FOOTNOTES:
[17] The loss of the Fury is taken from Sir Edward Parry's Voyage to the North Pole, published by Mr. Murray, who has kindly allowed it to be inserted in this work.
THE MAGPIE.
It is a common and no less apposite remark that truth is stranger than fiction, and the longer we live, the more are we convinced of the force of the above axiom.
The story which we are about to relate is one of the most remarkable incidents in a sailor's life, and, as a tale of horror, cannot be exceeded even in the pages of romance.
In the year 1826, the Magpie, a small schooner under the command of Lieutenant Edward Smith, had been despatched in search of a piratical vessel, which had committed serious depredations on the western shores of the Island of Cuba.
In the prosecution of this object, she was cruizing on the 27th of August, off the Colorados Roads, at the western extremity of the Island. The day had been extremely sultry, and towards the evening the schooner lay becalmed, awaiting the springing up of the land breeze, a blessing which only those can appreciate who have enjoyed its refreshing coolness after passing many hours beneath the burning rays of a tropical sun.
About eight o'clock a slight breeze sprung up from the westward, and the vessel was standing under reefed mainsail, whole foresail, and topsail, and jib. Towards nine, the wind shifted to the southward, and a small dark cloud was observed hovering over the land. This ominous appearance, as is well known, is often the precursor of a coming squall, and seems as if sent as a warning by Providence.
The lurid vapour did not escape the practised eye of the mate of the watch, who immediately reported the circumstance to Mr. Smith. All hands were turned up, and in a few minutes the schooner was placed in readiness to encounter the threatened danger.
In the meantime, the cloud had gradually increased in size and density. The slight breeze had died away, and a boding stillness reigned around. Suddenly a rushing, roaring sound was heard, the surface of the water, which a moment before was almost without a ripple, was now covered with one white sheet of foam, the schooner was taken aback; in vain her commander gave the order to cut away the masts—it was too late, and in less than three minutes from the first burst of the squall, the devoted vessel sunk to rise no more.
At this fearful juncture, a vivid flash of lightning darted from the heavens, displaying for a moment, the pale faces of the crew struggling in the water; the wind ceased as suddenly as it had begun, and the ocean, as if unconscious of the fearful tragedy that had so lately been enacted upon its surface, subsided into its former repose.
At the moment of the vessel going down, a gunner's mate, of the name of Meldrum, struck out and succeeded in reaching a pair of oars that were floating in the water,—to these he clung, and having divested himself of a part of his clothing, he awaited in dreadful anxiety the fate of his companions.
Not a sound met his ear, in vain his anxious gaze endeavoured to pierce the gloom, but the darkness was too intense. Minutes appeared like hours, and still the awful silence remained unbroken; he felt, and the thought was agony, that out of the twenty-four human beings who had so lately trod the deck of the schooner, he alone was left. This terrible suspense became almost beyond the power of endurance, and he already began to envy the fate of his companions, when he heard a voice at no great distance inquiring if there was any one near. He answered in the affirmative, and pushing out in the direction from whence the sound proceeded, he reached a boat, to which seven persons were clinging; amongst whom was Lieutenant Smith, the commander of the sloop.
So far this was a subject of congratulation; he was no longer alone; but yet the chances of his ultimate preservation were as distant as ever.
The boat, which had been placed on the booms of the schooner, had fortunately escaped clear of the sinking vessel, and if the men had waited patiently, was large enough to have saved them all; but the suddenness of the calamity had deprived them of both thought and prudence. Several men had attempted to climb in on one side,—the consequence was, the boat heeled over, became half filled with water, and then turned keel uppermost; and when Meldrum reached her, he found some stretched across the keel and others hanging on by the sides.
Matters could not last long in this way, and Mr. Smith, seeing the impossibility of any of the party being saved, if they continued in their present position, endeavoured to bring them to reason, by pointing out the absurdity of their conduct. To the honour of the men, they listened with the same respect to their commander, as if they had been on board the schooner; those on the keel immediately relinquished their hold, and succeeded, with the assistance of their comrades, in righting the boat. Two of their number got into her and commenced baling with their hats, whilst the others remained in the water, supporting themselves by the gunwales.
Order being restored, their spirits began to revive, and they entertained hopes of escaping from their present peril; but this was of short duration, and the sufferings which they had as yet endured, were nothing in comparison with what they had now to undergo.
The two men had scarcely commenced baling, when the cry was heard of—'A shark! a shark!' No words can describe the consternation which ensued: it is well known the horror sailors have of these voracious animals, who seem apprised by instinct when their prey is at hand. All order was at an end, the boat again capsized, and the men were left struggling in the waters. The general safety was neglected, and it was every man for himself; no sooner had one got hold of the boat, than he was pushed away by another, and in this fruitless contest more than one life was nearly sacrificed.
Even in this terrible hour, their commander remained cool and collected; his voice was still raised in words of encouragement, and as the dreaded enemy did not make its appearance, he again succeeded in persuading them to renew their efforts to clear the boat. The night had passed away—it was about ten o'clock on the morning of the 28th; the baling had progressed without interruption; a little more exertion, and the boat would have been cleared, when again was heard the cry of—'The sharks! the sharks!' But this was no false alarm; the boat a second time capsized, and the unhappy men were literally cast amongst a shoal of these terrible monsters.
The men, for a few minutes, remained uninjured, but not untouched; for the sharks actually rubbed against their victims, and, to use the exact words of one of the survivors, 'frequently passed over the boat and between us, whilst resting on the gunwale,' This, however, did not last long; a shriek soon told the fate of one of the men; a shark had seized him by the leg, dying the water with his blood; another shriek followed, and another man disappeared.
But these facts are almost too horrible to dwell upon; human nature revolts from so terrible a picture; we will therefore hurry over this part of our tale.
Smith had witnessed the sufferings of his followers with the deepest distress; and although aware that in all probability he must soon share the same fate, he never for a moment appeared to think of himself. There were but six men left, and these he endeavoured to sustain by his example, cheering them on to further exertions. They had once more recommenced their labours to clear out the boat, when one of his legs was seized by a shark. Even whilst suffering the most horrible torture, he restrained the expression of his feelings, for fear of increasing the alarm of the men. But the powers of his endurance were doomed to be tried to the utmost; another limb was scrunched from his body, and uttering a deep groan, he was about to let go his hold, when he was seized by two of his men, and placed in the stern sheets.
Yet when his whole frame was convulsed with agony, the energies of his mind remained as strong as ever, his own pain was disregarded, he thought only of the preservation of his crew. Calling to his side a lad of the name of Wilson, who appeared to be the strongest of the remaining few, he exhorted him, in the event of his surviving, to inform the admiral that he was going to Cape Ontario in search of the pirate when the unfortunate accident occurred; 'Tell him,' he continued, 'that my men have done their duty, and that no blame is attached to them. I have but one favour to ask, and that is, that he will promote Meldrum to be a gunner.'
He then shook each man by the hand, and bade them farewell. By degrees his strength began to fail, and at last became so exhausted, that he was unable to speak. He remained in this state until the sunset, when another panic seized the men, from a reappearance of the sharks. The boat gave a lurch, and the gallant commander found an end to his sufferings in a watery grave.
Thus perished an officer, who, if it had pleased Providence to preserve, would, in all probability, have been one of the brightest ornaments of the service. His character combined the three great qualities which are essential for an officer and a seaman—courage, coolness, and decision: opportunity only was wanting to display these parts. If he had succeeded in capturing the pirate, promotion would without doubt have followed, and a bright and honourable career have been open to him. But the ways of Providence are inscrutable; it was ordained that he should undergo sufferings from which the bravest would have shrunk with horror. Had he fallen in battle, his name would have been recorded in history. We hope that our feeble efforts to rescue the memory of this brave seaman from sinking into oblivion will not have been in vain, and that his name may find an honourable place with others who have died in the performance of their duty.
The death of their commander was sensibly felt by all, for they had long known his kindness and courage, and when his body sank below the waves, their hopes sank also. Mr. Maclean, a mate, and now the commanding officer, took upon himself to direct the efforts of his comrades, and did all that lay in his power to revive their spirits; he assured them that if they once succeeded in righting the boat, that there was every chance of falling in with some vessel. But twenty hours of constant fatigue, hunger, and thirst had made fearful ravages upon the strength of the men. Night was again approaching, and Maclean could not conceal from himself, that when darkness came on, the chances of their being seen by any vessel passing near were further removed than ever. The sharks had for a time taken their departure, but they might return at any moment; for having once tasted blood, they were not likely to be debarred from making another attack. Two more of the men, either worn out from fatigue, or anxious to escape from further suffering, threw themselves from their support, and were drowned.
The burning sun again set beneath the horizon, but as yet no sail had been seen upon the waters. Again the land-breeze passed over the ocean, but it brought no refreshing coolness; it only reminded them of the weary hours that had elapsed since it was so anxiously expected, though its results were then far different from what they had hoped.
There were but four men left—Maclean, Meldrum, (the gunner's mate,) Wilson, and another man. These had, by their united efforts, almost managed to clear the boat of water, when, about three o'clock in the morning, the two latter became delirious, sprung overboard, and were either seized by the sharks or drowned. It will be remembered, that it was Wilson who was selected by poor Smith to convey his last message to the admiral.
The two survivors for a time forgot their own sufferings in the horrible scene which they had just witnessed; but this did not last long; their thoughts soon returned to the necessity of preserving their own lives. They once more resumed their labours, and, though nearly exhausted, did not desist until the boat was almost dry. They then lay down to rest, in comparative security, and, let us hope, with their hearts filled with gratitude for the mercies which had already been vouchsafed to them, and remembering those words of our beautiful Liturgy: 'That it may please Thee to succour, help, and comfort all that are in danger, necessity, or tribulation.'
It is said that sometimes the criminal, the night before his execution, forgets the fate that awaits him in a deep and refreshing slumber. These two men, in spite of the horrors they had undergone, fell into a sound sleep, from which they did not awake until the sun was high in the heavens; when the horrors of their situation broke upon them, rendered doubly painful by the temporary oblivion of the last few hours.
The sun darted its scorching rays upon the two solitary beings, who had planted themselves, one in the bows, and the other in the stern of the boat, with neither oars, mast, sail, nor provisions of any kind. In vain they strained their gaze in every direction; nothing was to be seen but a boundless expanse of waters. Their eyes met, but it needed no words to tell the hopeless despair which was gnawing at their hearts. No longer was the loss of their companions regarded with horror; they envied the fate which had spared them the torture which they themselves were doomed to suffer:—
Famine, despair, cold, thirst, and heat had done
Their work on them by turns. BYRON.
Death at that moment would have been welcome.
Hour after hour passed away, but still the boat remained motionless on the waters. Neither spoke; their hearts were too full for utterance: in rapid succession, every thought and action of their lives passed across their minds; home, kindred, friends, all would be remembered, only again to be banished by the pangs of hunger and thirst.
Towards eight o'clock in the morning, the energies of Maclean and his companion had almost sunk under the accumulated load of suffering; it was more in despair than with any expectation of success, that they once again cast their eyes around. But this time it was not in vain; a white speck was seen in the distance: both exclaimed, 'A sail! a sail!' and the extravagance of joy was now equal to their former despair. Still the vessel was several miles distant, and unless those on board kept a vigilant look-out, it was more than probable that they would escape observation.
Of all the ills to which the human frame is liable, the agony of suspense is the most intolerable. Hope and fear rose alternately in their breasts; at one moment, the ship appeared to be nearing, at another, she seemed further off than ever. The vessel sped slowly on its course, but to their excited minds the time seemed interminable. First the white canvas was seen, then the dark hull became visible; but as yet no signs gave token that those on board were aware of their proximity.
The brig, for such she now appeared, could not have been above half a mile distant, when she suddenly altered her course. In vain they both hailed at once, and waved their jackets as a signal, but no notice was taken; then, indeed, every hope was dispelled, and the bitterness of despair returned with redoubled force.
At this juncture, Meldrum resolved, at all hazards, to attempt to swim to the vessel. If he remained in the boat, certain death would be the fate of himself and his companion: on the other hand, he might perish in the sea, but if he reached the brig, both would be saved. Without a moment's hesitation, he communicated his design to Maclean, and then, committing himself to the pretection of the Almighty, sprang overboard.
The idea of solitude is so repugnant to human nature, that even death would be preferable. It can be therefore easily imagined that it was with feelings almost amounting to agony that Maclean saw himself separated from his last friend. His first impulse was to follow his companion, but better judgment prevailed, and he determined to await the result. Never for a single instant did his eyes turn from the bold swimmer: they followed his every stroke. At one time, he thought he had sunk; at another, the ripple of a wave appeared to his distorted imagination like the fin of a shark. Anxiety for the fate of his companion kept his mind on the stretch until distance rendered the object no longer visible. 'Then, indeed, did he feel that he was alone.'
Meldrum was naturally a good swimmer, and every nerve was strained in this last struggle for life; buoyed up by hope, he had accomplished about two-thirds of his weary task when his strength began to fail, his dying eyes turned towards the brig, and with one last effort he raised his voice. He was heard: a boat was lowered from the brig, and he was taken on board. The perilous situation of his comrade was made known; and thus by his gallant exertions were preserved the lives of the two survivors, of the ill-fated Magpie.
This tale might almost be discredited, but the facts from which it was taken bear the signature of the officers composing the court-martial who sat upon the two remaining men. Mr. Maclean is at the present moment alive, and is now serving as a lieutenant in the coast-guard. Meldrum was promoted for his gallantry to the rank of gunner, and died two years ago.
THE THETIS.
His Majesty's ship, Thetis, Captain Samuel Burgess, sailed from Rio Janeiro on the evening of the 4th of December, 1830, having a large amount of treasure on board. The weather was so thick, that as they worked out of the harbour, the islands at its entrance were not visible; but as the evening was tolerably fine, with the exception of the fog, Captain Burgess determined to persevere in his course. The following morning the fog dispersed, but it was soon succeeded by such heavy rain, that the obscurity was nearly as great as before. The ship continued her course with the wind upon the starboard tack, until half-past one in the afternoon, when, from the reckoning, they supposed Cape Frio to be about thirty-eight miles distant, lying north 36° east. From the hour of their departure from Rio Janeiro, till the time of which we speak, neither sun, moon, nor stars had been visible. On account of the cross sea, which appeared to impede the progress of the vessel, and the lightness of the wind, her course was kept east by north until two o'clock, when it was changed to E.N.E. At four o'clock P.M. it was calculated that they had run about nineteen miles, and that they must be nearly abreast of Cape Frio, and about twenty-four miles distant from it. The weather clearing up at that time, they discovered a large ship, with all sail set, standing in shore, and no land being visible, they concluded that they were still further from land than they had reckoned, and therefore they changed their course again to N.E. by E. At five o'clock the people were mustered at quarters, and then a looming of land was seen to the N.N.W., which, according to their calculation, was the direction Cape Frio would bear; and there being no land near it that could have the same appearance, the reckoning was considered correct, and a prudent proportion of sail was made, regard being had to the state of the weather, and the course they were steering. Between six and seven o'clock P.M. the rain again began to fall; the fog returned, and became gradually so thick, that it was impossible to see the length of the ship.
At eight P.M. the watch was mustered, and the men placed at their stations to keep a vigilant look-out, while the officer of the watch went forward himself to see that the sails were well trimmed, and that every one was on the alert. At half-past eight, when the captain had retired to his cabin, and was waiting for the usual evening report from the master, a midshipman entered with the startling intelligence that land had been seen close ahead, the ship at the time going at the rate of eight or nine miles an hour.
Captain Burgess was on deck in a moment; he ordered the helm to be put 'hard a-port,' and was told it had been done. The next instant the jib-booms and bowsprit were heard to crash; the captain hastened to the gangway, and was just in time to see the foremast go. Scarcely had he called to the men to stand clear, when all the three masts fell aft, one after the other, covering the deck with masts, yards, sails, and rigging, and in their fall killing some and dreadfully mangling others. Within a few feet of the ship rose a stupendous black rock, against which the surf was raging violently. The rock was so perpendicular, that both the fore and main yardarms were (before they fell) scraping against the granite cliff. The hull, however, did not appear to come in contact with the rock; but, as if answering the helm, her head turned off shore, and as she swung round, the larboard quarter boat was completely smashed between the ship's side and the rock. Nothing could exceed the alarm that prevailed on board for a few minutes after the sudden crash. The decks were covered with spars and rigging, lying pell-mell upon the bodies of those who had been injured by their fall. The man at the helm had been killed at his post, and the wheel itself was shivered to atoms; whilst the darkness of the night, and the roar of the breakers against the cliff, added to the horrors of a catastrophe of which the suddenness alone was sufficient to paralyse the energies of the men.
Captain Burgess saw that everything depended upon promptitude and decision: he quickly rallied his people, and order was soon restored: he then gave directions that the well should be sounded, and that the men should stand by the small bower anchor.
A sentinel was placed to guard the spirit-room, and two small sails were run up the fore and main-masts, the stumps of which were from twelve to fifteen feet above the deck, and the helm was put to starboard. The winches were next manned, and guns, rockets, and blue lights let off in rapid succession.
The well was reported dry; orders were given for the small bower anchor to be let go, but it was found covered with the wreck of the bowsprit, and it was necessary to cut away the best bower in order to keep the ship off shore; and for the same purpose every spar that could be obtained was made use of to bear her off the rocky cliffs, but in vain, for from the depth of the water, the anchor did not reach the bottom, and the stern tailed upon a shelving rock in spite of all their efforts. The men were next ordered to clear away the boats and get them ready—but they were found totally destroyed. Those on the quarters had been smashed by the rocks, and those on the booms and stern by the falling of the masts. During the whole of this anxious period, the conduct of the men was most exemplary. Aware that all depended upon individual exertion, each one appeared to emulate the example set by his officers, and worked with hearty good will; not a single instance of anything like bad conduct occurred.
Their condition was most disheartening; the boats were no longer available; the water was gaining on the vessel; and the rockets and blue lights, as they darted into the air, served but to show them the rugged face of the high rocks, which appeared to afford no footing by which the summit could be gained, even if they should be so fortunate as to reach them at all.
Whilst all on board were weighing these chances of destruction or of safety, the vessel's head had gone round off, and a few succeeding heavy surfs threw her again with her starboard quarter upon the rock, and whilst she was in this position, there appeared a possibility of getting some of the people on shore. Captain Burgess, therefore, ordered Lieutenant Hamilton to do everything in his power to facilitate such a proceeding, and shortly afterwards that officer, Mr. Mends, midshipman, and about seventy others, effected a landing by jumping either from the broken end of the mainyard, which was lying across the ship, or from the hammock netting abaft the mizenmast; several others who attempted to land in the same way were less fortunate; some were crushed to death, and some drawn back by the recoil of the surf and drowned.
From the time the ship first struck, the current had been carrying her along the cliffs at the rate of at least a quarter of a mile an hour; it now carried her off the rock, and she drifted along shore, a helpless wreck, at the mercy of the winds and waves. The captain saw that nothing more could be done for the vessel, and therefore he directed all his energies to the preservation of the crew. The marine who had been appointed to guard the spirit-room still remained at his post, and never left it till commanded to do so by his superior officer, even after the water had burst open the hatch. We mention this as an instance of the effect of good discipline in times of the greatest peril.
The vessel, or rather the wreck, was now carried towards a small cove, into which she happily drifted; she struck heavily against the rocks, then gave some tremendous yauls, and gradually sunk until nothing was left above water but the bows, the broken bowsprit, and the wreck of the masts as they laid on the booms.
All on board deemed that the crisis of their fate had arrived,—and they prepared for the final struggle between life and death. There were some moments of awful suspense, for every lurch the ill-fated vessel gave, was expected to be the last; but when she seemed to sink no deeper, there came the hope that her keel had touched the bottom, and that they should not all he engulfed in a watery grave.
Before she sunk, the frigate's bows had gone so close into the rocks as to enable some sixty or seventy people to jump on shore; and a hawser was got out and fixed to a rock, by which several others were saved; but by a tremendous surge, the piece of rock to which the hawser was fastened was broken away, and for a time all communication with the land was suspended. They tried every means that could be devised to convey a rope from the ship to the land, but for a long time without success, until Mr. Geach, the boatswain, swung himself on the stump of the bowsprit, and by making fast two belaying pins to the end of a line, he succeeded in throwing it on shore. To this a stronger cable was bent, and it was dragged through the surf by the people on the rocks, who then kept it taut.
Although a few words only are required to describe the mode by which a communication was established between the ship and the shore, yet it had been a work of toil, time, and danger. The boatswain had more than once nearly lost his life by being washed away by the waves as they swept over the wreck; the captain, who directed his proceedings, was standing up to his middle in water, upon one foot only, frequently losing his hold, and with great difficulty regaining his position.
The boatswain, when the preparations were completed, suggested that, in order to test the strength of the cable, a boy should be the first to make a trial of it; accordingly, a young lad was firmly secured to a sort of cradle or bowling knot, and drawn on shore in safety. The success of the attempt was announced by a loud cheer from the strand, and the captain then took upon himself to direct the landing of the rest of the crew by the same means. He stationed himself on the knight head, so as to prevent a general rush being made; he then called each man separately, and one by one they slung themselves upon the rope and were swung on shore. Nothing could exceed the good conduct displayed by the whole of the ship's company, every order was promptly obeyed, and the utmost patience and firmness exhibited by every individual.
When the greater part of the people had quitted the wreck, there still remained several who could not be induced even by the earnest and repeated entreaties of their commander to leave their dry position on the yards. The strength of the captain and boatswain was almost exhausted, and as they could not persuade any more of the men to avail themselves of the proffered means of safety, they were obliged, though very reluctantly, to leave them on the wreck, and they themselves joined the crew on the rocks.
In the course of an hour or two, however, the party who had stayed by the wreck, took courage and ventured upon the rope; but as the stump of the bowsprit, which was over the larboard cathead, rendered it extremely hazardous to come forward, they did not all get on shore till daylight. In the morning, Captain Burgess's first care was to muster his men, and a melancholy spectacle presented itself. Sixteen were missing, and of those who were gathered around him, many had been dreadfully bruised and lacerated in their efforts to reach the shore. Amongst those who perished was a fine spirited lad, the son of Captain Bingham, late commander of the Thetis. But a few months before, Captain Bingham himself had been drowned in the Guayaquil: thus father and son lay far from their native land, beneath the western flood.
The warlike of the isles,
The men of field and wave,
Are not the rocks their funeral piles,
The seas and shores their grave?
Go, stranger! track the deep—
Free, free, the white sail spread;
Wind may not rove, nor billows sweep,
Where rest not England's dead.
The crew of the Thetis had now time to look around them, and to consider what was next to be done. The prospect was a sad one. Before them, and almost hidden by the white foam, lay the once noble frigate, now a complete wreck; the cove into which she had drifted was bound by lofty and precipitous crags, arising abruptly from the sea, and varying in height from 80 to 194 feet. The men and officers were perched in groups on points of the rocks; few of them had clothing enough to cover them, and scarcely any had shoes. There seemed to be no means of ascending the precipice; but to do so must be their first object; and anxiously they sought for some part which might offer a surer footing, and a less perilous and perpendicular ascent. At last they succeeded in casting a rope round one of the projecting crags, and by help of this some of the strongest of the party climbed the giddy height, and then assisted in hauling up their weaker comrades.
To give some idea of the difficulties which they had to surmount, and their almost miraculous escape, we subjoin the following description of the place from the pen of Captain Dickenson:—
'The coast is formed of rugged and almost perpendicular rocks, varying from 80 to 194 feet in height, a peak rising at each point, and another in nearly the centre of the north-eastern side.
'On viewing this terrific place, with the knowledge that at the time of the shipwreck the wind was from the southward, I was struck with astonishment, and it appeared quite a mystery that so great a number of lives could have been saved; and indeed it will never cease to be so, for that part on which the crew landed is so difficult of access, that (even in fine weather) after being placed by a boat on a rock at the base, it required considerable strength and agility, with the assistance of a man-rope, to climb the precipitous face of the cliff, and I am certain that in the hour of extreme peril, when excess of exertion was called forth, there must have been a most extraordinary display of it by a few for the benefit of the whole.'
When the party were all safely landed on the top of the rocks, they perceived that they were on an island without inhabitants, and affording no shelter, except a few huts, that had been erected for the convenience of the natives curing fish. Fortunately these huts contained a considerable quantity of salt fish and farina. This was placed in charge of the purser, and immediately distributed amongst the ship's company, who stood in great need of refreshment. As soon as the men were sufficiently recovered from their fatigues, they were despatched in parties in all directions, to discover means of communicating with the mainland, from which the island was a few miles distant. Most of them soon returned with the tidings that no means of transport could be procured. This was a very disheartening announcement; but its effects were quickly dispelled by the appearance of a canoe coming into the little cove where the huts were situated.
The seamen made signals to the men in the canoe, inviting them to approach, which they did; and when they came up, they communicated the welcome intelligence, that round a point to the left, on the mainland, there was a village which afforded all kinds of accommodation.
Captain Burgess then ordered Lieutenant Hamilton to go in a canoe, with two or three of his men, to this village, and there to make arrangements for proceeding to the commander-in-chief at Rio Janeiro, and to send off as many canoes as he could procure to convey the ship's company to the mainland.
In a short time several canoes arrived at the island, and Mr. Drake, the purser of the Thetis, was amongst the first sent off to the village, with directions to despatch a sufficient quantity of provisions for the people on the rock; but after making two or three trips between the parties, Mr. Wilson, the master's assistant, returned in one of the canoes to say, that the natives refused to come again without being paid. In this dilemma, Captain Burgess went across himself, and by dint of persuasion and promises of payment, he at last induced some of the natives to go to the assistance of his people; and in the course of a few hours as many were conveyed to the village as was deemed prudent. It was necessary to leave some men to look after the wreck; and to this duty Lieutenant Otway, Mr. Mends, midshipman, the gunner, carpenter, four marines, and thirty-three seamen, were appointed: they therefore remained on the island; and before night Captain Burgess had the satisfaction of seeing all the rest of his crew, if not very comfortably lodged, at least safe and under shelter. In the evening, Lieutenant Hamilton set out overland to Rio Janeiro to apprise the commander-in-chief of the loss of the Thetis, and the distressing situation of her men.
The following morning the people had great difficulty in hiring canoes, and only one could be obtained, in which Lieutenant West and the boatswain went off to the wreck, where they were for several days actively employed. None of the men were allowed to be idle, for they had full occupation in carrying wood and water, which were only to be found at a great distance.
The behaviour of the local authorities was disgraceful in the extreme; although fully aware of the destitute condition of the Englishmen who had been cast upon their shores, they denied them the most trifling assistance, and turned a deaf ear to every entreaty and remonstrance.
Money! money! was the constant cry. In vain Captain Burgess assured them that the little he had saved was almost expended; but that as soon as assistance should arrive from his countrymen, every article should be paid for. All his arguments and promises were thrown away upon the natives, whose rapacity knew no bounds; they would give nothing without payment, and their charges were exorbitant.
Captain Burgess was so exasperated at one of these natives, who had agreed to let the crew have a small bullock, but, upon finding there was no money to pay for it, had driven it away, that he thought it almost justifiable to desire his men to help themselves. There was, however, one bright exception to this universal hard-heartedness. A sergeant, named Antonio das Santos, who commanded a small fort of three guns, seeing the unwillingness of the natives to render any aid to the strangers, came forward and asked if anything was wanted that he could supply. Captain Burgess replied, that both his officers and men stood in great need of food, and that a loan of money for present use would be very acceptable. The sergeant immediately placed in the captain's hands forty milreas in copper, and most generously put at his disposal everything he possessed. The example of this noble-hearted fellow had no effect on the conduct of the rest; their great object seemed to be to make as much gain as possible by the misfortunes of their fellow-creatures, and they went so far as to plunder the wreck, breaking open the chests, and taking possession of their contents whenever an opportunity occurred.
In order to attract the notice of vessels passing near, two flag-staffs had been erected upon the heights, with the ensign downwards; but day after day passed on, and no friendly sail appeared. The cupidity of the natives was insatiable, and provisions became more and more scarce. It was not until the 15th of December, ten days after the loss of the Thetis, that a vessel was seen in the offing. She proved to be the Algerine, which arrived most opportunely, when they were almost reduced to extremity, and brought them the articles of which they were in greatest need.
The next day, just after the Algerine had entered the harbour of Cape Frio, Admiral Baker arrived with a necessary supply of money. He had attempted the sea-passage from Rio Janeiro, for three days, in his barge, but had been obliged to put back on account of the current, and had then performed the journey of seventy miles overland in forty-eight hours. From the admiral, Captain Burgess had the satisfaction of hearing that the Druid, Clio, Adelaide, and a French brig of war might be hourly expected.
These all arrived in due course, and took on board the officers and men of the late Thetis, who were safely landed at Rio Janeiro on the 24th of December.
In conclusion, we cannot refrain from noticing the firmness and presence of mind evinced by Captain Burgess under the most appalling circumstances. After having adopted every available means for saving the ship without effect, he superintended for many hours the disembarkation of the crew, and during all that tedious process he was standing in a heavy surf up to the middle in water; nor could he be persuaded to quit the wreck until not one more of his officers or men would consent to go before him. Respecting the conduct of the officers and men, we cannot do better than lay before our readers Captain Burgess's own estimate of its merits.
'I owe,' he says, 'to the whole of my officers and men (and which most sincerely and unreservedly I render,) the meed of praise due to the conduct of every one, without exception. It was their prompt obedience to all my orders, and the firmness, fortitude, and alacrity which they perseveringly as well as patiently displayed amidst their great perils, sufferings, and privations, through the whole of this trying scene, that contributed, under Providence, to the saving of so many of their lives.
'Their subsequent orderly and excellent conduct on shore as much bespeaks my approbation; and, in truth, the general character of their conduct throughout has induced an esteem in me which it is impossible can ever cease but with my life.'[18]
Captain Samuel Burgess entered the navy in 1790, and served on board the Impregnable at the victory of the 1st of June, 1794. He was almost constantly employed from that time until the year 1804, when he was appointed a lieutenant on board the Prince, of 98 guns, in which ship he was present at the battle of Trafalgar.
He next served on board the Dreadnought, 98, and subsequently was appointed to the command of the Pincher, a 12-gun brig, employed in the North Sea and Baltic. Whilst in command of this vessel, Lieutenant Burgess distinguished himself on many occasions, particularly in assisting Lord George Stuart in reducing the batteries of Cuxhaven and Bremerleke. His next appointment was to the Vixen gun-brig; and although he might well have expected promotion for his services, he remained lieutenant until the year 1816, when he was appointed to the Queen Charlotte, in which ship he served as flag-lieutenant to Lord Exmouth at the bombardment of Algiers. Upon the arrival of the dispatches in England, Lieutenant Burgess was promoted to the rank of commander. He received his post rank on the 27th November, 1830, when he took the command of the Thetis. A more lengthened statement of the services of this officer will be found in O'Byrne's Naval Biography, to which work we are indebted for the above sketch.