My husband had more than once said to me, "Do not undress," and to that, under the providence of God, I believe Lilla and I owed our safety. I fell asleep about twelve o'clock. When the shock came, and the working of the engines, which even in one's sleep was heard, suddenly ceased, we were instantly aroused; and, looking at my watch to see the hour, in order to have some known fact by which to collect oneself, I found it was a quarter past one a.m. I jumped down from the berth, and, after hastily swallowing a little brandy and water that happened to be in the cabin, to check the sudden sick feeling of fright, put on bonnet and cloak, and went on deck to learn what was the matter, first calling at my husband's cabin door to see if he were there. The gentlemen assured me he was up and gone, and knowing, as I did, his intention of not undressing, and his quick habit of movement, I was satisfied that I should find him on deck. He was not there, at least not on the after-deck, where we had been together. All hands had evidently rushed to the fore-part of the vessel, whence the alarm came, and doubtless he had gone there at once, to ascertain what was the matter before he alarmed us. Persons on deck said we were too near land, had run a-ground, but should be off presently. The light at the harbour was distinctly seen rather behind us, to our right; as was the high ground above Port Patrick, apparently a very little distance off; while the fog concealed the promontory right a-head of us, against which we must have dashed in a few moments, had we not struck at the time we did. I went down again to tell Lilla that they said there was no danger, but at the same time assisted her to throw a few things hastily on, and then went on deck. In the meantime my husband had not come to us. I went to his cabin door again, to ask if he were there; but the inmates were in such confusion they could give me no answer. Returning up the gang-way again, I met the steward, and stood some minutes under the lamp, while he looked down his way-bill, to ascertain that I was right in my husband's number. He assured me that we should get off. On deck once again, I perceived that the vessel inclined much more, that the fore-part had sunk considerably: the noise and confusion were all there. The after-deck was comparatively free from persons; a few, indeed, were trying to lower one of the boats. We walked about, looking for my husband, who was, I have now no doubt, entangled among the crowd of persons in the fore-part, where most of the two hundred on board had run. He must have been almost the first on deck; others rushed after him in that direction: a rope—the slightest thing catching the weak leg—would throw him down, and, with the noise and confusion, which at any time would have been bewildering, it must have been impossible for him to disentangle himself. What hindered me from running down into the crowd to look for him, I know not, unless it were the persuasion that he would instinctively come to the spot where we had been together, as I had done; the expectation each moment that he would come seemed to fill my mind: it never once occurred to me that he might be in greater danger than ourselves. Only the conviction that the will of God was done can prevent the mind from agonizing longings for that night to come over again, were it a thousand times, for the merest chance of trying to save him.
The vessel was perceptibly going down in the fore-part, when the captain jumped on the skylight, and assured the passengers that if they could remain in the vessel they would be saved. This seemed probable, as the shore boats were seen in the twilight putting towards us; but, alas! we were now too rapidly sinking to allow of their near approach. The vessel lurched gradually towards the shore. We had placed ourselves on the part which, from the position of the ship, would be longest above water, with the foot resting on the ledge, where we had so happily stood in the afternoon. It enabled us to grasp a rope which came down from the mizen-mast to the edge of the vessel, and there awaited her going down, which I now saw was inevitable. We felt the power of God could save us, if such were His will, or His mercy receive us to Himself: it was not a new thing to approach Him, or to resign ourselves into His hands; it was no strange God, but our long-loved Father in Heaven, before whom we were about to appear. So we rested with calm confidence on that most blessed assurance, "Him that cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out," and committed ourselves to our Saviour's hands.
In a few minutes, a sudden hissing excited fears of an explosion, and we sank immediately, the hot water rushing up to us as we went down. Rising again, before my head was above water, I felt something at the back of my hand: I instinctively grasped it—it was a rope. A moment after I was on the surface. I exchanged the rope for a spar, and turning round my head to ask for Lilla, found, to my inexpressible joy, she was close behind me, just as we had sunk. This cheered us both with hope of eventual safety. But where was one far dearer? I grasped with my left hand one of those fenders made of netted cords, which are used to prevent ships coming into too close contact with each other, or with the harbour; but it was hard work to keep up. We encouraged each other, and, recollecting that the human body is lighter than the same bulk of water, we tried to float; but this was no easy matter. The number of persons struggling in the water agitated it, and in the endeavour to keep it out of the ears by raising the head, the equilibrium was disturbed, and the feet sank, and with that the dread of going down again came. By the stopping of my watch at half-past one, it afterwards appeared that a quarter of an hour elapsed between the striking of the vessel and her going down, and probably nearly as long passed between our rising and our being picked up by the shore boats. It was a work of some difficulty and time, when they came up, to extricate us from the ropes: our benumbed limbs and weakened frames rendered us incapable of making any effort ourselves. "Never mind, you are come among Christian people," was the boatman's exclamation, when he had taken me into the boat, and never was truer word spoken. The heart-felt sympathy and substantial kindness we received from all classes could not have been exceeded, and can hardly be imagined. It is impossible to speak too strongly of the goodness and care of kind Mrs. Hannay, who first received us, and whose husband formed and superintended the admirable arrangements by which so many were saved. Placed in bed, and hot cordials being administered, the warmth gradually returned to our benumbed limbs, and we felt we were restored to life. Dear Lilla began to indulge hope that her papa was saved too; but I felt he was with God, he was so spiritually near; and when the ring he usually wore was brought me, the agony of that moment only confirmed what I knew too well before. Even the catastrophe, fearful as it was, could scarcely be called unexpected; I felt that what I had been looking for had come, for we had both felt we were too happy for this world. He had himself often exclaimed "how will all this end? it cannot last." It was a mournful but a blessed thing to gaze again on that beloved face, with all the glow of health upon it, and more than a placid, a bright smile—but to part from it thus! Even yet I cannot associate death in the ordinary sense with it.
The first words of comfort, when we knew the extent of our loss, were from the Rev. A. Urquhart and his sister; and precious were their sympathy and manifold kindness. The most deeply grateful feelings will ever be associated with the thought of the Rev. S. Balmer, in whose hospitable manse we remained for many days, while Mrs. Balmer nursed us as a sister. There was another bond between us, besides that of our common humanity,—that of Christianity. We felt that we were not with strangers, but with friends who shared every feeling, that we were all looking from the same point of view, and recognising the same hand. There were personal links too—fellow-sufferers came in to whom my beloved husband's works were known. On the shelves of the manse library were those of my own venerable relative, the late Dr. Ryland, of Bristol; and Lilla found that her mamma's brother-in-law, the late Rev. J. Ely, of Leeds, had been known to our host. Trifling as such things were, they brought a feeling akin to comfort. There is a gratification in mentioning the names of friends to whom so much is owing, and it would be ungrateful not to add that of Mr. and Mrs. Hunter Blair of Dunskaie, whose proffered kindnesses were more than the desirableness of remaining near the shore would allow us to accept.[E] Truly were we "an hungered, and ye gave us meat; we were thirsty, and ye gave us drink, we were strangers, and ye took us in; naked, and ye clothed us; we were sick, and ye visited us." Be the blessing of "those that were ready to perish" upon them.
For no kindness is gratitude so deeply felt as for that which aided the heart's cherished wish to have those remains, so loved and so precious, removed from beside that ever moaning sea, where they could never have been thought of, without all the horrors of that scene recurring too. To his own family grave, in the burial-ground of the Independent Chapel, Rochdale, they were borne on Saturday the 22d; followed by members of his family, and about forty gentlemen of the town and neighbourhood, who thus spontaneously expressed their sense of his loss. There now rests "all that could die" of the man of high intellect, of the loved and honoured, the loving and confiding husband.
Farewell! a brief farewell! nay, no farewell to thee—thou art not severed from us. Spirit as thou art, thou still comest to live and blend with ours in the dim twilight, and when the hum of the world is busy around us. And when we bow in prayer to the Father of Spirits, we feel that we are come not only to "Jesus the Mediator," but to "the spirits of just men made perfect," and we worship together in company. Farewell, then, only thou beloved form, whose radiant smile seemed to tell there had been no gathering of the darkness of death, only a stepping from mortal into immortal life; and farewell, even to thee, only for a season, for we know that "them that sleep in Jesus will God bring with him." We shall yet see thee again, and dwell with thee in eternal re-union, in a world where the very memory of thy loss shall have vanished, for "there shall be no more sea."
The foregoing brief sketch, little more than the enumeration of ordinary events and literary pursuits, would alone convey a very inadequate idea of one whose character was peculiarly his own. One of the many definitions by which it has been attempted to analyse the subtle nature of genius is "the power of interpreting nature." In the case of Mr. Roby, it took the form of art, and he laboured in her train, whether with pen or pencil, rather than in the service of science. Looking over the face of nature, he would catch her slightest hints, and transfer to his paper—not just what met the ordinary gaze, but—a picture. As if nature by her scattered rocks and wandering clouds, gave him in rude symbolic language, her thought of beauty, and as he with initiated eye, read the meaning, there presently grew under his pencil the full interpretation, a silent poem, which every passer by might more or less comprehend, and enjoy.
And were it the voice of nature that met his ear, that voice whose floating music so few perceive, it had as ready an interpreter. When in the social circle, or in the busy street, the inner sense caught the inarticulate sounds, he would note them down, and present to others the melody which had charmed himself.
And eloquently would nature speak to him of truths pertaining to humanity; felicitously were they apprehended and expressed, he lingering meanwhile till she had taught all her meaning.