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

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But the morning dawn put all such plans to flight, and revealed the
true character of the Malays. No sooner did they perceive the wreck,
than they started off to her and plundered the hull of everything they
could carry away. No assistance was to be expected from these
rapacious thieves; and as the time had elapsed which was required to
bring succour from Batavia, measures were taken to repair the launch
and to construct a raft to enable the people to leave the island
before their provisions should be completely exhausted.

Matters now began to assume a more formidable aspect, for on
Saturday, the 1st of March, the Malay force was increased by the
arrival of several proahs, who joined in breaking up the remains of
the wreck.

At daybreak on Sunday, the 2nd, the camp was alarmed, and all were
called to arms by the yells of the savages, who, firing their
partereroes, and beating their gongs, advanced with about twenty of
their heaviest vessels towards the landing-place, and anchored within
a cable's length of the shore.

After a short deliberation, a boat full of men armed with creeses
approached the shore, and was met by a canoe containing an officer and
party with a letter from Captain Maxwell, addressed to the chief
authority at Minto, stating the situation of the Alceste's crew, and
praying that assistance might be sent to them.

The officer placed this letter in the hands of the Malays, repeatedly
pronounced the word Minto, and showed them a dollar, to intimate that
they would be well rewarded if they returned with an answer. They
appeared to understand the mission, and to be willing to execute it;
but, as may be supposed, the service was never performed.

Meantime the Malay forces continued to increase; no less than fifty
proahs and boats of different sizes were collected, and, on a moderate
computation, they had 500 men on board. Their mischievous intentions
were too evident; they drew closer and closer to the shore, prevented
the escape of any of the ship's boats, and even had recourse to
stratagem in order to gain possession of the much-desired booty. One
party declared that all the Malays except themselves were hostile, and
urged that they might be allowed to go to the camp to guard the crew
of the Alceste. This kind offer was of course refused. 'We can trust
to ourselves,' was the reply. The plot began to thicken; the odds
seemed fearfully against the heroic little band, who, badly armed,
and worse provisioned, had to make good their position against a
multitude of foes--matchless amongst savages in cunning and cruelty.
But in proportion to the imminence of the danger rose the courage of
our countrymen.

Mr. M'Leod relates that, in the evening, when Captain Maxwell had
assembled, as usual, the men under arms, for the purpose of inspecting
them, he addressed them in these words: 'My lads, you must all have
observed this day, as well as myself, the great increase of the
enemy's force (for enemies we must now consider them), and the
threatening position they have assumed. I have, on various grounds,
strong reason to believe they will attack us this night. I do not wish
to conceal our real state, because I think there is not a man here who
is afraid to face any sort of danger. We are now strongly fenced in,
and our position in all respects is so good, that armed as we are, we
ought to make a formidable defence even against regular troops; what,
then, would be thought of us, if we allowed ourselves to be surprised
by a set of naked savages with their spears and their creeses?

'It is true they have swivels in their boats, but they cannot act
here; I have not observed that they have any matchlocks or muskets;
but if they have, so have we!

'I do not wish to deceive you as to the means of resistance in our
power. When we were first thrown together on shore we were almost
defenceless. Seventy-five ball-cartridges only could be mustered; we
have now sixteen hundred. They cannot, I believe, send up more than
five hundred men, but, with two hundred such as now stand around me, I
do not fear a thousand--nay, fifteen hundred of them! I have the
fullest confidence that we shall beat them. The pikemen standing firm,
we can give them such a volley of musketry as they will be little
prepared for, and when we find they are thrown into confusion, we'll
sally out among them, chase them into the water, and ten to one but we
secure their vessels. Let every man, therefore, be on the alert with
his arms in his hands; and should these barbarians this night attempt
our hill, I trust we shall convince them that they are dealing with
Britons!'

This short but spirited appeal had its full effect upon the hearts to
whom it was addressed. It was answered by three wild hurras, which
were taken up by the piquets and outposts, and resounded through the
woods. The British cheer struck the savages with terror; they no doubt
thought it preceded an attack, and they were observed making signals
with lights to some of their tribe behind the islet.

The night passed undisturbed, and daylight discovered the pirates in
the same position, their force increased by ten proahs, making their
number at least six hundred men. The situation of Captain Maxwell and
his party became hourly more critical; the provisions could not last
long--something must be done--some plan must be decided on. They had
but little choice; they must either make a dash at the pirates, and
seize their boats, with the certainty of being all butchered should
they not succeed,--and the odds were fearfully against them,--or they
must maintain their present position, in the hope that aid might be
sent from Java, in time to save them from a scarcely less horrible
fate--the lingering death of famine.

Under these depressing circumstances, the spirits of the men never for
a moment seemed to flag. True 'hearts of oak,' their courage increased
with their difficulties, and the prevailing desire amongst them was,
to rush upon the enemy and get possession of their boats, or perish in
the attempt.

But for this day, at least, they were ordered to remain passive;
perhaps in coming to this decision, the wise and brave commander of
the party may have remembered another captain who was 'in a great
strait,' and who said, 'Let us fall now into the hands of the Lord,
for His mercies are great, and let me not fall into the hand of man,'
The decision, then, was to wait; and the hours rolled on till
afternoon, when an officer ascended one of the loftiest trees, and
thence he thought he descried a sail at a great distance. The joyful
news seemed too good to be true.

A signal-man was sent up with a telescope, to sweep the horizon. The
eager and intense anxiety that pervaded the little band, until he
could report his observations, may be better imagined than described.
At last, he announced that the object was indeed a brig, or a ship,
standing towards the island under all sail. The joy was unbounded and
overpowering. Men felt as if awaking from some horrible dream; and,
doubtless, many an honest heart was uplifted in thankfulness to the
Almighty, for the mercy vouchsafed in delivering them from what had
appeared, a few minutes before, to be certain destruction.

There remains little more to be told; the vessel proved to be the
Ternate, which Lord Amherst had sent to their assistance. The pirates
took to flight as soon as they discovered the ship, but not before
they had received a volley from the Alceste's people, unfortunately
without effect.

It was not till Friday, the 7th of March, that all were embarked on
board the Ternate. They arrived safely at Batavia on the 9th, and were
most kindly received by Lord Amherst, who converted his table into a
general mess for the officers, as well as the embassy; comfortable
quarters were also provided for the men; and in their present
enjoyment they all soon forgot the hardships they had suffered.

In conclusion, we will quote the following passage from the pen of Mr.
M'Leod:--'It is a tribute due to Captain Maxwell to state (and it is a
tribute which all will most cheerfully pay) that, by his judicious
arrangements, we were preserved from all the horrors of anarchy and
confusion. His measures inspired confidence and hope, while his
personal example in the hour of danger gave courage and animation to
all around him.' Nor ought we to omit the high and well deserved
praise which Captain Maxwell bestowed upon the ship's company in his
examination before the court martial.

'I should be trespassing far too long upon the time of this court,'
said Captain Maxwell, 'were I to bring all before them whose conduct
merited applause; but I can with great veracity assure the court, that
from the captain to the smallest boy, all were animated by the spirit
of Britons; and, whatever the cause was, I ought not to regret having
been placed in a position to witness all the noble traits of character
this extraordinary occasion called forth; and having seen all my
companions in distress fairly embarked, I felt in walking off to the
boat that my heart was lifted up with gratitude to a kind Providence
that had watched over us.'

Captain Murray Maxwell commenced his naval career under the auspices
of Vice-Admiral Sir Samuel Hood, and obtained his first commission as
lieutenant in 1796, and was subsequently promoted to the command of
the Cyane, in December, 1802.

In the following year he was appointed to the Centaur, and received
his post commission on the 4th of August, in the same year. In 1804,
Captain Maxwell distinguished himself at the capture of Surinam, and
for his conduct on that occasion was highly mentioned in the
dispatches.

This officer was constantly employed in the late war, and
distinguished himself on so many occasions, that we can only briefly
allude to one or two instances where his gallantry was most
conspicuous. In 1806, he was appointed to the Alceste, and on the 4th
of April, 1808, whilst that vessel, in company with the Mercury,
Captain James Alexander Gordon, and the Grasshopper, 18-gun sloop, lay
at anchor near Cadiz, a large convoy under the protection of several
gun-boats, was seen coming close in shore from the northward.

Captain Maxwell determined to attempt their capture, and accordingly,
the Alceste and Mercury attacked the gun-boats, whilst the
Grasshopper, stationed close to the batteries of Rota, by a well
directed fire, succeeded in driving the Spaniards from their guns. The
gun-boats being thrown into confusion, the first-lieutenant of the
Alceste, Mr. Allen Stewart, and Lieutenant Watkin Owen Pell of the
Mercury, volunteered to board the enemy in the boats. They accordingly
dashed in among the convoy, boarded and brought out seven tartans from
under the very muzzles of the enemy's guns, though supported by
several armed boats sent from Cadiz to their assistance.

Captain Maxwell was actively employed on the coast of Italy until
1811, when we find him cruizing in the Adriatic, in company with the
Active, Captain James Alexander Gordon, and a 36-gun frigate, the
Unite, Captain Edward Henry Chamberlain. On the morning of the 28th of
November, the little squadron was lying in Port St. George, Island of
Lissa, when signals were made that there were three suspicious sail
south. The three frigates immediately got under weigh, and on the
morning of the 29th came within sight of the strange vessels, which
proved to be the Pauline, a 40-gun frigate, the Pomone, frigate, and
26-gun ship, Persanne. The French commodore, finding the English force
greater than he expected, bore up to the north-west, and the Persanne
separated, and stood to the north-east. The Unite was then despatched
in chase of the Persanne, and the Alceste and Active continued in
pursuit of the French frigates.

In the course of a couple of hours the Alceste commenced action with
the Pomone, but an unlucky shot soon afterwards brought down the
main-topmast of the Alceste, and she was compelled to drop astern. The
Active speedily ranged alongside of the Pomone, and after a spirited
conflict, the latter ship was compelled to haul down her colours and
surrender.

The Pauline, in the meantime, tacked, and poured her fire into the
Alceste, no doubt anticipating an easy victory from her disabled
state; but in this she was disappointed, for the fire was returned
with such effect, that after a warm conflict of two hours and twenty
minutes, the commodore made off to the westward, which, from the
crippled state of the Alceste, Captain Maxwell was unable to prevent.
In this action the Alceste lost twenty killed and wounded, the Active
thirty-five, and Pomone fifty. The gallant captain of the Active had
the misfortune to lose his leg, and his first lieutenant, William
Bateman Dashwood, had his right arm shot away: the command therefore
fell upon the second lieutenant, George Haye, who fought the action,
until her opponent surrendered.

In 1813, Captain Maxwell had the misfortune to be wrecked in the
Daedalus, and in 1815 was again reappointed to the Alceste. On his
passage home, after the loss of that vessel, he touched at St. Helena,
and had an interview with Napoleon Buonaparte, who, reminding him of
the capture of the Pomone, said 'Vous etiez tres mechant. Eh bien!
your government must not blame you for the loss of the Alceste, for
you have taken one of my frigates.'[16]

Captain Maxwell was nominated a C.B. in 1815, and received the honour
of knighthood in 1818.

He died in June, 1831.

THE DRAKE.

The Drake, a small schooner, under the command of Captain Charles
Baker, had been despatched by the commander-in-chief on the
Newfoundland station, upon special duty to Halifax.

Having accomplished the object of her mission there, she set sail
again to return to St. John's, on the morning of Thursday, the 20th of
June, 1822. The weather was unusually fine, the wind favourable, and
everything promised a short and prosperous voyage.

Nothing occurred to retard the progress of the vessel until Sunday
morning, when the increasing thickness of the atmosphere betokened the
approach of one of those heavy fogs which so frequently hover over the
coast of Newfoundland.

There are few things more perplexing to the mariner than to find
himself suddenly enveloped in one of these thick mists: it is
impenetrable gloom; night and day are both alike; the sails, saturated
with the watery vapour, hang heavily, and flap against the masts with
a sad foreboding sound, whilst every heart on board feels more or less
oppressed by the atmospheric influence, and every countenance
expresses languor or discontent. But these discomforts are minor evils
compared with other attendants upon a Newfoundland fog. It often
happens that, in spite of every precaution on the part of the men on
the look-out, the bows of the vessel run across some unfortunate
fishing boat; and before a single voice can be raised in warning, a
sudden shock, a smothered cry, a gurgling of the waves, tell the sad
tale! One moment, and all is silent; the ship pursues her course, and
no trace is left of the little vessel and her crew, for whom many days
and nights will anxious love keep watch; but those objects of a
mother's tenderness and of a wife's affection will never more gladden
the eyes of the watchers, till 'the sea shall give up her dead.'

Would that such calamities were of less frequent occurrence. There is
one curious characteristic of these fogs, which in some degree
mitigates the evil of them: they sometimes do not extend beyond a few
miles, having the appearance of a huge wall of dense cloud or mist. A
vessel, after beating about for hours, will suddenly emerge from
almost total darkness, the clouds break away, and all hearts are
gladdened by finding themselves once more beneath the rays of the
glorious sun.

Captain Basil Hall gives an amusing instance of such an occurrence.
The Cambrian 'had run in from sea towards the coast, enveloped in one
of these dense fogs. Of course they took it for granted that the
light-house and the adjacent land--Halifax included--were likewise
covered with an impenetrable cloud of mist; but it so chanced, by what
freak of Dame Nature I know not, that the fog on that day was confined
to the deep water, so that we who were in the port could see it at the
distance of several miles from the coast, lying on the ocean like a
huge stratum of snow, with an abrupt face fronting the shore.

'The Cambrian, lost in the midst of this fog-bank, supposing herself
to be near land, fired a gun. To this the light-house replied; and so
the ship and the light-house went on pelting away gun for gun during
half the day, without seeing one another.

'The people at the light-house had no means of communicating to the
frigate, that if she would only stand on a little further, she would
disentangle herself from the cloud, in which, like Jupiter Olympus of
old, she was wasting her thunder. At last, the captain, hopeless of
its clearing up, gave orders to pipe to dinner; but as the weather, in
all respects except this abominable haze, was quite fine, and the ship
was still in deep water, he directed her to be steered towards the
shore, and the lead kept constantly going. As one o'clock approached,
he began to feel uneasy, from the water shoaling, and the light-house
guns sounding closer and closer; but being unwilling to disturb the
men at their dinner, he resolved to stand on for the remaining ten
minutes of the hour. Lo and behold! however, they had not sailed half
a mile further before the flying gib-boom end emerged from the wall of
mist, then the bowsprit shot into daylight, and lastly, the ship
herself glided out of the cloud into the full blaze of a bright and
'sunshine holiday.' All hands were instantly turned up to make sail:
and the men, as they flew on deck, could scarcely believe their senses
when they saw behind them the fog-bank--right ahead the harbour's
mouth, with the bold cliffs of Cape Sambro on the left--and further
still, the ships at their moorings, with their ensigns and pendants
blowing out light and dry in the breeze.'

But to return to our sad tale. Towards noon, the weather cleared up
for about a quarter of an hour, allowing just sufficient time to get a
good observation of the latitude, which, according to Captain Baker's
reckoning, made their position to be about ninety-one miles from Cape
Race, and fifty-one from Cape St. Mary's.

They continued to steer east till about six o'clock in the evening,
when the breeze rather freshening, and the ship having run sixty miles
since noon, she was hauled off to south-east.

The fog was then so dense that the men could not see more than twenty
yards beyond the ship, but as Captain Baker's orders were to use the
utmost dispatch, he determined to make the best of his way. Every
precaution was taken, by using the lead, and by keeping a vigilant
look-out from every part of the ship. In this manner they proceeded,
carefully feeling the way, until about half-past seven o'clock, when
the look-out man shouted, 'Breakers ahead! Hard a-starboard!' The ship
was instantly hauled to the wind, but not being able to clear the
danger on that tack, every effort was made to stay the vessel, but
from the heavy sea, and whilst in stays, her stern took the breakers,
and she immediately fell broadside on, the sea breaking completely
over her.

At the moment the ship struck, every man was on deck, and there was
such a universal feeling of confidence in the commander, that
notwithstanding their extreme peril, not the slightest confusion
ensued. Captain Baker's first order was to cut away the masts, so as
to lighten the vessel, and perhaps afford means of saving some of the
crew. The order was promptly executed, but unhappily without producing
the desired result, for in a few moments the ship bilged, and the
destruction of the whole crew appeared to be inevitable.

Captain Baker then ordered the cutter to be launched, but they had
scarcely got her over the gangway before she sank. It was a time of
terrible anxiety for both officers and men; for, from the denseness of
the fog, they could not form a conjecture as to their actual
position, whilst the crashing of the masts, the strain of the vessel
upon the rocks, and the roar of the waters, as they swept over the
decks, added to the horrors of the scene.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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