It is said, by those who descended to the wreck, that its appearance was most beautiful, when seen from about a fathom above the deck. It was covered with seaweeds, shells, starfish, and anemones, while from and around its ports and openings the fish, large and small, swam and played—darting, flashing, and sparkling in the clear green water.
H.M.S. VANGUARD AT SEA.
There is probably no reasonable being in or out of the navy who does not believe that the ironclad is the war-vessel of the immediate future. But that a woeful amount of [pg 63]uncertainty, as thick as the fog in which the Vanguard went down, envelops the subject in many ways, is most certain. The circumstances connected with that great disaster are still in the memory of the public, and were simple and distinct enough. During the last week of August, 1875, the reserve squadron of the Channel Fleet, comprising the Warrior, Achilles, Hector, Iron Duke, and Vanguard, with Vice-Admiral Sir W. Tarleton’s yacht Hawk, had been stationed at Kingstown. At half-past ten on the morning of the 1st of September they got into line for the purpose of proceeding to Queenstown, Cork. Off the Irish lightship, which floats at sea, six miles off Kingstown, the Achilles hoisted her ensign to say farewell—her destination being Liverpool. The sea was moderate, but a fog came on and increased in density every moment. Half an hour after noon, the “look-out” could not distinguish fifty yards ahead, and the officers on the bridge could not see the bowsprit. The ships had been proceeding at the rate of twelve or fourteen knots, but their speed had been reduced when the fog came on, and they were running at not more than half the former speed. The Vanguard watch reported a sail ahead, and the helm was put hard aport to prevent running it down. The Iron Duke was then following close in the wake of the Vanguard, and the action of the latter simply brought them closer, and presented a broadside to the former, which, unaware of any change, had continued her course. The commander of the Iron Duke, Captain Hickley, who was on the bridge at the time, saw the spectre form of the Vanguard through the fog, and ordered his engines to be reversed, but it was too late. The ram of the Iron Duke struck the Vanguard below the armour-plates, on the port side, abreast of the engine-room. The rent made was very large—amounting, as the divers afterwards found, to four feet in width—and the water poured into the hold in torrents. It might be only a matter of minutes before she should go down.[53]
THE LOSS OF THE “VANGUARD.”
The vessel was doomed; a very brief examination proved that: nothing remained but to save the lives of those on board. Captain Dawkins gave the necessary orders with a coolness which did not represent, doubtless, the conflicting feelings within his breast. The officers ably seconded him, and the crew behaved magnificently. One of the mechanics went below in the engine-room to let off the steam, and so prevent an explosion, at the imminent risk of his life. The water rose quickly in the after-part, and rushed into the engine and boiler rooms, eventually finding its way into the provision-room flat, through imperfectly fastened (so-called) “water-tight” doors, and gradually over the whole ship. There was no time to be lost. Captain Dawkins called out to his men [pg 65]that if they preserved order all would be saved. The men stood as at an inspection—not one moved until ordered to do so. The boats of both ships were lowered. While the launching was going on, the swell of the tide caused a lifeboat to surge against the hull, and one of the crew had his finger crushed. This was absolutely the only casualty. In twenty minutes the whole of the men were transferred to the Iron Duke, no single breach of discipline occurring beyond the understandable request of a sailor once in awhile to be allowed to make one effort to secure some keepsake or article of special value to himself. But the order was stern: “Boys, come instantly.” As “four bells” (2 p.m.) was striking, the last man having been received on the Iron Duke, the doomed vessel whirled round two or three times, and then sank in deep water.[54]
It is obvious, then, that the discipline and courage of the service had not deteriorated from that always expected in the good old days. Captain Dawkins was the last man to leave his sinking ship, and his officers one and all behaved in the same spirit. They endeavoured to quiet and reassure the men—pointing out to them the fatal consequences of confusion. Captain Dawkins may or may not have been rightly censured for his seamanship; there can be no doubt that he performed his duty nobly in these systematic efforts to save his crew. However much was lost to the nation, no mother had to mourn the loss of her sailor-boy; no wife had been made a widow, no child an orphan; five hundred men had been saved to their country.
One of the officers of the Vanguard, in a letter to a friend, graphically described the scene at and after the collision. After having lunched, he entered the ward-room, where he encountered the surgeon, Dr. Fisher, who was reading a newspaper. “After remarking on the thickness of the fog, Fisher went to look out of one of the ports, and immediately cried out, ‘God help us! here is a ship right into us!’ We rushed on deck, and at that moment the Iron Duke struck us with fearful force, spars and blocks falling about, and causing great danger to us on deck. The Iron Duke then dropped astern, and was lost sight of in the fog. The water came into the engine-room in tons, stopping the engines, putting the fires out, and nearly drowning the engineers and stokers.... The ship was now reported sinking fast, although all the water-tight compartments had been closed. But in consequence of the shock, some of the water-tight doors leaked fearfully, letting water into the other parts of the ship. Minute-guns were being fired, and the boats were got out.... At this moment the Iron Duke appeared, lowering her boats and sending them as fast as possible. The sight of her cheered us up, as we had been frightened that she would not find us in the fog, in spite of the guns. The scene on deck can only be realised by those who have witnessed a similar calamity. The booming of the minute-guns, the noise of the immense volume of steam rushing out of the escape-funnel, and the orders of the captain, were strangely mingled, while a voice from a boat reported how fast she was sinking.”
When the vessel went down, the deck of the Iron Duke was crowded with men watching the finale of the catastrophe. When she was about to sink, she heeled gradually over until the whole of her enormous size to the keel was above water. Then she gradually sank, righting herself as she went down, stern first, the water being blown from hawse-holes in huge spouts by the force of the air rushing out of the ship. She then disappeared from view. The men were much saddened to see their home go down, carrying everything they possessed. They had been paid that morning, and a large number of them lost their little accumulated earnings. These were, of course, afterwards allowed them by the Admiralty.