Wreck of the "London."

by Anonymous

On Tuesday morning, January 9th, commenced that dismal series of disasters under which eventually the noble vessel succumbed. The wind was blowing a hard gale from the S.W. and there was a very heavy sea. The ship was now making little more than two knots an hour, as her speed had been reduced, and she was going through the water under steam only. She pitched tremendously, and every now and then whole seas dashed over her bows. Such was the state of things early on Tuesday morning; but the passengers below as yet only heard the fury of the storm without; they were safe and dry in their cabins: the fires burnt brightly in the engine-room, and the two engineers, Messrs. Jones and Greenhill, surveyed with satisfaction the strong hatchway which protected their engines from the seas which broke over the vessel. Bearing in mind what we have said concerning the size of the engine-room, the reader will be prepared to learn, that if that engine-room were flooded with water, the ship would undoubtedly sink. There needed no other accident than this to secure the shipwreck of the vessel. The officers on deck could comfort themselves with the assurance, that though exposed themselves to the storm and heavy seas which broke over the ship, their passengers were safe, and they would, by the help of their good engines below, slowly plough their way through waves that looked as if they would roll mountains high.

At seven o’clock on Tuesday morning an unusually heavy sea broke into the lifeboat stowed on the port-quarter, filling the boat and carrying her away, with all her gear. This was deemed a most melancholy occurrence, and a series of minor disasters followed. At nine o’clock the ship gave a tremendous pitch forward, as if she were about to bury herself, prow foremost, and in a moment afterwards the sea, with a force that made the hardiest seaman quail, tore away the jib and flying jibboom, which carried away with them the foretopmast, the foretopgallantmast, foreroyalmast, and mainroyalmast, with all their spars and sails, and other gear. Portions of the wreck fell clattering on the deck, or hung suspended by the rigging: the topmast was swinging in the rigging and the foreroyalmast was hanging down and swinging with the motion of the ship. The jibboom was lying on the starboard bow, right over in the water!

Thus, at one fell stroke, the beautiful vessel had been dismantled, and received damage which, in the storm that then raged, it was next to impossible to repair. Captain Martin was cool and self-possessed in the midst of the untoward occurrence, and efforts were at once put forth to remedy the disaster, but to little purpose. The masts which had fallen on board, and which hung suspended by their rigging, and the jibboom, which was fastened to the ship by stays of wire, could not be got clear; and thus it was, with the ship in this dismantled condition, with the gale still increasing in fury, and with a sea that kept constantly washing all forward, that the passengers and crew of the London steamed slowly ahead through the awful night.

There was little sleep on board that night, we may be sure. The devoted Mr. Draper had already begun the work of directing the minds of the passengers to Him who had promised to be a Refuge from the storm, a very present help in every time of need, and already we hear of earnest prayers offered for all needful grace to support the bitterness of the calamity. We know now, and it is a great light shining in the midst of the darkness, that there were many Christians on board, who, in the hour of peril, would be enabled to point the distressed to the sinner’s Friend. We can scarcely go in any direction throughout the metropolis without hearing the glad tidings of one, and another, and another, being on board, who would not be afraid to die, and who would be sure to be of use to shrinking and, perhaps, unprepared fellow-sufferers. And in the cabins below it is very beautiful to hear the voice of supplication mingled with the din and war of the tempest. We hear at least of a few, who, in the second cabin, were engaged throughout the night in reading the Bible by turns. Mrs. Price, Mrs. Wood, who had with her her husband and five children, Miss Brooker, and Miss Marks, are among those thus engaged. Throughout the vessel the feeling has gone forth that the passengers may never reach land, and may at any moment be called upon to exchange time for eternity. Thus the long dreary night of Tuesday wore away, and Wednesday came, bringing with it disasters that quickly rivalled each other in horror.

Early on Wednesday morning, about three o’clock, Captain Martin ordered the engineers to get up full speed, as he intended to put the ship about and run for Plymouth. The gale continued blowing without the least abatement, but in the course of a little while the dismantled vessel was once more homeward bound. Mizenstaysails were set, and she steamed N.N.E. at the rate of five or six knots an hour.

The chief engineer, Mr. Jones, is obliged to give up through sickness, and now it is Mr. Greenhill, the second engineer, who has to carry out the Captain’s orders in regard to the engines throughout the day. The engines are in perfect working order, and although the vessel has shipped a little water through the number of seas that have broken over her, there is none in the engine-room, and the brass-bound and grated skylight above is perfectly safe. There is not a crack in it that he can see, and, with the engines revolving more quickly now, away the vessel is steaming, head to the wind.

In the course of the morning the damage of the preceding day was repaired, so far as securing the masts, which, up to this time, had been swinging about aloft, and the wreck of the jibbooms cleared away from the ship. At noon an observation was taken, and indicated their position to be lat. 46·48 N., and long. 8·7 W., viz. in the Bay of Biscay, and about 200 miles S.W. of Land’s End. As they hoped to make Plymouth soon, and to refit there before proceeding on their voyage, no repairs were attempted, save making the wreck as trim as they could.

Meanwhile, we have to say again, the fury of the storm increased, and the waves were running mountains high. It was six o’clock on Wednesday evening, and their course was N.N.E., when the wind increased into a perfect hurricane from N.W., the squalls blowing with a degree of fury seldom paralleled. The vessel rolled and pitched fearfully, shipping every now and then large quantities of water. Suddenly the fore and mainstaysails were violently torn away by the squall, and went flying away into the darkness. Shortly afterwards, the lifeboat and cutter, which were stowed away on the starboard side, were stove in and carried away by the violence of the sea. As the night deepened, and nine o’clock approached, the ship was in a hurricane, the like of which the oldest seaman on board had never seen!

The engines had been stopped, and the Captain was relying now upon his sails to bear him through, but they were blown to shreds and ribbons, and the once stately vessel, so strongly built and so perfectly equipped, was now the mere sport of winds and waves. In a few hours those on board had, if the storm continued, received an irreparable loss, for three out of seven of their boats had been carried away by the sea. Their two lifeboats, that would have held so many, and would have perhaps taken them in safety to land, were gone. Nevertheless, Captain Martin was not the man to indulge in feelings of despondency, or to waste time in useless regrets. A solemn responsibility rested upon him, and we believe he was true to it if man ever was.

“Set the engines going, and keep her head N.N.E.”