We are oblivious of perils past. The tax on commerce, levied by the whirlwind, and by recklessness, and ignorance, far exceeds the common calculation of those, who know little, experimentally, of the perils of the deep; and who go not down upon the sea in ships. Precisely fifty years ago, it was estimated, at Lloyd’s, that one ship per diem, three hundred and sixty-five ships, annually, were lost, in the open sea, and on lee shores. And, in Lloyd’s Lists, for 1830, it was stated, that six hundred and seventy-seven British vessels were lost, during that year.
Whether or not it be attributable to that natural eagerness, which increases, as the object of our heart’s desire draws near, and is apt to abate somewhat of our ordinary vigilance—certain it is, that calamities of this nature are of no unfrequent occurrence, near the termination of a voyage, and when we have almost arrived at the haven, where we would be.
About ten years ago, while enjoying the hospitality of some Southern friends, I became acquainted with a lady, the varying expression of whose features arrested my attention, and excited my surprise. Whenever her countenance was lighted up, by a smile, it was for an instant only; and an expression of solemnity, and even of sadness, immediately succeeded; as the darkness of an autumnal sky follows the feeble flashes of electric light.
I sought an explanation of this peculiarity, from an old friend, who knew this lady well, Mr. Doddridge Crocker, formerly a merchant of this city, and then a resident of Charleston.
He informed me, that, many years before, he had been a passenger, in company with this lady and her father, together with other citizens of Charleston, for New York, on board the Rose in Bloom. They had a prosperous voyage, until they came in sight of the Highlands. The passengers proceeded to make their toilets; and arrangements were in progress, for going speedily on shore. The ship was under a press of canvas, with a strong breeze. The wind shifted its direction suddenly, and soon became a gale. The Rose in Bloom was capsized, and lost. The lady, said Mr. Crocker, to whom you refer, and her father, amid the terrible confusion, which ensued, clung to some floating article, whose buoyancy, it soon became apparent, was not sufficient to support them both. The filial and paternal contest may be easily conceived, each entreating the other, to retain the only means of preservation. At length, the father abandoned his hold, and struck out for a floating spar, at some little distance. His struggles were ineffectual—he sunk, before his daughter’s eyes! We were, ere long, rescued from our imminent peril. The impression, left upon her mind, was left there forever.
The reader may possibly surmise, that my leading remarks have a particular reference to the recent shipwreck of the Elizabeth, upon the coast of New York. This catastrophe, which is imputed to ignorance and miscalculation, involves the loss of an interesting and intelligent young gentleman, Mr. Horace Sumner, of this city, and of the Marquis and Marchioness Ossoli, and their child. One of these sufferers I have known, in earlier days. Under the quiet, unpresuming roof of her worthy father, Mr. Timothy Fuller, I have met his daughter Margaret. Few then would have anticipated her melancholy fate, and fewer still, that she would become an Italian marchioness!
Let me devote the remaining space, in the present article, to those unmitigated wretches, with hearts of flint, who rioted and revelled, amid the sufferings of their fellow-beings. An opportunity will now be afforded, to stamp this hellish practice, with all the force of the law, and whatever there may be of indignant severity, in public sentiment.
Luring vessels on shore, by arranging false lights, and robbing wrecks are crimes of great antiquity. But I had no suspicion, that even the latter practice was carried on, so systematically, and so boldly, as it appears to have been, at the present day, in the State of New York. The names of the places, where these atrocities were committed, Fire Island, Patchogue, Islip, Babylon have something of a Cornish sound, undoubtedly.
Of old, in all the northern regions of Europe, and especially, along the coasts of the Baltic Sea, a wreck was deemed “a Providence;” and laws were in force, authorizing the inhabitants to fall on, and plunder at discretion, or, in the language, then employed—“in naufragorum miseria et calamitate, tanquam vultures, ad prædam currere.” Of the earlier periods of our own history, tales have been told, which, though almost beyond belief, would not have been related, if they had not been somewhere, upon the outskirts or frontiers of probability. Thus many—many—very many years ago, tradition intimates, that a worthy clergyman of Truro was interrupted, in the middle of his discourse, by one of his deacons, who caused the whole congregation to rise en masse, by seizing his hat and crying aloud—“a wreck!” whereupon the good man is reported, while putting up his notes, and opening the pulpit door, to have exclaimed—“Stay—stay, my Christian friends, let us all have a fair start.”
More than five hundred years ago, in the 13th of Edward III., laws were passed, in England, for the punishment of such offenders. These laws were amended and confirmed, in the 12th of Anne, and 4th of George I., 26th of George II., and 8th of Elizabeth. By the statute of 26 George II., ch. 19, plundering a vessel, in distress, or wrecked, and putting out false lights, to deceive, were made capital felonies. By the civil law, stealing even a plank from a vessel, in distress, or wrecked, made the offender liable, for the entire ship and cargo. The early Neapolitan constitutions and the laws of the Wisigoths inflicted the severest punishment, not only upon such as plundered a wreck, but upon all, who were convicted of neglecting to aid a vessel in distress, when in their power to render comfort and assistance.