FOOTNOTES:
[15] Parliamentary Report, 255.
THE ALCESTE.
At the close of 1815, the Court of Directors of the East India Company having represented to the British Government the impediments thrown in the way of our trade with China, by the impositions practised by the local authorities at Canton, it was determined to send an embassy to the court of Pekin.
Lord Amherst was selected to undertake the mission, and Mr. Henry Ellis was appointed secretary to the embassy.
The Alceste, a frigate of 46 guns, under the command of Captain, afterwards Sir Murray Maxwell, was fitted up for the reception of the ambassador and his suite.
On the 9th of February, 1816, the expedition sailed from Spithead, and arrived in the China seas about the middle of July following. It is not in our province to give any account of the proceedings of the embassy, which have already been so ably described, and are well known.
His excellency, having accomplished the object of his mission, took his departure from China on the 9th of January, 1817, arrived at Manilla on the 3rd of February, and finally sailed from thence in the Alceste, on the 9th of the same month.
Captain Maxwell directed the ship's course to be steered towards the Straits of Gaspar, in preference to those of Banca, as affording, at that period of the monsoon, the most convenient and speedy egress from the China seas; and though this passage is not so often taken as that of Banca, the Gaspar Straits appeared by the plans and surveys laid down in the Admiralty charts, as well as in those of the East India Company, to be, not only wider, but to have a much greater depth of water, and to offer fewer difficulties to navigation.
Early on the morning of the 18th of February, they made the Island of Gaspar, and in a short time, Pulo Leat, or Middle Island, was descried from the mast-head. The weather was remarkably fine and clear,—a mild breeze blowing from the north-west, and the surface of the water gently agitated by the current, which perpetually sets through the straits, either to the south-east or south-west, according to the monsoon.
The sea, which is usually so clear in these climates, had been greatly discoloured that morning by a quantity of fish spawn, a circumstance of not unfrequent occurrence in those seas; and the navigation being thus rendered more dangerous, unusual precautions were taken for ensuring the safety of the ship. A man was stationed at the foretopmast head, and others at the fore-yardarms. Captain Maxwell, with the master and other officers, was upon deck, 'steering, under all these guarded circumstances,' (writes an eye-witness,) 'the soundings corresponding so exactly with the charts, and following the express line prescribed by all concurring directions, to clear every danger,—and it was the last danger of this sort between us and England,—when the ship, about half-past seven in the morning, struck with a horrid crash on a reef of sunken rocks, and remained immoveable.' 'What my feelings were,' says Captain Maxwell, 'at this momentary transition from a state of perfect security to all the horrors of a shipwreck, I will not venture to depict; but I must acknowledge, it required whatever mental energy I possessed to control them, and to enable me to give with coolness and firmness the necessary orders preparatory to abandoning the ship,—which a very short period of hard working at all the pumps showed the impracticability of saving.'
The carpenter very soon reported the water above the tanks in the main hold, and in a few minutes more, over the orlop deck.
The quarter boats had been instantly lowered to sound, and reported deep water all round the reef, ten fathoms immediately under the stern, and seventeen about a quarter of a cable further off,—so that it was but too evident that the preservation of the crew depended solely upon the vessel's remaining fast where she was.
The first care of Captain Maxwell was for the safety of Lord Amherst and his suite; the boats were quickly hoisted out, and before half-past eight, he had the melancholy satisfaction of seeing the ambassador and all his attendants safely embarked in them.
For the better protection of the embassy, an officer was sent in the barge, with a guard of marines, to conduct them to Pulo Leat, between three and four miles distant, and from which it was hoped that plenty of water and abundance of tropical fruits might be procured.
Meanwhile the officers and men exerted themselves most indefatigably to save some of the provisions,—a task by no means easy of accomplishment, as the holds and everything in them were submerged in water. Towards the afternoon, the boats returned from the shore, and the men reported that they had had great difficulty in landing his excellency, from the mangrove trees growing out to a considerable distance in the water; and it was not until they had pulled three or four miles from the place where they first attempted to land that they were enabled to reach terra firma. They also stated that neither food nor water could be discovered on the island. Unpromising as appearances were, there was no alternative but to seek shelter on the inhospitable shore. Accordingly, every preparation was made, and by eight o'clock P.M., the people were all landed, excepting one division, who remained on board the wreck, with the captain, first lieutenant, and some other officers.
About midnight, the wind had greatly increased, and the ship became so uneasy from her heeling to windward, that fears were entertained for the safety of those on board. To prevent her falling further over, the topmasts were cut away, and as the wind became more moderate towards daylight, the ship remained stationary, and all apprehensions were removed. The boats did not return to the wreck till between six and seven o'clock in the morning, and they brought no better tidings as to the capabilities of the island to furnish food and other necessaries for the subsistence of so many human beings.
A raft had been constructed during the previous day, upon which the small quantity of provisions they had been able to collect, together with some of the baggage of the embassy, and clothes and bedding of the officers and men, had been transported to the shore.
In the course of the forenoon, Captain Maxwell thought it right to confer with Lord Amherst as to his further movements; he accordingly quitted the wreck, and went on shore. He left the vessel in charge of Mr. Hick, the first lieutenant, with orders that every effort should be made to get at the provisions and the water, and that a boat should remain by the wreck for the safety of the men in case of any emergency. Captain Maxwell reached the shore about half-past eleven A.M., and we may imagine the bitterness of his distress on finding the ambassador, surrounded by his suite, and the officers and men of the Alceste, in the midst of a pestilential saltwater marsh.
The scene is well described by Mr. McLeod. 'The spot in which our party were situated was sufficiently romantic, but seemed, at the same time, the abode of ruin and of havoc. Few of its inhabitants (and among the rest the ambassador) had now more than a shirt or a pair of trousers on. The wreck of books, or, as it was not unaptly termed, 'a literary manure,' was spread about in all directions; whilst parliamentary robes, court dresses, and mandarin habits, intermixed with check shirts and tarry jackets, were hung around in wild confusion on every tree.'
The situation in which Captain Maxwell was placed was, indeed, a most trying one, and such he felt it to be, for, from the lowest seaman to the ambassador himself, every one looked to him for relief and direction in his perilous position. Captain Maxwell was fully competent to meet the emergency; and, said he, 'I had the consolation left me, to feel with confidence that all would follow my advice, and abide by my decision, whatever it might be.'
His first care was for the safety of Lord Amherst; and in a short conference with his excellency and Mr. Ellis, the second commissioner, it was arranged that the embassy should proceed to Batavia in the barge and cutter, with a guard of marines to defend the boats from any attack of the pirates. Mr. Ellis promised that if they arrived safely at Batavia, he would himself return, in the first vessel that should put off, to the assistance of those who remained on the island.
A small quantity of provisions, and nine gallons of water, was all that could be spared from their very scanty store; but at sunset every heart was exhilarated by hope and sympathetic courage, on seeing the ambassador strip, and wade off to the boats, with as much cheerfulness as if he had stepped into them under a salute. At seven o'clock, the barge, under the charge of Lieutenant Hoppner, and the cutter, commanded by Mr. Mayne, the master, containing in all forty-seven persons, took their departure for Batavia, accompanied by the anxious thoughts and good wishes of their fellow-sufferers, who were left to encounter new dangers.
Captain Maxwell's first order was to direct a party to dig in search of water. The men had begun to suffer greatly from thirst, as for the last two days they had had scarcely a pint of water each—one small cask only having been saved from the ship. The next step was to remove their encampment to higher ground, where they could breathe a purer air, and be in greater safety in case of attack.
In a short time the island presented a scene of bustle and activity strangely at variance with the dreary solitude it had exhibited two days before; and the once silent woods resounded with the voices of men, and the strokes of the axe and the hammer. One party was employed in cutting a path to the summit of the hill, another in removing thither their small stock of provisions. A few men were on board the wreck, endeavouring to save every article that might prove of general use.
About midnight, the men who had been employed for so many hours on a most fatiguing and harassing duty, and exposed to the burning rays of a vertical sun, began to suffer most painfully from increased thirst, and it was at that moment when they were almost bereft of hope that they experienced one of the many merciful interpositions of Providence by which the Almighty displays His tender care for His creatures: a plentiful shower of rain fell, which the people caught by spreading out their table cloths and clothes; and then, by wringing them, a degree of moisture was imparted to their parched lips, and their hearts were revived, and prepared to hear the joyful news, which was communicated by the diggers soon after midnight, that they had found water in the well, and a small bottle of this most dearly prized treasure was handed to the captain. So great was the excitement of the people on receiving the announcement, that it became necessary to plant sentries, in order to prevent their rushing to the well and impeding the work of the diggers.
On the morning of the 20th, the captain called all hands together, and pointed out to them the critical nature of their position, and the absolute necessity of their uniting as one man to overcome the difficulties by which they were surrounded. He reminded them that they were still amenable to the regulations of naval discipline, and assured them that discipline would be enforced with even greater rigour, if necessary, than on board ship; and that in serving out the provisions the strictest impartiality should be observed, and all should share alike until the arrival of assistance from Lord Amherst.
During this day, the well afforded a pint of water to each man; the water is said to have tasted like milk and water, and when a little rum was added to it, the men persuaded themselves it resembled milk-punch, and it became a favourite beverage with them.
The people were employed during the 20th much in the same manner as on the previous day, but very few things could be obtained from the ship, every article of value being under water.
On Friday, the 21st, the party stationed on board the wreck observed a number of proahs full of Malays, apparently well armed, coming towards them. Being without a single weapon of defence, they could only jump into their boats without loss of time, and push for the land. The pirates followed closely in pursuit but retreated when they saw two boats put out from the shore to the assistance of their comrades. The Malays then returned to the ship and took possession of her. In an instant all was activity and excitement in the little camp.
'Under all the depressing circumstances attending shipwreck,' writes Mr. McLeod, 'of hunger, thirst, and fatigue, and menaced by a ruthless foe, it was glorious to see the British spirit stanch and unsubdued. The order was given for every man to arm himself in the best manner he could, and it was obeyed with the utmost promptitude and alacrity. Rude pike staves were formed by cutting down young trees; small swords, dirks, knives, chisels, and even large spike nails sharpened, were firmly fixed to the ends of these poles, and those who could find nothing better hardened the end of the wood in the fire, and bringing it to a sharp point, formed a tolerable weapon. There were, perhaps, a dozen cutlasses; the marines had about thirty muskets and bayonets; but we could muster no more than seventy-five ball cartridges among the whole party.
'We had fortunately preserved some loose powder, drawn from the upper deck guns after the ship had struck (for the magazines were under water in five minutes,) and the marines, by hammering their buttons round, and by rolling up pieces of broken bottles in cartridges, did their best to supply themselves with a sort of shot that would have some effect at close quarters, and strict orders were given not to throw away a single discharge until sure of their aim.
'Mr. Cheffy, the carpenter, and his crew, under the direction of the captain, were busied in forming a sort of abattis by felling trees, and enclosing in a circular shape the ground we occupied; and by interweaving loose branches with the stakes driven in among these, a breast-work was constructed, which afforded us some cover, and must naturally impede the progress of any enemy unsupplied with artillery.'
The Malays had taken possession of some rocks, at no great distance from where the crew of the Alceste were encamped, and here they deposited the plunder they had taken from the wreck. It now became necessary for Captain Maxwell to prepare against an attack. With a very small stock of provisions, which, even if husbanded with the greatest care, could last only a few days, he had to contend, with a handful of men, many of them unarmed, against a host of savages, perhaps the most merciless and inhuman that are to be found in any part of the world.
In the evening a general muster was called, and a rude and motley group presented itself to the eye of the commander. But rough as was the exterior, he well knew that there was that within which would bid defiance to danger and outrage so long as life should last.
So stanch and resolute was the spirit diffused through all the little band, that Mr. McLeod says,—'Even the boys had managed to make fast table-forks on the end of sticks for their defence. One of them, who had been severely bruised by the falling of the masts, and was slung in his hammock between two trees, had been observed carefully fixing, with two sticks and a rope yarn, the blade of an old razor. On being asked what he meant to do with it, he replied, 'You know I cannot stand, but if any of these fellows come within reach of my hammock, I'll mark them.'
The officers and men were divided into companies, and every precaution adopted to secure the slender garrison from being taken by surprise. The boats were hauled closer up to the landing-place, and put under the charge of an officer and guard.
On Saturday morning, the 22nd, every effort was made to induce the Malays to come to an amicable conference, but without success. Mr. Hay, the second lieutenant, was, therefore, ordered to proceed to the ship, with the barge, cutter, and gig, (armed in the best manner possible under the circumstances,) and to gain possession of her by fair means or by force. No sooner did the pirates see the boats put out towards the wreck, than they left the vessel, though not before they had set fire to her, thus performing an act which was of great service to the crew of the Alceste; for by burning her upperworks and decks, everything buoyant could float up from below and be more easily laid hold of. The ship continued to burn during the night, and the flames, as they darted from her sides, shed a ruddy glare upon the wild scenery around, and breaking through the shade of the thick and lofty trees rested upon a landscape worthy of the pencil of Salvator Rosa.
Upon the summit of a hill, and under the spreading branches of the majestic trees, was a rude encampment, formed by the erection of a few wigwams; whilst here and there, collected together in groups and reclining in different attitudes, were parties of men armed with pikes or cutlasses, in their ragged, unwashed, and unshorn appearance, resembling rather a gang of banditti, than the crew of a British ship of war.
It was with the most painful feelings that both officers and men witnessed the gradual destruction of the gallant ship, which had been their home for so many months.
No one but a sailor can understand the devotion with which a brother sailor regards his ship, and we cannot better describe it than in the words of Captain Basil Hall:—
'We do truly make the ship our home, and we have no other thoughts of professional duty or of happiness, but what are connected with the vessel in which we swim; we take a pride in her very looks, as we might in those of a daughter; and bring up her crew to honourable deeds, as we should wish to instruct our sons. The rate of sailing of each ship in a fleet is a subject of never-ending discussion amongst all classes of officers, midshipmen, and crews, every one of whom considers his own individual honour involved in all the ship does or is capable of doing.
'This is true almost universally, but it is most striking, no doubt, in our first ship, which like our first love, is supposed to drink up from our opening feelings the richest drops of sentiment, never to be outdone, or even equalled by future attachments.
'I owe, indeed, much good companionship, and many sincere obligations to other vessels; yet I am sure that if I live to be Lord High Admiral, the old Leander must still be nearest and dearest to my nautical heart. I remember every corner about her, every beam, every cabin, every gun.'
The same feeling, no doubt, existed in the breast of every man and boy who now stood watching, with painful interest, the fate of the old ship; all had been too actively employed from the time the vessel first struck to think of anything save of providing means for their own preservation; but now, in the dead hour of night, thrown upon a strange shore, and surrounded by enemies, the thought, perhaps, that they might never again see their native land or their beloved kindred, might steal over their hearts, and fill them with sad forebodings. By degrees the fire became less and less vivid; for an instant, at times, a brighter flame illuminated the sky, throwing up a shower of golden sparks—then all was darkness,—a darkness which was felt by all; for it told that nought remained of their old home, save a smouldering hull,—that thus was severed, perhaps, the last link between them and England.
During the night that followed this sad scene, an incident occurred which, though it occasioned considerable alarm at the time, became a source of amusement afterwards.
A sentry, startled by the approach of a very suspicious looking personage, who was making towards him, levelled his musket and fired. In an instant the whole camp was alive with excitement, supposing that they were attacked by the savages, when; behold, the enemy turned out to be a large baboon, one of a race that abounded in the island. These creatures became very troublesome; they were most audacious thieves, and even carried away several ducks which had been saved from the wreck; till at last the poor birds were so frightened that they left their little enclosure and voluntarily sought for safety and protection amongst the people.
From the morning of Sunday, the 23rd, till Wednesday, the 26th, the men were busied in saving whatever they could from the hull of the Alceste, and they were fortunate enough to obtain several casks of flour, a few cases of wine, and a cask of beer, besides between fifty and sixty boarding-pikes, and eighteen muskets, all of which proved most acceptable.
A second well had been sunk, which supplied clearer water, and in great abundance, so that they possessed one of the chief necessaries of life in plenty.
Everything now wore a more favourable aspect. The Malays had retired behind a little island (called Palo Chalacca, or Misfortune's Isle), about two miles distant; and although they were expected to return speedily with a reinforcement, the crew of the Alceste were better prepared for them. The gunner had been actively employed in forming musket cartridges; and, by melting down some pewter basons and jugs, with a small quantity of lead obtained from the wreck, balls had been cast, in clay moulds, which not a little increased their confidence and feeling of security.
Under the able command of Captain Maxwell, the greatest regularity and order prevailed amongst the people. Every man appeared happy and contented with his lot; for each man, from the highest to the lowest, encouraged his neighbour by his own good conduct, whilst he in turn received encouragement from the example of those above him. The provisions were served out with the strictest impartiality. 'The mode adopted by Captain Maxwell,' (writes Mr. M'Leod,) 'to make things go as far as possible, was to chop up the allowance for the day into small pieces, whether fowls, salt beef, pork, or flour, mixing the whole hotch-potch, boiling them together, and serving out a measure to each publicly and openly, and without any distinction. By these means no nourishment was lost: it could be more equally divided than by any other way; and although necessarily a scanty, it was by no means an unsavoury mess.'
Early on Wednesday morning, Lieutenant Hay, who had charge of the boats, observed two pirate proahs nearing the island, as if to reconnoitre; he immediately made a dash at them, with the barge, cutter, and gig. The barge closed with the Malays first, and a desperate conflict ensued. There was only one musket in the boat, which Mr. Hay used to some purpose, for he killed two of the savages with his own hand. In the meantime, the other two boats had come up to the assistance of their comrades. One more pirate was shot dead, and another knocked down with the butt-end of a musket; yet the rest continued to fight with savage ferocity, until, seeing that resistance was fruitless, they jumped into the sea and drowned themselves, choosing to perish rather than yield. During the engagement, an officer who was on the beach, observed a canoe, which had been cut away from one of the proahs, drifting not many yards from the spot where he stood; and as he thought the prize worth securing, he entered the water, and swam towards it. He had nearly attained his object, when those who watched him from the shore perceived an enormous shark hovering about. They were almost petrified with horror; anxious to make their friend aware of his danger, yet not daring to call out to warn him, lest a sudden perception of the perils of his situation, and of the proximity of his formidable enemy, should unnerve him, and thus deprive him of the slight chance of escape that remained. Breathless and silent then they stood, and marked the movements of the shark with trembling anxiety. He seemed to be so sure of his prey, that he was in no haste to seize it, but swam leisurely about, crossing and recrossing betwixt the doomed victim and the shore, as if gloating himself, and sharpening his appetite by gazing on the anticipated feast. The officer, too, seemed to be luxuriating in the refreshing coolness of the water, calmly approaching the canoe, happily unconscious of his danger; but the shark followed him closely: his life depended upon a swimmer's stroke, or the whim of a moment. The anxiety of the spectators became agony; but that moment was decisive—the swimmer struck out once more—the canoe was gained, and he was saved.
Then, and then only, did he become aware of the horrible fate that had threatened him, and of the merciful interposition of Providence in his behalf.
In the course of this day fourteen proahs and smaller boats were observed standing towards the island, from the Banca side, and every heart bounded with joy in the full anticipation that it was a party sent by Lord Amherst from Batavia, to their relief. Their joy, however, did not last long, for they soon found that the boats had come only to gather a kind of sea-weed much esteemed by Chinese epicures, who use it, as they do birds' nests, in their soup.
Consultations were held that night as to the policy of negotiating with these people, so as to induce them, by promises of reward, to convey part of the crew of the Alceste to Java—the four remaining boats would then be sufficient for the transport of the rest.
But the morning dawn put all such plans to flight, and revealed the true character of the Malays. No sooner did they perceive the wreck, than they started off to her and plundered the hull of everything they could carry away. No assistance was to be expected from these rapacious thieves; and as the time had elapsed which was required to bring succour from Batavia, measures were taken to repair the launch and to construct a raft to enable the people to leave the island before their provisions should be completely exhausted.
Matters now began to assume a more formidable aspect, for on Saturday, the 1st of March, the Malay force was increased by the arrival of several proahs, who joined in breaking up the remains of the wreck.
At daybreak on Sunday, the 2nd, the camp was alarmed, and all were called to arms by the yells of the savages, who, firing their partereroes, and beating their gongs, advanced with about twenty of their heaviest vessels towards the landing-place, and anchored within a cable's length of the shore.
After a short deliberation, a boat full of men armed with creeses approached the shore, and was met by a canoe containing an officer and party with a letter from Captain Maxwell, addressed to the chief authority at Minto, stating the situation of the Alceste's crew, and praying that assistance might be sent to them.
The officer placed this letter in the hands of the Malays, repeatedly pronounced the word Minto, and showed them a dollar, to intimate that they would be well rewarded if they returned with an answer. They appeared to understand the mission, and to be willing to execute it; but, as may be supposed, the service was never performed.
Meantime the Malay forces continued to increase; no less than fifty proahs and boats of different sizes were collected, and, on a moderate computation, they had 500 men on board. Their mischievous intentions were too evident; they drew closer and closer to the shore, prevented the escape of any of the ship's boats, and even had recourse to stratagem in order to gain possession of the much-desired booty. One party declared that all the Malays except themselves were hostile, and urged that they might be allowed to go to the camp to guard the crew of the Alceste. This kind offer was of course refused. 'We can trust to ourselves,' was the reply. The plot began to thicken; the odds seemed fearfully against the heroic little band, who, badly armed, and worse provisioned, had to make good their position against a multitude of foes—matchless amongst savages in cunning and cruelty. But in proportion to the imminence of the danger rose the courage of our countrymen.
Mr. M'Leod relates that, in the evening, when Captain Maxwell had assembled, as usual, the men under arms, for the purpose of inspecting them, he addressed them in these words: 'My lads, you must all have observed this day, as well as myself, the great increase of the enemy's force (for enemies we must now consider them), and the threatening position they have assumed. I have, on various grounds, strong reason to believe they will attack us this night. I do not wish to conceal our real state, because I think there is not a man here who is afraid to face any sort of danger. We are now strongly fenced in, and our position in all respects is so good, that armed as we are, we ought to make a formidable defence even against regular troops; what, then, would be thought of us, if we allowed ourselves to be surprised by a set of naked savages with their spears and their creeses?
'It is true they have swivels in their boats, but they cannot act here; I have not observed that they have any matchlocks or muskets; but if they have, so have we!
'I do not wish to deceive you as to the means of resistance in our power. When we were first thrown together on shore we were almost defenceless. Seventy-five ball-cartridges only could be mustered; we have now sixteen hundred. They cannot, I believe, send up more than five hundred men, but, with two hundred such as now stand around me, I do not fear a thousand—nay, fifteen hundred of them! I have the fullest confidence that we shall beat them. The pikemen standing firm, we can give them such a volley of musketry as they will be little prepared for, and when we find they are thrown into confusion, we'll sally out among them, chase them into the water, and ten to one but we secure their vessels. Let every man, therefore, be on the alert with his arms in his hands; and should these barbarians this night attempt our hill, I trust we shall convince them that they are dealing with Britons!'
This short but spirited appeal had its full effect upon the hearts to whom it was addressed. It was answered by three wild hurras, which were taken up by the piquets and outposts, and resounded through the woods. The British cheer struck the savages with terror; they no doubt thought it preceded an attack, and they were observed making signals with lights to some of their tribe behind the islet.
The night passed undisturbed, and daylight discovered the pirates in the same position, their force increased by ten proahs, making their number at least six hundred men. The situation of Captain Maxwell and his party became hourly more critical; the provisions could not last long—something must be done—some plan must be decided on. They had but little choice; they must either make a dash at the pirates, and seize their boats, with the certainty of being all butchered should they not succeed,—and the odds were fearfully against them,—or they must maintain their present position, in the hope that aid might be sent from Java, in time to save them from a scarcely less horrible fate—the lingering death of famine.
Under these depressing circumstances, the spirits of the men never for a moment seemed to flag. True 'hearts of oak,' their courage increased with their difficulties, and the prevailing desire amongst them was, to rush upon the enemy and get possession of their boats, or perish in the attempt.
But for this day, at least, they were ordered to remain passive; perhaps in coming to this decision, the wise and brave commander of the party may have remembered another captain who was 'in a great strait,' and who said, 'Let us fall now into the hands of the Lord, for His mercies are great, and let me not fall into the hand of man,' The decision, then, was to wait; and the hours rolled on till afternoon, when an officer ascended one of the loftiest trees, and thence he thought he descried a sail at a great distance. The joyful news seemed too good to be true.
A signal-man was sent up with a telescope, to sweep the horizon. The eager and intense anxiety that pervaded the little band, until he could report his observations, may be better imagined than described. At last, he announced that the object was indeed a brig, or a ship, standing towards the island under all sail. The joy was unbounded and overpowering. Men felt as if awaking from some horrible dream; and, doubtless, many an honest heart was uplifted in thankfulness to the Almighty, for the mercy vouchsafed in delivering them from what had appeared, a few minutes before, to be certain destruction.
There remains little more to be told; the vessel proved to be the Ternate, which Lord Amherst had sent to their assistance. The pirates took to flight as soon as they discovered the ship, but not before they had received a volley from the Alceste's people, unfortunately without effect.
It was not till Friday, the 7th of March, that all were embarked on board the Ternate. They arrived safely at Batavia on the 9th, and were most kindly received by Lord Amherst, who converted his table into a general mess for the officers, as well as the embassy; comfortable quarters were also provided for the men; and in their present enjoyment they all soon forgot the hardships they had suffered.
In conclusion, we will quote the following passage from the pen of Mr. M'Leod:—'It is a tribute due to Captain Maxwell to state (and it is a tribute which all will most cheerfully pay) that, by his judicious arrangements, we were preserved from all the horrors of anarchy and confusion. His measures inspired confidence and hope, while his personal example in the hour of danger gave courage and animation to all around him.' Nor ought we to omit the high and well deserved praise which Captain Maxwell bestowed upon the ship's company in his examination before the court martial.
'I should be trespassing far too long upon the time of this court,' said Captain Maxwell, 'were I to bring all before them whose conduct merited applause; but I can with great veracity assure the court, that from the captain to the smallest boy, all were animated by the spirit of Britons; and, whatever the cause was, I ought not to regret having been placed in a position to witness all the noble traits of character this extraordinary occasion called forth; and having seen all my companions in distress fairly embarked, I felt in walking off to the boat that my heart was lifted up with gratitude to a kind Providence that had watched over us.'
Captain Murray Maxwell commenced his naval career under the auspices of Vice-Admiral Sir Samuel Hood, and obtained his first commission as lieutenant in 1796, and was subsequently promoted to the command of the Cyane, in December, 1802.
In the following year he was appointed to the Centaur, and received his post commission on the 4th of August, in the same year. In 1804, Captain Maxwell distinguished himself at the capture of Surinam, and for his conduct on that occasion was highly mentioned in the dispatches.
This officer was constantly employed in the late war, and distinguished himself on so many occasions, that we can only briefly allude to one or two instances where his gallantry was most conspicuous. In 1806, he was appointed to the Alceste, and on the 4th of April, 1808, whilst that vessel, in company with the Mercury, Captain James Alexander Gordon, and the Grasshopper, 18-gun sloop, lay at anchor near Cadiz, a large convoy under the protection of several gun-boats, was seen coming close in shore from the northward.
Captain Maxwell determined to attempt their capture, and accordingly, the Alceste and Mercury attacked the gun-boats, whilst the Grasshopper, stationed close to the batteries of Rota, by a well directed fire, succeeded in driving the Spaniards from their guns. The gun-boats being thrown into confusion, the first-lieutenant of the Alceste, Mr. Allen Stewart, and Lieutenant Watkin Owen Pell of the Mercury, volunteered to board the enemy in the boats. They accordingly dashed in among the convoy, boarded and brought out seven tartans from under the very muzzles of the enemy's guns, though supported by several armed boats sent from Cadiz to their assistance.
Captain Maxwell was actively employed on the coast of Italy until 1811, when we find him cruizing in the Adriatic, in company with the Active, Captain James Alexander Gordon, and a 36-gun frigate, the Unité, Captain Edward Henry Chamberlain. On the morning of the 28th of November, the little squadron was lying in Port St. George, Island of Lissa, when signals were made that there were three suspicious sail south. The three frigates immediately got under weigh, and on the morning of the 29th came within sight of the strange vessels, which proved to be the Pauline, a 40-gun frigate, the Pomone, frigate, and 26-gun ship, Persanne. The French commodore, finding the English force greater than he expected, bore up to the north-west, and the Persanne separated, and stood to the north-east. The Unité was then despatched in chase of the Persanne, and the Alceste and Active continued in pursuit of the French frigates.
In the course of a couple of hours the Alceste commenced action with the Pomone, but an unlucky shot soon afterwards brought down the main-topmast of the Alceste, and she was compelled to drop astern. The Active speedily ranged alongside of the Pomone, and after a spirited conflict, the latter ship was compelled to haul down her colours and surrender.
The Pauline, in the meantime, tacked, and poured her fire into the Alceste, no doubt anticipating an easy victory from her disabled state; but in this she was disappointed, for the fire was returned with such effect, that after a warm conflict of two hours and twenty minutes, the commodore made off to the westward, which, from the crippled state of the Alceste, Captain Maxwell was unable to prevent. In this action the Alceste lost twenty killed and wounded, the Active thirty-five, and Pomone fifty. The gallant captain of the Active had the misfortune to lose his leg, and his first lieutenant, William Bateman Dashwood, had his right arm shot away: the command therefore fell upon the second lieutenant, George Haye, who fought the action, until her opponent surrendered.
In 1813, Captain Maxwell had the misfortune to be wrecked in the Dædalus, and in 1815 was again reappointed to the Alceste. On his passage home, after the loss of that vessel, he touched at St. Helena, and had an interview with Napoleon Buonaparte, who, reminding him of the capture of the Pomone, said 'Vous étiez très méchant. Eh bien! your government must not blame you for the loss of the Alceste, for you have taken one of my frigates.'[16]
Captain Maxwell was nominated a C.B. in 1815, and received the honour of knighthood in 1818.
He died in June, 1831.
THE DRAKE.
The Drake, a small schooner, under the command of Captain Charles Baker, had been despatched by the commander-in-chief on the Newfoundland station, upon special duty to Halifax.
Having accomplished the object of her mission there, she set sail again to return to St. John's, on the morning of Thursday, the 20th of June, 1822. The weather was unusually fine, the wind favourable, and everything promised a short and prosperous voyage.
Nothing occurred to retard the progress of the vessel until Sunday morning, when the increasing thickness of the atmosphere betokened the approach of one of those heavy fogs which so frequently hover over the coast of Newfoundland.
There are few things more perplexing to the mariner than to find himself suddenly enveloped in one of these thick mists: it is impenetrable gloom; night and day are both alike; the sails, saturated with the watery vapour, hang heavily, and flap against the masts with a sad foreboding sound, whilst every heart on board feels more or less oppressed by the atmospheric influence, and every countenance expresses languor or discontent. But these discomforts are minor evils compared with other attendants upon a Newfoundland fog. It often happens that, in spite of every precaution on the part of the men on the look-out, the bows of the vessel run across some unfortunate fishing boat; and before a single voice can be raised in warning, a sudden shock, a smothered cry, a gurgling of the waves, tell the sad tale! One moment, and all is silent; the ship pursues her course, and no trace is left of the little vessel and her crew, for whom many days and nights will anxious love keep watch; but those objects of a mother's tenderness and of a wife's affection will never more gladden the eyes of the watchers, till 'the sea shall give up her dead.'
Would that such calamities were of less frequent occurrence. There is one curious characteristic of these fogs, which in some degree mitigates the evil of them: they sometimes do not extend beyond a few miles, having the appearance of a huge wall of dense cloud or mist. A vessel, after beating about for hours, will suddenly emerge from almost total darkness, the clouds break away, and all hearts are gladdened by finding themselves once more beneath the rays of the glorious sun.
Captain Basil Hall gives an amusing instance of such an occurrence. The Cambrian 'had run in from sea towards the coast, enveloped in one of these dense fogs. Of course they took it for granted that the light-house and the adjacent land—Halifax included—were likewise covered with an impenetrable cloud of mist; but it so chanced, by what freak of Dame Nature I know not, that the fog on that day was confined to the deep water, so that we who were in the port could see it at the distance of several miles from the coast, lying on the ocean like a huge stratum of snow, with an abrupt face fronting the shore.
'The Cambrian, lost in the midst of this fog-bank, supposing herself to be near land, fired a gun. To this the light-house replied; and so the ship and the light-house went on pelting away gun for gun during half the day, without seeing one another.
'The people at the light-house had no means of communicating to the frigate, that if she would only stand on a little further, she would disentangle herself from the cloud, in which, like Jupiter Olympus of old, she was wasting her thunder. At last, the captain, hopeless of its clearing up, gave orders to pipe to dinner; but as the weather, in all respects except this abominable haze, was quite fine, and the ship was still in deep water, he directed her to be steered towards the shore, and the lead kept constantly going. As one o'clock approached, he began to feel uneasy, from the water shoaling, and the light-house guns sounding closer and closer; but being unwilling to disturb the men at their dinner, he resolved to stand on for the remaining ten minutes of the hour. Lo and behold! however, they had not sailed half a mile further before the flying gib-boom end emerged from the wall of mist, then the bowsprit shot into daylight, and lastly, the ship herself glided out of the cloud into the full blaze of a bright and 'sunshine holiday.' All hands were instantly turned up to make sail: and the men, as they flew on deck, could scarcely believe their senses when they saw behind them the fog-bank—right ahead the harbour's mouth, with the bold cliffs of Cape Sambro on the left—and further still, the ships at their moorings, with their ensigns and pendants blowing out light and dry in the breeze.'
But to return to our sad tale. Towards noon, the weather cleared up for about a quarter of an hour, allowing just sufficient time to get a good observation of the latitude, which, according to Captain Baker's reckoning, made their position to be about ninety-one miles from Cape Race, and fifty-one from Cape St. Mary's.
They continued to steer east till about six o'clock in the evening, when the breeze rather freshening, and the ship having run sixty miles since noon, she was hauled off to south-east.
The fog was then so dense that the men could not see more than twenty yards beyond the ship, but as Captain Baker's orders were to use the utmost dispatch, he determined to make the best of his way. Every precaution was taken, by using the lead, and by keeping a vigilant look-out from every part of the ship. In this manner they proceeded, carefully feeling the way, until about half-past seven o'clock, when the look-out man shouted, 'Breakers ahead! Hard a-starboard!' The ship was instantly hauled to the wind, but not being able to clear the danger on that tack, every effort was made to stay the vessel, but from the heavy sea, and whilst in stays, her stern took the breakers, and she immediately fell broadside on, the sea breaking completely over her.
At the moment the ship struck, every man was on deck, and there was such a universal feeling of confidence in the commander, that notwithstanding their extreme peril, not the slightest confusion ensued. Captain Baker's first order was to cut away the masts, so as to lighten the vessel, and perhaps afford means of saving some of the crew. The order was promptly executed, but unhappily without producing the desired result, for in a few moments the ship bilged, and the destruction of the whole crew appeared to be inevitable.
Captain Baker then ordered the cutter to be launched, but they had scarcely got her over the gangway before she sank. It was a time of terrible anxiety for both officers and men; for, from the denseness of the fog, they could not form a conjecture as to their actual position, whilst the crashing of the masts, the strain of the vessel upon the rocks, and the roar of the waters, as they swept over the decks, added to the horrors of the scene.
Captain Baker was as calm and self-possessed as if nothing unusual had occurred, whilst the eyes of the men were fixed upon him, and they were ready to obey every command with the same promptitude as when performing the usual routine of ship's duty.
Fortunately a small rock was discerned through the mist, and as it seemed to be at no great distance, it presented a means of escape from the most pressing danger. Without a moment's hesitation, a man of the name of Lennard sprang forward, and seizing a lead-line, jumped into the sea; but the current setting directly against him to the northward, his efforts were unavailing, and with difficulty he was dragged on board again.
It might be supposed that Lennard's failure would have damped the spirits of the men, and deterred them from a second attempt. But it seems to have had a contrary effect, and to have stirred them up to renewed exertion. A consultation was held as to the next steps to be taken. The only hope that remained was in the gig, (the jolly-boat having been washed away,) when Turner, the boatswain, as brave a fellow as ever breathed, volunteered to make the attempt. He secured a rope round his body, and was then lowered into the boat. The tackling was let go, the men gave a cheer, and the boat, with its occupant, was borne away by the current.
With intense anxiety the men on the wreck watched the progress of Turner, who had been carried in the boat to within a few feet of the rock; then the watchers saw it balanced upon the crest of a huge wave, and the next moment it was dashed to pieces upon the rock; the boatswain, however, retained his presence of mind; he kept hold of the rope when dashed out of the boat, and succeeded in scrambling up the cliff.
In the meantime, the waves were making heavy breaches over the ship; the crew clung by the ropes on the forecastle; each succeeding wave threatened them all with destruction; when a tremendous sea lifted her quarter over the rock on which she had at first struck, and carried her close to that on which the boatswain stood. The forecastle, which up to this time had been the only sheltered part of the ship, was now abandoned for the poop; and as Captain Baker saw no chance of saving the vessel, he determined to remove the people from her if possible.
Calling around him his officers and men, he communicated to them his intentions, and pointed out the best means of securing their safety. He then ordered every man to make the best of his way from the wreck to the rock. Now, for the first time, his orders were not promptly obeyed; all the crew to a man refused to leave the wreck unless Captain Baker would precede them. There was a simultaneous burst of feeling that did honour alike to the commander and the men. To the former, in that he had so gained the affection and respect of his people; and to the latter, inasmuch as they knew how to appreciate such an officer.
Never was good discipline displayed in a more conspicuous manner. No argument or entreaty could prevail on Captain Baker to change his resolution. He again directed the men to quit the vessel, calmly observing that his life was the least, and last consideration. The men, upon hearing this reiterated command, stepped severally from the poop to the rock with as much order as if they had been leaving a ship under ordinary circumstances. Unhappily, a few of them perished in the attempt; amongst these was Lieutenant Stanley, who, being benumbed with cold, was unable to get a firm footing, and was swept away by the current, his companions, with every inclination, had not the power to save him; he struggled for a few moments—was dashed with irresistible force against the rocks, and the receding wave engulfed its victim.
When he had seen every man clear of the wreck, and not till then, did Captain Baker join his crew.
As soon as they had time to look about them, the ship's company perceived that they were on an isolated rock, separated from the mainland by a few fathoms. The rock rose some feet above the sea, but to their horror they perceived that it would be covered at high-water. It seemed as if they were rescued from one fearful catastrophe, only to perish by a more cruel and protracted fate. They watched the waters rise inch by inch around them, appalled by the feeling that those waters must sooner or later close over them for ever, and that nothing could save them except the outstretched arm of Him who could bid the waves be stayed, and say to the stormy winds, be still. Every man is more or less courageous under circumstances of danger, when it is attended by excitement,—such as that of the battlefield. There is a courage which springs from companionship in danger, and a courage derived from the fear of shame; but the test of true valour is a scene like that we have described. There was no room for a display of the adventitious bravery which often becomes in reality the thing it strives to appear. No man there could reproach his neighbour if his cheek should blanch and his lip quiver; all are alike appalled, but the well-regulated mind rises superior to the rest. Such was the case with Captain Baker. Although he could not conceal from himself that their condition was almost hopeless, he continued with his voice to encourage the timid, and by his arm to support the weak.
By degrees the fog had partially dispersed, and as the dawn began to break, a dreary prospect was displayed. The haggard countenances and lacerated limbs of the men told the sufferings they had endured, whilst the breakers, which they had only heard before, became distinctly visible. Still the devoted crew, following the example of their commander, uttered no complaint. They were ready to meet death, yet they felt it hard to die without a struggle. The tide was rising rapidly, and if anything was to be done, it must be done instantly. The boatswain, who had never lost hold of the rope, determined at all hazards to make another effort to save his comrades, or to perish in the attempt.
Having caused one end of the rope to be made fast round his body, and committing himself to the protection of the Almighty, he plunged into the sea, and struck out in the direction of the opposite shore.
It was an awful moment to those who were left behind; and in breathless suspense they waited the result of the daring attempt. All depended upon the strength of his arm. At one moment he was seen rising on the crest of the wave, at the next he disappeared in the trough of the sea; but in spite of the raging surf, and of every other obstacle, he reached the shore, and an inspiring cheer announced his safety to his comrades.
As soon as he had recovered his breath and strength, he went to the nearest point opposite the rock, and, watching his opportunity, he cast one end of the line across to his companions. Fortunately it reached the rock, and was gladly seized, but it proved to be only long enough to allow of one man holding it on the shore, and another on the rock, at arm's length. It may be imagined with what joy this slender means of deliverance was welcomed by all. The tide had made rapid advances; the waves, as if impatient for their prey, threw the white surf aloft, and dashed over the rock.
Would that we could do justice to the noble courage and conduct displayed by the crew of the Drake. Instead of rushing to the rope, as many would have done under similar circumstances, not a man moved until he was commanded to do so by Captain Baker. Had the slightest hesitation appeared on the part of the commander, or any want of presence of mind in the men, a tumultuous rush would have ensued, the rope, held as it was with difficulty by the outstretched hand, would inevitably have been lost in the struggle, and then all would have perished.
But good order, good discipline, and good feeling triumphed over every selfish fear and natural instinct of self-preservation, and to the honour of British sailors be it recorded, that each individual man of the crew, before he availed himself of the means of rescue, urged his captain to provide for his own safety first, by leading the way. But Captain Baker turned a deaf ear to every persuasion, and gave but one answer to all—'I will never leave the rock until every soul is safe.'
In vain the men redoubled their entreaties that he would go; they were of no avail; the intrepid officer was steadfast in his purpose. There was no time for further discussion or delay. One by one the men slipped from the rock upon the rope, and by this assistance forty-four out of fifty succeeded in gaining the opposite shore. Unfortunately, amongst the six who remained, one was a woman. This poor creature, completely prostrate from the sufferings she had endured, lay stretched upon the cold rock almost lifeless. To desert her was impossible; to convey her to the shore seemed equally impossible. Each moment of delay was fraught with destruction. A brave fellow, in the generosity of despair, when his turn came to quit the rock, took the woman in his arms, grasped the rope, and began the perilous transit. Alas! he was not permitted to gain the desired shore. When he had made about half the distance, the rope parted—not being strong enough to sustain the additional weight and strain, it broke; the seaman and his burden were seen but for an instant, and then swallowed up in the foaming eddies. With them perished the last means of preservation that remained for Captain Baker and those who were with him on the rock. Their communication with the mainland was cut off; the water rose, and the surf increased every moment; all hope was gone, and for them a few minutes more must end 'life's long voyage.'
The men on shore tried every means in their power to save them. They tied every handkerchief and available material together to replace the lost rope, but their efforts were fruitless; they could not get length enough to reach the rock. A party was despatched in search of help. They found a farm-house; and while they were in search of a rope, those who stayed to watch the fate of their loved and respected commander and his three companions, saw wave after wave rise higher and higher. At one moment the sufferers disappeared in the foam and spray; the bravest shuddered, and closed his eyes on the scene. Again, as spell-bound, he looked; the wave had receded—they still lived, and rose above the waters. Again and again it was thus; but hope grew fainter and fainter. We can scarcely bring our narrative to an end; tears moisten our page; but the painful sequel must be told. The fatal billow came at last which bore them from time into eternity—all was over. When the party returned from their inland search, not a vestige of the rock, or of those devoted men, was to be seen.
And is he dead, whose glorious mind
Lifts thine on high?
To live in hearts we leave behind,
Is not to die. CAMPBELL.
We feel how inadequate have been our efforts to depict the self-devotion of Captain Baker, and the courage and constancy of his crew. The following letter, addressed to Lieutenant Booth, formerly an officer of the Drake, will go farther than any panegyric we can offer, to display the right feeling of the ship's company, and their just appreciation of their brave and faithful commander.
'SIR,—Your being an old officer of ours in a former ship, and being our first lieutenant in H.M. ship Drake, leads us to beg that you will have the goodness to represent to our Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty the very high sense of gratitude we, the surviving petty officers and crew of his Majesty's late ship Drake, feel due to the memory of our late much lamented, and most worthy commander, who, at the moment he saw death staring him in the face on one side, and the certainty of escape was pointed out to him on the other, most stanchly and frequently refused to attempt procuring his own safety, until every man and boy had been rescued from the impending danger. Indeed, the manliness and fortitude displayed by the late Captain Baker on the melancholy occasion of our wreck was such as never before was heard of. It was not as that of a moment, but his courage was tried for many hours, and his last determination of not crossing from the rock, on which he was every moment in danger of being washed away, was made with more firmness, if possible, than the first. In fact, during the whole business he proved himself to be a man whose name and last conduct ought ever to be held in the highest estimation by a crew who feel it their duty to ask from the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty that, which they otherwise have not the means of obtaining, that is, a public and lasting record of the lion-hearted, generous, and very unexampled way in which our late noble commander sacrificed his life in the evening of the 23rd of June.'
The above letter was signed by the surviving crew of the Drake.
We need not add that their request was complied with; and a monument erected to the memory of Captain Baker, in the chapel of the Royal Dockyard at Portsmouth.
At the request of the author, a friend, to whom he related the pathetic story of the captain of the Drake, composed the following verses on his untimely and romantic fate:—
THE LOSS OF THE DRAKE.
1.
There's a garden full of roses, there's a cottage by the Dove;
And the trout stream flows and frets beneath the hanging crags above;
There's a seat beneath the tulip-tree, the sunbeams never scorch:
There's jasmine on those cottage walls, there's woodbine round the porch.
A gallant seaman planted them—he perished long ago;
He perished on the ocean-wave, but not against the foe.
2.
He parted with his little ones beneath that tulip-tree;
His boy was by his father's side, his darling on his knee.
'Heaven bless thee, little Emma; night and morning you must pray
To Him on high, who'll shield thee, love, when I am far away.
Nay, weep not!—if He wills it, I shall soon be back from sea;
Then how we'll laugh, and romp, and dance around the tulip-tree!
3.
'Heaven bless thee, too, my gallant boy! The God who rules the main
Can only tell if you and I shall ever meet again.
If I perish on the ocean-wave, when I am dead and gone
You'll be left with little Emma in a heartless world alone:
Your home must be her home, my boy, whenever you're a man;
You must love her, you must guard her, as a brother only can.
'There's no such thing as fear, my boy, to those who trust on high;
But to part with all we prize on earth brings moisture to the eye.
There's a grave in Ilam Church-yard, there's a rose-tree marks that grave;
'Tis thy mother's: go and pray there when I'm sailing o'er the wave.
Think, too, sometimes of thy father, when thou kneel'st upon that sod,
How he lived but for his children, for his country, and his God.'
5.
Farewell, farewell, thou gallant ship! thy course will soon be o'er;
There are mournful hearts on board thee, there are breaking hearts on shore.
The mother mourned her sailor boy, the maiden mourned her love;
And one, on deck, was musing on a cottage, near the Dove:
But his features were unmoved, as if all feeling lay congealed;
They little knew how soft a heart that manly form concealed.
6.
Beware, beware, thou gallant ship! there's many a rock ahead,
And the mist is mantling round thee, like a shroud around the dead.
The listless crew lay idly grouped, and idly flapped the sail,
And the sea-bird pierced the vapour with a melancholy wail.
So hushed the scene, they little deemed that danger was at hand,
Till they heard the distant breakers as they rolled upon the strand.
7.
The winds were roused, the mist cleared off, the mighty tempest rose,
And cheeks were blanched that never yet had paled before their foes:
For the waves that heaved beneath them bore them headlong to the rock,
And face to face with death they stood, in terror of the shock.
A crash was heard—the ocean yawned—then foamed upon the deck,
And the gallant Drake, dismasted, on the waters lay a wreck!
On that rock they've found a refuge; but the waves that dash its side
They know, must sweep them from it at the flowing of the tide.
With the giant crags before them, and the boiling surge between,
There was one alone stood dauntless midst the horrors of the scene.
They watched the waters rising, each with aspect of dismay;
They looked upon their fearless chief, and terror passed away.
9.
There's a gallant seaman battling with the perils of the main;
They saw the waves o'erwhelm him thrice, but thrice he rose again.
He bears a rope around him that may link them with the beach:
One struggle more, thou valiant man! the shore's within thy reach.
Now blest be He who rules on high; though some may die tonight,
There are more will live to brave again the tempest and the fight.
10.
They gathered round their gallant chief, they urged him to descend,
For they loved him as their father, and he loved them as a friend.
'Nay, go ye first, my faithful crew; to love is to obey,—
'Gainst the cutlass or the cannon would I gladly lead the way;
But I stir not hence till all are safe, since danger's in the rear;
While I live, I claim obedience; if I die, I ask a tear.'
11.
With a smile to cheer the timid, and a hand to help the weak,
There was firmness in his accents, there was hope upon his cheek.
A hundred men are safe on shore, but one is left behind;
There's a shriek is mingling wildly with the wailing of the wind.
The rope has snapped! Almighty God! the noble and the brave
Is left alone to perish at the flowing of the wave.
12.
'Midst the foaming of the breakers and the howling of the storm,
'Midst the crashing of the timbers, stood a solitary form;
He thought upon his distant home, then raised his look on high,
And thought upon another home—a home beyond the sky.
Sublimer than the elements, his spirit was at rest,
And calm as if his little one was nestling on his breast.
In agony they watched him, as each feature grew elate,
As with folded arms and fearless mien lie waited for his fate;
Now seen above the breakers, and now hidden by the spray,
As stealthily, yet surely, heaved the ocean to its prey.
A fiercer wave rolled onward with the wild gust in its wale,
And lifeless on the billows lay the Captain of the Drake.
J. HENEAGE JESSE.