The Sea: Its Stirring Story of Adventure, Peril, & Heroism. Volume 1

by Frederick Whymper

It is impossible to read the account of any great disaster at sea, without being strongly impressed with the enormous value of maintaining in the hour of peril the same strict discipline which, under ordinary circumstances, is the rule of a vessel. Few more striking [pg 68]examples of this are to be found, than in the story of the loss of the Kent, which we are now about to relate. The disaster of the Medusa, which we shall record later, in which complete anarchy and disregard of discipline, aggravated a hundredfold the horrors of the situation, only teaches the same lesson from the opposite point of view. Though the most independent people on the earth, all Englishmen worthy of the name appreciate the value of proper subordination and obedience to those who have rightful authority to command. This was almost the only gratifying feature connected with the loss of the Vanguard, and the safe and rapid transference of the crew to the Iron Duke was due to it. But the circumstances of the case were as nought to some that have preceded it, where the difficulties and risks were infinitely greater and the reward much less certain. The Kent was a fine troop-ship, of 1,530 tons, bound from England for Bengal and China. She had on board 344 soldiers, forty-three women, and sixty-six children. The officers, private passengers, and crew brought the total number on board to 640. After leaving the Downs, on the 19th of February, 1825, she encountered terrible weather, culminating in a gale on the 1st of March, which obliged them almost to sail under bare poles. The narrative[59] by Sir Duncan MacGregor, one of the passengers, created an immense sensation at its first appearance, and was translated into almost every language of the civilised world. He states that the rolling of the ship, which was vastly increased by a dead weight of some hundred tons of shot and shells that formed a part of its lading, became so great about half-past eleven or twelve o’clock at night, that the main-chains were thrown by every lurch considerably under water; and the best cleated articles of furniture in the cabin and the cuddy were dashed about in all directions.

It was a little before this period that one of the officers of the ship, with the well-meant intention of ascertaining that all was fast below, descended with a lantern. He discovered one of the spirit-casks adrift, and sent two or three sailors for some billets of wood to secure it. While they were absent, he unfortunately dropped the lamp, and letting go his hold of the cask in his eagerness to recover it, the former suddenly stove, and the spirits communicating with the light, the whole deck at that part was speedily in a blaze. The fire spread rapidly, and all their efforts at extinguishing it were vain, although bucket after bucket of water, wet sails and hammocks, were immediately applied. The smoke began to ascend the hatchway, and although every effort was made to keep the passengers in ignorance, the terrible news soon spread that the ship was on fire. As long as the devouring element appeared to be confined to the spot where the fire originated, and which they were assured was surrounded on all sides with water-casks, there was some hope that it might be subdued; but soon the light-blue vapour that at first arose was succeeded by volumes of thick, dingy smoke, which ascended through all the hatchways and rolled over the ship. A thorough panic took possession of most on board.

The deck was covered with six hundred men, women, and children, many almost frantic with excitement—wives seeking their husbands, children their mothers; strong men appearing as though their reason was overthrown, weak men maudlin and weeping; many good people on their knees in earnest prayer. Some of the older and more stout-hearted soldiers and [pg 69]sailors sullenly took their seats directly over the powder-magazine, expecting momentarily that it would explode and put them out of their misery. A strong pitchy smell suddenly wafted over the ship. “The flames have reached the cable-tier!” exclaimed one; and it was found to be too true. The fire had now extended so far, that there was but one course to pursue: the lower decks must be swamped. Captain Cobb, the commander of the Kent, was a man of action, and, with an ability and decision that seemed only to increase with the imminence of the danger, ordered the lower decks to be scuttled, the coverings of the hatches removed, and the lower ports opened to the free admission of the waves. His instructions were speedily obeyed, the soldiers aiding the crew. The fury of the flames was, of course, checked; but several sick soldiers and children, and one woman, unable to gain the upper deck, were drowned, and others suffocated. As the risk of explosion somewhat diminished, a new horror arose. The ship became water-logged, and presented indications of settling down. Death in two forms stared them in the face.

No sail had been seen for many days, the vessel being somewhat out of the regular course. But, although it seemed hopeless, a man was sent up to the foretop to scan the horizon. How many anxious eyes were turned up to him, how many anxious hearts beat at that moment, can well be understood. The sailor threw his eyes rapidly over the waste of howling waters, and instantly waved his hat, exclaiming, in a voice hoarse with emotion, “A sail on the lee bow!” Flags of distress were soon hoisted, minute-guns fired, and an attempt made to bear down on the welcome stranger, which for some time did not notice them. But at last it seemed probable, by her slackening sail and altering her course, that the Kent had been seen. Hope revived on board; but there were still three painful problems to be solved. The vessel in the distance was but a small brig: could she take over six hundred persons on board? Could they be transferred during a terrible gale and heavy sea, likely enough to swamp all the boats? Might not the Kent either blow up or speedily founder, before even one soul were saved?

The vessel proved to be the Cambria, a brig bound to Vera Cruz, with a number of miners on board. For fifteen minutes it had been very doubtful to all on the Kent whether their signals of distress—and the smoke issuing from the hatchways formed no small item among them—were seen, or the minute-guns heard. But at length it became obvious that the brig was making for them, and preparations were made to clear and lower the boats of the East Indiaman. “Although,” says Sir Duncan MacGregor, “it was impossible, and would have been improper, to repress the rising hopes that were pretty generally diffused amongst us by the unexpected sight of the Cambria, yet I confess, that when I reflected on the long period our ship had been already burning—on the tremendous sea that was running—on the extreme smallness of the brig, and the immense number of human beings to be saved—I could only venture to hope that a few might be spared.” When the military officers were consulting together, as the brig was approaching, on the requisite preparations for getting out the boats, and other necessary courses of action, one of the officers asked Major MacGregor in what order it was intended the officers should move off, to which he replied, “Of course, in funeral order,” which injunction was instantly confirmed by Colonel Fearon, who said, “Most undoubtedly—the juniors first; but see that any man is cut down who presumes [pg 70]to enter the boats before the means of escape are presented to the women and children.” To prevent any rush of troops or sailors to the boats, the officers were stationed near them with drawn swords. But, to do the soldiers and seamen justice, it was little needed; the former particularly keeping perfect order, and assisting to save the ladies and children and private passengers generally. Some of the women and children were placed in the first boat, which was immediately lowered into a sea so tempestuous that there was great danger that it would be swamped, while the lowering-tackle not being properly disengaged at the stern, there was a great prospect for a few moments that its living freight would be upset in the water. A sailor, however, succeeded in cutting the ropes with an axe, and the first boat got off safely.

The Cambria had been intentionally lain at some distance from the Kent, lest she should be involved in her explosion, or exposed to the fire from the guns, which, being all shotted, went off as the flames reached them. The men had a considerable distance to row, and the success of the first experiment was naturally looked upon as the measure of their future hopes. The movements of this boat were watched with intense anxiety by all on board. “The better to balance the boat in the raging sea through which it had to pass, and to enable the seamen to ply their oars, the women and children were stowed promiscuously under the seats, and consequently exposed to the risk of being drowned by the continual dashing of the spray over their heads, which so filled the boat during the passage that before their arrival at the brig the poor females were sitting up to their waists in water, and their children kept with the greatest difficulty above it.” Happily, at the expiration of twenty minutes, the cutter was seen alongside their ark of refuge. The next difficulty was to get the ladies and children on board the Cambria, for the sea was running high, and there was danger of the boat being swamped or stove against the side of the brig. The children were almost thrown on board, while the women had to spring towards the many friendly arms extended from the vessel, when the waves lifted the boat momentarily in the right position. However, all were safely transferred to the brig without serious mishap.

It became impossible for the boats, after the first trip, to come alongside the Kent, and a plan was adopted for lowering the women and children from the stern by tying them two and two together. The heaving of the vessel, and the heavy sea raising the boat one instant and dropping it the next, rendered this somewhat perilous. Many of the poor women were plunged several times in the water before they succeeded in landing safely in the boat, and many young children died from the effects—“the same violent means which only reduced the parents to a state of exhaustion or insensibility,” having entirely quenched the vital spark in their feeble frames. One fine fellow, a soldier, who had neither wife nor child of his own, but who showed great solicitude for the safety of others, insisted on having three children lashed to him, with whom he plunged into the water to reach the boat more quickly. He swam well, but could not get near the boat; and when he was eventually drawn on board again, two of the children were dead. One man fell down the hatchway into the flames; another had his back broken, and was observed, quite doubled, falling overboard; a third fell between the boat and brig, and his head was literally crushed to pieces; others were lost in their attempts to ascend the [pg 71]sides of the Cambria; and others, again, were drowned in their hurry to get on board the boats.

One of the sailors, who had, with many others, taken his post over the magazine, at last cried out, almost in ill-humour, “Well! if she won’t blow up, I’ll see if I can’t get away from her.” He was saved—and must have felt quite disappointed. One of the three boats, swamped or stove during the day, had on board a number of men who had been robbing the cabins during the confusion on board. “It is suspected that one or two of those who went down, must have sunk beneath the weight of their spoils.”

As there was so much doubt as to how soon the vessel would explode or go down, while the process of transference between the vessels occupied three-quarters of an hour each trip, and other delays were caused by timid passengers and ladies who were naturally loath to be separated from their husbands, they determined on a quicker mode of placing them in the boat. A rope was suspended from the end of the spanker-boom, along the slippery top of which the passengers had either to walk, crawl, or be carried. The reader need not be told that this great boom or spar stretches out from the mizen-mast far over the stern in a vessel the size of the Kent. On ordinary occasions, in quiet weather, it would be fifteen or twenty feet above the water, but with the vessel pitching and tossing during the continuous storm, it was raised often as much as forty feet in the air. It will be seen that, under these circumstances, with the boat at the stern now swept to some distance in the hollow of a wave, and now raised high on its crest, the lowering of oneself by the rope, to drop at the right moment, was a perilous operation. It was a common thing for strong men to reach the boat in a state of utter exhaustion, having been several times immersed in the waves and half drowned. But there were many strong and willing hands among the soldiers and sailors ready to help the weak and fearful ones, and the transference went on with fair rapidity, though with every now and again some sad casualty to record. The coolness and determination of the officers, military and marine, the good order and subordination of most of the troops, and the bravery of many in risking their lives for others, seems at this time to have restored some little confidence among the timid and shrinking on board. A little later, and the declining rays and fiery glow on the waves indicated that the sun was setting. One can well understand the feeling of many on board as they witnessed its disappearance and the approach of darkness. Were their lives also to set in outer gloom—the ocean to be that night their grave?

Late at night Major MacGregor went down to his cabin in search of a blanket to shelter him from the increasing cold. “The scene of desolation that there presented itself was melancholy in the extreme. The place which, only a few short hours before, had been the scene of kindly intercourse and of social gaiety, was now entirely deserted, save by a few miserable wretches who were either stretched in irrecoverable intoxication on the floor, or prowling about, like beasts of prey, in search of plunder. The sofas, drawers, and other articles of furniture, the due arrangement of which had cost so much thought and pains, were now broken into a thousand pieces, and scattered in confusion around.... Some of the geese and other poultry, escaped from their confinement, were cackling in the cuddy; while a solitary pig, wandering from its sty in the forecastle, was ranging at large in undisturbed possession of the Brussels carpet.”