During the hours of agony and horror which had preceded this announcement the [pg 294]Rev. Mr. Draper,[93] a Wesleyan minister on board, was incessant in administering religious comfort to his fellow-sufferers; and we are told by the survivors that the women (all of whom perished in the sequel) sat about him reading their Bibles, with their children grouped around; “and occasionally some man or woman would step up to him and say, ‘Pray with me, Mr. Draper’—a request that was always complied with.” What a scene must have been presented at that last prayer-meeting in the cabin, the ship labouring and tossing the while; the waves, with their ominous roar, breaking over her and dashing against her; while by half-extinguished lights little groups of earnest, pale-faced people huddled together, shivering and trembling, before the doomed London took her last leap into the dark waters!
After the announcement by the captain that they must prepare for the worst, Mr. Draper is stated to have stood erect, and with a clear, firm voice, the tears streaming from his eyes, said, “The captain tells us there is no hope—that we must all perish; but I tell you there is hope for all!” The reader will know what the good old man meant. Mrs. Draper is said at the last moment to have handed her rug to one of the seamen who was attempting to get off in a boat, and when asked what she would do without it, she replied, “It will only be for a few moments longer.”
As there were so few survivors to tell the tale, the incidents which must have occurred during this terrible time are necessarily somewhat meagre. One passenger rushed on deck labouring with a heavy carpet-bag, which he expected to save with his life. The captain could hardly forbear, even at that terrible time, a melancholy smile at the absurdity of a man at such a moment taking any thought about his property. When the only boat which got off safely was about to leave the fated ship, a lady entreated to be taken on board, offering a thousand guineas as a reward. But it was impossible—millions could not have saved her. A passenger who was saved, just before leaving in the boat, went into the cabin to persuade a friend to join him. “No,” said the other; “I promised my wife and children to stay by them, and I will!” His friend helped him to remove the children to a drier part of the cabin, and then, with a sad good-bye, ran up to the deck. When last seen, the man was still standing with his wife and little ones. Another passenger said to a friend, also one of the few saved, “Jack, I think we are going to go.” “I think we are,” was the answer. “We can’t help it,” rejoined the first; “but there’s one thing I regret:” and he went on to explain how some £500 of his money was in the Bank of Victoria, and he evidently feared some hitch in its recovery. “I should have liked my poor father to have it.” He was a true son to the last.
As at the wreck of the Amazon a distinguished author lost his life, so on the London a great actor, the celebrated G. V. Brooke, perished, but perished nobly. The Times (quoting the Western Morning News of the date) says:—
“Down into the waves, with 269[94] others, has sunk Gustavus V. Brooke, the famed [pg 295]tragedian, who was bound for the country which had been the scene of a reverse of fortune for him, but previously of many successes. He was a tall man, of powerful build, and he is stated by the rescued passengers to have exerted himself to the utmost in trying to keep the ship afloat. The Dutch portion of the crew, twenty-one in number, refused to work, and, according to the English sailors who were saved, these men went to their berths and remained there, so that the passengers had to work at the pumps for many hours with the English seamen. Mr. G. V. Brooke exerted himself incessantly; attired only in a red Crimean shirt and trousers, with no hat on, and barefooted, he went backwards and forwards to the pumps, until working at them was found to be useless, and when last seen, about four hours before the steamer went down, he was leaning with grave composure upon one of the half-doors of the companion; his chin was resting upon both hands, and his hands were on the top of the door, which he gently swayed to and fro, while he calmly watched the scene. One of the passengers who saw him said, ‘he had worked wonderfully—in fact, more than any man on board the ship.’ To the steward, to whom Mr. Brooke made himself known, he said, ‘If you succeed in saving yourself, give my farewell to the people of Melbourne.’ ”
The last trace of the gifted tragedian is found in the following episode. In the Times of March 20, 1866, appeared the following letter from Mrs. Brooke (Avonia):—
“To the Editor of the Times.
“Sir,—On Friday night I received the last written words of my dear husband. They were found in a bottle on the Brighton beach, and forwarded to me by Mr. C. A. Elliott, of Trinity College, Cambridge. They are written in pencil on a torn envelope, and read as follows:—‘11th January, on board the London. We are just going down. No chance of safety. Please give this to Avonia Jones, Surrey Theatre.—Gustavus Vaughan Brooke.’
“Will you be kind enough to insert this fact in your valuable journal, for, sad as the message is, he has many friends who will be glad once more to hear from him, even though his words have come from his very grave.
“With respect, &c.,