Wreck of the "London."

by Anonymous

From a host of able and experienced navigators, who would have counted it an honour to have assumed the command, Messrs. Wigram selected John Bohun Martin to be Captain of the Suffolk, and never did owners make a better choice. Many are still living who crossed the seas with him during those days of well-nigh angry competition, and who will recall with pleasure his practised skill, his genial, open disposition, his gentlemanly bearing, and his studious care for the comfort of his passengers in all the little details which have so much to do with the making or marring of the pleasure of a long voyage. He was one of the kindliest and most simple-hearted of men, pleased with very simple things, delighting in riddles in which a very child would have seen no mystery, and with all a sailor’s superstition about him; fond of cats, and a great partiality for absolutely doing nothing at all when he was not on board. With his attached relatives in Highbury Park he would always spend his time when ashore, and go about with them here and there; but he was perhaps never happier than when he could throw himself back in the large easy chair, and read the advertisements of the Times and the advertisement especially of his own ship. Not tall, and not short, and every inch the gentleman; with a fresh-coloured face, light hair and blue eyes, and ambling motion, as if in any place he wanted sea-room and must have it; with a fine cheery voice, and a laugh of sterling quality; with a woman’s heart of tenderness within the strength that seemed equal to any danger—as such, John Bohun Martin will long be remembered.

One who knew him well, and who could not speak of his loss without deep emotion, told the writer of many little acts of attention, which, although too trivial to appear in print, are not without importance when measured by the comfort they imparted, and by the void which their absence would have created. His heart was truly in his profession, and he had all the genuine sailor’s enthusiasm, and, we might almost say, affection, for his ship, of whose equipments, beauty, and good qualities he spoke with glowing pride. As he was never married, some used laughingly to say that the Captain had no bride but his ship; and certainly he had reason to be proud of the Suffolk during the eight years she was under his command.

Her first trip to Australia was performed with unusual rapidity. It is true that, on this passage, she encountered very heavy weather: a violent hurricane carried away her topmasts, and for a short time crippled her; but the damage was quickly repaired at sea, and notwithstanding this mishap, the Suffolk arrived in Australia in an unusually short time, and could bear to be favourably compared with some of the finest vessels afloat, which had started at the same time. Captain Martin had displayed such skill, and had shewn such energy in circumstances that were fraught with much danger both to passengers and cargo, that, upon his return to England, the mercantile portion of the city of London presented him with a handsome testimonial as a mark of their esteem. A sum of more than £500 was presented to him.

An interesting story stands connected with the first voyage of the Suffolk. While she was in a dismantled condition, and her crew were repairing damages, an American vessel, also bound from London for Melbourne, spoke the Suffolk, and offered assistance. Captain Martin courteously declined, whereupon the American Captain said he would report the Suffolk on his arrival at Melbourne. Captain Martin replied, that he had better take care the Suffolk did not report him. The vessel proved that Captain Martin’s confidence in his ship, and in his own seamanship, was not ill-founded. The American Captain reached Melbourne after what he considered a rapid passage, and the day after his arrival called on the agents of the Suffolk and reported having fell in with her. They thanked him, and asked would he like to see Captain Martin, who was in the next room. The American Captain was much surprised to find that the Suffolk had arrived five days before and reported him.

The Suffolk now commenced a career of success which enabled her, under the direction of her able commander, to take rank before all other ships in the same trade. She made, during eight years he commanded her, ten voyages to Australia and back; nor did she meet with any mishap or casualty of any kind, save that to which we have referred on her first trip. During these years Captain Martin not only enjoyed the high esteem and friendship of her owners, but also of men high in position both in England and Australia. It will be hard to say, perhaps, in which country his loss will be the more deeply felt; for, both at home and abroad, he numbered a multitude of attached and admiring friends. He was a man pre-eminently fitted, it seems, to infuse what was loving and kindly in others: not only among passengers, but among those who were under his command, he is described as being one of the most trueminded and unselfish of men. Mr. Greenhill, the second engineer of the London, and one of the survivors, a man who, without a tear, had faced all the horrors of the wreck, and all the dangers of the raging sea for twenty-four hours, in an open boat, fairly broke down, and sobbed like a child, as the thought of his last interview with the gallant Captain presented itself to his mind.

Many of the passengers with him on former voyages can recall, not only his gentlemanly tastes, but the extreme simplicity of his habits. While he kept one of the best and most hospitable of tables for those on board his ship, his own wants were of the most moderate description. On last Christmas-day his moderation at the table of his relatives called even for remark: he touched neither wine nor spirits throughout the feast; indeed, generally speaking he was a man of the most abstemious habits, and never touched spirits. The writer has heard from one most likely best to know, that only once in his life did he taste a small quantity of spirits, but the alcohol had such an effect upon him, that he never repeated the experiment.

Who can tell what influence the fact of their captain’s abstemiousness, and his taking nothing stronger than coffee during those dreadful days and nights of suspense—who can tell the influence that such an example may have exerted upon the minds of the crew? There have been many painful instances of sailors, when it has been made known to them that there is no hope, rushing to the spirit and wine stores, and meeting death at last in a state of intoxication; but on board the London there was nothing approaching to this. On the contrary, there was the strictest sobriety among the crew and passengers, and we cannot help believing that Captain Martin’s example had much to do with it.

Such is a brief sketch of the man whose name will, for many years, henceforth be a household word for all that was enduring and brave amid the most distracting perils, and for all that was gentle and endearing among his relatives and friends.

He had served a tolerably long apprenticeship to the sea—his last voyage was his thirteenth to Melbourne as commander—and his reputation as Master of the Suffolk had been so brilliant, that in the forty-seventh year of his age, and at the end of 1864, he was appointed Captain of the London, a vessel on which still greater care and cost had been expended than on the Suffolk, which he had so successfully navigated for upwards of eight years. The London was built in pursuance of the plan for steaming to Australia round the Southern Cape. She made two very rapid voyages to Australia and back, and fully justified all the cost and care expended upon her construction. Her value, exclusive of cargo, was estimated at about 80,000l. Captain Martin’s share in her may have been about 5000l.

The London was therefore on her third voyage, and, commanded by a Captain whose good fortune had become almost proverbial, and belonging to a firm who, in their time, had never lost a ship, she set sail upon the voyage which was so soon terribly interrupted. But while she is yet in sight of Plymouth, we must call the reader’s attention to one passenger who has gone on board, whose name will live as long as there are hearts to feel what is life-giving in the gospel, what is majestic in faith, and what is sustaining in death. We need scarcely say that we allude to the Rev. D. J. Draper.