In a letter dated ‘Molfra, Wednesday afternoon,’ another writer says:—
‘Four more bodies, all males, have been cast ashore since my communication of yesterday—one last night and three this morning. Three of them are now lying in the parish church of Llanallgo; the remaining body has been removed to the church of Penrhos Lligny, having been thrown ashore in the latter parish. All yesterday evening a very heavy sea rolled; and about four o’clock the lifeboat, manned by a crew of eight, put out to rescue those on board a brigantine, which was observed to be rapidly approaching the rocks a little to the north of the spot in Dulas Bay, in which the wreck of the “Royal Charter” lies. The brigantine, however, got safely in on the sands, in a little creek about a mile from Molfra, where she now lies. As the waves beat violently in on the Dulas Rocks last evening, large quantities of clothing were to be seen tossed about. Some of it was cast ashore, but a great deal was carried out to sea again. It has been suggested by some of the relatives of the drowned passengers and seamen, that if boats were sent out many more bodies would be recovered. I think this extremely likely, after what I have witnessed with respect to the action of the waves on the clothing and spars. The Rev. Mr. Hughes is about to take the matter in hand. There has been some objection on the part of the authorities, as they apprehend that thefts might be committed by some of the persons going out in the boats; but if rumour speaks truly the watchers themselves require watching. It is unfair to make charges against men having a responsible duty to perform, but one of the police inspectors has told me that he himself caught a coast-guardsman in the act of thieving. Friends and relatives complain that there is more anxiety to discover gold than bodies; but the fact is no gold has as yet been discovered by the divers. They recommenced operations at ten o’clock this morning, but have brought up nothing but copper bars. Fathers, mothers, wives, children, and other relatives pace the beach from an early hour in the morning. Yesterday delicate women braved the rain and storm all day, making their melancholy search. Every now and then I was met by persons with sorrowful faces, one inquiring, “Have you seen any trace of my husband? his name was ——;” or “Have you found anything with the name of ——? she was my child.” Indeed, it is a heartrending thing to go near the beach, and to see these mourners, and to meet the carts carrying the mangled corpses, or the parish coffins in which they are to be interred. None of the bodies found last night have been identified. Forty-five bodies have been discovered up to this time.’
The tone of one part of that communication leads naturally to the following stinging words from a Liverpool journal:—
‘Loud are the complaints here at the manner in which those saved from the wreck were treated after their arrival here. It is said, with great indignation, that when Captain Martin (the representative of Messrs. Gibb and Brights) arrived here, with the rescued passengers, in the steam-tug which had been despatched to the scene of the wreck, he left them standing upon the landing-stage; and had they not been received at the Sailors’ Home, they would have had to wander all night about the streets.’
This, of a verity, is caring more for gold than human bodies. One would have thought the best accommodation the best hotel in Liverpool could afford would have been prepared by the owners of the wrecked vessel in anticipation of the arrival of the poor creatures whose all, save life, had been buried beneath the waves.
In penning my narrative up to this point, it is impossible but that the reader should have felt a large amount of interest in the captain and officers of the vessel. Whatever mistake of those in command may have brought the ship so near the coast, the heart of every one must swell as he reads how heroically the storm was coped with. ‘First killed,’ or ‘last seen on the ship,’ are phrases that, like the noblest epitaphs, are associated with the captain and his officers. They succumbed, after glorious battling, to the fate of the sailor; but to show how ill the world could afford to lose such men let me endeavour, in a few concluding lines, to portray them to the reader.
Brave and rugged as a lion was the captain. His defiant front, his curt, honest conversation, his implacable will, which, like a wave, bore down all before it; his natural humour and intense love of jollity; his large solicitude for his passengers and crew; his all but feminine love for his ship, and his fervent belief that no other craft was fit to touch the waters with her,—all these points grow upon me as I write, and cause me to blur the paper as I lash them to the name of Thomas Taylor. I do not believe that man was drunk on the evening of the calamity. This, however, I know, that to those who were not in constant communication with him, Captain Taylor always appeared drunk. He had a ruddy face, a quick, abrupt manner, and a husky utterance which, to the superficial observer, naturally proclaimed him intoxicated. This concludes on that head: I never saw Captain Taylor the worse for liquor during our passage home. On the other hand, I heard him pronounced drunk by second and third class passengers nightly.
Mr. Stevens, the first officer, was a fine young fellow of some thirty summers. He was a most agreeable companion, delighted in song or dance, and if he got a quiet moment with a friend, would talk by the hour of the young wife and little-ones he had left at home. He made every one his friend—was a friend to every one.
Mr. Cowie, the second officer (he was third when I came home) was like a character out of Marryat. He was about three or four and twenty years of age, was as bold and bluff as the captain; and was never so delighted as when he was singing ‘Hearts of Oak’ in the cock-pit.
Mr. Rogers, the chief engineer, was a man of rough exterior, but of simple, child-like manners. His whole time during my sojourn on the ship was spent in looking after the engines, and entering into amusing discussions with the purser on the right pronunciation of words. Poor fellow!