Chapter VI: Part 6

The Clorinde frigate, in going out of the harbour, grounded under Fort St. Joseph, at the moment when the launch of the Hercule, commanded by Mr. Willoughby, was entering the harbour. When Mr. Willoughby saw the critical position of the Clorinde, and the danger which menaced all on board of her (for he knew that even if they succeeded in gaining the shore, which was doubtful, no quarter would be given them by the blacks), he pulled towards the frigate, and when he came alongside, he proposed terms to General La Poyne (who was on board of her) by which the safety of the crew would be secured.

Mr. Willoughby promised, that if the frigate would hoist English colours, he (Mr. Willoughby) would wait upon General Dessalines, and demand that the British flag should be respected; and in the event of the Clorinde going to pieces during the night, the crew and passengers should be considered prisoners of war.

General La Poyne readily accepted the proposed terms, and accordingly, Mr. Willoughby proceeded to negotiate with General Dessalines, who promised compliance with his request.

The boats of the Hercule were sent to the assistance of the Clorinde, and they succeeded in heaving her off.

Thus by the timely exertions of this zealous young officer, some hundreds of lives were saved, and the British navy obtained a frigate which, for many years, was one of the finest of the 38-gun class.

At the attack on Curacoa, in 1804, Mr. James relates, that for the sake of encouraging his men, Mr. Willoughby used to take his meals sitting in a chair upon the breast-work of a battery, while the earth was ploughed up all around; and one man, we believe, was killed on the spot; but still the table and chair, and the daring officer who sat there, remained untouched.

In the following year, the Hercule had captured a merchant schooner, and one of the prisoners gave notice that a Spanish corvette of twenty guns, was lying in St. Martha, South America. Mr. Willoughby thereupon volunteered to attack her; and on the 4th of July, he took the command of the prize, and parted company with his ship, accompanied by three midshipmen and thirty volunteers. On the 6th, they entered the harbour of St. Martha; Captain Samuel Roberts, then a midshipman, was at the helm, with a check shirt on, his head covered with a French kerchief, and his face blackened. The rest of the men were below, except a black, and a mulatto.

The schooner being well known, the deception was perfectly successful, and she passed the batteries without interruption; but, to the disappointment of all on board, no corvette was to be found.

Mortified in the extreme, they put about, but not in time to escape detection. The enemy had found out the trick that had been played upon them; and the batteries from the island and harbour opened upon the schooner a volley of no very gentle reproaches. However, she luckily avoided the danger, and returned in safety to the Hercule, without receiving a single shot.

In 1807, Mr. Willoughby was appointed to the Royal George. We have already alluded to his humane exertions to save the crew of the Ajax, while the squadron was off the Dardanelles. He soon afterwards received a severe wound whilst he was taking more thought for others' safety than for his own. Upon the return of the squadron from Constantinople, an attack was made upon a large building on the island of Prota.

Lieutenant Willoughby perceiving that three men were very much exposed to the enemy's fire, called out to them, desiring them to stoop. At that moment, he was himself struck by two pistol balls; one entered his head, just above the right jaw, and took a slanting direction upwards--and has never been extracted; the other shot cut his left cheek in two; For some minutes he lay apparently lifeless, but fortunately the movement of an arm indicated enough of life to awaken hope in his companions; and they carried him on board the Royal George.

In 1808, he was promoted to the rank of commander, and appointed to the Otter sloop, then employed in cruizing off the Isle of France. Here he distinguished himself in cutting out some vessels under the protection of the batteries of the Black River; and for his services at the capture of St. Paul, he was appointed to the Xereide.

In 1810, he made an attack upon Jacotel: he thought this a somewhat dangerous enterprise; and, therefore, to inspire his men with more than usual courage and ardour, he headed them himself, in full uniform. After a desperate resistance on the part of the enemy, he succeeded in spiking the guns of the fort, and taking prisoner the commanding officer. For this service he was promoted to the rank of captain.

In the course of the same year, 1810, a musket burst in the hands of one of the men, so near to the place where Captain Willoughby stood, that his jaw was fractured, and the windpipe laid bare, so that his life was despaired of.

He had hardly recovered from this wound, before he was engaged in an attack upon Port Louis, Isle de France. The disasters which befel the squadron upon this occasion have now become a matter of history, and they need not be recounted here,--suffice it to say, that Captain Willoughby continued to keep up an unequal conflict until nearly all on board the Nereide were either killed or wounded. Nor did he surrender, although he had entirely lost one of his eyes, and the other was much injured, 'until (to use the words of Vice-Admiral Bertie) after a glorious resistance, almost unparalleled even in the brilliant annals of the British navy,'

Upon his return to England, Captain Willoughby had a pension of 550_l._ per annum awarded to him in consideration of his wounds.

Having no immediate prospect of employment at home, he repaired to St. Petersburg, and offered his services to the Czar.

In his very first engagement in his new career, Captain Willoughby was taken prisoner by the French.--falling a victim to his own generosity. During the action, he saw two Prussian soldiers severely wounded,--dismounting himself, and desiring his servant to do the same, he placed the wounded men upon his own horses, and attended them on foot. They were quickly overtaken by some French cavalry, and Captain Willoughby was made prisoner. He was soon afterwards informed that if he would sign a paper, pledging himself to hasten to France by a certain route, he would be allowed to travel alone.

He gladly consented to this; but to his astonishment, after signing the required paper, he was ordered to march with the other prisoners. In vain he protested against this breach of faith--he was obliged to proceed. His sufferings from cold and hunger whilst crossing the deserts of Russia and Poland were intense. After witnessing the heartrending scenes of Moscow, he at length reached Mayence. Thence he was removed to Metz, and he had scarcely reached the town, before an order came for his confinement in the Chateau of Bouillon, where he remained a close prisoner for nine months. He was then taken to Peronne, and there he continued until the arrival of the Allies at Chalons, when he contrived to make his escape.

Soon after his arrival in England, Captain Willoughby received the Order of the Bath,--an honour scarcely commensurate with the many and valuable services he had performed for his country. It may safely be asserted that no officer living has been engaged in so many hard-fought actions, or has received so many dangerous wounds. From his first entrance into the service, to the end of the late war, all his energies were devoted to the service of his country; and now that his services are no longer required, with a constitution shattered by age and wounds, he is employing the remainder of his days in deeds of charity and kindness towards his fellow-creatures.

Captain Willoughby became admiral in 1847, and since the foregoing pages were written, death has closed his eventful life.

FOOTNOTES:

[10] _Life of Sir Nisbet Willoughby_.

THE ANSON.

The year 1807 was most disastrous to the British navy: during that period, we lost no less than twenty-nine ships of war, and, unhappily, the greater part of their crews. Some of these vessels foundered at sea, others were wrecked or accidentally burnt, and it was at the close of this eventful year that a calamity occurred which equalled, if it did not surpass, any previous disaster.

The Anson, of 40 guns, under the command of Captain Charles Lydiard, after completing her stores for a few months' cruise, sailed from Falmouth on the 24th of December, to resume her station off Brest. The wind was adverse, blowing very hard from the W.S.W., until the morning of the 28th, when Captain Lydiard made the Island of Bas, on the French coast. As the gale was increasing rather than subsiding, he determined to return to port, and accordingly shaped his course for the Lizard. At three o'clock P.M. land was discovered, apparently about five miles west of the Lizard, but owing to the thickness of the fog, there was a difference of opinion as to the land that was seen, and therefore the ship was wore to stand out to sea. She had not been long on this tack before land was descried right ahead.

It was now evident that their position was extremely dangerous,--the ship was completely embayed, and the wind raged with increasing fury. Every exertion was made to keep the Anson off shore, but without success, and it was not until she was fearfully near to the rocks that she could be brought to an anchor, in twenty-five fathoms, with the best bower anchor veered away to two cables' length. The top-gallant masts were lowered upon deck, and in this state she rode from five o'clock P.M., when she anchored, till four o'clock the next morning, when the cable suddenly parted. During the night, the gale was tremendous, and the sea ran mountains high; they had nothing now to depend upon for the safety of the ship but a small bower anchor, which was immediately let go, and this held until eight o'clock, when it also parted. The ship was no longer an object of consideration; Captain Lydiard felt that he had done his utmost to save her, but in vain, and that now every energy must be put forth for the preservation of human life. The tempest raged with such fury that no boat could possibly come to their aid, nor could the strongest swimmer hope to gain the shore. It appeared to Captain Lydiard that the only chance of escape for any of the crew was in running the ship as near the coast as possible. He gave the necessary orders, and the master run the vessel on the sand which forms the bar between the Loe Pool and the sea, about three miles from Helstone. The tide had been ebbing nearly an hour when she took the ground, and she broached to, leaving her broadside heeling over, and facing the beach.

The scene of horror and confusion which ensued on, the Anson striking against the ground, was one which baffles all description. Many of the men were washed away by the tremendous sea which swept over the deck; many others were killed by the falling of the spars, the crashing sound of which, as they fell from aloft, mingled with the shrieks of the women on board, was heard even amidst the roar of the waters and the howling of the winds. The coast was lined with crowds of spectators, who watched with an intense and painful interest the gradual approach of the ill-fated vessel towards the shore, and witnessed the subsequent melancholy catastrophe.

Calm and undaunted amidst the terrors of the scene, Captain Lydiard is described as displacing in a remarkable degree that self-possession and passive heroism, which has been so often the proud characteristic of the commander of a British ship of war under similar harassing circumstances. Notwithstanding the confusion of the scene, his voice was heard, and his orders were obeyed with that habitual deference which, even in danger and in death, an English seaman rarely foils to accord to his commanding officer.

He was the first to restore order, to assist the wounded, to encourage the timid, and to revive expiring hope. Most providentially, when the vessel struck, the mainmast, in falling overboard, served to form a communication between the ship and the shore, and Captain Lydiard was the first to point out this circumstance to the crew. Clinging with his arm to the wheel of the rudder, in order to prevent his being washed overboard by the waves, he continued to encourage one after another as they made the perilous attempt to reach the shore. It was fated that this gallant officer should not enjoy in this world the reward of his humanity and his heroism. After watching with thankfulness the escape of many of his men, and having seen with honor many others washed off the mast, in their attempts to reach the land, he was about to undertake the dangerous passage himself, when he was attracted by the cries of a person seemingly in an agony of terror. The brave man did not hesitate for a moment, but turned and made his way to the place whence the cries proceeded; there he found a boy, a protege of his own, whom he had entered on board the Anson only a few months before, clinging in despair to a part of the wreck, and without either strength or courage to make the least effort for his own preservation. Captain Lydiard's resolution was instantly taken,--he would save the lad, if possible, though he might himself perish in the attempt. He threw one arm round the boy, whilst he cheered him by words of kind encouragement, with the other arm he clung to the spars and mast to support himself and his burthen. But the struggle did not last long; nature was exhausted by the mental and physical sufferings he had endured; he lost his hold, not of the boy, but of the mast, the wild waves swept over them, and they perished together.

It must not be supposed that the people on the shore were unconcerned spectators of the fearful tragedy that was enacted before their eyes. British fishermen are proverbial for their daring and intrepidity. Inured from childhood to the dangers and hardships attendant on their perilous calling, with very few exceptions our fishermen have always been ready to succour the wrecked and tempest-tossed mariner. There is not, we believe, a fishing village between the Land's End and the Orkneys, that cannot produce its true _heroes_--men who have risked, and are willing again to risk, their own lives to save others. Our fisheries are the best nurseries for our navy. Englishmen may be justly proud of the boatmen, from amongst whom spring those 'hearts of oak' which have so long rendered our fleets pre-eminent over those of every other country in the world. But, besides the generous disposition to assist any perishing fellow creature, there were in this instance more powerful motives to exert every effort to save the crew of the Anson. This ship had been stationed for some time at or near Falmouth, so that acquaintances, friendships, and still dearer ties, had been formed between the inhabitants of the neighbouring towns and villages, and the people of the unfortunate vessel. But a few days before they had witnessed a far different scene, when she left their shores in all the pride of a well-ordered and well-disciplined man-of-war, amidst the shouts, and cheers, and blessings of the multitude, who now beheld her lying within a few fathoms of them a helpless wreck, her masts gone, her bulwarks broken in, the waves sweeping over her, and breaking up her timbers.

The surf ran so high, it was impossible that any boat could reach the wreck. The life-boat, in 1807, had not been brought to the state of perfection it has attained in our day; and the many inventions which science and art have since introduced for the preservation of life, were for the most part unknown in the times of which we are now writing.

Several men attempted to swim to the ship, but without success; they were all, one after another, cast back exhausted upon the beach, and many of them without sense or motion. At last, when there seemed no hope left of affording aid to the sufferers, Mr. Roberts, of Helstone, seized hold of a rope, and boldly struck out in the direction of the Anson. He was a powerful swimmer, and his courageous efforts were watched from the shore and from the wreck with intense interest, and many a heartfelt prayer was breathed for his safety and success. Tossed on the foaming waters, at one moment lost to sight, and almost suffocated in the spray, and at another rising on the top of a huge wave, he at last reached the ship, and was hailed as a deliverer by those who were still clinging to the spars and rigging. The rope which Mr. Roberts had taken with him was made fast to the wreck, and this formed a communication with the shore, by which many a poor wretch was saved who must otherwise have perished.

Another instance of heroic self-devotion was exhibited by a Methodist preacher, a little later in the day, when, as no one appeared on the ship's side, it was supposed that every one had either come on shore, or had been drowned; but this brave and good mail thought that there might be some still left on board who were unable to make an effort to save themselves, and, under this impression, he ventured his life through the surf, followed by a few other daring spirits like himself. With great difficulty they gained the wreck, where, as they had anticipated, they found several persons lying below, all too much exhausted to get upon deck. Some, in terror and despair, called upon God for mercy; others, in hopeful trust, seemed resigned to their fate; and others were so weak as to be indifferent to the horrors around them. Two women and two children were of the number. The preacher and his gallant comrades had the happiness of saving the women and some of the men, but the children were lost.

Sixty men, amongst whom were Captain Lydiard and his first-lieutenant, perished in the wreck of the Anson. The survivors of the crew were conveyed to Helstone, where they received every attention and kindness which their unfortunate condition required. The body of Captain Lydiard, which was washed on shore, was interred at Falmouth with military honours.

We feel assured that the following particulars of the life of Captain Lydiard will not be unacceptable to the reader.

He entered the navy in the year 1780, in the flag-ship of Admiral Darby, who then commanded the channel fleet, and from that time served as a midshipman under several commanders on various stations, both at home and abroad, during thirteen years. In 1794, he was appointed a lieutenant of the Captain, of 74 guns, in which ship he served in two general engagements in the Mediterranean. In July of the following year he removed to the Southampton frigate, commanded by Captain Shields, and afterwards by Captain Macnamara.

On the evening of the 9th of June, 1796, the Southampton was stationed with the fleet under Sir John Jervis, off Toulon, when a French cruizer was discovered working up to Hieres Bay. The commander-in-chief called the captain of the Southampton on board the Victory, and pointing out the ship, directed him to make a dash at her through the Grand Pas. Accordingly, the Southampton weighed, and, in order to delude the French into the supposition that the ship was either a neutral or a French frigate, hauled up under easy sail close to the batteries at the north-east of Porquerol. The stratagem succeeded; for before the enemy were aware of the approach of the Southampton, the ship was alongside of the French cruizer. Captain Macnamara cautioned her commander not to make a fruitless resistance; but he replied by snapping his pistol, and pouring in a broadside. In a moment, the English boarded, led on by Lieutenant Lydiard, with an impetuosity that nothing could withstand. After ten minutes' spirited resistance on the part of the French captain and a hundred of his men under arms, the 'Utile' surrendered, but not before the death of her gallant commander, who fell at the beginning of the onset.

Lydiard was instantly promoted, and appointed to the command of the ship he had so gallantly captured. In the year 1801, he was advanced to the rank of post-captain, and though frequently soliciting employment did not succeed in obtaining a command until 1805, when he was appointed to the Anson.

These pages will not admit of our recounting the many instances in which this officer's gallantry was conspicuous. Before concluding, however, we cannot refrain from laying before our readers the following account of the last enterprise in which Captain Lydiard was engaged, and which is related by his biographer in _The Naval Chronicle_.[11]

'No sooner had the Anson been refitted, than she was again selected, with three other frigates, under the command of Captain Brisbane (as Commodore), of the Arethusa, to reconnoitre, and, if possible, to sound the minds of the inhabitants of Curacoa upon the suggestion of an alliance with this country; but the gallant Brisbane, and his equally gallant partner in this expedition, soon formed a plan for curtailing this mode of proceeding, and determined, at all risks, by a _coup de main_, either to capture the island, or to perish in the attempt.

'With this resolution, having arranged their plan of attack, they proceeded in their course for the island, and they reached the entrance of the harbour just at the dawn of day, on the 1st of January, 1807.

'In order to inform the reader, who may not be acquainted with the amazing strength of Curacoa on the sea face, we will give some account of the difficulties which they had to contend with; and, at the same time, shall avail ourselves of such statements of the facts as the different official and other communications upon the subject will furnish us with.

'The harbour was defended by regular fortifications of two tier of guns. Fort Amsterdam alone mounting sixty-six pieces of cannon; the entrance only fifty yards wide, and so circumstanced, that it is impossible for a ship to return by the same wind that takes it in. Athwart the entrance of the harbour was the Dutch frigate Kenaw Hatslam, of 36 guns, and the Surinam, of 22 guns, with two large schooners of war; a chain of forts was on Mesleberg heights, and that almost impregnable fortress, Fort Republique, within the distance of grape-shot, enfilading the whole harbour. The cool determined bravery of British seamen perceives obstacles only to surmount them; and with this determination the squadron entered the harbour, the Arethusa, Captain Brisbane, leading, followed in close line by the Latona, Captain Wood; Anson, Captain Lydiard; and Fisguard, Captain Bolton.

'When the headmost ship got round the point of the harbour's mouth, the wind became so unfavourable that she could not fetch in; but to return was impossible--it was too late. What a trying moment! At that instant, however, there came on a squall, in which the wind shifted two points in their favour, and they proceeded close together.

'The enemy were panic-struck at such unexpected gallantry, and all was confusion. A severe and destructive cannonade now commenced, and the Dutch frigate was boarded by Captain Brisbane, when the Latona instantly warped alongside and took possession, and Captain Brisbane proceeded to the shore. The Surinam was boarded from the larboard bow of the Anson, while her starboard guns were firing at the batteries; and Captain Lydiard, upon securing the Surinam, went immediately on shore, and landed at the same moment with Captain Brisbane. Immediately debarking their respective officers and ship's companies, they proceeded to storm the forts, citadel, and town, which were by seven o'clock completely in their possession, and at ten o'clock the British flag was hoisted on Fort Republique. Captains Brisbane and Lydiard were the first upon the walls of Fort Amsterdam. Indeed, too much cannot be said in praise of the almost unparalleled bravery displayed by the officers and men of all the ships on this occasion. It may be truly said to be 'perfectly in union with everything glorious in the past, and an example of everything glorious to the future.''

The same year that opened so brilliantly upon the career of Captain Lydiard, witnessed, at its close, the total destruction of the Anson, and the untimely fate of her brave commander.

FOOTNOTES:

[11] Vol. xix., p. 449.

THE BOREAS.

In the afternoon of the 21st of November, 1807, the Boreas, of 22 guns, Captain George Scott, proceeded in search of a pilot-boat, which had been blown off the coast of Guernsey in a gale of wind.

This boat was picked up and taken in tow, when about six o'clock P.M. it was discovered that the ship was near the Hannois rocks, about two miles to the south-west of Guernsey. Orders were immediately given by the pilot to put the helm down, but whilst in stays, the ship struck on the larboard bow; and although every exertion was made to get her off, it was found impossible to do so. The point of a rock was reported to be through the well, rendering the pumps useless. The ship then heeled on her larboard broadside, and the captain gave orders to cut away the masts.

The moment the ship struck, the pilots basely deserted her, and made off in their own boat, without even offering assistance to those who had encountered this danger and disaster in their service. Had the pilots returned to Rocquaine, only two miles distant, they might have procured aid for the Boreas, and preserved the lives of her crew. When Captain Scott was convinced that there was no chance of saving his ship, he ordered an allowance of spirits to be served round, and the gig, the launch, and cutter to be prepared for lowering.

The gig, with Lieutenant Bewick, a lieutenant of marines, and six men, was sent to give information, and obtain assistance. The launch, with the gunner, and some others, was ordered to take on board the sick, and land them at Hannois Point, and then to return to the ship; and the cutter, with the boatswain, and a few men, was despatched on the same service. Captain Scott, with noble intrepidity, remained to share the fate of his vessel.

The launch, under the orders of the gunner, succeeded in reaching the Hannois Rocks, as did also the cutter; but the greater part of the crew of the launch abandoned her as soon as they touched the land. In vain did the gunner use every persuasion to induce the men to return with him to the assistance of their comrades who were left on board the Boreas; they were deaf to his entreaties, and he was obliged to put off again with only four men. The wind and tide were so strong, and so much against them, that the utmost exertion was necessary to enable them to make their way towards the ship, and when they got within two hundred yards of the back of the rocks, the launch was half filled with water. They then tried to make the land again; but before they could reach it the boat was swamped, and the men were saved with difficulty by Mr. Simpson, the boatswain, in the cutter. There is little doubt that if the launch had not been deserted by the greater part of her crew, she might have reached the Boreas, and have saved many valuable lives. And here, in justice to the majority of the ship's company, we must observe, that those who manned the launch were chiefly smugglers and privateer's men lately impressed, and were not to be considered as part of the regular crew of the ship.

In addition to the boats we have already mentioned as having left the ship, was a small cutter, (containing two midshipmen, of the names of Luttrell and Hemmings, and two men,) which was lowered into the sea by order of the first lieutenant, whose humanity induced him to take this expedient for saving the lives of the two boys. The current was so strong that in a few moments the cutter drifted away from the ship, but the generous feelings of the boys forbade them to desert their comrades in distress, and with great exertion they pulled back to the vessel; they called for a rope, but were ordered to keep off, and again their little boat was carried away by the current. Once more they attempted to get back, but their strength was unequal to the task, and they were carried out into the open sea. Their situation was in many respects little better than that of the friends whom they had left upon the wreck,--the night was pitch dark, the boat had neither mast nor sail, and the sea ran so high that they could do nothing with the oars. Every now and then the flash of a gun, seen across the black distance, told them that the Boreas still held together, and that she was making signals of distress; but no sound reached their ears save the roar of the winds and the waves. Even the booming of the guns was lost in that dismal roar.

The little party scarcely expected to survive the night; they were drenched to the skin, and suffering intensely from the cold; the waves broke over the bows of their frail boat, and threatened each minute to overwhelm it; but their brave hearts did not sink in utter despair; they did their utmost to keep themselves afloat, by incessantly baling out the water with their hats and hands. They thought the night would never end, and that they should never see the morrow; but day dawned upon them at last, and then with what anxious eyes did they sweep the horizon. But in vain they looked; not a sail was to be seen. An hour passed away; they shipped such a quantity of water that their imperfect attempts to bale it out were almost useless. The boat sank deeper and deeper, and their hearts sank too. Suddenly a ship hove in sight, and she seemed to be bearing towards them. Hope and fear struggled for the mastery in their breasts; hope urged them to renewed efforts to keep themselves from sinking, whilst, in breathless anxiety, they watched the vessel. She came nearer and nearer; the watchers felt sure they were perceived; then a boat was lowered, and they thanked God for their deliverance. In a few minutes they were received on board H.M. ship Thalia, more dead than alive, after so many hours' endurance of cold, hunger, and dismay.

We must now return to Captain Scott and his companions on the wreck. The men were mustered by the officers on the quarter-deck; they numbered ninety-five or ninety-seven, and they had been all actively employed in making rafts, and lashing together spars and other materials, by which they hoped to save themselves, in the event of the ship going to pieces before assistance should arrive. Hour after hour passed away, and no help came; by the noise of the vessel grinding against the rocks they knew that she could not hold together much longer. Captain Scott continued to issue his commands with coolness and decision, and they were promptly obeyed by both officers and men. About four o'clock in the morning, the quarter-deck being no longer tenable, all the crew were obliged to betake themselves to the main and mizen chains. They had already suffered severely from the cold, but they had now to endure it in greater intensity. In their exposed situation the waves frequently washed entirely over them, and their limbs were so benumbed with cold that it was with the utmost difficulty they could hold on to the wreck, so as to save themselves from being swept into the abyss of waters that seemed yawning to receive them. By degrees, even the cries and the complaints of the sufferers became hushed: not a word was spoken; in awful silence they listened to the groaning of the timbers, and the sullen roar of the waves dashing against the rocks.

In this state they had remained another hour, when a hollow sound was heard below them; still they spoke not a word, for from the captain to the youngest boy, every one knew what that sound foretold, and that the last struggle was at hand,--for many, the last hour of existence. Then a universal tremor was felt through the wreck, and the boldest heart responded to that shudder. The very timbers seemed to dread their impending doom: with a mighty crash they yielded to the force of the waves; for a moment the ship righted, and then sank beneath the foaming waters.

The pen is powerless when we attempt to describe an event like this, for we cannot penetrate into the secret recesses of the heart, nor can we delineate the agonies of conscience which too often increase the anguish of such scenes, when the near approach of death unveils to men, truths they have been unwilling to learn or to believe. Many a cry for pardon and mercy is raised in the hour of shipwreck, from lips that never prayed before. The best and bravest then bow their heads in awe, however well they may be prepared for the dangers that are incident to their profession; and though from childhood 'these men see the works of the Lord, and His wonders in the deep,' yet it must be an appalling moment when the plank they have been wont to tread in calm security, is torn from beneath their feet, and they are left as helpless as infants, to be the sport of the wild billows!

The moment the vessel sunk, many of the men struck out for the plank nearest to them; a few of the strongest and best swimmers gained the raft, but others who were benumbed with cold, or otherwise unable to swim, perished immediately. The quarter-master was one of those who reached the raft, and he found the captain, the doctor, and some others, already upon it. Captain Scott was so much exhausted by the mental and bodily sufferings he had endured, that the doctor and the quarter-master were obliged to support him on the raft. He became gradually weaker, and lingered but a short time ere he expired in their arms; and a few minutes afterwards a huge wave swept over the raft, and bore with it the body of the lamented commander of the Boreas. About eight o'clock in the morning, a number of boats put out from Guernsey to the relief of the survivors, and carried them safely on shore.

We have already mentioned the cowardly and inhuman conduct of the pilots in deserting the Boreas, and it is also a matter of surprise, that although twenty guns were fired as signals, and several rockets and blue lights burned, no help of any kind was sent from the shore till the next morning. One of the witnesses on the court-martial affirmed, that a pilot on shore had heard the guns firing, and had inquired of a soldier on guard whether it was an English or French man-of-war! On the soldier replying that he thought it was an English vessel, the man refused to put to sea, saying, by way of excuse, that 'it blew too hard.'

Through the exertions of Lieut. Colonel Sir Thomas Saumarez, about thirty seamen and marines were taken off the rocks of the Hannois at daylight, making the entire number saved about sixty-eight; whilst the loss amounted to one hundred and twenty-seven.

The following is an extract from the dispatch of Vice-Admiral Sir James Saumarez:--'The greatest praise appears due to Captain Scott and his officers and men, under such perilous circumstances--in a dark and tempestuous night, in the midst of the most dangerous rocks that can be conceived, and I have most sincerely to lament the loss of so many brave officers and men, who have perished on this melancholy occasion.

'Captain Scott has been long upon this station, and has always shown the greatest zeal and attachment to his Majesty's service, and in him particularly his country meets a great loss, being a most valuable and deserving officer.'

THE HIRONDELLE.

The Hirondelle, a 14-gun brig, had been originally a French privateer. She was taken by the boats of the Tartar in the year 1804, when attempting to escape from that vessel through a narrow and intricate channel between the islands of Saona and St. Domingo. The Tartar finding from the depth of the water that she could not come up with the schooner, despatched three of her boats under the command of Lieutenant Henry Muller, assisted by Lieutenant Nicholas Lockyer and several midshipmen, all volunteers, to endeavour to bring her out. The instant the boats put off, the Hirondelle hoisted her colours, fired a gun, and warped her broadside towards them. As they advanced, the privateer opened a fire from her great guns, and as they drew nearer, from her small arms also. In spite of this, and of a strong breeze directly on the bows of the boats, Lieutenant Muller intrepidly pulled up to the privateer, and after a short but obstinate resistance, he boarded and carried her, with the loss only of one seaman, and one marine wounded.'[12]

Such was the first introduction of the Hirondelle into the British navy. Her career in it was of short duration, and its conclusion fearfully sudden and disastrous, as the following account, given by the survivors, will show.

On the 22nd of February, 1808, the Hirondelle, commanded by Lieutenant Joseph Kidd, sailed from Malta, bound to Tunis, with dispatches on board. On Wednesday evening they steered a course towards Cape Bon, but unfortunately they got within the action of the strong current that sets eastward along the Barbary Coast, so that, instead of making the Cape as she intended, the brig fell some few leagues short of it to the eastward, and run aground. As soon as the alarm was given, all hands were turned up; the night was so dark it was impossible to ascertain the exact position of the ship, but they distinctly heard the breakers on the shore. Every effort was made to bring the vessel up, by endeavouring to anchor, but without effect; while this was going on, the cutter had been manned with ten or twelve men, and she might have been the means of saving many lives, but she was no sooner lowered, than the people rushed into her in such numbers that she was almost immediately swamped, and all who were on board her perished, except one man, who regained the deck of the Hirondelle. The commander now saw that the loss of his ship was inevitable, and he therefore desired his crew to provide for their own safety. The order was scarcely uttered, no one had had time to act upon it, when suddenly the brig gave a lurch and went down; the sea washed over her, and of all her men, four only were left to tell the sad tale. Happily for them they were clinging to the wreck, and so escaped the fate of their companions who were swept overboard; and by aid of some of the spars they succeeded in gaining the shore.

This account is necessarily brief: so short a time elapsed between the unexpected striking of the ship and her going to pieces, that there is no incident to relate. The commander and officers of the Hirondelle seem to have done all in their power to extricate her from her unfortunate position; indeed, it would appear that had they attended less anxiously to the preservation of the ship, many lives might have been saved.

FOOTNOTES:

[12] James's _Naval History_.

BANTERER.

His Majesty's ship Banterer, of 22 guns, under the command of Captain Alexander Shephard, was lost on the 29th October, 1808, between Port Neuf and Point Mille Vache, in the River St. Lawrence, whilst in the execution of orders, which Captain Shephard had received from Sir John Borlase Warren, directing him to proceed to Quebec, with all possible despatch, to take a convoy to England.

The following is the account of this disastrous affair, as given by Captain Shephard:--

'Being as far as the Island of Bie in pursuance of orders, through rather an intricate navigation, with foul winds the greater part of the time, where the charge of the ship devolved upon myself, and the only chart I could procure of the navigation in question being on a very small scale, I felt myself relieved from much anxiety by receiving a branch pilot on board on the 28th October last, on which night at eight P.M. we passed between that island and the south shore, with the wind north by west, and very fine weather; at nine, the wind coming more round to the westward, we tacked for the north shore, in order, as the pilot said, not only to be ready to avail himself of the prevailing northerly winds in the morning, but because the current was there more in our favour. At midnight we tacked to the southward, and at two A.M. again laid her head to the northward; and at four A.M. the pilot having expressed a wish to go about, the helm was accordingly put down, and on rising tacks and sheet, it was discovered that the ship was aground. As we had then a light breeze at west, the sails were all laid aback, the land being in sight from the starboard-beam, apparently at some distance, I immediately ordered the master to sound round the ship, and finding that the shoal lay on the starboard quarter and astern, ordered the sails to be furled, the boats hoisted out, the stream anchor and cable to be got into the launch, and the boats to tow her out two cables' length, south-west from the ship, where we found the deepest water; but by this time the wind had suddenly increased to such a degree that the boats could not row ahead, and latterly having lost our ground, we were obliged to let the anchor go in fifteen fathoms, about a cable's length W.S.W. from the ship, on which, having got the end of the cable on board, we hove occasionally as the flood made, and in the meantime got our spare topmasts over the side, with the intention of making a raft to carry out a bower anchor should it moderate; but the intense cold, and the still increasing gale rendered it impossible.

'About half-past eleven A.M. the stream cable being then taut ahead, the wind W.S.W., with a very heavy sea, the ship canted suddenly with her head to the southward, where we had deep water; we immediately set our courses, jib and driver, and for some time had the must sanguine hopes of getting her off, but were unfortunately disappointed, and as the ebb made we were obliged again to furl sails.

'As the ship was then striking very hard, with a heavy sea breaking over her in a body, we cut away the topmasts, not only to ease her, but to prevent their falling upon deck; we also endeavoured to shore up the ship, but the motion was so violent that four and six parts of a five-inch hawser were repeatedly snapped, with which we were lashing the topmasts as shores, through the main-deck ports. At about eight P.M., fearing the inevitable loss of the ship, as the water was then gaining on the pumps, I availed myself of the first favourable moment to land the sick, and a party of marines and boys with some provisions,--this could only be effected at a certain time of tide, even with the wind off shore,--and employed those on board in getting upon deck what bread and other provisions could be come at.

'Though the water was still gaining on the pumps as the flood made, the wind coming more round to the northward, we again set our foresail, but without the desired effect. As the stream anchor had, however, come home, the wind was too doubtful to attempt to lighten the ship.

'On the morning of the 30th, it being moderate, with the wind off shore, we hove our guns, shot, and everything that could lighten the ship, overboard, reserving two on the forecastle for signals. As the flood made, we again set what sail we could, and hove on the stream cable,--though, with all hands at the pumps, we found the water increase in the hold as it flowed alongside; and it was the prevailing opinion that the ship would have foundered if got off. Being now convinced, from concurring circumstances, as well as the repeated representations of the carpenter, that the ship could not swim, the water having flowed above the orlop deck, and much sand coming up with the pumps, we desisted from further attempts to get her off the shoal, and continued getting such stores and provisions as we could upon deck.

'Towards the afternoon, the wind again increasing from the W.S.W., and the water being on the lower deck, I judged it proper to send some provisions, with such men as could be best spared, on shore, that, in the event of the ship going to pieces, which was expected, the boats might be the better able to save those remaining on board; and on the morning of the 31st, conceiving every further effort for the preservation of the ship unavailing, it then blowing strong, with every appearance of increasing, I felt myself called on, by humanity as well as duty to my country, to use every effort in saving the lives of the people intrusted to my care, and accordingly directed the boats to land as many of them as possible, keeping the senior lieutenant and a few others on board with me.

'The whole of this day there was little prospect of saving those who remained with the wreck, as the surf was so great that the boats could not return to us; several guns were fired, to point to those on shore our hopeless situation, and stimulate them to use every possible effort to come to our relief; but they could not effect it, notwithstanding every exertion on their part, which we were most anxiously observing. As the only means which then occurred to me of saving the people on board, I directed a raft to be made with the spars left on the booms, which was accomplished, with much difficulty, in about six hours; the sea then breaking over the ship with great violence, and freezing as it fell with such severity, that even the alternative adopted presented little prospect of saving any one left on the wreck. During this state of awful suspense, we had every reason to think that the ship was completely bilged, and were apprehensive, from the steepness of the bank, that she would fall with her decks to the lee, as the ebb made, in which case all on board must have inevitably perished.

'About half-past eleven P.M., the barge came off; and as the lives of the people were now the primary consideration, I sent as many of them on shore by her as possible, as well as by the launch, when she was able to come off; and at two A.M., on the 1st November, having previously succeeded in sending every other person on shore, I left the ship with regret, in the jolly boat, and landed, with some difficulty, through the surf. About eight A.M., the same morning, I attempted to go off in the barge to save as much provisions and stores as possible, but found it impracticable, as the boat was nearly swamped. All this and the succeeding day, the gale continuing, we could not launch the boats, and were employed carrying such provisions and stores as were saved, to some empty houses which were discovered about six miles to the eastward of where we landed. Finding that with all our exertions we had only been able to save three days' bread, the officers and crew were put upon half allowances, with the melancholy prospect of starving in the woods.

'On Thursday, the 3rd November, the weather moderating, we launched the boats before daylight, and dispatched the jolly boat, with the purser, to a village called Trois Pistoles, about forty-five miles distant, on the opposite side of the river, that he might find his way to Quebec, to procure us assistance and relief, there being no possibility of communicating with any inhabited quarter from where we were but by water.

'During our stay near the wreck, we had repeated gales of wind, both to the eastward and westward; and so violent, and with so much sea, that the mizenmast was thrown overboard, all the upper deck beams broken, and the ship's bottom beaten out.

'We embraced every intervening opportunity of going off to save stores by scuttling the decks, which were covered with ice, the ship on her broadside, and the water flowing over the quarter-deck. On these occasions we were generally away ten or twelve hours, exposed to the wet and cold, without nourishment; from which, and fatigue, I had to lament seeing the people every day become more sickly, and many of them frost-bitten from the severity of the weather. By the indefatigable exertions of the officers and crew, we succeeded in saving all our spare sails, cables, and stores, to a considerable amount; though the cables were frozen so hard, that we were obliged to cut and saw them as junk.

'On the 7th, I again sent a boat with the second lieutenant, to Trois Pistoles, in the hope of procuring, if possible, some temporary supplies; but the wind increasing to a violent gale from the eastward, with a heavy fall of snow, they got frozen up on the opposite shore, and did not return till the 12th, having then only procured three hundred weight of flour, a few potatoes, and some beef--two men having deserted from the boat.

'At this period, I had a respectful request made me from the people, to be allowed to go to Trois Pistoles, that they might shift for themselves whilst the weather would admit of it, dreading the consequences of remaining longer where we were; but out boats would not have carried above one-third, and I conceived the public service would have suffered from allowing them to separate. We had, also, several desertions--in consequence, I believe, of hunger, and the melancholy prospect before them; two of the deserters were brought back, and one returned delirious, after five days' absence, with his feet in a state of gangrene, having had only one small cake to eat during that time. Those still missing must have perished in the woods, from the accounts of the men who were brought back.

'On Sunday, the 20th November, we were relieved from the most painful state of anxiety by the arrival of a small schooner, with a fortnight's provisions, from Quebec, and information that a transport had been procured, and was equipping for us, which nothing but the ice setting in would prevent coming down; and on the 24th I had the satisfaction of receiving a letter by the government schooner, announcing a further supply of provisions, with some blankets for the people; it, however, then blew so hard, with a heavy fall of snow, that she was obliged to take shelter under Bie. On the 25th the schooner returned, when we embarked, and were carried to the opposite side of the river, where the transport was expected,--the pilot conceiving it unsafe to bring the ship nearer to us at that season of the year.'

'Captain Shephard concludes his narrative in paying the following tribute to the discipline and good conduct of his crew:--

In justice to the officers and crew, it now becomes my duty, and a very pleasing part thereof, to bear testimony to the particular perseverance with which they bore the cold, hunger, and fatigue, whilst endeavouring to save the ship; and when that idea was given up, in saving the stores with the dire prospect before them of being cut off from all supplies had the winter set in, the ice rendering all communication impracticable during that season of the year.'

The sufferings and privations endured by the officers and crew of the Banterer, during such trying circumstances, have been ably described in the above narrative of Captain Shephard. From the 29th of October, to the 24th of November, a period of twenty-seven days, these men, with little hopes of succour, had borne, with almost unexampled fortitude, not only hunger and cold, but, to use the words of the surgeon, 'a considerable number of the crew were affected with inflammation of the extremities, which in nearly twenty cases produced partial mortification, and one extensive gangrene on both feet, attended with delirium and other dangerous symptoms.'

Captain Shephard died, as rear-admiral, in 1841.

THE CRESCENT.