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

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Ere many minutes had elapsed after the order was given, a light was
perceived before the starboard beam, which the pilot declared to be a
signal hoisted on the pier at Arbroath to show that there was water
enough for vessels to enter the harbour. The captain then went below
to consult the book of sailing directions, and when he returned upon
deck, he said to the pilot, 'If that light be on Arbroath pier, as you
suppose, we ought most certainly to be in sight of the light on the
Bell Rock.' The pilot replied, 'We shall soon see it;' and Captain
Monke repeated to the officer of the watch his order to keep a sharp
look out.

As the light on the Bell Rock did not appear, the captain became
exceedingly anxious; the more so, as he was convinced, by reckoning
the distances from the Tod Head to the Red Head, and from the Red Head
to the Bell Rock, and comparing their sum with the run from four
o'clock, that the ship had run as many miles to the southward as would
bring her up to the Bell Rock. To ascertain exactly the position of
the ship, he desired the master to work off the run by the log up to
eight o'clock, P.M., and in a short time the master reported that by
his calculation the light which they saw was no other than the
floating light of the Bell Rock, and that they had now only to bear up
and shape a course for the Isle of May.

The captain had been upon deck for more than five hours, and was so
much fatigued that he went down to the gun-room to get some
refreshment, at a little after ten o'clock, leaving positive orders
with the officer of the watch and the master to be most attentive to
the ship's course; and he was so anxious for her safety, that he had
scarcely sat down in the gun-room before he sent for the pilot-book of
sailing directions, that he might ascertain more exactly the position
of the Bell Rock, and the course and distance from thence to the Isle
of May. In a few minutes, the officer of the watch went down to report
that the May light was in sight, and Captain Monke was in the act of
going upon deck, when the vessel struck the ground. He instantly
rushed upon deck, and inquired of the master where he supposed the
ship had grounded. The reply was a startling one:--'I am afraid,' said
he, 'that we are on the Bell Rock, and not a soul will be saved,
unless we can forge her over it.' How they could possibly be upon the
Bell Rock, when the master had himself so confidently declared they
were running from it for some hours, appeared a mystery: but this was
no time for arguing the matter. Captain Monke saw the danger both to
the ship and all on board: he ordered the drum to beat to quarters,
and the men were soon on deck and each at his post Having assured
himself that the rudder was not damaged, the captain ordered the
foretack to be hauled on board, and the yards to be braced with the
larboard brace, which was done without loss of time. The lead was
cast, to ascertain the depth of water, which the quarter-master
reported to be twelve feet. The ship, which at first had taken the
ground easily, now began to strike with great violence; and when they
found that she did not forge ahead, the yards were braced aback, but
to no better purpose, for she remained hard and fast as before.

Land was now seen to leeward, and the master changed his opinion, and
imagined that the frigate had struck on the Isle of May; but the pilot
thought they were on shore in St. Andrew's Bay, and blamed the master
for having hauled too soon. As the tide was falling, there was little
hope of getting the ship afloat, although this was so far fortunate,
that it afforded a better chance of escape for the crew.

Orders were given to man the pumps, and the people obeyed with
alacrity, and worked by turns throughout the night with the utmost
vigour. The ship seemed to come up easier for a time, and the
carpenter reported twelve feet water in the hold. When the moon rose,
the position of the frigate with regard to the land was discovered;
and as the tide ebbed, her larboard bow appeared to be but a short
distance from the nearest rocks. From the time of the ship's striking,
guns had been fired as signals of distress, to arouse the attention of
the inhabitants of the coast, and these signals were soon answered by
lights displayed along the shore, and large fires kindled on the
beach. The glare of the torches moving to and fro on the shore denoted
the inclination of the people to render assistance to the unfortunate
vessel. Voices were heard hailing the ship, but it was impossible to
distinguish the words. The boatswain and carpenter, and some others,
declared that the men said, 'You are in St. Andrew's Bay--come on
shore,' Upon this, the boatswain and gunner volunteered to land with
two men in a small prize skiff, for the purpose of reconnoitring the
beach. This proposition was immediately rejected by the captain, who
assembled the principal officers on the forecastle and declared to
them his determination not to suffer a single boat to be lowered
during the night--but that they should all stick to the ship until
daylight, as the only chance of preserving their lives.

Happily the captain's orders were obeyed, though doubtless many would
feel tempted to risk a landing. The Pallas became more and more
uneasy--her rudder was carried away, and the sea broke completely over
her. The men were each served with a dram, and were still kept at the
pumps until three o'clock A.M., when the main beam broke and the
others began to give way in succession. In order to lighten the
vessel, the mainmast was cut away. At first, this did not appear to
have the desired effect--but in all probability it would have fallen
of itself and have done injury to the people; it now hung over the
side, and promised to serve as a raft in case of necessity. The
foremast was then cut away, and the mizenmast was doomed to
follow--but the axe and tomahawk, which had been carried forward, were
lost, or washed away. The ship by this time had fallen upon her beam
ends, and the sea was making breaches over her, so that every
individual had enough to do to keep himself from being washed
overboard.

About four o'clock in the morning, the spirits of the crew were
revived by seeing a boat appear between the wreck and a large fire
that had been kept burning immediately opposite. This was a welcome
sight, and it was hailed by three loud and hearty cheers from the
Pallas.

Many of the men by this time were suffering much from cold, hunger,
and fatigue, and those who were able, got into the weather chains for
safety and shelter. Daylight discovered to them the real position of
the ship; the light which had been supposed to be on the Isle of May
was that of a lime-kiln on the main land, and as the Bass and North
Berwick Law were plainly visible, it was evident from their bearings
that the frigate was on shore near to Dunbar. She was now a total
wreck--the bottom had separated to some extent amidships from her
upper works; a considerable portion of her floor timber was lying
about ten yards to windward of the rest of the hull, and the iron
ballast within this frame of timber was thus open to view. It was now
time for every man to provide as far as possible for his own safety. A
Portuguese sailor, an excellent swimmer, was the first to quit the
wreck and swim on shore; several men attempted to follow his example,
but five of them perished. The life-boat from Dunbar, which had been
launched with great difficulty on account of the heavy surf beating on
the rocks, reached the ship at ten o'clock in the morning of the 19th,
and she took off a boat-load from the wreck and landed them in safety.

This success encouraged the people to try to employ the boats of the
Pallas, but they were all found to be stove, or otherwise rendered
useless, with the exception of a sixteen-oared cutter. The cutter was
launched without material injury, and fortunately reached the land
with as many as she could carry. The life-boat again neared the ship,
and made a second successful landing with a number of officers and
men; and a third time she touched the wreck, and was again crowded
with people, but unfortunately the rope which she carried as a
hauling line was too short to reach between the ship and the shore,
and this time she had scarcely put off from the quarter before she
filled and upset. By this accident, six of the crew of the Pallas were
drowned, and one of the bravest fellows belonging to the life-boat The
other thirteen men who manned the boat, and several people from the
wreck, were saved with great difficulty; a small fishing-boat, which
had been opportunely launched through the surf, picked them up.
Amongst others so rescued from a watery grave were Captain Monke, and
Mr. Walker, the first lieutenant. The crew of the fishing-boat
persevered with great courage and good judgment in their efforts to
save the rest of the crew. They procured a small tow-line, which being
held by one end on the beach, they made fast to the mizen chains of
the ship. The boat was then hauled to and fro until, in eight or ten
trips, she had cleared the wreck of all the people; and, with the
exception of Mr. Tomlinson, the boatswain, and ten or twelve others
who perished, the whole of the ship's company were saved.

The kindness and hospitality exercised by the inhabitants of Dunbar
and the surrounding country were beyond all praise. The sufferers,
many of whom were insensible when carried on shore, and unconscious of
the manner in which their lives had been preserved, were lodged, fed,
and clothed. Captain Monke, who was much bruised, was carried by
Captain Maitland to the house of his father, Lord Lauderdale, at
Dunbar. The first lieutenant, Mr. Walker, who was picked up apparently
lifeless, was conveyed to Broxmouth, the seat of the Duchess of
Roxburgh, where he was, under Providence, indebted for his restoration
to the unremitting attentions of the duchess and her husband, Mr.
Manners.

The humblest of the crew were equally well cared for. The duchess
went from room to room, ministering to the wants of the sufferers, and
seeing that every comfort was provided for them.

It is gratifying to record that a handsome pecuniary reward was given
by government to the fishermen and other inhabitants of Dunbar who so
nobly risked their lives for the sake of their fellow-countrymen; and
the widow of the man who was lost in the life-boat had a pension of
L25 per annum settled upon her.

'I am persuaded,' writes Captain Monke, in his narrative, 'that this
court will participate in my feelings, and would think me most
forgetful, if I did not here publicly express my grateful sense I
shall ever retain of the humane and liberal conduct of the Duchess of
Roxburgh and Mr. Manners, who in their hospitable mansion at Broxmouth
administered every sort of comfort and medical relief to the far
greater part of the suffering officers and people of the Pallas, many
of whose lives were thereby preserved to their country. In justice to
my own feelings, I cannot close my narrative without declaring to this
honourable court that no men under similar circumstances could behave
better than did the crew of the Pallas. So far from being dismayed by
their perilous situation, they manifested equal firmness and
subordination; and, in fact, from the first moment of the ship
striking the ground, to the time when necessity compelled every
individual to consult his own safety, they obeyed all the orders with
as much alacrity as cheerfulness, and (what is more) without either
noise or confusion. Hence, sir, I consider myself justified in
asserting that, notwithstanding the number victualled on board at the
time was reduced to one hundred and sixty, if any human exertion
could, in the first instance, have got the Pallas afloat, she would
not have been irrecoverably lost to the service. I must also beg leave
to add, that the officers set every example; and that from Mr.
Walker, the first-lieutenant, I derived, throughout this trying scene,
the most effectual support and assistance.'

The Nymph, which we have mentioned as being in company with the
Pallas, got on shore the same night, on a rock called the Devil's Ark,
near Skethard, misled by some irregularity in the lights on the Bell
Rock and Isle of May.

The crew of the Nymph were all saved, but the fine frigate was lost.

ST. GEORGE AND DEFENCE.

Among the many services in which the fleets of Great Britain were
engaged during the last war, none was more rife with perils and
hardships than that on which the Baltic Fleet was employed. During the
long winter nights the crews were continually exposed to intense cold,
and the ships were often enveloped in such impenetrable fogs, that
sometimes even the pilots were deceived as to their true position, and
those lamentable consequences ensued of which the loss of the Minotaur
was an example, (see page 154), her officers conceiving they were on
the coast of England, when they were actually stranded on the opposite
shore.

We will briefly mention two instances, which may give the reader some
idea of the severity of the climate in the Northern Seas.

On the 23rd of December, 1808, the Fama (which had sailed from
Carlscrona the previous day, in consort with some other men-of-war,
and a convoy of merchantmen,) struck upon the Island of Bornholm, in
the midst of such dense darkness, and so blinding a fall of snow,
that it was impossible to discern any of the surrounding objects. The
moment the ship struck, Lieutenant Topping, her commander, sprung from
his berth and rushed upon deck, without giving himself time to put on
his clothes. In his anxiety for the safety of his ship, and of those
who were on board, he continued to give his orders, without any other
protection from the piercing blast and driving snow than a blanket,
which one of his men had thrown over his shoulders; '_in fifteen
minutes from the time the vessel first struck, he fell upon the deck a
corpse_.' One man and a woman shared the same fate, the rest of the
crew survived the night, and were next morning saved by the Danes.

The circumstances attending the loss of the Pandora were still more
horrible. She struck on the Scaw Reef, a shoal on the coast of
Jutland, on the night of the 13th of February, 1811, and in three
hours her rudder was carried away, and the hold nearly filled with
water. The wind was bitterly cold, and, as the men were unable to get
below, they were in danger of being either washed overboard, or frozen
to death, before morning. In this dreadful state they remained until
daybreak, when it was discovered that several of them had perished
from the inclemency of the weather. The survivors contrived to cut a
hole in the side of the deck which was above water, through which they
crept below, one by one, to seek protection from the cold. During the
day, some boats attempted to put out to their assistance, but the sea
ran so high that it was impossible to approach the wreck. The unhappy
crew, disappointed in their hopes of relief, endeavoured to launch the
boats; but these were so encased in ice, that they resembled large
blocks of marble, and it was impossible to move them. In the course of
the night the wind and sea abated, and the Danes succeeded in
rescuing the people of the Pandora from their perilous situation, but
not before twenty-nine had perished from the intense cold.

The month of November, 1811, was most disastrous to the Baltic Fleet.
The British ships of war had already suffered so severely from
attempting the dangerous navigation of the Northern Seas too late in
the year, that the commander-in-chief on the station received orders
on no account to delay the departure of the last homeward-bound convoy
beyond the 1st of November. In obedience to these instructions,
Rear-Admiral Reynolds sailed with a convoy from Hano on that day,
having hoisted his broad pendant on board the St. George, of 98 guns,
Captain Daniel Oliver Guion; but owing to severe gales he was
compelled to put back on three several occasions, and the weather did
not permit him finally to leave the anchorage until the 12th of the
month. On the 15th the St George and convoy arrived off the Island of
Zealand, where they anchored to wait for a favourable wind, having met
with very rough weather in their passage from Hano, and several of the
convoy having foundered, without its being possible for the others to
render them the least assistance. In the course of the night of the
15th the wind increased to a hurricane, and all hands on board the St.
George were summoned to give the ship cable. Before this could be
accomplished the sea poured through the hawse-holes, carried
everything away, and rendered it impossible for many of the men to
stand to their duty. They were still in the act of veering away the
cable, when a large merchant vessel, which had been seen looming
through the darkness, drifted down upon them, its hull coming
violently in collision with the bows of the St. George, and severing
her cables;--one piercing shriek followed,--the merchantman gave a
lurch, and the next instant was engulfed in the raging billows.

However appalling the sight of this fearful tragedy might have been
to the crew of the St. George, their own danger was too imminent to
allow them much time for reflection, for on heaving the lead they
found only fourteen fathoms, though they had anchored in twenty. The
best bower anchor was at once let go, as the ship appeared to be fast
drifting towards the shore; but such was the force of the wind and
sea, that its massive ring broke off as if it had been only a piece of
wire. Upon this it was resolved to wear her off the land, and the jib
and foretopmast stay-sail were loosed, but before they could be set
the sails were wrenched from the bolt-ropes, and borne away by the
blast. The lead being cast again, eight fathoms were reported; the
sheet anchor was let go, in hopes that it would hold, but, like the
other anchor, it made no impression on the ship, and broke short off.
As a last resource, the men began to cut away the masts, when, just as
they fell, a heavy sea lifted the vessel and hurled her with violence
upon a sand bank, where she remained fast, the masts having by good
fortune fallen clear of her sides.

There was but little hope now of saving the ship, yet the crew behaved
with the most admirable steadiness, and obeyed with cheerful alacrity
when they were ordered to man the pumps. Towards daybreak the rudder
was torn from its fastenings, and it was only the discovery that the
water did not gain on the ship that sustained the drooping spirits of
the seamen, exhausted as they were with their arduous exertions and
long exposure to the biting cold and constant fall of sleet and snow.
At half-past six the long-wished-for dawn appeared, when, to their
dismay, they found themselves on a sand bank, four miles from the
shore. As the wind and sea gradually abated, the rest of the squadron
attempted to render them assistance, but did not venture to approach
too close to the shoal. The St. George continued to strike heavily
until twelve that night, when her head swung round to the land, and,
contrary to all expectations, the water was found to have risen three
feet since eight o'clock in the evening. By ten the next morning
(Sunday, the 17th of November) she was clear of all danger, and having
fitted up jury-masts, with a rudder supplied from the Cressy, she
arrived in safety at Gottenburg, about the 2nd of December.

Having partially repaired damages, Admiral Reynolds weighed anchor on
the 17th December, and proceeded, in consort with the Defence and
Cressy, to convoy a homeward-bound fleet of merchantmen.

On the 23rd, another north-westerly gale was encountered, on the coast
of Jutland. At midnight, signals were made to wear, but owing to the
disabled state of the St. George, this was found impossible. In the
hope of bringing her head round to the wind, an anchor was let go, but
the hawser, catching under her keel, tore away the temporary rudder,
and snapped itself with the strain, and again the ship fell off. The
captain gave orders to strike the lower yards and topmasts, and to
lighten the vessel. Between five and six in the morning of the 24th,
the report of a gun was heard from the Defence, which was supposed to
have got on shore about two miles and a half off. A short time after,
the St. George struck, and drifted towards the shore, and from this
moment all hope of saving the ship vanished.

Upon examining the well, the carpenter reported ten feet water in the
hold; and this rose so rapidly, that in the space of half an hour it
reached the lower deck, driving the people to the main deck. Admiral
Reynolds and the captain used every effort to encourage the men to
remain steady to their duty, as the only chance of preserving their
lives. At ten o'clock, the sea swept the main deck, so that all hands
were obliged to seek refuge on the poop. All the boats, except the
yawl, had either been stove or washed overboard. As an instance of the
obedience and discipline of the crew of the St. George, three or four
men came forward, and asked permission to attempt to reach the shore
in the yawl: this request was at first granted, but as they were about
to lower her into the sea, it was considered impossible that the boat
could live, and the men were directed to return to their posts.
Without a murmur, they instantly obeyed; and as if Providence had
rewarded this implicit obedience and reliance upon their officers, two
of these men were of the few that were saved.

It is impossible to describe the suffering of the helpless crew. Their
numbers, originally about seven hundred and fifty, had been terribly
thinned by the severity of the weather, and the surging of the waves,
which every instant burst over them. At eight o'clock in the evening
of the 24th, fourteen men took the boat and attempted to pull from the
wreck, but they had not gone many yards when she upset, and her crew
perished. The mizenmast still stood, and orders were given for its
being cut away, but as no axes could be found, the men were obliged to
use their knives to cut the lanyards of the rigging; at this moment, a
sea struck the mast, carrying away the poop, and the men who were upon
it. As the poop was swept away from the wreck, it bore not only the
living but the dead. The latter far outnumbered the former, and it
became necessary for the general preservation to cast overboard the
bodies of their dead comrades. But their strength, already weakened by
previous suffering, was unequal to the performance of this painful
duty; and while thus employed, a sea swept over the poop, scattering
the men upon the foaming billows. Five regained it, but were again
washed off, and again succeeded in reaching their former position. Of
these, two died, and the other three were washed on shore.

The scene on board was one of the most harrowing description. Mingled
together were the living, the dying, and the dead. The bodies were
piled up by the survivors in rows one above another, as a shelter from
the violence of the waves, which broke incessantly over them.

In the fourth row lay the admiral and his friend Captain Guion; whilst
the groans of the dying, mingling with the roar of the tempest,
unnerved the hearts of those who had hitherto shown an unappalled
front to the perils surrounding them.

There still remained about two hundred men, who were employed in
constructing a raft, as the last chance of saving their lives. After
considerable labour, this was effected, by lashing together a topsail
yard and a cross-jack yard, the only spars that remained.

Upon this, ten men left the wreck, but the timbers being improperly
secured, they broke adrift, and the first sea that came washed five
men off; the others gained the shore, one of whom died.

According to all accounts, even the few who survived would have
perished, had it not been for the humane conduct of the Danes who came
to their assistance; these, at the risk of their own lives, succeeded
in rescuing from the raft the seven exhausted sufferers who survived,
out of the crew of seven hundred and fifty men.

The St. George, as has been already mentioned, was in company with
both the Cressy and Defence. Captain Pater, who commanded the former,
seeing the impossibility of rendering any assistance to the St.
George, and the imminent risk to his own ship if he remained longer on
the starboard tack, wore, and escaped the danger.

The master of the Defence reported to Captain Atkins that the St.
George had gone on shore, and that the Cressy had veered and was
standing to the southward,--at the same time pointing out the great
danger the ship was in, and recommending that he should follow the
example of the Cressy. The captain inquired whether the admiral had
made the signal to part company; upon being answered in the negative,
he replied, 'I will never desert my admiral in the hour of danger and
distress.'

At about six o'clock A.M., the hands were turned up to wear ship, but
before this could be accomplished she struck, the sea made a breach
over her, and washed several men overboard.

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