaft the paddle-box, carrying off all before it.
The doctor descried poor Nicolay on the top of a wave, like a mountain
over them, as it were riding on, and buffeting in vain with his gigantic
enemy. An awful and terrific scene was witnessed while grasping his child
and the companion. “I believe,” says he, “it was the same sea, or one
instantaneously succeeding it, that struck the companion, and carried me
and my dear little charge across the deck. Had it not been for the remnant
of the bulwarks, viz., two uprights, across which a deck-form was forced,
which proved the simple means of saving our lives at that period—were it
not for this circumstance, my child and myself must have perished with
Nicolay and others. Several fragments of deck-rigging fell upon us—such as
ropes, spars, splinters, &c.; and it was with the utmost difficulty that I
was enabled to extricate myself and child from them, in doing which I lost
a shoe. It is worthy of remark that I had not worn shoes for more than six
months before, having put them on that morning, considering that they
would contribute to my ease while on board. My little boy also lost a shoe
and cap owing to this circumstance. I now ought to remark, before I
proceed further with this painful narrative, that immediately, or rather
before, the engines stopped the second time from the vessel filling with
water, the engineers and firemen came upon deck, from the impossibility of
their remaining any longer below, the steam gradually going down, and the
engines consequently decreasing in power till they came to a stand. All
further efforts on their part being unavailing, and destruction being
inevitable, all rushed upon deck, leaving the engines in order to save
their lives.”

Matters for some time continuing thus, the sailors and some of the deck
passengers exerted themselves, and were engaged in endeavouring with
buckets to lighten the vessel of some of the water in the hold; and, after
several hours’ hard work, they so far succeeded (the pumps all the while
kept going) as to be able early on Saturday afternoon to get up steam
again.

A passenger pointed out a bay, which he said was Roberts’ Cove, and
recommended the captain to run the vessel in there, as there was a boat
harbour in it, and beach her. The captain said that he did not think there
was a harbour there—that, at all events, it would be impossible to make
it. The vessel was all this time drifting nearer the rock on which she
ultimately struck; and in about an hour after the passenger had given the
recommendation alluded to, the captain got the vessel round, and
endeavoured to make Roberts’ Cove. Just as he had got her before the wind,
however, she was pooped by a tremendous sea, which carried away the
taffrail, staunchions, the wheel (and two men who worked it), the
companion, the binnacle, and the breakwater. The two steersmen fortunately
caught part of the rigging, and were saved; but the sea which did the
damage carried away the bulwarks, with some of the steerage passengers,
who were standing near the funnel, and cleared the deck of all the pigs
that were on it.

In consequence of all the hands having endeavoured to save themselves, the
vessel was left to herself, and continued to strike piecemeal on several
minor rocks, as she was driven before the fury of the waves over them with
a clap—a crash resembling thunder—carrying off at each stroke one or more
human beings, together with some portion of deck, deck furniture, deck
trimmings, rigging, &c. To hear the wrenching of the vessel, now between
the roaring billows and the rock, together with the cries of the
sufferers, was soul-piercing in the extreme.

It was absurd to think, even for a moment, of lowering the quarter-boats,
the tempest raged so furiously. Previously to the vessel striking on the
rock which rent her asunder, and upon which she went to pieces, passengers
and seamen all ran up for self-preservation on the quarter-deck. A
terrible rush was then made for this, their last resource; and catching
his child, Doctor Spolasco held him in his arms, and he clung close round
his neck with all the strength of his little embrace, looking imploringly
in his face for protection, and, as if foreseeing his fate, said, “Papa,
kiss me! Papa, kiss me! We are all lost!”

The last moment approached. The crisis was at hand. Struggling on with his
beloved charge, the doctor sprang forward with him, clasping him closely
to his breast, and, creeping on his hand and knees, dragged his child
along under one arm, while he held by the fragments of the bulwarks,
shifting his hand from splinter to splinter, until he slowly and gradually
reached the stern, the heavens lowering, the tempest raging, and the
billows washing over them, drenched to the skin, and every instant gasping
for breath, the waves suffocating them, the billows every instant beating
against them.

Some time previously to this both passengers and crew knew not how to act
or what to attempt to secure their safety, such was the distraction of
their minds. The direction of the vessel was no longer thought of or
attended to; each individual holding on by anything that he could possibly
grasp for temporary safety with one hand, while he was seen pulling off
his clothes with the other, in readiness to be freed from the encumbrance
of them, that he might be enabled to make a last, a desperate effort to
swim ashore.

This was indeed a struggle for life and death, but bordering so nearly on
the latter; some dressing again, and again undressing; again hesitating,
frantic and desperate, till not another moment was left for deliberation.
Crash! crash! crash! came in awful quick succession, mingled with the
piteous, the soul-harrowing cries, “For pity’s sake, help! help! help!”

More than half an hour previously to the vessel’s striking on that
Saturday, between three and four in the afternoon, although instantly
expecting to go down, ten or twelve persons were seen on the neighbouring
mountainous promontory, and it afforded them some glimmering of
satisfaction—some faint ray of hope that they would not perish in sight of
land. They were observed as early as three o’clock on Saturday, but no
efforts were made to rescue them till long after. A part of them gained
the rock on which the vessel struck previously to the night’s setting in,
where they remained all Sunday and part of Monday, wet, cold, and nearly
starved.

“I desired my child,” says Spolasco, “as he loved me, to cling close,
while I went to render assistance to others, who were loudly imploring for
aid. The darling child, who was evidently sick and exhausted, obeyed; and
I, alas! trusted to his puny strength to hold on.

“I sat for a moment on the rock, kissing him, till I looked round and
reflected on the awful scene before me, and beheld (with what emotion I
leave you to guess) the dreadful destruction which was going on.

“Previously to my jumping on the rock I observed Mrs. Lawe on the
quarter-deck on her knees, frantic, without her cap, her hair dishevelled
all around her shoulders, in dreadful anguish, striking the deck with one
hand, while she held on with the other. Mr. Lawe, her husband, was at this
time drowned.

“About this period the midships of the vessel were thrown by the terrific
sea and raging storm into a position favourable for those yet on board to
make their escape upon the rock; thus it was with comparative ease the
surviving remnant on board now forsook the vessel.

“In short, if the sufferers could have anticipated and waited for this
opportunity, the lives of many who were lost might have been saved. They
would, at least, have been fortunate enough to have reached the rock, and
would have had the same chance of existence as others, provided their
constitution were sufficiently strong to bear the dreadful privations that
there awaited them.

“I stretched forth my hand and assisted several as they approached, taking
hold of the first that presented, making, of course, no distinction of
persons, and continued to act thus till I saw a female in the last gasp,
still holding by the rock after the receding of a wave—it was Mrs. Lawe.
Then, with all the force I could command, I dragged her forwards one or
two paces. She was, indeed, poor good lady! in the last stage of
exhaustion, and fell on my arm, and her weight caused me to slip, by which
we were both precipitated towards a frightful chasm; but luckily I again
seized the rock ere the wave retired, or we might both have been swept
away, and I held fast by one hand, while with the other I supported the
lady, during which two or three waves washed over us. Neither she nor I
could breathe.

“I collected all my remaining strength for this the last effort I was
equal to in order to save her, and folding her in my arms, I crept up the
rock quite above the surge, where the spray only could reach us.

“She was speechless, but sufficiently sensible to acknowledge my attention
with looks of fervent gratitude. I then left her, anxious to return to my
child. But judge of my sensations—I found him not! He, alas! was gone! I
could not tell where, or what had become of him.” The poor boy had been
drowned, and no traces of him were ever discovered.

Their sufferings on the rock are well described:—“To such dreadful shifts
were we driven that during the night I was obliged to hold on with one
hand, while with the other I grasped the hand of a fellow-sufferer, in
order that each might receive some portion of vital heat; this we did
alternately with right and left hand. But we were all so depressed in
spirits and suffering so grievously from the cold and the rain as the
night advanced, that we did little else than turn our thoughts to the Most
High, and calmly await the approach of day, and with it some hope of
relief. My face, nose, and particularly the inside of my mouth, were
dreadfully mangled, and my teeth loosened, being so repeatedly forced by
the billows against the rock to which I was clinging. In short, I think no
human endurance equalled ours; for towards morning, when my fingers became
so benumbed from wet and cold that I lost the use of them, and I found
that it was impossible to hold on longer, I twice felt resigned to commit
myself to the deep, and was on the point of doing so, invoking Heaven to
receive my spirit.

“The very lacerated state of my nose, mouth, and feet,” says the doctor,
“when I was borne from the rock, were indicative of the sufferings I had
endured. Poor M‘Arthur seemed either quite regardless of, or insensible
to, my repeated warnings of his danger. He at last put his hands into the
pockets of his trousers, in spite of my remonstrances to the contrary. The
point of the rock on which he stood affording him a better foothold, or
standing, than mine, and that portion of the rock immediately before him
not being so perpendicular as that before me, allowed him to bend forward.
This last advantage, coupled with that of his better footing and his being
overpowered with sleep, induced him to be so careless of his safety. But
almost instantly a fearful and tremendous sea struck the rock just below
the slight shelves or openings which supported our toes, and immediately
rebounded over us many feet in height; then breaking and falling with
great force on our heads, it had the effect of hurling off on the instant
poor M‘Arthur. O gracious God, I never can be sufficiently grateful for
Thy bountiful goodness and singular preservation in protecting me through
so many imminent perils, so many hair-breadth escapes! For of all the
passengers with whom I dined on Friday in the steamer _Killarney_ I am the
only survivor! The cook who prepared the dinner, and the steward,
steward’s brother, and the stewardess that served it, are all in
eternity!”

It was not till about ten o’clock on the morning of Sunday that the poor
sufferers on the rock endeavoured to change their positions, which was a
matter of some difficulty. One of the passengers, during the early part of
the night, having been unable to attain a position as comfortable as that
of some of the rest, had hung on to Dr. Spolasco’s legs, in order to save
himself from dropping into the sea. Later a heavy wave struck him; he
relinquished his hold, and was swept into the sea never to rise again. “On
gaining the summit,” says the doctor, “I perceived with horror that many
had disappeared during the night, and among them the lady whom I had
rescued at the loss, I may indeed fairly say, of my dear boy.” There was a
general hope among the survivors that they would be rescued early that
morning (Sunday), and their disappointment that no effort was made to save
them was great indeed. They saw at an early hour hundreds of peasants on
the beach and cliff, some of them busily engaged at the wreckage or in
bearing away parts of the pigs which had formed part of the cargo, but all
intent upon gain. Not the slightest effort was made for the poor wretches
on the rock, although Spolasco at intervals waved his purse in one hand
and his cap in another in order to induce the peasantry to afford
assistance.

The doctor endeavoured by signs to indicate that a raft could be easily
constructed from the wreckage, and that the drift of the current would
bring it to the rock, but he was not understood. Again their hopes fell to
zero. Poor M‘Arthur, the engineer, who had been nearly drowned before, had
managed to struggle to a higher position on the rock, but he died from
exhaustion early on Monday morning. Some time after, two men, and a little
later two boys, fell headlong into the sea, being nearly dead from
starvation and exposure. Of twenty-five who got safely on the rock,
thirteen died before they could be rescued; and yet it was so near the
coast that those mounting the nearest cliff had to bend over its edge to
see it. Meantime the storm beat on violently, and no boat could have
approached the rock. Sea-weed and salt water was all the food (!) they
could get from dinner hour on board the steamer on Friday, about five
o’clock, till Monday afternoon. All this within almost a stone’s throw of
land!

“To return,” says the narrator, “to Sunday. I have in a previous page
stated that during the whole of the morning of that day, indeed up to the
afternoon, all we saw was a crowd of peasants on the beach, each carrying
his or her burden from the spoils of the wreck of the steamer _Killarney_;
and on the cliff above us, numbers—altogether amounting to some hundreds.
It was in vain we looked for some respectable person among them who would
be likely to tender us the desired assistance, till ... we hailed the
presence of a respectable gentleman, by whose kind gestures we could
understand (for it was impossible to hear his voice) that we yet should be
saved. After waving his hat, and doing all in his power to cheer us, he
retired, and ascended the lofty cliff, and in a reasonable time afterwards
again returned, with several other gentlemen.

“Several descended with him to the edge of the precipice—a dangerous
declivity—bringing with them ropes, slings, &c., and indeed every other
requisite that the short period of their absence allowed them to procure,
or whatever appeared to them necessary for the object they had in view.
Having arrived at the brink of the precipice, somewhat in a direct line
(though still above us) with the rock upon which we were—the distance I
would compute to be from a hundred and fifty to two hundred feet—they
commenced throwing stones to which were attached small lines, several in
their turn; one having failed, another tried, and so on, till they were
sufficiently convinced that all such efforts were altogether fruitless—the
strongest of them not being able to pitch such stone more than half way
towards us.

“Some one then suggested the propriety of trying slings, which they
immediately prepared—in turn taking off their cloaks, coats, &c., having
first tied round their waist a strong rope as a prudent precaution of
security for their safety in making the bold attempt, viz., of slinging a
stone, having attached to it a line, to us unfortunate expectants upon the
rock. These efforts, too, like the former, were attended with want of
success.

“Mr. John Galwey, with whom was Mr. Edward Hull and other gentlemen,
apparently in a most perilous position confronting us, formed a footing
with crowbars, &c. Mr. Galwey was then observed several times to try to
pass a duck with a small line fastened to its leg, but without effect. We
also discerned him coiling a wire or line into the barrel of a musquet,
with the view of firing off the ball to which it was connected, hoping
that when the ball should have passed the rock the line might fall upon
it. This expedient too was ingenious, but unsuccessful.

“The next attempt for our rescue was thought of and entered upon by a
brave young gentleman, Richard Knolles, Esq.—son of the worthy Captain
Knolles of that neighbourhood—by which he nearly lost his life. He had
with him a favourite dog, well trained to the water, and apparently to his
command, with which fine animal he descended as nearly to the edge of the
beach as the billows, breakers, and foaming spray would allow him, and
rather farther, for, being young, brave, and anxious to be the means of
saving us, he ventured somewhat too far for his safety, being met by a
tremendous surf, which struck him, and dashed him above some twenty feet
or more with such violence, that he was not only wetted to the skin, but
had the narrowest escape that man could well have of being lashed into the
furious sea and yawning gulf below him.”

The news of their cruel sufferings having ere this spread around the
country—this being Sunday, and rather more favourable than the previous
days—thousands of both sexes assembled from miles around to witness the
awful scene. They could clearly distinguish among the vast assemblage upon
the cliffs a great number of ladies by their veils, drapery, &c., who
doubtless had been attracted to the fatal spot through sympathy for their
peculiar hardships. The shore appeared so near, and the day was so fine,
that through the greater part of it they did not think, nor could bring
themselves to believe it possible, that they were cruelly doomed to suffer
another night upon the desolate rock; and it was thought by some (seeing
that the distance to the cliff on the mainland was not very great) that a
brave plunge into the waves would bear them on shore.

                [Illustration: THE SURVIVORS ON THE ROCK.]

Hunger was keen indeed; it was piercing; and perceiving the people upon
the cliff apparently unable to give them relief, one resolute but
unfortunate man volunteered, and attempted to swim to shore, and, creeping
down the rock, bade them farewell. They wished him, with all their hearts,
success, each meaning to follow his example, if successful, rather than
remain to perish on the rock. He rushed boldly into the surf; they all
awaited his re-appearance with breathless anxiety, but he was rapidly
hurried into the deep below, and they could discern him no more. All such
attempts, or hope of such, to gain the shore by these means were then
abandoned.

The second night was now closing fast upon them, and having observed that
some preparations were being made on shore to extend ropes from promontory
to promontory—a distance of from half a mile to a mile—they were all
hovering between hope and fear. A deathless silence reigned among them.
Their gallant captain at length exclaimed, “I have it! They are carrying
one end of the line to yon jutting promontory (east), and are running with
the other end to the other promontory (west); the two ends of the line
being drawn tight in opposite directions, the centre will overhang the
rock, and be within our reach.” As the sequel proved, his judgment was
well founded.

“We now,” says the narrator, “placed our whole reliance on the success of
the efforts of those on shore with the ropes; but the apparatus employed
was imperfect—time passing rapidly, and the night quickly approaching.
Just at the commencement of dusk the rope reached us, which we were
enabled to seize by a small tripping line that hung pendent from it when
it was stretched over our heads, being drawn tight at each promontory by
the many assembled.” The captain, or some one of the men, caught the line
and drew it downwards, when all seized it, and there was a wild huzza! The
captain had been right in his conjecture. The line was extended from
headland to headland.

“When the rope was conveyed to us,” writes the doctor, “we all cheered, as
if re-animated by a new existence; and although it reached us too late to
be of any service on that night, such was our eagerness to be delivered
from the rock, that one man volunteered, and immediately descended to the
base of it, and by a triangular knot made himself fast to the hawser,
which had been conveyed to us by means of the small lines already alluded
to. The rope, or hawser, although not a new one, I think was sufficiently
strong to bear one at a time to shore, and, indeed, up the lofty cliff, in
safety; but a boy who had been in care of the pigs, unfortunately, through
over-anxiety to escape from the rock, descended, and most imprudently
attached himself also at the same time to it, notwithstanding our earnest
remonstrances to the contrary; and when they said ‘all was ready’—meaning
that they were secured to the rope—at the same time directing us to shout
to those on the mainland ‘to pull them ashore,’ we did so, and they
immediately drew them towards the cliff, upon which we heard a splash, but
could see nothing, it being at this time dark.

“During the night, when we occasionally conversed—for we had but little to
say, each being wrapped up in his own gloomy meditations—we felt a glow of
satisfaction that at last a contrivance had been resorted to by which two
of us at least were rescued from spending another night upon the rock, we
not at this time at all considering that both had met a watery grave, for
we could see nothing—it was dark—neither could we hear anything, from the
howling of the storm and roaring of the tempest.

“In the morning, however, in consequence of the rope having broken, we
entertained a melancholy surmise of their unhappy fate; but upon landing,
in the afternoon of Monday, we ascertained the piteous fact. It was
rumoured, but it proved to be untrue, that the peasants, during the second
night (Sunday) of our dreadful suspense upon the rock, had cut the rope.
This arose in consequence of its having been found divided early on Monday
morning.”

Next morning the good Samaritans ashore repaired to the scene, and eagerly
scanned the rock, to see whether any still survived. Among them was Lady
Roberts, who came with thirty of her men, with a car laden with ropes and
other materials necessary for their deliverance. The first plan attempted
early on Monday morning was with Manby’s apparatus—_i.e._, firing a
two-pound shot with a line attached from a howitzer. After many fruitless
attempts this plan was relinquished. Slings, &c., were then tried, but
with the same result.

Dr. Spolasco took off his cap, and repeatedly waved it, in order to
attract the observation of those on shore. Having succeeded, he raised his
voice and extended his arms, pointing to either promontory, and indicating
that unless they had recourse to Mr. Hull’s plan, as it was subsequently
ascertained to be, their fate would be decided. Fortunately he was
understood, and the plan was prosecuted to its completion, all working
with a will. They again extended the lines from headland to headland, with
this variation only, that they now attached two tripping-lines instead of
one, hanging about a yard apart, and a weight to the end of each, which
had the desired effect of causing them to fall immediately over the rock.
They were immediately grasped; their hope of safety was fully revived, and
they again cheered with hopeful exultation. They retained a secure hold of
the centre of the line, while those upon the two cliffs proceeded to a
centre point on the mainland immediately opposite to them, and instantly
attached the hawser to one end of the line in question. Having
accomplished this, they made signs to those on the rock to draw towards
them the hawser, to which they had fastened a small basket containing a
bottle of wine, a bottle of whisky, and some bread, the thoughtful gift of
Lady Roberts. The liquids proved invaluable, but as for the bread,
excepting a few crumbs, they could not swallow it. They had, from cold,
exposure, and exhaustion, almost lost the power of mastication and
deglutition.

The basket also contained a written paper, instructing those on the rock
that, as the hawser was sufficiently long, to make it fast round the rock,
that it might be the more secure, and that they would pass a cot along it
with iron grummets. Having so fixed the cot, the signals were made to draw
it towards the rock by means of the small line. The awful example afforded
on Monday morning, when it was perceived that the rope was broken,
naturally made several of them nervous now, and there was some hesitation
as to who should enter it first to be drawn on shore, seeing that it had
to be hauled a distance of sixty to a hundred feet above the level of the
sea in order to land upon the lowest accessible part of the cliff, where
Mr. Hull, the inventor of the plan, was stationed to receive them. On
landing, they had to be carried to the summit of the nearly perpendicular
cliff, about 300 feet, upon men’s backs, supported on either side by
others of their deliverers, for the least false step would have hurried
them headlong to the depths below.

After some deliberation, the first to be placed in the cot was a woman
named Mary Leary, who was assisted into it, and drawn through the air to
what seemed a frightful height, amid the cheers of all. On her being
landed, the cot was again lowered to the rock, and the narrator of our
story entered it, lying upon his back. Giving the signal that he was
ready, those on the mainland pulled, and in a few minutes he was safe on
the cliff, where he received the warm congratulations of the gentlemen
there assembled. The ship’s carpenter, who was evidently very ill, was
next placed in the cot, but the poor fellow breathed his last almost
immediately after landing. The others soon followed, the captain, as
should be, being the last. Once ashore, they were treated with
warm-hearted hospitality, and a liberal subscription was raised for the
sufferers of the crew and passengers, and the widows and orphans of those
who were lost. Of fifty persons who left Cork on the ill-fated
_Killarney_, about twenty-five landed on the rock, and of these only
fourteen reached land, one of them, as we have seen, to expire
immediately.

The mode by which the few survivors were rescued was so novel that it
deserves particular notice, and the following, quoted from a letter
written by Mr. E. W. Hull to Baron Spolasco, will be found interesting.

“The first intelligence my brother and myself received of the wreck was
from Mr. John Galwey, at about nine or ten o’clock on Sunday morning. We
immediately proceeded towards the scene of the dreadful catastrophe, which
is about five miles from Roberts’ Cove, and arrived there at eleven
o’clock. My brother’s men, of course, accompanied us. On our reaching the
place, I descended the frightful precipice, at the foot of which I
discovered Mr. Galwey letting ducks fly with lines attached to them. I
joined him in the experiment, though indeed I entertained not the least
hope of its proving effective. We abandoned this plan, and having taken
off my coat and hat, and placed a rope round my waist, to prevent my
falling over the lower cliff upon which we stood, I commenced using all
the means I could devise to convey a stone with a line attached to it to
the rock. I first made an effort to throw a stone from my hand; next, I,
with others, had recourse to slings; but all our experiments, as the
sequel proved, were useless. I may here, without the least exaggeration,
assert that the danger to which Mr. John Galwey, young Mr. Knolles, and
myself, were exposed was beyond the power of conception. Below us appeared
a hideous gulf, almost yawning to receive us from the cliff upon which we
stood, while from above we saw large stones rolling down from a height of
two hundred feet. To avoid being struck by these we had not the power of
moving an inch from the place in which we respectively stood; so that in
this, as in all other circumstances connected with our dangerous
undertakings on the occasion, we were protected in our frightful situation
by the peculiar interposition of Providence. We next had recourse to the
plan of a person named Mills, of the Coastguard at Roberts’ Cove. It was
that of attaching wire to bullets, and firing them from guns. This plan
likewise proved unsuccessful.

“At this time, when all our plans had become unavailing, those who had
been acting with me below went to the top of the cliff. Being exceedingly
exhausted I was unable to follow. I lay down on the brink of the
precipice, nearly on a line with the top of the rock upon which the
sufferers were, and feeling as a human being should at so heartrending a
spectacle, when all hope of saving a single individual was almost extinct.
I exclaimed, ‘Good God! are there no means left to save them?’ At this
moment I took a view of the east promontory and the west. The thought—the
happy thought—flashed across my mind. I immediately perceived that
Providence favoured us with a tolerable certainty of success. I ascended
the precipice, and made my brother acquainted with my plan. We both
suggested it to others, but it was disregarded, owing to the great
distance between the promontories and the immense height of the cliffs.
However, I saw a glorious prospect before me of rescuing my
fellow-creatures from an awful death. Heaven inspired me with confidence,
and, in conjunction with my brother, I could not be diverted from making a
trial. My brother and the neighbouring gentlemen sent in all directions
for lines and ropes. On getting them, we commenced putting my plan into
execution. The first attempt failed through want of sufficiency of rope
and the setting in of night. When the rope was carried to the rock and
there secured, I perceived that one man got upon it. Had he alone
ventured, all would be right; but the eagerness of another poor fellow was
so great that he attached himself to it, and the weight of the two was
overmuch for the rope to bear, and it consequently broke. How we felt at
this dreadful occurrence your readers may imagine; I cannot describe the
fearful thrill of horror which pervaded every breast. It was now dark
night; we had therefore to discontinue our efforts until the next morning.
We left the lines during the intervening night as we had adjusted them the
evening before. My brother left two of his men, with one of Lieutenant
Charlesson’s, to preserve the rope and property during the night.

       [Illustration: RESCUE OF THE SURVIVORS OF THE “KILLARNEY.”]

“To return to the subject of my communication, I should state that, on
ascending the cliff I met Lady Roberts and Captain Knolles. I told them of
the loss of one man, not knowing at the time that a second had also
suffered—this information, indeed, I afterwards received from yourself. I,
notwithstanding this sad disaster, felt persuaded that if I had a
sufficient quantity of rope all would be saved. I mentioned this to Lady
Roberts, upon which her ladyship assured me that I should be plentifully
supplied with this article. Though painful to our feelings to be obliged
to leave you to spend another night of gloom and horror, we were under the
necessity of doing so for want of a sufficient quantity of rope. On the
following morning (Monday) I arrived at the cliff, accompanied by my
brother and his men, an hour before daylight. The weather was dreadful
beyond conception, rain and snow falling incessantly. We immediately
proceeded to bring into operation the plan of the former day. We were at
this time much better enabled to do so, having obtained a sufficiency of
rope by the directions of Lady Roberts, who, to the honour of her sex, was
present at that early hour, exposed to the inclemency of the weather.
Lieutenant Irwin, Inspector of the Coastguard at Kinsale, arrived about
this time with Captain Manby’s apparatus. This gentleman, having, I
presume, had some previous experience of the capability of similar
machines, commenced discharging balls from it. This suspended the
operation of my plan for some time, but it was found altogether
ineffective; but I consider it right to state that no man could have
manifested a greater anxiety than Mr. Irwin to do good. The lines and
ropes which he brought us were essentially necessary in putting the
successful plan into execution; he also brought the cot....

“In about two hours I had the satisfaction of seeing fourteen persons
safely landed from the rock, but one of them, I regret to say, died of
exhaustion a short time after having been brought on shore.

“The hawser, as you perceived, had to be taken down a precipice of nearly
three hundred feet. To the end of it was joined the line which you had
primarily received upon the rock, also a basket of refreshments. I myself
took it all down to the lower cliff, where I received each person on being
drawn from the rock. The dangers to which myself and three of the
coastguard were exposed on that occasion were not, I assure you,
trifling.”

About a fortnight after the wreck of the _Killarney_, a large portion of
the rock upon which the remnant of the crew and passengers had suffered so
much was carried away in a storm. It is worthy of remark that during the
American War a vessel conveying a company and band of the 32nd Regiment of
Foot was lost on the same rock, when all perished.

There can be no doubt that a life-boat, had there been one, would have
rescued many more of the poor unfortunates, left on the rock from Friday
afternoon to Monday afternoon, with considerable ease. During the year
1876-77, not very far from _five thousand_ lives were saved by the fleet
of 269 boats of the National Life-boat Institution. Let us examine the
wreck record of that period.(100)

We find that the number of British vessels which entered and cleared from
ports of the United Kingdom during the year in question was 581,099,
representing the enormous tonnage of 101,799,050. Of these ships, 224,669
were steamers, having a tonnage of about two-thirds of the above amount.
During the same period 60,000 foreign vessels entered inwards and cleared
outwards from British ports, representing a tonnage of nearly 20,000,000.
These 641,099 ships, British and foreign, had probably on board, _apart
from passengers_, 4,000,000 men and boys.

In 1876-77 the number of wrecks, casualties, and collisions, from all
causes, on and near the coasts of the United Kingdom, was 4,164, which
number exceeds that of the previous year by 407. 511 cases out of this
large number involved total loss, 502 and 472 representing the same class
of calamities for the two preceding years.

During the past twenty years-from 1857 to 1876-77—the number of shipwrecks
on our coasts alone has averaged 1,948 a year, representing in money value
millions upon millions sterling in the aggregate.

“In making this statement,” says _The Life-boat_, “we lay aside entirely
the thousands of precious lives, on which no money value could be placed,
which were sacrificed on such disastrous occasions, and which would have
been enormously increased in the absence of the determined and gallant
services of the life-boats of the National Life-boat Institution.

“In the Abstract of the Wreck Register it is stated that, between 1861 and
1876-77, the number of ships, both British and foreign, wrecked on our
coasts which were attended with loss of life was 2,784, causing the loss
of 13,098 persons. In 1876-77, loss of life took place in one out of every
twenty-two shipwrecks on our coasts.

“It is hardly necessary to say that gales of wind are the prime causes of
most shipwrecks, and that those of 1876-77 will long be remembered for
their violence and destructive character. Of the 4,164 wrecks, casualties,
and collisions, reported as having occurred on and near the coasts of the
United Kingdom during the year 1876-77, we find that the total comprised
5,017 vessels. Thus, the number of ships in 1876-77 is more than the total
in 1875-76 by 463. The number of ships reported is in excess of the
casualties reported, because in cases of collision two or more ships are
involved in one casualty. Thus, 847 were collisions, and 3,317 were wrecks
and casualties other than collisions. Of these latter casualties, 446 were
wrecks, &c., resulting in total loss, 902 were casualties resulting in
serious damage, and 1,969 were minor accidents. The whole number of wrecks
and casualties other than collisions on and near our coasts reported
during the year 1875-76 was 2,982, or 335 less than the number reported
during the twelve months under discussion.

“The localities of the wrecks, still excluding collisions, are thus
given:—East coasts of England and Scotland, 1,140; south coast, 630; west
coast of England and Scotland, and coast of Ireland, 1,259; north coast of
Scotland, 129; and other parts, 159. Total, 3,317.” “It is recorded that
the greatest destruction of human life happened on the north and east
coasts of England and Scotland.”

It is interesting to observe the ages of the vessels which were wrecked
during the period under consideration. Excluding foreign ships and
collision cases, 221 wrecks and casualties happened to nearly new ships,
and 396 to ships from 3 to 7 years of age. Then there are wrecks and
casualties to 631 ships from 7 to 14 years old, and to 907 from 15 to 30
years old. Then follow 459 old ships from 30 to 50 years old. Having
passed the service of half a century, we come to the very old ships, viz.,
71 between 50 and 60 years old, 33 from 60 to 70, 24 from 70 to 80, 9 from
80 to 90, and 5 from 90 to 100, while the ages of 68 of the wrecks are
unknown.

On distinguishing these last named casualties near the coasts of the
United Kingdom, according to the force of the wind at the time at which
they happened, we find that 739 happened with the wind at forces 7 and 8,
or a moderate to fresh gale, when a ship, if properly found, manned, and
navigated, can keep the sea with safety; and that 1,046 happened with the
wind at force 9 and upwards, that is to say, from a strong gale to a
hurricane.

“We must say one word on the subject of casualties to our ships in our
rivers and harbours, as the fearful calamity to the steamer _Princess
Alice_ last September in the Thames has directed afresh intense attention
to them throughout the civilised world. We find from the Wreck Register
Abstract that the total number during the year 1876-77 was 984, of which
17 were total losses, 245 were serious casualties, and 722 minor
casualties.

“Of these casualties, collisions numbered 658, founderings 13, strandings
184, and miscellaneous 129.

“These 984 casualties caused the loss of or damage to 1,725 vessels, of
which 1,020 were British sailing-vessels, 560 British steam-vessels, 118
foreign sailing-vessels, and 27 foreign steam-vessels. The lives lost in
these casualties were 15.

“With reference to the collisions on and near our coasts during the year
1876-77, 48 of the 847 collisions were between two steamships both under
way, irrespective of numerous other such cases in our harbours and rivers,
the particulars of which are not given in the Abstract. No disaster at sea
or in a river is often more awful in its consequences than a collision, as
was too strikingly illustrated last year in the cases of the German
ironclad _Grosser Kurfürst_, and the Thames steamer _Princess Alice_.

“As regards the loss of life, the Wreck Abstract shows that the number was
776, and of these 92 were lost in vessels that foundered, 57 through
vessels in collision, 470 in vessels stranded or cast ashore, and 93 in
missing vessels. The remaining number of lives lost (64) were lost from
various causes, such as through being washed overboard in heavy seas,
explosions, missing vessels, &c.

“This number (776) may appear to the casual observer a comparatively small
one by the side of the thousands who escaped disaster from the numerous
shipwrecks before mentioned. We are, however, of opinion that it is a very
large number; and when we bear in mind the inestimable value of human
life, we are convinced that no effort should be left untried which can in
any way lessen the annual loss of life from shipwreck on our coasts.

“On the other hand, great and noble work was accomplished during the same
period, 4,795 lives having been saved from the various shipwrecks. In
bringing about that most important service, it is hardly necessary to say
that the craft of the National Life-boat Institution played a most
important part, in conjunction with the Board of Trade’s rocket apparatus,
which is so efficiently worked by the Coastguard and our Volunteer
Brigades.

“Nevertheless, the aggregate loss of life is very large, and so is the
aggregate destruction of property. The former is a species of woe
inflicted on humanity; the latter is practically a tax upon commerce.
While the art of saving life on the coasts is understood (thanks to the
progress of science—the earnestness of men—and the stout hearts of our
coast population), the art of preserving property is as yet but
imperfectly known amongst us, and still more imperfectly practised.

“On reviewing the Wreck Register Abstract of the past year, we are bound
to take courage from the many gratifying facts it reveals in regard to
saving life, which, after all, is our principal object in commenting upon
it. Noble work has been done, and is doing, for that purpose; and is it
not something, amidst all this havoc of the sea, to help to save even one
life, with all its hopes, and to keep the otherwise desolate home
unclouded?”

Among the useful works undertaken by the National Life-boat Institution is
the discussion in its journal of all matters connected with the art of
swimming, and swimming and floating apparatus. The Society also issues a
valuable circular on the “Treatment of the apparently Drowned,” to which
further allusion will be hereafter made. The writer is so satisfied that
no humane or charitable institution in the wide world is better or more
economically managed than that under notice, that he would urge all
readers of THE SEA to contribute to its funds. And although every reader
may not be able to afford his guinea or guineas, he can contribute his
shillings or half-crowns, and his influence in aiding one of the local
branches, or in forming new ones. A number of life-boats stationed on
various parts of the coasts were the gifts of other associations and
bodies. The Civil Service, Corn Exchange, Coal Exchange, Freemasons, Odd
Fellows, Foresters, Good Templars, and other orders, have contributed
nobly. Several boats and stations, generally named after the particular
fund, were contributed by London and other Sunday-schools, Jewish
scholars, commercial travellers, workmen, yacht, boat, and other clubs;
while three were the result of an appeal to the readers of the Quiver, two
are credited to the _Dundee People’s Journal_, and one each to the
_British Workman_ and _English Mechanic_. And in concluding the second
volume of THE SEA, the writer considers that he has a special right to
urge the claims of the Society on his readers, the subject-matter of its
pages being taken into account.



                            END OF VOLUME II.



        CASSELL PETTER & GALPIN, BELLE SAUVAGE WORKS, LONDON, E.C.






                                FOOTNOTES


    1 “Select observations of the incomparable Sir Walter Raleigh relating
      to trade,” as presented to King James.

    2 “History of Merchant Shipping and Ancient Commerce.”

    3 Monson’s “Naval Tracts” in Churchill’s “Collection.” Most of the
      narrative to follow is taken from the same source.

    4 Charnock, “History of Naval Architecture.”

    5 This contemptuous allusion refers of course to the tobacco brought
      from the newly-formed plantations in Virginia.

    6 Macaulay: “History of England.”

    7 The term “America” often included the West Indies, &c., at that
      period.

    8 The principal authorities are—“The History of Peter the Great, &c.,”
      by Alexander Gordon, who was several years a major-general in the
      Russian service, and was son-in-law of the General Patrick Gordon
      who may be said to have once saved Russia to the Czar; “Histoire de
      Pierre le Grand,” by Voltaire; and the “Life of Peter the Great,” by
      John Barrow, F.R.S., &c. A modern French writer has given a
      catalogue of ninety-five authors of some little note who have
      treated of Peter’s life.

    9 This name is spelled by the various authorities in many ways;
      sometimes it is Zaardam.

   10 One account says, indeed, that he worked with his own hands as hard
      as any man in the yard. “If so,” says Barrow, “it could only have
      been for a very short time, and probably for no other purpose than
      to show the builders that he knew how to handle the adze as well as
      themselves.”

   11 The site of Evelyn’s mansion was long covered with a workhouse; the
      shady walks and splendidly kept hedges are now replaced by a
      victualling yard, where oxen and hogs are slaughtered for the use of
      the navy, and the transformation of all his haunts in the
      neighbourhood has been unpleasantly complete.

   12 Scheltema, a Dutch authority cited by Barrow.

   13 One of the very best accounts of the South Sea Bubble is to be found
      in Charles Mackay’s “Memoirs of Extraordinary Popular Delusions,”
      frequently quoted above.

   14 The Rev. Richard Walter, M.A., Chaplain of the _Centurion_, who
      compiled the work so well known under the title of Anson’s “Voyage
      Round the World,” from the papers and material of the latter.

   15 “The Narrative of the Honourable John Byron, containing an Account
      of the Great Distresses suffered by himself and his Companions on
      the Coast of Patagonia, from the year 1740 till their Arrival in
      England, 1746,” &c.

   16 “Two or three days after our arrival” (at Santiago), says Byron,
      “the President sent Mr. Campbell and me an invitation to dine with
      him, where we were to meet Admiral Pizarro and all his officers.
      This was a cruel stroke upon us, as we had not any cloaths to appear
      in, and dared not refuse the invitation. The next day, a Spanish
      officer belonging to Admiral Pizarro’s squadron, whose name was Don
      Manuel de Guiror, came and made us an offer of two thousand dollars.
      This generous Spaniard made this offer without any view of ever
      being repaid, but purely out of a compassionate motive of relieving
      us in our present distress.” A part of the money was thankfully
      accepted, and they got themselves decently clothed.

   17 James Grahame, “The History of the United States of North America.”

   18 George Bancroft, “History of the United States.”

   19 The above account is principally derived from Bancroft.

   20 Robert Stuart, “Historical and Descriptive Anecdotes of
      Steam-Engines.”

   21 John MacGregor, in a paper read before the Society of Arts, 14th of
      April, 1858.

   22 William Bourne, “Inventions or Devises” (1578).

   23 “A Sketch of the Origin and Progress of Steam Navigation,” by Bennet
      Woodcroft.

   24 This brochure is extremely scarce. The curious in such matters will
      find it reprinted in full in Woodcroft’s “Sketch of the Origin and
      Progress of Steam Navigation.”

   25 “History of Merchant Shipping,” &c.

_   26 Philadelphia Dispatch._ February 9th, 1873.

_   27 Vide_ “Bowie on Steam Navigation;” and the works of Lindsay and
      Woodcroft, already quoted.

   28 “The Life of R. Fulton” is an American work, and so little known in
      England, that the present writer has intentionally made the above
      copious extracts from it.

   29 The engine of this vessel is to be seen in the Patent Office Museum.

   30 Smiles’ “Lives of the Engineers.”

   31 In an able pamphlet, “The Fleet of the Future,” by Mr. Scott
      Russell, published by Longmans & Co. in 1861, the author remarks (p.
      20):—“A good many years ago, I happened to converse with the chief
      naval architect of one of our dockyards on the subject of building
      ships of iron. The answer was characteristic, and the feeling it
      expressed so strong and natural that I have never forgotten it.
      ‘Don’t talk to me about iron ships, _it’s contrary to nature_.’
      There was at one time almost as great a prejudice against Indian
      teak as a material for shipbuilding, as this wood is heavier than
      water, and, in the form of a log, will not float.”

   32 The above account is derived from Lindsay.

   33 See _Annual Register_, 1854, p. 162.

   34 The _Times_, November 17th, 1875.

   35 “Our Seamen: an Appeal.”

   36 An excess of that very aliment, the absence of which produces
      scurvy, will also induce disease. Thus, the negroes of the West
      Indies live too exclusively on vegetables, and disease follows, the
      remedy for which is usually _red herrings_—herrings salted and
      smoked till they are as red as copper.

   37 The _Times_, January 14th, 1867.

   38 “English Seamen and Divers.”

   39 Frederick Martin: “The History of Lloyd’s and of Marine Insurance in
      Great Britain.”

   40 The term is applied exclusively to maritime insurers, although,
      strictly speaking, anyone signing a bond is an underwriter.

   41 See Lindsay’s “History of Merchant Shipping,” Timbs’ “Year Book of
      Facts in Science and Art,” and Irving’s “Annals of Our Times.” She
      is still nearly _five_ times the size of any merchant vessel afloat;
      as we have seen, the Inman steamer, _City of Berlin_ (5,500 tons),
      comes next to her. There are ironclads nearly half her tonnage.

   42 One account says a “ferry-boat,” meaning probably one of the large
      steam ferry-boats common in America.

   43 “Sunning” means, in some parts of Canada, the act of promenading.

   44 The larger part of the above information is derived from “Our
      Ironclad Ships,” by E. J. Reed, late Chief Constructor of the Navy.

   45 The _Times_, April 26th, 1876.

_   46 Vide_ “Our Ironclad Ships.”

   47 C. D. Colden: “Life of Robert Fulton.”

   48 “Torpedo War, and Submarine Explosions” (New York, 1810). A scarce
      and valuable _brochure_.

   49 Such a vessel as the _Albemarle_ would be scorned in England and
      America now-a-days, if regarded as an ironclad. But she was, of
      course, infinitely stronger than the wooden ships with which she had
      to fight.

   50 The explosive power of dynamite, or “giant powder,” as it is known
      in America, is something wonderful. The writer while in California
      witnessed some experiments with it, which are indelibly written on
      his brain. A mortar was set upright in the field appropriated for
      the exhibition, and several pounds of ordinary powder having been
      rammed down, a large cannon-ball was put in and the charge fired.
      The ball was raised a foot or so, and then tumbled to the ground. A
      few _ounces_ of dynamite and the same ball were placed in the
      mortar, and the charge exploded by concussion. The cannon-ball was
      projected upwards in the air several hundred feet. It will be
      imagined that the writer and his friends scattered in all
      directions, and watched very carefully the downward flight of the
      ball.

   51 “The Gun, Ram, and Torpedo.” (Prize Essay written for the Junior
      Naval Professional Association, 1874.) By Commander Gerard H. U.
      Noel, R.N.

   52 “The Life of Smeaton,” as incorporated in his “Lives of the
      Engineers.”

   53 It appears that a post-mortem examination of one of the
      light-keepers who died from injuries received during the fire took
      place some thirteen days after its occurrence, and a flat oval piece
      of lead some seven ounces in weight was taken out of his stomach,
      having proved the cause of his death.

   54 “Essays on Engineering.”

   55 The Hoe is an elevated promenade, forming the sea-front of Plymouth,
      and overlooking the Sound.

   56 The following is the tradition from an ancient source:—“By the east
      of the Isle of May, twelve miles from all land in the German Sea,
      lyes a great hidden rock, called Inchcape, very dangerous to the
      navigators, because it is overflowed every tide. It is reported
      that, in old times, there was upon the said rock a bell, fixed upon
      a tree or timber, which rang continually, being moved by the sea,
      giving notice to the saylors of the danger. This bell or clocke was
      put there by the Abbot of Arberbrothok, and being taken down by a
      sea-pirate, a year thereafter he perished upon the same rock, with
      ship and goodes, by the righteous judgment of God.” (Stoddart’s
      “Remarks on Scotland.”)

   57 “Account of the Skerryvore Lighthouse, with Notes on the
      Illumination of Lighthouses,” by Alan Stevenson.

   58 “A Rudimentary Treatise on the History, Construction, and
      Illumination of Lighthouses.” (Weale’s Series.)

_   59 Vide_ “The Rambles of a Naturalist on the Coasts of France, Spain,
      and Sicily.”

   60 M. Quatrefages de Bréau, the distinguished French naturalist and
      philosopher, says that the revolving apparatus was partially due to
      M. Lemoine, a citizen, and at one time Mayor, of Calais.

   61 It was exposed twice to terrific storms during its construction. In
      1808 the battery was submerged, the parapet upset, and the barracks
      and garrison, with sixty men, swept away. But the large blocks of
      stone were afterwards found to be more securely stowed than they had
      been before.

   62 “An amount of material,” says a well-known authority, “at least
      equal to that contained in the Great Pyramid.”

   63 “Lives of the Engineers.”

   64 The _Times_, September 14th, 1861.

   65 Horace Moule in Weldon’s “Register of Facts and Occurrences relating
      to Literature, the Sciences, and the Arts,” December, 1862.

   66 As described in the latter chapter on the lighthouse.

   67 This was the same gale which destroyed Winstanley’s Eddystone
      Lighthouse, the first erected on the rock, as already described. It
      is to be noted that Winstanley’s house, at Littlebury, in Essex, 200
      miles from the lighthouse, fell down and was utterly destroyed in
      the same storm.

   68 This narrative differs from the more circumstantial account given by
      Defoe, doubtless from official authorities. The vessel had seventy
      guns, and 349 men; the latter, likely enough, may not have been her
      full complement.

   69 A large part of the information incorporated above is derived from
      one of the least known of Defoe’s works, entitled, “The Storm: or, a
      Collection of the most Remarkable Casualities and Disasters which
      happened in the Late Dreadful Tempest, both by Sea and Land.”

   70 Although so severe in England and a large part of the Continent,
      Scotland scarce felt the fury of the gale. Defoe, in his poem on the
      subject, says:—

        “They tell us Scotland ’scaped the blast;
          No nation else have been without a taste:
        All Europe sure have felt the mighty shock,
          ’T has been a universal stroke.
        But heaven has other ways to plague the Scots,
          As poverty and plots.”

   71 “History of the Life-boat and its Work,” by Richard Lewis, of the
      Inner Temple, Esq., Secretary of the National Life-boat Institution.

   72 Including the grand name of William Wilberforce.

   73 Its revenue is now approximately ten times the above amount.

   74 For the perilous nature of the employment, the pay is ridiculously
      small. It must be, however, in fairness to the Institution,
      remembered that it is a society depending on the benevolent public
      for its support, and is not a Government concern. Each boat has its
      appointed coxswain at a salary of £8 per annum, and assistants at £2
      per annum. On every occasion of going afloat to save life, the
      coxswain and his men receive alike, 10s. if by day, and £1 if by
      night.

   75 “Storm Warriors; or, Life-boat Work on the Goodwin Sands,” by the
      Rev. John Gilmore, M.A.

_   76 The Times_, November 5th, 1866.

_   77 The Times_, January 6th, 1876.

_   78 The Shipwrecked Mariner._ A Quarterly Maritime Journal. Vol. XXII.
      1875. (Organ of the “Shipwrecked Mariner’s Society.”) The article is
      from the pen of Lindon Saunders, Esq.

_   79 The Life-boat: a Journal of the Life-boat Institution._ November
      2nd, 1874.

   80 The following account is based mainly on the reports published in
      the _Times_.

   81 A part of the crew behaved in a most cowardly manner, and thought
      only of saving themselves, although Captain Knowles and Mr. Brand,
      the chief officer, who stood nobly by their posts, did all in their
      power to shame these recreants, and themselves went down with the
      ship. The lines quoted above were written by a graduate of Pembroke
      College, Cambridge, whose promising career was cut short by death at
      an early age. The poem, described as “A Fragment,” is given in full
      in _The Lifeboat_ for February 1st, 1878.

   82 Vide _The Life-boat; or, Journal of the National Life-boat
      Institution_. August 2, 1875.

   83 The Scilly Islands, thirty miles from the Land’s End, are 140 in
      number, and range in extent from one to 1,600 acres, several of the
      larger being fully inhabited. They are flanked by the grandest rock
      scenery, and surrounded by reefs and rocks innumerable.

   84 Captain Thomas had, we were told on other authority, navigated the
      _Schiller_ across the Atlantic and past the treacherous Scillies
      eight times. He imagined himself to be far from a point of danger;
      and old sea-captains assert that it is not uncommon for a vessel to
      be in advance of her commander’s calculations—in other words, she
      may plough through the water faster than he is aware. In this case
      the sun had been absent for three days, and the course had been kept
      by dead reckoning.

_   85 The Lifeboat_, &c., February 1st, 1876.

   86 Shortly after the wreck of the _Deutschland_, the same tug-boat, the
      _Liverpool_, rescued from certain death the crew of another foreign
      ship, this time a Norwegian vessel, wrecked on the Ship-wash
      sandbank; and the Ramsgate life-boat, summoned by telegram from
      Harwich, was towed by the steam-tug _Aid_ no less than forty-five
      miles to the scene of the disaster—only to find on arrival there
      that the shipwrecked crew had already been saved by the Harwich
      tug—and then another forty-five miles on her return. The fifteen
      poor fellows on board had then been fourteen hours sitting in their
      boat, with the seas and spray breaking over them through the whole
      of this terrible voyage in a freezing atmosphere. They landed in a
      benumbed and half-frozen state, from the effects of which some of
      them were sure to suffer severely afterwards.

_   87 The Lifeboat_, &c., Feb. 1st, 1876.

   88 “The Loss of the _Amazon_.” By the Rev. C. A. Johns, B.A., F.L.S.,
      &c.

   89 In sea-going steam-vessels the salt water employed in the boilers
      incrusts the sides with a deposit of salt, and it is necessary to
      “blow off” every now and again, and discharge the water from them.

   90 Eliot Warburton, the author of “The Crescent and the Cross,” &c.,
      &c.

   91 “The _Amazon_:” A sermon preached at St. Andrew’s Church, Plymouth,
      January 18th, 1852, by the Rev. William Blood (one of the
      survivors).

   92 This is common enough in all the great steamship lines, where
      certain vessels acquire a name for speed and accommodation, and
      where the captain is known as a first-class commander. Passengers
      who can afford to wait often delay their trips for weeks for the
      opportunity of sailing on a favourite ship.

   93 The Rev. D. J. Draper, a man of fifty-six years of age, was
      returning to Australia, where for thirty years he had laboured as a
      missionary, and where he was very generally and deservedly
      respected. Part of the information respecting the wreck is taken
      from “The Storm and the Haven,” a tribute to his memory, published
      in Melbourne the year of the terrible occurrence.

   94 The official inquiry of the Board of Trade elicited the fact that
      the number was somewhat smaller. The total number of souls on board
      was 263, and of these 19 were saved, leaving the number who perished
      at 244.

   95 It is a fact that Captain Martin had an interest in the _London_ to
      the extent of £5,000. Hard to lose life and property so valuable—may
      be, so important to others at home—at one and the same time!

   96 The above account is principally derived from a “Narrative of the
      Loss of the _Rothsay Castle_,” by Lieut. R. J. Morrison, R.N., and
      other sources.

   97 The writer has seen nearly the same thing practised on the
      flat-bottomed stern-wheel steamers common in some parts of America,
      where, in shallow water, the passengers have been required to walk
      to the other side of the vessel, and literally “tip” her on that
      side. On one occasion in a “slough,” or shallow passage, he saw a
      number of the passengers and crew literally step out into the water
      and push the boat along, till, with their exertions and the
      steam-power, she was got off the bank.

_   98 Vide_ “Letters, &c., on the Loss of the _Rothsay Castle_.” By the
      Rev. J. H. Stewart.

   99 “Narrative of the Wreck of the Steamer _Killarney_,” &c. By Baron
      Spolasco, M.D., &c., &c.

  100 Our information is derived from an article on the subject in _The
      Life-boat_ for November 1st, 1878.





                            TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE


The illustrations have been moved so that they do not break up paragraphs
and are near the text they illustrate.

Several illustrations which were missing from the List of Illustrations
have been added to it. They can be identified by the missing page numbers
in the list.

The following changes have been made to the text:

      page vii, “Parayaguan” changed to “Paraguayan”
      page 2, “succesfully” changed to “successfully”
      page 10, “Trindad” changed to “Trinidad”
      page 14, period added after “cwt”
      page 15, quote mark removed before “Monson’s”
      page 34, quote mark added before “unparalleled”
      page 59, quote mark added after “them.”
      page 82, quote mark added after “it.”
      page 83, quote mark added before “we”
      page 86, quote mark added after “crazy!”
      page 107, colon changed to period after “dews”
      page 113, “is” changed to “it”
      page 120, quote mark added after “matter....”
      page 126, quote mark added after “Lloyd’s”
      page 129, “o f” changed to “off”
      page 146, quote mark added after “ALEXANDRA.”
      page 173, single quote mark added after “Arberbrothok.”
      page 177, quote mark added after “cry.”
      page 182, “occuping” changed to “occupying”
      page 183, “Frith” changed to “Firth”
      page 207, quote mark added after “increased.”
      page 210, “make” changed to “made”, quote mark added after “skeel”
      page 217, quote mark added after “rescue!”
      page 222, “seaman” changed to “seamen”
      page 268, “mother” changed to “mothers”
      page 283, quote mark added after “perish.”
      page 298, “pasengers” changed to “passengers”
      page 319, quote mark added after “3,317.”

Differences between the table of contents and the chapter summaries have
not been corrected. Neither have variations in hyphenation been
normalized.