Thrilling Stories Of The Ocean<br />From Authentic Accounts Of Modern Voyagers And Travellers; Desig, Marmaduke Park [recommended ebook reader .txt] 📗

The Earl of Abergavenny, East Indiaman, left Portsmouth, in the beginning of February, 1805, with forty passengers, and property to the value of eighty-nine thousand pounds sterling on board. On the 5th of February, at ten A.M. when she was about ten leagues to the westward of Portland, the commodore gave a signal for her to bear up. At this time [pg 218] the wind was west south-west; she had the main top-mast struck, the fore and mizzen top-gallant mast on deck, and the jib-boom in. At three a pilot came on board, when they were about two leagues west from Portland; the cables were ranged and bitted, and the jib-boom got out. The wind suddenly died away as she crossed the Shangles, a shoal of rock and shingle, about two miles from the land; and a strong tide setting the ship to westward, drifted her into the breakers. A sea taking her on the larboard quarter brought her to, with her head to the northward, when she instantly struck the ground, at five in afternoon. All the reefs were let out, and the top-sails hoisted up, in the hope that the ship might shoot across the reef; the wind shifting meanwhile to north-west, she remained there two hours and a half, with four feet of water in the hold, the tide alternately setting her on, and the surf driving her back, beating all the while with such violent shocks, that the men for some time could scarcely stand upon the decks. At length, however, she was got off the rocks.

The pumps were kept constantly going, and for fifteen minutes after clearing the rocks, kept the water at four feet; but the leak gaining upon them, all sails were set, with the view of running for the nearest port. But the water now rose so fast, than she refused to answer the helm, and they resolved to run her on the first shore. The captain and officers still thought that she might be got off without material damage, and no signal guns of distress were fired for three quarters of an hour, though sensible of some danger, they kept silent, lest they should alarm the passengers. Soon however the peril appeared but too manifest; the carpenter announced that a leak was at the bottom of the chain-pumps, through which the water gushed so fast, that they could not stop it. Eleven feet of water were already in the hold, and the crew were set to bale at the fore scuttle and hatchway. Though they could not keep the water under, they still hoped to preserve her afloat, till she could be run upon Weymouth sand. The lashings of the boats were cut; but they could not get out the long-boat, without bending the mainsail aback, which would have retarded the vessel so much, as to deprive them of the chance of running her aground.

At six in the afternoon they gave up all hope of saving the vessel; other leaks had been sprung, and it became manifest, from the damage she had sustained that she must speedily go down. The captain and officers were still cool, and preserved perfect subordination. As night came on, and their situation became more terrible, several passengers insisted on being set on shore; and some small sloops being near, one of which sent off a skiff, two ladies, and three other passengers went away in her. More would have embarked had they not feared to encounter a tempestuous sea in so dark a night.

Several boats were heard at a short distance, about nine o'clock, but they rendered no assistance; being either engaged in plunder, or in rescuing some of those unfortunate individuals who hazarded themselves on pieces of wreck, to gain the land. Those on board baled and pumped without intermission; the cadets and passengers struggling with the rest. A midshipman was appointed to guard the spirit room. Some of the more disorderly sailors pressed upon him. "Give us some grog," they cried, "it will be all one an hour hence." "I know we must die," replied he, coolly, "but let us die like men;" and armed with a brace of pistols, he kept his post even while the ship was sinking.

At length the carpenter came up from below, and told those who worked at the pumps that he could do no more. Some gave themselves up to despair, others prayed; and some resolved not to perish without a struggle, committed themselves on pieces of the wreck to the waves. The chief mate came to the captain, and said, "We have done all we can, sir, the ship will sink in a moment;" to which the captain replied, "it cannot be helped—God's will be done." The vessel gradually settled in the trough of the sea. The cries of the drowning rose above the sound of the waters, and were heard at a great distance. Some kept running about the deck as long as it kept above the waves. At eleven, when she went down, many hastened up the shrouds and masts. The captain was seen clinging to the ropes; the fourth mate tried to persuade him to exert himself, but he submitted without resistance to his fate.

The hull struck the ground, while part of the masts and rigging remained above water. On the last cast of the lead, eleven fathoms had been found, and about one hundred and eighty men still clung to the rigging. The night was dark and frosty, the sea incessantly breaking upon them. Shocking scenes occurred, in the attempts made by some to obtain places of greater safety. One seaman had ascended to a considerable height, and endeavored to climb yet higher; another seized hold of his leg; he drew his clasp-knife, and deliberately cut the miserable wretch's fingers asunder; he dropped and was killed by the fall. Many perished in the shrouds. A sergeant had secured his wife there; she lost her hold, and in her last struggle for life, bit a large piece from her husband's arm, which was dreadfully lacerated.

About an hour after she went down, the survivors were cheered by hearing the sound of vessels beating the waves at a distance; they hailed a sloop-rigged vessel, with two boats astern of her. Their voices must have been drowned by the waves. By twelve many more had perished. Some from cold and fatigue could no longer retain their hold; every instant those who still hung on, were shocked by the splash, which told that another of their number had yielded to his fate. In a short time, boats were again heard near them, but they did not, though repeatedly hailed, come near enough to take any on board; an act of cold and calculating timidity, which could not be justified by the excuse, that they