Narrative of a Recent Imprisonment in China after the Wreck of the Kite

by John Lee Scott

Drawn by C. H. Greenhill. Engraved by W. Lee.

The gig, being hoisted up on the starboard quarter, was lost to us when the ship fell over, and we could not cut away the long-boat from the manner in which the guns were hanging: we, however, contrived to cut the foremast lashing, and made her painter fast to the main rigging, hoping she would fall off, and that it would hold her. The tide was now rushing down the hatchways: in a short time the boat fell out of the chocks, but the strength of the tide was so great that the line, or painter, snapped, and she was carried away. The weight of water in the sails carried away the maintopmast, (just above the cap,) the foremast, and the bowsprit; the part of the foremast below the deck afterwards shot right up, and floated away, leaving only the mainmast standing, and from the weight of wreck hanging to it, we expected that to go also.

We had now nothing but death to look forward to, as the tide was rising fast, and would inevitably in a short time sweep us off her side, where we were all collected to the number of twenty-six, and only myself and one or two more free from dysentery. I expected so soon to be swept away, that I threw off my trousers and prepared for a swim, as I could see the land just on the horizon, and at any rate it was better to die endeavouring to save myself, than to be drowned without making any exertion. Most providentially, the brig righted gradually, until the mast lay in an angle of about forty-five degrees, and enabled us to get, some in the maintop, (where we found a little dog belonging to the mate,) and others on the mainyard. As soon as we got aloft, we began cutting the sails away, as they held an immense quantity of water, and would most likely on that account, cause the loss of the mast; we cut away the mainsail, trysail, and maintopsail, leaving only the masts and yards to hang on the mainmast, as with these we intended to make a raft.

The tide continued rising upon us, until half the top was under water, and hope was almost dead within us, when to our inexpressible joy, we found the tide ceased to flow; no time was however to be lost, as in these places there is very little slack water, so we that could swim, immediately set to work, and collected all the spars and booms, masts and yards, we could, (for the rigging still held the topmast, &c.,) intending, when the tide had ebbed enough, to get on the wreck, which we expected would be almost dry at low water, and make a stout raft. We could see some fishing-boats in the distance; but these, though they must have seen our disastrous situation, appeared to make no attempt to come to our assistance.

From so many being sick, and from the Lascars refusing to assist us, we had very few left to work, and before we had collected many spars, the ebb tide began to run so strong, that we were obliged to leave off, and take to the maintop again; the spars we did get, we secured together, and made fast in such a manner that the tide could not carry them away. We now sat down again on the top, with hearts most thankful that we had still a little hope left. This was about four in the afternoon, and in half an hour or so afterwards, the jolly-boat came in sight;[3] they had cleared her of water, and they let go the grapnel just abreast of us. Mrs. Noble waved her handkerchief, but the tide was so strong that they were driven past, completely out of our sight, without being able to render us the least assistance, or even being near enough to speak to us. This was a most cruel disappointment; but we had still our raft to look forward to, and knowing that Mrs. Noble and Lieut. Douglas were still alive was some consolation to us; so we cheered one another in the best manner we could, relying upon Him who was able to save us from this apparently certain destruction.

By the time we could begin our work again, it was very dark, but we knew we should soon have a bright moon; so we set to work cheerfully, and had succeeded in collecting and lashing together a good many spars as a raft, when, to our great surprise, we found ourselves surrounded by Chinese boats, two of them large ones, and full of soldiers.

We all saw that resistance, if they attacked us, would be perfectly useless, and thought it would be better to trust to them than to the waves, so as they all seemed more intent upon plunder than upon us, Twizell and I, two or three of the marines, two of the first-class boys, and the greater part of the Lascars, jumped into one boat, and the rest, with Webb and Wombwell, got into another. The Chinese wished us very much to get out again, but this we would not think of doing, as stopping by the vessel for another tide was quite impossible.

Finding that we were determined not to remain by the wreck, the Chinese gave in, and shoved off. To our great surprise, we had not gone a few yards when our junk was aground. The other boat made sail, and stood away. The men in our junk made signs for us to get out, when we again refused, fearing, if we did, they would leave us there; and not liking the idea of remaining on a sand, which we knew the flood tide would cover. To have stopped by the wreck would have been preferable to this.

We continued sitting in the boat, until one of the Chinese jumped out, and, taking his lantern, made signs to us to follow him; this we consented to do, and taking care not to let our guide get away from us, we went across the sand for about two miles, with the water sometimes above our knees, and sometimes only a little above our ankles. At last we arrived at another large boat, which was aground and apparently waiting for the tide to float her. Our guide made signs for us to get into this boat, and that we should be taken ashore in her. This we did, and lay down to take a little rest, grateful that we had been enabled to save our lives, at least for the present.