Narratives of Shipwrecks of the Royal Navy; between 1793 and 1849

by William O. S. Gilly

Captain Baker was as calm and self-possessed as if nothing unusual had occurred, whilst the eyes of the men were fixed upon him, and they were ready to obey every command with the same promptitude as when performing the usual routine of ship's duty.

Fortunately a small rock was discerned through the mist, and as it seemed to be at no great distance, it presented a means of escape from the most pressing danger. Without a moment's hesitation, a man of the name of Lennard sprang forward, and seizing a lead-line, jumped into the sea; but the current setting directly against him to the northward, his efforts were unavailing, and with difficulty he was dragged on board again.

It might be supposed that Lennard's failure would have damped the spirits of the men, and deterred them from a second attempt. But it seems to have had a contrary effect, and to have stirred them up to renewed exertion. A consultation was held as to the next steps to be taken. The only hope that remained was in the gig, (the jolly-boat having been washed away,) when Turner, the boatswain, as brave a fellow as ever breathed, volunteered to make the attempt. He secured a rope round his body, and was then lowered into the boat. The tackling was let go, the men gave a cheer, and the boat, with its occupant, was borne away by the current.

With intense anxiety the men on the wreck watched the progress of Turner, who had been carried in the boat to within a few feet of the rock; then the watchers saw it balanced upon the crest of a huge wave, and the next moment it was dashed to pieces upon the rock; the boatswain, however, retained his presence of mind; he kept hold of the rope when dashed out of the boat, and succeeded in scrambling up the cliff.

In the meantime, the waves were making heavy breaches over the ship; the crew clung by the ropes on the forecastle; each succeeding wave threatened them all with destruction; when a tremendous sea lifted her quarter over the rock on which she had at first struck, and carried her close to that on which the boatswain stood. The forecastle, which up to this time had been the only sheltered part of the ship, was now abandoned for the poop; and as Captain Baker saw no chance of saving the vessel, he determined to remove the people from her if possible.

Calling around him his officers and men, he communicated to them his intentions, and pointed out the best means of securing their safety. He then ordered every man to make the best of his way from the wreck to the rock. Now, for the first time, his orders were not promptly obeyed; all the crew to a man refused to leave the wreck unless Captain Baker would precede them. There was a simultaneous burst of feeling that did honour alike to the commander and the men. To the former, in that he had so gained the affection and respect of his people; and to the latter, inasmuch as they knew how to appreciate such an officer.

Never was good discipline displayed in a more conspicuous manner. No argument or entreaty could prevail on Captain Baker to change his resolution. He again directed the men to quit the vessel, calmly observing that his life was the least, and last consideration. The men, upon hearing this reiterated command, stepped severally from the poop to the rock with as much order as if they had been leaving a ship under ordinary circumstances. Unhappily, a few of them perished in the attempt; amongst these was Lieutenant Stanley, who, being benumbed with cold, was unable to get a firm footing, and was swept away by the current, his companions, with every inclination, had not the power to save him; he struggled for a few moments—was dashed with irresistible force against the rocks, and the receding wave engulfed its victim.

When he had seen every man clear of the wreck, and not till then, did Captain Baker join his crew.

As soon as they had time to look about them, the ship's company perceived that they were on an isolated rock, separated from the mainland by a few fathoms. The rock rose some feet above the sea, but to their horror they perceived that it would be covered at high-water. It seemed as if they were rescued from one fearful catastrophe, only to perish by a more cruel and protracted fate. They watched the waters rise inch by inch around them, appalled by the feeling that those waters must sooner or later close over them for ever, and that nothing could save them except the outstretched arm of Him who could bid the waves be stayed, and say to the stormy winds, be still. Every man is more or less courageous under circumstances of danger, when it is attended by excitement,—such as that of the battlefield. There is a courage which springs from companionship in danger, and a courage derived from the fear of shame; but the test of true valour is a scene like that we have described. There was no room for a display of the adventitious bravery which often becomes in reality the thing it strives to appear. No man there could reproach his neighbour if his cheek should blanch and his lip quiver; all are alike appalled, but the well-regulated mind rises superior to the rest. Such was the case with Captain Baker. Although he could not conceal from himself that their condition was almost hopeless, he continued with his voice to encourage the timid, and by his arm to support the weak.

By degrees the fog had partially dispersed, and as the dawn began to break, a dreary prospect was displayed. The haggard countenances and lacerated limbs of the men told the sufferings they had endured, whilst the breakers, which they had only heard before, became distinctly visible. Still the devoted crew, following the example of their commander, uttered no complaint. They were ready to meet death, yet they felt it hard to die without a struggle. The tide was rising rapidly, and if anything was to be done, it must be done instantly. The boatswain, who had never lost hold of the rope, determined at all hazards to make another effort to save his comrades, or to perish in the attempt.