Thomas Cormick.

John Stannard.

[A] A list of the riggers who were saved will be found at p. [32]. [Back to text]

We are anxiously awaiting the next mail, in order to learn the names of those who are lost. At present the lists that have been published are limited, contradictory, and hypothetical. Each survivor has supplied the newspaper reporters with the names of just as many of his lost fellow-passengers as he could remember. You in the colony, however, will be able, with your files of papers, to complete this section of the story of the Lost Ship.[B]

[B] The following is from the Times of November 1st. It is only a sample of a class of advertisements that are daily appearing in the papers:—

TO the SURVIVING PASSENGERS of the ROYAL CHARTER.—Could any one inform the under-mentioned whether among the saloon passengers of that ill-fated vessel there was one named HENRY LAFARGUE, age 26? They would greatly relieve the anxious minds of that gentleman’s relatives. There appeared in the Times of Thursday, in the list of the lost, the name of La Fargur; in Friday’s, M. La Forgue; and in Saturday’s, La Fargol, which might all have been intended for Lafargue. Address, Miss Lafargue, No. 2 Clarges-street, Piccadilly, W. [Back to text]

The narrative which is at once the completest and most touching is that of Mr. Russell, which takes the following historical form:—

‘On entering the saloon, Mr. Allen, the head steward of the second cabin, came and told the passengers they had better not go on deck, as it might cause confusion. The order was implicitly obeyed. Time passed anxiously and wearily: the storm still raged. Suddenly the vessel struck, not violently—not even with sufficient force to throw the passengers off their seats. Water then came pouring down into the cabin. A voice shouted for the second-class passengers to go into the lower saloon, as the mainmast was going to be cut away. The passengers nearest to the entrance doors attempted to open them (they were hinged in the ceiling), and finding some difficulty, they were immediately smashed. Still there was no hurrying or crushing; all silently took their seats. On deck, sailors and officers, stripped to the waist, laboured to cut away the mainmast. The vessel rolled and thumped so heavily that in delivering their blows, the men were many times thrown on to the deck, but the motion of the vessel assisted the work; the waves, too, lent their aid, and soon the mast tottered, then fell with a crash overboard. Immediately afterwards the raging sea threw the vessel still higher up upon the rocks. The foremast was then cut away, and almost at the same time the mizenmast broke off at the mizenmast-head. Boats were lowered, but the moment they touched the waves they were carried with irresistible force against the rocks, and their inmates were either crushed or drowned in the sea. No boat could live in such a storm. There appeared scarcely any need of boats, so close upon the shore was the vessel. Having struck, the vessel slewed round port side to the rocks. When in the lower saloon, about this time, an apprentice boy, Charley, entered, telling the passengers from the captain that they were to keep up their hearts, all was well, they were only on a sand-bank. The passengers still remained quietly in the cabin. Mr. Cowie, the second mate, accompanied by the purser and two men, came down; they were stripped, having on only their shirt and trousers. They passed through the saloon to the powder-magazine—as they went bidding the passengers keep up their hearts, as they were not far from the shore. The water entered the saloon at the same time, and the waves striking more heavily, the vessel thumped harder. Those in the lower saloon then passed into the upper one. There they found assembled some of the first and third class passengers. No words were spoken, hope and fear struggled for the mastery in their countenances; by this alone was it seen that life and death were in the balances. The stillness of the assembly was at length broken: a young lady, about twenty, Miss Murray, who was on board with her father, mother, and brother, fainted, and was immediately carried to her cabin, from whence she never emerged. Daylight now began to dawn. They had been tossing on the sea and labouring on the rocks all night. Shortly after daylight, a third-class passenger came down; he had on only his trousers, and had been in the bows of the vessel for several hours. He said the forepart of the vessel and the bows touched the land—every one could wade ashore. All hopes of saving the vessel having disappeared, and the boats having been rendered unserviceable, the captain ordered a hawser to be got ready. A seaman, named Joseph Rogers, volunteered to swim ashore with it. The line was made fast to his body, and the noble fellow gallantly dropped overboard and breasted the waves with the resolution of a sailor. For a time he was lost to sight, as wave after wave dashed over the vessel and broke upon the rocks; then the line tightened, and the man was seen clambering up the rocks.

‘The villagers (brought by the signal-lights) crowded round, the hawser was hauled ashore and made fast to a rock, a boatswain’s chair was slung on to the rope, and a number of sailors ordered ashore to work it. Every order was obeyed without confusion. Amongst others landed were two brave fellows—George Suaicar, Malta, boatswain’s mate, and William Foster, Liverpool, carpenter. Word was passed down to the saloons that the ladies were to come on deck. There was a movement immediately towards the staircase. At the same time the ship’s sides began to creak: then there were two heavy thumps experienced; and the ship broke in two across the main hatch. A great number of passengers were standing amidships, and when the vessel parted they disappeared for ever. At the same time a boat abaft the fore rigging fell. The chief officer, Mr. Stevens, and the chief engineer, Mr. Rogers, were standing under it, and both were killed. A second line was attempted to be carried on shore from the poop, but failed. Mr. Russell, his wife, and children, on gaining the deck found that they were on the stern part of the vessel, separated from the fore part by a yawning chasm, into which every moment human beings were dropping, or being driven by the waves. It was a moment of the intensest anguish. As each clung to the rail at the top of the stairs, a hurried farewell was spoken; then they awaited death calmly. Mr. Russell had several times essayed to get a rope. So close were they to the shore, he imagined he might fasten the rope around his family, cast the rope ashore and save them. In vain were his efforts. They were still clinging to each other, when a huge wave came and separated them. When the wave had passed, Mr. Russell’s eldest girl was missing; and when she was found, a box had been washed on to her leg. Mr. Russell moved the box and liberated her. Again for a few minutes they were united. Another wave came—they lost hold of the rail; Mrs. Russell and the two girls were washed against the side of the vessel, Mr. Russell overboard. As the water returned, Mr. Russell sprang at a piece of iron which hung from the side, seized it, then caught a rope; in another moment he was on deck. His youngest daughter was nearest him; he attempted to lay hold of her, had his hands just on her, when another wave came, broke over the ship, poured down with irresistible force, and washed him overboard again. For a time he was struggling in the waves convulsively; he clutched at something which he felt against his body; it was only a piece of canvas; another moment and he felt seaweed under his feet. A wave came, he was almost insensible, yet he saw a man standing before him. Was it a dream, or a reality? He stretched out his hand, he grasped another hand—yet another wave came, and the hand unloosed—he was borne back again—a mightier wave broke, and the hand was again grasped—it held him—he was saved. In a moment or two he recovered his senses, he was lying on a rock; he turned his eyes seaward, there was no living creature left on the stern of the vessel. He then became insensible again, and was borne by the villagers to the hospitable cottage of Mr. and Mrs. Lewis, in the neighbourhood.

‘There were one or two scenes before Mr. Russell was finally washed off the wreck, which imprinted themselves on his memory; words uttered which no time can ever obliterate. They were the last glimpses caught of fellow-voyagers; the dying expressions of old companions. Mr. Henderson, a merchant of Melbourne, on his way to London, was holding on to the binnacle with a gentleman named Watson, one of the firm of Watson, Passmore, and Co., of Melbourne, and he exclaimed, “Oh! Watson, all is gone.” A Jewess, named Markes, was jammed in near a place where the vegetables were kept: and her husband, in vainly endeavouring to release her, tore all her clothes to rags. They had two children on board, and came from Ballarat. A gentleman named Welsh, while in the lower saloon, tied two black canvas bags full of gold around his neck. He was lost. Several other passengers fastened money about their persons; all were lost. Mr. Taylor, one of the saved, had 35l. in his pockets when he jumped into the sea: on reaching shore he had 10l. remaining. Mr. Gapper, another saved, lost about 50l. out of his pockets while he was being carried ashore by the waves. A gentleman named Bradbury, who was on his way to Manchester, dislocated his right ankle on board, and in endeavouring to free himself broke his leg. He afterwards lowered himself overboard into the sea, exchanged one piece of wood for another, shared it with a gentleman named Lewis, who was not hurt at all, was dashed against the rocks several times, was saved, and his companion was lost.’

Mr. Russell completes his statement in these affecting words:—

‘When the vessel broke, an awful shriek—the death-cry of hundreds—was heard above the violence of the storm. On shore, the villagers and the sailors who had escaped unhurt linked hands, and the bravest stepped into the surf to catch hold of those whom the waves bore towards them on their crests, before they were drawn back into the sea. Foremost in one link was George Suaicar, and he was instrumental in laying hold of nine out of those rescued, until exhausted, he fell senseless on the rock, and was borne away. William Foster was another who joined in forming the link. The vessel struck finally about seven, and broke about nine o’clock. On board were the officers of three vessels coming from Australia, and they, with the captain and officers of the ill-fated “Royal Charter,” were all lost.’