FOOTNOTES:
[13] Naval Chronicle, vol. xxxvii. p. 183.
THE PALLAS AND THE NYMPH.
In the month of December, 1810, the Pallas, a 32-gun frigate, commanded by Captain Paris Monke, was returning, in company with the Nymph, Captain Edward Sneyd Clay, from a month's cruise on the coast of Norway, and was steering for Leith, with a prize in tow. She had not got far to the southward, when, on Tuesday morning, the 18th, between nine and ten o'clock, land was discovered, but the weather was so thick, it could not be clearly defined. The pilot, however, gave it as his opinion that they were north of the Red-head. Towards the middle of the day they fell in with some fishing-boats, and Captain Monke having requested one of the fishermen to come on board the frigate, he learnt from this man that the ship was at that time off Stonehive and the Tod Head. At four o'clock, P.M., the usual order to pipe to supper was given; the wind was blowing from the north-west, and the vessel going at the rate of four knots an hour. Supper being over, the drum beat to quarters, and the captain, having received the usual reports, ordered the watch to be called. At six o'clock, in compliance with the wish of the pilot, the course was altered from south-west to south-south-west. For the last quarter of an hour the ship had been increasing her rate of sailing from five and a half to six knots an hour; the top-gallant scudding sails were therefore taken in, and the royal and top-gallant stay sails hauled down, as also the jib and the spanker. Soon after this the pilot, pointing towards the coast, said to the captain, 'There's Lunan Bay;' and shortly afterwards he said, 'There's the Red Head;' but it was too dark, then, to see the land, much less could the outline of the coast be distinguished. The captain inquired if they should not soon see the Bell Rock Light, and he was answered in the affirmative. He then ordered the officer of the watch to hail the forecastle, and direct the men to keep a vigilant look-out for the Bell Rock Light.
Ere many minutes had elapsed after the order was given, a light was perceived before the starboard beam, which the pilot declared to be a signal hoisted on the pier at Arbroath to show that there was water enough for vessels to enter the harbour. The captain then went below to consult the book of sailing directions, and when he returned upon deck, he said to the pilot, 'If that light be on Arbroath pier, as you suppose, we ought most certainly to be in sight of the light on the Bell Rock.' The pilot replied, 'We shall soon see it;' and Captain Monke repeated to the officer of the watch his order to keep a sharp look out.
As the light on the Bell Rock did not appear, the captain became exceedingly anxious; the more so, as he was convinced, by reckoning the distances from the Tod Head to the Red Head, and from the Red Head to the Bell Rock, and comparing their sum with the run from four o'clock, that the ship had run as many miles to the southward as would bring her up to the Bell Rock. To ascertain exactly the position of the ship, he desired the master to work off the run by the log up to eight o'clock, P.M., and in a short time the master reported that by his calculation the light which they saw was no other than the floating light of the Bell Rock, and that they had now only to bear up and shape a course for the Isle of May.
The captain had been upon deck for more than five hours, and was so much fatigued that he went down to the gun-room to get some refreshment, at a little after ten o'clock, leaving positive orders with the officer of the watch and the master to be most attentive to the ship's course; and he was so anxious for her safety, that he had scarcely sat down in the gun-room before he sent for the pilot-book of sailing directions, that he might ascertain more exactly the position of the Bell Rock, and the course and distance from thence to the Isle of May. In a few minutes, the officer of the watch went down to report that the May light was in sight, and Captain Monke was in the act of going upon deck, when the vessel struck the ground. He instantly rushed upon deck, and inquired of the master where he supposed the ship had grounded. The reply was a startling one:—'I am afraid,' said he, 'that we are on the Bell Rock, and not a soul will be saved, unless we can forge her over it.' How they could possibly be upon the Bell Rock, when the master had himself so confidently declared they were running from it for some hours, appeared a mystery: but this was no time for arguing the matter. Captain Monke saw the danger both to the ship and all on board: he ordered the drum to beat to quarters, and the men were soon on deck and each at his post Having assured himself that the rudder was not damaged, the captain ordered the foretack to be hauled on board, and the yards to be braced with the larboard brace, which was done without loss of time. The lead was cast, to ascertain the depth of water, which the quarter-master reported to be twelve feet. The ship, which at first had taken the ground easily, now began to strike with great violence; and when they found that she did not forge ahead, the yards were braced aback, but to no better purpose, for she remained hard and fast as before.
Land was now seen to leeward, and the master changed his opinion, and imagined that the frigate had struck on the Isle of May; but the pilot thought they were on shore in St. Andrew's Bay, and blamed the master for having hauled too soon. As the tide was falling, there was little hope of getting the ship afloat, although this was so far fortunate, that it afforded a better chance of escape for the crew.
Orders were given to man the pumps, and the people obeyed with alacrity, and worked by turns throughout the night with the utmost vigour. The ship seemed to come up easier for a time, and the carpenter reported twelve feet water in the hold. When the moon rose, the position of the frigate with regard to the land was discovered; and as the tide ebbed, her larboard bow appeared to be but a short distance from the nearest rocks. From the time of the ship's striking, guns had been fired as signals of distress, to arouse the attention of the inhabitants of the coast, and these signals were soon answered by lights displayed along the shore, and large fires kindled on the beach. The glare of the torches moving to and fro on the shore denoted the inclination of the people to render assistance to the unfortunate vessel. Voices were heard hailing the ship, but it was impossible to distinguish the words. The boatswain and carpenter, and some others, declared that the men said, 'You are in St. Andrew's Bay—come on shore,' Upon this, the boatswain and gunner volunteered to land with two men in a small prize skiff, for the purpose of reconnoitring the beach. This proposition was immediately rejected by the captain, who assembled the principal officers on the forecastle and declared to them his determination not to suffer a single boat to be lowered during the night—but that they should all stick to the ship until daylight, as the only chance of preserving their lives.
Happily the captain's orders were obeyed, though doubtless many would feel tempted to risk a landing. The Pallas became more and more uneasy—her rudder was carried away, and the sea broke completely over her. The men were each served with a dram, and were still kept at the pumps until three o'clock A.M., when the main beam broke and the others began to give way in succession. In order to lighten the vessel, the mainmast was cut away. At first, this did not appear to have the desired effect—but in all probability it would have fallen of itself and have done injury to the people; it now hung over the side, and promised to serve as a raft in case of necessity. The foremast was then cut away, and the mizenmast was doomed to follow—but the axe and tomahawk, which had been carried forward, were lost, or washed away. The ship by this time had fallen upon her beam ends, and the sea was making breaches over her, so that every individual had enough to do to keep himself from being washed overboard.
About four o'clock in the morning, the spirits of the crew were revived by seeing a boat appear between the wreck and a large fire that had been kept burning immediately opposite. This was a welcome sight, and it was hailed by three loud and hearty cheers from the Pallas.
Many of the men by this time were suffering much from cold, hunger, and fatigue, and those who were able, got into the weather chains for safety and shelter. Daylight discovered to them the real position of the ship; the light which had been supposed to be on the Isle of May was that of a lime-kiln on the main land, and as the Bass and North Berwick Law were plainly visible, it was evident from their bearings that the frigate was on shore near to Dunbar. She was now a total wreck—the bottom had separated to some extent amidships from her upper works; a considerable portion of her floor timber was lying about ten yards to windward of the rest of the hull, and the iron ballast within this frame of timber was thus open to view. It was now time for every man to provide as far as possible for his own safety. A Portuguese sailor, an excellent swimmer, was the first to quit the wreck and swim on shore; several men attempted to follow his example, but five of them perished. The life-boat from Dunbar, which had been launched with great difficulty on account of the heavy surf beating on the rocks, reached the ship at ten o'clock in the morning of the 19th, and she took off a boat-load from the wreck and landed them in safety.
This success encouraged the people to try to employ the boats of the Pallas, but they were all found to be stove, or otherwise rendered useless, with the exception of a sixteen-oared cutter. The cutter was launched without material injury, and fortunately reached the land with as many as she could carry. The life-boat again neared the ship, and made a second successful landing with a number of officers and men; and a third time she touched the wreck, and was again crowded with people, but unfortunately the rope which she carried as a hauling line was too short to reach between the ship and the shore, and this time she had scarcely put off from the quarter before she filled and upset. By this accident, six of the crew of the Pallas were drowned, and one of the bravest fellows belonging to the life-boat The other thirteen men who manned the boat, and several people from the wreck, were saved with great difficulty; a small fishing-boat, which had been opportunely launched through the surf, picked them up. Amongst others so rescued from a watery grave were Captain Monke, and Mr. Walker, the first lieutenant. The crew of the fishing-boat persevered with great courage and good judgment in their efforts to save the rest of the crew. They procured a small tow-line, which being held by one end on the beach, they made fast to the mizen chains of the ship. The boat was then hauled to and fro until, in eight or ten trips, she had cleared the wreck of all the people; and, with the exception of Mr. Tomlinson, the boatswain, and ten or twelve others who perished, the whole of the ship's company were saved.
The kindness and hospitality exercised by the inhabitants of Dunbar and the surrounding country were beyond all praise. The sufferers, many of whom were insensible when carried on shore, and unconscious of the manner in which their lives had been preserved, were lodged, fed, and clothed. Captain Monke, who was much bruised, was carried by Captain Maitland to the house of his father, Lord Lauderdale, at Dunbar. The first lieutenant, Mr. Walker, who was picked up apparently lifeless, was conveyed to Broxmouth, the seat of the Duchess of Roxburgh, where he was, under Providence, indebted for his restoration to the unremitting attentions of the duchess and her husband, Mr. Manners.
The humblest of the crew were equally well cared for. The duchess went from room to room, ministering to the wants of the sufferers, and seeing that every comfort was provided for them.
It is gratifying to record that a handsome pecuniary reward was given by government to the fishermen and other inhabitants of Dunbar who so nobly risked their lives for the sake of their fellow-countrymen; and the widow of the man who was lost in the life-boat had a pension of £25 per annum settled upon her.
'I am persuaded,' writes Captain Monke, in his narrative, 'that this court will participate in my feelings, and would think me most forgetful, if I did not here publicly express my grateful sense I shall ever retain of the humane and liberal conduct of the Duchess of Roxburgh and Mr. Manners, who in their hospitable mansion at Broxmouth administered every sort of comfort and medical relief to the far greater part of the suffering officers and people of the Pallas, many of whose lives were thereby preserved to their country. In justice to my own feelings, I cannot close my narrative without declaring to this honourable court that no men under similar circumstances could behave better than did the crew of the Pallas. So far from being dismayed by their perilous situation, they manifested equal firmness and subordination; and, in fact, from the first moment of the ship striking the ground, to the time when necessity compelled every individual to consult his own safety, they obeyed all the orders with as much alacrity as cheerfulness, and (what is more) without either noise or confusion. Hence, sir, I consider myself justified in asserting that, notwithstanding the number victualled on board at the time was reduced to one hundred and sixty, if any human exertion could, in the first instance, have got the Pallas afloat, she would not have been irrecoverably lost to the service. I must also beg leave to add, that the officers set every example; and that from Mr. Walker, the first-lieutenant, I derived, throughout this trying scene, the most effectual support and assistance.'
The Nymph, which we have mentioned as being in company with the Pallas, got on shore the same night, on a rock called the Devil's Ark, near Skethard, misled by some irregularity in the lights on the Bell Rock and Isle of May.
The crew of the Nymph were all saved, but the fine frigate was lost.
ST. GEORGE AND DEFENCE.
Among the many services in which the fleets of Great Britain were engaged during the last war, none was more rife with perils and hardships than that on which the Baltic Fleet was employed. During the long winter nights the crews were continually exposed to intense cold, and the ships were often enveloped in such impenetrable fogs, that sometimes even the pilots were deceived as to their true position, and those lamentable consequences ensued of which the loss of the Minotaur was an example, (see page 154), her officers conceiving they were on the coast of England, when they were actually stranded on the opposite shore.
We will briefly mention two instances, which may give the reader some idea of the severity of the climate in the Northern Seas.
On the 23rd of December, 1808, the Fama (which had sailed from Carlscrona the previous day, in consort with some other men-of-war, and a convoy of merchantmen,) struck upon the Island of Bornholm, in the midst of such dense darkness, and so blinding a fall of snow, that it was impossible to discern any of the surrounding objects. The moment the ship struck, Lieutenant Topping, her commander, sprung from his berth and rushed upon deck, without giving himself time to put on his clothes. In his anxiety for the safety of his ship, and of those who were on board, he continued to give his orders, without any other protection from the piercing blast and driving snow than a blanket, which one of his men had thrown over his shoulders; 'in fifteen minutes from the time the vessel first struck, he fell upon the deck a corpse.' One man and a woman shared the same fate, the rest of the crew survived the night, and were next morning saved by the Danes.
The circumstances attending the loss of the Pandora were still more horrible. She struck on the Scaw Reef, a shoal on the coast of Jutland, on the night of the 13th of February, 1811, and in three hours her rudder was carried away, and the hold nearly filled with water. The wind was bitterly cold, and, as the men were unable to get below, they were in danger of being either washed overboard, or frozen to death, before morning. In this dreadful state they remained until daybreak, when it was discovered that several of them had perished from the inclemency of the weather. The survivors contrived to cut a hole in the side of the deck which was above water, through which they crept below, one by one, to seek protection from the cold. During the day, some boats attempted to put out to their assistance, but the sea ran so high that it was impossible to approach the wreck. The unhappy crew, disappointed in their hopes of relief, endeavoured to launch the boats; but these were so encased in ice, that they resembled large blocks of marble, and it was impossible to move them. In the course of the night the wind and sea abated, and the Danes succeeded in rescuing the people of the Pandora from their perilous situation, but not before twenty-nine had perished from the intense cold.
The month of November, 1811, was most disastrous to the Baltic Fleet. The British ships of war had already suffered so severely from attempting the dangerous navigation of the Northern Seas too late in the year, that the commander-in-chief on the station received orders on no account to delay the departure of the last homeward-bound convoy beyond the 1st of November. In obedience to these instructions, Rear-Admiral Reynolds sailed with a convoy from Hano on that day, having hoisted his broad pendant on board the St. George, of 98 guns, Captain Daniel Oliver Guion; but owing to severe gales he was compelled to put back on three several occasions, and the weather did not permit him finally to leave the anchorage until the 12th of the month. On the 15th the St George and convoy arrived off the Island of Zealand, where they anchored to wait for a favourable wind, having met with very rough weather in their passage from Hano, and several of the convoy having foundered, without its being possible for the others to render them the least assistance. In the course of the night of the 15th the wind increased to a hurricane, and all hands on board the St. George were summoned to give the ship cable. Before this could be accomplished the sea poured through the hawse-holes, carried everything away, and rendered it impossible for many of the men to stand to their duty. They were still in the act of veering away the cable, when a large merchant vessel, which had been seen looming through the darkness, drifted down upon them, its hull coming violently in collision with the bows of the St. George, and severing her cables;—one piercing shriek followed,—the merchantman gave a lurch, and the next instant was engulfed in the raging billows.
However appalling the sight of this fearful tragedy might have been to the crew of the St. George, their own danger was too imminent to allow them much time for reflection, for on heaving the lead they found only fourteen fathoms, though they had anchored in twenty. The best bower anchor was at once let go, as the ship appeared to be fast drifting towards the shore; but such was the force of the wind and sea, that its massive ring broke off as if it had been only a piece of wire. Upon this it was resolved to wear her off the land, and the jib and foretopmast stay-sail were loosed, but before they could be set the sails were wrenched from the bolt-ropes, and borne away by the blast. The lead being cast again, eight fathoms were reported; the sheet anchor was let go, in hopes that it would hold, but, like the other anchor, it made no impression on the ship, and broke short off. As a last resource, the men began to cut away the masts, when, just as they fell, a heavy sea lifted the vessel and hurled her with violence upon a sand bank, where she remained fast, the masts having by good fortune fallen clear of her sides.
There was but little hope now of saving the ship, yet the crew behaved with the most admirable steadiness, and obeyed with cheerful alacrity when they were ordered to man the pumps. Towards daybreak the rudder was torn from its fastenings, and it was only the discovery that the water did not gain on the ship that sustained the drooping spirits of the seamen, exhausted as they were with their arduous exertions and long exposure to the biting cold and constant fall of sleet and snow. At half-past six the long-wished-for dawn appeared, when, to their dismay, they found themselves on a sand bank, four miles from the shore. As the wind and sea gradually abated, the rest of the squadron attempted to render them assistance, but did not venture to approach too close to the shoal. The St. George continued to strike heavily until twelve that night, when her head swung round to the land, and, contrary to all expectations, the water was found to have risen three feet since eight o'clock in the evening. By ten the next morning (Sunday, the 17th of November) she was clear of all danger, and having fitted up jury-masts, with a rudder supplied from the Cressy, she arrived in safety at Gottenburg, about the 2nd of December.
Having partially repaired damages, Admiral Reynolds weighed anchor on the 17th December, and proceeded, in consort with the Defence and Cressy, to convoy a homeward-bound fleet of merchantmen.
On the 23rd, another north-westerly gale was encountered, on the coast of Jutland. At midnight, signals were made to wear, but owing to the disabled state of the St. George, this was found impossible. In the hope of bringing her head round to the wind, an anchor was let go, but the hawser, catching under her keel, tore away the temporary rudder, and snapped itself with the strain, and again the ship fell off. The captain gave orders to strike the lower yards and topmasts, and to lighten the vessel. Between five and six in the morning of the 24th, the report of a gun was heard from the Defence, which was supposed to have got on shore about two miles and a half off. A short time after, the St. George struck, and drifted towards the shore, and from this moment all hope of saving the ship vanished.
Upon examining the well, the carpenter reported ten feet water in the hold; and this rose so rapidly, that in the space of half an hour it reached the lower deck, driving the people to the main deck. Admiral Reynolds and the captain used every effort to encourage the men to remain steady to their duty, as the only chance of preserving their lives. At ten o'clock, the sea swept the main deck, so that all hands were obliged to seek refuge on the poop. All the boats, except the yawl, had either been stove or washed overboard. As an instance of the obedience and discipline of the crew of the St. George, three or four men came forward, and asked permission to attempt to reach the shore in the yawl: this request was at first granted, but as they were about to lower her into the sea, it was considered impossible that the boat could live, and the men were directed to return to their posts. Without a murmur, they instantly obeyed; and as if Providence had rewarded this implicit obedience and reliance upon their officers, two of these men were of the few that were saved.
It is impossible to describe the suffering of the helpless crew. Their numbers, originally about seven hundred and fifty, had been terribly thinned by the severity of the weather, and the surging of the waves, which every instant burst over them. At eight o'clock in the evening of the 24th, fourteen men took the boat and attempted to pull from the wreck, but they had not gone many yards when she upset, and her crew perished. The mizenmast still stood, and orders were given for its being cut away, but as no axes could be found, the men were obliged to use their knives to cut the lanyards of the rigging; at this moment, a sea struck the mast, carrying away the poop, and the men who were upon it. As the poop was swept away from the wreck, it bore not only the living but the dead. The latter far outnumbered the former, and it became necessary for the general preservation to cast overboard the bodies of their dead comrades. But their strength, already weakened by previous suffering, was unequal to the performance of this painful duty; and while thus employed, a sea swept over the poop, scattering the men upon the foaming billows. Five regained it, but were again washed off, and again succeeded in reaching their former position. Of these, two died, and the other three were washed on shore.
The scene on board was one of the most harrowing description. Mingled together were the living, the dying, and the dead. The bodies were piled up by the survivors in rows one above another, as a shelter from the violence of the waves, which broke incessantly over them.
In the fourth row lay the admiral and his friend Captain Guion; whilst the groans of the dying, mingling with the roar of the tempest, unnerved the hearts of those who had hitherto shown an unappalled front to the perils surrounding them.
There still remained about two hundred men, who were employed in constructing a raft, as the last chance of saving their lives. After considerable labour, this was effected, by lashing together a topsail yard and a cross-jack yard, the only spars that remained.
Upon this, ten men left the wreck, but the timbers being improperly secured, they broke adrift, and the first sea that came washed five men off; the others gained the shore, one of whom died.
According to all accounts, even the few who survived would have perished, had it not been for the humane conduct of the Danes who came to their assistance; these, at the risk of their own lives, succeeded in rescuing from the raft the seven exhausted sufferers who survived, out of the crew of seven hundred and fifty men.
The St. George, as has been already mentioned, was in company with both the Cressy and Defence. Captain Pater, who commanded the former, seeing the impossibility of rendering any assistance to the St. George, and the imminent risk to his own ship if he remained longer on the starboard tack, wore, and escaped the danger.
The master of the Defence reported to Captain Atkins that the St. George had gone on shore, and that the Cressy had veered and was standing to the southward,—at the same time pointing out the great danger the ship was in, and recommending that he should follow the example of the Cressy. The captain inquired whether the admiral had made the signal to part company; upon being answered in the negative, he replied, 'I will never desert my admiral in the hour of danger and distress.'
At about six o'clock A.M., the hands were turned up to wear ship, but before this could be accomplished she struck, the sea made a breach over her, and washed several men overboard.
The captain gave orders to fire minute guns, and cut away the masts. Five or six guns only had been fired, before they broke adrift, so that it was impossible to fire any more; but providentially these had been heard by the look-out men on shore, to whose assistance may be attributed the preservation of the few lives that were saved.
The waves swept over the vessel, forcing numbers of the crew down the hatchways, the guns and other heavy articles had broken loose, killing some, breaking the arms and legs of others, whose agonizing cries served only to add to the horrors of a scene scarcely within the power of description.
The captain at this time stood on the poop, holding on only by a howitzer that was lashed before the mizenmast, the officers and crew clinging to other parts of the wreck. The boats were all stove, except the pinnace, in which about twenty men had collected, when a sea, breaking over the wreck, washed her overboard, capsized her, and all perished.
Another sea struck the Defence with such excessive violence as to lift a spare anchor from its berth, throw it up on end, killing in its fall upon the forecastle about thirty men. The booms were washed away, and with them nearly one hundred men, who were clinging to the different spars.
The following account of the escape of one of her crew is so interesting, that it has been thought better to leave it as nearly as possible in his own words, than to alter it for the sake of brevity:—
'I got on one side of the booms that were floating among the rest of the wreck. At that time every man, except two, John Platt and Ralph Teasel, two of the men who were saved, were washed off. Myself and several more were at the same time swept off the mizen-top. I then made the best of my way from one spar to another, until I got on one side of the booms. At this time about forty men regained their position upon the booms, when another sea washed all off except four. I got on the booms a second time, and spoke to John Brown, and told him I thought we were approaching the shore. There were then about twenty men on them, but when we reached the shore there were only six left.
'Two Danes on the beach came to our assistance; my foot got jammed in amongst the small spars, and my comrades, seeing that I was unable to get off the raft, were coming to my help, when the Danes made signs to them to be quiet. One Dane made three attempts before he succeeded in reaching the raft, and the third time he was nearly exhausted; he managed to get hold of my foot, and wrenched it out, and carried me on shore. I was then taken up to a shed to wait for some carts which were coming for us, most of us being unable to walk. In about ten minutes a number of gentlemen arrived on horseback, and some carts came down upon the beach. We were then placed in them, and driven to a small village called Shelton. On the road the man who drove the cart spoke to a woman, and asked her if she had any liquor. She replied by drawing a bottle from her pocket, and made each of us take a dram, which I believe was in a great measure the saving of our lives.
'We soon arrived at the houses in the village, where we were stripped and put to bed, and treated by the inhabitants with the greatest hospitality and kindness. When I awoke, I found another seaman had been placed in the same bed with me; he had come on shore some time after myself upon a piece of wreck. He said, just as he reached the shore the poop and forecastle were capsized, and not a man to be seen, except a few upon pieces of wreck. In the evening, a gentleman who spoke English came to our bedside, and told us that an officer had been brought up to the house. He also told us that there was another ship on shore to the southward of us, which appeared to be a three-decker, lying with her stern on shore. We knew directly it could be no other than the St. George.
'He inquired if we were able to get up, and go and look at the body of the officer, and see if we knew him. We answered yes, and, with the assistance of the people, went into the barn, and recognised our captain. We then returned to bed again, being too exhausted to stand. The gentleman told us that medical assistance could not be procured that night, but that we should have every nourishment the house could afford. He then took his leave, promising that he would return in the morning, when we might be better able to speak to him.
'He accordingly came in the morning, and inquired what force our ship was.
'We told him a 74-gun ship, with a company of 600 men. Upon our inquiring if any more of our shipmates had reached the shore, he answered no; and we returned most hearty thanks to the Almighty for our deliverance!
'On Sunday, the 29th, we put our captain into a coffin, and buried him in Shelton Church-yard, with two seamen alongside of him.
'It was some time, through the bitterness of the cold and the bruises we had received, before we were able to walk about. As soon as we had gained sufficient strength, we went down to the beach, where we saw, scattered for about two miles along the beach, the wreck of the Defence, but not a corpse was to be seen. We supposed they had drifted away to the southward and westward, a strong current setting that way. This opinion was in a great measure confirmed by seeing our officers' things sold, and other articles belonging to the ship, six miles to the southward of where we were cast away, when we went to join the few who were saved from the St. George. On the 13th January, our captain was taken up again, and carried to Rinkum Church, and placed in a vault with the honours of war.'
Such was the unhappy fate of the St. George and Defence; only six men from the latter ship being saved, out of a crew of 600. Two days afterwards, when the gale had abated, a Danish boat, with two of the English sailors, went on board the St. George to bring away the corpses of the admiral and others, but they found the decks had been entirely swept away. Nothing could exceed the hospitality and kindness with which the Danes treated the few who were thrown upon their shore. Nor was the Danish government backward in generosity. The dead were buried with military honours, and the survivors were sent to England without exchange. The following letter from Major General Tellequist, given in his own language, sufficiently shows the deep commiseration felt by the Danish government, as well as by himself, for the lamentable catastrophe which befel the St. George and Defence.
'Randus, the 21st of January, 1812.
'Sir,—Though the grievous misfortune which has happened his great Britannic Majesty's ships of war on the Danish coast perhaps already may be known to your Excellency; nevertheless, whereas the opposite case may be possible, I will not omit hereby to make you acquainted with the sorrowful accident, assuring you that I am very compassionating.
'The 24th of last month, in the night, the English ships of the line, St. George and Defence, are splitted upon the western coast of Jutland, and the violent waves made it impossible to bring the wretched crews any assistance. From both ships are saved but thirteen persons, who are cast on shore by the sea with goods of wreck. Some of them are sick, and at present under care. A part of the dead bodies are driven to land, and interred with as much ceremony as the circumstances would admit.
'All possible pains have been taken to find out the bodies of the officers, in order to show them military honours, by the obsequies upon the churchyard.
'Two bodies of officers were found, and buried with military honours. Among these was the body of Captain Atkins, commanding the Defence, which is deposited in a church till I receive the further ordaining from my most gracious sovereign.
'I complain much that the body of Admiral Reynolds has not yet been found, for all the pains which are taken on this purpose.
'Agreeably to the charitable sensibility of the Danish nation, the inhabitants have been very grieved to see the English warriors in such a distress without being able to assist them; and I am very sorry, Sir, that I cannot give your Excellency of this accident an account less sorrowful.
'With great esteem, I remain, Sir,
'&c. &c, &c.,
'TELLEQUIST.
'To Governor Maurice.'
The body of Rear Admiral Reynolds was found a few days after the date of the above letter, and deposited with military honours near that of Captain Atkins, in Rinkum Church.
The surviving officers and men of the St. George were tried by a court-martial at Sheerness, and were acquitted of all blame with reference to the loss of that vessel.
With respect to the loss of the Defence, the court was of opinion that she was lost by getting on shore on the western coast of Jutland, in company with his Majesty's late ship St. George, in consequence of the noble and heroic determination of the captain to stay to the last by his admiral, at a moment of extreme danger and distress, conduct which, in the opinion of the court, will reflect immortal honour on the memory of Captain Atkins.
Rear Admiral Reynolds was an officer of considerable experience, and had distinguished himself on several occasions previous to his melancholy fate on board the St. George.
In the year 1797, he commanded the Amazon, a 36-gun frigate, and was cruizing the 13th of January off Ushant, in company with the Indefatigable, Captain Sir Edward Pellew, when a large ship was descried, steering under easy sail for France. This was a little after twelve o'clock at noon; chase was immediately given, and at four in the afternoon, the stranger was discovered to be a French two-decker, the Droits de l'Homme, of 74 guns.
She had on board, exclusive of her crew of 700 men, about 1050 troops, which, with 50 English prisoners, made 1800 souls.
At a little past five o'clock, the Indefatigable closed with the enemy and began the action; this had lasted about an hour, when the Indefatigable unavoidably shot ahead, on which the Amazon took her place and nobly continued the battle. The Indefatigable, having in the meantime repaired her rigging, again joined in the attack, the British ships placing themselves one on each quarter of their opponent. A continued fire was kept up for upwards of five hours, when they found it absolutely necessary to sheer off, in order to secure their masts. During the action the sea is described as having run so high, that the men on the main decks of the frigates were up to their middles in water. As soon as the masts were secured, the attack was again resumed, and notwithstanding the crews of both ships were almost exhausted with their exertions, it was prolonged for five hours more, when, late in the night, the fire ceased on both sides. The Amazon had now nearly three feet of water in the hold, and was in other respects most severely damaged. The enemy had suffered still more; her foremast was shot away, and the main and mizen-masts left tottering, the decks being strewed with the dead and dying.
At about four o'clock in the morning, an officer on board the Indefatigable reported breakers ahead, and the loss of all three vessels appeared almost inevitable.
The Indefatigable was then close under the starboard quarter of the Droits de L'Homme, and the Amazon as near to her on the larboard bow. The Indefatigable was fortunate enough to avoid the danger by being able to make sail to the southward, and she escaped.
When daylight broke, a terrible spectacle was presented. The Droits de L'Homme had drifted towards the land—broadside on—a tremendous surf beating over her. The position of the Amazon was as precarious, notwithstanding every effort was made by her officers and crew to work her off shore, all proved unavailing, and she struck the ground. The ship's company, with the exception of six men, gained the shore, which proved to be Audierne Bay, where they were all made prisoners.
The melancholy fate of the Droits de L'Homme is described in James's Naval History. Already 900 souls had perished, when the fourth night came with renewed horrors,—'weak, distracted, and wanting everything,' says one of the prisoners, a British officer, in his narrative, 'we envied the fate of those whose lifeless corpses no longer needed sustenance. The sense of hunger was already lost, but a parching thirst consumed our vitals.'.... 'Almost lost to a sense of humanity, we no longer looked with pity on those who were the speedy forerunners of our own fate, and a consultation took place, to sacrifice some one to be food to the remainder. The die was going to be cast, when the welcome sight of a man-of-war brig renewed our hopes. A cutter speedily followed, and both anchored at a short distance from the wreck. They then sent their boats to us, and by means of large rafts, about 150, out of nearly 400 who attempted it, were saved by the brig that evening; 380 were left to 'endure another night's misery,—when, dreadful to relate, about one half were found dead next morning!'
HERO.
We have next to relate the still more tragical fate of the Hero, of 74 guns. This vessel was lost on the Northern Haaks, under nearly the same circumstances as the Minotaur in the preceding year, but with more fatal results, as every soul on board perished.
The following particulars are derived from the accounts taken from the evidence of Captain Fanshawe, of the Grasshopper, and from the journals of the day.
The Grasshopper sailed from Wingo Sound on the 18th of December, 1811, in company with the Hero, Egeria, and Prince William, and a convoy of about 120 merchantmen. The weather, at the time they commenced their voyage, was stormy and tempestuous. The Egeria and Prince William parted company on the 20th, and on the 23rd the Grasshopper was left in company with the Hero, and about eighteen merchantmen.
At about half-past eleven o'clock, Captain Newman, of the Hero, made signal to the Grasshopper to come within hail; conceiving that they were on the Silver Pitts, he directed the course to be altered to the south-west, which was accordingly done. They continued their course until ten o'clock at night, when the signal was made to alter it two points to port.
The Grasshopper was at this time going at the rate of nine knots an hour; four of the convoy had been kept in view up to this period, but were soon lost sight of in the heavy squall of snow and sleet. At half-past three o'clock all hands were turned up, when the ship being in broken water, she struck with great violence, and suddenly fell into three fathoms water. The best bower was let go, and she was brought to an anchor. In a few minutes the ship struck again, and continued to do so as long as she remained in that position.
The crew of the Grasshopper had now their attention called to the situation of the Hero. It was first supposed that she was at anchor, although she fired several guns, and burnt blue lights, which in about half-an-hour ceased. At daylight it was discovered that both the ships were inside the Northern Haaks, about five or six miles from the Texel Island. About a mile from the Grasshopper was the Hero—a complete wreck—lying on her starboard broadside. The ship's company were all crowded together upon the poop and forecastle; the sea making clean breaches over her. An attempt was made by the crew of the Grasshopper to reach the Hero, but the surf ran so high that it prevented all communication, and they were under the imperious necessity of seeing their comrades perish, without the slightest possibility of being able to render them assistance.
The Hero had hoisted a flag of truce, and fired a gun: in a short time these signals of distress were answered, by several vessels putting out from the Texel to her relief; but owing to the flood-tide, and the strong gale of wind then blowing, the boats were unable to get nearer than three miles.
Notwithstanding that those on board the Grasshopper were themselves in a most precarious position, from the repeated shocks the ship had sustained by striking against the ground, their attention was completely diverted from themselves, in their anxiety for the fate of the Hero. The waves burst with relentless fury over the doomed vessel, every moment snatching a victim from the now almost deserted decks.
As the night was approaching, and the weather still continued boisterous, Captain Fanshawe, having taken the opinion of the officers, judged that there was no other alternative for saving the lives of his crew than by surrendering to the enemy. At four o'clock the cable was cut, and they made sail for the Helder Point, where they surrendered to the Dutch Vice-Admiral, De Wintner.
The Hero went to pieces during the night: in the morning not a vestige of her was to be seen. Every exertion was made by the Dutch squadron to save the crew, but the weather was so stormy, that all their efforts proved abortive, and thus every soul on board perished.
In the year 1798, Captain Newman distinguished himself by a most gallant action which he fought off the coast of Ireland. He was then in command of the Mermaid, 32-gun frigate, and was cruising in consort with the Revolutionnaire, of 38 guns, Captain Twysden, and the Kangaroo, gun-brig, commanded by Captain Brace. On the 15th October, when near Black Cod Bay, two very large French frigates were seen and pursued, but they were lost sight of during the night. The next morning, however, the Mermaid and Kangaroo made out one of the Frenchmen, and the Kangaroo came up with her the same afternoon, but was speedily disabled by the heavy fire of her opponent, and compelled to drop astern. The Mermaid kept on in chase, and engaged the French vessel, which proved to be the Loire, 46-gun frigate, on the morning of the 17th October. Early in the action the French attempted to board, but were frustrated by the skilful handling of the Mermaid, which enabled her to close within pistol-shot of the Loire, when the latter's foretopmast was soon shot away, and the fire from her great guns nearly silenced, though a continuous storm of musketry was still kept up from her decks. Upon attempting to rake her opponent, the Mermaid's mizenmast unfortunately went by the board, so that she fell off, and the maintop-mast almost instantly followed. By this time the rigging of the English frigate was completely cut to pieces, and her boats destroyed; she was also making a great deal of water, having received several shots between wind and water. In this crippled condition, Captain Newman had no other alternative but to discontinue the action. This was done without any attempt on the part of the Loire to renew the engagement, the French being no doubt only too glad to get rid of her spirited antagonist, though she was only half the size of their own vessel.
On the following day the Loire fell in with the Anson and Kangaroo, and surrendered to the British flag. Subsequently Captain Newman was appointed to the Loire, having the proud satisfaction of commanding the vessel in whose capture he had so gallantly assisted.
In 1808, our officer received the command of the unfortunate Hero, which ship, in 1810, formed part of the squadron under Sir James Saumarez, employed for the protection of commerce in the North Sea. Here he continued in the unpleasant duty of convoying merchant vessels backwards and forwards from Dar's Head, the south entrance of the Great Belt, to Sproe Island. On the 25th of September, Captain Newman, in company with the Mars, 74, arrived off Yarmouth, having in charge between five and six hundred merchantmen, the largest convoy that had ever sailed from the Baltic. He again returned to his former station in March, 1811, where he remained until the latter end of the year, when his ship was selected, with others, to convoy the homeward-bound fleet. On this occasion, he appears to have had sad misgivings as to the prudence of sending ships home at so late a period of the year, through the dangerous navigation of the northern seas. On the day previous to the sailing of the squadron from Wingo Sound, he observed, 'I cannot help thinking that we have been detained too long, and it is well if some of us do not share the fate of the Minotaur.'[14] His words were but too prophetic; and, ere long, he and two thousand of our brave defenders perished on a foreign strand.