At ten o’clock on Wednesday morning, the 17th August, 1831, the vessel was appointed to sail from the usual place, George’s Pier-head, Liverpool; but there was a casual delay at starting, and she did not leave till an hour later. She was freighted heavily, and it was computed that hardly less than 150 persons (if the children carried free were counted) were on board. A majority were holiday seekers; the vessel was tricked out with colours, and as the vessel left a band struck up its gayest music. Among the pleasure parties on board was one from Bury, in Lancashire, consisting of twenty-six persons. They set out in the morning, joyous with health and pleasant anticipations, and before the next sun arose all of them, except two, had been swallowed up in the remorseless deep![96]
The vessel proceeded very slowly on its course, making so little way that at three o’clock in the afternoon she had not reached a floating light stationed about fifteen miles from Liverpool. Arrived off the light, the sea was so rough that many of the passengers were greatly alarmed, and one, who had his wife, five children, and servant on board, went down to the captain and begged him to put back. The captain answered, with an oath, that he thought there was “a deal of fear on board, and very little danger.” The whole family was among the lost. The vessel drifted out of her course, and proceeded so slowly that the alarm on board became general.
WRECK OF THE “ROTHSAY CASTLE.”
One of the survivors stated that the leakage was so great that the fireman found it impossible to keep the fires up, two being actually extinguished, while the coals were so wet that it was with difficulty the others were kept in. Yet there were no attempts made to sound the well or ascertain what water was in the vessel. It was near twelve o’clock when they arrived at the mouth of the Menai Strait, about five miles from Beaumaris, and here her steam suddenly got so low that she drifted with the tide and wind towards the Dutchman’s Bank, on the spit of which she struck. Now came a time of awe and consternation. The crowded boat rolled in a frightful manner, and the worst fears of the passengers seemed to be on the point of realisation. The seas broke over her on either side. The engine had previously stopped for about ten minutes, the coals being covered in water, and the pumps were choked. On her striking, the captain said, “It is only sand, and she will soon float.” Only sand! More vessels have been lost on sands than ever were on rocks. In the meantime he and some of the passengers got the jib up. No doubt he did this intending to wear her round, and bring her head to the southward, but it did not, it proved, make the least difference which way her head was turned, as she was on a lee shore, and there was no steam to work her off. The captain also ordered the passengers first to run aft, in the hope, by removing the pressure from the vessel’s bow, to make her float.[97] [pg 299]This failing to produce the desired effect, he then ordered them to run forward. But all these exertions were unavailing; the ill-fated vessel stuck still faster in the sands, and all gave themselves up for lost. The terror of the passengers became excessive. Several of them urged the captain to make some signal of distress, which he is said to have refused to do, telling the passengers that there was no danger, and that the packet was afloat, and on her way, knowing well that she was irretrievably stuck in the treacherous sands, and that she was rapidly filling from her leaks. The unfortunate man was fully aware of the imminent danger they were in, and we may charitably suppose that he made such statements to prevent a panic. The great bell was now rung, with so much violence that the tongue broke, and some of the passengers continued to strike it for some time with a stone. The bell was heard at Beaumaris, for the night was clear, with strong wind; but it was not known from whence the sound came, and no trouble appears to have been taken. The tide began to set in with great strength, and a heavy sea beat over the bank on which the steam-packet was firmly and immovably fixed. It was the duty of the captain now to make every possible exertion, by signals, to procure assistance from shore. It is said that if a light had been shown on board the unlucky steamer, the boats from upwards of twenty vessels lying at Bangor would undoubtedly have saved the larger part of the unfortunate passengers. The masts should have been cut away, not merely to ease the vessel, but to afford some chance to the poor people. At Penmaen Point an establishment of pilots had been fixed by Lord Bulkeley, for the express purpose of rendering assistance in such cases. “The world,” says Lieut. Morrison, “will hardly credit the astonishing fact that their establishment is within little more than a mile and a half from the scene of wretchedness, and that, the wind being fair, the boats from thence could have reached the spot in about ten minutes. A single blue light burned, a single rocket fired, or even a solitary musket discharged, would have ensured this happy result.” The evidence showed that there was nothing of the kind. Probably no sea-going steamer, carrying 150 passengers, was ever left so utterly unprovided with proper appliances.
The scene that now presented itself baffles description. A horrible death seemed to be the doom of all on board, and the females in particular uttered the most piercing shrieks. Some locked themselves in each other’s arms, while others, losing all self-command, tore off their bonnets, caps, and other portions of clothing, in wild despair. The women and children gathered in a knot together, and kept embracing each other, uttering all the while the most dismal lamentations. “When tired with crying,” says Morrison, “they lay against each other, with their heads reclined, like inanimate bodies. It was a few minutes before that a Liverpool Branch pilot on board, William Jones, became aware in all its extent of their dreadful situation. He is reported to have exclaimed, ‘We are all lost!’ which threw down whatever hopes any on board had till now entertained, and induced them to give themselves up to bitter despair. This was sadly imprudent, and little like the conduct I should have expected from such a man. He ought to have set an example of preparing something in the nature of a raft, to save what lives could be saved; and as [pg 300]he must have known that it was low water, and the whole of the Dutchman’s Bank was dry within a few yards of them, and the tide just setting on to it, there can be no reason to doubt that he might have been by this means instrumental in saving many of the unhappy victims as well as himself.”
THE MENAI STRAITS.
One of the survivors stated that after the vessel had struck several times his wife and some friends came to him, and asked if he thought they must be lost. “I thought,” said he, “we should, and they proposed going to prayer for the short time we had to live. We all went to prayer, myself and wife in particular, and when we got from our knees I saw four men getting upon the mast, and beginning to fasten themselves to it. I told my wife I would look out for a better situation for us. I took her towards the windlass, and began to fasten a rope to the frame where the bell hung; and when I had got the rope made fast, and looked back for my wife, she had again joined our friends near to the place at which we kneeled down. A great wave almost took me overboard, but I held by the rope; then came a second and a third wave before I could see my wife again; and when I looked—they were all gone.[98]
“I then prepared to die myself in the place I was at, and remained in that situation [pg 301]till daylight, at which time about fifty people remained on board. As the waves came the people kept decreasing, until all were gone except myself. I remained on the wreck until I saw a boat coming, which took me on board, and also rescued those on the mast, and afterwards others. We were then taken to Beaumaris, and treated with the greatest hospitality and kindness.”