RESCUE OF THE SURVIVORS OF THE “AMAZON.”
The Rev. William Blood, who was one of the survivors, was landed at Plymouth in one of the boats late on Thursday night, and was much too ill to commit his thoughts to paper during the Friday and Saturday following. But on the Sunday following, in presence of 4,000 people, he, in the course of an extempore sermon, gave his hearers a graphic description of the catastrophe and of his escape from the wreck.[91] The first evening of the voyage he sat up till between eleven and twelve o’clock, enjoying the sea-breeze and the beauty of the scene. He had then retired, undressing himself as at home, and had slept well. On the fatal night, however, he seems to have had an indefinite presentiment that something was about to occur. On that evening, says he, “without any cause, I was induced to retire early (nine o’clock), and when going to bed it was deeply impressed on my mind not to undress. I accordingly lay down upon the bed with my clothes on, even my boots, and immediately fell into a sound sleep. At about half-past twelve I awoke, greatly refreshed, and prepared for what was to follow. No voice awoke me; no alarm had been given; no bell aroused me. When I awoke, I felt surprised by a peculiar indescribable sensation as of solitude, of vacancy; and on opening the window of my cabin, I looked out, but saw no person; still all was silent; and with the same feeling I arose, went out of the cabin, without even taking my watch, which lay beneath my pillow, and, as I passed along the saloon, I overheard the voice of the stewardess in the distance, saying, ‘The ship is on fire!’ I then hastened towards the stairs at the fore part of the ship, and saw (oh, horror!) the blaze ascending right across the vessel. I ascended the stairs just in time to escape the flames. When on the deck, I had merely time to walk across to the bulwarks, for on the deck the flames were spreading with terrific rapidity.
“When I got on deck I saw no one, and heard no noise or confusion, so that much of the disaster must have been over by that time. I then saw some men endeavouring to lower one of the boats near the paddle-box, and at the same moment I became fully aware of my awful position, and that I had to choose between death by fire or by water, unless I made some effort to save myself. With this conviction on my mind, I laid hold of a rope, and swung myself over the ship’s side, and was just about to precipitate myself into the boat beneath me, which was then swinging with her stern in the water. In another moment her human freight were in the death struggle in an element not less terrible or destructive than that from which they had been making such frantic efforts to escape; and even at this moment their appalling shrieks, as they struggled amidst the dark and gloomy waves, seem to ring in my ears. Here, again, I think Divine interference was manifested on my behalf, for an apparent accident saved me from that boat. Almost crippled as I was, I managed, by the aid of the rope to which I clung, to regain the now blazing deck, just as some of the crew were endeavouring to release one of the life-boats from her very embarrassing fastenings. They succeeded. She was turned over the ship’s side. I was in her then; and, while suspended midway between fire and water, she turned keel up, and her oars were thrown out. [pg 286]She righted in a few minutes after, and when she did so I was still in her—by what means I know not, but that the All-seeing eye was still upon me. In a minute or two more she was lowered into the sea with her freight of thirteen human souls, and amidst cries of ‘She is leaking!’ ‘She is stove in!’ ‘She will be swamped!’ but at the same moment one of the crew in her cut the rope that bound her to the blazing ship, and she at once dropped astern. We now made the terrible discovery that she was really leaking, and with the apparent certainty of having escaped one horrible death only to perish by another, we set our wits to work to staunch the leak and bale out the water. Michael Fox, one of the sailors—a man who merits much honour for his coolness and bravery throughout—actually thrust his arm through the leak to arrest the ingress of the water; while I handed him my cap, another gave his stockings; others did likewise; and then, with such means as these, and with the aid of our boots and two little empty casks, we managed to prevent the life-boat from being swamped. While thus occupied, and being tossed about, without food, water, oars, helm, or compass, totally at the mercy of the contending elements, we had dropped about two miles astern of the doomed ship. She was apparently motionless, while the sea continually broke over us. A barque passed between the blazing pile and our ill-omened craft. Her hull, sails, and rigging were reflected against that fearful blaze with a blackness of shadow that appeared to render still deeper the depth of our calamity, and which the morning’s light helped not to lessen, for the barque had disappeared. After the barque had departed, we fancied we saw a boat, somewhat like our own, close to us, and we hailed her, with all the power of our united voices, for oars; but she either heeded or heard us not, and quickly disappeared, and the impression was that she had been swamped. Our frail tenement was still knocked about as I have stated, still within sight of the burning ship; and at about five o’clock on Sunday morning, when the powder on board caught light, she blew up, presenting to our terror-stricken gaze a most awful and sublime spectacle. Vast beams of flaming timber were hurled about in the air, and seemed suspended there for a moment, and then disappeared with a hissing noise in the roaring waters. A moment after, and all that remained unconsumable by fire of that once noble specimen of our mercantile marine vanished like a shot beneath the waves. And then came upon us that intensity of darkness that lent an additional horror to our truly forlorn condition. However, the merciful Ruler of our destinies had not deserted us; for as the Sabbath morning’s light dawned the wind abated and the sea became comparatively calm, except that there was still a heavy swell; but still, there we were, thirteen human beings, in a frail, leaky boat, without an atom of food of any sort, the vast ocean around us, and in a state of perfect ignorance as to our geographical position, while our other physical wants, such as of clothes, boots, &c., made our case truly deplorable. By about twelve o’clock at noon, on Sunday, we had drifted, as nearly as possible, to the spot where the Amazon had sunk; and upon the then comparatively calm sea were strewn about but too many evidences of the last night’s fearful devastation—immense spars, charred timbers, barrels, bales, and boxes innumerable. We drew up one of the latter, got it on board, forced it open, and found that it contained only a quantity of shoes. To those each helped himself to a pair, and then threw the remainder overboard.
“As the Sabbath morning advanced towards noon-day the glorious sun burst forth, and appeared as a happy harbinger of the fortunate release in store for us. The weather was fine, [pg 287]though there was a heavy swell in the sea, and we were all up to our middle in water. William Angus, poor fellow, was of no use in the boat. When leaving the ship, he had thrown himself overboard, fell upon my back, and cut his head severely. He appeared in a state of despondency for the loss of his brother; and another poor fellow had part of the fingers of one of his hands chopped off. At two o’clock the sun shone forth in all his splendour. By this time we had taken up some of the bottom boards of the boat, and these we had converted into paddles, rudder, and mast. Lieut. Grylls took from off his head his shirt, which he had previously wrapped around it, and made a flag of it; and in lieu thereof I tore off the skirts of my coat, one of which I tied around his head, and with the other I made a cap for myself. The remainder of that coat I still have, and will preserve as a memento; and so I ought, for it served as a protection against the pouring rain, while our bodies lay partially submerged in the water and the waves at times dashed over us. This coat became most useful to me afterwards, during the eleven days on board the galliot, for it served as a pocket-handkerchief, napkin, &c.
“There was a peculiar death-like feeling produced by being obliged to sit in the water all night, while at the same time the whole body was saturated with the rain and the billows poured their waters over us. At one time, shivering with cold and wet, I strove to keep my back pressed against another person to preserve the vital heat. Such cold I never felt before. The casks which we found in the boat were of essential use. How wonderful that they should have remained in the boat when she capsized and threw out the oars, for without them she must have swamped.
“Dismal were the thoughts suggested on that day as to the future. Will a storm arise? If so, our little vessel cannot live; she must be overwhelmed by the raging billows! How long can we remain in the midst of the wide extended ocean? Shall we starve—perish with hunger? Such were the gloomy forebodings, when the thrilling, joyful exclamation of ‘A sail!’ burst from the lips of one of the crew. Then followed the exclamation of, ‘Oh, I hope she sees us! Does she hear us? Is she coming this way?’ She was then on the very verge of the horizon, and—disappeared! Mute despair was then plainly perceptible in every face. I had made up my mind to die of starvation, but thought I could exist without food for a long time, for having once been ill in Paris for three weeks without even having tasted food of any sort during the whole of the time, I felt now prepared to go through the same ordeal. But again the joyful sound was uttered by Lieut. Grylls, ‘I see another sail!’ We then commenced tearing up the boards from the bottom of the boat, and converting one of them into a mast, upon which we attached a shirt as a signal of distress, and breaking the rest of them into paddles and a helm, we determined, as our lives depended upon it, to make a desperate effort to approach the welcome visitor. Hour after hour was passing away—our progress through the waves was slow, and the sailors were beginning to relax their efforts at the paddles in utter hopelessness. The sun was fast fading away, and the horrors of another night at sea in an open boat stared us in the face. I begged, prayed, and entreated the men to continue their exertions, that with the light of day we still had hope; an hour—perhaps a few minutes—may bring us near enough to be seen. Alas! there were four out of the thirteen quite helpless—viz., poor Angus, the man who had lost his fingers, a boy, and a Spanish gentleman, who appeared to have become quite [pg 288]paralysed. The sun was just about to shed his last ray of light upon our eyes and hope in our hearts, when those on board the vessel saw us, heard us, bore down upon us, and took us on board. Had not the great God sent us this timely succour, no account of our fate could have ever been made known, for any one of the storms which prevailed during the following eight or nine days must have destroyed us. We were hauled on board by means of ropes, and stowed in a little cabin, 6 feet by 4½ only; but yet, what a palace compared to the horrors from which we had just been rescued! This vessel was a small Dutch galliot, and had a cargo of sugar from Amsterdam, consigned to Leghorn; and was, therefore, desirous of landing at Gibraltar, it being on her course. However, adverse winds set in; the captain of the galliot knew not his position; he was unable to take an observation; and was, in consequence, knocked about for nine days with this serious addition to his crew. I had been visiting the house of a noble friend but a few weeks before, but what was it compared to our present little home?” They were at length safely landed at Plymouth.
Among so many gloomy incidents, one of another nature may well be recorded. The name of Lieutenant Grylls has been mentioned as one of the survivors. But the Cornwall Gazette of January 8th had the following announcement:—“Lost, on board the Amazon, mail steam-packet, on Sunday, the 4th inst., in which vessel he had taken his passage to join H.M.S. Devastation, to which ship he had been appointed as first lieutenant, Lieutenant Charles Gerveys Grylls, R.N., aged twenty-five, eldest surviving son of the Rev. Henry Grylls, vicar of St. Neots.” But early in the morning of Friday a special messenger arrived at St. Neots, bearing a letter to the good vicar from his son, stating that he was alive and safe, and that he hoped to be with him in the evening. The news soon spread; all the neighbouring hamlets turned out their inhabitants, the village bells were rung, and a party of about 150 persons set off on the road to Plymouth to draw him home by hand. This the gallant lieutenant would not allow, being too anxious to return to his friends. A triumphal procession was, however, formed, escorted by which this witness from the dead was restored to his bereaved father. One can imagine the joy in the household, and the strong revulsion of feeling there!
“On taking a review of this overwhelming catastrophe,” says the Rev. C. A. Johns, “the reader will rise from a perusal of the narrative having his mind painfully impressed with the fearful loss of human life; and as he endeavours to picture to himself the incidents as they severally occurred, he will be more inclined to doubt that any one was possessed of nerve sufficiently strong to stand the first half-hour’s ordeal rather than to wonder that so few escaped. A vessel, constructed of the best material employed in ship-building—oak, teak, and Dantzic pine—but, nevertheless, a structure of wood, bearing, in addition to cargo, crew, and passengers, 1,000 tons of inflammable coal, and a framework of massive iron, unceasingly grinding with the force of 800 horses—sixteen furnaces and as many huge boilers, all employed in generating the most powerful instrument of usefulness or destruction (as the case may be) which man has reduced to his will—a store-room in the vicinity of the boilers, plentifully stocked with oil and tallow—well might the lip quiver and the cheek blanch at the bare idea of Fire being allowed to creep with but a flickering light beyond its prescribed limits. But, besides all this, he will remember that to this concatenation of perils—themselves too terrible to dwell on—must be added contingencies which aggravated [pg 289]the danger in a tenfold degree. The ship was new, her timbers were dry and resinous—not, as is the case with sea-worn vessels, saturated with salt, and therefore less inflammable, but converted into rapid fuel by the unusual heat, which from some cause, explained or unexplained, was perceptible at a great distance from her boilers; the crew, though young and efficient, and more than one-half of them practised servants of the Company, were yet strange to the ship, not even having had their various duties assigned to them, nor familiar with the persons of their officers, as became evident afterwards from the discrepancies in their statements of names; the wind was blowing a gale in the direction which would most readily extend a conflagration from the probable source of fire to the stern, where the majority of passengers were congregated; the time was midnight; many of the officers, weary with their previous exertions, were recruiting their strength by a brief repose; most of the seamen and all the passengers were buried in sleep; the sea was in a state of commotion; the place was the Bay of Biscay, the dread of outward-bound mariners; the boats, though unexceptionable as to number, capacity, and quality, were not stowed in the usual simple way, but rested on brackets, from which it was necessary for them to be lifted before they could be lowered even into that foaming ocean. Suddenly the cry of Fire! is shrieked out; the bell is set a-ringing—the death-knell—the knell of sudden, inevitable, agonising death to many a stout heart on board that proud but perishing ship. He must sleep soundly who failed to hear that piercing cry and the heartrending shrieks which took it up. Some thought it of no consequence: ‘We will dress, and hasten on deck, that we may help to extinguish it.’ But there were some who knew better; they could [pg 290]look a hurricane in the face, they could encounter a hailstorm of bullets in the execution of their duty, but they knew that, with that enemy on board, the iron beams of the Amazon could only be cooled by the water which rolled at the bottom of the ocean. Those brave men did all they could—they gave their charge a brief space to make their peace with God, if God were in their thoughts, and resigned themselves to His keeping who alone could help them. Before the least terrified could gain the deck the flames were soaring above the funnels. A flight of fire was sweeping the deck; it extended from one side of the vessel to the other; it separated those in the fore-part from those in the stern; it shot forth from the port-holes; it singed the hair and scorched the skin of those who were furthest from its reach; and the air of heaven was one huge blast-pipe, fanning it into fury! Are the fire-engines of no avail? They are themselves burning. Then stop the paddle-wheels, that the boats may be launched. Alas! the engineers, half suffocated, have long been driven from the engine-room, and the levers are beyond their reach. But the ship yet answered her helm, and was put before the wind. And now the flames were borne in an opposite direction, towards the bow, and the gale seemed to be diminished. Now the captain cried, ‘Lower the larboard lifeboat!’ ‘It is on fire!’ ‘Lower the starboard lifeboat!’ ‘It is on fire!’ Other boats yet remain, and crew and passengers crowd into them. Fatal haste! It was a work of time and difficulty to lift them from their sockets before, with this addition to their weight it is next to impossible. One after another they are tumbled, rather than lowered, into a sea which, from the rapid motion of the vessel, appears to be rushing from them. Some hang suspended, and their cargoes are swept away by the boiling surge; one is swamped, another is stove in. Still the fire is drawing nearer; it surrounds the boilers, and the water contained in them is nearly exhausted. When that has happened they will burst, perhaps, and then the engines will cease to work. Strange that success in effecting an escape should be promoted by the bursting of a boiler—an accident which, had it come alone, would have occasioned terror and dismay. No one knows, amidst the overwhelming din of air, fire, water, steam, human shrieks, and even the cries of dumb animals, whether this event happened or not. It was not dreaded—it was hoped for. It could not have added to the dismay, so, if it happened? it was unnoticed.
“However that may be, the ship could not free herself from her destroyer, but moderated her speed. A few boats were put off—no living soul can say how many—all, probably, that were left, and then, perhaps, the officers embarked on a raft, and—we dare not carry our thoughts further in that direction.
“The vessel lay a burning log on the waters for four or five hours, and then, as if an evil demon had possessed her, or as if some gorgeous fête had now reached its close, threw up a discharge of brilliant fireworks—and the billows of the Atlantic swept unconcernedly over her hissing embers.”