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

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Such was the condition of the crew of the Romney, who passed that
awful night on the quarter-deck, the starboard side of which was under
water at high tide. The wind blew in violent gusts; sleet and rain
were falling, and the sea dashed over the vessel every instant.
Although the men were shivering with cold and hunger, not a murmur
escaped their lips, not a whisper of complaint; but they patiently
awaited the break of day. At length the morning dawned, and with it
hope dawned upon the hearts of those patient sufferers, for the wind
and the waves subsided, the clouds gradually dispersed, and the sun
shone forth with glorious and invigorating light and warmth.

All eyes were turned to the offing, but still no assistance appeared.
Captain Colville then resolved to hoist the white flag on the stump of
the mizen mast, in hopes that it might be seen from the shore, and
that he might preserve the lives of his crew by surrendering to the
enemy.

This step was necessary, as it was the only means of rescue that
remained to them. The barge had been swamped along side, soon after
the masts were cut away, and three of the crew had been drowned. The
launch, also, which was lying to leeward, had parted from her grapnel,
and had been obliged to bear up for the Texel.

At 11 o'clock A.M., Captain Colville asked the carpenter if he thought
they could remain another night upon the wreck: the carpenter assured
him that he considered it almost impossible to do so, and that the
attempt would be attended with the greatest risk to all on board. The
ship had already parted amidships, the main beam and several others
being broken.

Five rafts had been carefully instructed, each fitted with a mast and
sail; and at the earnest entreaty of the crew, Captain Colville, on
hearing the carpenter's report, allowed a part of the men to leave the
wreck on these rafts.

About noon, as the fifth and last raft was about to leave the ship,
seven boats (one bearing a flag of truce) were seen coming towards
them from the shore. The captain ordered the people to throw the
quarter-deck guns, and all the arms and warlike stores overboard,
which they did.

When the boats arrived alongside, an officer hailed the wreck, and
said that if Captain Colville was willing to secure the preservation
of his officers and crew, by surrendering as prisoners of war, the
whole company should be conducted in safety to the Helder. Captain
Colville felt himself obliged to submit to the imperious dictates of
necessity, and he accordingly accepted the proffered conditions, and
surrendered himself to the Dutch, with all the ship's company that
remained on the wreck.

Before nightfall they were all landed. Only those who have been placed
in similar circumstances can judge of the feelings of men so rescued
from the awful contemplation of immediate and certain death. How happy
now did they feel in occupying a position, which two days before they
would have shrunk from with horror, and have shed their life's blood
to avoid. But 'there is no virtue like necessity,'

All places that the eye of heaven visits,
Are to a wise man ports and happy havens.
RICHARD II.

And the Romney's company were wise enough to rejoice, under the
circumstances of their hard case, in finding themselves safely landed
in an enemy's country as prisoners of war.

Nine seamen had been drowned; thirteen others, who had left the wreck
upon a raft of timber, were afterwards picked up and taken on board
the Eagle; the others who had been saved by the boats and rafts joined
Captain Colville at the Helder. The following extracts from Captain
Colville's dispatches show the high estimation in which he held the
services of his officers and crew:--'That every possible exertion was
made to lessen the calamity, after having struck, I trust will appear
from the minutes.' ... 'Under the uneasiness of mind which the loss of
the ship I had the honour to command, naturally occasioned, I feel
some alleviation in reflecting upon the zealous, active, and orderly
conduct of my officers and crew in circumstances the most trying, and
under which they endured the severest hardships with cheerfulness,
and in perfect reliance on Divine Providence, whose interposition in
our behalf was strongly evident.'

Nothing could exceed the kindness and consideration shown by the Dutch
admiral towards the crew of the Romney. Captain Colville, in a letter
addressed to the Secretary of the Admiralty, does ample justice to a
generous foe:--

'We have experienced,' he says, 'from the Dutch Admiral Kirkhurt,
every attention that our distressed situation made so necessary, and
which his disposition seems incapable of withholding, even from an
enemy. But the wants of my fellow-sufferers are great, for not an
article of clothing or anything else was saved by any one from the
general wreck. I hope the Dutch government will be disposed to
alleviate, in some degree, their wants,--in clothing, particularly.
And I have solicited the assistance of Rear-Admiral Russel in
obtaining these necessaries.' ... 'I have reason to believe we shall
be sent to Amsterdam, until exchanged.'

Subsequently, the Dutch admiral, with noble generosity, sent Captain
Colville, with eight of his officers, to Rear-Admiral Russel. It is
always delightful to record such traits of magnanimity and kindness,
and we feel that British sailors can well afford to do honour to those
virtues in others, for which they have ever been so distinguished
themselves.

Admiral Russel handsomely acknowledged his obligation to the Dutch
government in the following letter to Admiral Kirkhurt:--

H.B.M. Ship Eagle, Dec. 2, 1804.

'Sir--I have this moment received your flag of truce, conveying
to me the Honourable Captain Colville, late of his Majesty's
ship, the Romney, (wrecked upon your coast,) with eight of his
officers, whom you have first humanely saved from impending
destruction, and whom your government, with its ancient
magnanimity, has released and restored to their country and
their friends, on their _parole d'honneur_. They are all, Sir,
most sensibly affected with heartfelt gratitude to the Batavian
government for their emancipation from captivity; to Admiral
Kirkhurt for their preservation from the jaws of death, and to
all the Dutch officers and inhabitants of the Texel, for their
kindness and most humane attention.

'This, Sir, is nobly alleviating the rigours of war, as the
Christian heroes of your country and mine were wont to do in
these seas, before a considerable portion of European intellect
was corrupted by false philosophy. Captain Colville will
communicate to the Right Honourable the Lords Commissioners of
the Admiralty, your proposal for an exchange of prisoners.
Accept my sincere thanks, and the assurance that I am, &c. &c.

'(Signed) T.M. RUSSEL.'

On the 31st of December, Captain Colville, the officers and ship's
company of H.M. (late) ship Romney were tried by a court-martial on
board the Africaine at Sheerness, for the loss of their ship off the
Tezel on the 19th of November.

It appeared to the court, that the loss of the ship had been
occasioned by the thickness of the fog and the ignorance of the
pilots; that the utmost exertions had been used by the captain,
officers, and crew, to save the vessel after she struck, and to
prevent the ship's company becoming prisoners of war. The sentence of
the court was to this effect: that the captain, officers and crew were
fully acquitted of all blame, but that the pilots should forfeit all
their pay, and be rendered henceforth incapable of taking charge of
any of his Majesty's ships or vessels of war, and that they should be
imprisoned in the Marshalsea--one for the space of twelve, and the
other, of six months.

In 1805, Captain Colville was appointed to the Sea Fencibles, at
Margate. In 1807, he obtained the command of L'Hercule, a 74-gun ship,
on the coast of Portugal, and subsequently commanded the Queen on the
North Sea Station.

He succeeded to his title (Lord Colville) on the death of his father
in 1811, and was advanced to the rank of rear-admiral in 1819. On the
10th of November, 1821, he hoisted his flag on board the Semiramis, as
commander-in-chief on the Irish station. Lord Colville died an Admiral
of the White, in 1849.

We are aware that the foregoing narrative may appear deficient in
novel and striking incidents, but we have introduced it for the sake
of exhibiting some of the best and noblest attributes of the
true-hearted sailor--courage, patience, and perfect obedience under
the most trying circumstances, and generous kindness towards an
unfortunate enemy. It is well to think of these things, and the more
we read of the details of naval life--its sufferings, dangers, and
trials, the more fully shall we be persuaded that _true_ courage is
ever generous and unselfish. In the words of the quaint old song--

Says the captain, says he, (I shall never forget it,)
'If of courage you'd know, lads, the true from the sham,
Tis a furious lion in battle, so let it,
But, duty appeased, 'tis in mercy a lamb.'

That my friend, Jack or Tom, I should rescue from danger,
Or lay down my life for each lad in the mess,
Is nothing at all,--'tis the poor wounded stranger,
And the poorer the more I shall succour distress:
In me let the foe feel the paw of the lion,
But, the battle once ended, the heart of a lamb.

FOOTNOTES:

[7] She proved to be an American, and she went to pieces during the
night.

VENERABLE.

On Saturday, the 24th of November, 1804, the fleet under the command
of Admiral the Hon. W. Cornwallis, lay at anchor in Torbay. As it was
late in the year, and the night dark and stormy, orders were given for
the fleet to put to sea.

Unfortunately, in fishing the anchor of the Venerable, 74-gun ship,
the fish-hook gave way, and a man was precipitated into the sea. The
alarm was immediately given, and one of the cutters was ordered to be
lowered. Numbers of the crew rushed aft to carry the orders into
effect, but in the confusion, one of the falls was suddenly let go,
the boat fell by the run, filled, and a midshipman and two of the crew
were drowned. In a few minutes another boat was lowered, which
fortunately succeeded in picking up the man who first fell overboard.

Owing to this delay, the Venerable fell off considerably towards
Brixham, and getting sternway, was unable to weather the Berry Head.
Every effort was made to stay her, but the ship refused; and, not
having room to wear, she drove on shore, at the north part of the bay,
on a spot called Roundem Head, near Paington.

Orders were given to cut away the masts, in the hopes of their falling
between the ship and the shore. This was found impracticable, as the
ship, from her position on the declivity of the rock on which she
struck, heeled to such an extent, as to render the falling of the
masts in the desired direction quite impossible.

Her commander, Captain John Hunter, however, with undaunted fortitude,
continued to animate the crew with hope, and encouraged them to acts
of further perseverance, with the same calmness and self-possession as
if he were simply conducting the ordinary duties of his ship. From
the moment the ship struck, not the least alteration took place in his
looks, words, or manner; and everything that the most able and
experienced seaman could suggest was done, but in vain. On signals of
distress being made, H.M. cutter Frisk, Lieutenant Nicholson,
immediately stood towards her, and hailing to know in what manner she
could be useful, was requested to anchor as near as possible to
receive the crew, with which her commander immediately complied,
assisted by the boats of the Goliath and Impetueux.

All hope of saving the Venerable being now abandoned, the only object
that remained was to preserve the lives of the crew, who were told to
provide for their own safety on board the boats which had been sent to
their assistance, the captain and officers declaring their intention
of remaining on board till all the men had quitted the wreck.

At this time the sea ran tremendously high, and the men lowered
themselves into the boats from the stern, this being the only
accessible part of the ship. Most anxious was the situation of the
officers and men who were left, during the absence of the boats. Many
gave up all hopes of rescue, for every time the boats approached the
ship, the attempt became more and more dangerous. The night still
continued dark and foggy, with driving sleet and violent gusts of
wind, which seemed to freshen every hour. In this forlorn and dismal
state, the officers continued on the outside of the ship (for she was
nearly on her beam ends), encouraging the men, and affording every
assistance for their escape on board the boats.

The Venerable was now a complete wreck, beating against the rocks, and
was expected to go to pieces at every surge; yet all this time was
she so near the shore that those on board were able to converse with
the people, whom the report of the guns had brought in great numbers
to the rocks. With much difficulty, they at last contrived to fling a
line on shore, which, being secured there, some of the crew attempted
to land themselves by it. The surf, however, broke with such violence
between them and the shore, although they were scarcely twenty yards
distant, that the poor fellows who made the attempt were either
drowned or dashed to pieces.

It was now past five o'clock on Sunday morning, the weather still
growing worse. The crew, with the exception of seventeen, had
succeeded in quitting the ship, and these nobly declared that they
would remain to share the fate of their officers. The situation of the
whole was indeed appalling, and sufficient to quail the boldest heart;
the sea breaking over them, the fore part of the ship under water, and
the rest expected momentarily to go to pieces. Under these
circumstances, the officers, feeling that they could be of no further
use on board, deemed it their duty to represent to the captain the
necessity of endeavouring to save their lives, they having one and all
resolved on sharing his fate.

This point being arranged, the hopes of life began to revive; but a
further difficulty presented itself, which seemed to render their
safety more problematical than ever. This was, who was to lead the
way. The pause had well nigh been fatal to them all. At length a
junior lieutenant, long known on board, and celebrated for his
courage, agreed to lead the way, the rest solemnly promising to
follow. One after another they descended from the stern by a single
rope, wet, cold, and benumbed; and in this condition they gained the
boats, which were in perilous attendance below. About six o'clock
they reached the Impetueux, where they were treated with every
attention and kindness which their unfortunate position so loudly
called for. They quitted the ship in a most critical time, for in a
little more than an hour after they had left her, she parted
amidships--that part on which they had been standing for the last five
or six hours capsized and was buried in the surf. In sixteen hours
from the time she first struck, the whole vessel had disappeared,
under the action of a raging surf, lashed into fury by the violence of
the gale.

The conduct of the people on shore was most inhuman; not the slightest
assistance was offered; not a single boat from Brixham or Torquay
having put out to their assistance during the whole of this dreadful
night. To add to this disgraceful conduct, the cowardly wretches were
observed, when daylight broke, plundering everything of value as it
floated ashore.

The following is the tribute of praise which Captain Hunter so justly
pays to Captain Martin and the officers and crew of the Impetueux:--

"To Captain Martin, of the Impetueux, whose feelings as a man,
as well as his zeal as an officer, were on this distressing
occasion so conspicuous.--It is the desire of the officers and
crew of the Venerable in this place to express the high sense
they have of the obligations they are under to his personal
exertions, as well as those of the officers and boats' crews
whom he employed in this difficult and dangerous service,--for
it is to their exertions they owe the life they now enjoy."

Captain Hunter also speaks of the conduct of his own ship's company in
the highest terms. Their steadiness throughout was most remarkable,
and to this, in a great measure, may be attributed the preservation of
their own lives.

One solitary instance of neglect of duty occurred; and when we
consider the circumstances in which the men were placed, and the
temptations which never fail to present themselves on such occasions,
the highest praise is not only due to the crew, but also to the
captain and officers, who, by their previous conduct, had gained the
respect and confidence of those under them. It is in such moments of
severe trial that the character of a ship's company is put to the
test; and the good behaviour of the men who remained with their
officers proves that, in order to maintain a proper degree of
discipline, no undue severity need be practised.

To a comparatively recent period, the captain of a man-of-war had the
power of inflicting corporal punishment to an unlimited extent. This
practice has of late years much diminished; owing, in a great measure,
to the increased good feeling of naval officers, as also to the
Admiralty discountenancing such strong measures, unless in most urgent
cases. A captain of a man-of-war has, notwithstanding, and very
properly so, an almost absolute power, and corporal punishment rests
with him alone; but the humane officer, like Captain Hunter, punishes
one man to save many others, and shares with the delinquent the pain
which, for the sake of example, he is obliged to inflict. The
discipline of a ship of course depends almost entirely upon the
conduct of the captain; to him the officers look for guidance and
example; and whilst they see that the men do their duty properly, they
also learn from him to treat them with due consideration, having their
happiness and comfort in view. As in the case of the Venerable, when
the hour of danger arrives, each cheerfully performs the duties
allotted to him, relying with confidence on those who, from their
clemency, combined with firmness, they have been accustomed to look up
to with respect.

An additional interest belongs to the fate of this vessel, when we
bear in mind that her crew, whilst serving under Lord Duncan, in 1797,
remained untainted during the celebrated mutiny at the Nore.[8] She
also bore a conspicuous part in Lord Duncan's action with the Dutch
fleet, in October of the same year, engaging the Vryheid, the
flag-ship of the Dutch admiral.

The account of this great battle, however, is too well recorded in the
page of history to need repetition. It is sufficient to add, that the
Vryheid, after a noble resistance, was ultimately obliged to strike,
under the destructive fire of the Venerable, Triumph, Ardent, and
Director.

THE SHEERNESS.

In the afternoon of the 7th of January, 1805, His Majesty's ship
Sheerness, of 44 guns, was lying at anchor in the Colombo Roads,
Ceylon.

It was one of those days of extreme stillness which often precede the
frightful hurricanes that sweep the eastern seas. Not a breath of air
stirred, not a cloud was to be seen; the ship lay motionless on the
calm and glassy water. The ensign drooped in heavy folds from the
stern, and many of the crew lay stretched on the decks in listless
apathy, little anticipating the terrible convulsion of the elements
which was so soon to arouse them in fear. The monotony on board was
broken for a moment by the voice of the captain, Lord George Stuart,
who ordered his gig to be manned that he might go on shore with his
first lieutenant, Mr. Swan, and some other officers, whom he had
invited to dine with him under a tent. The bustle of their departure
from the ship was soon over, and again all was still. The captain and
officers had scarcely landed and seated themselves at table, when a
roaring sound was heard, at first distant, but becoming louder and
louder every moment, and before they could conjecture the cause, the
canvass of the tent was almost torn from its fastenings by the sudden
violence of the wind.

Every one thought first of the Sheerness, and rushing from the tent a
scene presented itself to their gaze little calculated to diminish
their alarm for the ship.

The sea, which a few minutes before had been smooth as a polished
mirror, now displayed a picture of terrific grandeur; the waves,
crested with foam, rolled and tossed over one another in wild
confusion, whilst the roaring of the winds, and the torrents of rain,
added to the awful sublimity of the scene. Lord George, though aware
of the imminent danger to which he exposed himself, determined at all
risks to get on board his ship. Without a moment's delay he collected
the crew of the gig, and pushed from the shore towards the
vessel--himself steering the boat, whilst Lieutenant Swan pulled the
bow oar. The wind had now increased to such a hurricane as is only
known in tropical climates, and the waves threatened every instant to
engulf the frail bark. As they advanced, the danger became more and
more urgent; the sea broke over them continually; nevertheless, they
persevered, and strained every nerve to effect their object.

The stunning roar of the hurricane prevented any communication except
by signs, and several times the wind caught the oars with such force
that the men could scarcely retain their seats. In vain were all
their efforts:--

The winds arise,
The thunder rolls, the forky lightning flies;
In vain the master issues out commands,
In vain the trembling sailors ply their hands,
The tempest, unforeseen, prevents their care,
And from the first they labour in despair.
Dryden.

The boat filled with water three times, and became so nearly
unmanageable, that they saw it would be impossible to gain the ship,
and they bore up to the west part of York Island, from whence they
waded to the shore, but so exhausted from the fatigue they had
undergone, that they could never have reached the land, had they not
been assisted by some workmen who were on the spot.

When they arrived, they found Mr. Warner, a midshipman, had just
landed from the Sheerness, with a message to the effect that the ship
had parted an anchor, but that she was riding in safety with two
others. Mr. Warner had been sent in the launch, but in nearing the
shore, she had been upset, and two of her crew were drowned; there was
little hope, therefore, of any boat weathering the storm in an attempt
to reach the ship.

Lord George, however, would not give up the attempt, and he expressed
so much anxiety to join his vessel, that it was proposed to go to the
weathermost part of the bay. Thither they accordingly struggled on
foot, with the utmost difficulty making head against the wind, and
suffering acutely from the sand driving into their eyes. In addition
to their personal sufferings, the spectacle around was one of such
desolation and horror as no man can witness without pain. The shore,
as far as the eye could reach, was covered with wrecks, and with the
bodies of the dying and the dead, while the roaring of the surf, and
the howling of the tempest, mingled with the piercing cries of those
on board the stranded vessels, who were yet struggling with their
fate, added to the awfulness of the scene.

At half-past six in the evening, exhausted with fatigue and suffering,
they arrived at the head of the bay; but here they were again doomed
to disappointment, for they found no one to assist them in launching
the boat, although the crew of the launch had been directed to join
them for that purpose.

The ship was still in sight, but they found it would be impossible to
reach her, and they therefore proceeded to the neighbouring town of
Ostenberg, where they directed a soldier whom they met, to hasten to
his commanding officer, and request that a party of soldiers with
torches should be ordered out ready to save the crew of the Sheerness,
in case of her driving on shore.

Lord George and his companions then went to the master attendant's
house, where they passed the night; but although they were worn out in
mind and body, sleep never closed their eyes that night--they passed
it in listening to the reports of the signal guns from the Sheerness,
and in watching the rockets which from time to time illuminated the
darkness, telling of distress and danger which they could not
alleviate.

When morning broke, they assembled all the workmen they could muster,
and manning a cutter with the crew of the launch, they went off to the
Sheerness, which had been driven on shore to the west of York Island.

There a most distressing sight presented itself; two vessels had been
driven on shore, one of which was totally lost. The Sheerness had
parted her cables during the night, and for a time her situation was
exceedingly perilous, it was impossible to stand upon deck till the
main and mizen masts had been cut away. The water rose above the
orlop deck till it became level with the surface of the sea.

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