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

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By degrees the fog had partially dispersed, and as the dawn began to
break, a dreary prospect was displayed. The haggard countenances and
lacerated limbs of the men told the sufferings they had endured,
whilst the breakers, which they had only heard before, became
distinctly visible. Still the devoted crew, following the example of
their commander, uttered no complaint. They were ready to meet death,
yet they felt it hard to die without a struggle. The tide was rising
rapidly, and if anything was to be done, it must be done instantly.
The boatswain, who had never lost hold of the rope, determined at all
hazards to make another effort to save his comrades, or to perish in
the attempt.

Having caused one end of the rope to be made fast round his body, and
committing himself to the protection of the Almighty, he plunged into
the sea, and struck out in the direction of the opposite shore.

It was an awful moment to those who were left behind; and in
breathless suspense they waited the result of the daring attempt. All
depended upon the strength of his arm. At one moment he was seen
rising on the crest of the wave, at the next he disappeared in the
trough of the sea; but in spite of the raging surf, and of every other
obstacle, he reached the shore, and an inspiring cheer announced his
safety to his comrades.

As soon as he had recovered his breath and strength, he went to the
nearest point opposite the rock, and, watching his opportunity, he
cast one end of the line across to his companions. Fortunately it
reached the rock, and was gladly seized, but it proved to be only long
enough to allow of one man holding it on the shore, and another on the
rock, at arm's length. It may be imagined with what joy this slender
means of deliverance was welcomed by all. The tide had made rapid
advances; the waves, as if impatient for their prey, threw the white
surf aloft, and dashed over the rock.

Would that we could do justice to the noble courage and conduct
displayed by the crew of the Drake. Instead of rushing to the rope, as
many would have done under similar circumstances, not a man moved
until he was commanded to do so by Captain Baker. Had the slightest
hesitation appeared on the part of the commander, or any want of
presence of mind in the men, a tumultuous rush would have ensued, the
rope, held as it was with difficulty by the outstretched hand, would
inevitably have been lost in the struggle, and then all would have
perished.

But good order, good discipline, and good feeling triumphed over every
selfish fear and natural instinct of self-preservation, and to the
honour of British sailors be it recorded, that each individual man of
the crew, before he availed himself of the means of rescue, urged his
captain to provide for his own safety first, by leading the way. But
Captain Baker turned a deaf ear to every persuasion, and gave but one
answer to all--'I will never leave the rock until every soul is safe.'

In vain the men redoubled their entreaties that he would go; they were
of no avail; the intrepid officer was steadfast in his purpose. There
was no time for further discussion or delay. One by one the men
slipped from the rock upon the rope, and by this assistance forty-four
out of fifty succeeded in gaining the opposite shore. Unfortunately,
amongst the six who remained, one was a woman. This poor creature,
completely prostrate from the sufferings she had endured, lay
stretched upon the cold rock almost lifeless. To desert her was
impossible; to convey her to the shore seemed equally impossible. Each
moment of delay was fraught with destruction. A brave fellow, in the
generosity of despair, when his turn came to quit the rock, took the
woman in his arms, grasped the rope, and began the perilous transit.
Alas! he was not permitted to gain the desired shore. When he had made
about half the distance, the rope parted--not being strong enough to
sustain the additional weight and strain, it broke; the seaman and his
burden were seen but for an instant, and then swallowed up in the
foaming eddies. With them perished the last means of preservation that
remained for Captain Baker and those who were with him on the rock.
Their communication with the mainland was cut off; the water rose, and
the surf increased every moment; all hope was gone, and for them a few
minutes more must end 'life's long voyage.'

The men on shore tried every means in their power to save them. They
tied every handkerchief and available material together to replace the
lost rope, but their efforts were fruitless; they could not get length
enough to reach the rock. A party was despatched in search of help.
They found a farm-house; and while they were in search of a rope,
those who stayed to watch the fate of their loved and respected
commander and his three companions, saw wave after wave rise higher
and higher. At one moment the sufferers disappeared in the foam and
spray; the bravest shuddered, and closed his eyes on the scene. Again,
as spell-bound, he looked; the wave had receded--they still lived, and
rose above the waters. Again and again it was thus; but hope grew
fainter and fainter. We can scarcely bring our narrative to an end;
tears moisten our page; but the painful sequel must be told. The fatal
billow came at last which bore them from time into eternity--all was
over. When the party returned from their inland search, not a vestige
of the rock, or of those devoted men, was to be seen.

And is he dead, whose glorious mind
Lifts thine on high?
To live in hearts we leave behind,
Is not to die. CAMPBELL.

We feel how inadequate have been our efforts to depict the
self-devotion of Captain Baker, and the courage and constancy of his
crew. The following letter, addressed to Lieutenant Booth, formerly an
officer of the Drake, will go farther than any panegyric we can offer,
to display the right feeling of the ship's company, and their just
appreciation of their brave and faithful commander.

'SIR,--Your being an old officer of ours in a former ship, and
being our first lieutenant in H.M. ship Drake, leads us to beg
that you will have the goodness to represent to our Lords
Commissioners of the Admiralty the very high sense of gratitude
we, the surviving petty officers and crew of his Majesty's late
ship Drake, feel due to the memory of our late much lamented,
and most worthy commander, who, at the moment he saw death
staring him in the face on one side, and the certainty of escape
was pointed out to him on the other, most stanchly and
frequently refused to attempt procuring his own safety, until
every man and boy had been rescued from the impending danger.
Indeed, the manliness and fortitude displayed by the late
Captain Baker on the melancholy occasion of our wreck was such
as never before was heard of. It was not as that of a moment,
but his courage was tried for many hours, and his last
determination of not crossing from the rock, on which he was
every moment in danger of being washed away, was made with more
firmness, if possible, than the first. In fact, during the whole
business he proved himself to be a man whose name and last
conduct ought ever to be held in the highest estimation by a
crew who feel it their duty to ask from the Lords Commissioners
of the Admiralty that, which they otherwise have not the means
of obtaining, that is, a public and lasting record of the
lion-hearted, generous, and very unexampled way in which our
late noble commander sacrificed his life in the evening of the
23rd of June.'

The above letter was signed by the surviving crew of the Drake.

We need not add that their request was complied with; and a monument
erected to the memory of Captain Baker, in the chapel of the Royal
Dockyard at Portsmouth.

At the request of the author, a friend, to whom he related the
pathetic story of the captain of the Drake, composed the following
verses on his untimely and romantic fate:--

THE LOSS OF THE DRAKE.

1.

There's a garden full of roses, there's a cottage by the Dove;
And the trout stream flows and frets beneath the hanging crags above;
There's a seat beneath the tulip-tree, the sunbeams never scorch:
There's jasmine on those cottage walls, there's woodbine round the porch.
A gallant seaman planted them--he perished long ago;
He perished on the ocean-wave, but not against the foe.

2.

He parted with his little ones beneath that tulip-tree;
His boy was by his father's side, his darling on his knee.
'Heaven bless thee, little Emma; night and morning you must pray
To Him on high, who'll shield thee, love, when I am far away.
Nay, weep not!--if He wills it, I shall soon be back from sea;
Then how we'll laugh, and romp, and dance around the tulip-tree!

3.

'Heaven bless thee, too, my gallant boy! The God who rules the main
Can only tell if you and I shall ever meet again.
If I perish on the ocean-wave, when I am dead and gone
You'll be left with little Emma in a heartless world alone:
Your home must be her home, my boy, whenever you're a man;
You must love her, you must guard her, as a brother only can.

4.

'There's no such thing as fear, my boy, to those who trust on high;
But to part with all we prize on earth brings moisture to the eye.
There's a grave in Ilam Church-yard, there's a rose-tree marks that
grave;
'Tis thy mother's: go and pray there when I'm sailing o'er the wave.
Think, too, sometimes of thy father, when thou kneel'st upon that sod,
How he lived but for his children, for his country, and his God.'

5.

Farewell, farewell, thou gallant ship! thy course will soon be o'er;
There are mournful hearts on board thee, there are breaking hearts on
shore.
The mother mourned her sailor boy, the maiden mourned her love;
And one, on deck, was musing on a cottage, near the Dove:
But his features were unmoved, as if all feeling lay congealed;
They little knew how soft a heart that manly form concealed.

6.

Beware, beware, thou gallant ship! there's many a rock ahead,
And the mist is mantling round thee, like a shroud around the dead.
The listless crew lay idly grouped, and idly flapped the sail,
And the sea-bird pierced the vapour with a melancholy wail.
So hushed the scene, they little deemed that danger was at hand,
Till they heard the distant breakers as they rolled upon the strand.

7.

The winds were roused, the mist cleared off, the mighty tempest rose,
And cheeks were blanched that never yet had paled before their foes:
For the waves that heaved beneath them bore them headlong to the rock,
And face to face with death they stood, in terror of the shock.
A crash was heard--the ocean yawned--then foamed upon the deck,
And the gallant Drake, dismasted, on the waters lay a wreck!

8.

On that rock they've found a refuge; but the waves that dash its side
They know, must sweep them from it at the flowing of the tide.
With the giant crags before them, and the boiling surge between,
There was one alone stood dauntless midst the horrors of the scene.
They watched the waters rising, each with aspect of dismay;
They looked upon their fearless chief, and terror passed away.

9.

There's a gallant seaman battling with the perils of the main;
They saw the waves o'erwhelm him thrice, but thrice he rose again.
He bears a rope around him that may link them with the beach:
One struggle more, thou valiant man! the shore's within thy reach.
Now blest be He who rules on high; though some may die tonight,
There are more will live to brave again the tempest and the fight.

10.

They gathered round their gallant chief, they urged him to descend,
For they loved him as their father, and he loved them as a friend.
'Nay, go ye first, my faithful crew; to love is to obey,--
'Gainst the cutlass or the cannon would I gladly lead the way;
But I stir not hence till all are safe, since danger's in the rear;
While I live, I claim obedience; if I die, I ask a tear.'

11.

With a smile to cheer the timid, and a hand to help the weak,
There was firmness in his accents, there was hope upon his cheek.
A hundred men are safe on shore, but one is left behind;
There's a shriek is mingling wildly with the wailing of the wind.
The rope has snapped! Almighty God! the noble and the brave
Is left alone to perish at the flowing of the wave.

12.

'Midst the foaming of the breakers and the howling of the storm,
'Midst the crashing of the timbers, stood a solitary form;
He thought upon his distant home, then raised his look on high,
And thought upon another home--a home beyond the sky.
Sublimer than the elements, his spirit was at rest,
And calm as if his little one was nestling on his breast.

13.

In agony they watched him, as each feature grew elate,
As with folded arms and fearless mien lie waited for his fate;
Now seen above the breakers, and now hidden by the spray,
As stealthily, yet surely, heaved the ocean to its prey.
A fiercer wave rolled onward with the wild gust in its wale,
And lifeless on the billows lay the Captain of the Drake.

J. HENEAGE JESSE.

FOOTNOTES:

[16] Marshall's _Naval Biography_.

FURY.

In the year 1824, notwithstanding the repeated failures which had
attended the expeditions to the Polar Seas, the British government
determined to make another attempt to discover a passage between the
Atlantic and Pacific Oceans; for this purpose Captain, now Sir Edward
Parry was appointed to the command of the Hecla, and a second vessel
was commissioned by Captain Hoppner, who was directed to put himself
under the orders of the beforenamed officer.

The vessels being fully equipped and furnished with provisions and
stores for two years, sailed from England on the 16th of May. Their
progress had been unexpectedly slow, from the quantity and magnitude
of the ice, which had kept the people constantly employed in heaving,
warping, or sawing through it, so that they did not arrive at the
entrance of Lancaster Sound until nearly the middle of September.

There was no doubt that the more than ordinary difficulties which they
encountered in crossing the barrier of ice in Baffin's Bay was owing
to a season of very unusual severity; indeed, Captain Parry was of
opinion, that but for Phillips's capstan, the Hecla and Fury would
have been obliged to winter in the middle of Baffin's Bay.

The season was now too far advanced to give any hopes of the ships
being able to penetrate to the westward, according to their
instructions, during the present year; Captain Parry determined,
therefore, to push on as far as the present season would permit, and
devote the whole of the next summer to the fulfilment of the object of
the expedition.

It is not our intention to enter into a detailed description of the
many difficulties which they met in their passage; it is enough to say
that their toils were incessant, and nothing but the most unwearied
vigilance and perseverance could have prevented the ships being
materially damaged by the enormous pressure of the ice.

Both officers and men were constantly employed, one time in getting
out the boats to tow or cut through the ice, at another, at what is
termed 'sallying,' or causing the ship to roll, by the men running in
a body from side to side, so as to relieve her from the adhesion and
friction of the young ice. It sometimes happened, also, that their
labour was in vain; for during the night a westerly wind would spring
up, and that, combined with a strong current, would drive the vessels
several leagues to eastward, thus compelling them to recommence their
work over again.

On the 27th of September they found themselves in a tolerably open
sea, and assisted by a fine working breeze they reached Port Bowen, in
Regent's Inlet. Here Captain Parry determined to make his winter
harbour, being convinced that it would be safer to remain there, than
run the risk of any further attempt at navigation during the present
year.

'To those who read,' writes Sir Edward Parry, 'as well as those who
describe, the account of a winter passed in these regions can no
longer be expected to afford the interest of novelty it once
possessed; more especially in a station already delineated with
tolerable geographical precision on our maps, and thus, as it were,
brought near to our firesides at home.'

Here it may be perhaps asked, why tell a thrice-told tale?--why go
over ground that has been so often trod before? The answer is, we are
not only writing for the information of the general reader, but also
for the seaman, in the hope that these examples may afford
encouragement to him, if ever thrown under similar circumstances to
those which befel the crews of the Hecla and Fury.

In a short time, the ships became embedded in ice, and in this remote
part of the globe were they destined to remain, in all probability,
for nine months, during the greater part of which they would not see
the light of the sun.

To the seaman, whose happiness is dependent upon a life of excitement
and adventure, such a change must be almost insupportable. As far as
the eye could reach, nothing was to be seen but trackless wilds of
snow; an awful stillness reigned around; even the indigenous animals
had for a time fled; and out of his ship, which is the world to him,
not a living creature breathed in this dreary desert. In order to
procure occupation and amusement for the men, it was necessary to hit
upon some expedient to keep their spirits from flagging. This was
found, by a proposal from Captain Hoppner, that they should attempt a
masquerade, in which both officers and men should join. The happy
thought was at once seized upon, the ship's tailor was placed in
requisition, admirably dressed characters were enacted, and mirth and
merriment rang through the decks of the Hecla. These reunions took
place once a month, alternately on board each ship, and not one
instance is related of anything occurring which could interfere with
the regular discipline of the ship, or at all weaken the respect of
the men towards their superiors. But an occupation which was of
benefit as much to the mind as to the body, was found in the
establishment of a school on board each of the ships. These were
superintended by Mr. Hooper, in the Hecla, and Mr. Mogg, in the Fury.
The men gladly seized this opportunity of instruction which was
afforded them, and in many a long winter evening the lower deck was
made a scene of rational employment, which was not only a lasting
benefit to themselves, but assisted materially in passing away the
time, which otherwise would have hung heavily on their hands.

We cannot refrain here from offering a few observations upon the good
results of education to the seaman.

In the beginning of the present century, and even in a much later
date, the majority of our seamen could neither read nor write; in the
present day it is quite the reverse. We may affirm, without
exaggeration, that two-thirds of them are more or less educated.
Experience has taught those placed at the head of naval affairs the
advantages arising from the improvement of the minds of the seamen of
our navy; every ship has now a seaman schoolmaster, and a well
selected library; and there is no doubt that the moral effect thus
produced, adds in no small degree to the preservation of that
discipline which is so necessary for the comfort and welfare of a
ship's company.

In corroboration of the above, we cannot do better than quote the
words of Sir Edward Parry:--'And I do not speak lightly when I express
my thorough persuasion that to the moral effect thus produced upon the
minds of the men were owing to a very high degree the constant yet
sober cheerfulness, the uninterrupted good order, and even in some
measure the extraordinary state of health which prevailed among us
during winter.'

With the amusement before mentioned, varied now and then, as the days
grew longer, by the excitement of killing a bear, entrapping foxes,
or shooting grouse, the men continued to pass the winter months. To
the officers, higher and more intellectual enjoyments were afforded by
making observations, studying astronomy, and witnessing the brilliant
appearance of the Aurora Borealis.

About the end of March, or beginning of April, 1825, thin flakes of
snow, lying upon painted wood or metal, exposed to the sun's direct
rays, began to melt. These signs of returning spring were hailed as
indications of their approaching deliverance from their winter
quarters. Towards the middle of June, information was brought that the
sea was clear of ice about twenty miles from Port Bowen. On the 12th
of July, the ice began to break away, leaving the ship about one mile
and a quarter from the open sea. All hands were set to work to saw
through this barrier, the men being employed from seven in the
morning, till seven in the evening. On the 19th, after the most
incessant labour, which was performed with the greatest cheerfulness
and alacrity, Captain Parry had the satisfaction of seeing the two
vessels once more floating in their proper element.

After a winter of unusual severity, but of unprecedented good health,
they sailed out of Port Bowen on the 20th of July, the expedition
being in every respect in the most perfect condition, and the season
remarkably forward and fine. Pushing over to the west coast of Prince
Regent's Inlet, which it was Captain Parry's intention to coast
northward and then westward, till they could strike off to the
continental shore, the prospect seemed as favourable as could possibly
be expected. The season continued unusually warm, and channels of open
water always occurred along the shore with particular winds. The ice
was entirely detached from the shores, very much broken up, and
lighter than they had yet navigated.

Proceeding as usual, taking advantage of every opening, and
sheltering the ships on shore when the ice closed, the Fury, on the
1st of August, was unfortunately pressed by the ice in such a manner,
while she also took the ground, that her main keel, stern-post, and
cutwater were immediately broken, and four pumps were necessary to
keep her free.

It was now evidently impossible to proceed without heaving the Fury
down to repair, her officers and men being in a few days almost
exhausted with excessive fatigue; the men's hands having become so
sore from the constant friction of the ropes, that they could hardly
handle them any longer without the use of mittens.

The shore being a straight and exposed one, the principal difficulty
consisted in securing the ship from the inroads of the ice during the
operation. There was little hopes of discovering a harbour for this
purpose, and the only alternative was to endeavour to make one. This
was done by passing lower cables round grounded masses of ice, and
setting them up to anchors buried on the beach, so as to form a basin
for the reception of the ships.

We have now arrived at the period when the labour of heaving down the
Fury commenced; and, for the better information of the reader, we will
at once lay before him the account of the future proceedings, as
related by Sir Edward Parry.[17]

'The ice remaining quite close, on the 6th every individual in both
ships, with the exception of those at the pumps, was employed in
landing provisions from the Fury, together with the spars, boats, and
everything from off her upper deck. The ice coming in in the
afternoon with a degree of pressure which usually attended a northerly
wind on this coast, twisted the Fury's rudder so forcibly against a
mass of ice lying under her stern, that it was for some hours in great
danger of being damaged, and was, indeed, only saved by the efforts of
Captain Hoppner and his officers, who, without breaking off the men
from their other occupations, themselves worked at the ice-saw.

'On the following day, the ice remaining as before, the work was
continued without intermission, and a great quantity of things landed.
The two carpenters, Messrs. Pulfer and Fiddis, took the Fury's boats
in hand themselves, their men being required as part of our physical
strength in clearing the ship. The armourer was also set to work on
the beach in forging bolts for the martingales of the outriggers. In
short, every living creature among us was somehow or other employed,
not even excepting our dogs, which were set to drag up the stores on
the beach, so that our little dockyard soon exhibited the most
animated scene imaginable. The quickest method of landing casks, and
other things not too weighty, was that adopted by Captain Hoppner, and
consisted of a hawser secured to the ship's mainmast head, and set up
as tight as possible to the anchor on the beach,--the casks being
hooked to a block traversing on this as a jack stay, were made to run
down with great velocity. By this means, more than two were got on
shore for every one handed by the boats; the latter, however, being
constantly employed in addition. The Fury was thus so much lightened
in the course of the day, that two pumps were now nearly sufficient to
keep her free, and this number continued requisite until she was hove
down. Her spirit room was now entirely clear, and on examination the
water was found to be rushing in through two or three holes that
happened to be in the ceiling, and which were immediately plugged up.
Indeed it was now very evident that nothing but the lightness of the
Fury's diagonal ceiling had so long kept her afloat, and that any ship
not thus fortified within could not possibly have been kept free by
the pumps.

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