Narratives of Shipwrecks of the Royal Navy; between 1793 and 1849 by William O. S. Gilly

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE CRESCENT.

His Majesty's Ship Crescent, of 36 guns, Captain John Temple, sailed
from Yarmouth about four o'clock in the afternoon of the 29th of
November, 1808, for Gottenburg. When she left Yarmouth, the wind blew
fresh from the south-west, and it continued favourable till the
following afternoon, when the weather became overcast, and the wind
increased to a gale. The vessel proceeded on her course for some days,
and at daylight, on the 5th of December, the coast of Norway was
discernible from the deck. At one o'clock, P.M., they sounded in
twenty-five fathoms, on the coast of Jutland; an hour later they
sounded in eighteen fathoms, and at three o'clock they were in
thirteen fathoms. The pilots in charge of the Crescent requested the
master to inform Captain Temple that they desired that the ship should
be hove to, with her head to the southward, and the topsails close
reefed. The advice of the pilots was immediately acted upon, and they
at the same time assured the captain that they were well acquainted
with the soundings, and they had no doubt the ship would drift with
safety. Suddenly she did drift into ten fathoms, and remained in that
depth until eight o'clock, P.M.

Captain Temple felt anxious for the safety of his ship and her crew,
and he inquired of the pilots if any alteration could be made with
advantage. They replied that none was necessary; but that the Crescent
should be kept on the same tack till daylight. The vessel drifted till
ten o'clock, P.M. when she struck. A boat was immediately lowered to
sound. The men reported the current setting to eastward at the rate of
two and a-half or three miles an hour.

As the sails were now only forcing the ship further on the shoal,
orders were given to furl, and to hoist out all the boats except the
jolly-boat and gig--both of these orders were promptly obeyed. At this
time, the current was taking the ship on the larboard bow, and canting
her round. In order to draw her off, the sails were loosed; but this,
instead of having the desired effect, hove her round into a worse
position than before. The sails were again furled, and an anchor and
cable were got into the launch. The boats then took the launch in tow,
and endeavoured to pull her out; but the force and rapidity of the
current rendered it impossible to do so. The situation of the Crescent
became every instant more perilous; the gale had increased, and the
wind, which had veered round to the north-west, blew direct on shore,
forcing the vessel further on the shoal. As a last attempt to save the
ship, the captain directed that the bower anchor should be let go, and
the ship lightened by heaving the guns, shot, balls, &c., overboard.
Little good resulted from this step; and then the water was started
and the provisions thrown overboard out of the fore and aft holds.
Pumping now became useless, as the water had risen to the hatches; and
when at last the cable parted, all hopes of saving the vessel were
abandoned, and at half-past six in the morning of the 6th of December
the masts were cut away by the captain's orders, and she lay a
helpless wreck. The boats which, until this time, had been lying off
in tow, broke their hawsers; and when the people on board found it
impossible to regain the ship, from the force of the current, they
made for the shore, and fortunately all succeeded in reaching it, with
the exception of one of the cutters, which was lost with all her crew.
Lieutenant Henry Stokes, who was in one of the other boats, fearing
that she would be capsized, jumped overboard, and attempted to swim on
shore, but had not strength to buffet with the waves, and was drowned.
The storm continued to increase as the day advanced, and the men on
board the wreck being completely exhausted, they piped to breakfast,
and a dram was served round. At one o'clock, P.M., a raft was
commenced, and in about an hour it was completed and launched, and
placed under the charge of Lieutenant John Weaver, of the Marines, Mr.
Thomas Mason, clerk, and Mr. James Lavender, midshipman. The crew of
the raft was composed chiefly of the sick, or those least capable of
exerting themselves for their own preservation. When the raft left the
ship, the captain and gallant crew of the Crescent gave three hearty
cheers to their companions, whom they were never likely to behold
again. It is hard to say which of the parties was in greatest peril,
or nearest to destruction; but in all such cases, those who are
obliged to wait for the awful moment, are subjected to more intense
mental suffering than those who act, and are enabled to take any
measures, however perilous, for saving their lives. The people upon
the raft returned the farewell cheer, and as each wave dashed over
them, and they again floated on the surface, they announced their
safety with another and another shout. They had little hope indeed of
reaching the shore alive; they were standing up to their middle in
water, and every billow that rolled over them carried away one or more
of their number. Happily some of those who were washed off the raft,
succeeded in regaining it; but seven of them perished, the rest were
safely landed, and to the constant exertions of the officers to keep
up the spirits of the men, they were greatly indebted for their
preservation.

A second raft was begun on board the Crescent, but it was never
completed; the sea made a clear breach over her; the quarter-deck
became filled with water, and it was therefore necessary to launch the
jolly-boat in order to save as many lives as possible, though she
could scarcely be expected to live in such a sea. Once more, Captain
Temple and above two hundred men and officers said farewell to the
companions of their toils and dangers--once more they bade God speed
to the frail bark--their own last chance of escape--and watched it as
it was now borne aloft on the crested wave, now buried in the briny
furrow. For a time they forgot their own danger in anxiety for the
others; but they were soon recalled to what was passing around
them--the groaning of the timbers, as every sea struck the wreck with
an increasing shock, forewarned them that she could not long resist
that mighty force. There were two hundred and twenty human beings
entirely helpless to save themselves. None may know the agonies of
that hour, when even hope itself had fled--when nothing intervened
between the soul and the unseen world. The Crescent went to pieces a
short time after the departure of the jolly-boat, and every one left
on board perished, to the number of two hundred and twenty, out of a
crew of two hundred and eighty. Amongst the lost were the captain,
three lieutenants, a lieutenant of marines, nine midshipmen, the
surgeon, purser, carpenter, and gunner; two pilots, one passenger, six
women, and a child.

The surviving officers and crew of the Crescent were tried by a court
martial, at Sheerness, for the loss of the vessel, when the court was
of opinion that 'the loss of the Crescent proceeded from the ignorance
and neglect of the pilots, and that the master was blameable, inasmuch
that he did not recommend to the captain or pilots either coming to an
anchor, or standing on the other tact, for the better security of H.M.
late ship Crescent.'

'The court was further of opinion that every exertion was made on the
part of the remaining officers and crew for the safety of the
Crescent.'

THE MINOTAUR.

His Majesty's Ship Minotaur, of 74 guns, Captain John Barrett, was
ordered by Admiral Sir James Saumarez to protect the last Baltic
fleet, in the year 1810.

After seeing the convoy through the Belt, the ship sailed from
Gottenburg about the 15th December, and, with a strong breeze from the
east, shaped her course alone for the Downs.

At eight o'clock, in the evening of the 22nd, Lieutenant Robert Snell
took charge of the watch; the wind was then blowing hard from the
south-east, the weather thick and hazy, and the ship, under
close-reefed topsails, and courses, was going at the rate of four
knots an hour.

At nine o'clock, the captain gave orders that soundings should be
taken every hour, under the immediate direction of the pilot of the
watch. At midnight, the pilot desired that the vessel might be put on
the other tack, and all hands were instantly turned up to carry out
his directions, and Lieutenant Snell was in the act of informing the
captain of what was going on, when the ship struck.

The helm was ordered to be put up, but the first shock had carried
away the tiller; fruitless attempts were then made to back the ship
off, but she had struck with such force upon the sand that it was
impossible to move her. The carpenter now reported fifteen feet water
in the hold; and it increased so rapidly that in a few minutes it rose
above the orlop deck. The officers and the whole of the ship's company
were assembled upon deck, and the universal question passed from mouth
to mouth--'On what coast have we struck?'

The pilot of the watch maintained that they were on some shoal in the
English coast; the other pilot, however, was of opinion that they were
upon the North Haacks, and this proved to be actually the case.

For a few minutes after the ship first struck there was some degree of
confusion on board; but this soon subsided; order and tranquillity
were restored, and the men all exerted themselves to the utmost,
although she struck the ground so heavily, it was almost impossible
for them to keep their feet.

The masts were cut away, and other means taken to lighten the ship;
and guns were fired as signals of distress, but no aid was afforded
to them during that long and dismal night. The darkness was so
intense, it was impossible to see beyond a few yards, and they could
only judge of their proximity to land, by the sullen roar of the
breakers as they dashed upon the shore. In this state of uncertainty
and dread, the night passed away; and daylight at last discovered to
the crew of the Minotaur the horrors of their situation. The ship was
firmly imbedded in sand, and had gradually sunk till the water covered
the forecastle. All the boats excepting the launch and two yauls were
destroyed, either by the falling of the masts, or the waves breaking
over them.

At eight o'clock, A.M., the Minotaur parted amidships, and the sea
made a clear breach over her. The gunner, seeing that she could not
hold together much longer, volunteered to go off in the yard, and
endeavour to obtain assistance from the shore. Captain Barrett at
first refused the offer, as he thought it impossible the boat could
live in such a sea; but upon further consideration, he gave his
consent; and the gunner, with thirty-one of the crew, succeeded in
launching the yaul, and getting clear of the wreck.

The ship now presented a most distressing scene--portions of her
timbers and spars were floating about in all directions, with casks of
spirits and provisions which had been washed up from the hold. Crowded
together on the poop and the quarter-deck were officers and men
watching with eager anxiety the progress of the boat. After two hours
of breathless suspense they saw her reach the shore. Their comrades'
success was hailed with joy by the shipwrecked crew as a happy omen
for themselves--it inspired them with hope and confidence, and some of
them immediately attempted to lift the launch into the sea. They
fortunately succeeded in getting her afloat, and numbers then rushed
to get into her, amongst whom was Lieutenant Snell. He failed in his
first attempt, and then swam to the foretop, near which he knew the
launch must pass, to enable her to clear the wreck. He watched his
opportunity, and when the boat approached, jumped into the sea, and
was taken on board.

In the course of an hour, the launch gained the shore, where, instead
of receiving the assistance they expected, and the kindness their
unfortunate circumstances demanded, the crew were met by a party of
French soldiers, and immediately made prisoners. In vain, they
implored the Dutch officers, who were also on the beach, to send boats
to the aid of their unhappy comrades on the wreck, their earnest
entreaties were met by a cold refusal.

During the morning, Captain Barrett, and about a hundred men,
attempted to reach the shore in the second yaul, but she was swamped
and all were lost. At two o'clock in the afternoon, the after-part of
the ship turned bottom up, and the remainder of the crew perished.

The fate of Lieutenant Salsford was distinguished by a singular
circumstance. A large tame wolf, caught at Aspro, and brought up from
a cub by the ship's company, and exceedingly docile, continued to the
last an object of general solicitude. Sensible of its danger, its
howls were peculiarly distressing. It had always been a particular
favourite of the lieutenant, who was also greatly attached to the
animal, and through the whole of their sufferings kept close to his
master. On the breaking up of the ship both got upon the mast. At
times they were washed off, but by each other's assistance regained
it. The lieutenant at last, became exhausted by continual exertions,
and benumbed, with cold. The wolf was equally fatigued, and both held
occasionally by the other to retain his situation. When within a short
distance of the land, Lieutenant Salsford, affected by the attachment
of the animal, and totally unable any longer to support himself,
turned towards him from the mast, the beast clapped his fore paws
round his neck, while the lieutenant clasped him in his arms, and they
sank together.[13]

Such was the fate of the Minotaur, her captain, and four hundred of
her crew. There is not the slightest doubt but that, had the Dutch
sent assistance, the greater part of the ship's company would have
been saved; and it would appear by the following extract from a
letter, written on the subject by Lieutenant Snell, that the risk
attending such a humane attempt, on the part of the Dutch, would not
have been great. Lieutenant Snell says:--

'The launch which had brought on shore eighty-five men, was of the
smallest description of 74 launches, with one gunwale entirely broken
in, and without a rudder. This will better prove than anything I can
say how easy it would have been for the Dutch admiral in the Texel to
have saved, or to have shown some wish to have saved, the remaining
part of the crew.'

On the other hand, we have the report from the chief officer of the
marine district of the North coast, addressed to the Minister of
Marine, in which he states, that 'Captain Musquetie, commander in the
Texel Roads, sent, at daylight on the 23rd, two boats to reconnoitre
the Minotaur, but the wind and sea prevented them approaching the
vessel.'

It is to be hoped, for the honour of the Dutch officers, that they
_did_ really put out to the relief of the Minotaur, and that they
considered the attempt an impossibility, which a British sailor deemed
one of little risk. It is evident that there must have been
considerable danger for boats, from the fact of the second yaul being
lost, and Captain Barrett's hesitation before he allowed the gunner to
leave the ship in the first yaul; and in charity we must give the
Dutch the benefit of this evidence. At the same time, we have the
equally conclusive testimony of the safe landing of two boats from the
Minotaur, that it was not 'impossible' for even a somewhat crazy boat
to live on such a sea. At daylight, on the 24th, the survivors of the
Minotaur's crew were marched off as prisoners to Valenciennes. From
which place, the gunner, Mr. Bones, contrived to make his escape on
the 3rd of February. After suffering the greatest privations,
concealing himself in barns and stables by day, and travelling by
night, on the 17th of March he got on board a smuggling lugger, about
a mile from Ostend, the Master of which agreed to land him in England
for the sum of L50.

* * * * *

NOTE BY A NAVAL FRIEND.

The loss of the Minotaur may be attributed to their not knowing their
position; the pilot's desire to put the ship on the starboard tack at
twelve o'clock at night, with the wind from the south-east, showed
that he thought himself on the English coast. This fatal error in the
navigation of the ship is not easily accounted for; it arises in a
great measure from the dread of approaching the dangerous shoals on
our own coast, many of them far off the land, such as the Leman, and
Ower, Smith's Knowl, the Ridge, and others further in shore. Great
fear of these shoals is felt by all hands, and no doubt the man at the
helm would be cautioned not to bring the ship to the westward of her
course, and he would therefore be apt to err on the other
side--currents also may have carried her to the eastward. I am
tempted to offer this opinion from having experienced a similar
danger. In the year of the Battle of Copenhagen, I was in the Lynx
sloop of war on her return from the Baltic, and when we supposed
ourselves in mid-channel, between Yarmouth and the Texel, about two
o'clock, in the middle watch, we touched the ground in broken water;
happily the weather was moderate, and, by hauling to the westward we
soon got into deep water again. The following morning, about ten
o'clock, we spoke a lugger, and were informed that we were seven or
eight leagues from the coast of Holland. The distance ran from the
time we struck, told us that we must have been on the Haacks. A happy
escape!

FOOTNOTES:

[13] _Naval Chronicle_, vol. xxxvii. p. 183.

THE PALLAS AND THE NYMPH.

In the month of December, 1810, the Pallas, a 32-gun frigate,
commanded by Captain Paris Monke, was returning, in company with the
Nymph, Captain Edward Sneyd Clay, from a month's cruise on the coast
of Norway, and was steering for Leith, with a prize in tow. She had
not got far to the southward, when, on Tuesday morning, the 18th,
between nine and ten o'clock, land was discovered, but the weather was
so thick, it could not be clearly defined. The pilot, however, gave it
as his opinion that they were north of the Red-head. Towards the
middle of the day they fell in with some fishing-boats, and Captain
Monke having requested one of the fishermen to come on board the
frigate, he learnt from this man that the ship was at that time off
Stonehive and the Tod Head. At four o'clock, P.M., the usual order to
pipe to supper was given; the wind was blowing from the north-west,
and the vessel going at the rate of four knots an hour. Supper being
over, the drum beat to quarters, and the captain, having received the
usual reports, ordered the watch to be called. At six o'clock, in
compliance with the wish of the pilot, the course was altered from
south-west to south-south-west. For the last quarter of an hour the
ship had been increasing her rate of sailing from five and a half to
six knots an hour; the top-gallant scudding sails were therefore taken
in, and the royal and top-gallant stay sails hauled down, as also the
jib and the spanker. Soon after this the pilot, pointing towards the
coast, said to the captain, 'There's Lunan Bay;' and shortly
afterwards he said, 'There's the Red Head;' but it was too dark, then,
to see the land, much less could the outline of the coast be
distinguished. The captain inquired if they should not soon see the
Bell Rock Light, and he was answered in the affirmative. He then
ordered the officer of the watch to hail the forecastle, and direct
the men to keep a vigilant look-out for the Bell Rock Light.

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