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

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Great as had been the difficulties they had encountered in their
passage from the Proserpine to Newark Island, the dangers of their
present expedition, over sand and ice, were nearly as formidable. At
one part of their journey they found themselves on the banks of a
river. The guides had assured them it was only a very narrow stream,
and would most probably be frozen over: it proved, however, to be a
river of considerable width; the ice was broken and floating upon it
in large masses; the tide, too, was rising, and altogether the passage
presented a formidable appearance. There was little time for
deliberation, so the word was given to push forward, and the next
moment they were up to their waists in the water, struggling against
the tide and the large flakes of ice, which swept against them with
such force that they had great difficulty in keeping their footing.

But through the mercy of Providence they all reached the opposite bank
in safety, and before evening they arrived at Cuxhaven, without the
loss of a single man. Many of them were more or less frost-bitten, but
by rubbing the parts affected with snow, circulation was restored.

We must now return to Captain Wallis and the officers and men who had
remained with him at Newark, in hopes of being able to save some of
the stores from the frigate.

On Friday, the 8th, Mr. Anthony, the master, volunteered with a party
to endeavour to ascertain the state of the vessel, and if possible to
bring away some bread, of which they were in much need.

They had great difficulty in reaching the ship, which they found lying
on her beam ends, with seven feet and a half of water in her hold,
having her quarter-deck separated six feet from her gangway, and
apparently only-kept together by the vast quantity of ice which
surrounded her.

From this report, it was deemed unadvisable to make any more
expeditions to the ship; but on the 10th, the clearness of the day
induced Mr. Anthony, in company with the surgeon, a midshipman, the
boatswain, and two seamen, to go off a second time.

Those who remained at Newark anxiously expected the return of the
party, but they came not. Evening advanced, the tide was flowing, and
at last it was too late for them to cross the sands and ice till the
next ebb. The watchers were obliged to content themselves with the
hope that Mr. Anthony and his party had found it safe and practicable
to remain on board the frigate till morning. But during the night a
violent storm arose, which increased the anxiety of Captain Wallis for
the safety of his people; and this anxiety became deep distress, when
in the morning he gazed wistfully towards the wreck, and saw nothing
but the foaming waters, and moving fields of ice. Not a vestige of the
frigate was visible. We cannot better describe Captain Wallis's
feelings on this occasion than by quoting his own words, when he
communicated the intelligence to Vice-Admiral Archibald Dickson.

'They got on board,' says Captain Wallis, 'but unfortunately
neglected, until too late in the tide, to return, which left them no
alternative but that of remaining on board till next day. About ten
o'clock at night the wind came on at S.S.E., and blew a most violent
storm; the tide, though at the neap, rose to an uncommon height, the
ice got in motion, the velocity of which swept the wreck to
destruction, (for in the morning not a vestige of her was to be seen,)
and with it, I am miserably afraid, went the above unfortunate
officers and men,--and if so, their loss will be a great one to the
service, as, in their different departments, they were a great
acquisition to it.

'The only hope I have is, that Providence which has so bountifully
assisted us in our recent dangers and difficulties, may be extended
towards them, so as to preserve their lives, by means of boat or
otherwise; but I am very sorry to say my hopes are founded on the
most distant degree of human probability. This melancholy accident
happening so unexpectedly, added to my other misfortunes, has given so
severe a shock to my health and spirits, as to prevent me hitherto
undertaking the journey to Cuxhaven, where the survivors of the ship's
company now are, except a few who are here with me, with whom I shall
set out as soon as we are able.'

It is now necessary that we should follow the proceedings of Mr.
Anthony and his party.

They reached the wreck at ten o'clock on Sunday morning; but, being
busily occupied in collecting what stores they could, they neglected
to watch the tide, and whilst they were thus employed, the time passed
over, and the waves rolling between them and their temporary home at
Newark; they were obliged to wait till the next day's ebb. During the
night, as we have stated, the wind changed to the S.S.E.: it blew a
violent gale, and the tide rose to such an unusual height, that it
floated the ship, and the ice that had stuck to her, without the men
on board being aware of it. The next morning, to their horror and
dismay, they found the vessel drifting out to the ocean. We can
scarcely imagine a situation more terrible than that in which these
unfortunate men were placed. They were in all six persons, four
officers and two seamen, and these few hands had to manage a frigate
of 28 guns, which was actually going to pieces, and it was impossible
to conjecture how long she might swim. She was merely buoyed up on the
sea by the fields of ice that surrounded her; and if the ice were to
break away, in all probability she would not hold together for an
hour.

Mr. Anthony and his companions did not, however, give way to despair,
nor lose time in useless repining. They set to work immediately, to
avoid the danger as far as circumstances would permit.

Their first care was to drop the lead between two of the masses of
ice, and they found that the ship was floating in eleven fathoms. They
then fired several guns, to give warning of their situation. By turns
they worked at the pumps, and, in order to lighten the vessel, threw
all the remaining guns, except four, overboard--a labour of no small
magnitude for six men to perform.

Their next object was to get up the tackles for hoisting out the boat,
in case of their getting into clear water, or being obliged to quit
the wreck.

There was one advantage in all this hard labour, to which most of them
were unaccustomed: it prevented their suffering so much as they
otherwise must have done from the extreme cold; and in one respect
they were better off than their comrades at Newark, for they had
plenty of provisions on board. So passed the first day on the wreck.

The next morning, Tuesday, the 12th, at about eleven o'clock, land was
descried on their lee, on which they fired several guns, and hauled
the colours on the main-rigging, union downwards, as a signal of
distress. An hour afterwards the ship struck on a rock off the island
of Baltrum, about a mile and a-half distant from the shore.

Mr. Anthony and his companions then tried to launch the cutter, but
they were obliged to give up the attempt, as the sea was not
sufficiently clear of ice; they therefore remained on board another
night.

The next morning, however, they hoisted out the boat, and pulled
towards the shore; but they had not gone more than half way, when they
were surrounded by fields of ice, so that they were obliged to get
upon the ice, and drag the boat with them.

About noon they had reached to within a cable's length of the shore,
and here they were compelled to leave the boat: they were all
completely exhausted, and found it impossible to drag her any
further. They themselves had to leap from one piece of ice to another,
often falling into the water; and it was at the imminent risk of their
lives that they at last gained the beach.

They were tolerably well received by the inhabitants, who took them to
their houses, and allowed them to seek that repose which they so much
needed.

The next day the islanders, unable to resist the temptation of
plunder, took to their boats, and made off to the ship, which they
ransacked, and carried off all the arms, stores, and provisions of
every kind. In vain Mr. Anthony protested against this base conduct:
it was as much as he could do to persuade them to spare some part of
the provisions for himself and his friends.

The party were obliged to remain at Baltrum amongst their rapacious
hosts until Saturday, the 16th, when they deemed that the ice was
sufficiently cleared away to allow of their sailing for Cuxhaven; they
accordingly secured the cutter and took their departure. As there was
not the remotest chance of getting the Proserpine afloat again, they
abandoned her to the island plunderers. They reached Cuxhaven about
the 22nd, and there they found Lieutenant Wright and those who had
accompanied him from Newark.

On the following day, Captain Wallis arrived, with the rest of the
ship's company, the sick and wounded. We can imagine the joy and
gratitude with which Captain Wallis received the announcement of the
safe arrival of Mr. Anthony and his friends, whom he had deplored as
lost.

Thus were the crew of the Proserpine, with the exception of thirteen
persons, brought once more together after three weeks endurance of
innumerable hardships, and having been exposed to many perils. Never
was the Almighty hand of Providence more visibly displayed than in
the protection afforded to these gallant fellows; and never did men do
more to help themselves than they did, We cannot but admire the calm
courage they evinced throughout that long and dismal night when almost
certain destruction awaited them; as well as their obedience and
cheerful alacrity through their toilsome march from the wreck to
Newark, and again from Newark to Cuxhaven. Nor must we forget the
fortitude displayed by Mr. Anthony and his companions, when they were
a second time wrecked in the Proserpine.

Throughout the history of their dangers and sufferings from cold and
hunger, and the other evils attending a shipwreck on such an
inhospitable shore and in such a climate, there is no mention of one
single instance of murmuring, discontent, or disobedience of orders.

When the Elbe was again navigable and free from ice, the crew embarked
in different packets and sailed for England, where they all arrived
without further disasters.

FOOTNOTES:

[4] Newark Island is the highest point of one of those long ridges of
sand which abound on the south and southeastern coasts of the North
Sea, formed by the deposits of ages from the rivers that empty
themselves into the German Ocean, acted upon by the alternate ebb and
flow of the tide, till they assume a form and establish a position and
a name. Upon Newark Island is a village and light-house, situated a
few miles from Cuxhaven, and accessible at low water by the sand. The
sand ridge takes a north-westerly direction from Newark Island, and
extends about six miles further. It was on the extremity of the
northwestern bank that the Proserpine was wrecked.

THE SCEPTRE.

Early in the spring of 1799, a large convoy of transports and
merchantmen sailed from the Cape of Good Hope, with troops and stores
for the siege of Seringapatam. The Sceptre, 64 guns, commanded by
Captain Valentine Edwards, was appointed to the sole charge of the
convoy, and to take Sir David Baird and the whole of the 84th regiment
on board. The Sceptre may, perhaps, have been the only king's ship
then at the Cape; it is certain that she had been an unusual length of
time on that station, and had become so weak and leaky as to be hardly
sea-worthy, when she was dispatched on this important service.

Happily, the insecure state of the vessel induced extreme watchfulness
on the part of both officers and men, and all went on well till she
had made about two-thirds of her way, when one night a brisk gale
sprung up, which increased in violence so rapidly, that the officers
of the watch felt some anxiety on account of the unusual strain upon
the ship. Captain Edwards ordered the well to be sounded, and the
result confirming his apprehensions, the pumps were manned in an
incredibly short time, every one on board being aroused to a sense of
danger.

Lieutenant the Honourable Alexander Jones had been relieved from the
first watch, and had retired to his berth about an hour before without
any misgivings. He was suddenly awakened by the alarming cry that the
ship was sinking, and the call of 'all hands,' He sprang up, and in a
few moments joined the group of officers, naval and military,
assembled on the quarter-deck. Anxiety was depicted on every
countenance; for although the pumps were worked incessantly, the
soldiers taking their turn with the sailors, the water was still
gaining on them fast; and even whilst the men relieved each other, it
rose several inches. But when human efforts were unavailing, the hand
of Providence was stretched out to save. The wind fell as suddenly as
it had risen, and after many hours of hard labour, the water was got
under, and the vessel was considered comparatively safe.

Had the Sceptre gone down that night, hundreds and hundreds of
England's best and bravest defenders must have sunk into a watery
grave, and in all probability the enemy's ships, which were hovering
upon the track of the convoy, would have got possession of the
transports and merchantmen; and even the success of our arms in India
might have been seriously affected.

A few weeks after the gale we have mentioned, the Sceptre and her
convoy arrived safely at Bombay. She was there put into dock and
repaired, and was strengthened by having large timbers, technically
termed riders, bolted diagonally on either side, fore and aft.

When again fit for sea, she returned to Table Bay, and anchored there
about the middle of October.

On the 1st of November, the captain and officers gave a ball to the
inhabitants of Cape Town, and on that night the ship presented an
appearance of unusual gaiety; mirth and music resounded on all sides;
in place of the stern voice of command, the laugh, the jest, and the
soft tones of woman's voice were heard; whilst many a light footstep
glided over the decks of the old ship.

The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men;
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when
Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
Soft eyes looked love to eyes that spake again,
And all went merry as a marriage bell.

CHILDE HAROLD.

The night was calm and beautiful, and as the guests left the ship,
little did they think of the fearful doom that was so soon to
overwhelm many of those whose hands they had clasped for the last
time.

The weather continued perfectly calm till the evening of the 4th of
November, when some ominous looking clouds indicated an approaching
storm.

In addition to the Sceptre there remained in the Bay the Jupiter of 50
guns, the Oldenburg, a Danish 64 gun ship, and several other vessels.
On the morning of the 5th, a strong gale blew from the north-west, but
no danger was apprehended, and the ship, dressed in flags, and with
the royal standard hoisted, fired her salute at noon in commemoration
of the Gunpowder Treason.

The gale had increased considerably by two o'clock, and as Table Bay
affords no shelter from a north-west wind, the captain took every
precaution to make all secure: the topmasts were struck, and the fore
and main-yards were lowered to ease the ship. But half-an-hour had not
elapsed before the violence of the storm was such, that the ship
parted from her best bower cable; the sheet anchor was immediately let
go, and the cable veered away to twenty-eight fathoms. The storm
gathered strength, and at half-past six the whole fury of the elements
seemed to be concentrated in one terrific blast.

Orders were given to let go the anchor, with two of the forecastle
guns attached; but even this proved insufficient to hold the ship.

One of the boats was then hoisted out, in order to communicate with
the Jupiter, and procure the end of a cable from her, but in a few
minutes the boat upset and was lost, with all her crew. For some hours
signal guns of distress had been fired, and the ensign had been
hoisted downwards, but no help could reach the vessel: in that
tempestuous sea no boat could live. Some of the officers who had gone
on shore the previous evening were standing on the beach, unable to
render any assistance to their comrades, and compelled to remain
inactive spectators of the harrowing scene, and to behold their brave
ship foundering at her anchors.

About eight o'clock, loud above the howling of the tempest and the
booming of the minute gun, arose the wild cry of _fire_: and thick
smoke was discernible from the shore, issuing from the hatches. Now
were the opposing elements of air, fire, and water combined for the
destruction of the ill-fated ship. For an instant, all stood
paralysed; but it was only for an instant. Again the voices of the
officers were raised in command, and every man was ready at his post.

The smoke came up from the hatches in such dense volumes, that all
attempts to go below to extinguish the fire were abortive. Each man
felt that his last hour was come,--there was not a shadow of hope that
their lives could be saved; it was but a choice of death by fire or
water: to quit the ship must be fatal; they had seen the boat and its
crew swallowed up by the yawning waves, when the tempest raged less
fiercely than now, and she was too far from the shore to afford even a
ray of hope that the strongest swimmer might gain the beach. On the
other hand, to remain on board was to encounter a still more terrible
death--a burning funeral pile amidst the waters. While they hesitated
in doubt and horror, one of their fears was relieved,--the heavy sea
that washed incessantly over the wreck extinguished the fire. The ship
continued to drive at the mercy of the waves till about ten o'clock,
when she stranded, broadside to the shore, heeling on her port side
towards the sea.

The captain then ordered the main and mizen masts to be cut away, and
the foremast soon afterwards went by the board. At this juncture, a
man of the name of Connolly, a favourite with both officers and crew,
volunteered to jump overboard with a deep-sea line attached to his
body, in order to form a communication between the ship and the shore.
He made but a few strokes ere he was borne away by the eddy and
drowned.

The ship being lightened by the falling of the masts, righted herself
and got clear off the ground: there appeared some slight chance of
preservation, and every heart was buoyed up with hope that she might
be thrown high enough upon the beach to enable the people on shore to
render them some assistance.

She was driven nearer and nearer to the land--voices became more and
more audible, so as even to be recognised--in a few minutes more,
the perishing crew might be safe--when a heavy sea struck the ship,
the orlop deck gave way, and the port side fell in--many were swept
away,--those who had the power to do so, retreated to the starboard
side.

A most heartrending scene must that have been! The people were so
benumbed with cold and exhaustion, and paralysed by fear, that many of
them could no longer cling to the ropes and spars for support, and
every wave that broke over the wreck, washed away its victims.

Many in despair leaped overboard, and attempted to swim to shore, but
the eddy caused by the wreck was so strong, that they were carried
out to sea; and in spite of the attempts made by those on board to
rescue them, they all perished. Mr. Tucker, a midshipman, lost his
life in the endeavour to reach the bow of the ship.

About half an hour later the poop was washed away, and carried towards
the shore. Seventy or eighty men who were upon it seemed likely to be
saved from the surrounding destruction. The people on the beach
crowded to the spot where they would probably be driven, that they
might render every possible assistance; but what was their horror to
see a tremendous wave strike the poop, capsize it, and turn it over
and over; whilst every one of those who clung to it perished!

But the terrors of that awful night were not yet exhausted. The wreck,
to which the remaining officers and men were clinging, heeled towards
the shore; but when the gale increased and blew with redoubled force,
it heeled off again, rent fore and aft, and parted in two
places--before the main-chains, and abaft the fore-chains--and then
all disappeared from the eyes of the awe-stricken spectators on the
beach.

High above the crash of timbers and the roaring of the blast, rose the
despairing cry of hundreds of human beings who perished in the waters,
and whose mutilated forms, with the fragments of the wreck, strewed
the beach for miles on the following morning.

Thirty or forty seamen and marines still clung to the bow, the sea
breaking over them incessantly; they kept their hold, however, in the
fond hope that the signal gun remaining, might by its weight prevent
the bow from being capsized; but the timbers, unable to resist the
fury of the tempest, suddenly parted,--the gun reeled from side to
side, and the unhappy men shared the fate of their companions. It has
been said that during that awful time, whilst threatened with instant
death, many of these men were in a stupor, with their hands locked in
the chain plates.

Among the incidents connected with the wreck, it is related that Mr.
Buddle, a midshipman, (one of the few who escaped,) was cast upon the
waves almost insensible. He had not strength to strike out for the
beach, and he therefore merely tried to keep himself above water. This
proved to be the means of saving his life, for he floated in a
direction parallel with the shore, and avoided the huge pieces of
wreck by which all his companions who made directly for land
(excepting three) were dashed to pieces.

Mr. Buddle was nearly exhausted, when he caught hold of a small piece
of timber that was floating near him; a nail which projected from it
wounded him on the breast; he fainted, and did not recover his senses
until he found himself lying on the beach upon a heap of dead bodies.
He attempted in vain to rise; for though he felt no pain, his left leg
was broken, his knee cut almost half through, and his body much
bruised. In this state he was discovered, and carried by some persons
to a large fire until further assistance could be obtained, and he was
then conveyed to the hospital.

One of the officers of the Sceptre, who is still alive, and who
happened to be on shore at the time this terrible catastrophe
occurred, declares, that nothing imagination could conceive ever
equalled the horrors of that night. When the first signals of distress
were made from the Sceptre, the whole population of Cape Town, with
the officers and soldiers of the garrison, crowded down to the beach,
in the vain hope of being able to afford some assistance. The night
was bitterly cold; the wind blew with terrific violence, and the sea,
lashed into fury, broke with a deafening roar upon the beach. As night
approached, and darkness hid the vessel from their sight, the
feelings of the agonized spectators became almost insupportable. The
booming of the guns alone told that the ship still lived among the
raging waters; whilst ever and anon a piercing shriek announced that
the work of death had begun.

All along the beach large fires were lighted, as beacons to guide
those who might be cast upon the shore. At length the ship was driven
nearer, and again she became visible from the land. She appeared, says
an eye-witness (before mentioned), like a huge castle looming in the
distance. The hopes of the spectators revived as she heeled on towards
them, and they all stood ready to give assistance whenever it should
be available. At one moment, a fearful crash was heard--next, a
piercing shriek, and the flash of the torches waved in the air
displayed the struggling forms of the drowning seamen, tossed to and
fro upon the waves amongst masses of the wreck, which, in many
instances, killed those whom the waters would have spared.

The only help that the people on shore could render to the unhappy
sufferers was, to watch the opportunity when the waves brought a body
near to the land, and then to rush into the water, holding one another
at arm's length, and to grasp the exhausted creature before he was
borne back by the receding wave.

In this manner forty-seven men were saved, together with Mr. Shaw, a
master's mate, and two midshipmen, of the names of Spinks and Buddle,
before-mentioned. Six officers had fortunately been on shore at the
time; all the others, with the captain, were lost on the wreck,
together with about three hundred and ninety-one seamen and marines.

The people of Cape Town and the troops were employed the whole night
in searching for the dead, amongst whom they discovered the son of
Captain Edwards, with one hand grasping an open Bible, which was
pressed to his bosom, the parting gift, perhaps, of a fond mother, who
had taught the boy to revere in life that sacred volume, from which he
parted not in death.

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