Wreck of the "London."

by Anonymous

There was something, too, inexpressibly touching in the incident of that aged couple who had three children with them, who had been wrecked already twice in their attempting to get to Melbourne, now being on board the sinking ship, and being swept overboard before the final hour came. Among the passengers, also, we read of two stout old people who had become favourites on board, and who had been sent for by an only son. The son will expect them at Melbourne: alas! how many will be expected there who will never arrive thither. One’s heart quivers in anticipation of the sorrow into which multitudes will be plunged. When the poor aged couple knew that there was no chance of escape, they simply took each other by the hand, and went down into the cabin to die together.

But come there no last words from the gallant Captain, who, since Sunday, has had no sleep, and who has not even changed his clothes? Where is he while farewells are being exchanged, while the little boat is being filled with all it can hold, and while his beautiful vessel, which once seemed to walk the waters like a thing of life, is so fast filling, that her bulwarks nearly touch the water?

We catch glimpses of him several times while the boat is being lowered, and while it is being filled with sixteen of the crew and three passengers, and at all times we see him at the post of duty, and doing his best. About an hour, perhaps, before the getting away of the boat from the ship, Mr. Jones, the chief engineer, was between decks near the engine-room. The ship was then labouring in the trough of the sea, and was in a most disabled condition. He ran up between decks, and met Captain Martin for the last time, who was going in the direction of the saloon.

“Well, Mr. Jones, how do you feel?” was his question.

“Not well, Sir,” was the reply: “I took it that he referred to my condition of mind and not to the accident I had met with. I saw no more of him after that. I saw nothing but the ship going down after that. When I left the ship the passengers had given up all hope, but there was a remarkable composure amongst them, and no loud sounds to be heard. I heard voices engaged in preaching and praying.”

Mr. Jones was the last man who leaped into the boat: he leaped and got into her as she rose with the sea, and the sea rose so high that he had scarcely any distance to jump from the gunwale. Before, however, the first engineer leaped into the boat it had already been gradually and carefully filled, as we have seen, with members of the crew and with three passengers. Mr. Greenhill, the second engineer, was supposed, from his position, to be officer of the cutter, and he took command of her. “Get into the boat,” the Captain had said among his last words; “there is not much chance for the boat; there is none for the ship. Your duty is done; mine is to remain here. Get in and take command of the few it will hold.” His command had been obeyed, and now the only chance for the nineteen in the boat was to get as quickly away from the ship as possible, for the ship was being washed over to the boat, and she was in great danger of being sucked down, as we have said, with the sinking vessel. Before pushing off, the men in the boat shouted to the Captain to join them.

“No,” he replied: “I will go down with the passengers. Your course is E.N.E. to Brest, and”—throwing them a compass—“I wish you God speed, and safe to land.”

These were the last words the survivors heard fall from the lips of John Bohun Martin; but at that moment there came a fearful last word from the deck of the sinking vessel. A lady, with horror on every feature, shrieked out most piteously, “A thousand guineas if you will take me in.”

But if she had offered the whole world there could have been no response to her cry. The boat, which had been hastily cut away, was already some yards distant, and to return would have been certain death to all, who, as it was, had not in their own minds the slightest hope of escaping. About five minutes afterwards, and when they had got eighty or ninety yards, they looked towards the ship, and saw that she was going down stern foremost. The wind at this time was raging so violently that the men in the boat could not hear each other when eagerly shouting. It was with a kind of dumb wonderment that they saw what transpired. As the ship sunk it was seen that all on deck were driven forward, not by water, but by a tremendous and overpowering rush of air from below, which, as it escaped through the deck as well as the hatches, impelled all on deck forward with violence, and their dreadful struggle must have been, therefore, soon over!

In a single moment the men in the boat seemed to take in at a glance all that transpired on board. They saw the stem of the vessel rise so high, that her keel was completely out of water as far as the foremast. The boatswain, the butcher, the baker, and the purser’s mate, it is said, had resolved to attempt their escape in the remaining boat over the cuddy, which was already provisioned and launched; but no sooner were these men ready to put off, than the sinking vessel sank beneath them, making, in her descent, a very whirlpool of angry and confounding waters, and the escaping ones in the cutter saw their comrades swallowed up quickly and disappear with the lost ship. They saw young Angell going down while standing at his old post of duty: for a moment they saw two men with life-belts struggling amid mountains of water: they rose with the waves, and then descended into the deep, deep grave which the sea formed for them, and then not a trace of men or of ship was to be seen! The gale thundered so furiously, that if there was a cry from the sinking ship, it was not heard. Once more to the bottom of the Bay of Biscay had gone a noble ship and valuable cargo; but O! saddest of all, more than two hundred forms, that a few days before had been seen sitting in mirth and friendliness around many an English fireside, had gone down too. And once more the billows rolled on, curling their monstrous heads, as if in contempt of the beings who would seek to master them when once they rose in their terrible might and majesty.