FOOTNOTES:
[4] Newark Island is the highest point of one of those long ridges of sand which abound on the south and southeastern coasts of the North Sea, formed by the deposits of ages from the rivers that empty themselves into the German Ocean, acted upon by the alternate ebb and flow of the tide, till they assume a form and establish a position and a name. Upon Newark Island is a village and light-house, situated a few miles from Cuxhaven, and accessible at low water by the sand. The sand ridge takes a north-westerly direction from Newark Island, and extends about six miles further. It was on the extremity of the northwestern bank that the Proserpine was wrecked.
THE SCEPTRE.
Early in the spring of 1799, a large convoy of transports and merchantmen sailed from the Cape of Good Hope, with troops and stores for the siege of Seringapatam. The Sceptre, 64 guns, commanded by Captain Valentine Edwards, was appointed to the sole charge of the convoy, and to take Sir David Baird and the whole of the 84th regiment on board. The Sceptre may, perhaps, have been the only king's ship then at the Cape; it is certain that she had been an unusual length of time on that station, and had become so weak and leaky as to be hardly sea-worthy, when she was dispatched on this important service.
Happily, the insecure state of the vessel induced extreme watchfulness on the part of both officers and men, and all went on well till she had made about two-thirds of her way, when one night a brisk gale sprung up, which increased in violence so rapidly, that the officers of the watch felt some anxiety on account of the unusual strain upon the ship. Captain Edwards ordered the well to be sounded, and the result confirming his apprehensions, the pumps were manned in an incredibly short time, every one on board being aroused to a sense of danger.
Lieutenant the Honourable Alexander Jones had been relieved from the first watch, and had retired to his berth about an hour before without any misgivings. He was suddenly awakened by the alarming cry that the ship was sinking, and the call of 'all hands,' He sprang up, and in a few moments joined the group of officers, naval and military, assembled on the quarter-deck. Anxiety was depicted on every countenance; for although the pumps were worked incessantly, the soldiers taking their turn with the sailors, the water was still gaining on them fast; and even whilst the men relieved each other, it rose several inches. But when human efforts were unavailing, the hand of Providence was stretched out to save. The wind fell as suddenly as it had risen, and after many hours of hard labour, the water was got under, and the vessel was considered comparatively safe.
Had the Sceptre gone down that night, hundreds and hundreds of England's best and bravest defenders must have sunk into a watery grave, and in all probability the enemy's ships, which were hovering upon the track of the convoy, would have got possession of the transports and merchantmen; and even the success of our arms in India might have been seriously affected.
A few weeks after the gale we have mentioned, the Sceptre and her convoy arrived safely at Bombay. She was there put into dock and repaired, and was strengthened by having large timbers, technically termed riders, bolted diagonally on either side, fore and aft.
When again fit for sea, she returned to Table Bay, and anchored there about the middle of October.
On the 1st of November, the captain and officers gave a ball to the inhabitants of Cape Town, and on that night the ship presented an appearance of unusual gaiety; mirth and music resounded on all sides; in place of the stern voice of command, the laugh, the jest, and the soft tones of woman's voice were heard; whilst many a light footstep glided over the decks of the old ship.
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men;
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when
Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
Soft eyes looked love to eyes that spake again,
And all went merry as a marriage bell.
CHILDE HAROLD.
The night was calm and beautiful, and as the guests left the ship, little did they think of the fearful doom that was so soon to overwhelm many of those whose hands they had clasped for the last time.
The weather continued perfectly calm till the evening of the 4th of November, when some ominous looking clouds indicated an approaching storm.
In addition to the Sceptre there remained in the Bay the Jupiter of 50 guns, the Oldenburg, a Danish 64 gun ship, and several other vessels. On the morning of the 5th, a strong gale blew from the north-west, but no danger was apprehended, and the ship, dressed in flags, and with the royal standard hoisted, fired her salute at noon in commemoration of the Gunpowder Treason.
The gale had increased considerably by two o'clock, and as Table Bay affords no shelter from a north-west wind, the captain took every precaution to make all secure: the topmasts were struck, and the fore and main-yards were lowered to ease the ship. But half-an-hour had not elapsed before the violence of the storm was such, that the ship parted from her best bower cable; the sheet anchor was immediately let go, and the cable veered away to twenty-eight fathoms. The storm gathered strength, and at half-past six the whole fury of the elements seemed to be concentrated in one terrific blast.
Orders were given to let go the anchor, with two of the forecastle guns attached; but even this proved insufficient to hold the ship.
One of the boats was then hoisted out, in order to communicate with the Jupiter, and procure the end of a cable from her, but in a few minutes the boat upset and was lost, with all her crew. For some hours signal guns of distress had been fired, and the ensign had been hoisted downwards, but no help could reach the vessel: in that tempestuous sea no boat could live. Some of the officers who had gone on shore the previous evening were standing on the beach, unable to render any assistance to their comrades, and compelled to remain inactive spectators of the harrowing scene, and to behold their brave ship foundering at her anchors.
About eight o'clock, loud above the howling of the tempest and the booming of the minute gun, arose the wild cry of fire: and thick smoke was discernible from the shore, issuing from the hatches. Now were the opposing elements of air, fire, and water combined for the destruction of the ill-fated ship. For an instant, all stood paralysed; but it was only for an instant. Again the voices of the officers were raised in command, and every man was ready at his post.
The smoke came up from the hatches in such dense volumes, that all attempts to go below to extinguish the fire were abortive. Each man felt that his last hour was come,—there was not a shadow of hope that their lives could be saved; it was but a choice of death by fire or water: to quit the ship must be fatal; they had seen the boat and its crew swallowed up by the yawning waves, when the tempest raged less fiercely than now, and she was too far from the shore to afford even a ray of hope that the strongest swimmer might gain the beach. On the other hand, to remain on board was to encounter a still more terrible death—a burning funeral pile amidst the waters. While they hesitated in doubt and horror, one of their fears was relieved,—the heavy sea that washed incessantly over the wreck extinguished the fire. The ship continued to drive at the mercy of the waves till about ten o'clock, when she stranded, broadside to the shore, heeling on her port side towards the sea.
The captain then ordered the main and mizen masts to be cut away, and the foremast soon afterwards went by the board. At this juncture, a man of the name of Connolly, a favourite with both officers and crew, volunteered to jump overboard with a deep-sea line attached to his body, in order to form a communication between the ship and the shore. He made but a few strokes ere he was borne away by the eddy and drowned.
The ship being lightened by the falling of the masts, righted herself and got clear off the ground: there appeared some slight chance of preservation, and every heart was buoyed up with hope that she might be thrown high enough upon the beach to enable the people on shore to render them some assistance.
She was driven nearer and nearer to the land—voices became more and more audible, so as even to be recognised—- in a few minutes more, the perishing crew might be safe—when a heavy sea struck the ship, the orlop deck gave way, and the port side fell in—many were swept away,—those who had the power to do so, retreated to the starboard side.
A most heartrending scene must that have been! The people were so benumbed with cold and exhaustion, and paralysed by fear, that many of them could no longer cling to the ropes and spars for support, and every wave that broke over the wreck, washed away its victims.
Many in despair leaped overboard, and attempted to swim to shore, but the eddy caused by the wreck was so strong, that they were carried out to sea; and in spite of the attempts made by those on board to rescue them, they all perished. Mr. Tucker, a midshipman, lost his life in the endeavour to reach the bow of the ship.
About half an hour later the poop was washed away, and carried towards the shore. Seventy or eighty men who were upon it seemed likely to be saved from the surrounding destruction. The people on the beach crowded to the spot where they would probably be driven, that they might render every possible assistance; but what was their horror to see a tremendous wave strike the poop, capsize it, and turn it over and over; whilst every one of those who clung to it perished!
But the terrors of that awful night were not yet exhausted. The wreck, to which the remaining officers and men were clinging, heeled towards the shore; but when the gale increased and blew with redoubled force, it heeled off again, rent fore and aft, and parted in two places—before the main-chains, and abaft the fore-chains—and then all disappeared from the eyes of the awe-stricken spectators on the beach.
High above the crash of timbers and the roaring of the blast, rose the despairing cry of hundreds of human beings who perished in the waters, and whose mutilated forms, with the fragments of the wreck, strewed the beach for miles on the following morning.
Thirty or forty seamen and marines still clung to the bow, the sea breaking over them incessantly; they kept their hold, however, in the fond hope that the signal gun remaining, might by its weight prevent the bow from being capsized; but the timbers, unable to resist the fury of the tempest, suddenly parted,—the gun reeled from side to side, and the unhappy men shared the fate of their companions. It has been said that during that awful time, whilst threatened with instant death, many of these men were in a stupor, with their hands locked in the chain plates.
Among the incidents connected with the wreck, it is related that Mr. Buddle, a midshipman, (one of the few who escaped,) was cast upon the waves almost insensible. He had not strength to strike out for the beach, and he therefore merely tried to keep himself above water. This proved to be the means of saving his life, for he floated in a direction parallel with the shore, and avoided the huge pieces of wreck by which all his companions who made directly for land (excepting three) were dashed to pieces.
Mr. Buddle was nearly exhausted, when he caught hold of a small piece of timber that was floating near him; a nail which projected from it wounded him on the breast; he fainted, and did not recover his senses until he found himself lying on the beach upon a heap of dead bodies. He attempted in vain to rise; for though he felt no pain, his left leg was broken, his knee cut almost half through, and his body much bruised. In this state he was discovered, and carried by some persons to a large fire until further assistance could be obtained, and he was then conveyed to the hospital.
One of the officers of the Sceptre, who is still alive, and who happened to be on shore at the time this terrible catastrophe occurred, declares, that nothing imagination could conceive ever equalled the horrors of that night. When the first signals of distress were made from the Sceptre, the whole population of Cape Town, with the officers and soldiers of the garrison, crowded down to the beach, in the vain hope of being able to afford some assistance. The night was bitterly cold; the wind blew with terrific violence, and the sea, lashed into fury, broke with a deafening roar upon the beach. As night approached, and darkness hid the vessel from their sight, the feelings of the agonized spectators became almost insupportable. The booming of the guns alone told that the ship still lived among the raging waters; whilst ever and anon a piercing shriek announced that the work of death had begun.
All along the beach large fires were lighted, as beacons to guide those who might be cast upon the shore. At length the ship was driven nearer, and again she became visible from the land. She appeared, says an eye-witness (before mentioned), like a huge castle looming in the distance. The hopes of the spectators revived as she heeled on towards them, and they all stood ready to give assistance whenever it should be available. At one moment, a fearful crash was heard—next, a piercing shriek, and the flash of the torches waved in the air displayed the struggling forms of the drowning seamen, tossed to and fro upon the waves amongst masses of the wreck, which, in many instances, killed those whom the waters would have spared.
The only help that the people on shore could render to the unhappy sufferers was, to watch the opportunity when the waves brought a body near to the land, and then to rush into the water, holding one another at arm's length, and to grasp the exhausted creature before he was borne back by the receding wave.
In this manner forty-seven men were saved, together with Mr. Shaw, a master's mate, and two midshipmen, of the names of Spinks and Buddle, before-mentioned. Six officers had fortunately been on shore at the time; all the others, with the captain, were lost on the wreck, together with about three hundred and ninety-one seamen and marines.
The people of Cape Town and the troops were employed the whole night in searching for the dead, amongst whom they discovered the son of Captain Edwards, with one hand grasping an open Bible, which was pressed to his bosom, the parting gift, perhaps, of a fond mother, who had taught the boy to revere in life that sacred volume, from which he parted not in death.
Three waggon-loads of the dead were next morning taken to a place near the hospital, and there buried. About one hundred bodies, shockingly mangled, were buried in one pit on the beach. The remains of all the officers (with the exception of Captain Edwards) were found, and were interred the following Sunday with military honours.
The reader may be interested by being informed of a few of the providential escapes which were experienced by Lieutenant Jones (now Rear-Admiral Jones), one of the few survivors of the catastrophe above described. This officer had been midshipman of the Providence, discovery-ship, commanded by Captain William Broughton, which vessel, after many dangerous vicissitudes, was finally wrecked among the Japanese islands. Mr. Jones having faced all the dangers consequent on such a trying position, with difficulty escaped a watery grave, by taking refuge, with the rest of the officers and crew, on board the tender which accompanied this ill-fated ship. This great addition to her small complement, and her want of accommodation, produced a virulent disease amongst the crew, from which Sir. Jones did not escape. On arrival at Macao, Mr. Jones was ordered a passage, with his surviving shipmates and crew of the Providence, to England, in the Swift, sloop of war, selected to convoy a large fleet of Indiamen. The evening before their departure, it was found that the accommodation in the Swift was not sufficient for the supernumeraries, and, consequently, Mr. Jones and Lord George Stuart (also a midshipman of the Providence) were, by order of Captain Broughton, distributed among the merchant ships, the former to the Carnatic, the latter to the Duke of Buccleugh. The Swift and her convoy sailed on the morrow. They had not proceeded far, before a succession of violent typhoons overtook them, which scattered and disabled the Indiamen, most of which were obliged to return to India; but the Swift foundered: she was seen for a short time struggling with the elements, and making signals of distress—a moment more, and she disappeared for ever.'
Mr. Jones, arriving at the Cape of Good Hope, was detained by Rear Admiral Pringle, and employed to communicate with his flag-ship, the Tremendous, then in a state of mutiny, the mutineers having put her officers ashore. His courage on this occasion was much lauded, as it was believed by all, and expected by himself, that he would have been thrown overboard. Harmony was at length restored on board the Tremendous, and six of the mutineers were executed. As a reward for his services, Mr. Jones was appointed acting lieutenant of the Sceptre: his preservation, and the part he acted on that occasion, have already been described.
When lieutenant of the Ajax, attached to the fleet under Sir J. Borlase Warren, lying in Vigo Bay, he was sent with a boat's crew to the assistance of the Tartarus, sloop of war, which ship was then driving to leeward in a gale on a rocky shore. So inevitable appeared her destruction, that the officers and crew had abandoned her, after letting go an anchor, to retard her expected crash against the rocks. At this critical moment, whilst held by only one strand of the cable, Lieutenant Jones's boat (although nearly swamped by the frequent shipping of seas) neared the ship; and this officer, watching an opportunity, sprung on board with his intrepid crew, and, by almost superhuman exertions, succeeded in hauling her ahead. She had just reached the point of safety, when her officers and crew, who witnessed her more favourable position, brought about by Lieutenant Jones's courage and perseverance, returned on board, and Lieutenant Jones and his gallant followers rejoined their ship amidst the cheers of the fleet. For this service Lieutenant Jones was sent for by the commander-in-chief, and thanked by him on the quarter-deck of his flag-ship.
As lieutenant of the Naiad, this officer had the misfortune to be involved in a serious quarrel with his superior officer (Lieutenant Dean), and on that person using very abusive, and unofficer-like language, Lieutenant Jones struck him. A court martial being held, Lieutenant Jones was sentenced to be hanged; but, in consideration of the very provoking language used by Lieutenant Dean, and Lieutenant Jones's previous irreproachable conduct, his Majesty George the Third was graciously pleased to pardon him, and restore him to his former position in the Navy, while Lieutenant Dean was dismissed the service.
THE QUEEN CHARLOTTE.
One of the greatest calamities that ever befel a ship belonging to the British Navy was the destruction of the Queen Charlotte of 100 guns, launched in 1790. She was the sister-ship to the Royal George, and was destined to a no less tragical fate. Her first cruise was with the fleet fitted out against Spain; Lord Howe, the commander-in-chief, being on board of her; and she carried his flag on the 1st of June.
She was afterwards sent to the Mediterranean, under the command of Captain James Todd, and bearing the flag of Vice-Admiral Lord Keith. Before entering upon our narrative, we may be permitted to apologize for any inaccuracy, or lack of incident, that may be apparent in the following account, by stating that the official reports of the disaster are so vague and imperfect, that it is almost impossible to give the details of it as fully as we could wish; and so many years have elapsed since the event, that we cannot obtain information from private sources.
On the 16th of March, 1800, Lord Keith, with Lieutenant Stewart, and four other persons, having landed at Leghorn, directed Captain Todd to proceed in the Queen Charlotte to reconnoitre the Island of Cabrera, about thirty miles from Leghorn, then in possession of the French, and which it was his lordship's intention to attack.
At four o'clock on the morning of the 17th, the men who were washing the decks stowed some hay close aft to the admiral's cabin, near a match-tub, in which it was usual to keep a match burning, for the purpose of firing signals. At six o'clock, when the men were in the act of removing the hay, a portion of it was discovered to have ignited. Not a moment was lost in giving the alarm, and those at hand used every means in their power to extinguish the slumbering element; but the fire had been smouldering for some time before it was discovered. The water thrown upon it from the buckets was useless—the flames bursting forth with such violence that they baffled the most strenuous efforts to overcome them. Such was the posture of affairs when the captain, officers, and men, alarmed by the cry of fire, rushed from all parts of the ship to the scene of conflagration. It would be no easy task to describe the feelings of a number of human beings thus suddenly and awfully awakened to the perils of their situation. For the moment, no doubt, fear predominated over every other feeling, and a degree of confusion ensued. Nor can this be regarded with astonishment, when we remember that of all the dangers to which a sailor is familiarized in his hazardous profession, none is so fraught with horror as a fire at sea.
The battle has no terror for him: he rushes to the conflict excited by the cheers of his comrades and the hopes of victory—
Though fore and aft the blood-stained deck,
Should lifeless trunks appear,
Or should the vessel float a wreck,
The sailor knows no fear.
He glories in the stormy sea, and in 'the wild wind's roar:' they fill him with a fierce delight, while with steady hand and steadfast heart he obeys the voice of his commander; he trusts to his good ship, and 'laughs at the storm and the battle.'
But how differently does he feel, when roused from his deep slumber by the cry of fire. He rushes upon deck, but half awake, to meet an enemy far more terrible than any he has yet encountered. He finds himself enveloped in a suffocating smoke—here and there gleams a lurid flame—the fire becomes gradually more vivid: it rises higher and higher; grows brighter and brighter. In vain he looks for help,—beneath, nothing meets his eye but the boundless waste of waters, that can avail so little to quench those flames; above, the pathless fields of air, that serve but to increase their fury. The insidious enemy quietly but surely creeps onward, and the sailor knows but too well, that if not speedily arrested, the flames must reach the powder magazine, and then a few smouldering fragments strewed upon the waters will alone remain of the gallant ship and her living freight.
Such was the hideous form in which death presented itself to the minds of the crew of the Queen Charlotte, who now anxiously turned their eyes to their captain and officers, in the hope that, as on former occasions, their example and assistance might enable them to avert the threatened danger. Nor was their confidence misplaced.
Captain Todd and his first lieutenant (Mr. Bainbridge) stood upon the quarter-deck, displaying a calmness and self-possession of which the effects were soon felt throughout the vessel, and restored order among the ship's company.
They went among the people, calming their fears, and encouraging them to increased exertion, neither of them seeming for a moment to think of his own safety in comparison with that of his companions in danger.
All that man could do in such a case was done; but human foresight and presence of mind were of no avail against the irresistible power of that relentless enemy.
The flames darted up the mainmast, reached the boats upon the boom, and now wrapped in wreathing fires the whole of the quarter-deck, from whence all had been driven save the captain and first lieutenant, who still nobly kept their posts.
Amongst those who more particularly distinguished themselves on this occasion (where all did their duty) was Lieutenant the Hon. G.H.L. Dundas. This officer was roused from his sleep by the sentinel announcing to him that the ship was on fire. Springing from his cot, he hastily put on some clothes and attempted to ascend the after hatchway, but was driven back by the smoke. He then went to the main hatchway, and had almost reached the top of the ladder, when he was so overpowered, that he fell exhausted upon the middle deck.
When he had in some degree recovered, he rushed to the fore hatchway and thence to the forecastle, where he found the first lieutenant, some petty officers, and the greater part of the ship's company. These were endeavouring to haul up the mainsail which was in flames. The carpenter, seeing Lieutenant Dundas, suggested that he might direct some of the men to sluice the lower decks, and secure the hatchways, to prevent the fire reaching that part of the ship.
Mr. Dundas collected about seventy men, who volunteered to accompany him, and descended to the lower decks. The ports were opened, the cocks turned, and water thrown upon the decks. All the hammocks were cleared away, and as many people as could be spared were employed in heaving water upon the burning wood, rigging, and spars, which kept falling down the hatchways. The gratings were fastened down and covered over with wet blankets and hammocks. In this way the lower deck was kept free from fire for some time, until at length it broke out in both of the transom cabins, and burnt forward with great rapidity. Mr. Dundas and his party did not leave that part of ship, till several of the middle guns came through the deck.
At nine o'clock, finding it impossible to remain longer below, he got out of one of the starboard lower deck ports, and reached the forecastle, followed by most of the officers and men who had been with him. On the forecastle, about 250 men were drawing water, and throwing it upon the fire as far aft as possible.
For nearly four hours every exertion was made to subdue the flames. Officers and men behaved with heroic courage and self-possession; but in spite of their almost superhuman efforts, the flames rolled on, and the destruction of the ship became inevitable.
With fruitless toil the crew oppose the flame,
No art can now the spreading mischief tame.
And many of that gallant company verified the poet's description: almost maddened by the intense heat, they sprung overboard and perished.
Some, when the flames could be no more withstood,
By wild despair directed, 'midst the flood,
Themselves in haste from the tall vessel threw,
And from a dry to liquid ruin flew.
Sad choice of death, when those who shun the fire,
Must to as fierce an element retire.
Lieut. Archibald Duff, who had been alarmed by the firing of guns, attempted to get out of the ward-room door, but was driven back by the smoke. He at last succeeded in scrambling out of the quarter gallery, and reached the poop, from whence he jumped into the sea, and was picked up by the launch, when in the act of casting off the tow-rope. He had hardly left the ship when the mizenmast fell over the side, by which great numbers were thrown into the water, and left struggling in the waves; for, as the launch had only one oar, and neither sail nor mast, she drifted much faster than the men could swim, and many, whom those on board her would gladly have saved, perished within a few feet of the boat.
At length a ray of hope dawned upon the anxious survivors: vessels and boats were seen coming towards them from Leghorn; and as they neared the ship, every heart beat quicker, and every hand was nerved with increased strength. But the boats' crews, alarmed by the explosion of the guns, which were most of them shotted, refused to approach nearer, and hove to. Seeing their hesitation, the crew of the Queen Charlotte gave them three cheers to encourage them. The English cheers seemed to have the desired effect, for again the boats pulled towards the hapless vessel; but it was afterwards discovered that this renewed activity was entirely owing to the persuasions of Lieut. Stewart and other English officers who were in the boats.
Lord Keith, who was watching with intense anxiety the destruction of his noble ship, used every possible effort to induce the Tuscans to put to sea; but his entreaties, backed as they were by the commands of the governor and other authorities, had no influence save with a few only, and even these, when they did venture to the rescue, were with great difficulty prevailed upon to approach the vessel. A boat from an American ship presented a striking contrast. She was manned by three men only, who, in their generous ardour to save the lives of their fellow-creatures, came alongside too incautiously, so that the wretched sufferers from the burning deck leaped into the boat in such numbers that she capsized, and every one of them perished. The fire had now advanced so rapidly that it was impossible to bear the heat on the forecastle, and most of the people got on to the bowsprit and jib-boom. The latter, however, gave way under the pressure, and numbers were precipitated into the water and drowned.
The boats, headed by Lieutenant Stewart, approached about ten o'clock, and the people continued dropping into them from the ship for some time. Captain Todd and Mr. Bainbridge continued to the last to give orders for the safety of those who remained alive.
Lieutenant Duff gives the following account of the closing scene:—
'Lieutenant Stewart's ardour in the cause of humanity was only equalled by his judgment in affording relief. When he reached the Queen Charlotte, he dropped his tartane under the bows, where almost all the remaining crew had taken refuge. Little more than an hour had elapsed, after this assistance was given, before the ship blew up. All that had been left unburnt immediately sunk down by the stern, but when the ponderous contents of the hold had been washed away, she for an instant recovered her buoyancy, and was suddenly seen to emerge almost her whole length from the deep, and then, turning over, she floated on the surface, with her burnished copper glistening in the sun.'
Such was the fate of the Queen Charlotte, which, excepting the Ville de Paris, was the largest ship in the British navy.
With the gallant vessel perished six hundred and seventy-three of her men and officers; amongst whom were Captain Todd and Lieutenant Bainbridge. These two officers, with heroic self-devotion, remained to share the fate of their ship, occupied to the last in endeavouring to save the lives of the men.
Before Captain Todd fell a victim to the flames, he had the presence of mind to write the particulars of the melancholy event, and to give copies of his account to several of the sailors, charging them to deliver it to the admiral if they should be so fortunate as to escape.[5]
The following daring exploit is related of Lieutenant Bainbridge in James's Naval History. We transcribe it as affording a striking example of the union of undaunted courage with endurance in the character of a British sailor.
"On the evening of the 21st of December, the British hired 10 gun cutter, Lady Nelson, while off Carbareta Point, was surrounded and engaged by two or three French privateers, and some gun vessels, in sight of the 100 gun ship, Queen Charlotte, and the 36 gun frigate Emerald, lying in Gibraltar Bay. Vice-Admiral Lord Keith, whose flag was flying on board the former ship, immediately ordered the boats of the two to row towards the combatants, in the hope that it might encourage the Lady Nelson to resist, until she could approach near enough to be covered by the guns of the ships. Before the boats could get up, however, the Lady Nelson had been captured, and was in tow by two of the privateers.
"Notwithstanding this, Lieutenant Bainbridge, in the Queen Charlotte's barge, with sixteen men, ran alongside, and boarded with the greatest impetuosity; and after a sharp conflict, carried the Lady Nelson, taking as prisoners seven French officers and twenty-seven men.—six or seven others having been killed or knocked overboard in the scuffle. Lieutenant Bainbridge was severely wounded in the head by the stroke of a sabre, and slightly in other places."
We have seen how, a few months afterwards, this brave officer patiently anticipated death in a more terrible form on board the Queen Charlotte.