Читать книгу The Sea: Its Stirring Story of Adventure, Peril, & Heroism (Vol. 1-4) - Frederick Whymper - Страница 11

Table of Contents

The Value of Discipline—The Loss of the Kent—Fire on Board—The Ship Waterlogged—Death in Two Forms—A Sail in Sight—Transference of Six Hundred Passengers to a small Brig—Splendid Discipline of the Soldiers—Imperturbable Coolness of the Captain—Loss of the Birkenhead—Literally Broken in Two—Noble Conduct of the Military—A contrary Example—Wreck of the Medusa—Run on a Sand-bank—Panic on Board—Raft constructed—Insubordination and Selfishness—One Hundred and Fifty Souls Abandoned—Drunkenness and Mutiny on the Raft—Riots and Murders—Reduced to Thirty Persons—The stronger part Massacre the others—Fifteen Left—Rescued at Last—Another Contrast—Wreck of the Alceste—Admirable Conduct of the Crew—The Ironclad Movement—The Battle of the Guns.

It is impossible to read the account of any great disaster at sea, without being strongly impressed with the enormous value of maintaining in the hour of peril the same strict discipline which, under ordinary circumstances, is the rule of a vessel. Few more striking examples of this are to be found, than in the story of the loss of the Kent, which we are now about to relate. The disaster of the Medusa, which we shall record later, in which complete anarchy and disregard of discipline, aggravated a hundredfold the horrors of the situation, only teaches the same lesson from the opposite point of view. Though the most independent people on the earth, all Englishmen worthy of the name appreciate the value of proper subordination and obedience to those who have rightful authority to command. This was almost the only gratifying feature connected with the loss of the Vanguard, and the safe and rapid transference of the crew to the Iron Duke was due to it. But the circumstances of the case were as nought to some that have preceded it, where the difficulties and risks were infinitely greater and the reward much less certain. The Kent was a fine troop-ship, of 1,530 tons, bound from England for Bengal and China. She had on board 344 soldiers, forty-three women, and sixty-six children. The officers, private passengers, and crew brought the total number on board to 640. After leaving the Downs, on the 19th of February, 1825, she encountered terrible weather, culminating in a gale on the 1st of March, which obliged them almost to sail under bare poles. The narrative59 by Sir Duncan MacGregor, one of the passengers, created an immense sensation at its first appearance, and was translated into almost every language of the civilised world. He states that the rolling of the ship, which was vastly increased by a dead weight of some hundred tons of shot and shells that formed a part of its lading, became so great about half-past eleven or twelve o’clock at night, that the main-chains were thrown by every lurch considerably under water; and the best cleated articles of furniture in the cabin and the cuddy were dashed about in all directions.

It was a little before this period that one of the officers of the ship, with the well-meant intention of ascertaining that all was fast below, descended with a lantern. He discovered one of the spirit-casks adrift, and sent two or three sailors for some billets of wood to secure it. While they were absent, he unfortunately dropped the lamp, and letting go his hold of the cask in his eagerness to recover it, the former suddenly stove, and the spirits communicating with the light, the whole deck at that part was speedily in a blaze. The fire spread rapidly, and all their efforts at extinguishing it were vain, although bucket after bucket of water, wet sails and hammocks, were immediately applied. The smoke began to ascend the hatchway, and although every effort was made to keep the passengers in ignorance, the terrible news soon spread that the ship was on fire. As long as the devouring element appeared to be confined to the spot where the fire originated, and which they were assured was surrounded on all sides with water-casks, there was some hope that it might be subdued; but soon the light-blue vapour that at first arose was succeeded by volumes of thick, dingy smoke, which ascended through all the hatchways and rolled over the ship. A thorough panic took possession of most on board.

The deck was covered with six hundred men, women, and children, many almost frantic with excitement—wives seeking their husbands, children their mothers; strong men appearing as though their reason was overthrown, weak men maudlin and weeping; many good people on their knees in earnest prayer. Some of the older and more stout-hearted soldiers and sailors sullenly took their seats directly over the powder-magazine, expecting momentarily that it would explode and put them out of their misery. A strong pitchy smell suddenly wafted over the ship. “The flames have reached the cable-tier!” exclaimed one; and it was found to be too true. The fire had now extended so far, that there was but one course to pursue: the lower decks must be swamped. Captain Cobb, the commander of the Kent, was a man of action, and, with an ability and decision that seemed only to increase with the imminence of the danger, ordered the lower decks to be scuttled, the coverings of the hatches removed, and the lower ports opened to the free admission of the waves. His instructions were speedily obeyed, the soldiers aiding the crew. The fury of the flames was, of course, checked; but several sick soldiers and children, and one woman, unable to gain the upper deck, were drowned, and others suffocated. As the risk of explosion somewhat diminished, a new horror arose. The ship became water-logged, and presented indications of settling down. Death in two forms stared them in the face.

No sail had been seen for many days, the vessel being somewhat out of the regular course. But, although it seemed hopeless, a man was sent up to the foretop to scan the horizon. How many anxious eyes were turned up to him, how many anxious hearts beat at that moment, can well be understood. The sailor threw his eyes rapidly over the waste of howling waters, and instantly waved his hat, exclaiming, in a voice hoarse with emotion, “A sail on the lee bow!” Flags of distress were soon hoisted, minute-guns fired, and an attempt made to bear down on the welcome stranger, which for some time did not notice them. But at last it seemed probable, by her slackening sail and altering her course, that the Kent had been seen. Hope revived on board; but there were still three painful problems to be solved. The vessel in the distance was but a small brig: could she take over six hundred persons on board? Could they be transferred during a terrible gale and heavy sea, likely enough to swamp all the boats? Might not the Kent either blow up or speedily founder, before even one soul were saved?

The vessel proved to be the Cambria, a brig bound to Vera Cruz, with a number of miners on board. For fifteen minutes it had been very doubtful to all on the Kent whether their signals of distress—and the smoke issuing from the hatchways formed no small item among them—were seen, or the minute-guns heard. But at length it became obvious that the brig was making for them, and preparations were made to clear and lower the boats of the East Indiaman. “Although,” says Sir Duncan MacGregor, “it was impossible, and would have been improper, to repress the rising hopes that were pretty generally diffused amongst us by the unexpected sight of the Cambria, yet I confess, that when I reflected on the long period our ship had been already burning—on the tremendous sea that was running—on the extreme smallness of the brig, and the immense number of human beings to be saved—I could only venture to hope that a few might be spared.” When the military officers were consulting together, as the brig was approaching, on the requisite preparations for getting out the boats, and other necessary courses of action, one of the officers asked Major MacGregor in what order it was intended the officers should move off, to which he replied, “Of course, in funeral order,” which injunction was instantly confirmed by Colonel Fearon, who said, “Most undoubtedly—the juniors first; but see that any man is cut down who presumes to enter the boats before the means of escape are presented to the women and children.” To prevent any rush of troops or sailors to the boats, the officers were stationed near them with drawn swords. But, to do the soldiers and seamen justice, it was little needed; the former particularly keeping perfect order, and assisting to save the ladies and children and private passengers generally. Some of the women and children were placed in the first boat, which was immediately lowered into a sea so tempestuous that there was great danger that it would be swamped, while the lowering-tackle not being properly disengaged at the stern, there was a great prospect for a few moments that its living freight would be upset in the water. A sailor, however, succeeded in cutting the ropes with an axe, and the first boat got off safely.

The Cambria had been intentionally lain at some distance from the Kent, lest she should be involved in her explosion, or exposed to the fire from the guns, which, being all shotted, went off as the flames reached them. The men had a considerable distance to row, and the success of the first experiment was naturally looked upon as the measure of their future hopes. The movements of this boat were watched with intense anxiety by all on board. “The better to balance the boat in the raging sea through which it had to pass, and to enable the seamen to ply their oars, the women and children were stowed promiscuously under the seats, and consequently exposed to the risk of being drowned by the continual dashing of the spray over their heads, which so filled the boat during the passage that before their arrival at the brig the poor females were sitting up to their waists in water, and their children kept with the greatest difficulty above it.” Happily, at the expiration of twenty minutes, the cutter was seen alongside their ark of refuge. The next difficulty was to get the ladies and children on board the Cambria, for the sea was running high, and there was danger of the boat being swamped or stove against the side of the brig. The children were almost thrown on board, while the women had to spring towards the many friendly arms extended from the vessel, when the waves lifted the boat momentarily in the right position. However, all were safely transferred to the brig without serious mishap.

It became impossible for the boats, after the first trip, to come alongside the Kent, and a plan was adopted for lowering the women and children from the stern by tying them two and two together. The heaving of the vessel, and the heavy sea raising the boat one instant and dropping it the next, rendered this somewhat perilous. Many of the poor women were plunged several times in the water before they succeeded in landing safely in the boat, and many young children died from the effects—“the same violent means which only reduced the parents to a state of exhaustion or insensibility,” having entirely quenched the vital spark in their feeble frames. One fine fellow, a soldier, who had neither wife nor child of his own, but who showed great solicitude for the safety of others, insisted on having three children lashed to him, with whom he plunged into the water to reach the boat more quickly. He swam well, but could not get near the boat; and when he was eventually drawn on board again, two of the children were dead. One man fell down the hatchway into the flames; another had his back broken, and was observed, quite doubled, falling overboard; a third fell between the boat and brig, and his head was literally crushed to pieces; others were lost in their attempts to ascend the sides of the Cambria; and others, again, were drowned in their hurry to get on board the boats.

One of the sailors, who had, with many others, taken his post over the magazine, at last cried out, almost in ill-humour, “Well! if she won’t blow up, I’ll see if I can’t get away from her.” He was saved—and must have felt quite disappointed. One of the three boats, swamped or stove during the day, had on board a number of men who had been robbing the cabins during the confusion on board. “It is suspected that one or two of those who went down, must have sunk beneath the weight of their spoils.”

As there was so much doubt as to how soon the vessel would explode or go down, while the process of transference between the vessels occupied three-quarters of an hour each trip, and other delays were caused by timid passengers and ladies who were naturally loath to be separated from their husbands, they determined on a quicker mode of placing them in the boat. A rope was suspended from the end of the spanker-boom, along the slippery top of which the passengers had either to walk, crawl, or be carried. The reader need not be told that this great boom or spar stretches out from the mizen-mast far over the stern in a vessel the size of the Kent. On ordinary occasions, in quiet weather, it would be fifteen or twenty feet above the water, but with the vessel pitching and tossing during the continuous storm, it was raised often as much as forty feet in the air. It will be seen that, under these circumstances, with the boat at the stern now swept to some distance in the hollow of a wave, and now raised high on its crest, the lowering of oneself by the rope, to drop at the right moment, was a perilous operation. It was a common thing for strong men to reach the boat in a state of utter exhaustion, having been several times immersed in the waves and half drowned. But there were many strong and willing hands among the soldiers and sailors ready to help the weak and fearful ones, and the transference went on with fair rapidity, though with every now and again some sad casualty to record. The coolness and determination of the officers, military and marine, the good order and subordination of most of the troops, and the bravery of many in risking their lives for others, seems at this time to have restored some little confidence among the timid and shrinking on board. A little later, and the declining rays and fiery glow on the waves indicated that the sun was setting. One can well understand the feeling of many on board as they witnessed its disappearance and the approach of darkness. Were their lives also to set in outer gloom—the ocean to be that night their grave?

Late at night Major MacGregor went down to his cabin in search of a blanket to shelter him from the increasing cold. “The scene of desolation that there presented itself was melancholy in the extreme. The place which, only a few short hours before, had been the scene of kindly intercourse and of social gaiety, was now entirely deserted, save by a few miserable wretches who were either stretched in irrecoverable intoxication on the floor, or prowling about, like beasts of prey, in search of plunder. The sofas, drawers, and other articles of furniture, the due arrangement of which had cost so much thought and pains, were now broken into a thousand pieces, and scattered in confusion around. … Some of the geese and other poultry, escaped from their confinement, were cackling in the cuddy; while a solitary pig, wandering from its sty in the forecastle, was ranging at large in undisturbed possession of the Brussels carpet.”

It is highly to the credit of the officers, more especially to those who had deck-cabins, from which it would be easy to remove many portable articles, and even trunks and boxes, that they entirely devoted their time and energies to saving life. They left the ship simply with the clothes they stood in, and were the last to leave it, except, of course, where subordinate officers were detailed to look after portions of the troops. Captain Cobb, in his resolution to be the last to leave the ship, tried all he could to urge the few remaining persons on board to drop on the ropes and save themselves. But finding all his entreaties fruitless, and hearing the guns successively explode in the hold, into which they had fallen, he at length, after doing all in his power to save them, got himself into the boat by “laying hold of the topping-lift, or rope that connects the driver-boom with the mizen-top, thereby getting over the heads of the infatuated men who occupied the boom, unable to go either backward or forward, and ultimately dropping himself into the water.” One of the boats persevered in keeping its station under the Kent’s stern, until the flames were bursting out of the cabin windows. The larger part of the poor wretches left on board were saved: when the vessel exploded, they sought shelter in the chains, where they stood till the masts fell overboard, to which they then clung for some hours. Ultimately, they were rescued by Captain Bibbey, of the Caroline, a vessel bound from Egypt to Liverpool, who happened to see the explosion at a great distance, and instantly made all sail in the direction whence it proceeded, afterwards cruising about for some time to pick up any survivors.

After the arrival of the last boat at the Cambria, “the flames, which had spread along the upper deck and poop, ascended with the rapidity of lightning to the masts and rigging, forming one general conflagration, that illumined the heavens to an immense distance, and was strongly reflected on several objects on board the brig. The flags of distress, hoisted in the morning, were seen for a considerable time waving amid the flames, until the masts to which they were suspended successively fell, like stately steeples, over the ship’s side.” At last, about half-past one o’clock in the morning, the devouring element having communicated to the magazine, the explosion was seen, and the blazing fragments of the once magnificent Kent were instantly hurled, like so many rockets, high into the air; leaving, in the comparative darkness that succeeded, “the deathful scene of that disastrous day floating before the mind like some feverish dream.”

The scene on board the brig beggared description. The captain, who bore the honoured name of Cook, and his crew of eight, did all that was in their power to alleviate the miseries of the six hundred persons added to their number; while they carried sail, even to the extent of danger, in order to make nine or ten knots to the nearest port. The Cornish miners and Yorkshire smelters on board gave up their beds and clothes and stores to the passengers; and it was extremely fortunate that the brig was on her outward voyage, for, had she been returning, she would not, in all probability, have had provisions enough to feed six hundred persons for a single day. But at the best their condition was miserable. In the cabin, intended for eight or ten, eighty were packed, many nearly in a nude condition, and many of the poor women not having space to lie down.

The gale increased; but still they crowded all sail—even at the risk of carrying away the masts—and at length the welcome cry of “Land ahead!” was reported from mouth to mouth. They were off the Scilly lights, and speedily afterwards reached Falmouth, where the inhabitants vied with each other in providing clothing and food and money for all who needed them.

FALMOUTH HARBOUR.

The total loss from the Kent was eighty-one souls; namely, fifty-four soldiers, one woman, twenty children, one seaman, and five boys of the crew. How much greater might it not have been but for the imperturbable coolness, the commanding abilities, and the persevering and prompt action of Captain Cobb, and the admirable discipline and subordination of the troops!

THE LOSS OF THE “BIRKENHEAD.”

Another remarkable instance of the same thing is to be found in the case of the Birkenhead, where there were desperate odds against any one surviving. The ship was a war-steamer, conveying troops from St. Simon’s Bay to Algoa Bay, Cape Colony, and had, with crew, a total complement of 638 souls on board. She struck on a reef, when steaming at the rate of eight and a half knots, and almost immediately became a total wreck. The rock penetrated her bottom, just aft of the fore-mast, and the rush of water was so great that most of the men on the lower troop-deck were drowned in their hammocks. The commanding officer, Major Seton, called his subordinate officers about him, and impressed upon them the necessity of preserving order and perfect discipline among the men, and of assisting the commander of the ship in everything possible. Sixty soldiers were immediately detailed for the pumps, in three reliefs; sixty more to hold on the tackles of the paddle-box boats, and the remainder were brought on the poop, so as to ease the fore-part of the ship, which was rolling heavily. The commander of the ship ordered the horses to be pitched out of the first-gangway, and the cutter to be got ready for the women and children, who were safely put on board. Just after they were out of the ship, the entire bow broke off at the fore-mast, and the funnel went over the side, carrying away the starboard paddle-box and boat. The other paddle-box boat capsized when being lowered, and their largest boat, in the centre of the ship, could not be got at, so encumbered was it. Five minutes later, the vessel actually “broke in two,” literally realising Falconer’s lines:—

“Ah, Heaven! Behold, her crashing ribs divide!

She loosens, parts, and spreads in ruin o’er the tide.”

“She parted just abaft the engine-room, and the stern part immediately filled and went down. A few men jumped off just before she did so; but the greater number remained to the last, and so did every officer belonging to the troops.” A number of the soldiers were crushed to death when the funnel fell, and few of those at the pumps could reach the deck before the vessel broke up. The survivors clung, some to the rigging of the main-mast, part of which was out of water, and others to floating pieces of wood. When the Birkenhead divided into two pieces, the commander of the ship called out, “All those who can swim, jump overboard and make for the boats!” Two of the military officers earnestly besought their men not to do so, as, in that case, the boats with the women must be swamped; and, to the honour of the soldiers, only three made the attempt.

The struggles of a part of them to reach the shore, the weary tramp through a country covered with thick thorny bushes, before they could reach any farm or settlement; the sufferings of thirty or more poor fellows who were clinging, in a state of utter exhaustion, cold, and wretchedness, to the main-topmast and topsail-yard of the submerged vessel, before they were rescued by a passing schooner, have often been told. The conduct of the troops was perfect; and it is questionable whether there is any other instance of such thorough discipline at a time of almost utter hopelessness. The loss of life was enormous, only 192 out of 638 being saved. Had there been any panic, or mutiny, not even that small remnant would have escaped.

Turn we now to another and a sadder case, where the opposite qualities were most unhappily displayed, and the consequences of which were proportionately terrible.

On the 17th of June, 1816, the Medusa, a fine French frigate, sailed from Aix, with troops and colonists on board, destined for the west coast of Africa. Several settlements which had previously belonged to France, but which fell into the hands of the English during the war, were, on the peace of 1815, restored to their original owners; and it was to take re-possession that the French Government dispatched the expedition, which consisted of two vessels, one of which was the Medusa. Besides infantry and artillery, officers and men, there was a governor, with priests, schoolmasters, notaries, surgeons, apothecaries, mining and other engineers, naturalists, practical agriculturists, bakers, workmen, and thirty-eight women, the whole expedition numbering 365 persons, exclusive of the ship’s officers and company. Of these the Medusa took 240, making, with her crew and passengers, a total of 400 on board.

THE RAFT OF THE “MEDUSA.”

After making Cape Blanco, the expedition had been ordered to steer due westward to sea for some sixty miles, in order to clear a well-known sand-bank, that of Arguin. The captain, however, seems to have been an ill-advised, foolhardy man, and he took a southward course. The vessel shortened sail every two hours to sound, and every half-hour the lead was cast, without slackening sail. For some little time the soundings indicated deep water, but shortly after the course had been altered to S.S.E., the colour of the water changed, seaweeds floated round the ship, and fish were caught from its sides; all indications of shallowing. But the captain heeded not these obvious signs, and the vessel suddenly grounded on a bank. The weather being moderate, there was no reason for alarm, and she would have been got off safely had the captain been even an average sailor. For the time, the Medusa stuck fast on the sand-bank, and as a large part of those on board were landsmen, consternation and disorder reigned supreme, and reproaches and curses were liberally bestowed on the captain. The crew was set to work with anchors and cables to endeavour to work the vessel off. During the day, the topmasts, yards, and booms were unshipped and thrown overboard, which lightened her, but were not sufficient to make her float. Meantime, a council was called, and the governor of the colonies exhibited the plan of a raft, which was considered large enough to carry two hundred persons, with all the necessary stores and provisions. It was to be towed by the boats, while their crews were to come to it at regular meal-times for their rations. The whole party was to land in a body on the sandy shore of the coast—known to be at no great distance—and proceed to the nearest settlements. All this was, theoretically speaking, most admirable, and had there been any leading spirit in command, the plan would have been, as was afterwards proved, quite practicable. The raft was immediately constructed, principally from the spars removed from the vessel as before mentioned.

Various efforts were made to get the Medusa off the sandbank, and at one time she swung entirely, and turned her head to sea. She was, in fact, almost afloat, and a tow-line applied in the usual way would have taken her into deep water; but this familiar expedient was never even proposed. Or, even had she been lightened by throwing overboard a part of her stores temporarily—which could have been done without serious harm to many articles—she might have been saved. Half-measures were tried, and even these were not acted on with perseverance. During the next night there was a strong gale and heavy swell, and the Medusa heeled over with much violence; the keel broke in two, the rudder was unshipped, and, still holding to the stern-post by the chains, dashed against the vessel and beat a hole into the captain’s cabin, through which the waves entered. It was at this time that the first indications of that unruly spirit which afterwards produced so many horrors appeared among the soldiers, who assembled tumultuously on deck, and could hardly be quieted. Next morning there were seven feet of water in the hold, and the pumps could not be worked, so that it was resolved to quit the vessel without delay. Some bags of biscuit were taken from the bread-room, and some casks of wine got ready to put on the boats and raft. But there was an utter want of management, and several of the boats only received twenty-five pounds of biscuit and no wine, while the raft had a quantity of wine and no biscuit. To avoid confusion, a list had been made the evening before, assigning to each his place. No one paid the slightest attention to it, and no one of those in authority tried to enforce obedience to it. It was a case of “Sauve qui peut!” with a vengeance: a disorderly and disgraceful scramble for the best places and an utter and total disregard for the wants of others.

It is, and always has been, a point of honour for the officers to be among the very last to leave (except, of course, where their presence might be needed in the boats), and the captain to be the very last. Here, the captain was among the first to scramble over the side; and his twelve-oared barge only took off twenty-eight persons, when it would have easily carried many more. A large barge took the colonial governor and his family, and the governor’s trunks. His boat wanted for nothing, and would have accommodated ten or more persons than it took. When several of the unfortunate crew swam off and begged to be taken in, they were kept off with drawn swords. The raft60 took the larger part of the soldiers, and had in all on board one hundred and fifty persons. The captain coolly proposed to desert some sixty of the people still on board, and leave them to shift for themselves; but an officer who threatened to shoot him was the means of making him change his mind, and over forty were taken off in the long-boat. Seventeen men, many of whom were helplessly intoxicated, were, however, left to their fate.

On the morning of the 5th of July the signal was given to put to sea, and at first some of the boats towed the raft, which had no one to command it but a midshipman named Coudin, who, having a painful wound on his leg, was utterly useless. The other officers consulted their own personal safety only, and, with a few exceptions, this was the case with every one else. When the lieutenant of the long-boat, fearing that he could not keep the sea with eighty-eight men on board, and no oars, entreated three of the other boats, one after the other, to relieve him of a part of his living cargo, they refused utterly; and the officer of the third, in his hurry to run away, loosed from the raft. This was the signal for a general desertion. The word was passed from one boat to another to leave them to their fate, and the captain had not the manliness to protest. The purser of the Medusa, with a few others, opposed such a dastardly proceeding, but in vain; and the raft, without means of propulsion, was abandoned. As it proved afterwards, the boats, which all reached the land safely, sighted the coast the same evening; and the raft could have been towed to it in a day or two, or at all events sufficiently near for the purpose. The people on it could not at first believe in this treacherous desertion, and once and again buoyed themselves up with the hope that the boats would return or send relief. The lieutenant on the long-boat seems to have been one of the few officers possessing any spark of humanity and manliness. He kept his own boat near the raft for a time, in the hope that the others might be induced to return, but at length had to yield to the clamour of some eighty men on board with him, who insisted on his proceeding in search of land.

The consternation and despair of those on the raft beggars description. The water was, even while the sea was calm, up to the knees of the larger part on board, while the horrors of a slow death from starvation and thirst, and the prospect of being washed off by the waves, should a storm arise, stared them in the face. Several barrels of flour had been placed on the raft at first, along with six barrels of wine and two small casks of water. When only fifty persons had got on it, their weight sunk it so low in the water that the flour was thrown into the sea, and lost. When the raft quitted the ship, with a hundred and fifty souls on her, she was a foot to a foot and a half under water, and the only food on board was a twenty-five-pound bag of biscuit, in a semi-pulpy condition, which just afforded them one meagre ration.

Some on board, to keep up the courage of the remainder, promulgated the idea that the boats had merely made sail for the island of Arguin, and that, having landed their crews, they would return. This for the moment appeased the indignation of the soldiers and others who had, with frantic gesticulations, been wringing their hands and tearing their hair. Night came on, and the wind freshened, the waves rolling over them, and throwing many down with violence. The cries of the people were mingled with the roar of the waves, whilst heavy seas constantly lifted them off their legs and threatened to wash them away. Thus, clinging desperately to the ropes, they struggled with death the whole night through.

About seven the next morning, the sea was again calm, when they found that twelve or more unfortunate men had, during the night, slipped between the interstices of the raft and perished. The effects of starvation were beginning to tell upon them:61 all their faculties were strangely impaired. Some fancied that they saw lighted signals in the distance, and answered them by firing off their pistols, or by setting fire to small heaps of gunpowder; others thought they saw ships or land, when there was nothing in sight. The next day strong symptoms of mutiny broke out, the officers being utterly disregarded by the soldiers. The evening again brought bad weather. “The people were now dashed about by the fury of the waves; there was no safety but in the centre of the raft,” where they packed themselves so close that many were nearly suffocated. “The soldiers and sailors, now considering their destruction inevitable, resolved to drown the sense of their situation by drinking till they should lose their reason;” nor could they be persuaded to forego their mad scheme. They rushed upon a cask of wine which was near the centre, and making a hole in it, drank so much, that the fumes soon mounted to their heads, in the empty condition in which they were; and “they then resolved to rid themselves of their officers, and afterwards to destroy the raft by cutting the lashings which kept it together.” One of them commenced hacking away at the ropes with a boarding-hatchet. The civil and military officers rushed on this ringleader, and though he made a desperate resistance, soon dispatched him. The people on the raft were now divided into two antagonistic parties—about twenty civil officers and the better class of passengers on one side, and a hundred or more soldiers and workmen on the other. “The mutineers,” says the narrative, “drew their swords, and were going to make a general attack, when the fall of another of their number struck such a seasonable terror into them that they retreated; but it was only to make another attempt at cutting the ropes. One of them, pretending to rest on the side-rail of the raft, began to work;” when he was discovered, and a few moments afterwards, with a soldier who attempted to defend him, was sent to his last account. This was followed by a general fight. An infantry captain was thrown into the sea by the soldiers, but rescued by his friends. He was then seized a second time, and the revolters attempted to put out his eyes. A charge was made upon them, and many put to death. The wretches threw overboard the only woman on the raft, together with her husband. They were, however, saved, only to die miserably soon afterwards.

A second repulse brought many of the mutineers to their senses, and temporarily awed the rest, some asking pardon on their knees. But at midnight the revolt again broke out, the soldiers attacking the party in the centre of the raft with the fury of madmen, even biting their adversaries. They seized upon one of the lieutenants, mistaking him for one of the ship’s officers who had deserted the raft, and he was rescued and protected afterwards with the greatest difficulty. They threw overboard M. Coudin, an elderly man, who was covered with wounds received in opposing them, and a young boy of the party, in whom he took an interest. M. Coudin had the presence of mind both to support the child and to take hold of the raft; and his friends kept off the brutal soldiery with drawn swords, until they were lifted on board again. The combat was so fierce, and the weather at night so bad, that on the return of day it was found that over sixty had perished off the raft. It is stated that the mutineers had thrown over the remaining water and two casks of wine. The indications in the narrative would not point to the latter conclusion, as the soldiers and workmen were constantly intoxicated, and many, no doubt, were washed off by the waves in that condition. A powerful temperance tract might be written on the loss of the Medusa. On the morning of the fourth day after their departure from the frigate, the dead bodies of twelve of the company, who had expired during the night, were lying on the raft. This day a shoal of flying-fish played round the raft, and a number of them got on board,62 and were entangled in the spaces between the timbers. A small fire, lighted with flint and steel and gunpowder, was made inside a barrel, and the fish, half-cooked, was greedily devoured. They did not stop here; the account briefly indicates that they ate parts of the flesh of their dead companions. Horror followed horror: a massacre succeeded their savage feast. Some Spaniards, Italians, and negroes among them, who had hitherto taken no part with the mutineers, now formed a plot to throw their superiors into the sea. A bag of money, which had been collected as a common fund, and was hanging from a rude mast hastily extemporised, probably tempted them. The officers’ party threw their ringleader overboard, while another of the conspirators, finding his villainy discovered, weighted himself with a heavy boarding-axe, and rushing to the fore part of the raft, plunged headlong into the sea and was drowned. A desperate combat ensued, and the fatal raft was quickly piled with dead bodies.

On the fifth morning, there were only thirty alive. The remnant suffered severely, and one-third of the number were unable to stand up or move about. The salt water and intense heat of the sun blistered their feet and legs, and gave intense pain. In the course of the seventh day, two soldiers were discovered stealing the wine, and they were immediately pushed overboard. This day also, Leon, the poor little boy mentioned before, died from sheer starvation.

The story has been so far nothing but a record of insubordination, murderous brutality, and utter selfishness. But the worst has yet to come. Let the survivors tell their own shameful and horrible story. There were now but twenty-seven left, and “of these twelve, amongst them the woman, were so ill that there was no hope of their surviving, even a few days; they were covered with wounds, and had almost entirely lost their reason. … They might have lived long enough to reduce our stock to a very low ebb; but there was no hope that they could last more than a few days. To put them on short allowance was only hastening their death; while giving them a full ration, was uselessly diminishing a quantity already too low. After an anxious consultation, we came to the resolution of throwing them into the sea, and thus terminating at once their sufferings. This was a horrible and unjustifiable expedient, but who amongst us would have the cruelty to put it into execution? Three sailors and a soldier took it on themselves. We turned away our eyes from the shocking sight, trusting that, in thus endeavouring to prolong our own lives, we were shortening theirs but a few hours. This gave us the means of subsistence for six additional days. After this dreadful sacrifice, we cast our swords into the sea, reserving but one sabre for cutting wood or cordage, as might be necessary.” Was there ever such an example of demoniacal hypocrisy, mingled with pretended humanity!

ON THE RAFT OF THE “MEDUSA”—A SAIL IN SIGHT.

(After the celebrated Painting by Géricault.)

One can hardly interest himself in the fate of the remaining fifteen, who, if they were not all human devils, must have carried to their dying days the brand of Cain indelibly impressed on their memories. A few days passed, and the indications of a close approach to land became frequent. Meantime, they were suffering from the intense heat, and from excessive thirst. One more example of petty selfishness was afforded by an officer who had found a lemon, which he resolved to keep entirely for himself, until the ominous threats of the rest obliged him to share it. The wine, which should have warmed their bodies and gladdened their hearts, produced on their weakened frames the worst effects of intoxication. Five of the number resolved, and were barely persuaded not to commit suicide, so maddened were they by their potations. Perhaps the sight of the sharks, which now came boldly up to the edges of the raft, had something to do with sobering them, for they decided to live.

Three days now passed in intolerable torments. They had become so careless of life, that they bathed even in sight of the sharks; others were not afraid to place themselves naked upon the fore part of the raft, which was then entirely under water; and, though it was exceedingly dangerous, it had the effect of taking away their thirst. They now attempted to construct a boat of planks and spars. When completed, a sailor went upon it, when it immediately upset, and the design of reaching land by this means was abandoned. On the morning of the 17th of July, the sun shone brightly and the sky was cloudless. Just as they were receiving their ration of wine, one of the infantry officers discerned the topmasts of a vessel near the horizon. Uniting their efforts, they raised a man to the top of the mast, who waved constantly a number of handkerchiefs tied together. After two hours of painful suspense, the vessel, a brig, disappeared, and they once more resigned themselves to despair. Deciding that they must leave some record of their fate, they agreed to carve their names, with some account of their disaster, on a plank, in the hope that it might eventually reach their Government and families. But they were to be saved: the brig reappeared, and bore down for them. She proved to be a vessel which had been dispatched by the Governor of Senegal for the purpose of rescuing any survivors; though, considering the raft had now been seventeen days afloat, there was little expectation that any of its hundred and fifty passengers still lived. The wounded and blistered limbs, sunken eyes, and emaciated frames of the remnant told its own tale on board. And yet, with due order and discipline, presence of mind, and united helpfulness, the ship, with every soul who had sailed on her, might have been saved; and a fearful story of cruelty, murder, and cannibalism spared to us. The modern Medusa has been branded with a name of infamy worse than that of the famous classical monster after which she was named. The celebrated picture by Géricault in the Louvre, at Paris, vividly depicts the horrors of the scene.

The wreck of the Medusa has very commonly been compared and contrasted with that of the Alceste, an English frigate, which was wrecked the same year. Lord Amherst was returning from China in this vessel, after fulfilling his mission to the Court of Pekin, instituted at the instance of the East India Company, who had complained to Government of the impediments thrown in the way of their trade by the Chinese. His secretary and suite were with him; and so there was some resemblance to the case of the Medusa, which had a colonial governor and his staff on board. The commander of the Alceste was Captain (afterwards Sir) Murray Maxwell, a true gentleman and a bluff, hearty sailor. Having touched at Manilla, they were passing through the Straits of Gaspar, when the ship suddenly struck on a reef of sunken rocks, and it became evident that she must inevitably and speedily break up. The most perfect discipline prevailed; and the first efforts of the captain were naturally directed to saving the ambassador and his subordinates. The island of Palo Leat was a few miles off; and, although its coast at this part was a salt-marsh, with mangrove-trees growing out in the water so thick and entangled that it almost prevented them landing, every soul was got off safely. Good feeling and sensible councils prevailed. At first there was no fresh water to be obtained. It was

“Water, water everywhere,

Yet not a drop to drink.”

In a short time, however, they dug a deep well, and soon reached plenty. Then the Malays attacked and surrounded them; at first a few score, at last six or seven hundred strong. Things looked black; but they erected a stockade, made rude pikes by sticking their knives, dirks, and small swords on the end of poles; and, although they had landed with just seventy-five ball-cartridges, their stock soon grew to fifteen hundred. How? Why, the sailors set to with a will, and made their own, the balls being represented by their jacket-buttons and pieces of the glass of broken bottles! Of loose powder they had, fortunately, a sufficient quantity. The Malays set the wreck on fire. The men waited till it had burned low, and then drove them off, and went and secured such of the stores as could be now reached, or which had floated off. The natives were gathering thick. Murray made his sailors a speech in true hearty style, and their wild huzzas were taken by the Malays for war-whoops: the latter soon “weakened,” as they say in America. From the highest officer to the merest boy, all behaved like calm, resolute, and sensible Britons, and every soul was saved. Lord Amherst, who had gone on to Batavia, sent a vessel for them, on board which Maxwell was the last to embark. At the time of the wreck their condition was infinitely worse than that of the Medusa; but how completely different the sequel! The story is really a pleasant one, displaying, as it does, the happy results of both good discipline and mutual good feeling in the midst of danger. Nil desperandum was evidently the motto of that crew; and their philosophy was rewarded. The lessons of the past and present, in regard to our great ships, have taught us that disaster is not confined to ironclads, nor victory to wooden walls; neither is good discipline dead, nor the race of true-hearted tars extinct. “Men of iron” will soon be the worthy successors of “hearts of oak.”

Having glanced at the causes which led to the ironclad movement, and noted certain salient points in its history, let us now for a while discuss the ironclad herself. It has been remarked, as a matter of reproach to the administrators and builders of the British ironclad navy, that the vessels composing it are not sufficiently uniform in design, power, and speed. Mr. Reed, however, tells us that la marine moderne cuirassée of France is still more distinguished by the different types and forms of the vessels; and that ours by comparison wears “quite a tiresome appearance of sameness;” while, again, Russia has ironclads even more diversified than those of France. The objection is, perhaps, hardly a fair one, as the exigencies of the navy are many and varied. We might have to fight a first-class power, or several first-class powers, where all our strength would have to be put forth; some second-class power might require chastising, where vessels of a secondary class might suffice; while almost any vessel of the navy would be efficient in the case of wars with native tribes, as, for example, the Maories of New Zealand, or the Indians of the coasts of North-west America. In a great naval conflict, provided the vessels of our fleet steamed pretty evenly as regards speed, there would be an advantage in variety; for it might rather puzzle and worry the enemy, who would not know what next would appear, or what new form turn up. Mr. Reed puts the matter in a nutshell; although it must be seen that, among first-class powers with first-class fleets, the argument cuts both ways. “In the old days,” says he, “when actions had to be fought under sail, and when ships of a class were in the main alike, the limits within which the arts, the resources, and the audacities of the navy were restricted were really very narrow; and yet how brilliant were its achievements! I cannot but believe that, if the English ironclad fleet were now to be engaged in a general action with an enemy’s fleet, the very variety of our ships—those very improvements which have occasioned that variety—would be at once the cause of the greatest possible embarrassment to the enemy, and the means of the most vigorous and diversified attack upon the hostile fleet. This is peculiarly true of all those varieties which result from increase in handiness, in bow-fire, in height of port, and so forth; and unless I have mis-read our naval history, and misappreciate the character of our naval officers of the present day, the nation will, in the day of trial, obtain the full benefit of these advantages.”

SECTION OF A FIRST-CLASS MAN-OF-WAR.

It needs no argument to convince the reader that the aim of a naval architect should be to combine in the best manner available, strength and lightness. The dimensions and outside form of the ship in great part determine her displacement; and her capacity to carry weights depends largely on the actual weight of her own hull; while the room within partly depends on the thinness or thickness of her walls. Now, we have seen that in wooden ships the hull weighs more than in iron ships of equal size; and it will be apparent that what is gained in the latter case can be applied to carrying so much the more iron armour. Hence, distinguished authorities do not believe in the wood-built ship carrying heavy armour, nearly so much as in the ironclad, iron-built ship.63 The durability and strength are greater. The authority of such a man as Mr. J. Scott Russell, the eminent shipbuilder, will be conclusive. In a pamphlet,64 published in 1862, he noted the following ten points: 1, That iron steam ships-of-war may be built as strong as wooden ships of greater weight, and stronger than wooden ships of equal weight. 2, That iron ships of equal strength can go on less draught of water than wooden ships. 3, That iron ships can carry much heavier weights than wooden ships [hence they can carry heavier armour]. 4, That they are more durable. 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, That they are safer against the sea, against fire, explosive shots, red-hot shots, molten metal; and 10, That they can be made impregnable even against solid shot.

THE “WARRIOR.”

The last point, alas! is one which Mr. Scott Russell himself would hardly insist upon to-day. When he wrote his pamphlet, five or six inches of armour, with a wood backing, withstood anything that could be fired against it. When the armour of the Warrior, our first real ironclad, had to be tested, a target, twenty feet by ten feet surface, composed of four and a half inch iron and eighteen inches of teak backing—the exact counterpart of a slice out of the ship’s side—was employed. The shot from 68-pounders—the same as composed her original armament—fired at 200 yards, only made small dents in the target and rebounded. 200-pounders had no more effect; the shot flew off in ragged splinters, the iron plates became almost red-hot under the tremendous strokes, and rung like a huge gong; but that was all. Now we have 6½-ton guns that would pierce her side at 500 yards; 12-ton guns that would put a hole through her armour at over a mile, and 25-ton guns that would probably penetrate the armour of any ironclad whatever. Why, some of the ships themselves are now carrying 30-ton guns! It is needless to go on and speak of monster 81 and 100-ton guns after recording these facts. But their consideration explains why the thickness of armour has kept on increasing, albeit it could not possibly do so in an equal ratio.

Mr. Reed tells us: “This strange contest between attack and defence, however wasteful, however melancholy, must still go on.”65 Sir W. G. Armstrong (inventor of the famous guns), on the other hand, says, “In my opinion, armour should be wholly abandoned for the defence of the guns, and, except to a very limited extent, I doubt the expediency of using it even for the security of the ship. Where armour can be applied for deflecting projectiles, as at the bow of a ship, it would afford great protection, without requiring to be very heavy.”66 Sir William recommends very swift iron vessels, divided into numerous compartments, with boilers and machinery below the water-line, and only very partially protected by armour; considering that victory in the contest as regards strength is entirely on the side of the artillery. Sir Joseph Whitworth (also an inventor of great guns) offered practically to make guns to penetrate any thickness of armour. The bewildered Parliamentary committee says mournfully in its report: “A perfect ship of war is a desideratum which has never yet been attained, and is now farther than ever removed from our reach;”67 while Mr. Reed68 again cuts the gordian knot by professing his belief that in the end, “guns will themselves be superseded as a means of attack, and the ship itself, viewed as a steam projectile—possessing all the force of the most powerful shot, combined with the power of striking in various directions—will be deemed the most formidable weapon of attack that man’s ingenuity has devised.” The contest between professed ship and gun makers would be amusing but for the serious side—the immense expense, and the important interests involved.

THE ROCK OF GIBRALTAR: FROM THE MAINLAND.