The Project Gutenberg eBook of Wreck of the "London."
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.
Title: Wreck of the "London."
Author: Anonymous
Release date: February 15, 2025 [eBook #75381]
Language: English
Original publication: London: S. W. Partridge, 1866
Credits: The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WRECK OF THE "LONDON." ***
Transcriber’s Note: Italics are enclosed in _underscores_. Additional
notes will be found near the end of this ebook.
[Illustration: THE LAST OF THE “LONDON.”]
WRECK
OF
THE “LONDON.”
[Illustration]
_Second Edition--Revised._
LONDON:
S. W. PARTRIDGE, 9, PATERNOSTER ROW.
The Publisher will be glad to receive any additional information from
those who had friends or relatives on board.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCTORY P. 1
CHAPTER II.
THE IRON BEAUTY 5
CHAPTER III.
CAPTAIN MARTIN. 12
CHAPTER IV.
REV. DANIEL JAMES DRAPER 21
CHAPTER V.
THE LIST OF PASSENGERS 36
CHAPTER VI.
THREE DAYS AND NIGHTS OF DANGER ON THE DEEP 48
CHAPTER VII.
LAST STRUGGLES 57
CHAPTER VIII.
THE ANCHOR WITHIN THE VEIL 63
CHAPTER IX.
LAST WORDS 71
CHAPTER X.
THE LIGHT BEHIND THE CLOUD 84
CHAPTER XI.
THE ESCAPE 90
CHAPTER XII.
THINGS REMEMBERED IN THE STORM 97
APPENDIX 101
[Illustration]
WRECK OF THE “LONDON.”
CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCTORY.
[Illustration]
The opening of the year 1866 will long be memorable for that dismal
series of disasters at sea, which it ushered in with a frequency and
fatality that were truly appalling. The New Year was scarcely fourteen
days old when, from every part of the coast, from north to south, from
east to west, the telegraph flashed the melancholy tidings of ruin
and havoc among the shipping. We heard of ships being dismantled by
the storm, and obliged to put back to port; of others being beaten to
pieces, while their crews, escaping by the lifeboats, performed such
acts of heroism that the seaman’s name was covered with fresh renown.
Since the year 1859 never had such tempests raged, and such deeds of
gallantry been performed.
But disaster seemed indeed to crown disaster, when it was rumoured
that the _London_--one of Messrs. Wigram’s finest vessels, laden with
a valuable cargo, and having, it was first said, more than 300 souls
on board--had foundered in the Bay of Biscay, and that not a soul had
escaped. At first, many positively refused to credit the intelligence
that the noble vessel, which had only a few days left our shores, had
succumbed to the fury of the gale, and gone down a wreck. It seemed
impossible. Relatives and friends were loth to receive the terrible
truth that they had taken a last farewell of many, the grasp of whose
hand they still felt warm within their own, and whose last words of
love and friendship were still ringing in their ears. All were slow
to admit that there was no hope, and there was a general clinging to
the expectation that there had been some mistake. The _London_ might,
perhaps, have been injured by the tempest, and compelled to put back to
port; but that she could have foundered, or even if this calamity had
occurred, that her crew and passengers had been unable to effect their
escape--this indeed seemed almost beyond belief!
Too soon, however, the newspapers brought the sad and affecting story
before the eyes of all, and never did story of shipwreck, however
thrilling, excite a grief more sincere and wide-spread. It needed no
artistic craft to make the story tell, and to take it straight home to
the hearts of unnumbered thousands. “This awful wreck,” said Mr. O’Dowd
in commencing the inquiry directed by the Board of Trade, “has been the
theme of many a pen, and the topic of many a conversation since its
occurrence has been made known. Though the sympathies of our hearts
ought to recognise no grades of social position, nor any distinction of
education and intellect, we yet must feel the pang embittered by the
loss of some of the passengers, with whose names, accomplishments, and
virtues the public are now painfully familiar.”
As, day by day, the harrowing details became more accurate and
complete, the regret became more and more poignant, and almost assumed
a national character. Men soon thought little of the ship, magnificent
though she was, or of the cargo, valuable as that was; both ship and
cargo became insignificant in the presence of the vast sacrifice of
human life by which the wreck of the _London_ had been accompanied.
And then came tales of heroism and self-denial, of a lofty courage
and sweet resignation on the part of her passengers, officers, and
crew, that made it harder still to realize that the men and women who
had been capable of such noble behaviour had been buried beneath the
foaming waves, and that the world now was all the poorer and more
desolate, for their absence from it. Both the pulpit and the press
gave touching and eloquent expression to the grief which prevailed on
every side; and while the mourning relatives of our own land received
every mark of sympathy and consideration, those belonging to the
colonies, and on whom the news will burst like a terrible thunderbolt,
were not forgotten, either in the earnest prayers that were offered on
behalf of the bereaved ones, or in the words of genuine kindness and
commiseration which the knowledge of their heavy loss elicited.
It has been thought that there is much belonging to the Wreck of the
_London_ which entitles it to a more convenient place of record than
the newspaper, and that many, both in England and Australia, will be
glad to possess a simple, connected narrative of the ship’s doings,
and especially of her passengers’ behaviour from the day they left our
shores until the day of their foundering in the Bay of Biscay.
There can be no question that the heroism and piety displayed on the
occasion, demand a most distinguished place in the annals of the brave
and good. Unhappily, shipwrecks of the most disastrous character are
of only too frequent occurrence; but it is seldom that a Message from
the Sea has borne the character of that mysterious and sublime one
which the sinking _London_ wrote ere she went down. Many, too, will
perhaps be glad to possess portraits of those whose names will now be
historical for their behaviour amid the distressing circumstances in
which they were placed.
It is also in the sincere hope of administering some balm of
consolation, however slight, to the hearts of thousands mourning in
our own country and elsewhere, that we would now, avoiding, as far as
possible, technical terms and details, invite the reader’s attention
to the narrative of the Wreck of the _London_, first of all, however,
looking at the ship herself, her Captain, and her list of passengers.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER II.
THE IRON BEAUTY.
The _London_ was the property of Messrs. Money Wigram & Co., the
eminent shipbrokers at Blackwall, to the extent of fifty-six shares,
Messrs. Franklin and Charles Morgan being owners of two shares each,
and Captain Martin, her Master, of four. She was a screw steam-ship,
and was built at Blackwall in 1864; she was therefore a new vessel.
She had two decks, three masts, was ship-rigged, and clincher-built.
She was 1752 tons register, and her engines, by Messrs. Humphreys and
Tennant of Deptford, were constructed on the most improved modern
principles: they were 200 horse power. Her length, from the fore part
of the stem, under the bowsprit, to the aft side of the head of the
stern post, was about 276 ft., and her main breadth to outside of plank
was about 35 ft.; her depth in hold, from tonnage deck to ceiling at
midships, was 24 feet.
The materials used in the construction of the vessel were all of
the best quality, and the best workmanship was used. The materials
were an angle iron frame, iron beams, stringer plates and kelsons.
She was double rivetted from keel to gunwale, and all her fastenings
were sound and good. Her masts were iron, with the exception of her
topmasts, which were of wood. Those who superintended the progress of
her building from the laying of her keel until the day of launching,
have spoken in terms of the most unqualified approbation of her entire
construction; and those who officially examined her before she put
to sea, reported her in the best trim, and having all the equipments
necessary for the voyage. Sails, compasses, boats, anchors, rockets,
signal guns, life buoys, in short, all that she was required to carry
to be officially pronounced seaworthy, the _London_ did carry; and,
previous to her last voyage, after undergoing a series of examinations,
she was said to be as fine a vessel as ever left the Port of London,
and she presented to the eyes of her admirers a perfect picture of
combined elegance and strength. She was built according to Lloyd’s
rules and regulations, and was indeed of greater strength than Lloyd’s
rules required.
On account of the melancholy disaster connected with them, the reader’s
attention must briefly be directed to the engine-room of the vessel,
and the hatchway over it. The engine-room was 36 ft. in length, and
on either side of it, fore and aft, were bulkheads, to one of which
there was a communication from the engine-room. Over the engine-room
went the hatchway, the dimensions of which were about 12 ft. by 9 ft.
The hatchway was a saddle skylight in a wooden frame, having plate
glass half an inch thick, and covered with gratings of galvanized iron.
According to the judgment of those who surveyed the ship, the engine
hatch was deemed of sufficient strength to meet any weather.
Such, then, was the vessel, which was no sooner advertised for her
third voyage, than all her berths were taken, and a valuable cargo got
on board. The accommodation for fore-cabin passengers was on the main
deck before the main hatchway. In this part of the ship there was space
for 130 in hammocks and 128 in berths, thus providing accommodation
for 258 persons. The accommodation for after-cabin passengers amounted
to 132 berths and space for 10 hammocks; thus taking 142 passengers.
Altogether the ship would carry 400 persons. From the shipping bills
of the _London_ we find that her cargo consisted of about 347 tons of
dead weight, viz. iron plates and bars, sheet iron, lead and shot,
stone, blocks, iron nails, and screws, &c.; there were also 14 tons
of hardware and agricultural implements, all of which would not be
probably considered dead weight. The remaining portion of the ship’s
cargo, amounting to about 1000 tons, consisted of light goods, packages
of haberdashery, blankets, woollens, china, glass ware, drugs--in
short, just such a cargo as was generally exported to Australia: this
was stowed over the dead weight, and in the after part of the ship. The
cargo of bar and sheet iron was stowed from the after part of the main
hatchway to the after part of the fore hatchway. The value of the cargo
was estimated at 124,785_l._ 17_s._ 4_d._
The weight of the cargo was, of course, increased by the coals which
the _London_ carried. The quantity of coals supplied to the vessel was
as follows:--remaining on board from the previous voyage, 45 tons;
shipped in London, 460 tons; making in all 505 tons. Of this there was
expended on the voyage to Plymouth 47 tons, leaving 458 tons. There was
shipped at Plymouth 50 tons; so that the weight of engine coals in the
ship when she left Plymouth was 508 tons. Several tons, however, were
on deck, stowed in sacks round the steam-chest and engine-room hatch,
and, during the storm that broke over the vessel, the coals were thrown
out of their sacks, and at every lurch of the ship they were either
washed overboard, or sent rolling in knubs near the scuppers.
The master and officers of the ship were as follows:--John Bohun
Martin, Master; Robert Harris, first mate; Arthur William Ticehurst,
second mate; Arthur C. Angell, third mate; John Jones, first engineer;
John Greenhill, second engineer. The Master, officers, and crew were
in number 83, and there were 15 foreigners among the seamen. The
foreigners were all rated as able seamen, and amongst them were 3
Germans, 5 Swedes, 2 Russians, 2 Danes, 1 Hollander, and 1 Bavarian. It
does not appear that any of the foreigners had sailed in the _London_
before, but eleven out of the number had previously sailed on board of
British ships.
The number of passengers that went on board in London was 125, and
these were increased to 180 by the embarkation of 55 at Plymouth. That
the _London_ stood very high in the estimation of all sea-goers, and
that her seaworthiness was above the faintest suspicion, is evident
from the number of those who tried to secure a passage out in her,
but without success, and from the reports and declarations which all
those who were officially responsible for her good trim made respecting
her. After a certain time there was not a berth in her to be obtained
on any terms, though many were disappointed at not being allowed to
obtain them: there was not a word of dissatisfaction, however slight,
expressed by any official after the strictest examination had been
made. Captain McLean, the Emigration Officer, who acts under the
authority of the Emigration Commissioners, had, after careful survey
and inspection, certified the _London_ to be in safe trim, and in all
respects fit for her intended voyage to Melbourne. His words were, “I
consider her perfect in every way.”
It would have been unnecessary to have appeared even to insist upon
the good trim and seaworthiness of the _London_, had not the suspicion
gained ground that much more might have been done for the passengers’
safety than actually was done. Some have thought that more boats ought
to have been on board; but it should be borne in mind that she carried
one more than was actually required by law, and that no ship carries a
sufficient number of boats to contain all on board, unless the number
of passengers happens to be very slight.
With reference to the length, breadth, and depth of the ship, a
suggestion has been thrown out as to her narrowness of beam for
a vessel of such length; but this alleged disproportion was not
peculiar to the _London_: it exists in a much greater degree in some
of the finest ships afloat. The length, for example, of Her Majesty’s
transport ship _Himalaya_ is 340 ft., while her breadth is only 44 ft.
7 in. The same might be noticed in the case of other steam-ships.
We have no doubt that eventually, out of the terrible calamity that all
must truly deplore, greater safety will accrue to the thousands who
sail the seas, through greater care being taken of every means that
concerns such safety, and that immediately some plan will be devised
for securing the engine-room of steam-ships against inundation.
Meanwhile the matter will not be mended by any unfair criticism of the
ship’s sea-going qualities. It will only increase unavailing regrets,
to array what might have been against what actually is. It is a fact,
patent to all, that the _London_ enjoyed a first-rate reputation as a
fast ship, as a most comfortable one, and as having in her commander,
Captain John Bohun Martin, a gentleman of the highest repute, both for
his seamanship and many other admirable qualities.
All being in readiness, the _London_ left the East-India Docks on
the 29th of December 1865, laden as we have described, and bound for
Melbourne. Many were those who caught a view of her from various points
as she steamed majestically down the river, and fervently wished her
a prosperous voyage as they remembered that she contained on board
something far more precious than all her cargo, rich though it was.
At Gravesend she embarked several passengers, and lunch was prepared
on board, that those who were about to separate, they knew not for how
long, might enjoy as much of each other’s society as possible. It was a
pleasant party, notwithstanding the tears that started involuntarily
from many eyes as the hour of separation drew near. One affecting
incident deserves to be recorded. A gentleman was obliged to send his
little boy out, and remain behind himself. The child was to have gone
by a former ship, but he had prevailed upon his father to allow him to
wait for him; and now, after all, that dear father could not go until
the next ship, and the little one was going out under the care of a
friend. The father of the child was present, and watched the vessel
until she seemed to die away in the glory of the setting sun.
Innumerable, doubtless, now are the kind words and looks which are
recalled by mourning friends as so many fond souvenirs of that last
parting at Gravesend or at Plymouth. The sun was going down, and
tinging with lustre the Kentish hills, wintry though the weather
was, when the _London_ left Gravesend behind, and went on her way
to Plymouth. This very night, however, she encountered weather that
compelled her to bring up at the Nore, where she anchored and remained
during the whole of Sunday.
On Monday morning, the 1st of January, at daybreak, the anchor was
weighed, and the ship steamed down the channel, still against a head
wind, but making fair way. While passing outside the Isle of Wight the
wind increased to half a gale, and Captain Martin deemed it prudent
to put back and lay-to for the night in St. Helen’s Road. On Tuesday
morning, the 2nd, the _London_ proceeded through the Needles into the
open channel, the wind being still ahead, but light. On the Wednesday
the weather became so boisterous, and the indications of the barometer
so threatening, that, at about 2 o’clock P.M., the Trinity House
pilot, under whose care she was, decided on taking her to Spithead for
shelter. She anchored on the Motherbank at 4 P.M., and lay there until
daylight of the 4th, when she steamed out through the Needles passage,
the wind being then southwesterly.
She arrived off Plymouth at daylight of the 5th. A sad accident
occurred here. A pilot cutter put off a small boat, having on board the
pilot and his assistant, to bring the _London_ inside the breakwater.
When the boat was no more than a hundred yards from the _London_ a sea
capsized her, and both the pilot and his assistant were thrown into
the water. Captain Martin instantly ordered one of his lifeboats to be
lowered, and with great difficulty the assistant pilot was rescued,
but the pilot was drowned. About two hours after daylight of the 5th
the _London_ was anchored inside the breakwater, and prepared at once
to embark her passengers. Some of those passengers must now engage our
attention for a little while.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER III.
CAPTAIN MARTIN.
It will be long before Britons will hear the name of John Bohun Martin
without tears, as they think of his noble heroism amid circumstances
sufficiently appalling to rob the bravest of his self-possession; of
his disregard for his own personal safety while duty commanded him to
remain at a post of imminent danger; of his resolute perseverance in
doing all that the most skilful seaman could, to ride out the furious
gale. He was not new to the sea, for from his boyhood he had been
accustomed to cope with its storms and dangers, and had not risen to
the post of Master without passing through years of the most careful
training and discipline. He was born at Brompton, April 27th, 1819.
When yet young, having a love for the sea, he was entered as midshipman
in the East India ship _True Briton_, and made several voyages to
Madras, Bombay, and Calcutta. He remained in this ship four years, and
during this time he diligently studied navigation, particularly in its
scientific branches. In 1840, he was appointed third officer of the
_Southampton_, a vessel trading to the East Indies, and having in those
days some celebrity as a fast-sailing ship. He passed through twelve
additional years of service before he was entrusted with the command of
a vessel, but all who knew him spoke very highly of his diligence and
general character. He enjoyed the esteem and friendship of the Captains
under whom he served: among them were the well-known names of Beach,
and Wimble, and Nash.
[Illustration: J. B. Martin]
In the year 1852 he was appointed to the command of the _Essex_, and
continued her Master four years; at the end of which period he took
the command of the _Suffolk_. There is no doubt that he owed this
appointment entirely to his own merits as a navigator, and to the
confidence which his general character inspired. The post which the
Captain of the _Suffolk_ was expected creditably to fill, was in every
way an honourable, but, at the same time, a most responsible one. The
ship was one of Messrs. Wigram’s best and fastest-sailing clippers,
and was expressly designed for the Australian trade. In 1856 the
gold-digging mania in Australia was attracting great numbers of people
from our shores, and there was a sharp competition amongst ship-owners,
both for passengers and cargo. Fast vessels were much in demand,
for, to the travellers athirst for gold, a single day was deemed of
the greatest importance; and safe ships were of course sought after,
because of the precious cargo entrusted to their keeping.
Accordingly, during that period a number of fine vessels were built
and launched, and their owners were accustomed to start them at the
same time and for the same destination. The _Suffolk_, however, could
successfully compare with any vessel of her class, as she had been
expressly built for the Australian trade, and, regardless of cost, had
been fitted by her wealthy owners with all the equipments necessary
to render her one of the fastest and, at the same time, safest ships
afloat.
From a host of able and experienced navigators, who would have counted
it an honour to have assumed the command, Messrs. Wigram selected John
Bohun Martin to be Captain of the _Suffolk_, and never did owners make
a better choice. Many are still living who crossed the seas with him
during those days of well-nigh angry competition, and who will recall
with pleasure his practised skill, his genial, open disposition, his
gentlemanly bearing, and his studious care for the comfort of his
passengers in all the little details which have so much to do with the
making or marring of the pleasure of a long voyage. He was one of the
kindliest and most simple-hearted of men, pleased with very simple
things, delighting in riddles in which a very child would have seen
no mystery, and with all a sailor’s superstition about him; fond of
cats, and a great partiality for absolutely doing nothing at all when
he was not on board. With his attached relatives in Highbury Park he
would always spend his time when ashore, and go about with them here
and there; but he was perhaps never happier than when he could throw
himself back in the large easy chair, and read the advertisements of
the _Times_ and the advertisement especially of his own ship. Not tall,
and not short, and every inch the gentleman; with a fresh-coloured
face, light hair and blue eyes, and ambling motion, as if in any place
he wanted sea-room and must have it; with a fine cheery voice, and a
laugh of sterling quality; with a woman’s heart of tenderness within
the strength that seemed equal to any danger--as such, John Bohun
Martin will long be remembered.
One who knew him well, and who could not speak of his loss without
deep emotion, told the writer of many little acts of attention, which,
although too trivial to appear in print, are not without importance
when measured by the comfort they imparted, and by the void which their
absence would have created. His heart was truly in his profession,
and he had all the genuine sailor’s enthusiasm, and, we might almost
say, affection, for his ship, of whose equipments, beauty, and good
qualities he spoke with glowing pride. As he was never married, some
used laughingly to say that the Captain had no bride but his ship; and
certainly he had reason to be proud of the _Suffolk_ during the eight
years she was under his command.
Her first trip to Australia was performed with unusual rapidity. It
is true that, on this passage, she encountered very heavy weather:
a violent hurricane carried away her topmasts, and for a short
time crippled her; but the damage was quickly repaired at sea, and
notwithstanding this mishap, the _Suffolk_ arrived in Australia in an
unusually short time, and could bear to be favourably compared with
some of the finest vessels afloat, which had started at the same time.
Captain Martin had displayed such skill, and had shewn such energy in
circumstances that were fraught with much danger both to passengers and
cargo, that, upon his return to England, the mercantile portion of the
city of London presented him with a handsome testimonial as a mark of
their esteem. A sum of more than £500 was presented to him.
An interesting story stands connected with the first voyage of the
_Suffolk_. While she was in a dismantled condition, and her crew
were repairing damages, an American vessel, also bound from London
for Melbourne, spoke the _Suffolk_, and offered assistance. Captain
Martin courteously declined, whereupon the American Captain said he
would report the _Suffolk_ on his arrival at Melbourne. Captain Martin
replied, that he had better take care the _Suffolk_ did not report
_him_. The vessel proved that Captain Martin’s confidence in his ship,
and in his own seamanship, was not ill-founded. The American Captain
reached Melbourne after what he considered a rapid passage, and the day
after his arrival called on the agents of the _Suffolk_ and reported
having fell in with her. They thanked him, and asked would he like to
see Captain Martin, who was in the next room. The American Captain was
much surprised to find that the _Suffolk_ had arrived five days before
and reported him.
The _Suffolk_ now commenced a career of success which enabled her,
under the direction of her able commander, to take rank before all
other ships in the same trade. She made, during eight years he
commanded her, ten voyages to Australia and back; nor did she meet
with any mishap or casualty of any kind, save that to which we have
referred on her first trip. During these years Captain Martin not only
enjoyed the high esteem and friendship of her owners, but also of men
high in position both in England and Australia. It will be hard to
say, perhaps, in which country his loss will be the more deeply felt;
for, both at home and abroad, he numbered a multitude of attached and
admiring friends. He was a man pre-eminently fitted, it seems, to
infuse what was loving and kindly in others: not only among passengers,
but among those who were under his command, he is described as being
one of the most trueminded and unselfish of men. Mr. Greenhill, the
second engineer of the _London_, and one of the survivors, a man who,
without a tear, had faced all the horrors of the wreck, and all the
dangers of the raging sea for twenty-four hours, in an open boat,
fairly broke down, and sobbed like a child, as the thought of his last
interview with the gallant Captain presented itself to his mind.
Many of the passengers with him on former voyages can recall, not only
his gentlemanly tastes, but the extreme simplicity of his habits. While
he kept one of the best and most hospitable of tables for those on
board his ship, his own wants were of the most moderate description. On
last Christmas-day his moderation at the table of his relatives called
even for remark: he touched neither wine nor spirits throughout the
feast; indeed, generally speaking he was a man of the most abstemious
habits, and never touched spirits. The writer has heard from one most
likely best to know, that only once in his life did he taste a small
quantity of spirits, but the alcohol had such an effect upon him, that
he never repeated the experiment.
Who can tell what influence the fact of their captain’s abstemiousness,
and his taking nothing stronger than coffee during those dreadful days
and nights of suspense--who can tell the influence that such an example
may have exerted upon the minds of the crew? There have been many
painful instances of sailors, when it has been made known to them that
there is no hope, rushing to the spirit and wine stores, and meeting
death at last in a state of intoxication; but on board the _London_
there was nothing approaching to this. On the contrary, there was the
strictest sobriety among the crew and passengers, and we cannot help
believing that Captain Martin’s example had much to do with it.
Such is a brief sketch of the man whose name will, for many years,
henceforth be a household word for all that was enduring and brave amid
the most distracting perils, and for all that was gentle and endearing
among his relatives and friends.
He had served a tolerably long apprenticeship to the sea--his last
voyage was his thirteenth to Melbourne as commander--and his reputation
as Master of the _Suffolk_ had been so brilliant, that in the
forty-seventh year of his age, and at the end of 1864, he was appointed
Captain of the _London_, a vessel on which still greater care and cost
had been expended than on the _Suffolk_, which he had so successfully
navigated for upwards of eight years. The _London_ was built in
pursuance of the plan for steaming to Australia round the Southern
Cape. She made two very rapid voyages to Australia and back, and fully
justified all the cost and care expended upon her construction. Her
value, exclusive of cargo, was estimated at about 80,000_l._ Captain
Martin’s share in her may have been about 5000_l._
The _London_ was therefore on her third voyage, and, commanded by a
Captain whose good fortune had become almost proverbial, and belonging
to a firm who, in their time, had never lost a ship, she set sail upon
the voyage which was so soon terribly interrupted. But while she is
yet in sight of Plymouth, we must call the reader’s attention to one
passenger who has gone on board, whose name will live as long as there
are hearts to feel what is life-giving in the gospel, what is majestic
in faith, and what is sustaining in death. We need scarcely say that we
allude to the Rev. D. J. Draper.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER IV.
REV. DANIEL JAMES DRAPER.
Daniel James Draper, a name that will henceforth be as honourably and
widely known in England as it was previously in Australia, was born at
Wickham, near Fareham in Hampshire, on August 28th, 1810. He was of
respectable parentage, his father being the chief carpenter and builder
in the village. Although unacquainted with the saving knowledge of the
gospel, his parents were strictly moral in their lives, and regular
attendants upon the services of the parish church; consequently the
influences which surrounded the child’s opening years were favourable
to the formation and growth of virtuous habits.
He was brought, however, to religious decision by coming in contact
with some devoted Wesleyans in the neighbouring village of Fareham.
They had a chapel in the village, and in it the gospel was fervently
and faithfully preached; and we doubt not the building--for it still
exists--will henceforth be memorable on account of its being the place
in which Daniel James Draper first saw the necessity of repentance
towards God and faith towards the Lord Jesus Christ.
By the door of this chapel young Daniel was occasionally found
listening, and taking in stray words of warning and of wisdom, as John
Bunyan did before him from the lips of the pious women of Elstow, who
talked of holy things as they spun and knitted in the sunlight before
their cottage doors. Daniel would not enter, but again and again the
lad was seen listening at the chapel-doors, and marvelling perhaps,
like the tinker of Bedford, at what he heard. On one occasion he
received a sharp rebuke for neither coming in nor going away, but only
standing without, and the reproof so wounded him that he resolved never
to go near the place again.
But to this resolution he did not keep; and ere long, in this chapel,
the truth of God was applied to his youthful heart, and he felt very
deeply the need of salvation. Outwardly in his life, hitherto, there
had been nothing worthy of blame; his conduct had been strictly
upright and moral; but now his conscience revealed to him depths of
depravity and guilt, of whose very existence he had been unconscious,
and he saw the urgent necessity of receiving pardon, and of becoming
a partaker of the new birth. By repentance and faith he immediately
sought reconciliation with God, and it was not long before he became a
rejoicing believer in the Divine love and favour.
Very naturally, he now openly connected himself with those from whom
he had received so much spiritual benefit, and he became an enrolled
member of the Wesleyan Society. He had not reached twenty years of age,
when, although still beneath the roof of his kind, church-going father,
he took this decisive step. His resolution to connect himself with the
Methodists was not favourably received by his father, or by the members
of his family generally, but young Daniel held on his way; yet, as he
did this with all the good nature that was so marked a characteristic
of his maturer years, there is reason to believe that his youthful
profession did not expose him to any opposition that pressed heavily
upon the buoyancy of his spirits. He even in these early days became
well known for the zeal and interest he displayed in the salvation of
the lost and perishing.
[Illustration: D. J. Draper]
Ere long the Methodists determined to erect a chapel in the village
of Wickham, where he lived, and it is interesting to remember now,
that it was built by Daniel and his father, and that, in the course
of a short time, the son had the opportunity, in that very chapel, of
proclaiming to his father the unsearchable riches of Christ’s gospel.
He was about twenty years of age when he enjoyed this privilege, his
gifts and character having placed him amongst the Wesleyan local
preachers. Although it was still distasteful to some members of his
family, he eventually decided upon devoting himself to the work of the
ministry, and never was a decision, we believe, more in harmony with
the Divine will and more signally honoured by blessed results.
When about twenty-two years of age the young preacher removed to
Brecon, with its towering beacons, pleasant streams, and still
pleasanter societies of Christian people. Mr. Draper is still
remembered there with affection, and many can call to mind his
devotedness to Christ’s service, his love for the house of God,
his familiarity with the Scriptures, and his attachment to the
prayer-meeting. A favourite hymn with him in those days was the one in
which this verse occurs:
“Happy, if with my latest breath
I may but gasp his name,
Preach Him to all, and cry in death,
Behold, behold the Lamb!”
At Brecon he worked hard, both in the culture of his own mind as well
as in the service of his Divine Master. He read good and solid books,
and through his life long the substantial was always more attractive
to him than the glittering and merely artistic; he had no relish for
a literature that did not help him in his work, and all he acquired
in study he gave out in effort for the good of those amongst whom he
lived.
One can readily imagine his happy earnest life during those Brecon
days, of dangerous mountain journeys to the stations where he preached;
of open-air preaching by the river-side; of the welcome which the
warm-hearted Welsh people gave everywhere to the young preacher, we
can have no doubt. It was during this time that his sister, still
living at Brecon, received the truth in Christ, through her brother’s
instrumentality. He was destined, however, for a larger sphere of
usefulness than any which his own land could furnish, wide and urgent
as its claims were and are.
While he was at Brecon, his character and gifts had so generally
impressed several ministers and friends of his fitness for the regular
ministry, that he was recommended to the Wesleyan Conference as a
minister; and in 1834 he was appointed to the Chatteris Circuit, in
Cambridgeshire, and here the same energy and zeal characterized his
efforts.
At this time, the attention of various Missionary Societies was being
directed to the spiritual wants of those who were settling in the
colonies. Emigration was becoming more and more popular, and every
week multitudes were leaving our shores in search of the fabulous
fortunes which the colonies held up temptingly to their view. Gold, it
was hinted, would one day be found in any quantities by men who would
only have to dig for it; riches incalculable might be obtained in an
incredibly short space of time. The directors of Missionary Societies
were keenly alive to the danger that would accrue to the thousands
who were going away from the religious altars of their own land to
find themselves in a strange country, where the means of religious
instruction were of the most meagre description, and where there
would be the most terrible scope for the unbridled exercise of unholy
lusts and passions. They were therefore diligently on the look-out
for men of strong nerve and character, who could speak the right word
to their fellows, amid the fierce excitement which burned within
them;--men who could remind them of the hallowed association of their
old homes, consecrated as they had been by Sabbath and Bible, and, by
the remembrance of these, woo them to an interest in those things which
would be found important and lasting when all the gold of Australia
should have lost its value. The directors found many such men;--men
brave enough to remain poor, while thousands around them were becoming
rich; men who, in their strong might of godliness, stood like so many
breakwaters against the surging flood of sensuality, avarice, and
full-blown pride, which, in the course of time, threatened to submerge
the land.
Among the men to whom the attention of the Wesleyan Missionary
Committee was directed was Daniel James Draper, whom they were told was
well adapted for Missionary service.
Physically, he was a strong man; a man about the middle height in
stature, vigorous build, honest open face illumined by softly shining
eyes, and voice of full trumpet tone; a man capable of fatigue, one who
could endure hardness; decided, resolute, cheerful, and withal gentle
in every thing he did; liberal and catholic in his tendencies, ready
to learn and apt to teach; and above all, a man of strong faith and
devotion. When it was proposed to him to go abroad, he gave the matter
a brief but very earnest consideration, and at length he intimated his
willingness to obey the wish of the Committee, and at the same time to
be obedient to what he believed to be the call of duty and the will of
God. By this time he was a married man, his wife being the daughter
of Mr. Webb, of Fareham; and the young couple prepared to set out for
Australia. The young Missionary looked forward to his future field
of labour with the calmest confidence, as he thought of the Divine
presence accompanying him, and that he was neither going away from
his Saviour nor his work, because going to a distant land. He took an
affectionate farewell of his family and many friends, some of whom
accompanied him to the ship.
There are many yet living who can remember well the period of his
leaving England, and all the circumstances attending it. He went away
on the 13th October 1835, with the farewells of many devoted and noble
men ringing in his ears, whom, in the providence of God, he was never
destined to meet again. Jabez Bunting, among others, had given him
every encouragement, and had said to him, “Years of labour may be
before you, but success is certain: it must come, it must come!”--He
left his native shores with those words animating his heart:--“Success
is certain; _it must come, it must come_!” Never were words more
prophetic of the success which awaited the young Missionary’s efforts
in the far-off land to which he was going. The voyage out was a
dangerous one; the ship was overtaken by a violent storm, and at one
time the Captain had said, that in six hours they would all be at
the bottom; and thus shipwreck marked the beginning and close of his
Missionary life.
Mr. Draper arrived at Sydney early in the year 1836, and applied
himself to his work with all the enthusiasm and energy which were among
his main characteristics. He could indeed speak conscientiously of
“doing a week’s work,” for labour with him meant something, and was
far remote from pretence. On Sunday morning he preached in the city,
in the afternoon at a place fourteen miles off, and in the evening
again at Sydney. Every day and every evening of the week had their
engagements, which he perseveringly discharged; and while thus earnest
in his own sphere, he was on the most brotherly terms of communion with
the various branches of the church of Christ at Sydney and surrounding
towns. He could truly say,
“Be they many or few, my days are His due,
And they all are devoted to Him.”
A large amount of success attended labours thus constant and
conscientious; many, very many, will have reason to bless God for his
ministry at Sydney. It was not without drinking of sorrow’s bitter
cup, however, that he had to commence his work amid new scenes and
circumstances. He was early called upon to resign his young wife and
child into the arms of death, and to feel the grief of a widower among
strange people.
Subsequently his life for many years became subject to the changes
incident to Missionary life amongst members of the Wesleyan community,
and he was removed from station to station. It is gratifying to note,
however, that he left no station without also leaving behind him the
impress of a man whose one object it was to bring souls to God. In 1837
we see him pursuing his work at Paramatta; and from 1838 until 1841 at
Bathurst. He is at Sydney again from the last date until 1845. He goes
to Melbourne in 1846, and he was there for twelve months, during all
the excitement produced by the discovery of gold.
The following year, he removed to Adelaide, and continued there
until the year 1854. In 1855 he once more returned to Melbourne, and
travelled successively in the East circuit, the North and the South. He
was not without honour from his brethren in the ministry, who, in 1857,
chose him to be Secretary of the Australian Conference, and, in the
year 1859, elected him to fulfil the post of President. In addition to
his pastoral and other duties, we may also remark that he had deeply
interested himself, being a man of some means himself, in getting a
provision made for poor ministers and for the widows of such, and his
benevolent wishes were partly accomplished.
Such, then, is a brief outline of Daniel James Draper’s life, during a
period of about thirty years in Australia. The details of those years
of honourable service in the church of Christ will, if published,
reveal a life of no ordinary labour and no common success. But, if
never published to be read by the eye of man, we rejoice in thinking
that they are already known to Him who called him home, bade him rest
from his labours, and left them to follow him.
In the year 1865 Mr. Draper determined upon once more visiting his
native land, and the scenes of his childhood. It is said that the
love of Home was very strong in him, and that like a magnet it would
every now and then draw his heart towards his country and towards old
Fareham scenes and associations. His parents were now dead, and many
of the friends of his youth were gone, but still it would be good to
see the old place once more. He had married again, his wife being the
daughter of Mr. Shelley, one of the first Missionaries to Tahiti, who
sailed by the ship _Duff_ at the end of the last century. She was an
amiable and accomplished lady, worthy of her parentage and worthy
of her husband: we cannot accord her higher praise, or it should be
freely given. Having resolved to revisit the land of his birth, he was
not long in making all necessary arrangements, and accompanied by the
best wishes of friends at Melbourne, Mr. and Mrs. Draper sailed in
the _Great Britain_, and, after a voyage of sixty-four days, landed
at Liverpool May 20th of last year. He had come to this country not
only that his heart might be charmed by old and familiar scenes, and by
intercourse with friends, some of whose faces he had never seen, but
also in an official capacity. The Methodist Conference of Australia
had desired him to be their representative at the British Conference,
and his brethren in Australia had expressed themselves thus concerning
him:--“The Rev. Daniel J. Draper has our ready consent to visit the
land of our fathers. By our unanimous wish he is commended to you as
our representative in your next Conference. You need not be informed of
his valuable services to us; his intimate knowledge of our Connexion;
or the high esteem and confidence in which he is held. We believe
that from you he will receive a most affectionate welcome. He will be
followed by our prayers, that he may return to us in health, and in the
fulness of the blessing of Christ.”
The welcome which his brethren thus bespoke for him he everywhere
most cordially received. He preached in London, in Great Queen Street
Chapel; he was at the laying of the stone of the Wesleyan chapel now
being erected in the Caledonian Road; he preached in St. James’s
Hall, taking one afternoon the place of a minister who was unable to
conduct the special service there; and he preached, last of all, it is
believed, at Dalston, and afterwards administered the Lord’s Supper
with much solemnity.
As the representative of the Australian Conference, he attended the
British Conference at Birmingham, and, with the same object in view,
he visited Scotland and Ireland. At the sitting of the Conference in
Birmingham, his modesty, his manly sense, his quiet earnestness, and
his unaffected devotion called forth the general respect and admiration
of the ministerial fathers and brethren present. He also visited
some of the principal towns in England, and showed himself everywhere
the courteous, kindly, and cheerful man, with a sound judgment and
well-informed mind. As might have been expected, Fareham, the scene of
his childhood and of his first efforts to preach Christ, was among the
places he visited. He preached there, and had the grave of his parents
attended to and beautified.
We have met with those whose happiness it was to come in contact with
him during his stay in this country, and on all hands the testimony is,
that he was a man as much beloved for the rich human qualities of his
heart, as he was respected for his extensive practical knowledge of
life and the world. One remembers his hearty cheerful laugh, another
his telling anecdotes of Australian life, and another the simplicity
and fervour of his prayers. One tells of the trouble he took to find
out a young man in London, for whom he had been entrusted with a
message of kindness; all can tell of the deep tender devotion of the
man, untarnished by so much as a touch of fanaticism. One who was
brought into close communion with him for several hours, about two or
three weeks before he sailed in the _London_, has said:--
“I was much impressed by Mr. Draper’s conversation and bearing. He
had seen the world, and he talked like a man to whom men and things
were familiar. The experiences of life had evidently accomplished
their purpose in him. He was in command of himself; his judgment was
strong and well-balanced; his tone and manner altogether showed the
completeness, the symmetry, and the tender and genial perfection of one
who had laboured and suffered, and, in all, had grown wiser and better,
and more serviceable for his generation and mankind. His centre could
not be doubted. Christ and Christ’s work, these were conspicuously the
objects about which his whole thought and being revolved. Cheerful,
pleasant, courteous, alive to all that was going on around him, utterly
free from all sourness and affectation, he exhibited, with wonderful
attractiveness, the simplicity, purity, dignity, and high and holy aims
of the minister of Christ. His prayer at family worship I shall never
forget. As he offered it, I could not but remark how the little child
and ripe saint met in those natural, lowly, reverent, and calmly mighty
supplications. It was the prayer of a man, between whose spirit and
God there was no haze, and who was as sure of answer as if voices from
heaven told him he was heard.”
In November last he engaged a berth in the _London_. There were many
who would have prolonged his stay in this country if possible, but
Mr. Draper’s wish was, now that he had accomplished the end for which
he had come to England, to return to the land of his adoption. He was
advised to go through Egypt, and indulge himself with a few weeks
journey through the Sinaitic peninsula and Palestine, but he seemed
even anxious now to return to his work at Melbourne. In one of his last
conversations with the Hon. W. A. McArthur, who had expressed some
regret at the shortness of his stay in England, Mr. Draper said, “Well,
I could spend another year in England very pleasantly, and should like
to do so if my conscience would allow me, but I feel I must get back to
my work.”
“Little,” says Mr. McArthur, “did he then imagine that his work on
earth was so nearly finished, and that he was so soon to enter into
the joy of his Lord; but if ‘that life be long which answers life’s
great end,’ then Mr. Draper has lived a long life; and having had the
pleasure of his acquaintance upwards of twenty years, I can testify
that his was a joyous, happy life, and that much of his happiness
consisted in seeing others happy, and endeavouring to make them so.”
And now we are in the track of the devoted Missionary, as he prepares
to go on board the vessel which was soon to meet with a disaster
terrible beyond many of the most grievous in the annals of shipwreck.
Now that the agony is over, and the faithful one at rest, we are
disposed to see a meaning in that dream--the story comes to us on
good authority--which, thrice repeated, bade him resist all the
importunities of friends, and go by the _London, and no other way_, and
we would not have had him disobedient to the voice.
To a friend in Dublin he wrote, a few days before he sailed--“The
steamer (the _London_) is a fine new vessel, having gone out but twice.
Last time she did the voyage in sixty days. We join her (D. V.) at
Plymouth on the 2nd January, and she will leave that port at six P.M.
on that day. We trust in God our Heavenly Father for protection on our
way, and delight in the thought that we shall be remembered by kind
friends when they bow at the throne of grace.”
And so the good, genial, loving man went away from the land he loved,
notwithstanding the associations of thirty years life in another
country; from his Hampshire home which was as dear to him now, though
approaching sixty years of age, as when he played there as a little
child; and from the newly done-up grave, where the dust of his parents
was sleeping. At the bidding of his Master, into whose hands he had
committed his entire life, he had moved from station to station in
Australia. He had never doubted the will of God in the successive
changes which had marked his colonial life. He believed that there was
a work for him to do in every place to which he was called, though he
went to station after station, not knowing the things which were to
befall him there. Shall we doubt now that a voice in richest mercy
towards others, summoned him to a station in which he was to do his
last here for the Master who loved him, and who had need of him indeed
for an awful service, but on which hung a reward and a blessing more
glorious than heart can ever dream of?
We believe that he had only been a few days out when he felt this, and
summoned all his energies rightly to discharge the duty his Master had
called him to, to make his last, his best. Serenely committing himself
to the keeping of a merciful and faithful Creator, Daniel Draper
perhaps never thought of his own wants, until he awoke up in glory, and
found with sweet surprise that he had none, that he was in the likeness
of his God, that he had exchanged corruption for incorruption, that
mortality had been swallowed up in the deep, deep sea, and that around
him were not shipwrecked mariners in their dripping garments and looks
of agony, but faces bright with joy, and forms radiant with the glory
of immortality.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER V.
THE LIST OF PASSENGERS.
We must pause yet once more before accompanying the voyagers, that we
may know as many of them as we possibly can. Many we perhaps shall
never know: their very names are already forgotten; or if we turn
to look at them they tell of no history, and suggest no personal
remembrance. On such a day they were in the _London_, on such a day
they sank with her in the Bay of Biscay. This is all perhaps we shall
ever know concerning them.
A gentleman, who knew most of the passengers on board--and we give
an authorized list of the names in the Appendix--when he heard of
the catastrophe, remarked, that it would throw half Melbourne into
mourning. Doubtless it will, and into how many other places besides
will not the news of the catastrophe carry mourning? That one poor
Bavarian, those two hapless Danes, had they no friends in the world
to shed a tear over their watery grave? We dare not forget that each
one, as he embarked, carried within him, as it were, a very world of
varied interest, and that the hopes and sympathies of the unknown and
poor were as precious and beautiful to those who knew and loved them,
as were the plans and fortunes of the well-known and wealthy to the
circle of which they formed part. Every death we see recorded should
bring before us, in imagination, a bier, around which we see gathering
a collection of mourners, refusing to be comforted, because their loved
one is not. When we hear of a multitude of persons perishing in some
dread calamity like the present, we must remember that, while all died
together, each died alone, and will be mourned as if he alone had
died. More than two hundred individual worlds of thought and feeling,
of sympathy and design, went down beneath the ocean wave on that wild
stormy afternoon. Each of these worlds was perhaps the very sun of
other worlds, that will now receive a sudden and awful shock. Many men,
many poor men even, so live that they are centres of operations which,
although not brilliant in the world’s estimation, are of the deepest
possible interest to all concerned in them, and when they die, it is as
if the sun had been removed out of its place.
Nor do we forget, as we take up the list of passengers who went out
in the _London_, that every one had a separate and solemn history. We
do not forget that the issues of life were unspeakably important, not
only to all, but, in a very solemn manner, to each--to the poor Danish
sailor as well as to the Oxford scholar: we do not forget that to
each one on board, this question was proposed amid circumstances most
appalling, “What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and
lose his own soul, or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?”
We dare not forget the infinite value of every soul on board.
As, during the week which followed the mournful announcement that the
_London_ had foundered, we looked each day into the first column of
the _Times_, or as country newspapers reached us, we tried more and
more vividly to realize how much that list of the drowned meant, and
how names that we had read confusedly amidst a mass of others, became
eloquent with interest as we caught snatches here and there of the
life-history belonging to them. But we have no doubt that there was not
one on board whose history was completely destitute of interest and
charm, to some few at least, and that tears have been shed for many who
were nothing more than plain, humble people, getting an honourable
living by the sweat of their brow, and who will find no biographer to
tell the unassuming story of their lives. In the scores of shipwrecks
that occur every year, the worthy unknown should not be without the
sympathy, if they are shut out from the recognition which well-known
names immediately demand. Of late years, perhaps, if we may judge from
the newspapers, from letters which have reached us, and from interviews
with friends of the deceased, there has not often been a wreck in which
such a variety of characters had each to act a most solemn part. On
board the _London_ there was life beginning and life ending in the
aged and the young who were going out to the new land. There was the
competence which had come after arduous and successful toil, and there
was the poverty whose only capital lay hidden in its hopeful industry:
there was the lawyer and the divine, the merchant and the engineer, the
man of letters and the rude brawny artisan; the actor and the banker;
the experienced traveller and the humble villager from Cornwall.
Something of the varied life of the world at large lay mirrored in
that vessel that was preparing to steam away from Plymouth. The brief
notices of deaths which appeared day after day revealed dark depths of
sorrow, into which one was almost afraid to look,--tragedies enacted
full of horror unspeakable.
Let us glance for a moment at those of whom we know nothing beyond
their names, before proceeding to notice those whose position in
society and whose well-known histories speedily found biographers.
On the 11th inst., lost at sea, on board the steamship _London_, James
Thomas, Esq., late of London, formerly of Huddersfield, Yorkshire,
together with his beloved wife and two children; also Elizabeth
Hartley, for many years a most faithful servant of the above.
On the 11th inst., lost at sea, in the steamship _London_, aged
23, John Ruskin Richardson, youngest son of the late John George
Richardson, Esq., many years a resident of Sydney, New South Wales.
On the 11th instant, in the steamship _London_, in his twenty-first
year, Archibald, seventh son of Hellen Sandilands, of 56, Belsize-park,
and of the late John Sandilands of Conduit-street.
On the 11th instant, lost at sea, in the steamship _London_, on her
voyage to Melbourne, Gilbert Andrew Amos, Esq., Police Magistrate and
Warden, Heidelburg, Victoria, and third son of the late Andrew Amos,
Esq., of St. Ibbs, Hitchin, Herts; also, at the same time and place,
Isabella Dick Amos, wife of the above; also, at the same time and
place, Miss Catherine McLachlan, aged 22, sister of the said Isabella
Dick Amos.
On the 11th inst., in the steamship _London_, on her voyage to
Melbourne, Edward Youngman, Esq., aged 44, greatly beloved and
regretted by a numerous circle of friends.
On the 11th inst., lost at sea, in the steamship _London_, George F. P.
Urquhart, Esq., of Evandale, Auckland, New Zealand, and Mary Chauncy,
his wife, late of 11, Kensington-park Villas, W., daughter of the late
Major James Burke, of the 77th and 99th Regiments, of Arlaman, county
Limerick, Ireland.
These are only a few instances out of many that might be given; but now
to look at names, well known, take first the story of the Cumberland
emigrants.
It appears that no less than ten persons who went out in the _London_
were connected with Cumberland; one family, consisting of William
Graham, his wife, and three children, having gone from Carlisle. It is
a sad story--one which cannot be read even by strangers without the
most sorrowful feelings. William Graham, tailor, aged 51 years; Ellen,
his wife, 49 years; George, his son, 10 years; a daughter, 3 years;
a baby, aged 4 months; Thomas Graham, aged 40 years; Mary, his wife,
aged 27 years; David Graham, aged 37 years; David McVittie, aged 30
years, blacksmith, Newtown; and John Little, aged 30 years, fireman on
the North British Railway. The three Grahams were brothers. Thomas had
been out in Victoria twelve years, and David followed him four years
afterwards, and had since been engaged in business with him. Success
followed their farming operations, until they were enabled to purchase
an estate. In their prosperity the brothers were not unmindful of
their old home, and during the prevalence of distress at Longtown, in
consequence of the cotton famine, they generously sent over a sum of
60_l._ for the relief of the sufferers. They also sent a large amount
of relief to Manchester. In August last they came to England, with the
view of seeing their friends, and of purchasing implements. Upwards of
1000_l._ they laid out in this way, and sent out before them a variety
of implements for the farm. Thomas had another purpose to effect, also,
in visiting the old country, and that was to marry, and take home with
him a wife. He married Sarah Bruce, a native of Banff, and they were
married only a week before they left Carlisle to take up their berths
on board the _London_. Their brother, William Graham, agreed to go out
with them, they paying his passage, and he took with him his family, as
stated above. Little and McVittie, friends of the Grahams, were also
going out with them. Both men were in the employ of the North British
Railway Company, Little as fireman, and McVittie as a blacksmith.
Little was a remarkably steady and amiable young man. He was the eldest
of a family of eleven children, and is survived both by his father
and mother. The whole party of emigrants left for London on the 27th
of December last, and a large number of friends assembled to bid them
farewell, and three hearty cheers were given as the train started. Such
were ten at least who had each a history inestimably precious to a wide
circle of friends at home and abroad, and, simple though these people
were by the side of more brilliant names, there is a quiet naturalness
about their story that will appeal to many hearts.
On board the _London_ also was Mr. Henry John Dennis, a gentleman
of some note in Australia and America. A few years ago Mr. Dennis
narrowly escaped shipwreck in the _Marco Polo_, a vessel that in speed
and celebrity used to compete with the _Suffolk_ when Captain Martin
commanded her. In the middle of the night, in the Southern Ocean,
the _Marco Polo_ struck an iceberg; but on that terrible occasion
Mr. Dennis had been of some service. He had since been a very active
colonial explorer, and had for many months been engaged in a hazardous
hunting expedition in the wild regions and among the savage tribes
which lie at the back of Port Natal. He is understood also to be the
first, if not the only Englishman who has grown cotton in the Southern
States of the American Union by free negro labour. Starting for
America while the civil war was at its height, he took a plantation
on the Mississippi, and though he had to cope with plundering bands
of guerillas and with many other dangers and inconveniences, he
nevertheless succeeded in raising a crop, and only retired when he
found that in the then existing state of things it was utterly
impossible to grow cotton without great pecuniary loss as well as
personal risk.
There was a clergyman on board, distinguished for his many and varied
gifts, and who was beloved by a very wide circle of friends, both
in England and Australia--the Rev. Dr. Woolley, to whose worth and
talents Dean Stanley and Sir Charles Nicholson, formerly Speaker of the
Legislative Assembly of New-South Wales, have paid the very warmest
tribute, as, indeed, have a host of the scholarly and worthy of the
land. Dr. Woolley was in the 49th year of his age, and his course in
life had been one of usefulness and honour in the branches of learning
to which he had specially devoted himself. His life had been that of
the Professor rather than of the working clergyman. He matriculated at
University College, London, but subsequently removed to Oxford, where
in 1836 he took a first-class degree in classics. On leaving Oxford,
he became successively Head Master of Rossal School, in Lancashire,
and of King Edward’s Grammar School at Norwich. This last office he
relinquished on obtaining the appointment of Professor in 1852, in
the University of Sydney, which had just been incorporated under an
Act of the local Legislature. His duties in this new position were
most important, as upon him devolved the organization and successful
working, under circumstances of great difficulty, of a great national
institution. But he threw himself into the work cast upon him with
enthusiasm, and laboured with untiring zeal and energy. He succeeded
in a very marked degree in winning to himself and moulding the
taste and character of the young men placed under his control. The
gentleness--almost feminine--of his nature, the warmth and generosity
of his heart, his distinguished attainments as a scholar, and the
eloquence and earnestness with which he was wont to impart instruction,
not only to the Undergraduates of the University, but to the members
of various popular institutions with which he was connected, have
been tenderly spoken of, and will be long remembered by hundreds of
persons. He came to this country a few months ago for rest, and very
pleasant to himself, and to those who knew him, was his brief sojourn
here. From many, as we at least read the matter, there came tempting
inducements to settle down in England among associations more consonant
with a refined taste than those of colonial life; but with him, too,
the mainspring of life was obedience to duty, and he must return to the
work waiting to be done by him. He had been exceedingly happy here. A
writer in _Macmillan_ says that one who saw him during his latest days
in England writes of him thus:--
“His tastes were those of a refined and cultivated man. He told me that
his stay here, mixing in the society of men of letters, had been a
delight to him beyond what I, who was always in it, could conceive. Had
he met Tennyson and Browning, nothing could be more to his taste than
the companionship of such men, with whom his own qualities made him a
most welcome guest. He had in perfection the bright, gentle, cheery
manner that characterizes the best Oxford man. In stature he was small,
but his face most pleasant to look at. He was very active in all sorts
of societies and institutions for the benefit of working-men and men
engaged in business. His age must have been about fifty, but he looked
younger. He had a wife and six children waiting his return to Sydney,
whither, as I perceived, he was determined to go, for he felt his work
lay there, and his duty. He went back to fulfil his duty, and has
fulfilled it. He is remembered by many whom he left in England as the
good man--John Woolley.”
There was another passenger of celebrity on board--Mr. G. V. Brooke.
He was of respectable family, and some members of it were highly
distinguished in literature. In early boyhood he had been a pupil of
Lovel Edgeworth, the brother of Maria Edgeworth. His father, who was
an architect, had other views concerning him than those which the son
lived to fulfil. He was educated with a view to the bar; but while
quite young he was thrown amongst those who were devoted to private
theatricals, and he was so captivated that he relinquished his law
studies and applied himself to theatrical pursuits. He met with some
successes, and many reverses, particularly in Australia. Of all places
in the world, after his many ups and downs in life, on the morning of
the 6th January he was on board the _London_, and his sister was with
him.
[Illustration: G. V. BROOKE.]
We had written thus far when there came a note from a surgeon, saying
that if we would call in a street near the General Post Office,
information of an interesting character awaited us. It concerned the
loss of those of whose death there had been no advertisement--Mr. and
Mrs. Clarke, with their son, a young man of twenty-one years. The
mourning garments, the pale, sunken look of woe, the open photographic
album, near to which were black-bordered notes, told at once of some
one lost, and of tears shed, of which few had taken notice. Mr. Clarke
had gone to Melbourne more than thirty years before, accompanied by his
wife and two or three children. He had prospered there as a saddler,
and as the years went by, he was enabled to bring up a large family in
every comfort and respectability. There was born to him a son, however,
who unhappily, through a diseased bone, had a useless arm. The sight
of the youth’s sufferings was always painful to his parents, and so
it came to pass that last year the aged people, as they were now,
determined to come to England to obtain the best advice. Money was
no object, and they reckoned that for about £1500 the three might come
and go, and perhaps the son be cured. They came, enjoyed themselves
immensely, heard preachers of whom they had often heard but never
seen; went about here and there; and, best of all, under an operation
performed by Sir W. Ferguson, the son’s arm was cured, and made whole
as the other. Mr. Clarke would have taken back with him a brave little
boy, around whose neck we saw the arm of a mother fondly thrown, as
if she would thus keep the child safe. He would have made the boy’s
fortune his care out in Melbourne; but the mother kept her child;
and Mr. and Mrs. Clarke, and their son, rejoicing in his recovered
strength, went on board the _London_, to be met on the other side of
the sea, as they hoped, by their children and grandchildren. Before
sailing, the father wrote a letter, the last words of which were a
prayer, and it was with inexpressible comfort, in the midst of grief,
that the relatives of the family reflected that the three were not
unprepared to die.
Week by week will reveal more and more of the preciousness of those on
board to those who now mourn their loss. But the story will never be
completely told. Numbers will be mourned in secret, of whom we shall
know nothing until the sea gives up its dead.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER VI.
THREE DAYS AND NIGHTS OF DANGER ON THE DEEP.
With her precious freight of human life on board, the _London_ left
Plymouth in the very early morning of Saturday, January the 6th. A
sailor’s superstition had been respected, some would say, and the
anchor had not been hove up until a short time after midnight of
Friday; so that it was really on a Saturday that the vessel set sail.
The weather was then moderate, the wind blowing lightly from the
northward, and little or no sea running. The breakwater was cleared,
and the ship proceeded on her voyage at the speed of about eight knots
an hour: she was going under steam with head to wind.
They sighted the Lizard lights about four hours after they set sail,
and the weather then was calm and fine. But an hour later, at six
o’clock on Saturday morning, the weather changed: the wind veered to
the westward, and the sea began to rise. It is important to bear this
in mind, because of the criticism which has been applied to Captain
Martin leaving Plymouth when the barometer was indicating stormy
weather. One after another of competent witnesses examined affirmed
most positively that the barometer was so shifty that it could not be
relied upon, and that the weather was as favourable as any one could
desire for going to sea. And even if the weather had been threatening,
to have asked Captain Martin to put back on this account, would have
been asking him to throw away the reputation which it had taken years
to acquire, and to have acted in opposition to the practice of the most
experienced seamen of the day.
On Sunday, January 7th, the wind, which was still westerly, increased
in violence, and there were strong squalls and a heavy sea, in which
the ship rolled considerably. Religious service was of course held on
board, and it was conducted by Dr. Woolley and Mr. Draper.
It was not until Monday, the 8th, that the passengers began to feel
anxious concerning their safety, and to regard their position as
becoming every hour more and more perilous. During Sunday night it was
evident that a gale might be expected, and on Monday morning it was
blowing with great violence. The Captain ordered the engines to be
stopped and sail to be made on the ship. Towards noon the wind appeared
to lull somewhat, and in the evening the weather had so improved that
all sails were taken in, and the engines again set in motion. The
weather, however, soon changed again, and the gale seemed only to have
lulled to gain new strength; for between eight and twelve of Monday
night the spanker of the ship was blown away by its violence.
Captain Martin and some of the crew, amongst whom was the gallant
John King, one of the survivors, endeavoured to get the spanker in,
and at last succeeded. It was a night of raving wind and rolling sea,
and we hear of sleepless passengers below in their cabins reading the
Bible to each other, and offering solemn prayer to Him who rode upon
the wings of the wind. All that night Captain Martin was here and
there throughout the ship--indeed he was to sleep no more until the
dreadful afternoon of Thursday--and all the orders which he gave were
speedily executed by the crew. The wind was blowing a full gale, and
mizenstaysail and forestaysail and maintopmaststaysail and reefspanker
had been set.
On Tuesday morning, January 9th, commenced that dismal series of
disasters under which eventually the noble vessel succumbed. The
wind was blowing a hard gale from the S.W. and there was a very heavy
sea. The ship was now making little more than two knots an hour,
as her speed had been reduced, and she was going through the water
under steam only. She pitched tremendously, and every now and then
whole seas dashed over her bows. Such was the state of things early
on Tuesday morning; but the passengers below as yet only heard the
fury of the storm without; they were safe and dry in their cabins:
the fires burnt brightly in the engine-room, and the two engineers,
Messrs. Jones and Greenhill, surveyed with satisfaction the strong
hatchway which protected their engines from the seas which broke over
the vessel. Bearing in mind what we have said concerning the size of
the engine-room, the reader will be prepared to learn, that if that
engine-room were flooded with water, the ship would undoubtedly sink.
There needed no other accident than this to secure the shipwreck of
the vessel. The officers on deck could comfort themselves with the
assurance, that though exposed themselves to the storm and heavy seas
which broke over the ship, their passengers were safe, and they would,
by the help of their good engines below, slowly plough their way
through waves that looked as if they would roll mountains high.
At seven o’clock on Tuesday morning an unusually heavy sea broke
into the lifeboat stowed on the port-quarter, filling the boat and
carrying her away, with all her gear. This was deemed a most melancholy
occurrence, and a series of minor disasters followed. At nine o’clock
the ship gave a tremendous pitch forward, as if she were about to
bury herself, prow foremost, and in a moment afterwards the sea, with
a force that made the hardiest seaman quail, tore away the jib and
flying jibboom, which carried away with them the foretopmast, the
foretopgallantmast, foreroyalmast, and mainroyalmast, with all their
spars and sails, and other gear. Portions of the wreck fell clattering
on the deck, or hung suspended by the rigging: the topmast was swinging
in the rigging and the foreroyalmast was hanging down and swinging with
the motion of the ship. The jibboom was lying on the starboard bow,
right over in the water!
Thus, at one fell stroke, the beautiful vessel had been dismantled,
and received damage which, in the storm that then raged, it was next
to impossible to repair. Captain Martin was cool and self-possessed
in the midst of the untoward occurrence, and efforts were at once put
forth to remedy the disaster, but to little purpose. The masts which
had fallen on board, and which hung suspended by their rigging, and
the jibboom, which was fastened to the ship by stays of wire, could
not be got clear; and thus it was, with the ship in this dismantled
condition, with the gale still increasing in fury, and with a sea that
kept constantly washing all forward, that the passengers and crew of
the _London_ steamed slowly ahead through the awful night.
There was little sleep on board that night, we may be sure. The devoted
Mr. Draper had already begun the work of directing the minds of the
passengers to Him who had promised to be a Refuge from the storm, a
very present help in every time of need, and already we hear of earnest
prayers offered for all needful grace to support the bitterness of the
calamity. We know now, and it is a great light shining in the midst of
the darkness, that there were many Christians on board, who, in the
hour of peril, would be enabled to point the distressed to the sinner’s
Friend. We can scarcely go in any direction throughout the metropolis
without hearing the glad tidings of one, and another, and another,
being on board, who would not be afraid to die, and who would be sure
to be of use to shrinking and, perhaps, unprepared fellow-sufferers.
And in the cabins below it is very beautiful to hear the voice of
supplication mingled with the din and war of the tempest. We hear at
least of a few, who, in the second cabin, were engaged throughout the
night in reading the Bible by turns. Mrs. Price, Mrs. Wood, who had
with her her husband and five children, Miss Brooker, and Miss Marks,
are among those thus engaged. Throughout the vessel the feeling has
gone forth that the passengers may never reach land, and may at any
moment be called upon to exchange time for eternity. Thus the long
dreary night of Tuesday wore away, and Wednesday came, bringing with it
disasters that quickly rivalled each other in horror.
Early on Wednesday morning, about three o’clock, Captain Martin ordered
the engineers to get up full speed, as he intended to put the ship
about and run for Plymouth. The gale continued blowing without the
least abatement, but in the course of a little while the dismantled
vessel was once more homeward bound. Mizenstaysails were set, and she
steamed N.N.E. at the rate of five or six knots an hour.
The chief engineer, Mr. Jones, is obliged to give up through sickness,
and now it is Mr. Greenhill, the second engineer, who has to carry
out the Captain’s orders in regard to the engines throughout the day.
The engines are in perfect working order, and although the vessel has
shipped a little water through the number of seas that have broken over
her, there is none in the engine-room, and the brass-bound and grated
skylight above is perfectly safe. There is not a crack in it that he
can see, and, with the engines revolving more quickly now, away the
vessel is steaming, head to the wind.
In the course of the morning the damage of the preceding day was
repaired, so far as securing the masts, which, up to this time, had
been swinging about aloft, and the wreck of the jibbooms cleared away
from the ship. At noon an observation was taken, and indicated their
position to be lat. 46·48 N., and long. 8·7 W., viz. in the Bay of
Biscay, and about 200 miles S.W. of Land’s End. As they hoped to make
Plymouth soon, and to refit there before proceeding on their voyage, no
repairs were attempted, save making the wreck as trim as they could.
Meanwhile, we have to say again, the fury of the storm increased, and
the waves were running mountains high. It was six o’clock on Wednesday
evening, and their course was N.N.E., when the wind increased into a
perfect hurricane from N.W., the squalls blowing with a degree of fury
seldom paralleled. The vessel rolled and pitched fearfully, shipping
every now and then large quantities of water. Suddenly the fore and
mainstaysails were violently torn away by the squall, and went flying
away into the darkness. Shortly afterwards, the lifeboat and cutter,
which were stowed away on the starboard side, were stove in and carried
away by the violence of the sea. As the night deepened, and nine
o’clock approached, the ship was in a hurricane, the like of which the
oldest seaman on board had never seen!
The engines had been stopped, and the Captain was relying now upon his
sails to bear him through, but they were blown to shreds and ribbons,
and the once stately vessel, so strongly built and so perfectly
equipped, was now the mere sport of winds and waves. In a few hours
those on board had, if the storm continued, received an irreparable
loss, for three out of seven of their boats had been carried away by
the sea. Their two lifeboats, that would have held so many, and would
have perhaps taken them in safety to land, were gone. Nevertheless,
Captain Martin was not the man to indulge in feelings of despondency,
or to waste time in useless regrets. A solemn responsibility rested
upon him, and we believe he was true to it if man ever was.
“Set the engines going, and keep her head N.N.E.”
“Ay! ay! Sir.”
And on through the wild dark night and surging sea the poor _London_
drove; when disaster upon disaster fell upon her with crushing weight.
At half-past ten a terrific sea broke over the port-gangway, and what
the sailors graphically called a mountain of water descended almost
perpendicularly over the hatch of the engine-room. That hatch, as we
have already said, was deemed strong enough to keep out any sea that
might ever dash over a ship. Altogether it weighed about a ton and a
half, and it measured 12 ft. by 9 ft. It was glazed with plate glass
half an inch thick, and there were gratings of galvanized iron over the
glass, and the bars were three-quarters of an inch thick. Yet, although
thus strongly built and brass fastened, that mass of water, which
descended almost perpendicularly, dashed through the hatchway, down
which it threw violently two men, and, literally smashing every thing
in its way, immediately flooded the engine-room with water.
Mr. Jones, the first engineer, ill though he was, immediately ran
from his berth, and descended to the engine-room, where he found Mr.
Greenhill standing by the engines. The engine-room was flooding, and
a body of water was passing down the hatchway. The hatchway had been
swept clean away, and there was now nothing to prevent the rushing in
of the sea. Of all calamities, this was the one most to be deplored:
the ship’s carpenter could do nothing in the way of repairing, and yet
down they must all go, and that speedily, unless something was done,
for at every sea the vessel shipped, the water in the engine-room was
rising higher and higher.
To remedy the evil as far as possible, tarpaulins and canvas were
brought, which the men tried to nail down over the aperture. The men
also tried to put the flying jibboom over the aperture, but such a
hurricane was blowing, that both the canvas and the men who were trying
to batten it down were washed away. The pumps were set to work, and
passengers and crew worked incessantly, some at the pumps, and some
in baling out the water, which, alas! came pouring in, and which,
notwithstanding all their efforts, rose higher and higher in the
engine-room. Nor could they by any means cover over the opening which
the sea had made by sweeping away the hatchway: tarpaulins, blankets,
sails, mattresses, whatever they could find, they heaped upon ladders,
pieces of wood, and spars, which they had thrown across as supports;
but the storm and sea mocked their best endeavours; and, alas! about
a quarter past eleven o’clock that night the waters had risen to such
a height that the fires were out, and consequently the engines ceased
working. There was already about five feet of water in the engine-room,
and the ship was labouring heavily in the trough of the sea. Her
condition, therefore, was altogether hopeless. In consequence of the
engines stopping she could no longer hope to steam through the gale;
the engineers could work no longer, and, for the same reason, the large
bilge-pumps were rendered useless.
Mr. Greenhill had the painful task of making known to Captain Martin
the saddening intelligence that his fires were out; and that no more
help was to be looked for from the engines. The Captain received the
news with perfect calmness. He said he was not surprised at it; that
he had expected it; and immediately ordered the maintopsail to be
set, in the hope of keeping his ship before the wind. Vain attempt.
The gale tore it to ribbons, and in the trough of the sea the vessel
laboured through the night, rolling gunwale under. Well, indeed, might
the Captain say that night, “You may say your prayers, boys.” It was
a seaman’s way of saying, “You must prepare for the worst: at any
moment we may go down.” It was indeed a time for prayer, and we believe
that, during that night, of which we shall have a little more to say
in another chapter, such prayers were offered as were perhaps never
offered in sinking ship before.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER VII.
LAST STRUGGLES.
The morning of Thursday, January 11th, at length came to the passengers
and crew of the foundering _London_. There had been, we may be sure, no
attempts at seeking rest among the passengers below. On the deck all
night the pumps had been going, and every one was doing his utmost to
second the good Captain’s efforts to save the ship, if possible. The
bravest had little hope of this, but still every man worked as if all
depended upon his efforts. The universal testimony is, that passengers
and crew did what they could. Some of the crew, it is true, had to seek
their berths through sickness or terror; but there was no lack of hands
to work the ship.
There was no abatement in the fury of the storm; the wind raved as
violently and the waves thundered as fiercely as ever against the ship,
and there was no change in her monotonous roll in the trough of the
sea. It was the morning of that fearful night, it may be remembered,
when more than thirty vessels were driven on shore in Torbay. The names
of some of the passengers of the _London_ who strenuously exerted
themselves have been made known, although they have not come back
to hear of the enthusiasm which their gallantry has inspired in the
hearts of thousands. Dr. Woolley worked with the rest at the pumps, and
encouraged the passengers to do their best: he, though so delicate, and
all unused to manual labour, did his work with the bravest and best of
them.
The exertions of Mr. Brooke, if possible, surpassed those of any on
board. At times he went into the saloon, where his sister was among the
ladies, and where, in frightened groups, the passengers were engaged
in prayer, in reading their Bible, or in listening to the instructions
and consolations of Mr. Draper. The tragedian would help for a little
while in baling out the water, and then he would away again to the
deck to work at the pumps, and he continued so doing until even he had
to relinquish all hope. Barefooted and bareheaded, attired only in a
Crimean shirt and trousers, now in the cabin--now on deck--he forms a
picture of dauntless heroism that will long live tenderly in the memory
of his friends.
It was about four o’clock on Thursday morning when a new disaster
occurred, which, added to the sweeping away of the hatchway on the
preceding day, may be said to have sealed the fate of the vessel. A
tremendous sea struck the stern of the ship, and stove in four of the
windows of the upper or poop cabin. Through the breaches thus made the
water rushed in, and the ’tween decks were soon flooded. The carpenter
was immediately set to work to remedy the disaster, and he found that
the force of the sea had driven back the strong shutters of the dead
lights, and broken the glass of the sashes inside, and the sea was
pouring in in great quantities. He endeavoured to secure the ports by
shoring them with a spar placed against a post on the main deck, so
as to make the shutters once more firm, although the sashes had been
driven in. The stratagem succeeded for a little while, but as the ship
got deeper in the water the sea drove the ports entirely in, and soon
rushed about unchecked through the upper and into the lower saloon.
Meanwhile, on deck the efforts of both passengers and crew were
directed more earnestly than ever towards keeping the gaping aperture
over the engine-room covered. The ship was fast settling down, and
was more than half full of water. Captain Martin went down with Mr.
Greenhill into the room, and, upon the engineer taking soundings it
was found that there were fourteen feet of water, the whole of which
had come through the hatchway, notwithstanding all the efforts made to
keep it out. There was also a considerable increase of water between
the decks. Every time the ship lurched in the trough of the sea she
was taking in tons of water over the gunwale. Captain Martin did not
lose heart, but at the same time told Mr. Greenhill that he had now
little hope of saving the ship. Nevertheless, upon going on deck, after
this examination of the engine-room, he cried to those who were baling
out water, “Men! put down the buckets and come and try to secure the
engine-room hatch, for that is the only chance to save the ship. Secure
that, and we may keep her up!”
Instantly the Captain’s order was obeyed, and once more the men tried
to nail down sails and tarpauling, which the sea, however, washed
ruthlessly away, or flapped down into the engine-room. Among those who
laboured hard at this work, useless though it too soon proved, was John
King, who had been hurt the preceding evening by his fall overboard.
The violence of the sea and storm was such, that men were driven hither
and thither by it on deck, knocked against casks and pieces of the
wreck, and were in imminent danger of being washed overboard, as King
had been. But there was no relaxation of effort. Mr. Angell was at the
donkey-engine, Dr. Woolley, Mr. Brooke, and other passengers at the
pumps, and many were engaged in vigorously baling out the water from
the lower saloon, through the upper saloon, and over the upper deck.
All efforts, however, were unavailing. Mr. Wilson, one of the
survivors, said, that as it was getting light, he asked Captain Martin
if he should go on baling out the water, to which the Captain replied,
“You may, but I think it is of no use.”
About eight o’clock the carpenter received orders to see to the boats!
On board now there were the port cutter, the two pinnaces, and the
jolly boat, for two lifeboats and the starboard cutter had been washed
away previously. All the boats were immediately plugged and made ready
for sea, and bread and water put in them. A little before ten o’clock
the starboard pinnace, which was of iron, and which would hold fifty
persons, was got ready for lowering, and John King with five others
got into her. Being lowered too fast, however, she swamped, and sunk
headforemost: the men were of course thrown with great violence into
the sea. After having been twelve seconds under water, King was washed
up to the rail of the ship, and got on board, and the rest also were
saved.
Shortly after the foundering of the starboard pinnace, the Captain
entered the saloon, and said, by way of answer to the mute appeal made
to him on every face, “Ladies, there is no hope for us, I am afraid.
Nothing short of a miracle can save us.” These were his exact words,
and Mr. Draper calmly replied to them by saying, “Then let us pray!”
At two o’clock on that wild, stormy afternoon the vessel was sinking
rapidly, and the channels were nearly level with the water. Captain
Martin now told Mr. Greenhill, that as the port cutter was ready for
lowering, he had better take the command of her, and of as many as it
would hold. As for himself, he had no thought of leaving his ship;
he would sink with the _London_ and her doomed passengers. The crew,
as they remembered the fate of the starboard pinnace a few hours
previously, were at first not over-anxious to set about lowering the
port cutter, and, for reasons that will appear in the next chapter, the
passengers generally made no attempts to escape.
John King, with a few other seamen, had already provisioned the cutter
with a bag of bread, a beaker with about a quart of fresh water, and a
few bottles of brandy, which a bright and intelligent young midshipman,
Walter Edwards, greatly to his credit, as Mr. Traill the magistrate
observed at the Board of Trade Inquiry, managed to conceal from the
men after he had got on board. A few here and there could not see an
attempt being made to escape, notwithstanding its seemingly hopeless
character, without being desirous of joining in it. This lad, who was
on his first voyage out, said, that after the starboard pinnace had
been swamped, he heard Captain Martin earnestly dissuading a lady, Mrs.
Owen, from going in the port-cutter boat. He himself was talking with
Mrs. Owen when the Captain came up to where they were. She told him she
intended going, and had asked one of the men to take care of her and
her little child, and the man had promised to do so. Captain Martin, as
if he knew of the spirits that had been put on board the port cutter,
told her earnestly that there might be drunken seamen in the cutter,
and that she would only be exposing herself, perhaps, to a painful and
lingering death.
“Captain Martin,” said the lad gently, “was quite calm and composed.
The only time I saw him give way was when he told Mrs. Owen that there
was no use in her going into the boat: his feelings then quite overcame
him, and he cried. All the officers of the ship worked well. The
sailing-master, Mr. Harris, was working all day on Monday and Tuesday
with his coat off, and Mr. Grant also behaved exceedingly well. They
were all attentive to duty, and had not lost their mind up to the time
when the ship went down. All the passengers, you could see, had death
in their faces.”
“And what were your own thoughts, you brave young Walter?”
“I felt for leaving my mother, but I did not feel any fear about going
down. I felt some fear on the Monday.”
“But you got accustomed to it, I suppose?”
“Yes.”
“What else do you remember?”
“About twenty persons stood watching King and Daniell getting the port
cutter ready; but King and Daniell induced them to go and try to launch
the port pinnace. Both went to help them to do so, but as soon as they
got them engaged at the pinnace, King and Daniell slipped away, and
were busy about their own boat again.”
“And how did you get into the boat?”
“I was in the mizen-shrouds. I asked King and Daniell would they allow
me in, and they said ‘Yes,’ and bid me jump. I did so. The fall was
about ten feet. Another midshipman was in the next shrouds, but he was
afraid to jump, and he went down with the ship.”
[Illustration]
CHAPTER VIII.
THE ANCHOR WITHIN THE VEIL.
Why was it, it is time to ask, that there was not a greater clamouring
after escape, both among passengers and crew? Why was it, that when all
on board knew that the ship was doomed, and that at any moment the deep
might open to swallow them up, there was not that wild delirium and
agony of despair which we have been accustomed to see associated with
such considerations? To understand this in some measure, we must take
a glance at what had transpired in the saloon of the vessel from the
commencement of the voyage.
The saloon of the _London_ had been constructed with the strictest
regard to the comfort of her first-class passengers; nor had their
tastes been disregarded if they had any admiration of what was elegant
and chaste in workmanship. Here there would be throughout the voyage
a common meeting ground for members of the same class amongst ladies
and gentlemen; and here religious services would be conducted on the
Sabbath, at which all on board might be present.
On the first Sunday out there was a religious service, and Dr. Woolley
associated with Mr. Draper in conducting it. Both these gentlemen were
known to each other, and, although belonging to different sections of
the church, had many friends in common, by some of whom, experienced in
similar voyages, the steamer in which they were to return to Australia,
and the cabins they had taken, were inspected and approved. From Mr.
Draper’s known characteristics it may be affirmed as a certainty,
although as yet no record of it has reached us, that as, on their very
first Sunday out, they encountered heavy weather,--a strong wind
having sprung up and a heavy sea,--he would find matter for religious
instruction applicable to their circumstances. And we cannot tell how
largely the divine blessing may have accompanied the religious services
of the day. If it be true that before the barren fig-tree is cut down,
the influences and means used to quicken it into life and fruitfulness
are more than doubled, may we not say that He to whom all things were
known, and who saw the end from the beginning, vouchsafed a more than
ordinary blessing to the gospel declared to more than two hundred who
were spending their last Sabbath on earth?
On Monday, there being no abatement in the violence of the weather,
but, on the contrary, the storm rather heightening in force, the
ladies and passengers generally would keep their cabins, or meet for
conversation in the saloon. On Monday we know that many on board
felt more fear than they did on subsequent days when the first shock
of the tempest had worn away, and they had become accustomed to a
hurricane that never changed but for the worse. There were, we know,
several on board who had been professed Christians for years. There
was one who had, we believe, two brothers in the ministry, and who
was a spiritually-minded man himself. There was another who was the
son of a very distinguished Minister of Christ, and who was himself a
devoted Christian. There was a young woman who had just left service
in Suffolk, and who had written a letter while on board to a Christian
friend, which went to shew the reality of her religious life. There
were many who were in the habit of reading their Bibles daily.
We mention these as types of the different classes composing the
passengers, and as illustrative of the fact, that over the vessel there
was spread a goodly number of persons who were not ashamed to own
their Lord, and who, when they saw the clouds of distress gathering
around their fellow-passengers, would be able, and, as we have heard,
would be certain to be all the more earnest and useful and kind in
proportion to the distress they saw exhibited. That during the fearful
gale which sprung up on Monday night there would be distress and fear
of the direst kind we make no doubt, but we gather comfort from the
fact, that the example and exhortations of the godly would not be
without their salutary and soothing influence.
Directly, we hear nothing of Mr. Draper’s exertions until Wednesday,
from which time until the vessel went down he was incessant in his
ministrations; but, as we hear of groups of children looking up with
wonderment into the frightened faces of their mothers, of ladies
reading the Bible to each other, and of individual passengers turning
over its leaves as if in search of passages that would be suitable
to their condition, of husbands sustaining wives by their constant
presence,--we may be sure that the man who was as loving to his fellows
as he was faithful to his Master had already lost all thought of self
in the work of imparting consolation and instruction in the awful
circumstances in which those especially were placed who had now for the
first time to begin to think seriously of the claims of religion.
“From all I have heard respecting him,” writes the Hon. Mr. McArthur,
“self seems to have been altogether lost sight of. Nor does it appear
that he paid any special attention to his beloved wife, to whom he was
most ardently and devotedly attached, but his whole heart and mind
seem to have been engaged in the great work of endeavouring to lead
those by whom he was surrounded to flee for refuge to the only hope set
before them.” Nor though we do not hear so much of Dr. Woolley as we
do of Mr. Draper throughout the appalling calamity, are we therefore
to suppose that he was untrue to his sacred calling, and to the loving
instincts of a very kindly heart. Had the facts of his life been before
us, we should doubtless have been able to speak of him with as much
length as we have of the Wesleyan preacher. One who evidently knew and
loved him has said, “Not much is said about him; but we know in what
manner he would die and help others to die. His public career may be
told in other ways, but this one word is in remembrance of the man
himself--the good man--John Woolley.”
On Wednesday, as we have said, the testimony concerning Mr. Draper’s
efforts, and the results attending them, is clear and decisive.
Prayer and religious instruction had become general, and the saloon
was transformed into a sanctuary, from whence ascended the voice of
supplication and weeping to Him who was alone able to save. There were
earnest wrestlings of soul amongst those who felt themselves face to
face either with heaven or hell. It was hard to feel all at once that
they _must_ die, that there could be no escape. It was hard for the
newly-married of a week only to feel that all the joys and hopes of
life must be ruthlessly terminated. It was hard for all who had formed
their plans for the future, or who had just left in England those
whom they held so dear, or who had brought their little children out
with them intending to settle in a new home,--very hard for all to
be told with a decisiveness which there was no gainsaying, that they
_must_ die. And no wonder that in the first burst of agony which this
conviction brought with it, many gathered round the Minister, crying,
“Pray with me, Mr. Draper. Pray for me, Mr. Draper.”
And he _did_ pray. Those who knew him have much to tell of his power in
prayer, of it being the effectual and fervent supplication of a man,
“who was as sure of answer as if voices from heaven told him he was
heard.” Happy indeed the man, who seeing death written in every face,
and surrounded by the weeping and conscience-stricken, had no time and
no disposition to care for himself, in the Christ-like work of caring
for others. As he drew nearer to Heaven, he had yet deeper fellowship
with the sufferings of that blessed Master he served, who, while
hanging upon the cross, had leisure to think of all wants but His own.
The Master saved others; Himself he could not save.
All Wednesday, as we have seen, the storm raged with incessant fury.
The passengers below heard and felt with bated breath that tremendous
sea break over the vessel by which the cutter was stove in and the
starboard lifeboat carried away. The passengers in the saloon must have
felt the shock in all its terrible might, for it broke against their
quarter of the ship; and perhaps it was then, when all expected that
they were going down, that Mr. Draper was heard praying, “O God, may
those that are not converted be converted now--hundreds of them.” This
prayer went up again and again during that stormy day.
Again there was a crash overhead, and those below heard to their dismay
that the main hatchway had been swept away. There was the rushing of
water heard pouring down into the engine room; there was the Captain’s
voice heard shouting through the storm, and the responsive cry of the
crew. “Prepare to meet your God. Prepare to meet your God!” This was
the solemn admonition of the minister throughout the day and night.
At twelve o’clock that night there was a prayer-meeting in the saloon,
which was attended by all who could be spared from their duties on
deck. A marvellous meeting indeed it must have been, in which strong
cries and tears went up to Him whose word was pledged that He would not
turn away his ear from the voice of prayer; that He would listen to the
cry of the afflicted.
And did He not listen? Did He not answer? We would humbly hope that
the prayers presented were not the offspring of mere natural terror,
but the utterances of broken and contrite spirits. On Thursday morning
a wondrous calmness had taken possession of all hearts. There were no
agonizing shrieks and screams, no delirious efforts to escape from
their doom. The prayer-meeting, and the prayers of the last three
days had done their work. Something stronger and holier than love of
mere natural life had taken possession of many hearts. Their’s was
the victory which had overcome death, even their faith. Not even when
the Captain entered the saloon, and sadly announced that there was
no hope, did their calmness and resignation forsake them. “Let us
pray,” Mr. Draper said, and then they quietly prayed by themselves.
Shortly afterwards the minister said with great kindliness, “Well, my
friends, our Captain tells us there is no hope, but the Great Captain
above tells us there is hope, and that we may all get safe to heaven.”
Blessed truth! we have no doubt that it went home to the hearts of
many. Friends began to take leave of friends, as if preparing for a
long journey. Husbands, wives, and children clung to each other as if
death itself should never divide them. And, clinging to each other,
and, we trust, to Christ, they calmly waited for the sea to swallow
them up, amid all the excitement of launching the port cutter.
[Illustration: “CONSOLATION IN THE HOUR OF PERIL.”]
CHAPTER IX.
LAST WORDS.
At last, but with greater precaution than before, the port cutter was
launched, and got safely down. Six men were in her, but as she rose and
fell with the fury of the waves, and every moment appeared likely to
swamp, all felt the propriety of the Captain’s words, that in such a
sea there was but little chance for the boat. The command of the boat
belonged to Mr. Greenhill, as second engineer, and without loss of time
he was anxious that all who had determined to make one more desperate
struggle for life should hasten from the poor doomed ship. She was fast
settling down to the water’s edge; there was a fearful swirl of water
around her stern, and the cutter was in danger of being sucked down
into the whirlpool of the wreck. It was a leap for life in the case of
each one who jumped from the vessel, for the cutter seemed no more than
a piece of cork upon the tumultuous billows, and no wonder that many
paused and drew back in horror from a leap to what seemed nothing short
of instant death.
It was while the ship was fast filling with water, and death every
moment drew nearer, that some last words were spoken that will never
be forgotten by the survivors, or by those to whom, in some instances,
they were sent. What were Mr. Draper’s last words? He had been
exhorting and praying, without intermission, for more than twelve
hours before the ship went down. Two of the survivors have a distinct
remembrance of him as they last saw him, about an hour before the
boat left. He was then in the saloon, and men and women were still
gathering around him, and saying, “O! Mr. Draper, pray for me!” The
last words these two survivors heard him utter were these: “Well, my
friends, our Captain tells us there is no hope, but the Great Captain
above tells us there is hope that we may all get safe to heaven.”
Another saw him a few minutes before the boat pushed off, and his
testimony is that Mr. Draper was then heard exclaiming, “Prepare to
meet your God.” The devoted minister was calm and self-possessed,
although the corpses of women and children were floating over the
deck. His wife was with him: hand in hand they would go down together
into the deep, and together enter into the Father’s rest, in a very
few moments now. Patience a little longer. Mrs. Draper was a sharer in
her husband’s faith, calmness, and heroism; a noble co-operator with
him in all sweet deeds of self-sacrifice. It moves one to tears to
hear of her thoughtful care for others in that last dread moment. A
short time before the boat had left the vessel she handed her rug to
some of the sailors to help to keep them warm. “But what will you do
without it?” “It will only be for a few minutes longer,” is said to
have been her reply. There was, in this last act of hers, the simple,
quiet expression of what her life had been for many years--a life of
inobtrusive effort for the good of others. In the hour of awful peril,
when it would have only been womanly and natural for her to have
claimed her husband’s care and solicitude, we do not hear of her, for
a single moment, interrupting him in his sacred task. She herself,
doubtless, did what she could to help him in the work of imparting
spiritual instruction to those who were every moment expecting death.
When Mr. Draper was last seen, and that was a few minutes before the
boat was cut away from the sinking ship, he was heard speaking with
deep emotion, but with the clear strong voice which naturally belonged
to the cheerful-hearted man--and that he was right through life--saying
these words; “Those of you who are not converted, now is the time;
not a moment to be lost, for in a few minutes we shall all be in the
presence of our Judge.” And again the word sounded, “Prepare to meet
your God.” These were the last words that he was heard to speak by any
who escaped, but doubtless, during the few minutes of life that yet
remained, he continued to comfort and exhort; and not, perhaps, until
the cold waters closed around him, did he give himself leisure to pray
for himself, perhaps saying, “Father, into thy hands I commend my
spirit.”
Peace be to his sweet and precious memory! Although no monument marks
the spot in the vast cemetery of the deep where his ashes repose, the
place of his sepulture is well known to Him by whose mysterious hand he
was buried, and in the appointed hour the sea shall give up its dead,
and he shall be found in his place at the end of the days. Death to
him had not come untimely. Thousands will bewail his loss, because it
is theirs, not his. For him to die was exceeding gain. He had less of
earth only to have more of heaven. Through the tempest and the flood
he found an earlier passage to immortality than his love of labour in
the Master’s vineyard allowed him to anticipate; but it is all well,
because ordained by Him whose way is in the sea, whose path is in the
great waters, and whose footsteps are not known.
There were other last words spoken while the little boat was being
held to the ship’s side with all the energy of despair. Mr. Munro,
a passenger, had made up his mind to try the faint chance of escape
which entering the cutter afforded. All felt that escape was next to
impossible, and Mr. Munro among the rest. Before leaving the vessel,
however, he went down to the cabin where were some friends of his
from Ballarat, Mr. and Mrs. Hickman and their young family. It was
a terrible task even to make the proposition that he had come to
make known: it was that there was room in the boat for one! It was
impossible that the poor children could escape; not one of them could
be expected to take the fearful leap required; nor could Mrs. Hickman;
but her husband,--he could escape, perhaps, if he would, and if the
boat did live out the fearful sea, he might be saved. Mr. Munro urged
his friend to avail himself of the chance.
But no! Mr. Hickman had no need to look at his wife and four little
ones, around whom the water was rapidly rising higher and higher, ere
he gave the answer. The water was then a considerable depth in the
saloon on the lee side, as the fond husband and tender father replied
to his friend’s entreaty thus:--“No! I promised my wife and children
to stay by them, and I will do so!” Brave determination, one never to
be regretted by him who made it, never to be forgotten while tales of
heroism have any power left in them to move human hearts to enthusiasm
and tears. His choice, though a melancholy, was the right one, and his
friend acted kindly in not further attempting to divert him from it.
“Help me,” said Mr. Hickman, “to move the children to the other side,
out of the water.”
Mr. Munro performed this last act of kindness for his friends: they
then shook hands. The last words of that fond father were, “Good bye,
Jack!”
His friend then left him for ever. But will he ever lose,--alas! alas!
will any one who reads the story ever lose sight of the vision of
that loving father and mother, with their four children, standing in a
row to the windward side of the saloon, and thus momentarily expecting
death!
Peace, poor weeping mother and devoted father! Peace, ye dear helpless
children! There is One on high whose voice of love is mightier than the
voice of many waters, and we humbly hope that those parents, with many
others in a similar position of peril, passed through the sharpness of
death into His presence, who would smile upon them a welcome, the first
glance of which would for ever banish the remembrance of pain, as they
cried, “Behold us, and the children thou hast given us!”
But there were more last words yet. Upon seeing Mr. Munro return alone,
the men in the boat shouted to him, “There is still room: fetch a
lady!” Hearing this, he sprang across a portion of the deck in quest of
a lady whom he knew; but not seeing her, and knowing that the moments
were flying fast, he said to a young girl, “Will you go?” She appeared
willing to do so, and Mr. Munro immediately caught her in his arms,
and hurried with her to the bulwarks; but when she looked over and saw
the distance she had to leap, she said, in an agony of despair, “Oh, I
cannot do that!”
The boat seemed every moment as if it would go down amid the terrific
roll of the sea, and she drew back in affright from the awful gulf that
appeared yawning to receive her. Mr. Munro was obliged to drop his
hapless burden, and to leave the young creature on the deck, while he
himself leaped from the bulwarks into the rolling boat below.
There was one young man on board, in whose spiritual welfare a
clergyman in the suburbs of London had taken deep interest before he
embarked on his fatal voyage. The young man had remained undecided for
Christ, notwithstanding all entreaties and appeals; but ere he went
on board the _London_ his friend the clergyman had implored him to
offer up daily a prayer which he had given him. Neither, perhaps, could
have possibly dreamed of the circumstances of peril under which that
prayer would come to be used. There came now some last words from that
young man. Amid the raging of the storm, he shouted out to one who was
in the boat--“If ever you get safe to land, tell Mr. ---- (mentioning
the clergyman’s name) that the prayer he gave me I have used every day
since; and that now I can say of Christ, ‘My Beloved is mine, and I am
His.’” These were _his_ last words; but how much happier--brief though
they were--have they made many a Christian heart, telling, as we humbly
hope they do, that the speaker had escaped the second death, and that
the haven of eternal rest was in sight.
There was a young girl on board whose last words were not spoken, but
written. Was she the one of whom we read as standing bareheaded in
the wild storm, with holy resignation depicted in every feature? She
hurriedly wrote a few words on a slip of paper, and said to one who was
about to leap into the boat, “Give this to my mother.” Her last wish
was sacredly obeyed, and there came to a mourning mother this serene
message from one who had gone down in a stormy sea--“Dear mother, you
must not grieve for me: I am going to Jesus.”
Miss Brooker, of Pimlico, spoke her last words, and they were those
of quiet resignation to the will of God. We hear of her, during those
days and nights of fearful suspense, doing what she could to soothe
a fellow-passenger whose mind at times seemed on the very verge of
delirium, the absence of which among the passengers generally, while
it is matter of devoutest gratitude, is also matter of greatest
wonder,--unless explained by the presence of Him who walketh upon
the wings of the wind, and who, in answer to prayer, was shedding
abroad in many hearts a tranquillity so deep and hallowed as to be
beyond the reach of the wildest tempest. As the end drew rapidly
near, Miss Brooker clasped her hands, and was heard to say, as if to
herself,--but, oh! there was One by that heard all that was said during
that awful last hour,--“Well, I have done all that I could; I can do no
more!”
Nothing now, except trust, and hope for the life beyond this troubled
one. Nothing now, but to make the most of those exhortations which,
with trumpet-clearness, rise every now and then above the howling of
the gale--“There is hope that we may ALL get safe to heaven. Those of
you who are not converted, now is the time: not a moment to be lost,
for in a few minutes we shall all be in the presence of our Judge.”
There were more last words still, and they were those of Mr. G. V.
Brooke. Only a few days before,--on the 23rd of December,--he had
sustained the character of Richard the Third. The walls were not
placarded with the announcement, “The last appearance of Mr. G. V.
Brooke upon any stage,” but they might have been so; and how would the
hundreds who listened to his farewell address that night have felt,
could they have caught the double meaning which the opening sentences
of that address contained, at least as we read it now?
The actor was in painful ill-health, and his subsequent heroism on
board the foundering _London_ derives additional interest from the
fact. His last words at Belfast were these:--“_Ladies and Gentlemen,
with this night finishes my professional career in Belfast for a long,
very long time to come._ I fervently trust, by the favour of the One
Providence, that I may at some distant time be enabled to return
to a town which I, in a measure, look on as my home, where I may
professionally or unprofessionally, mingle with my friends in Belfast
again. I now take an affectionate farewell of you all, wishing from my
heart continued prosperity to this magnificent city.”
These were his last words on any stage. A few days later, and he was
bearing his part in no mimic tragedy,--in a conflict which, in its
way, was far more appalling than the battle of Bosworth Field in which
Richard fell. As we watch the closing scene of the poor actor’s life,
one cannot have a heart and remain unmoved or silent in the presence of
the man who, in weak health and with painful hoarseness, did the work
of many men combined during those despairing days. Did the hundreds who
listened to him in Belfast catch any prophetic hint in the mimic agony
with which he delivered the death speech of Richard?
“I have set my life upon a cast,
And I will stand the hazard of the die!”
The time had come, when, in reality, there was no earthly means of
escape, and, seeing that all his exertions were useless, he rested
upon one of the half-doors of the companion, and, bareheaded to the
storm, gave himself up to reflection. His last words to man were to the
steward, “If you succeed in saving yourself, give my farewell to the
people of Melbourne;” but who shall say what words were addressed to
Him who was alone able to deliver, during those four hours in which he
was observed to continue in a musing attitude.
Strangely enough, there were last words spoken, which, upon being
repeated by the survivor to whom they were addressed, will doubtless
carry a value which, had the speaker known, would much have soothed
him during his closing hours of life. A son was on board the _London_,
who, with death staring him in the face, thought tenderly of the old
man his father, whose declining years would have been rendered all the
happier for possessing money that must now, as the speaker thought,
sink with him, and be lost. Among the second cabin passengers were two,
Mr. Munro and Mr. Eastwood, who had been acquainted previous to the
voyage. As the little boat was being filled with all it could hold,
Eastwood, addressing his fellow-passenger, said, “Well, Jack, I think
we are going to go.” “I think we are, Eastwood.” “Well, we cannot help
it,” the other went on. “There’s only one thing I regret about it: of
a draft for 500_l._ on the Bank of Victoria, Ballarat, I only received
20_l._, which I gave to the Captain, in the office of Money Wigram and
Co. I should have liked my poor father to have got the balance.” These
were the last words of a son, who soon after perished in the waves,
but his friend escaped, remembering exactly the words which filial
tenderness had inspired.
There were some last words spoken which we cannot record, words of
the sufferers to each other, and words addressed to Him whose ear is
never heavy to the cry of distress. Husbands and wives, parents and
children, friends and acquaintances,--what words of farewell passed
amongst these! What last words of prayer mingled even with the sighs of
death! With what tender compassion and sympathy have those been thought
of whose _heroic actions_ on board the doomed ship were the last words
that will be sacredly cherished in the loving memory of those who knew
them. The picture of that brave young officer, Mr. Angell, standing to
his post to the last at the donkey-engine, which was used in working
the pumps, calmly keeping there while the billows thundered their
spray around him, and going down into the dark whirling water with his
hands still on the engine;--this is a picture which no artist, however
gifted, can paint strong and beautiful enough for us. It was his last
sermon--and how eloquent was it--to all the young officers of our Navy
upon a sense of duty, making him who possesses it superior to all
thoughts of danger.
There was something, too, inexpressibly touching in the incident of
that aged couple who had three children with them, who had been wrecked
already twice in their attempting to get to Melbourne, now being on
board the sinking ship, and being swept overboard before the final
hour came. Among the passengers, also, we read of two stout old people
who had become favourites on board, and who had been sent for by an
only son. The son will expect them at Melbourne: alas! how many will
be expected there who will never arrive thither. One’s heart quivers
in anticipation of the sorrow into which multitudes will be plunged.
When the poor aged couple knew that there was no chance of escape, they
simply took each other by the hand, and went down into the cabin to die
together.
But come there no last words from the gallant Captain, who, since
Sunday, has had no sleep, and who has not even changed his clothes?
Where is he while farewells are being exchanged, while the little boat
is being filled with all it can hold, and while his beautiful vessel,
which once seemed to walk the waters like a thing of life, is so fast
filling, that her bulwarks nearly touch the water?
We catch glimpses of him several times while the boat is being lowered,
and while it is being filled with sixteen of the crew and three
passengers, and at all times we see him at the post of duty, and doing
his best. About an hour, perhaps, before the getting away of the boat
from the ship, Mr. Jones, the chief engineer, was between decks near
the engine-room. The ship was then labouring in the trough of the sea,
and was in a most disabled condition. He ran up between decks, and met
Captain Martin for the last time, who was going in the direction of the
saloon.
“Well, Mr. Jones, how do you feel?” was his question.
“Not well, Sir,” was the reply: “I took it that he referred to my
condition of mind and not to the accident I had met with. I saw no
more of him after that. I saw nothing but the ship going down after
that. When I left the ship the passengers had given up all hope, but
there was a remarkable composure amongst them, and no loud sounds to be
heard. I heard voices engaged in preaching and praying.”
Mr. Jones was the last man who leaped into the boat: he leaped and got
into her as she rose with the sea, and the sea rose so high that he had
scarcely any distance to jump from the gunwale. Before, however, the
first engineer leaped into the boat it had already been gradually and
carefully filled, as we have seen, with members of the crew and with
three passengers. Mr. Greenhill, the second engineer, was supposed,
from his position, to be officer of the cutter, and he took command of
her. “Get into the boat,” the Captain had said among his last words;
“there is not much chance for the boat; there is none for the ship.
Your duty is done; mine is to remain here. Get in and take command of
the few it will hold.” His command had been obeyed, and now the only
chance for the nineteen in the boat was to get as quickly away from the
ship as possible, for the ship was being washed over to the boat, and
she was in great danger of being sucked down, as we have said, with the
sinking vessel. Before pushing off, the men in the boat shouted to the
Captain to join them.
“No,” he replied: “I will go down with the passengers. Your course is
E.N.E. to Brest, and”--throwing them a compass--“I wish you God speed,
and safe to land.”
These were the last words the survivors heard fall from the lips of
John Bohun Martin; but at that moment there came a fearful last word
from the deck of the sinking vessel. A lady, with horror on every
feature, shrieked out most piteously, “A thousand guineas if you will
take me in.”
But if she had offered the whole world there could have been no
response to her cry. The boat, which had been hastily cut away, was
already some yards distant, and to return would have been certain
death to all, who, as it was, had not in their own minds the slightest
hope of escaping. About five minutes afterwards, and when they had got
eighty or ninety yards, they looked towards the ship, and saw that
she was going down stern foremost. The wind at this time was raging
so violently that the men in the boat could not hear each other when
eagerly shouting. It was with a kind of dumb wonderment that they saw
what transpired. As the ship sunk it was seen that all on deck were
driven forward, not by water, but by a tremendous and overpowering rush
of air from below, which, as it escaped through the deck as well as the
hatches, impelled all on deck forward with violence, and their dreadful
struggle must have been, therefore, soon over!
In a single moment the men in the boat seemed to take in at a glance
all that transpired on board. They saw the stem of the vessel rise so
high, that her keel was completely out of water as far as the foremast.
The boatswain, the butcher, the baker, and the purser’s mate, it is
said, had resolved to attempt their escape in the remaining boat
over the cuddy, which was already provisioned and launched; but no
sooner were these men ready to put off, than the sinking vessel sank
beneath them, making, in her descent, a very whirlpool of angry and
confounding waters, and the escaping ones in the cutter saw their
comrades swallowed up quickly and disappear with the lost ship. They
saw young Angell going down while standing at his old post of duty: for
a moment they saw two men with life-belts struggling amid mountains of
water: they rose with the waves, and then descended into the deep, deep
grave which the sea formed for them, and then not a trace of men or of
ship was to be seen! The gale thundered so furiously, that if there
was a cry from the sinking ship, it was not heard. Once more to the
bottom of the Bay of Biscay had gone a noble ship and valuable cargo;
but O! saddest of all, more than two hundred forms, that a few days
before had been seen sitting in mirth and friendliness around many an
English fireside, had gone down too. And once more the billows rolled
on, curling their monstrous heads, as if in contempt of the beings who
would seek to master them when once they rose in their terrible might
and majesty.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER X.
THE LIGHT BEHIND THE CLOUD.
Was there such a light? It was one of the saddest of calamities,
desolating at a stroke many a bright home, and nipping in the bud some
of the fondest hopes and purposes. Was there such a light? The disaster
swept away two hundred and twenty lives, around which many other lives
twined like the gentle tendrils of a vine, and who will, perhaps,
wither now that the props to which they sweetly clung have been torn
ruthlessly away.
Was there such a light? The aged and the young went down together into
the same grave. The infant child of four months old was dashed far away
from the sinking mother’s breast, and heroism of the loftiest type
received no higher reward than the dullest, basest cowardice.
Was there such a light? The refined scholar, for whom his pupils
wait--the tender father, for whom a widow and six children, with only
slender means for their support, anxiously look out--the gently strong
John Woolley has gone down into the deep, and the sea has taken no more
account of his worth and power than it has of the fool.
Was there such a light? Captain Martin has gone; the man who fearlessly
traversed the ocean for years, who had often smiled at danger, and had
gone between Melbourne and London until the path was as clear to him as
the turnpike-road to the waggoner. The gentle, courageous good man will
never more be greeted by his relatives, and the wide circle of friends
who loved him will see him no more.
Was there such a light? Daniel Draper is lost to the church and to his
only son; his brethren in the ministry will no longer be able to depend
upon his wise suggestions; and souls unnumbered are still white unto
harvest, while the successful reaper suddenly drops his sickle, and
will gather in no more sheaves.
Was there such a light? and in what quarter of the heavens did it glow
behind the great darkness in which the good ship went down into the
whirlpool of destruction with 220 lives on board?
There was such a light, and we have no doubt of its beaming over this
dark catastrophe still,--the light which shines through the words,
GOD IS LOVE.
That those who now most need the light of this truth to guide them will
see even the faintest glimmering of it, we cannot say; but when the
blindness occasioned by the smart of tears has cleared away, we are
sure, that if they will look up there will be the truth mildly shining
behind the calamity, dark though it be. The mystery, appalling though
it be, can, in this world, receive no truer solution, but a lifetime
may pass away without our even having learnt the letters by which the
truth is to be slowly spelt out.
But while the mystery remains, the calamity loses much of its horror,
if we lay to heart the truth of the over-ruling providence of God. “It
is appointed unto man once to die,” and the Omnipotent one has ordained
the place, the time, the circumstances. Good and faithful servants
were in the ship, and the summons that told them their way unto the
Lord’s presence was through the deep, brooked no delay; but the road
was not half so strange to them as it seems to us. Before their eyes
a light was shining which is hidden from our view, and by it they were
conducted to their Father’s house as serenely as if they had breathed
their last on downy pillows. Down into the great deep they plunged, and
then?
In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, they had left their sea-soaked
raiment behind them, and they were at rest amid the blessed calm
on which no tempest shall ever, ever, ever break. A rich feast was
awaiting their arrival; bright and happy faces were around the board
to welcome the guests who had come through the flood and tempest; and
God Himself wiped away all tears from off all faces, and the voice of
eternal love thrilled their hearts as it whispered, “There shall be no
_more_ death, neither sorrow nor crying, neither shall there be any
more pain, for the former things are passed away.”
Oh! could we think a little more of this scene beyond the flood, and
less of the terrible shipwreck, we should assuredly catch glimpses of
the light behind the cloud. From the eternal shore the voices of the
faithful reach our world, saying, “Men of England, men of Melbourne,
weep not for us, for we have all got safe to land; and the land is
good, and, behold we were not told the half concerning it. See to it,
that ye prepare to follow us in the way our Father sees best.”
But through the sea? Yes, for the sea is his, and He made it; and God
may use it as He did in the case before us, not as a minister of wrath,
but of mercy, to conduct his chosen ones to Himself.
But through all the agony which preceded the struggle, and through such
a struggle?
Yes; if that too be the Divine will, for who was it that for our sakes
chose the saddest and most lingering of deaths? and who, in the anguish
of a fast breaking heart, cried,“My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken
me!”
But let us say that friends and relations are in danger of making by
far too much of the agony, and not enough of the heavenly help that
came to the shipwrecked ones, to enable them “to suffer and be strong.”
We believe in the superiority of Divine grace to the mere natural
feeling of pain and anguish, and that when Divine strength nerves the
soul, the keenest physical tortures are all outside things. The martyrs
of old could without pretence woo the flames that consumed them, clothe
themselves cheerfully as with a garment of fire; and while the chain
around him grew red hot, one could talk of his dying thus, as if he
were on a bed of roses! And He who for some inscrutable but all-wise
and loving purpose permitted the calamity of the shipwreck, may have
thus supported his servants, and deprived them of agony as He had
previously deprived them of fear--the greater agony of the two.
Is there not also a light behind the cloud, when the fact is called to
mind how faithfully the gospel was preached, and how fervently most
of those on board engaged in acts of devotion? There have been scenes
of horror on board shipwrecked vessels which baffle all description,
when it has been made known that the ship must go down. Then, shouts of
cursing, despair, and drunken revelry have been heard above the fury of
the gale, and mocked the very groans of the dying.
“Then rose from sea to sea the wild farewell,
Then shrieked the timid, and stood still the brave.”
But on board the sinking _London_, amidst the storm, the gospel was
preached, earnest prayers presented, the Bible read, and anxiety for
the soul experienced. All as yet at least were in the place of hope on
which the gospel ladder was planted, the top whereof touched heaven.
They had not passed away to the region where faith would be impossible,
and from whence there could be no escape. The way of salvation was
singly pointed out to them again and again. They were not, we may be
sure, burdened with details and theories, but the simple yet glorious
truth was proclaimed, “Here is a Saviour waiting to save you, believe
in Him and be saved. You are a sinner, but He died for sinners; you are
the very one He came to seek; trust yourself entirely to Him; turn with
a holy hatred and grief from your sins, and rely upon his promise to
save you, if you only this moment, with all your heart, ask Him to do
so.”
And we may believe, and we ought to believe, that the gospel does not
only _offer_ immediate salvation, but that Christ does grant it to
every man who penitently asks His help. The gospel preached during the
storm was not, “Repent and believe the gospel, and you shall be saved
at some future day;” the promise was, “You shall be saved _now_, and
this day, though thy body may go to the bottom of the sea, thou shalt
be with Christ in Paradise.” Poor sinking one, only believe, and thou
shalt see the glory of God.
There is light behind the cloud indeed, in the remembrance that such
a gospel was proclaimed hour by hour; and in the conviction we also
cherish that many believed it, gave themselves up to the influence of
its promises and encouragements, and were so filled with faith in Him
who had died to put away their sins and open the kingdom of heaven to
them, that they were not afraid to die, seeing not death but heaven
before them.
“Where all the ship’s company meet,
Who sailed with the Saviour beneath;
With shouting each other they greet,
And triumph o’er trouble and death.
The voyage of life’s at an end,
The mortal affliction is past,
The age that in heaven they spend,
For ever and ever shall last.”
“And so,” doubtless it will be said, “you want to make them all
religious, before the ship went down?” We would, indeed, kind reader,
that we could cherish this hope concerning all, for then the light
behind the cloud would increase in brightness every day. As sinful men
opposed to God we would have had all on board believers in the Great
Reconciler, who can make both one, and fill the souls of those who
trust Him with the most blessed assurance that there is no longer any
gulf of separation between them. Where there is this faith there is no
fear, neither of dying, nor of what lies beyond death.
And, reader, in the hour that is before thee, as surely as it was
before those that went down in the Bay of Biscay, it is only this faith
in Christ that can impart courageous strength to thine own spirit, and
solid consolation to the mourners who will presently bewail thee gone.
If thou hast it, thou wilt go thy journey undismayed, while the heaven,
to which thou art gone will shine brightly behind the cloud, and tell
those who grieve thine absence most, that they need not sorrow as those
who have no hope.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XI.
THE ESCAPE.
Nineteen persons had entered the port cutter. These consisted of the
second and third engineers, one fireman, the boatswain’s mate, the
quartermaster, the carpenter’s mate, the steward, the boatswain’s boy,
five able seamen, and three passengers. They had received their course
from the now drowned Captain--N.N.E. to Brest, which was 190 miles
distant, and they had compasses on board. Under the direction of King,
the men agreed, that whatever might happen they would sit immoveable,
except when pulling at the oars. Two worked at each oar, and they ran
before the sea. Both Daniell and King deserve the highest praise for
their skill in steering the feeble craft over the raging waters, but it
was pleasant to find them both modest and seamanlike in all they said
about it.
“I believe you took charge of the boat, didn’t you, Daniell?”
“Well, I pulled an oar sometimes, and sometimes steered. I took no
particular charge of the boat, but I gave my opinion and advice now and
then.”
“But you took a little of the lead?”
“Well, I did. Others also gave their opinion.”
Among the “others” who gave counsel was John King.
“How did you manage to steer?”
“Chiefly by the ‘pointers’ to the N.E.”
[Illustration: JOHN KING.]
It was a fearful struggle for life that the brave seamen now engaged
in, as, with parched lips and every nerve strained to its highest pitch
of tension, they rose and fell with the green waves still running
mountains high. It seemed almost hopeless to attempt to withstand any
longer the fury of the sea, which broke over them in angry surges. As
we have said, they had but a quart of water on board, and the bottles
of spirits. It was a fortunate thing that young Edwards succeeded in
getting hold of these and concealing them, for the probability is, that
had the seamen given way to drink in their then excited state, raving
delirium would have set in, and cutter and crew would soon have been
at the bottom. The lad shall tell his own story, and he is worthy of
lasting honour and remembrance for his part in it.
“Daniell agreed to be our hammock man. He sat by me and was pulling the
bow-oar. There was a bag of biscuits weighing two cwt., two bottles of
brandy, and two of champagne, some turnips and carrots, in the boat.
There was some water also on board, but it was thrown out. I picked
up three of the bottles and put them under my coat. Mr. Greenhill and
Daniell knew I had them, but the others did not.”
“Your conduct was very commendable,” said Mr. Traill, “and you did
quite right in trying to keep the bottles of spirit away from the men.
You have begun your career unfortunately, but I hope you may hereafter
succeed as you deserve to do.”
Thursday night came on, and the boat still drifted before the wind,
and about three o’clock the next morning a regular green sea broke
over them and nearly half filled the boat. One of the passengers baled
out the water constantly, and after the green sea came in the water
was baled out with a bucket and cans. Before daylight, and as the
moon rose, the men saw a vessel close alongside. They hailed her with
all their might, and were heard by those on board; but as they could
present no light they could not be seen, although they could see the
ship tacking about for an hour trying to find them. The search was
fruitless, and to their utter disappointment the ship was lost sight
of. The men adhered to their course, and about nine o’clock sighted two
vessels, but could not get near them on account of the cross seas. They
rowed for one of them, however, for nearly five hours, and upon getting
within hail she proved to be an Italian barque, the _Marianople_.
The boat was very near filling when they were within twenty yards of
her. They were struck by a heavy squall, so that all in the boat gave
themselves up for lost. In consequence of the excitement on board--who
can wonder at it?--they did not succeed in clearing one of the seas;
but by only one of the men moving in the boat to bale her out, they
were enabled to bale her clear, and a log line being thrown them from
the barque, one by one they were drawn up on deck! The young midshipman
Edwards was drawn on board by men who caught him by the collar of his
coat.
The shipwrecked were in a most benumbed and perishing state, but the
master of the barque, Captain Cavasa, treated them with the greatest
kindness. The generous Italian could speak but little English, but
his deeds have spoken so forcibly that Englishmen will be long before
they forget his kind-heartedness. By his orders the men were stripped
and rubbed, and clad in fresh warm garments. The good captain killed a
turkey for them, besides providing tea and soup, and setting apart for
them warm beds. After treating them with every kindness, he landed them
at Falmouth, from which port the story of their marvellous escape, and
the loss of so many precious lives in the _London_, flashed with the
speed of the telegraph throughout the length and breadth of the land,
producing everywhere grief and consternation unspeakable.
The following is the list of those saved:--
John Greenhill, engineer; John Jones, second engineer; John Armour,
third engineer; Thomas Brown, fireman; W. M. Edwards, midshipman;
D. T. Smith, boatswain’s mate; Wm. Daniell, quartermaster; John King,
Benjamin Shield, Richard Lewis, James Gough, Edwin Quin, William
Grimes, seamen; A. G. White, boatswain’s boy; William Hart, Carpenter’s
mate; Edward Gardner, second-class steward; D. G. Main, passenger; John
Munro, passenger; J. E. Wilson, passenger.
It is a remarkable fact, moreover, that the _London_ is the first
ship belonging to the famous house of Money Wigram and Sons to which
any serious casualty has occurred. In a century’s experience, Messrs.
Wigram have enjoyed a perfect immunity from loss, with the single
exception of the _True Briton_, which belonged to a former generation
of the firm, and foundered early in the present century in the same
fatal bay.
But in a chapter treating of those who escaped from the wreck of the
_London_, those must not be forgotten who narrowly escaped the doom
which fell upon so many in the Bay of Biscay.
Some hair-breadth escapes in connection with this disaster are well
known. A lady who was desirous of proceeding from Plymouth with her
family to Melbourne by the _London_, had made repeated pressing
applications to the owner’s agents at Plymouth, and the Captain had
been consulted, but, fortunately for the applicant, had declared
that his cabins were so full that he could not possibly accommodate
her, a result that, at that time, caused her much disappointment. A
second-class male passenger was so alarmed at the rough weather which
the _London_ encountered on her way down to Plymouth, that immediately
on her arrival at that port he came ashore, resigned his passage, and
went back to his home, thus unwittingly saving his life. A young man,
as the result of some family quarrel, left his home, and took a passage
by the _London_. He was advertised for, and importuned to return, his
friends being unaware of his whereabouts. Messengers were sent down to
Plymouth, and an influential ship’s broker in the town was employed
to intercept him should he attempt to sail thence. Fortunately he
was detected amongst the passengers of the _London_, and his family
communicated with by the broker, the result of which was that a brother
of the young man came down to Plymouth, and persuaded the would-be
emigrant to forego his voyage.
May those who escaped the voyage by the doomed vessel, as well as those
who got safe to land from the wreck, feel the solemnity of that life
which has thus been so marvellously rescued from a watery grave.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XII.
THINGS REMEMBERED IN THE STORM.
A few things were remembered in the storm, to which, when we have
called the reader’s attention, our task is ended. THE BIBLE was read
in the storm. Doubtless the passengers had with them many books to
relieve the tedium of a long voyage, but good as these books might have
been, it was not from these that they sought to derive instruction
and comfort in the hour of peril. They opened their Bibles, many of
them were seen in groups reading it together, or sitting by themselves
turning over its pages, as if in search after some passage which had
been forgotten, and the meaning of which was specially important then.
They read the Bible during the most solemn hour of their existence,
and when they knew that their moments were numbered, and whilst in the
midst of a scene which its own pages have so magnificently described.
“They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in the great
waters; these see the works of the Lord, and His wonders in the deep.
For he commandeth and raiseth the stormy wind, which lifteth up the
waves thereof. They mount up to heaven, they go down again to the
depths; their soul is melted because of trouble. They reel to and fro,
and stagger like a drunken man, and are at their wits’ end. Then they
cry unto the Lord in their trouble, and He bringeth them out of their
distresses. He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are
still. Then are they glad because they be quiet; so He bringeth them
unto their desired haven.”
That storm-tossed vessel, with her sinking passengers, has furnished
no insignificant testimony to the preciousness of the Book which too
many criticise as if it were the foe and not the friend of humanity.
The picture of those passengers going down with their Bibles in their
hands will be a sweeter one for the memory to treasure, than all the
results of anatomical critics. And Oh surely! it will teach its lessons
to those who are content to live in the neglect of, or in direct
opposition to, the Book which in such an hour was appealed to, and not
in vain.
Nor must it be forgotten that, on board the sinking _London_, the
passengers attached the greatest possible importance to prayer.
They prayed for themselves, and they besought an interest in the
intercessions of others. During those wasting days and nights of
lingering suspense they continued in prayer: it was their only comfort,
and they went down into the deep with the voice of supplication upon
their lips. Does not this teach its own solemn lesson to the prayerless
who may read these pages? Does it not tell of a value in prayer beyond
all the arguments that may be used against it, or even in favour of
it? Those brave men and women, praying bareheaded to the storm, and
going down into the wild waves calmly trusting in God’s goodness
still;--shall not this last touching act of theirs convey an appeal to
the prayerless which there can be no resisting? Shall it not say in
tones of entreaty that cannot be withstood, “Seek ye the Lord while He
may be found, call ye upon Him while he is near?” Close to your heart
with its deepest needs there stands a throne of mercy from which every
imaginable good can be obtained: turn to that throne, be you in lane,
highway, or open street, when this commandment reaches you, and seek
salvation in the name of Christ, and you shall not seek in vain.
Finally, on board the sinking _London_, the greatest attention was paid
to a preached gospel. A preacher is not unfrequently heard enforcing
his appeals to the undecided by the solemn words, “I speak as a dying
man to dying men.” In Mr. Draper’s case the words were literally true,
and they had all the pathos and hold of last words that might at any
moment be stopped by the overwhelming flood: and how the passengers
listened! How important seemed every word then with either heaven or
hell coming nearer and nearer with every inch of water rising in the
engine-room!
Ah! could those on land, and out of the reach, as they think, of such a
calamity as shipwreck, but feel, that slowly yet surely up to them is
advancing the hour in which all earthly interests will be as nothing,
and the concerns of the soul all important, how would they now value
the privilege of a preached gospel, and every instrumentality by which
they can learn more of themselves and of spiritual things! A little
while, and the last hour of every one who reads these lines will have
come, and will be felt to be the last. How wilt thou meet it, reader?
It has been said, that in that last hour, no matter how aged the dying
one, the memory awakes to its keenest power, and there passes before
the mind a vivid diorama of all life’s doings. Events and circumstances
seemingly long buried, suddenly leap into life, and it well nigh
startles one to listen to the remembrances that come and go through the
fast-darkening chambers of the brain. Slowly dying on the pillow before
us, lies one whose head is silent with age, and the grey dawn of an
eternal morning is stealing over his features; but glancing brightly
through the haze of death, there come to him visions of his long, long
past; of the home of his childhood, of the bride of his youth, of the
events of his riper age and manhood, until in a single hour he seems
to live all his life over again.
Oh! it will be sad to remember, in such an hour, a neglected Bible,
a throne of grace despised, and a gospel of mercy refused. It will
be sad to remember, that even such a calamity as the wreck of the
_London_ produced no serious impression, and no turning of the head
towards heaven. If the things which the sinking passengers remembered
during the storm are remembered by you now,--if their deep importance
is laid to heart by all whose feelings have been touched by the
disaster,--then, terrible though it has been, it will not have occurred
in vain. It will have come in mercy to those who, in circumstances of
fancied security, are not prepared to die. To such the voice of the
sinking minister crying, even from the drowning wave, “Prepare to meet
your God,” will not have come in vain.
THE END.
[Illustration]
APPENDIX.
The narrative which we have here given of the Wreck of the _London_
was written pending the inquiry instituted by the Board of Trade to
arrive, if possible, at the cause of the melancholy catastrophe. It
is to be regretted that the inquiry, though it lasted many days, has
not added much to the information that was given to the public by
the survivors upon their landing at Plymouth. No discovery has been
made as to the real cause which brought about the melancholy event,
although it is hardly possible to conceive any question of more serious
importance to the public mind. The evidence given at the inquiry was
by no means satisfactory. On the one hand, those directly connected
with the owners gave their evidence, and on the other hand, there was
the testimony of the Emigration Inspectors who had passed the ship,
and who could not be expected to stultify themselves by a new judgment
of her seaworthiness. But against this testimony of ship-builders and
inspectors has been placed the evidence of those who declare that the
ship was in disgracefully bad trim, and, as will be seen among the
slips that were picked up in bottles that were cast away on the morning
of the wreck, there was one which says that the vessel was too heavily
laden. Great dissatisfaction has been expressed, and it has even been
made a subject of discussion in the House of Commons, that Mr. Traill,
the magistrate before whom the Board-of-Trade inquiry was conducted,
did not permit Counsel to cross-examine witnesses on behalf of those
who have lost relatives: but it seems that there really was no power
under the Act of Parliament to admit of such cross-examination. The
tonnage, measurement, and steam-power of the ship, together with the
names of her owners, the nature and quantity of her cargo, were stated
before the Court. We heard again the story of her voyage from the Docks
to Gravesend, and from Gravesend to Plymouth, and from Plymouth to the
Bay of Biscay. There was no charge made against Captain Martin, and
no one dreamed of imputing negligence or incapacity to so experienced
a seaman. The evidence of the official surveyors and other experts
examined by the Court of Inquiry as to the construction and fittings
of the _London_ was, on the whole, decidedly in favour of her perfect
seaworthiness. In the opinion of the Court, the immediate cause of her
loss was the sea getting into the engine-room and extinguishing the
fires; but the Court did not venture upon any positive conclusions as
to whether the action of the sea carried away the skylight over the
engine hatchway, or whether the skylight was properly secured. It did
not appear in evidence that the fastenings of the skylight were not
properly secured, and it was distinctly stated that the hatchway was
perfectly battened down. There were several points in the evidence as
regards the occurrences at sea--such as the carrying away the masts and
booms, the delay in clearing away the wreck, the loss of the boats, and
other matters relating to the management of the ship--which might have
been more satisfactorily explained had the lamented Captain, or any
of the officers of the ship, survived to explain them. In the absence
of such explanation, it is but reasonable to give Captain Martin
the credit for the character he always possessed, of being an able
and careful seaman, who would not be guilty of any great default of
management.
For ourselves, we can hardly believe that the ship was in the
disgraceful condition that some represent her to have been, unless we
are ready to assume that there was a gigantic conspiracy among all
concerned in pronouncing the ship to be in safe trim. The Surveyor of
the Board of Trade passed the ship; Lloyd’s Surveyor, acting in the
interests of the Underwriters, passed the ship; and lastly, the ship
was passed by the Emigration Surveyor, who had not only to look to
the ship generally, but to take into consideration her cargo, for the
purpose of seeing whether she was overloaded. We join in the universal
regret that the real cause of the ship’s foundering, beyond what is
given in the preceding pages, is still a mystery; and it only remains
for us again to express the hope that still more scrutinizing care
will be exercised by Government Inspectors and others, in regard to
every ship concerning whose safe trim they are called upon fairly and
honestly to testify.
* * * * *
Messrs. Wigram have kindly forwarded the following List of Passengers
per steam-ship _London_, Captain J. Bohun Martin, for Melbourne:--
CHIEF CABIN.
Rev. Mr. and Mrs. Draper
Mr. Owen and child
Mr. and Mrs. G. F. P. Urquhart
Mr. J. Patrick
Mr. and Miss Vaughan (Brooke)
Mr. J. Alderson
Mr. P. Benson
Mr. and Mrs. J. Fenton, and two children
Mr. G. M. Smith
Mr. and Mrs. Chapman, and two children
Mr. and Mrs. Clark, and son
Mr. F. Lewis
Mr. and Mrs. J. Bevan
Dr. J. Woolley
Mr. and Mrs. Debenham
Miss L. Maunder
Mr. J. Robertson
Mr. T. M. Tennant
Mrs. Traill and child
Mr. G. Palmer
Mr. T. Brown
Mr. and Mrs. Amos
Mr. E. Brooks
Mr. J. R. Richardson
Rev. Mr. and Mrs. Kerr
Mrs. and Miss King
Mr. and Mrs. Thomas and two children
Mr. A. Sandilands
Mr. E. Youngman
Mr. H. J. Dennis
Mr. E. A. Marks
Mr. D. F. De Pass
Master W. D. Burrell
Dr. J. Hunter
Miss D’Ovoy
Miss C. McLachlan
Miss Cutting
Mr. McMillan
SECOND CABIN.
Mr. Kaye Eastwood
Mr. F. Stone
Mr. and Mrs. White
Miss H. Price
Mr. J. L. Williams
Mr. and Mrs. Graham
Mr. B. G. Rowe
Mr. J. E. Wilson (_saved_)
Mrs. Morland
Miss G. Graham
Mr. J. Dothie
Mr. C. Gough
Mr. A. Bruce
Mr. J. Woodhouse
Mr. G. Cross
Mr. W. Day
Mr. D. W. Lemon
Mr. and Mrs. Giffett
Mr. G. Chennells
Mr. and Mrs. Wood
Master and Miss Clayson
Mr. Thomas Wood
Mr. Godfrey Wood
Miss E. Wood
Mr. B. Bevan
Miss S. Brooker
Mr. Davies
Mr. T. O’Hagen
Mr. H. W. Harding
Mr. F. Fryer
Mr. J. Munro (_saved_)
Mr. D. C. Main (_saved_)
Mr. C. Johnstone
Mr. P. Fenwick
Mrs. and Miss Meggs
Mr. G. H. Campbell
Miss E. Marks
Mr. E. G. Trevenen
Mr. and Mrs. Hickman, two sons and two daughters
Mr. A. McLean
Mr. Davies
THIRD CABIN.
Mr. W. Passmore
Mr. H. Miller
Mr. C. P. Chandler
Mr. B. Hay
Miss E. Jones
Mrs. and Miss Simpson
Mr. and Mrs. Hanson
Mr. and Mrs. Graham and three children
Mr. David Graham
Mr. McVittie
Mr. G. Rolwegan
Mr. and Mrs. Sercombe and three children
Mr. and Mrs. G. Flick and four children
Mr. R. Trevenen
Mr. D. Block
Mr. J. Gerkem
Messrs. Zulec Morris and Zulec Barnett
Mr. S. Bolton
Mr. T. Skeggs
Mr. and Mrs. D. Smith
Mr. A. Umphray
Master Spring
Mr. A. Hoyeim
Mr. J. Walls
Mr. W. Barron
Mrs. Lampes and two children
Mr. Algernon L. Otter
Mr. John Little
Mr. H. McCovey
Mrs. Bachelor
Mr. J. Kirkwood
Mr. W. Clifton
Mr. R. Reynolds
SEA MESSAGES FROM THE PASSENGERS.
Admiral Halsted, the Secretary of Lloyd’s, has received the following
letter from Sir Anthony Perrier, C.B., Her Majesty’s Consul, and
Lloyd’s Agent at Brest, dated 24th February 1866:--
SIR,--I annex a translation of an extract from a letter just
received from the Commissary-General of Marine at Lorient,
which may be of interest to those concerned in the fate of the
unfortunate _London_, should the original papers sent to Paris not
have been transmitted to Her Majesty’s Government by the Minister
of Marine.
I am, Sir, your obedient servant,
ANTHONY PERRIER.
To the Secretary at Lloyd’s.
Extract of a letter from Commissary-General of Marine at Lorient:--
(_Translation._)--On the 12th of February last three bottles were
found on the coast of Guiberon and Locruariaquer, containing six
papers written in English, as follows:--
_The first paper_--D. W. Lemon, London, Thursday, 10th January
1866. The ship is sinking; no hope of being saved. Dear parents,
may God bless you, as also me, with the hope of eternal salvation.
_Second paper._--Steam-ship _London_.--They are putting out the
boats.
_Third paper._--F. G. Huckstepp. On board steam-ship _London_, lat.
46 deg. 20 min., long., 7 deg. 30 min.; lost boats, masts, and
sails; ship leaking.
_Fourth paper._--We commenced our voyage on Saturday, the 30th
December 1865. Sunday in the channel, Monday in open sea; Tuesday
in ditto; Wednesday at Cowes; Thursday at Plymouth; Friday and
Saturday at sea; Sunday bad weather; Monday water from the stern
comes in cabins; the 9th, heavy damages, a boat lost. May we get
home. Storm.--H. G.
_Fifth paper._--F. C. McMillan, of Launceston, Tasmania, 12th
January, to his dear wife and dear children: May God bless you all.
Farewell for this world. Lost in the steam-ship _London_, bound for
Melbourne.
_Sixth paper._--H. J. D. Denis to Th. Denis Knight, at Great
Shelford: Adieu father, brothers, and my ... Edi ... steamer,
_London_, Bay of Biscay, Thursday, ten o’clock. Ship too heavily
laden for its size, and too crank; windows stove in; water coming
in everywhere. God bless my poor orphans. Request to send this, if
found, to Great Shelford. Storm not too violent for a ship in good
condition.
On the same day were found, on the shoals of Guiberon, a binnacle
watch, stopped at half-past ten o’clock, a woman’s shift, two cotton
sheets, two splinters of wood, having on them in white letters, and six
centimetres (2½ inches long), the word _London_.
A great quantity of staves have been picked up along the coast.
In compliance with instructions from the Minister of Marine, the
above-mentioned papers have been sent to the Minister of Marine and
Colonies.
Transcriber’s Notes
Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a
predominant preference was found in the original book; otherwise they
were not changed.
Simple typographical errors were corrected; unbalanced quotation
marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and otherwise left
unbalanced.
Illustrations in this eBook have been positioned between paragraphs and
outside quotations.
Original text used “steam-ship” and “steamship”; both retained here.
Original text used “Mc” and “M‘” (the curving left single quote was
used because it looks similar to a superscript “c”). In this ebook,
“Mc” is used for all of them.
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WRECK OF THE "LONDON." ***
Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will
be renamed.
Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United
States without permission and without paying copyright
royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™
concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following
the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use
of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for
copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very
easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation
of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project
Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may
do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected
by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark
license, especially commercial redistribution.
START: FULL LICENSE
THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at
www.gutenberg.org/license.
Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™
electronic works
1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your
possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person
or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this
agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™
electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.
1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the
Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual
works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting
free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™
works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily
comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when
you share it without charge with others.
1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no
representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
country other than the United States.
1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other
immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear
prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work
on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the
phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed,
performed, viewed, copied or distributed:
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you
are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws
of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is
derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™
trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works
posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
beginning of this work.
1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™.
1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg™ License.
1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format
other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official
version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website
(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain
Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the
full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
provided that:
• You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method
you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has
agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation.”
• You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™
License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™
works.
• You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
receipt of the work.
• You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.
1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than
are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of
the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set
forth in Section 3 below.
1.F.
1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
cannot be read by your equipment.
1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right
of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.
1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
without further opportunities to fix the problem.
1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO
OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
remaining provisions.
1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in
accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or
additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any
Defect you cause.
Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™
Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
from people in all walks of life.
Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will
remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future
generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.
Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.
The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West,
Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up
to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website
and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact
Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation
Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread
public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.
The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state
visit www.gutenberg.org/donate.
While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.
International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate.
Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be
freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of
volunteer support.
Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
edition.
Most people start at our website which has the main PG search
facility: www.gutenberg.org.
This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
