Project Gutenberg's Thrilling Stories Of The Ocean, by Marmaduke Park

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Title: Thrilling Stories Of The Ocean
       From Authentic Accounts Of Modern Voyagers And Travellers; Designed
       For The Entertainment And Instruction Of Young People
       

Author: Marmaduke Park

Release Date: October 6, 2004 [EBook #13604]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THRILLING STORIES OF THE OCEAN ***




Produced by Josephine Paolucci, Juliet Sutherland. The scans made
available through the generosity of the Internet Archive Children's
Library.





[Illustration: THE WHITE SHARK.]




THRILLING

STORIES OF THE OCEAN.

FROM AUTHENTIC ACCOUNTS OF MODERN

VOYAGERS AND TRAVELLERS;

DESIGNED FOR THE

ENTERTAINMENT AND INSTRUCTION

OF

YOUNG PEOPLE.


BY MARMADUKE PARK.

With Numerous Illustrations.


PHILADELPHIA:

C.G. HENDERSON & CO.,

NO. 164 CHESTNUT STREET.

1852.

[Illustration: THE WHITE SHARK]




STORIES OF THE OCEAN.




VOLNEY BECKNER.


The white sharks are the dread of sailors in all hot climates, for they
constantly attend vessels in expectation of anything which may be thrown
overboard. A shark will thus sometimes traverse the ocean in company
with a ship for several hundred leagues. Woe to the poor mariner who
may chance to fall overboard while this sea-monster is present.

Some species of sharks grow to an enormous size, often weighing from one
to four thousand pounds each. The skin of the shark is rough, and is
used for polishing wood, ivory, &c.; that of one species is manufactured
into an article called _agreen_: spectacle-cases are made of it. The
white shark is the sailor's worst enemy: he has five rows of
wedge-shaped teeth, which are notched like a saw: when the animal is at
rest they are flat in his mouth, but when about to seize his prey they
are erected by a set of muscles which join them to the jaw. His mouth is
so situated under the head that he is obliged to turn himself on one
side before he can grasp any thing with those enormous jaws.

I will now give you an account of the death of a very brave little boy,
who was killed by a shark. He was an Irish boy; his name was Volney
Beckner, the son of a poor fisherman. His father, having always intended
Volney for a seafaring life, took great pains to teach him such things
as it is useful for a sailor to know, and tried to make him brave and
hardy; he taught him to swim when a mere baby.

[Illustration: VOLNEY BECKNER'S FIRST VOYAGE.]

Volney was only nine years old when he first went to sea in a merchant
ship; the same vessel in which his father sometimes sailed. Here he
worked hard and fared hard, but this gave him no uneasiness; his frame
was robust, he never took cold, he knew not what fear was.

[Illustration: VOLNEY BECKNER AT SEA.]

In the most boisterous weather, when the rain fell in torrents, and the
wind howled around the ship, the little Irish boy would fearlessly and
cheerfully climb the stays and sailyards, mount the topmast, or perform
any other duty required of him. At twelve years old the captain promoted
the clever, good tempered, and trustworthy boy; spoke well of him before
the whole crew, and doubled his pay.

Volney was very sensible to his praises. His messmates loved him for his
generous nature, and because he had often shown himself ready to brave
danger in order to assist them; but an occasion soon arrived in which he
had an opportunity of performing one of the most truly heroic deeds on
record.

The vessel in which Volney and his father sailed was bound to Port au
Prince, in St. Domingo. A little girl, the daughter of one of the
passengers, having slipped away from her nurse, ran on deck to amuse
herself. While gazing on the expanse of water, the heaving of the vessel
made her dizzy, and she fell overboard.

Volney's father saw the accident, darted after her, and quickly caught
her by the dress; but while with one hand he swam to reach the ship, and
with the other held the child, he saw a shark advancing towards them. He
called aloud for help; there was no time to lose, yet none dared to
afford him any. No one, did I say? Yes, little Volney, prompted by
filial love, ventured on a deed which strong men dared not attempt.

Armed with a broad, sharp sabre, he threw himself into the sea, then
diving like a fish under the shark, he stabbed the weapon into his body
up to the hilt. Thus wounded the shark quitted his prey, and turned on
the boy, who again and again attacked him with the sabre, but the
struggle was too unequal; ropes were quickly thrown from the deck to the
father and son; each succeeded in grasping one, and loud rose the cry of
joy, "They are saved!" Not so! The shark, enraged at seeing that he was
about to be altogether disappointed of his prey, made one desperate
spring, and tore asunder the body of the noble-hearted little boy, while
his father and the fainting child in his arms were saved.


[Illustration: THE POULTRY BASKET--A LIFE-PRESERVER.]




THE POULTRY BASKET--A LIFE-PRESERVER.


I will tell you an old story of an incident which occurred many years
ago, but perhaps it may be new to you, and please you as much as it did
me when I was a little girl, and used to sit on my grandpapa's knee, and
listen to this tale among many others.

The hero of my story was a countryman; you may, if you please, fancy his
neat white cottage on the hill-side, with its rustic porch, all
overgrown with jasmine, roses, and clematis; the pretty garden and
orchard belonging to it, with the snug poultry yard, the shed for the
cow, and the stack of food for winter's use on one side.

[Illustration: THE POULTRY YARD.]

You may fancy the pleasure of the little children who lived at this
cottage in going with their mother morning and evening to feed the
poultry; the noise and bustle among the feathered tribe at this time;
how some rudely push before and peck the others in their anxiety to
obtain the first grains that fall from the basket, and how the little
children take care that the most greedy shall not get it all; their joy
at seeing the young broods of tiny chicks covered with downy feathers,
and the anxiety of the hens each to protect her own from danger, and
teach them to scratch and pick up food for themselves; while they never
forget to admire and praise the beauty of the fine old cock, as he
struts about with an air of magnificence, like the very king of the
guard.

  "High was his comb, and coral red withal,
  In dents embattled like a castle wall;
  His bill was raven-black and shone like jet,
  Blue were his legs, and orient were his feet;
  White were his nails, like silver to behold!
  His body glittering like burnished gold."

If you had been there, you would have wished to visit the little
orchard; to see the gentle cow, and the geese feeding on the common
beyond; to watch the young ducklings, dipping and ducking and enjoying
their watering sport in the pond.

If it be spring, the children would delight in gathering the
sweet-scented meadow flowers--the water ranunculus, with its golden
cups, the modest daisy, the pink cuckoo-flower, and the yellow cowslips;
while overhead the bees kept up a constant humming; they have found
their way from the straw hives in the garden and are diving into the
delicious blossoms of the apple and cherry trees, robbing many a one of
its sweets.

[Illustration: THE BEE HIVE.]

But now to my history of what did really happen to a countryman, who
very likely lived in such a pretty cottage as I have described.

He had more poultry in his yard than he needed for his own use; some of
them had been fatted for sale; and wishing to turn them into money, he
left his home, which was near Bristol, with a basket full of them on his
arm. Having reached the river, he went on board the ferry boat,
intending to go across to a place called Bristol Hot-Wells. Many gentle
folks visit this spot for the sake of drinking the waters of the wells,
which are thought to be very beneficial in some complaints; and no doubt
our countryman hoped that among them his poultry would fetch a good
price.

The ferry boat was nearly half way over the river, when, by some
accident, the poor man lost his footing and fell into the stream; he
could not swim, and the current carried him more than a hundred yards
from the boat; but he kept fast hold of his poultry basket, which being
buoyant, supported him until he was perceived, and rescued by some men
in a fishing-smack.

I hope he reached the Hot-Wells in safety after all, and sold his
poultry for as much as he expected; and, what is still better, that his
heart was filled with gratitude to God for his preservation from danger
so imminent.

[Illustration: THE LIFE BOAT.]




THE LIFE BOAT.


Oh what a stirring scene is this! see how the brave fellows are pulling
with their oars, and endeavoring with all their might to reach the ship
in distress before it is too late! Well, I suppose you are curious to
know how an open boat like this can float in such an angry, boiling sea.
I will tell you how it is accomplished; the sides of the boat are lined
with hollow boxes of copper, which being perfectly air-tight, render her
buoyant, even when full of water, or loaded to the very water's edge.

The originator of this simple and beautiful contrivance was a London
coach maker, named Lionel Lukin, a man whose benevolent feelings flowed
towards all his fellow men, but more especially towards that portion of
them who brave the dangers of the sea. After devoting sixty years of his
life to the pursuits of his business, he retired to Hythe in Kent, where
he finished a well-spent life in peace and tranquility, dying in
February, 1834. His body was interred in the churchyard of Hythe, which
is situated on rising ground, commanding a fine view of the ocean; a fit
resting place for the remains of one whose talents had been successfully
directed to the means of rescuing from shipwreck and a watery grave many
hundreds, or perhaps we may say many thousands, of poor seamen. He
obtained a patent for his first boat in 1785.

The two sailors in the picture below are Greenwich pensioners,
supported, you know, at Greenwich Hospital, which was founded by Charles
II. for superannuated or wounded sailors. They are smoking their pipes,
and discussing the merits of the Life Boat.

[Illustration: THE WHALE.]




WHALE FISHING.


The whale is the largest of all known animals. There are three kinds of
whale; the Greenland, called by the sailors the right whale, as being
most highly prized by them; the great northern rorqual, called by
fishers the razor-back or finner, and the cachalot or spermaciti whale.
The common whale measures from sixty to seventy feet in length: the
mouth, when open, is large enough to admit a ship's jolly boat, with all
her men in it. It contains no teeth; and enormous as the creature is,
the opening to the throat is very narrow, not more than an inch and a
half across in the largest whale.

[Illustration: WHALE FISHING]

Instead of teeth the mouth of the whale is furnished with a curious
framework of a substance called _baleen_; you will know it by the name
of whalebone; it is arranged in rows, and projects beyond the lips in a
hanging fringe; the food of the whale consists of shrimps, small fishes,
sea-snails, and innumerable minute creatures, called medusae, which are
found in those seas where the whales feed in such vast quantities that
they make the water of a deep green or olive color.

When feeding the whale swims with open mouth under the water, and all
the objects which lie in the way of that great moving cavern are caught
by the baleen, and never seen again. Along with their food they swallow
a vast quantity of water, which passes back again through the nostrils,
and is collected into a bag placed at the external orifice of the cavity
of the nose, whence it is expelled by the pressure of powerful muscles
through a very narrow opening pierced in the top of the head.

[Illustration: THE CACHALOT]

In this way it spouts the water in beautiful jets from twenty to thirty
feet in height. The voice of the whale is like a low murmuring: it has a
smooth skin all over its body, under which lies that thick lard which
yields the oil for which they are so much sought. The Greenland whale
has but two side-fins; its tail is in the shape of a crescent; it is an
instrument of immense power; it has been sometimes known with one stroke
to hurl large boats high into the air, breaking them into a thousand
fragments. The whale shows great affection for her young, which is
called the calf; the fishermen well know this, and turn it to their own
account; they try to strike the young with the harpoon, which is a
strong, barbed instrument, and if they do this they are almost sure of
securing the mother also, as nothing will induce her to leave it.

Mr. Scorseby, who was for a long time engaged in the whale fishery, has
written a book containing a very interesting account of them. He
mentions a case in which a young whale was struck beside its dam. She
instantly seized and darted off with it, but not until the line had been
fixed to its body. In spite of all that could be done to her, she
remained near her dying little one, till she was struck again and again,
and thus both perished. Sometimes, however, on an occasion like this,
the old whale becomes furious, and then the danger to the men is very
great, as they attack the whale in boats, several of which belong to
each ship.

A number of these boats once made towards a whale, which, with her calf
was playing round a group of rocks. The old whale perceiving the
approaching danger, did all she could to warn her little one of it, till
the sight became quite affecting. She led it away from the boats, swam
round it, embraced it with her fins, and sometimes rolled over with it
in the waves.

The men in the boats now rowed a-head of the whales, and drove them back
among the rocks, at which the mother evinced great uneasiness and
anxiety; she swam round and round the young one in lessening circles;
but all her care was unheeded, and the inexperienced calf soon met its
fate. It was struck and killed, and a harpoon fixed in the mother, when,
roused to reckless fury, she flew on one of the boats, and made her tail
descend with such tremendous force on the very centre of it, as to cut
it in two, and kill two of the men, the rest swimming in all directions
for their lives.

[Illustration: A SHIP TOWED TO LAND BY BULLOCKS.]




SHIP TOWED TO LAND BY BULLOCKS


Swimming is a manly exercise, and one in which, under proper care, every
little boy ought to be instructed. In the first place it is a very
healthy and invigorating practice frequently to immerse the body in
water: and when we recollect how often the knowledge of this art has
been blessed by the Supreme Disposer of events as a means of saving his
rational creatures from sudden death, it seems that to neglect this
object is almost to refuse to avail ourselves of one of the means of
safety, which a kind Providence has placed within our reach.

Only imagine yourself to be, as many before you have been, in a
situation of pressing danger on the sea, and yet at no great distance
from the land, so that you might hope to reach it by swimming, but to
remain on board the vessel appeared certain death, how thankful you
would then feel to your friends if they had put this means of escape
into your power! Or if you were to see some unfortunate fellow-creature
struggling in the water, and about to disappear from your sight, how
willingly, if conscious of your own power to support yourself, would you
plunge into the water to his rescue! and how would your heart glow with
delight if your efforts to save him should prove successful!

Here is a picture representing the very remarkable preservation of the
crew of a vessel on the coast of Newfoundland. In this instance man
availed himself of the instinct which ever prompts the brute creation to
self-preservation. The ship was freighted with live cattle; in a
dreadful storm she was dismasted, and became a mere wreck. The crew
being unable to manage her, it occurred to the captain, whose name was
Drummond, as a last resort, to attach some ropes to the horns of some of
the bullocks, and turn them into the sea. This was done, the bullocks
swam towards land and towed the ship to the shore. Thus the lives of the
crew were saved.




THE SINKING OF THE ROYAL GEORGE.


The Royal George was an old ship; she had seen much service. Her build
was rather short and high, but she sailed well, and carried the tallest
masts and squarest canvas of any of England's gun-ships. She had just
returned from Spithead, where there were twenty or thirty ships of war,
called a fleet, lying under command of Lord Howe. It was on the 29th of
August, 1782. She was lying off Portsmouth; her decks had been washed
the day before, and the carpenter discovered that the pipes which
admitted water to cleanse the ship was worn out, and must be replaced.
This pipe being three feet under the water, it was needful to heel, or
lay the ship a little on one side. To do this, the heavy guns on the
larboard side were run out of the port-holes (those window-like openings
which you see in the side of the vessel) as far as they would go, and
the guns on the starboard side were drawn up and secured in the middle
of the deck; this brought the sills of the port-holes on the lowest side
nearly even with the water.

[Illustration: SINKING OF THE ROYAL GEORGE.]

Just as the crew had finished breakfast, a vessel called the Lark came
on the low side of the ship to unship a cargo of rum; the casks were put
on board on that side, and this additional weight, together with that of
the men employed in unloading, caused the ship to heel still more on one
side; every wave of the sea now washed in at her port-holes, and thus
she had soon so great a weight of water in her hold, that slowly and
almost imperceptibly she sank still further down on her side. Twice, the
carpenter, seeing the danger, went on board to ask the officer on duty
to order the ship to be righted; and if he had not been a proud and
angry man, who would not acknowledge himself to be in the wrong, all
might yet have been well.

The plumbers had almost finished their work, when a sudden breeze blew
on the raised side of the ship, forced her still further down, and the
water began to pour into her lower port-holes. Instantly the danger
became apparent; the men were ordered to right the ship: they ran to
move the guns for this purpose, but it was _too late_.

In a minute or two more, she fell quite over on her side, with her masts
nearly flat on the water, and the Royal George sank to the bottom,
before one signal of distress could be given! By this dreadful accident,
about nine hundred persons lost their lives; about two hundred and
thirty were saved, some by running up the rigging, and being with others
picked up by the boats which put off immediately from other vessels to
their assistance. There were many visitors, women and little children on
board at the time of the accident.




BLOWING UP OF THE ROYAL GEORGE.


At the time when the dreadful event which I have just related to you
occurred, the Lark sloop, which brought the cargo of rum, was lying
alongside of the Royal George; in going down, the main-yard of the Royal
George caught the boom of the Lark, and they sank together, but this
made the position of the Royal George much more upright in the water
than it would otherwise have been. There she lay at the bottom of the
sea, just as you have seen small vessels when left by the tide on a
bank. Cowper, when he heard the sad tale, thus wrote

  "Her timbers yet are sound,
    And she may float again,
  Full charged with England's thunder,
    And plough the distant main.

  "But Kempenfelt is gone,
    His victories are o'er,
  And he, and his eight hundred
    Shall plough the wave no more."

Admiral Kempenfelt was writing in his cabin when the ship sank; his
first captain tried to inform him of their situation, but the heeling of
the ship so jammed the cabin doors that he could not open them: thus the
admiral perished with the rest. It seems Cowper thought the Royal George
might be recovered; other people were of the same opinion.

[Illustration: BLOWING UP OF THE ROYAL GEORGE.]

In September of the year in which the vessel sank, a gentleman, named
Tracey, living in the neighborhood, by means of diving-machines,
ascertained the position and state of the ship, and made proposals to
government to adopt means of raising her and getting her again afloat.
After a great many vexatious delays and interruptions on the part of
those who were to have supplied him with assistance, he succeeded in
getting up the Lark sloop. His efforts to raise the Royal George were so
far successful, that at every time of high tide she was lifted from her
bed; and on the 9th of October she was hove at least thirty or forty
feet to westward; but the days were getting short, the boisterous winds
of winter were setting in, the lighters to which Tracey's apparatus was
attached were too old and rotten to bear the strain, and he was forced
to abandon the attempt.

The sunken ship remained, a constant impediment to other vessels wishing
to cast anchor near the spot, for nearly fifty years, when Colonel
Pasley, by means of gunpowder, completely demolished the wreck: the
loose pieces of timber floated to the surface; heavier pieces--the
ship's guns, cables, anchors, the fire-hearth, cooking utensils, and
many smaller articles were recovered by the divers. These men went down
in Indian-rubber dresses, which were air and water-tight; they were
furnished with helmets, in each side of which were glass windows, to
admit light, and supplied with air by means of pipes, communicating with
an air-pump above. By these means they could remain under water more
than an hour at a time. I do not think you are old enough to understand
the nature of Colonel Pasley's operations. Large hollow vessels, called
cylinders, were filled with gunpowder, and attached by the divers to the
wreck, these were connected by conducting wires with a battery on board
a lighter above, at a sufficient distance to be out of reach of danger
when the explosion took place. Colonel Pasley then gave the word to fire
the end of the rod; instantly a report was heard, and those who
witnessed the explosions, say that the effect was very beautiful. On
one occasion, the water rose in a splendid column above fifty feet high,
the spray sparkling like diamonds in the sun; then the large fragments
of the wreck came floating to the surface; soon after the mud from the
bottom, blackening the circle of water, and spreading to a great
distance around; and with it rose to the surface great numbers of fish,
who, poor things, had found a hiding-place in the wreck, but were
dislodged and killed by the terrible gunpowder.

[Illustration: LOSS OF THE MELVILLE CASTLE.]




LOSS OF THE MELVILLE CASTLE.


Many and great are the dangers to which those who lead a seafaring life
are exposed. The lightning's flash may strike a ship when far away from
port, upon the trackless deep, or the sudden bursting of a particular
kind of cloud, called a waterspout, may overwhelm her, and none be left
to tell her fate. But of all the perils to which a ship is liable, I
think that of her striking on a sand-bank, or on sunken rocks is the
greatest. There must be men and women now living on the Kentish coast,
in whose memory the disastrous wreck of the Melville Castle, with all
its attendant horrors, is yet fresh. It is a sorrowful tale, doubly so,
inasmuch as acts of imprudence, and still worse, of obstinacy, may be
said to have occasioned the loss of four hundred and fifty lives.

In the first place, the Melville Castle, or as I suppose we should call
her the Vryheid, was in a very decayed state; she had been long in the
East India Company's service, and was by them sold to some Dutch
merchants, who had her upper works tolerably repaired, new sheathed and
coppered her, and resold her to the Dutch government, who were then in
want of a vessel to carry out troops and stores to Batavia.

The Melville Castle was accordingly equipped for the voyage, painted
throughout, and her name changed to the Vryheid. On the the morning of
November, 1802, she set sail from the Texel, a port on the coast of
Holland, with a fair wind, which lasted till early on the following day,
when a heavy gale came on in an adverse direction.

The captain immediately had the top-gallant masts and yards struck to
make her ride more easily; but as the day advanced, the violence of the
wind increased, and vain seemed every effort of the crew to manage the
ship. There were many mothers and little children on board, whose state
was truly pitiable. The ship was scourged onward by the resistless
blast, which continued to increase until it blew a perfect hurricane.

About three in the afternoon, the mainmast fell overboard, sweeping
several of the crew into the sea, and severely injuring four or five
more. By this time they were near enough to the Kentish coast to discern
objects on land, but the waves which rolled mountains high prevented the
possibility of any help approaching. By great exertion the ship was
brought to anchor in Hythe Bay, and for a few moments hope cheered the
bosoms of those on board; it was _but_ a few, for almost immediately
she was found to have sprung a leak; and while all hands were busy at
the pumps, the storm came on with increased fury.

In this dismal plight they continued till about six o'clock the
following morning, when the ship parted from one of her largest anchors,
and drifted on towards Dymchurch-wall, about three miles to the west of
Hythe. This wall is formed by immense piles, and cross pieces of timber,
supported by wooden jetties, which stretch far into the sea. It was
built to prevent the water from overflowing a rich, level district,
called Romney Marsh.

The crew continued to fire guns and hoist signals of distress. At
daybreak a pilot boat put off from Dover, and nearing the Melville
Castle, advised the captain to put back to Deal or Hythe, and wait for
calmer weather, or, said the boatman, "all hands will assuredly be
lost." But the captain would not act on his recommendation; he thought
the pilot boat exaggerated the danger, hoped the wind would abate as
the day opened, and that he should avoid the demands of the Dover pilot
or the Down fees by not casting anchor there. Another help the captain
rejected, and bitterly did he lament it when it was too late.

No sooner had the pilot boat departed, than the commodore at Deal
despatched two boats to endeavor to board the ship. The captain
obstinately refused to take any notice of them, and ordered the crew to
let the vessel drive before the wind. This they did, till the ship ran
so close in shore, that the captain himself saw the imminent danger, and
twice attempted to put her about, but in vain. On the first of the
projecting jetties of Dymchurch-wall the vessel struck. I would not if I
could grieve your young heart with a detail of all the horrors that
ensued; the devoted ship continued to beat on the piles, the sea
breaking over her with such violence, that the pumps could no longer be
worked.

The foremast soon went over the ship's side, carrying twelve seamen
with it, who were swallowed up by the billows. The rudder was unshipped,
the tiller tore up the gundeck, and the water rushed in at the
port-holes. At this fearful moment most of the passengers and crew
joined in solemn prayer to the Almighty. Morning came, but it was only
to witness the demolition of the wreck.

Many were the efforts made by the sufferers, some in the jolly boat,
some on a raft, others by lashing themselves to pieces of timber,
hogsheads, and even hencoops, to reach the shore; but out of four
hundred and seventy-two persons who a few days before had left the coast
of Holland, not more than eighteen escaped the raging billows. The
miserable remnant received generous attention from the inhabitants of
the place, who did all in their power to aid their recovery.

[Illustration: BURNING OF THE KENT EAST INDIAMAN.]




BURNING OF THE KENT EAST INDIAMAN.


This picture represents the burning of the Kent East Indiaman, in the
Bay of Biscay. She had on board in all six hundred and forty-one persons
at the time of the accident. The fire broke out in the hold during a
storm. An officer on duty, finding that a spirit cask had broken loose,
was taking measures to secure it, when a lurch of the ship caused him to
drop his lantern, and in his eagerness to save it, he let go the cask,
which suddenly stove in, and the spirits communicated with the flame,
the whole place was instantly in a blaze. Hopes of subduing the fire at
first were strong, but soon heavy volumes of smoke and a pitchy smell
told that it had reached the cable-room.

In these awful circumstances, the captain ordered the lower decks to be
scuttled, to admit water. This was done; several poor seamen being
suffocated by the smoke in executing the order; but now a new danger
threatened, the sea rushed in so furiously, that the ship was becoming
water-logged, and all feared her going down. Between six and seven
hundred human beings, were by by this time crowded on the deck. Many on
their knees earnestly implored the mercy of an all-powerful God! while
some old stout-hearted sailors quietly seated themselves directly over
the powder magazine, expecting an explosion every moment, and thinking
thus to put a speedier end to their torture.

In this time of despair, it occurred to the fourth mate to send a man to
the foremast, hoping, but scarce daring to think it probable, that some
friendly sail might be in sight. The man at the fore-top looked around
him; it was a moment of intense anxiety; then waving his hat, he cried
out, "A sail, on the lee-bow!"

Those on deck received the news with heart-felt gratitude, and answered
with three cheers. Signals of distress were instantly hoisted, and
endeavors used to make towards the stranger, while the minute guns were
fired continuously. She proved to be the brig Cambria, Captain Cook,
master, bound to Vera Cruz, having twenty Cornish miners, and some
agents of the Mining Company on board. For about one quarter of an hour,
the crew of the Kent doubted whether the brig perceived their signals:
but after a period of dreadful suspense, they saw the British colors
hoisted, and the brig making towards them.

On this, the crew of the Kent got their boats in readiness; the first
was filled with women, passengers, and officers' wives, and was lowered
into a sea so tempestuous as to leave small hope of their reaching the
brig; they did, however, after being nearly swamped through some
entanglement of the ropes, get clear of the Kent, and were safely taken
on board the Cambria, which prudently lay at some distance off.

After the first trip, it was found impossible for the boats to come
close alongside of the Kent, and the poor women and children suffered
dreadfully, in being lowered over the stern into them by means of ropes.
Amid this gloomy scene, many beautiful examples occurred of filial and
parental affection, and of disinterested friendship; and many sorrowful
instances of individual loss and suffering. At length, when all had been
removed from the burning vessel, but a few, who were so overcome by
fear as to refuse to make the attempt to reach the brig, the captain
quitted his ill-fated ship.

The flames which had spread along her upper deck, now mounted rapidly to
the mast and rigging, forming one general conflagration and lighting up
the heavens to an immense distance round. One by one her stately masts
fell over her sides. By half-past one in the morning the fire reached
the powder magazine; the looked-for explosion took place, and the
burning fragments of the vessel were blown high into the air, like so
many rockets.

The Cambria, with her crowd of sufferers, made all speed to the nearest
port, and reached Portsmouth in safety, shortly after midnight, on the
3d of March, 1825, the accident having taken place on the 28th of
February. Wonderful to tell, fourteen of the poor creatures, left on the
Kent, were rescued by another ship, the Caroline, on her passage from
Alexandria to Liverpool.




THE PELICAN.


The life of a pelican seems to be a very lazy, if not a very pleasant
one. Man, ever on the watch to turn the habits of animals to his own
account, observing how good a fisherman the pelican is, often catches
and tames him, and makes him fish for _him_. I have heard of a bird of
this kind in America, which was so well trained, that it would at
command go off in the morning, and return at night with its pouch full,
and stretched to the utmost; part of its treasure it disgorged for its
master, the rest was given to the bird for its trouble. It is hardly
credible what these extraordinary pouches will hold; it is said, that
among other things, a man's leg with the boots on was once found in one
of them.

Pelicans live in flocks; they and the cormorants sometimes help one
another to get a living. The cormorant is a species of pelican, of a
dusky color: it is sometimes called the sea crow. The cormorants are the
best divers, so the pelicans arrange themselves in a large circle at
some great distance from the land, and flap their great wings on the
surface of the water, while the cormorants dive beneath. Away swim the
poor frightened fish towards the shore; the pelicans draw into a
narrower circle, and the fish at last are brought into so small a
compass, that their pursuers find no difficulty in obtaining a plentiful
meal.

[Illustration: THE SEA TURTLE.]




CATCHING TURTLE.


There are two kinds of turtle; the one is called the green turtle, and
is much valued as a delicious article of food; the other the hawk's bill
turtle supplies the tortoise shell of commerce, which is prepared and
moulded into various forms by heat. The flesh of the hawk's bill turtle
is considered very unwholesome.

[Illustration: CATCHING TURTLE.]

The turtles in the picture are of the edible kind; they are found on the
shores of nearly all the countries within the tropics.

There is a little rocky island in the south Atlantic Ocean, called the
Island of Ascension, where they are found in vast numbers, and this
barren spot is often visited by Indiamen for the purpose of obtaining
some of them. The turtles feed on the sea weed and other marine plants
which grow on the shoals and sand banks, and with their powerful jaws,
they crush the small sea shells which are found among the weeds. This
kind of food is always to be had in great abundance, so that the turtles
have no occasion to quarrel among themselves, for that which is afforded
in such plenty for all; indeed they seem to be a very quiet and
inoffensive race, herding peaceably together on their extensive
feeding-grounds, and when satisfied retiring to the fresh water at the
mouth of the rivers, where they remain holding their heads above water,
as if to breathe the fresh air, till the shadow of any of their numerous
enemies alarms them, when they instantly dive to the bottom for
security.

In the month of April, the females leave the water after sunset, in
order to deposit their eggs in the sand. By means of their fore-fins
they dig a hole above high water mark, about one foot wide and two deep,
into which they drop above a hundred eggs; they then cover them lightly
over with a layer of sand, sufficient to hide them, and yet thin enough
to admit the warmth of the sun's rays for hatching them. The instinct
which leads the female turtle to the shore to lay her eggs, renders her
a prey to man. The fishers wait for them on shore, especially on a
moonlight night, and following them in one of their journeys, either
coming or returning, they turn them quickly over on their backs, before
they have time to defend themselves, or to blind their assailants by
throwing up the sand with their fins.

When very large, for I should tell you that the usual weight of the
turtle is from four to six hundred pounds, it requires the efforts of
several men to turn them over, and for this purpose they often employ
levers: the back shell of the turtle is so flat that when once over it
is impossible for them to right themselves, so there the poor creatures
lie in this helpless condition, till they are either taken away in the
manner you see in the picture, or deposited by their captors in a crawl,
which is a kind of enclosure surrounded by stakes, and so situated as to
admit the influx of the sea.

The inhabitants of the Bahama Isles, catch many turtles at a
considerable distance from the shore; they strike them with a spear, the
head of which slips off when it has entered the body of the turtle, but
it is fastened by a string to the pole, and by means of this apparatus
they are able to secure them, and either take them into the boat or haul
them on shore. The length of the green turtle frequently exceeds six
feet. A boy ten years old, a son of Captain Roche, once made use of a
very large shell as a boat, and ventured in it from the shore to his
father's ship which lay about a quarter of a mile off. It was in the
bay of Campeachy, off Port Royal, where the rightful occupant of this
shell was caught.

[Illustration: WRECK OF THE STEAMBOAT.]




THE WRECK OF THE STEAMBOAT.


The following narrative teaches a lesson of courage and devotion such as
are seldom read. In one of the light-houses of the desolate Farne Isles,
amid the ocean, with no prospect before it but the wide expanse of sea,
and now and then a distant sail appearing, her cradle hymn the ceaseless
sound of the everlasting deep, there lived a little child whose name
was Grace Darling. Her father was the keeper of the light-house; and
here Grace lived and grew up to the age of twenty-two, her mother's
constant helpmate in all domestic duties. She had a fair and healthy
countenance, which wore a kind and cheerful smile, proceeding from a
heart at peace with others, and happy in the consciousness of
endeavoring to do its duty.

It was at early dawn, one September morning, in the year 1838, that the
family at the Longstone light-house looked out through a dense fog which
hung over the waters. All night the sea had run extremely high, with a
heavy gale from the north, and at this moment the storm continued
unabated. Mr. and Mrs. Darling and Grace were at this time the only
persons in the light-house; through the dim mist they perceived the
wreck of a large steam vessel on the rocks, and by the aid of their
telescope the could even make out the forms of some persons clinging to
her.

It was the Forfarshire steamboat on her passage from Hull to Dundee.
She left the former place with sixty-three persons on board. She had
entered Berwick Bay about eight o'clock the previous evening, in a heavy
gale and in a leaky condition; the motion of the vessel soon increased
the leak to such a degree that the fires could not be kept burning.
About ten o'clock she bore up off St. Abb's Head, the storm still
raging. Soon after the engineer reported that the engines would not
work; the vessel became unmanageable; it was raining heavily, and the
fog was so dense that it was impossible to make out their situation. At
length the appearance of breakers close to leeward, and the Farne lights
just becoming visible, showed to all on board their imminent danger.

The captain vainly tried to run the vessel between the islands and the
main land, she would no longer answer the helm, and was driven to and
fro by a furious sea. Between three and four o'clock in the morning she
struck with her bows foremost on a jagged rock, which pierced her
timbers. Soon after the first shock a mighty wave lifted the vessel
from the rock, and let her fall again with such violence as fairly to
break her in two pieces; the after part, containing the cabin with many
passengers, all of whom perished, was instantly carried away through a
tremendous current, while the fore part was fixed on the rock. The
survivors, only nine in number, five of the crew and four passengers,
remained in this dreadful situation till daybreak, when they were
descried by the family at the light-house. But who could dare to cross
the raging abyss which lay between them?

Grace, full of pity and anxiety for the wretched people on the wreck,
forgot all toil and danger, and urged her father to launch the boat; she
took one oar and her father the other; but Grace had never assisted in
the boat before, and it was only by extreme exertion and the most
determined courage that they succeeded in bringing the boat up to the
rock, and rescuing nine of their fellow creatures from a watery grave,
and with the help of the crew in returning, landed all safe at the
light-house.

Happy Grace Darling! she needed no other reward than the joy of her own
heart and the warm thanks of those she had helped to deliver; but the
news of the heroic deed soon spread, and wondering and admiring
strangers came from far and near to see Grace and that lonely
light-house. Nay more, they showered gifts upon her, and a public
subscription was raised with a view of rewarding her bravery, to the
amount of seven hundred pounds. She continued to live with her parents
on their barren isles, finding happiness in her simple duties and in
administering to their comfort, until her death, which took place little
more than three years after the wreck of the Forfarshire steamer.




WATERSPOUTS.

These wonderful appearances are caused by the action of currents of wind
meeting in the atmosphere from different quarters. They are sometimes
seen on land, but much more frequently at sea, where they are very
dangerous visitors. I will try to give you some idea of what they are,
and perhaps the picture may help you a little. I dare say you have often
noticed little eddies of wind whirling up dust and leaves, or any light
substances which happened to be in the way; when these occur on a larger
scale they are called whirlwinds.

[Illustration: WATERSPOUTS.]

Now if a cloud happens to be exactly in the point where two such furious
currents of wind meet, it is turned round and round by them with great
speed and is condensed into the form of a cone; this whirling motion
drives from the centre of the cloud all the particles contained in it,
producing what is called a vacuum, or empty space, into which the water
or any thing else lying beneath it has an irresistible tendency to rush.
Underneath the dense impending cloud, the sea becomes violently
agitated, and the waves dart rapidly towards the centre of the troubled
mass of water: on reaching it they disperse in vapor, and rise, whirling
in a spiral direction towards the cloud. The descending and ascending
columns unite, the whole presenting the appearance of a hollow cylinder,
or tube of glass, empty within. This, Maltebrun tells us, and he further
adds, "it glides over the sea without any wind being felt; indeed
several have been seen at once, pursuing different directions. When the
cloud and the marine base of the waterspout move with equal velocity,
the lower cone is often seen to incline sideways, or even to bend, and
finally to burst in pieces. A noise is then heard like the noise of a
cataract falling in a deep valley. Lightning frequently issues from the
very bosom of the waterspout, particularly when it breaks; but no
thunder is ever heard."

Sailors, to prevent the danger which would arise from coming in contact
with one of these tremendous columns, discharge a cannon into it: the
ball passing through it breaks the watery cylinder, and causes it to
burst, just as a touch causes your beautiful soap-bubbles to vanish, and
turn to water again. These waterspouts, at sea, generally occur between
the tropics, and I believe frequently after a calm, such as the poet
has described in the following lines:

  "Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down,
    'Twas sad as sad could be,
  And we did speak only to break
    The silence of the sea!

  "All in a hot and copper sky,
    The bloody sun at noon,
  Right up above the mast did stand.
    No bigger than the moon.

  "Day after day, day after day,
    We stuck, nor breath, nor motion;
  As idle as a painted ship
    Upon a painted ocean.

  "Water, water, every where,
    And all the boards did shrink;
  Water, water, every where
    And not a drop to drink!"

Happily "dead calms" do not generally last so long as to lead to any
serious result. Sailors have a superstitious and foolish belief that
whistling in a calm will bring up a breeze, and they do this in a
drawling, beseeching tone, on some prominent part of the vessel. Poor
fellows! what a pity that their thoughts should not more frequently be
directed to Him "who hath measured the waters in the hollow of his hand,
and meted out heaven with a span," and whose works and wonders in the
deep "they that go down to the sea in ships" have such abundant
opportunity for observing.




HEAVING THE LEAD.


Here we have a sailor in the act of heaving the lead, or taking
soundings, which is a thing extremely necessary to be done when a ship
is approaching the shore, as there is great danger of her running on a
sand-bank or striking on a sunken rock. I will now tell you how it is
managed. A sailor gets over the ship's side, as you see in the
engraving, and takes his station in what are called "the chains;" he
holds in his hand a coil of rope, with the length in fathoms marked upon
it; this rope has a mass of lead attached to the end of it. At the
bottom of the lead, is a hollow place, into which a piece of tallow
candle is stuck, which brings up distinguishing marks from the bottom of
the sea, such as small shells, sand, or mud, adhering to it. If the
tallow be only indented it is supposed to have fallen on bare rocks. A
correct account of the soundings is entered in the logbook; this book
contains a description of the ship's course, the direction of the wind,
and other circumstances, during every hour of each day and night. Having
arranged the rope so as to allow it to fall freely when cast, the sailor
throws the lead forward into the water, giving rope sufficient to allow
it to touch the bottom; then with a sudden jerk, such as long practice
alone can enable him to give, he raises the weight, and after examining
the mark on the rope made by the water, calls out lustily, so that all
forward can hear, "By the mark seven," or "By the deep nine," according
to the case, or whatever the number of fathoms may be. The lead-line is
marked into lengths of six feet, called fathoms, by knots, or pieces of
leather, or old sail-cloth. In narrow or intricate channels, it is
sometimes needful to place a man in the chains on each side of the ship,
as the depth will vary a fathom or more even in the breadth of the
vessel, and it is of great consequence that the leadsmen give the depth
correctly, as a wrong report might cause the ship to run aground. The
time that the leadsman is employed in taking soundings is often a period
of deep anxiety to the crew and passengers, especially if the vessel be
near an unknown coast. When the decrease in the number of fathoms is
sudden, the captain knows that danger is near, and quickly gives orders
to alter the ship's course: the sailors instantly obey his directions;
but sometimes not all their activity and energy can save the vessel; she
strikes and becomes a wreck.

Turn to the 27th chapter of the Acts of the Apostles in your Bible, and
you will there read the deeply interesting account of Paul's shipwreck
on the island Melita. Life has often been compared to a voyage--and
aptly so.

You will find that you, like the mariner, are exposed to many dangers,
and that you are never for one moment safe in trusting to your own skill
to guide your little bark. In watchfulness and prayer, look to your
Heavenly Pilot for directions under every circumstance, often examining
your own heart, as the seaman heaves the lead in danger. Then will you
be safely guided through storms and calms, amid rocks and shoals, and
reach at last the blessed haven of eternal rest and peace.




THE BALLOON AT SEA.


A balloon is a hollow globe, made of silk, rendered air-tight by a
coating of gum and resin, and enclosed within a strong network. When
filled with gas it is so much lighter than the air which surrounds us,
that it will rise with heavier bodies suspended to it. In a sort of car
or boat attached, men, who are called "aeronauts," have performed
journeys through the air.

The balloon was invented by a Frenchman named Montgolfier. Great
expectations were at first entertained of this art of sailing through
the air, but as yet it has not proved of much practical use. Many
disasters have at different times befallen balloon voyagers.

Many years ago, Major Mooney ascended in his balloon from Norwich,
expecting from the direction of the wind that he might descend near
Ipswich; but when he had risen about one mile from the earth, a violent
current carried him and his balloon towards Yarmouth. The balloon fell
on the sea, about nine miles from land. The Major supported himself for
some time in the water, by holding firmly to the balloon, and was at
last rescued from his dangerous situation by the crew of a cutter which
was cruising on the coast.

This was a disastrous voyage, but I think it will interest you to hear
of a more successful one, performed by three gentlemen, one of whom,
Mr. Green, has introduced some great improvements in the art of filling
and guiding balloons. These gentlemen left the earth in the car of a
very large balloon, at half-past one o'clock, on Monday, the 7th of
November, 1836, intending to proceed to some point on the continent of
Europe not very distant from Paris. They were provided with provisions
for a fortnight; these, with sand-bags for ballast, cordage, and all
needful apparatus for such a journey were placed in the bottom of the
car, while all around hung cloaks, carpet bags, barrels of wood and
copper, barometers, telescopes, lamps, spirit-flasks, coffee-warmers,
&c, for you know it would be impossible for them afterwards to supply
any thing which might have been forgotten.

Thus duly furnished, the balloon was rapidly borne away by a moderate
breeze over the fertile fields of Kent to Dover. It was forty-eight
minutes past four when the first sound of the waves on the sea-beach
broke on the voyagers' ears: the sun was sinking below the horizon, and
as the balloon was rapidly borne into the region of mist which hung over
the ocean, we must suppose something of dread and uncertainty attended
the adventurer's minds. Scarcely, however, had they completed some
arrangements, intended to render the balloon more buoyant in the heavy
atmosphere, than again the sound of waves surprised them, and below were
seen glittering the well-known lights of Calais and the neighboring
shores. Passing over Calais the aeronauts lowered a blue-light to give
notice of their presence, but could not tell whether the inhabitants
perceived it. By this time night had completely closed in, and still the
silken ball pursued its course. So long as lights were burning in the
towns and villages which it passed in rapid succession, the solitary
voyagers looked down on the scene with delight; sometimes they could
even catch the hum of the yet busy multitude, or the bark of a
watch-dog; but midnight came, and the world was hushed in sleep.

As soon as the people were again stirring below, the guide-rope was
hauled into the balloon, and the grappling-iron lowered; and after
sundry difficulties from the danger of getting entangled in a wood, and
grievously affrighting two ladies, who stood awhile petrified with
amazement at the unusual apparition, the voyagers succeeded in alighting
in a grassy valley, about six miles from the town of Weilburg, in the
Duchy of Nassau. Here every attention and accommodation was afforded
them, and thus ended this remarkable journey, an extent of about five
hundred British miles having been passed over in the space of eighteen
hours.




AN ADVENTURE OF PAUL JONES.


John Paul Jones was a famous naval commander in the service of the
United States, during the revolutionary war. He was a native of
Scotland, but having come to Virginia and settled before the war broke
out, he joined the patriots as soon as hostilities commenced, and
rendered the most important services through the whole of the long and
arduous contest, by which our independence was acquired.

The following account of one of his adventures is given by his
biographer.

Eager to retaliate upon Britain for some predatory exploits of her
sailors on the American coast, and exasperated by the resolution which
the English government had taken, to treat all the supporters of
independence as traitors and rebels, Captain Paul Jones entered the
Irish Channel, and approaching his native shores, not as a friend, but
as a determined enemy. On the night of the 22d of April, 1778, he came
to anchor in the Solway Firth, almost within sight of the trees which
sheltered the house in which he first drew the breath of life.

Early next morning, he rowed for the English coast, at the head of
thirty-one volunteers, in two boats, with the intention of destroying
the shipping, about two hundred sail, which lay in the harbor of
Whitehaven.

In this daring attempt he would probably have succeeded without
difficulty, had not the strength of the opposing tide retarded his
progress so much, that day began to dawn before he could gain the shore.
He despatched the smaller of the two boats to the north of the port to
set fire to the vessels, whilst he led the remainder of the party to the
more hazardous duty of securing the fort, which was situated on a hill
to the south. It was a cold morning, and the sentinels little aware that
an enemy was so near, had retired into the guard-room for warmth,
affording Jones an opportunity to take them by surprise, of which he did
not fail to avail himself. Climbing over the shoulders of the tallest of
his men, he crept silently through one of the embrasures and was
instantly followed by the rest. Their first care was to make fast the
door of the guard-room, and their next to spike the cannon, thirty-six
in number. Having effected this without bloodshed, they proceeded to
join the detachment which had been sent to the north; and finding that a
false alarm had deterred them from executing their orders, Jones
instantly proceeded to set fire to the vessels within his reach. By this
time, however, the inhabitants were roused, and the invaders were
obliged to retreat, leaving three ships in flames, of which one alone
was destroyed.

On the same day with this adventure, another memorable occurrence took
place, which contributed, for a time, to add greatly to the odium which
the first had brought on his name in Britain, but which, in the end,
enabled him to prove that he was possessed of the most heroic qualities.
In cruising off the coast of Galloway, it occurred to him, that, if he
could get into his power a man of high rank and influence in the state,
he should able, by retaining him as a hostage, to ensure to the American
prisoners of war more lenient treatment than was threatened by the
British government. Knowing that the Earl of Selkirk possessed a seat at
St. Mary's Isle, a beautiful peninsula at the mouth of the Dee, and
being ill-informed with regard to the political connections of that
nobleman, he destined him for the subject of his experiment. With that
view, he landed on the Isle, about noon, with two officers and a few
men; but, before they had proceeded far, he learned that his lordship
was from home. Finding his object frustrated, he now wished to return;
but his crew were not so easily satisfied. Their object was plunder; and
as they consisted of men in a very imperfect state of discipline, and
with whom it would have been dangerous to contend, he allowed them to
proceed. He exacted from them, however, a promise that they should be
guilty of no violence; that the men should not enter the house, and that
the officers, after having made their demands, should accept what might
be put into their hands without scrutiny. These conditions were
punctually obeyed. The greater part of the Selkirk plate was carried off
in triumph by the crew, and Paul Jones was, for a time, stigmatized as a
freebooter; but he nobly vindicated his character, by taking the
earliest opportunity of purchasing the whole of it, out of his own
private funds, and remitting it safe to its original owner, without
accepting the smallest remuneration. National prejudice has
misrepresented this transaction; and in order to excite the popular
indignation against Jones, it has been common to state, that this
attempt on the person, and as it was supposed the property, of Lord
Selkirk, was aggravated by ingratitude, his father having eaten of that
nobleman's bread. Nothing can be more false. Neither Mr. Paul, nor any
of his kindred, ever was in the earl's employ, or had ever the most
distant connection with his lordship or his family; and in a
correspondence which took place between our hero and Lady Selkirk,
relative to the restitution of the plate, a most honorable testimony was
gratefully paid by the latter to the captain's character.

[Illustration; NELSON SAVED BY HIS COXSWAIN.]




ADMIRAL NELSON.


Nelson lost the sight of one eye at the siege of Calvi, by a shot
driving the sand and gravel into it, and he lost his arm by a shot in an
expedition against Teneriffe; but the most dangerous of his exploits
were, boarding the battery at San Bartolomeo, boarding the San Joseph,
the boat action in the Bay of Cadiz, and the famous battles of the Nile
and Trafalgar. Of these, perhaps, the boat action during the blockade of
Cadiz was the most severe. While making an attempt against the Spanish
gunboats, he was attacked by D. Miguel Tregayen, in an armed launch,
carrying twenty-six men; fearful odds against his ten bargemen, captain,
and coxswain. Eighteen Spaniards were killed, the rest wounded, and the
launch captured.

[Illustration: ADMIRAL NELSON.]

The Spaniards were more than two to one, and yet he beat them; but it
was a hard and desperate struggle, hand to hand and blade to blade.
Twice did John Sykes, the coxswain, save Nelson's life, by parrying off
blows that would have destroyed him, and once did he interpose his head
to receive the blow of a Spanish sabre; but he would willingly have died
for his admiral.

Poor Sykes was wounded badly, but not killed.

When Nelson's health was established after the loss of his arm, he sent
to the minister of St. George's, Hanover Square, the following desire to
offer up his thanksgiving:--"An officer desires to return thanks to
Almighty God for his perfect recovery from a severe wound, and also for
the many mercies bestowed on him." Thus showing that he was humble
enough to be thankful to God, and continued so in the midst of all his
successes.

The following is an instance of his coolness in the hour of danger. The
late Lieutenant-General the Hon. Sir William Stewart, as
lieutenant-colonel of the rifle-brigade, embarked to do duty in the
fleet which was led by Sir Hyde Parker and Nelson, to the attack of
Copenhagen in 1801. "I was," says he, "with Lord Nelson when he wrote
the note to the Crown Prince of Denmark, proposing terms of arrangement.
A cannon ball struck off the head of the boy who was crossing the cabin
with the light to seal it. "Bring another candle," said his lordship. I
observed, that I thought it might very well be sent as it was, for it
would not be expected that the usual forms could be observed at such a
moment. "That is the very thing I should wish to avoid, Colonel,"
replied he, "for if the least appearance of precipitation were
perceptible in the manner of sending this note, it might spoil all."
Another candle being now brought, his lordship sealed the letter,
carefully enclosed in an envelope, with a seal bearing his coat of arms
and coronet, and delivered it to the officer in waiting to receive it.
It is said that the moment was a critical one, and that Lord Nelson's
note decided the event."

A seaman of the name of Hewson, who had served under Nelson, was working
as a caster in a manufactory at Birmingham when Nelson visited that
place. Among other manufactories, the admiral paid a visit to that where
Hewson was at work as a brass-founder; and though no employment
disfigures a workman more with smoke and dust than the process of
casting, the quick eye of Nelson recognized in the caster an old
associate. "What, Hewson, my lad," said he, "are you here?" Hewson laid
hold of the hair that hung over his forehead, and making an awkward bow,
replied, "Yes, your honor." "Why, how comes this about! You and I are
old acquaintances; you were with me in the Captain when I boarded the
San Joseph, were you not?" Hewson again laid hold of of his hair, and
bowing, replied, "Yes, your honor." "I remember you well," said Nelson;
"you were one of the cleverest fellows about the vessel! If any thing
was to be done, Hewson was the lad to do. Why, what do you here, working
like a negro? Take this," throwing him money, "and wash the dust down
your throat."

Hewson withdrew to a neighboring alehouse, boasting of the character the
admiral had given him. Month after month passed away, but Hewson
returned not--his shop-tools were abandoned, and no one could account
for his absence. At length a stripling, in a sailor's jacket, entered
the manufactory and said, "he was come to settle his father's affairs."
This was no other than Hewson's son, from whose account it appeared,
that when Hewson, somewhat elevated with liquor, but more with the
praise the admiral had bestowed on him, quitted Birmingham, he walked
his way down to Portsmouth, entered once more on board Lord Nelson's
ship, and fell with him in the battle of Trafalgar.

At the battle of Trafalgar, Collingwood, in the Royal Sovereign, led the
lee-line of fourteen ships, Nelson, in the Victory, was at the head of
the weather-line, consisting of fourteen ships. Besides these there were
four frigates.

The ships of France and Spain, opposed to the British, were in number
thirty-three, with seven large frigates. The odds were great against the
English, but the superior tactics, and well-known bravery of Nelson,
clothed him with power, that more than made up the difference. When
every thing was prepared for the engagement, Nelson retired into his
cabin alone, and wrote down the following prayer.

"May the great God, whom I worship grant to my country, and for the
benefit of Europe in general, a great and glorious victory, and may no
misconduct in any one tarnish it, and may humanity after victory, be the
predominant feature in the British fleet! For myself, individually, I
commit my life to Him that made me; and may his blessing alight on my
endeavors for serving my country faithfully! To him I resign myself, and
the just cause which is entrusted to me to defend. Amen! Amen! Amen!"

He wore on the day of the battle his admiral's frock coat, and on his
left breast, over his heart, four stars of the orders of honor, which
had been conferred upon him. Those around thought it was dangerous to
wear his stars, lest he should be too plainly seen by the enemy, but
they were afraid to tell him so, because he had said, "In honor I gained
them, and in honor I will die with them."

The effect produced by the signal given by Lord Nelson, "England expects
every man to do his duty!" was wonderful; it ran from ship to ship,
from man to man, from heart to heart, like a train of gunpowder.
Officers and men seemed animated with one spirit, and that was a
determination to win the day, or at least never to surrender to the
enemy.

The captains commanded on their quarterdecks; the boatswains in the
forecastle; the gunners attended to the magazines, and the carpenters
with their plug-shots, put themselves in readiness with high-wrought
energy, nor were the seamen and marines a whit behind hand in entering
on their several duties. The guns, the tackle, the round, grape, and
canister-shot, the powder-boys, the captains of guns, with their
priming-boxes, and the officers with their drawn swords, cut an imposing
appearance; and the cock-pit would have made a rudy face turn pale.

The wounded are all taken down into the cock-pit. It will hardly bear
thinking about. But in the cockpit were laid out ready for use, wine,
water, and surgeon's instruments, with napkins, basins, sponges, and
bandages.

The combined fleets of France and Spain, at Trafalgar, under
Villenueve, the French admiral, a brave and skilful man, were in the
form of a crescent, and the two British lines ran down upon them
parallel to each other. As soon as the British van was within gunshot
the enemy opened their fire. The Royal Sovereign soon rounded to under
the stern of the Santa Anna, and Admiral Nelson's ship, the Victory,
laid herself on board the Redoubtable. From that moment the roaring of
guns, the crash against the sides of the ships, clouds of smoke,
splintered yards, and falling masts, were the order of the day.

The death warrant of the navy of France was signed and sealed by the
fight of Trafalgar. In the heat of the action, a ball, fired from the
mizzen-top of the Redoubtable, struck Admiral Nelson on the left
shoulder, when he instantly fell. "They have done for me, at last,
Hardy," said he, to his captain.

Though mortally wounded, he gave some necessary direction concerning the
ship, and when carried below inquired earnestly how the battle went on.
When he knew that the victory had been gained--for twenty ships in all
struck to the British admiral--he expressed himself satisfied. "Now I am
satisfied," said he; "thank God, I have done my duty!" Many times he
repeated this expression, and "Thank God I have done my duty;" and "Kiss
me, Hardy," were among the last words that were uttered by his lips.
Thus, with a heart full of patriotism, died the bravest commander, the
most vigilant seaman, and the most ardent friend of his country, that
every led on a British fleet to victory.

[Illustration: DEATH OF NELSON.]

Even amid the exultation of victory, a grateful country mourned his
loss. A bountiful provision was made for his family; a public funeral
was awarded to his remains, and monuments in the principal cities of his
native land were erected to his memory. A sorrowing nation lamented over
his bier, and Britania, indeed, felt that old England's defender was
numbered with the dead.

[Illustration: BALBOA DISCOVERING THE PACIFIC OCEAN.]




DISCOVERY OF THE PACIFIC OCEAN.


Vasco Nunes de Balboa, a Spaniard, as you see by his name, was born in
1475. He was one of the adventurers who pursued the path which Columbus
had pointed out. He led a party of Spaniards, who going out from Darien
founded a colony in the neighboring regions. Some gold being found the
Spaniards got into a violent quarrel.

[Illustration: THE INDIAN CHIEF DISGUSTED AT THE SPANIARDS.]

One of the Indian chiefs being present, was so disgusted at this, that
he struck the scales with which they were weighing it so hard with his
fist, that the gold was scattered all about.

"Why," said he, "do you quarrel for such a trifle? If you really value
gold so highly, as to leave your own homes, and come and seize the lands
and dwellings of others for the sake of it, I can tell you of a land
where you may find it in plenty. Beyond those lofty mountains," said he,
pointing to the south-west, "lies a mighty sea, which people sail on
with vessels almost as big as yours. All the streams that flow from the
other side of these mountains abound in gold, and all the utensils of
the people are made of gold."

This was enough for Balboa. He inquired of the Indian the best way of
getting across the mountains, to find this land of gold. The Indian
kindly told him every thing he knew, but at the same time warned him not
to go over there, for the Indians were many and were fierce, and would
eat human flesh. But Balboa was not to be discouraged. He collected a
band of one hundred and ninety bold and hardy men, armed with swords,
targets, and cross-bows, and some blood-hounds, (for, strange to tell,
the Spaniards had trained fierce dogs to hunt the Indians, and even the
mild Bilboa was not ashamed to use them,) and so he set out on his
expedition to the west.

Embarking with his men, September 1st, 1513, at the village of Darien,
in a brigantine and nine large canoes, he sailed along the coast to the
north-west, to Coyba, where the young Indian chief lived, and where the
Isthmus of Darien is narrowest. He had taken a few friendly Indians with
him, as guides; and the young chief furnished him with a few more on his
arrival. Then leaving half his own men at Coyba, to guard the brigantine
and canoes, he began his march for the mountains, and through the
terrible wilderness.

It was the 6th of September. The heat was excessive, and the journey
toilsome and difficult. They had to climb rocky precipices, struggle
through close and tangled forests, and cross marshes, which the great
rains had rendered almost impassable. September 8th, they passed an
Indian village at the foot of the mountains, but the inhabitants did not
molest them; on the contrary they fled into the forests.

Here some of the men became exhausted, from the great heat and
travelling in the marshes. These were sent back, by slow marches, in the
care of guides, to Coyba. On the 20th of September they again set
forward.

The wilderness was so craggy, and the forest trees and underwood so
matted together, that in four days they only advanced about thirty
miles, and they now began to suffer from hunger. They also met with many
rapid foaming streams, to cross some of which they had to stop and build
rafts.

Now it was that they met with a numerous tribe of Indians, who, armed
with bows and arrows, and clubs of palm wood, almost as hard as iron,
gave them battle. But the Spaniards, although comparatively few in
numbers, with their fire-arms and bloodhounds and the aid of the
friendly Indians who were with them, soon put them to flight, and took
possession of their village. Balboa's men robbed the village of all its
gold and silver, and of every thing valuable in it; and even he himself,
whose heart the love of gold had begun already to harden, shared with
his men the plunder.

It was a dear bought victory, however; for though the Indians had lost
six hundred of their number in the contest, they could easily recruit
their forces. But Balboa, whose band was now reduced, by sickness and
the contest, from ninety-five men to sixty-seven, had no means of adding
to their strength, but was forced to proceed with what forces he had.

Early the next morning after the battle, they set out on their journey
up the mountain. About ten o'clock they came out of the tangled forest,
and reached an open space, where they enjoyed the cool breezes of the
mountains. They now began to take a little courage. Their joy was
heightened still more, when they heard one of the Indian guides exclaim,
"The sea! the sea!"

Balboa commanded his men to stop; and resolving to be the first European
who should behold this new sea, he forbade his men to stir from their
places till he called them. Then ascending to the summit of the height,
which the Indian had mounted, he beheld the sea glittering in the
morning sun.

Calling now upon his little troop to ascend the height, and view the
noble prospect along with him, "behold," said he, "the rich reward of
our toil. This is a sight upon which no Spaniard's eye ever before
rested." And in their great joy the leader and his men embraced each
other.

Balboa then took possession of the sea and coast, and the surrounding
country, in the name of the King of Spain; and having cut down a tree,
and made it into the form of a cross--for they were Catholics--he set it
up on the very spot where he first beheld the grand Pacific Ocean. He
also made a high mound, by heaping up large stones, upon which he carved
the king's name. This was on September 26th, 1513.

Not content with seeing the ocean, Balboa determined to visit it.
Arriving, after much toil, at one of the bays on the coast, he called it
St. Michael's Bay. Coming to a beach a mile or two long, "If this is a
sea," said he, "it will soon be covered with water; let us wait and see
if there be a tide." So he seated himself under a tree, and the water
soon began to flow. He tasted it and found it salt; and then waded up to
his knees in it, and took possession of it in the name of his king.

[Illustration: DEATH OF BALBOA.]

Balboa's heart was now so lifted up by success, and his whole nature so
changed, that he was ready to fight and destroy every Indian tribe that
opposed his progress. But he had not always the best of it. On one
occasion he was lost, with one or two followers, and having been seized
by some natives, carried immediately before their cazique, or chief. He
was seated on a raised seat, covered with a panther's skin, and bore a
single feather of the vulture upon his head. Beside him stood his
slaves, to fan him, and screen his head from the sun, and around him
warriors, with the sculls of their enemies fixed upon their spears:
which made the whole scene very horrible.

Balboa humbled himself before the chief; and taking off his coat,
profusely decorated, offered it as a peace offering. The cazique would
not accept it, but said, "You are poor and desolate--I am rich and
powerful. I will not hurt you, though you are my enemy." He then ordered
him safe conduct through the forests; and Balboa regained his own
people, the Spaniards, in safety. This escape softened Balboa's heart,
and he never afterwards treated the Indians with the same severity.

After many victories, and many other singular escapes, he returned back
to Coyba. But the sufferings of his men, in returning, were extreme, for
want both of water and provisions. The streams were most of them dried
up, and provisions could not be found. Gold they indeed had, almost as
much as they could carry, and the Indians kept bringing them more; but
this they could not eat or drink, and it would not buy what was not to
be bought.

He arrived at Darien after about two months' absence, having lost nearly
all his men, by war and sickness. His discovery made a great noise, and
procured him much honor, but he did not live to enjoy it.

A new governor was appointed in his place, who, having a mortal hatred
to Balboa, threw him into prison, and, after a mock trial, had him
beheaded, in 1517, in his 48th year.

[Illustration: ADMIRAL KEPPEL.]




ADMIRAL KEPPEL AND THE DEY OF ALGIERS.


When Admiral Keppel was sent to the Dey of Algiers, to demand
restitution of two ships which the pirates had taken, he sailed with his
squadron into the Bay of Algiers, and cast anchor in front of the Dey's
palace. He then landed, and, attended only by his captain and barge's
crew, demanded an immediate audience of the Dey. This being granted, he
claimed full satisfaction for the injuries done to the subjects of his
Britannic Majesty. Surprised and enraged at the boldness of the
admiral's remonstrance, the Dey exclaimed, "that he wondered at the
English King's insolence in sending him a foolish, beardless boy." A
well-timed reply from the admiral made the Dey forget the laws of all
nations in respect to ambassadors, and he ordered his mutes to attend
with the bow-string, at the same time telling the admiral he should pay
for his audacity with his life. Unmoved by this menace, the admiral took
the Dey to the window facing the bay, and showed him the English fleet
riding at anchor, and told him that if he dared put him to death there
were men enough in that fleet to make him a glorious funeral-pile. The
Dey was wise enough to take the hint. The admiral obtained ample
restitution, and came off in safety.

[Illustration: LOSS OF THE CATARAQUE.]




LOSS OF THE CATARAQUE.


The Cataraque, Captain C.W. Findlay, sailed from Liverpool, on the 20th
of April, 1849, with three hundred and sixty emigrants, and a crew
including two doctors, (brothers,) of forty-six souls. The emigrants
were principally from Bedfordshire, Staffordshire, Yorkshire, and
Northamptonshire. About one hundred and twenty of the passengers were
married, with families, and in all seventy-three children.

On the 3d of August, at seven o'clock in the evening, the ship was hove
to, and continued lying to until three A.M. of the 4th. At half past
four, being quite dark, and raining hard, blowing a fearful gale, the
ship struck on a reef, situated on the west coast of King's Island, at
the entrance of Bass's Straights.

Immediately after the ship struck, she was sounded, and it was
ascertained that there was four feet of water in the hold. An awful
scene of confusion and misery ensued. All the passengers attempted to
rush upon deck, and many succeeded in doing so, until the heaving of the
vessel knocked down the ladders, when the shrieks from below, calling on
those on deck to assist them were terrific. The crew were on deck the
moment the ship struck, and were instantly employed in handing up the
passengers. Up to the time the vessel began breaking up, the crew
succeeded in getting upwards of three hundred passengers on deck. But a
terrible fate awaited the greater part of them.

The day dawned. The stern of the vessel was found to be washed in, and
numerous dead bodies were found floating round the ship; some clinging
to the rocks which they had grasped in despair. About two hundred of the
passengers and crew held on to the vessel, although the raging sea was
breaking over her, and every wave washed some of them to a watery grave.
In this manner, kindred were separated, while those who remained could
only expect the same fate to reach them. Things continued in this
condition until four in the afternoon, when the vessel parted amidships,
at the fore part of the main rigging, and immediately between seventy
and a hundred persons were thrown into the waves. Thus the insatiable
ocean swallowed its prey piece-meal. About five, the wreck parted by the
fore-rigging, and so many persons were thrown into the sea, that only
seventy were left on the forecastle, they being lashed to the wreck.
Even these were gradually diminished in number, some giving out from
exhaustion, and others anticipating fate, by drowning themselves.

When day dawned, on the following morning, only about thirty persons
were left alive, and these were almost exhausted. The sea was making a
clean breach into the forecastle, the deck of which was rapidly breaking
up. Parents and children, husbands and wives, were seen floating around
the vessel, many in an embrace, which even the ocean's power could not
sunder. The few who remained alive could only look up to heaven for a
hope of safety. Soon after daylight, the vessel totally disappeared, and
out of four hundred and twenty-three persons who had been on board the
vessel, only nine were saved by being washed on shore, and these were
nearly exhausted.

[Illustration: LOSS OF THE FRANCIS SPAIGHT.]




LOSS OF THE FRANCIS SPAIGHT.


On the morning of the 7th of January, 1848, the barque Francis Spaight,
lying in Table Bay, at the Cape of Good Hope, parted her anchor, and in
attempting to beat out, grounded, broadside on the beach. The gale at
the time she struck was furious, and the surf tremendous, making a clean
breach over the vessel, carrying away the bulwark, long boat, main
hatch, and part of the deck, with one of the crew.

The shore was thronged with the inhabitants of Cape Town, anxious for
the fate of the vessel. An attempt was made to send a rope from the land
to the wreck, but the rope broke. Rockets were fired with lines
attached, and one was thrown across the foremast stay, where none of the
men could reach it, on account of the fearful rolling of the sea. After
some extraordinary delay, a whale boat was brought from the town, and
manned by six daring fellows, who dashed through the surf, and were soon
alongside the vessel.

All except the carpenter, fifteen in number, got into the boat, and
pushed off. At this moment a terrific sea upset the boat, and twenty-one
persons were struggling in the surf for life. The people on the beach
were horror-stricken; and men on horseback were seen plunging into the
sea, risking their lives to save their fellow-creatures; but eighteen
sunk to rise no more. The masts of the vessel fell with a tremendous
crash, but the carpenter still clung to the wreck. At length a
surf-boat, towed by a smaller one, proceeded towards the wreck. One of
these boats was capsized, and two lives lost. But the carpenter was
rescued. This man, (James Robertson,) and John McLeod, seaman, were all
of the crew that reached the shore. The inhabitants of Cape Town were
all anxiety in regard to the fate of the vessel; and those daring heroes
who sacrificed themselves for the sake of their fellow men were worthy
of a monument as lofty as those erected to the bravest warriors.

The place where the Francis Spaight went ashore had been, a short time
previous, the scene of a far more terrible disaster. This was the wreck
of the ship Waterloo, by which two hundred persons were lost, in spite
of the most extraordinary and heroic exertions on the part of the
inhabitants of Cape Town.

The bay is very much exposed to storms, and its shores are particulary
dangerous, on account of their shelving character. The Francis Spaight
had just put into the bay for the purpose of obtaining a supply of
provisions, and it was intended that she should sail the next day. But
the Ruler of the elements intended it otherwise. Her cargo was nearly a
total loss.




LOSS OF THE GOLDEN RULE.


The ship Golden Rule, Captain Austin, sailed from Wiscasset, with a
cargo of timber, September, 8, 1807.

On the 29th, she experienced a severe gale from the south-east; and at
eight o'clock, A.M., they discovered that she had sprung a leak, and
had four feet of water in her hold; at nine it had increased to eight
feet, notwithstanding they had two pumps going, and were throwing her
deck load overboard, which they were enabled to do very slowly, from the
sea driving the planks about the deck, and wounding the crew.

About ten o'clock, the water had risen to twelve feet, and the gale had
also evidently increased; the crew and all on board were quite
exhausted; and on going into the cabin they found she was welling fast.
The main and mizzen masts were now cut away, to prevent her upsetting,
and she was quite clear of her deck load. At eleven o'clock she was full
up to her main deck, and all her bulk heads were knocked away.

It now occurred to some of the crew, to endeavor to save some bread; and
Mr. Boyd, the first mate, with great resolution, went into the cabin and
gave out some bread, and two bottles of rum; but so rapidly did she
fill, from the timber of her cargo shifting, that he was forced to break
through the sky-light to save himself. Their small stock of provisions
was now put into the binnacle, as a secure place. It had been there but
a few minutes, when a tremendous sea struck them, and carried away the
binnacle.

They had now little hope left--the wheel was broken, and they proceeded
to secure themselves as well as they could, some in the fore-top, and
the rest were lashing themselves to the taffrail; before they could
accomplish the latter plan, another sea, if possible, more heavy than
the former, hurried them all from their places, and washed two of the
men overboard; they were seen swimming for the ship, a short time, when
a wave hurried them from the sight of their lamenting comrades.

They now endeavored to keep the ship before the wind, which they were
partially enabled to do through the night. The next day another man died
from cold and hunger.

The deck was now blown up, and her side stove in, all hands had given
themselves up, when, on the 30th at noon, they were roused by the cry
of "a sail!" and they had the satisfaction to see her bear down for
them. She was the brig George, of Portland; and Captain Wildridge sent
his long-boat to take them from the wreck.




DANGERS OF WHALING SHIPS AMONG ICE BERGS.


The masses of ice by which the ocean is traversed assume a vast variety
of shapes, but may be comprehended in two general classes. The first
consists of sheets of ice, analogous to those which annually cover the
the lakes and rivers of northern lands. They present a surface which is
generally level, but here and there diversified by projections, called
_hummocks_, which arise from the ice having been thrown up by some
pressure or force to which it has been subject. Sheets of ice, which are
so large that their whole extent of surface cannot be seen from the
masthead of a vessel, are called _fields_. They have sometimes an area
of more than a hundred square miles, and rise above the level of the sea
from two to eight feet. When a piece of ice, though of a considerable
size, can be distinguished in its extent, it is termed a _floe_. A
number of sheets, large or small, joining each other, and stretching out
in any particular direction, constitute a _stream_. Captain Cook found a
stream extending across Behring's Straits, connecting eastern Asia with
the western extremity of North America. Owing to the vast extent of some
fields of ice, they would undoubtedly be conducted to a lower latitude
in the Atlantic before their dissolution, under the influence of a
warmer climate, but for the intervention of other causes. It frequently
happens that two masses are propelled against each other, and are both
shivered into fragments by the violence of the concussion. The ordinary
swell of the ocean also acts with tremendous power upon a large tract,
especially when it has been so thawed as to have become thin, and breaks
it up into a thousand smaller pieces in a very short period. The danger
of being entrapped between two ice-fields coming into contact with each
other is one of the perils which the navigator has frequently to
encounter in the northern seas; and fatal to his vessel and his life has
the occurrence often been, while in a vast number of instances escape
has seemed almost miraculous.

"At half-past six," says Captain Ross, relating to his first voyage of
discovery, in the Isabella, to the arctic regions, with Captain Parry,
in the Alexander, "the ice began to move, and, the wind increasing to a
gale, the only chance left for us was to endeavor to force the ship
through it to the north, where it partially opened; but the channel was
so much obstructed by heavy fragments, that our utmost efforts were
ineffectual; the ice closed in upon us, and at noon we felt its pressure
most severely. A large floe, which lay on one side of the Isabella,
appeared to be fixed; while, on the other side, another of considerable
bulk was passing along with a rapid motion, assuming a somewhat circular
direction, in consequence of one side having struck on the fixed field.
The pressure continuing to increase, it became doubtful whether the ship
would be able to sustain it; every support threatened to give way, the
beams in the hold began to bend, and the iron tanks settled together.

"At this critical moment, when it seemed impossible for us to bear the
accumulating pressure much longer, the hull rose several feet; while the
ice, which was more than six feet thick, broke against the sides,
curling back on itself. The great stress now fell upon our bow; and,
after being again lifted up, we were carried with great violence towards
the Alexander which had hitherto been, in a great measure, defended by
the Isabella. Every effort to avoid their getting foul of each other
failed; the ice-anchors and cables broke one after another; and the
sterns of the two ships came so violently into contact, as to crush to
pieces a boat that could not be removed in time. The collision was
tremendous, the anchors and chain-plates being broken, and nothing less
than the loss of the masts expected; but at this eventful instant, by
the interposition of Providence, the force of the ice seemed exhausted;
the two fields suddenly receded, and we passed the Alexander with
comparatively little damage. A clear channel soon after opened, and we
ran into a pool, thus escaping the immediate danger; but the fall of
snow being very heavy, our situation still remained doubtful, nor could
we conjecture whether we were yet in a place of safety. Neither the
masters, the mates, nor those men who had been all their lives in the
Greenland service, had ever experienced such imminent peril; and they
declared, that a common whaler must have been crushed to atoms."

Captain Scoresby relates a similar narrow escape from destruction owing
to the same cause. "In the year 1804," he observes, "I had an
opportunity of witnessing the effects produced by the lesser masses in
motion. Passing between two fields of ice newly formed, about a foot in
thickness, they were observed rapidly to approach each other, and,
before our ship could pass the strait, they met with a velocity of three
or four miles per hour. The one overlaid the other, and presently
covered many acres of surface. The ship proving an obstacle to the
course of the ice, it squeezed up on both sides, shaking her in a
dreadful manner, and producing a loud grinding or lengthened acute
trembling noise, according as the degree of pressure was diminished or
increased, until it had risen as high as the deck. After about two hours
the motion ceased, and soon afterwards the two sheets of ice receded
from each other nearly as rapidly as they had before advanced. The ship
in this case did not receive any injury; but, had the ice only been half
a foot thicker, she might have been wrecked." Other navigators have not
been so fortunate; and the annual loss of whaling vessels in the polar
seas is considerable, the Dutch having had as many as seventy-three sail
of ships wrecked in one season. Between the years 1669 and 1778, both
inclusive, or a period of one hundred and seven years, they sent to the
Greenland fishery fourteen thousand one hundred and sixty-seven ships,
of which five hundred and sixty-one, or about four in the hundred, were
lost.

Every one will remember the intense and mournful interest occasioned by
the loss of the President steamer which left New York in the year 1841
to cross the Atlantic, but perished in the passage, without leaving a
survivor to tell the story of her fate. It has been deemed highly
probable that this vessel got entangled in the ice, and was destroyed by
collision with its masses; for during that year, in the month of April,
the Great Western steamer encountered a field extending upwards of a
hundred miles in one direction, surrounded with an immense number of
floes and bergs, and had great difficulty in effecting its passage by
this floating continent in safety.

Another form under which the ice appears in the ocean is that of bergs,
which differ from the ice-fields in shape and origin. They are masses
projecting to a great height above the surface of the water, and have
the appearance of chalk or marble cliffs and mountains upon the deep.
They have been seen with an elevation of two hundred feet--a
circumference of two miles: and it has been shown by experiments on the
buoyancy of ice floating in sea water, that the proportion above the
surface is only about one-seventh of the thickness of the whole mass.
During the first expedition of Ross, he found an ice berg in Baffin's
Bay, at a distance of seven leagues from the land, which was measured by
a party under Lieutenant Parry. Considerable difficulty was experienced
in the attempt to land, as, in rowing round the berg, they found it
perpendicular in every place but one. When they had ascended to the
top, which was perfectly flat, they discovered a white bear in quiet
possession of the mass, who plunged into the sea without hesitation, and
effected his escape. The party found the ice berg to be four thousand
one hundred and sixty-nine yards long, three thousand eight hundred and
sixty-nine yards broad, and fifty-one feet high, being aground in
sixty-one fathoms. Its appearance was like that of the back of the Isle
of Wight, and the cliffs resembled those of the chalk range to the west
of Dover. The weight of this mass was calculated to amount to one
billion two hundred and ninety two millions three hundred and ninety
seven thousand six hundred and seventy-three tons.

[Illustration: A WHITE BEAR.]

An ice berg examined by Captain Graah, on the east coast of Greenland,
rose one hundred and twenty feet out of the water, had a circumference
of four thousand feet at the base, and its solid contents were estimated
to be upwards of nine hundred millions of cubic feet. When viewed at a
distance, nothing can be more interesting than the appearance of a
considerable number of these formations, exhibiting an infinite variety
of shape, and requiring no stretch of imagination to convert them into a
series of floating towers, castles, churches, obelisks, and pyramids, or
a snowy range of Alpine heights. No pencil, an observer has remarked,
has ever given any thing like the true effect of an ice berg. In a
picture they are huge, uncouth masses, stuck in the sea; while their
chief beauty and grandeur--their slow stately motion, the whirling of
the snow about their summits, and the fearful crackling of their
parts--they cannot give. The ice of the bergs is compact and solid, or
of a fine green tint verging to blue; and large pieces may be frequently
obtained, equal to the most beautiful crystal in transparency. It is
stated by Scoresby, that with a portion of this ice, of by no means
regular convexity, used as a burning lens, he has frequently burnt wood,
fired gunpowder, melted lead, and lit the sailors' pipes, to their no
small astonishment, the ice itself remaining in the mean while perfectly
fixed and pellucid.




MASSACRE OF THE CREW OF THE ATAHUALPA.


The Atahualpa, of Boston, left that port in August, 1803, bound to the
north-west coast of America, for the purpose of trading with the
natives. She arrived on the coast in the month of January, 1804; and,
after visiting the several islands, and purchasing skins, on the 5th of
June, 1805, weighed anchor from Chockokee, on the north-west coast, and
made sail. On the 8th, arrived at Millbank sound, and came to an anchor
within musket-shot of the village. Soon after her arrival, the chief of
the Indians, by the name of Keite, came off to the ship, with some of
his tribe, and informed the captain that the Caroline, Captain Sturgess,
had sailed from thence ten days before.

On the 11th, the chief came off again, with his tribe, and another tribe
that was there, and traded very briskly till towards night, when
becoming very insolent, they were all turned out of the ship.

On the 13th, Keite and his tribe came on board in the morning, and
seemed much more desirous to trade than before, which Captain Porter was
very glad to see. The chief mate and two of the ship's company, were
then engaged in ripping the main-sail in pieces, on the quarter-deck;
the second mate with two hands was repairing the top-sail; two on the
starboard side of the main-deck, spinning spun yarn; two more on the
forecastle, making sinnet; two more on the larboard side of the
main-deck, running shot in the armorer's forge; the cooper was making
tubs; the cook, and captain's steward in the galley, at their duty; and
all hands, as usual, employed on the ship's duty; the armorer was in the
steerage, and the boatswain in the cabin; Captain Porter, Mr. Ratstraw,
his clerk, and Mr. Lyman Plummer, (nephew of Theodore Lyman, Esq. of
Boston, ship owner,) were standing on the larboard side of the
quarter-deck, abreast of the cabin hatchway.

The chief, Keite, stood leaning on the rail, and called Captain Porter
to look at the skins that were in the canoe, alongside the ship; the
captain accordingly went to look over the side, when the chief, with
some more Indians, laid hold of him, and gave a shout. Immediately all
the Indians alongside of the canoe, and those on board, armed with
daggers, pistols, pikes, and other weapons, seized every man on deck,
who were totally unprepared for so sudden an attack. A most dreadful and
sanguinary contest immediately took place; when, after a short but
bloody engagement of about five minutes, the deck was immediately
cleared of them.

There were about two hundred Indians, it is supposed, on board at this
time; they first daggered Captain Porter several times in the back, put
him in a canoe alongside, and carried him on shore; and, as we were
afterwards informed by Captain Smith, of the ship Mary, of Boston, who
was informed by the New Hecta tribe, was by them tied to a tree, in
which unhappy and miserable situation he languished fifteen days,
refusing every species of nourishment offered him by these savages,
occasioned by his grief at this unfortunate accident.

Previous to this fatal business, there were twenty-three hands on board;
ten of whom were barbarously killed, and nine wounded. Among the killed
were, Captain Oliver Porter, Mr. John Hill, chief mate; Daniel Gooding,
second mate; John D. Katstraw, captain's clerk; Mr. Lyman Plummer, Peter
Shooner, Luther Lapham, Samuel Lapham, seamen; Isaac Lammes, cooper; and
John Williams, cook. Mr. Lyman Plummer survived about two hours after
he was wounded. The cook, who was most shockingly cut and mangled,
languished till about six o'clock the next morning.

Among the wounded were, Ebenezer Baker, seaman, most dangerously, with
daggers, he having two stabs in his left thigh, one in his groin, one in
his back, one in his breast, and one in his neck; Henry Thompson,
seaman, very dangerously, with daggers, having one wound on the right
side, one on the left shoulder, another on the left arm, and two or
three smaller ones on the same arm, one on the right temple, and another
on the left cheek; Ebenezer Williams, seaman, had three wounds in his
thigh, with daggers,--two on his back, and one on the right shoulder
with a boarding-pike; Luke Bates, seamen, one wound on the right
shoulder with a boarding-pike; Joseph Robinson, carpenter, wounded on
the left breast; Thomas Edwards, steward, stabbed on the left shoulder;
W. Walker had two stabs, with daggers, in his back.

After the deck was cleared of these sanguinary savages, several guns
were fired at the village, the sails were loosened, stream-cable cut,
and the ship put to sea. The same night they got under weigh, seven
large war-canoes hove in sight, with about thirty Indians in each. In
this deplorable condition, with only four or five hands on board capable
of duty, the Atahualpa shaped her course for New Heita; but the wind
chopping round, put about, and stood to the westward.

On the 17th, it was thought time to bury the dead, when, after having
sewed them up, and got them ready for interment, prayers were read. They
were then buried in Queen Charlotte's Sound.

It cannot be ascertained with any degree of accuracy, how many of the
Indians were killed in this dreadful contest. It is supposed, however,
that the number must have exceeded forty; for a large canoe being under
the ship's bow, with about twenty Indians in her, who were cutting a
cable, a swivel and several muskets were fired into her, and but one of
the Indians reached the shore in safety.

During the conflict with the savages, there were two barrels of powder
unheaded, and a loaded pistol prepared and given to a person who stood
ready, should they get into the cabin, and secure to themselves the
ship, to fire into it, and blow the whole up, preferring to die in that
manner rather than fall into the hands of such merciless wretches.

[Illustration: SHIPWRECK OF THE BLENDENHALL.]




SHIPWRECK OF THE BLENDENHALL.


In the year 1821, the Blendenhall, free trader, bound from England for
Bombay, partly laden with broad-cloths, was proceeding on her voyage
with every prospect of a successful issue. While thus pursuing her way
through the Atlantic, she was unfortunately driven from her course, by
adverse winds and currents, more to the southward and westward than was
required, and it became desirable to reach the island of Tristan
d'Acunha, in order to ascertain and rectify the reckoning. This island,
which is called after the Portuguese admiral who first discovered it, is
one of a group of three, the others being the Inaccessible and
Nightingale Islands, situated many hundreds of miles from any land, and
in a south-westerly direction from the Cape of Good Hope. The shores are
rugged and precipitous in the extreme, and form, perhaps, the most
dangerous coast upon which any vessel could be driven.

It was while steering to reach this group of islands, that, one morning,
a passenger on board the Blendenhall, who chanced to be upon deck
earlier than usual, observed great quantities of sea-weed occasionally
floating alongside. This excited some alarm, and a man was immediately
sent aloft to keep a good look-out. The weather was then extremely hazy,
though moderate; the weeds continued; all were on the alert; they
shortened sail, and the boatswain piped for breakfast. In less than ten
minutes, "breakers ahead!" startled every soul, and in a moment all were
on deck. "Breakers starboard! breakers larboard! breakers all around,"
was the ominous cry a moment afterwards, and all was confusion. The
words were scarcely uttered, when, and before the helm was up, the
ill-fated ship struck, and after a few tremendous shocks against the
sunken reef, she parted about mid-ship. Ropes and stays were cut
away--all rushed forward, as if instinctively, and had barely reached
the forecastle, when the stern and quarter-deck broke asunder with a
violent crash, and sunk to rise no more. Two of the seamen miserably
perished--the rest, including officers, passengers and crew, held on
about the head and bows--the struggle was for life!

At this moment, the Inaccessible Island, which till then had been veiled
in thick clouds and mist, appeared frowning above the haze. The wreck
was more than two miles from the frightful shore. The base of the
island was still buried in impenetrable gloom. In this perilous
extremity, one was for cutting away the anchor, which had been got up to
the cat-head in time of need; another was for cutting down the foremast
(the foretop-mast being already by the board.) The fog totally
disappeared, and the black rocky island stood in all its rugged
deformity before their eyes. Suddenly the sun broke out in full
splendor, as if to expose more clearly to the view of the sufferers
their dreadful predicament. Despair was in every bosom--death, arrayed
in all its terrors, seemed to hover over the wreck. But exertion was
required, and every thing that human energy could devise was effected.
The wreck, on which all eagerly clung, was fortunately drifted by the
tide and wind between ledges of sunken rocks and thundering breakers,
until, after the lapse of several hours, it entered the only spot on the
island where a landing was possibly practicable, for all the other parts
of the coast consisted of perpendicular cliffs of granite, rising from
amidst the deafening surf to the height of twenty, forty, and sixty
feet. As the shore was neared, a raft was prepared, and on this a few
paddled for the cove. At last the wreck drove right in: ropes were
instantly thrown out, and the crew and passengers, (except two who had
been crushed in the wreck,) including three ladies and a female
attendant, were snatched from the watery grave, which a few short hours
before had appeared inevitable, and safely landed on the beach. Evening
had now set in, and every effort was made to secure whatever could be
saved from the wreck. Bales of cloth, cases of wine, a few boxes of
cheese, some hams, the carcass of a milch cow that had been washed on
shore, buckets, tubs, butts, a seaman's chest, (containing a tinder-box
and needles and thread,) with a number of elegant mahogany turned
bed-posts, and part of an investment for the India market, were got on
shore. The rain poured down in torrents--all hands were busily at work
to procure shelter from the weather; and with the bed-posts and
broad-cloths, and part of the foresail, as many tents were soon pitched
as there were individuals on the island.

Drenched with the sea and with the rain, hungry, cold, and comfortless,
thousands of miles from their native land, almost beyond expectation of
human succor, hope nearly annihilated,--the shipwrecked voyagers retired
to their tents. In the morning the wreck had gone to pieces; and planks,
and spars, and whatever had floated in, were eagerly dragged on shore.
No sooner was the unfortunate ship broken up, than deeming themselves
freed from the bonds of authority, many began to secure whatever came to
land: and the captain, officers, passengers, and crew, were now reduced
to the same level, and obliged to take their turn to fetch water, and
explore the island for food. The work of exploring was soon over--there
was not a bird, nor a quadruped, nor a single tree to be seen. All was
barren and desolate. The low parts were scattered over with stones and
sand, and a few stunted weeds, rocks, ferns, and other plants. The top
of the mountain was found to consist of a fragment of original
table-land, very marshy, and full of deep sloughs, intersected with
small rills of water, pure and pellucid as crystal, and a profusion of
wild parsley and celery. The prospect was one dreary scene of
destitution, without a single ray of hope to relieve the misery of the
desponding crew. After some days, the dead cow, hams, and cheese, were
consumed; and from one end of the island to the other, not a morsel of
food could be seen. Even the celery began to fail. A few bottles of
wine, which, for security had been secreted under ground, only remained.
Famine now began to threaten. Every stone near the sea was examined for
shell-fish, but in vain.

In this dreadful extremity, and while the half-famished seamen were at
night squatting in sullen dejection round their fires, a large lot of
sea-birds, allured by the flames, rushed into the midst of them, and
were greedily laid hold of as fast as they could be seized. For several
nights in succession, similar flocks came in; and by multiplying their
fires a considerable supply was secured. These visits, however, ceased
at length, and the wretched party were exposed again to the most severe
privation. When their stock of wild fowl had been exhausted for more
than two days, each began to fear they were now approaching that sad
point of necessity, when, between death and casting lots who should be
sacrificed to serve for food for the rest, no alternative remained.
While horror at the bare contemplation of an extremity so repulsive
occupied the thoughts of all, the horizon was observed to be suddenly
obscured, and presently clouds of penguin alighted on the island. The
low grounds were actually covered; and before the evening was dark, the
sand could not be seen for the number of eggs, which, like a sheet of
snow, lay on the surface of the earth. The penguins continued on the
island four or five days, when, as if by signal, the whole took their
flight, and were never seen again. A few were killed, but the flesh was
so extremely rank and nauseous that it could not be eaten. The eggs
were collected and dressed in all manner of ways, and supplied abundance
of food for upwards of three weeks. At the expiration of that period,
famine once more seemed inevitable; the third morning began to dawn upon
the unfortunate company after their stock of eggs were exhausted; they
had now been without food for more than forty hours, and were fainting
and dejected; when, as though this desolate rock were really a land of
miracles, a man came running up to the encampment with the unexpected
and joyful tidings that "millions of sea-cows had come on shore." The
crew climbed over the ledge of rocks that flanked their tents, and the
sight of a shoal of manatees immediately beneath them gladdened their
hearts. These came in with the flood, and were left in the puddles
between the broken rocks of the cove. This supply continued for two or
three weeks. The flesh was mere blubber, and quite unfit for food, for
not a man could retain it on his stomach; but the liver was excellent,
and on this they subsisted. In the meantime, the carpenter with his
gang had constructed a boat, and four of the men had adventured in her
for Tristan d'Acunha, in hopes of ultimately extricating their
fellow-sufferers from their perilous situation. Unfortunately the boat
was lost--whether carried away by the violence of the currents that set
in between the islands, or dashed to pieces against the breakers, was
never known, for no vestige of the boat or crew was ever seen. Before
the manatees, however, began to quit the shore, a second boat was
launched; and in this an officer and some seamen made a second attempt,
and happily succeeded in effecting a landing, after much labor, on the
island, where they were received with much cordiality and humanity by
Governor Glass--a personage whom it will be necessary to describe.

Tristan d'Acunha is believed to have been uninhabited until 1811, when
three Americans took up their residence upon it, for the purpose of
cultivating vegetables, and selling the produce, particularly potatoes,
to vessels which might touch there on their way to India, the Cape, or
other parts in the southern ocean. These Americans remained its only
inhabitants till 1816, when, on Bonaparte being sent to St. Helena, the
British government deemed it expedient to garrison the island, and sent
the Falmouth man-of-war with a colony of forty persons, which arrived in
the month of August. At this time the chief of the American settlers was
dead, and two only survived; but what finally became of these we are not
informed. The British garrison was soon given up, the colony abandoned,
and all returned to the Cape of Good Hope, except a person named Glass,
a Scotchman, who had been corporal of artillery, and his wife, a Cape
Creole. One or two other families afterwards joined them, and thus the
foundation of a nation on a small scale was formed; Mr. Glass, with the
title and character of governor, like a second Robinson Crusoe, being
the undisputed chief and lawgiver of the whole. On being visited in
1825, by Mr. Augustus Earle, the little colony was found to be on the
increase, a considerable number of children having been born since the
period of settlement. The different families inhabited a small village,
consisting of cottages covered with thatch made of the long grass of the
island, and exhibiting an air of comfort, cleanliness, and plenty, truly
English.

It was to this island that the boat's crew of the Blendenhall had bent
their course, and its principal inhabitant, Governor Glass, showed them
every mark of attention, not only on the score of humanity, but because
they were fellow-subjects of the same power--for, be it known, Glass did
not lay claim to independent monarchy, but always prayed publicly for
King George as his lawful sovereign. On learning the situation of the
crew, on Inaccessible Island, he instantly launched his boat, and unawed
by considerations of personal danger, hastened, at the risk of his life,
to deliver his shipwrecked countrymen from the calamities they had so
long endured. He made repeated trips, surmounted all difficulties, and
fortunately succeeded in safely landing them on his own island, after
they had been exposed for nearly three months to the horrors of a
situation almost unparalleled in the recorded sufferings of seafaring
men.

After being hospitably treated by Glass and his company for three
months, the survivors obtained a passage to the Cape, all except a young
sailor named White, who had formed an attachment to one of the servant
girls on board, and who, in all the miseries which had been endured, had
been her constant protector and companion; whilst gratitude on her part
prevented her wishing to leave him. Both chose to remain, and were
forthwith adopted as free citizens of the little community.




SHIPWRECK OF THE MEDUSA.


On the 17th of June, 1816, the Medusa, French frigate, commanded by
Captain Chaumareys, and accompanied by three smaller vessels, sailed
from the island of Aix, for the coast of Africa, in order to take
possession of some colonies. The first accident she encountered was off
Cape Finisterre, when one of the crew fell into the sea; and from the
apathy of his companions, their want of promptitude in manoeuvring, with
the want of every precaution, he was left to perish. On the tenth day of
sailing, there appeared an error of thirty leagues in the reckoning. On
the 1st of July, they entered the tropics; and there, with a childish
disregard to danger, and knowing that she was surrounded by all the
unseen perils of the ocean, her crew performed the ceremony usual to the
occasion, while the vessel was running headlong on destruction. The
captain, presided over the disgraceful scene of merriment, leaving the
ship to the command of a Mons. Richefort, who had passed the ten
preceding years of his life in an English prison--a few persons on board
remonstrated in vain; though it was ascertained that they were on the
banks of Arguise, she continued her course, and heaved the lead, without
slackening the sail. Every thing denoted shallow water, but M. Richefort
persisted in saying that they were in one hundred fathoms. At that very
moment only six fathoms were found; and the vessel struck three times,
being in about sixteen feet water, and the tide full flood. At ebb-tide,
there remained but twelve feet water; and after some bungling
manoeuvres, all hope of getting the ship off was abandoned.

When the frigate struck, she had on board six boats, of various
capacities, all of which could not contain the crew and passengers; and
a raft was constructed. A dreadful scene ensued. All scrambled out of
the wreck without order or precaution. The first who reached the boats
refused to admit any of their fellow-sufferers into them, though there
was ample room for more. Some, apprehending that a plot had been formed
to abandon them in the vessel, flew to arms. No one assisted his
companions; and Captain Chaumareys stole out of a port-hole into his own
boat, leaving a great part of the crew to shift for themselves. At
length they put off to sea, intending to steer for the sandy coast of
the desert, there to land, and thence to proceed with a caravan to the
island of St. Louis.

The raft had been constructed without foresight or intelligence. It was
about sixty-five feet long and twenty-five broad, but the only part
which could be depended upon was the middle; and that was so small, that
fifteen persons could not lie down upon it. Those who stood on the floor
were in constant danger of slipping through between the planks; the sea
flowed in on all its sides. When one hundred and fifty passengers who
were destined to be its burden, were on board, they stood like a solid
parallelogram, without a possibility of moving; and they were up to
their waists in water. The original plan was, that as much provision as
possible should be put upon this raft; that it should be taken in tow by
the six boats; and that, at stated intervals, the crews should come on
board to receive their rations. As they left the ship, M. Correard asked
whether the charts, instruments, and sea-stores were on board; and was
told by an officer, that nothing was wanting. "And who is to command
us?" "I am to command you," answered he, "and will be with you in a
moment." The officer with these words, the last in his mouth, went on
board one of the boats, and returned no more.

The desperate squadron had only proceeded three leagues, when a faulty,
if not treacherous manoeuvre, broke the tow-line which fastened the
captain's boat to the raft; and this became the signal to all to let
loose their cables. The weather was calm. The coast was known to be but
twelve or fifteen leagues distant; and the land was in fact discovered
by the boats on the very evening on which they abandoned the raft. They
were not therefore driven to this measure by any new perils; and the cry
of "_Nous les abandonons!_" which resounded throughout the line, was the
yell of a spontaneous and instinctive impulse of cowardice, perfidy, and
cruelty; and the impulse was as unanimous as it was diabolical. The raft
was left to the mercy of the waves; one after another, the boats
disappeared, and despair became general. Not one of the promised
articles, no provisions, except a very few casks of wine, and some
spoiled biscuit, sufficient for one single meal was found. A small
pocket compass, which chance had discovered, their last guide in a
trackless ocean, fell between the beams into the sea. As the crew had
taken no nourishment since morning, some wine and biscuit were
distributed; and this day, the first of thirteen on the raft, was the
last on which they tasted any solid food--except such as human nature
shudders at. The only thing which kept them alive was the hope of
revenge on those who had treacherously betrayed them.

The first night was stormy; and the waves, which had free access,
committed dreadful ravages, and threatened worse. When day appeared,
twelve miserable wretches were found crushed to death between the
openings of the raft, and several more were missing; but the number
could not be ascertained, as several soldiers had taken the billets of
the dead, in order to obtain two, or even three rations. The second
night was still more dreadful, and many were washed off; although the
crew had so crowded together, that some were smothered by the mere
pressure. To soothe their last moments, the soldiers drank immoderately;
and one, who affected to rest himself upon the side, but was
treacherously cutting the ropes, was thrown into the sea. Another whom
M. Correard had snatched from the waves, turned traitor a second time,
as soon as he had recovered his senses; but he too was killed. At length
the revolted, who were chiefly soldiers, threw themselves upon their
knees, and abjectly implored mercy. At midnight, however, they rebelled
again. Those who had no arms, fought with their teeth, and thus many
severe wounds were inflicted. One was most wantonly and dreadfully
bitten above the heel, while his companions were beating him upon the
head with their carbines, before throwing him into the sea. The raft was
strewed with dead bodies, after innumerable instances of treachery and
cruelty; and from sixty to sixty-five perished that night. The force and
courage of the strongest began to yield to their misfortunes; and even
the most resolute labored under mental derangement. In the conflict, the
revolted had thrown two casks of wine, and all the remaining water, into
the sea; and it became necessary to diminish each man's share.

A day of comparative tranquility succeeded. The survivors erected their
mast again, which had been wantonly cut down in the battle of the night;
and endeavored to catch some fish, but in vain. They were reduced to
feed on the dead bodies of their companions. A third night followed,
broken by the plaintive cries of wretches, exposed to every kind of
suffering, ten or twelve of whom died of want, and awfully foretold the
fate of the remainder. The following day was fine. Some flying fish were
caught in the raft; which, mixed up with human flesh, afforded one
scanty meal.

A new insurrection to destroy the raft, broke out on the fourth night;
this too, was marked by perfidy, and ended in blood. Most of the rebels
were thrown into the sea. The fifth morning mustered but thirty men
alive; and these sick and wounded, with the skin of their lower
extremities corroded by the salt water. Two soldiers were detected
drinking the wine of the only remaining cask; they were instantly thrown
into the sea. One boy died, and there remained only twenty-seven; of
whom fifteen only seemed likely to live. A council of war, preceded by
the most horrid despair, was held; as the weak consumed a part of the
common store, they determined to throw them into the sea. This sentence
was put into immediate execution! and all the arms on board, which now
filled their minds with horror, were, with the exception of a single
sabre, committed to the deep.

Distress and misery increased with an accelerated ratio; and even after
the desperate measure of destroying their companions, and eating the
most nauseous aliments, the surviving fifteen could not hope for more
than a few days' existence. A butterfly lighted on their sail the ninth
day, and though it was held to be a messenger of good, yet many a
greedy eye was cast upon it. Some sea-fowl also appeared; but it was
impossible to catch them. The misery of the survivors increased with a
rapidity which cannot be described; they even stole from each other
little goblets of urine which had been set to cool in the sea water, and
were now considered a luxury. The most trifling article of food, a
lemon, a small bottle of spirituous dentrifice, a little garlic, became
causes of contention; and every daily distribution of wine awakened a
spirit of selfishness and ferocity, which common sufferings and common
interest could not subdue into more social feelings.

Three days more passed over in expressible anguish, when they
constructed a smaller and more manageable raft, in the hope of directing
it to the shore; but on trial it was found insufficient. On the
seventeenth day, a brig was seen; which, after exciting the vicissitudes
of hope and fear, proved to be the Argus, sent out in quest of the
Medusa. The inhabitants of the raft were all received on board, and were
again very nearly perishing, by a fire which broke out in the night.
The six boats which had so cruelly cast them adrift, reached the coast
of Africa in safety; and after many dangers among the Moors, the
survivors arrived at St. Louis.

After this, a vessel was despatched to the wreck of the Medusa, to carry
away the money and provisions; after beating about for eight days, she
was forced to return. She again put to sea, but after being away five
days, again came back. Ten days more were lost in repairing her; and she
did not reach the spot till fifty-two days after the vessel had been
lost; and dreadful to relate, three miserable sufferers were found on
board. Sixty men had been abandoned there by their magnanimous
countrymen. All these had been carried off except seventeen, some of
whom were drunk, and others refused to leave the vessel. They remained
at peace as long as their provisions lasted. Twelve embarked on board a
raft, for Sahara, and were never more heard of. Another put to sea on a
hen-coop, and sunk immediately. Four remained behind, one of whom,
exhausted with hunger and fatigue, perished. The other three lived in
separate corners of the wreck, and never met but to run at each other
with drawn _knives_. They were put on board the vessel, with all that
could be saved from the wreck of the Medusa.

The vessel was no sooner seen returning to St. Louis, than every heart
beat high with joy, in the hope of recovering some property. The men and
officers of the Medusa jumped on board, and asked if any thing had been
saved. "Yes," was the reply, "but it is all ours now;" and the naked
Frenchmen, whose calamities had found pity from the Moors of the desert,
were now deliberately plundered by their own countrymen.

A fair was held in the town, which lasted eight days. The clothes,
furniture, and necessary articles of life, belonging to the men and
officers of the Medusa, were publicly sold before their faces. Such of
the French as were able, proceeded to the camp at Daceard, and the sick
remained at St. Louis. The French governor had promised them clothes
and provisions, but sent none; and during five months, they owed their
existence to strangers--to the British.




SINGULAR LOSS OF THE SHIP ESSEX, SUNK BY A WHALE.


The ship Essex, Captain George Pollard, sailed from Nantucket, on the
12th of August, 1819, on a whaling voyage to the Pacific Ocean. Her crew
consisted of twenty-one men, fourteen of whom were whites, mostly
belonging to Nantucket, the remainder were blacks. On the 20th of
November, 1820, in latitude 0° 40' S. longitude 119° W. a school of
whales was discovered, and in pursuing them the mate's boat was stove,
which obliged him to return to the ship, when they commenced repairing
the damage. The captain and second mate were left with their boats
pursuing the whales. During this interval the mate discovered a large
spermaceti whale, near the ship, but, not suspecting the approach of any
danger, it gave them no alarm, until they saw the whale coming with full
speed towards them. In a moment they were astonished by a tremendous
crash. The whale had struck the ship a little forward of the fore
chains. It was some minutes before the crew recovered from their
astonishment, so far as to examine whether any damage had been
sustained. They then tried their pumps, and found that the ship was
sinking. A signal was immediately set for the boats. The whale now
appeared again making for the ship, and coming with great velocity, with
the water foaming around him, he struck the ship a second blow, which
nearly stove in her bows. There was now no hope of saving the ship, and
the only course to be pursued was, to prepare to leave her with all
possible haste. They collected a few things, hove them into the boat and
shoved off. The ship immediately fell upon one side and sunk to the
water's edge. When the captain's and second mate's boat arrived, such
was the consternation, that for some time not a word was spoken. The
danger of their situation at length aroused them, as from a terrific
dream, to a no less terrific reality. They remained by the wreck two or
three days, in which time they cut away the masts, which caused her to
right a little. Holes were then cut in the deck, by which means they
obtained about six hundred pounds of bread, and as much water as they
could take, besides other articles likely to be of use to them. On the
22d of November, they left the ship, with as gloomy a prospect before
them as can well be imagined. The nearest land was about one thousand
miles to the windward of them; they were in open boats, weak and leaky,
with a very small pittance of bread and water for support of so many
men, during the time they must necessarily be at sea. Sails had been
prepared for the boats, before leaving the ship, which proved of
material benefit. Steering southerly by the wind, they hoped to fall in
with some ship, but in this they were disappointed. After being in the
boat twenty-eight days, experiencing many sufferings by gales of wind,
want of water, and scanty provisions, they arrived at Duncie's Island,
latitude 24° 40' S., longitude 124° 40' W., where they were disappointed
in not finding a sufficiency of any kind of food for so large a company
to subsist on. Their boats being very weak and leaky, they were hauled
on shore and repaired. They found a gentle spring of fresh water,
flowing out of a rock, at about half ebb of the tide, from which they
filled their kegs. Three of the men chose to stay on the island, and
take their chance for some vessel to take them off.

On the 27th of December, they left this island, and steered for Easter
Island; but passed it far to the leeward. They then directed their
course for Juan Fernandez, which was about twenty-five hundred miles
east by south-east from them. On the 10th of January, 1821, Matthew P.
Joy, the second mate, died, and his body was launched into the deep. His
constitution was slender, and it was supposed that his sufferings,
though great, were not the immediate cause of his death. On the 12th,
the mate's boat separated from the other two, and did not fall in with
them afterwards. The situation of the mate and his crew, became daily
more and more distressing. The weather was mostly calm, the sun hot and
scorching. They were growing weaker and weaker by want of food, and yet,
such was their distance from land, that they were obliged to lessen
their allowance nearly one half. On the 20th, a black man died.

On the 28th, they found, on calculation, that their allowance, only one
and a half ounce of bread per day to a man, would be exhausted in
fourteen days; and that this allowance was not sufficient to sustain
life. They therefore determined to extend the indulgence, and take the
consequence, whether to live or die. On the 8th of February, another of
the crew died. From this time to the 17th, their sufferings were
extreme. At seven o'clock, A.M. of that day, they were aroused from a
lethargy by the cheering cry of the steersman, "there's a sail!" The
boat was soon descried by the vessel, the brig Indian, Captain Grozier,
of London, which took them on board, latitude 33° 45' S., longitude 81°
3' W. They were treated by Captain Grozier with all the care and
tenderness which their weak condition required. On the same day they
made Massafuero, and on the 25th, arrived at Valparaiso.

Captain Pollard and Charles Ramsdell, the only survivors in the
captain's boat, were taken up on the 23d of February, 1821, by the ship
Dauphin, of Nantucket, Captain Zimri Coffin, in latitude 37° S. off St.
Mary's. The captain relates, that, after the mate's boat was separated
from the others, they made what progress their weak condition would
permit, towards the island of Juan Fernandez, but contrary winds and
calm weather, together with the extreme debility of the crew, prevented
their making much progress.

On the 29th of January, the second mate's boat separated from the
captain's, in the night, at which time their provisions were totally
exhausted, since which they have not been heard from.

We shall not attempt a sketch of the sufferings of the crews of these
boats. Imagination may picture the horrors of their situation, and the
extremes to which they were driven to sustain life, but no power of the
imagination can heighten the dreadful reality.

The following is an account of the whole crew.

In the captain's boat but two survived, Captain Pollard and Charles
Ramsdell. In the mate's boat three survived, Owen Chase, the mate,
Benjamin Lawrence, and Thomas Nickerson. Left on Duncie's Island, and
afterwards taken off, Seth Weeks, William Wright, and Thomas Chapple.
One left the ship before the accident. In the second mate's boat, when
separated from the captain's, three. Dead, nine, which added to the
second mate's crew, doubtless lost, makes total deaths twelve.




LOSS OF THE WELLINGTON.


We sailed from the Cove of Cork for St. Andrews, on the 6th of October,
1833. During a passage of sixty days, all of which time we struggled
against adverse winds, nothing material occurred, save the shifting of
our ballast, (limestone,) which caused some alarm; but the promptitude
and alacrity of the crew soon set it all right. On reaching the
ballast-ground, we discharged our ballast; and after we had repaired the
rigging, we took in a cargo of deals. Here four of the men left us, and
we had to wait for others to supply their place.

On the 23d of December we sailed on our return to Cork; mustering in all
seventeen persons, including one male and one female passenger. With a
fine stiff breeze down the bay, we soon lost sight of land, and nothing
of note occurred till the 30th, when the wind got up from the
north-west, and soon blew so heavy a gale, that we were obliged to take
in every thing but a close-reefed main-topsail, under which we scudded
till the 5th of January. All this time it blew a hurricane, principally
from the north-west, but occasionally, after a short lull, flying round
to the south-west, with a fury that nothing could resist. The sea
threatened to overwhelm our little craft. It was several times proposed
to lay her to; but the fatal opinion prevailed that she did better in
scudding. On the night of the 6th, a tremendous sea struck her on the
stern, stove in all the dead-lights, and washed them into the cabin,
lifted the taffrail a foot or more out of its place, carried away the
afterpart of the larboard bulwark, shattered the whole of the
stern-frame, and washed one of the steersmen away from the wheel. The
carpenter and crew with much labor secured the stern as well as they
could for the night, and next morning the wind moderated a little, new
dead-lights were put in, and the damages further repaired.

Every stitch of canvas, but the main-topsail, jib, and trysail, were
split into ribbons, so that we became anxious to know how we should
reach port when the gale subsided. But we were soon spared further care
on that head. As the day closed in, the tempest resumed its fury, and by
the following morning, (the 8th,) raged with such appalling violence,
that we laid her too. From her straining, the brig had now began to make
so much water, as to require all hands in succession at the pumps till
the following morning at two, when the larboard watch went below, the
watch on deck, by constant exertion, sufficing to keep her free.

At seven on the morning of the 9th, a tremendous sea broke over the
starboard bow, overwhelming all, and sweeping caboose, boats, planks,
casks, every thing before it, to the afterpart of the deck; even the
starboard anchor was lifted on to the forecastle; and and the cook, who
was in the galley, washed with all his culinary apparatus into the
lee-scuppers, where he remained some time in a very perilous situation,
jammed in amongst the loose spars and other portions of the wreck, until
extricated by the watch on deck, who, being aft at the moment of the
occurrence, escaped unhurt. Before we could recover from this shock, the
watch below rushed on deck, with the appalling intelligence, that the
water had found its way below, and was pouring in like a torrent We
found that the coppers, forced along the deck with irresistible
violence, had, by striking a stanchen fixed firmly in the deck, split
the covering fore and aft, and let in the water. The captain thought it
time to prepare for the worst. As the ship, from her buoyant cargo,
could not sink, he ordered the crew to store the top with provisions.
And as all exerted themselves with the energy of despair, two barrels of
beef, some hams, pork, butter, cheese, and a large jar of brandy, were
handed in a trice up from below, but not before the water had nearly
filled the cabin, and forced those employed there to cease their
operations, and with the two unfortunate passengers to fly to the deck.
Fortunately for the latter, they knew not the full horror of our
situation. The poor lady, whose name I have forgotten, young and
delicate, already suffering from confinement below and sea sickness,
pale and shivering, but patient and resigned, had but a short time taken
her seat beside her fellow passenger on some planks near the taffrail,
on which lay extended the unfortunate cook, unable to move from his
bruises, when the vessel, a heavy lurch having shifted her cargo, was
laid on her beam-ends, and the water rushing in, carried every thing
off the deck--provisions, stores, planks, all went adrift--and with the
latter, the poor lady, who, with the cook, floated away on them, without
the possibility of our saving either of them. But such was the
indescribable horror of those who were left, that had we been able to
reason or reflect we might have envied our departed shipmates.

A few minutes before we went over, two of the crew, invalids, having
gone to the maintop, one of them was forced into the belly of the main
top-sail, and there found a watery grave. The rest of the crew, and the
male passenger, got upon her side. In this hopeless situation, secured,
and clinging to the channels and rigging, the sea every instant dashing
over us, and threatening destruction, we remained some hours. Then the
vessel once more righted, and we crawled on board. The deck having blown
up, and the stern gone the same way, we had now the prospect of
perishing with cold and hunger. For our ultimate preservation I conceive
we were mainly indebted to the carpenter's having providentially
retained his axe. With it, the foremast was cut away. While doing this,
we found a piece of pork about four pounds weight; and even the
possession of this morsel raised our drooping spirits. It would at least
prolong existence a few hours, and in that interval, the gale might
abate, some friendly sail heave in sight, and the elements relent. Such
were our reflections. Oh, how our eye-balls strained, as, emerging from
the trough of the sea on the crest of a liquid mountain, we gazed on the
misty horizon, until, from time to time, we fancied, nay, felt assured,
we saw the object of our search, but the evening closed in, and with it
hope almost expired. That day, not a morsel passed our lips. The pork,
our only supply, given in charge to the captain, it was thought prudent
to husband as long as possible.

Meanwhile, with a top-gallant studding-sail remaining in the top, which
was stretched over the mast-head, we contrived to procure a partial
shelter from the inclemency of the weather. Under this, drenched as we
were and shivering with cold, some of us crouched for the night; but
others of the crew remained all that night in the rigging. In the
morning we all--fourteen in number--mustered on deck, and received from
the mate a small piece of pork, about two ounces, the remainder being
put away, and reserved for the next day. This, and some water, the only
article of which--a cask had been discovered forward, well stowed away
among the planks--we had abundance, constituted our only meal that day.
Somewhat refreshed, we all went to work, and as the studding-sail
afforded but a scanty shelter, we fitted the trysail for this purpose;
on opening which we found the cat drowned, and much as our stomachs
might have revolted against such food on ordinary occasions, yet poor
puss was instantly skinned and her carcass hung up in the maintop.

This night we were somewhat better lodged, and the following day, having
received our scanty ration of pork, now nearly consumed, we got three
swiftsures round the hull of the vessel, to prevent her from going to
pieces. Foraging daily for food, we sought incessantly in every
crevice, hole, and corner, but in vain. We were now approaching that
state of suffering beyond which nature cannot carry us. With some,
indeed, they were already past endurance; and one individual, who had
left a wife and family dependent upon him for support in London, unable
any longer to bear up against them, and the almost certain prospect of
starvation, went down out of the top, and we saw him no more. Having
eked out the pork until the fourth day, we commenced on the
cat--fortunately large and in good condition--a mouthful of which, with
some water, furnished our daily allowance.

Sickness and debility had now made such ravages among us all, that
although we had a tolerable stock of water, we found great difficulty in
procuring it. We had hitherto, in rotation, taken our turn to fill a
small beaker at the cask, wedged in among the cargo of deals; but now,
scarcely able to keep our feet along the planks, and still less so to
haul the vessel up to the top, we were in danger of even this resource
being cut off from us. In this manner, incredible as it may seem, we
managed to keep body and soul together till the eleventh day; our only
sustenance, the pork, the cat, water, and the bark of some young birch
trees, which latter, in searching for a keg of tamarinds, which we had
hoped to find, we had latterly come athwart.

On the twelfth morning, at daybreak, the hailing of some one from the
deck electrified us all. Supposing, as we had missed none of our
shipmates from the top, that it must be some boat or vessel, we all
eagerly made a movement to answer our supposed deliverers, and such was
our excitement that it well nigh upset what little reason we had left.
We soon found out our mistake. We saw that one of the party was missing;
and from this individual, whom we had found without shoes, hat, or
jacket, had the voice proceeded.

Despair had now taken such complete hold, that, suspended between life
and death, a torpor had seized us, and, resigned to our fate, we had
scarcely sufficient energy to lift our heads, and exercise the only
faculty on which depended our safety. The delirium of our unfortunate
shipmate had, however, reanimated us, and by this means, through
Providence, he was made instrumental to our deliverance. Not long after,
one of the men suddenly exclaimed, "This is Sunday morning!--The Lord
will deliver us from our distress!--at any rate I will take a look
round." With this he arose, and having looked about him a few minutes,
the cheering cry of "a sail!" announced the fulfilment of this singular
prophecy. "Yes," he repeated in answer to our doubts, "a sail, and
bearing right down upon us!"

We all eagerly got up, and looking in the direction indicated to us, the
welcome certainty, that we were not cheated of our hopes almost turned
our brains. The vessel, which proved to be a Boston brig, bound to
London, ran down across our bows, hove too, sent the boats alongside,
and by ten o'clock we were all safe on board. Singularly enough, our
brig, which had been lying-to with her head to the northward and
westward, since the commencement of our disasters, went about the
evening previous to our quitting her as well as if she had been under
sail,--another providential occurrence, for had she remained with her
head to the northward, we should have seen nothing of our deliverers.
From the latter we experienced all the care and attention our deplorable
condition required; and, with the exception of two of the party, who
were frost-bitten, and who died two days after our quitting the wreck,
we were soon restored to health, and reached St. Catherine's Dock on the
30th of the following month.

[Illustration: VOYAGE OF THE ABERGAVENNY.]




LOSS OF THE ABERGAVENNY.


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
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 feared
lest all, eager to be saved, should have jumped down, and borne them to
the bottom.

At length two sloops, which had heard the guns of distress, anchored
close to the wreck, took off the survivors, twenty at a time, from the
shrouds, and in the morning conveyed them to Weymouth; so far from
crowding into the boats, they got off one by one, as called upon by
those who commanded the boats. One still remained; the sixth mate
ascended the mast and found him in a state of insensibility; he bore him
down on his back, and with his burden reached the boat in safety; but
the delivered person died the next day.

When the awful words were heard, "The ship must go down," three of the
cadets went into the cabin, where they stood for a short time, looking
at each other, without saying a word. At length one said, "Let us return
to the deck;" two did so, but the other remained below. He opened his
desk, took out his commission, his introductory letters, and some money,
went on deck, but saw neither of his companions. Then looking forward,
he saw the ship going down head foremost, and the sea rolling in an
immense column along the deck. He tried to ascend the steps leading to
the poop, but was launched among the waves encumbered by boots and a
great coat, and unable to swim. Afterwards, finding himself on the
opposite side, he conceived that when the stern of the ship sunk, he
would be drawn into the vortex. While struggling to keep himself afloat,
he seized something which frequently struck the back of his hand, and
found it to be a rope hanging from the mizzen-shrouds. Trying to ascend
several feet by it, he fell into the sea; but by a sudden lurch from the
ship, he was thrown into the mizzen-shrouds, where he fixed himself as
well as circumstances would allow.




CRUISE OF THE SALDANHA AND TALBOT.

BY ONE OF THE OFFICERS.


At midnight of Saturday, the 30th of November, 1811, with a fair wind
and a smooth sea, we weighed from our station, in company with the
Saldanha frigate, of thirty-eight guns, Captain Packenham, with a crew
of three hundred men, on a cruise, as was intended, of twenty days--the
Saldanha taking a westerly course, while we stood in the opposite
direction.

We had scarcely got out of the lock and cleared the heads, however, when
we plunged at once into all the miseries of a gale of wind blowing from
the west. During the three following days it continued to increase in
violence, when the islands of Coll and Tiree became visible to us. As
the wind had now chopped round more to the north, and continued unabated
in violence, the danger of getting involved among the numerous small
islands and rugged headlands, on the north-west coast of
Inverness-shire, became evident. It was therefore deemed expedient to
wear the ship round, and make a port with all expedition. With this
view, and favored by the wind, a course was shaped for Lochswilly, and
away we scudded under close-reefed foresail and main-topsail, followed
by a tremendous sea, which threatened every moment to overwhelm us, and
accompanied by piercing showers of hail, and a gale which blew with
incredible fury. The same course was steered until next day about noon,
when land was seen on the lee-bow. The weather being thick, some time
elapsed before it could be distinctly made out, and it was then
ascertained to be the island of North Arran, on the coast of Donegal,
westward of Lochswilly. The ship was therefore hauled up some points,
and we yet entertained hopes of reaching an anchorage before nightfall,
when the weather gradually thickened, and the sea, now that we were upon
the wind, broke over us in all directions. Its violence was such, that
in a few minutes several of our ports were stove in, at which the water
poured in in great abundance, until it was actually breast high on the
lee-side of the main deck. Fortunately, but little got below, and the
ship was relieved by taking in the foresail. But a dreadful addition was
now made to the precariousness of our situation, by the cry of "land
a-head!" which was seen from the forecastle, and must have been very
near. Not a moment was now lost in wearing the ship round on the other
tack, and making what little sail could be carried, to weather the land
we had already passed. This soon proved, however, to be a forlorn
prospect, for it was found that we should run our distance by ten
o'clock. All the horrors of shipwreck now stared us in the face,
aggravated tenfold by the darkness of the night, and the tremendous
force of the wind, which now blew a hurricane. Mountains are
insignificant when speaking of the sea that kept pace with it; its
violence was awful beyond description, and it frequently broke over all
the poor little ship, that shivered and groaned, but behaved admirably.

The force of the sea may be guessed from the fact of the sheet-anchor,
nearly a ton and a half in weight, being actually lifted on board, to
say nothing of the forechain-plates' board broken, both gangways torn
away, quarter-galleries stove in, &c. In short, on getting into port,
the vessel was found to be loosened through all her frame, and leaking
at every seam. As far as depended on her good qualities, however, I felt
assured at the time we were safe, for I had seen enough of the Talbot
to be convinced we were in one of the finest sea-boats that ever swam.
But what could all the skill of the ship builder avail in a situation
like ours? With a night full fifteen hours long before us, and knowing
that we were fast driving on the land, anxiety and dread were on every
face, and every mind felt the terrors of uncertainty and suspense. At
length, about twelve o'clock, the dreadful truth was disclosed to us!

Judge of my sensation when I saw the frowning rocks of Arran, scarcely
half a mile distant, on our lee-bow. To our inexpressible relief, and
not less to our surprise, we fairly weathered all, and were
congratulating each other on our escape, when on looking forward I
imagined I saw breakers at no great distance on our lee; and this
suspicion was soon confirmed, when the moon, which shone at intervals,
suddenly broke out from behind a cloud, and presented to us a most
terrific spectacle. At not more than a quarter of a mile's distance on
our lee-beam, appeared a range of tremendous breakers, amongst which it
seemed as if every sea would throw us. Their height, it may be guessed,
was prodigious, when they could be clearly distinguished from the
foaming waters of the surrounded ocean. It was a scene seldom to be
witnessed, and never forgotten! "Lord have mercy on us!" was now on the
lip of everyone--destruction seemed inevitable. Captain Swaine, whose
coolness I have never seen surpassed issued his orders clearly and
collectedly when it was proposed as a last resource to drop the anchors,
cut away the masts, and trust to the chance of riding out the gale. This
scheme was actually determined on, and every thing was in readiness, but
happily was deferred until an experiment was tried aloft In addition to
the close-reefed main-topsail and foresail, the fore-topsail and trysail
were now set, and the result was almost magical. With a few plunges we
cleared not only the reef, but a huge rock upon which I could with ease
have tossed a biscuit, and in a few minutes we were inexpressibly
rejoiced to observe both far astern.

We had now miraculously escaped all but certain destruction a second
time, but much was yet to be feared. We had still to pass Cape Jeller,
and the moments dragged on in gloomy apprehension and anxious suspense.
The ship carried sail most wonderfully, and we continued to go along at
the rate of seven knots, shipping very heavy seas, and laboring
much--all with much solicitude looking out for daylight. The dawn at
length appeared, and to our great joy we saw the land several miles
astern, having passed the Cape and many other hidden dangers during the
darkness.

Matters on the morning of the 5th, assumed a very different aspect from
that which we had experienced for the last two days; the wind gradually
subsided, and with it the sea, and a favorable breeze now springing up,
we were enabled to make a good offing. Fortunately no accident of
consequence occurred, although several of our people were severely
bruised by falls. Poor fellows! they certainly suffered enough; not a
dry stitch, not a dry hammock have they had since we sailed. Happily,
however, their misfortunes are soon forgot in a dry shirt and a can of
grog.

The most melancholy part of the narrative is still to be told. On coming
up to our anchorage, we observed an unusual degree of curiosity and
bustle in the fort; crowds of people were congregated on both sides,
running to and fro, examining us through spy-glasses; in short, an
extraordinary commotion was apparent. The meaning of all this was but
too soon made known to us by a boat coming alongside, from which we
learned that the unfortunate Saldanha had gone to pieces, and every man
perished! Our own destruction had likewise been reckoned inevitable from
the time of the discovery of the unhappy fate of our consort, five days
beforehand; and hence the astonishment at our unexpected return. From
all that could be learned concerning the dreadful catastrophe, I am
inclined to believe that the Saldanha had been driven on the rocks about
the time our doom appeared so certain in another quarter. Her lights
were seen by the signal-tower at nine o'clock of that fearful Wednesday
night, December 4th, after which it is supposed she went ashore on the
rocks at a small bay called Ballymastaker, almost at the entrance of
Lochswilly harbor.

Next morning the beach was strewed with fragments of the wreck, and
upwards of two hundred of the bodies of the unfortunate sufferers were
washed ashore. One man--and one only--out of the three hundred, was
ascertained to have come ashore alive, but almost in a state of
insensibility. Unhappily there was no person present to administer to
his wants judiciously, and upon craving something to drink, about half a
pint of whisky was given him by the people, which almost instantly
killed him! Poor Pakenham's body was recognised amidst the others, and
like these, stripped quite naked by the inhuman wretches, who flocked to
the wreck as to a blessing! It is even suspected that he came on shore
alive, but was stripped and left to perish. Nothing could equal the
audacity of the plunderers, although a party of the Lanark militia was
doing duty around the wreck. But this is an ungracious and revolting
subject, which no one of proper feeling would wish to dwell upon. Still
less am I inclined so describe the heart-rending scene at Buncrana,
where the widows of many of the sufferers are residing. The surgeon's
wife, a native of Halifax, has never spoken since the dreadful tidings
arrived. Consolation is inadmissible, and no one has yet ventured to
offer it.




SHIPWRECK OF THE NAUTILUS.


The ship Nautilus, Captain Palmer, with important despatches for
England, sailed from the Dardanelles, on the 30th of January, 1807.
Passing through the islands which abound in the Greek Archipelago, she
approached the Negropont, where the navigation became both intricate
and dangerous. The wind blew fresh, and the night was dark and squally;
the pilot, a Greek, advised them to lay-to till morning; at daylight she
again went on her course, passing in the evening, Falconera and
Anti-Milo. The pilot, who had never gone farther on this tack, here
relinquished the management of the vessel to the captain, who, anxious
to get on, resolved to proceed during the night, confidently expecting
to clear the Archipelago by morning; he then went below, to take some
rest, after marking out on the chest the course which he meant to steer.

[Illustration: SHIPWRECK OF THE NAUTILUS.]

The night was extremely dark, vivid lightning at times flashed through
the horizon. The wind increased; and though the ship carried but little
sail, she went at the rate of nine miles an hour, borne on by a high
sea, which, with the brightness of the lightning, made the night appear
awful. At half past two in the morning, they saw high land, which they
took for the island of Cerigotto, and went confidently on, supposing
that all danger was over. At half-past four, the man on the look-out,
cried, "breakers a-head!" and instantly the vessel struck with a
tremendous crash; the violence of the shock being such, that those below
were thrown from their beds, and on coming on deck, were compelled to
cling to the cordage. All was confusion and alarm; scarcely had part of
the crew time to hurry on deck, before the ladder gave way, leaving
numbers struggling with the water, which rushed in at the bottom. The
captain and lieutenant endeavored to mitigate the fears of the people;
and afterwards, going down to the cabin, burnt the papers and private
signals. Meantime, every sea dashed the vessel against the rocks; and
they were soon compelled to climb the rigging, where they remained an
hour, the surge continually breaking upon them.

The lightning had ceased, but so dark was the night, that they could not
see a ship's length before them; their only hope rested in the falling
of the main mast, which they trusted would reach a small rock, which lay
very near them. About half an hour before morning, the mast gave way,
providentially falling towards the rock, and by means of it they were
enabled to gain the land. In this hasty struggle to get to the rock,
many accidents occurred; some were drowned, one man had his arm broke,
and many were much hurt. The captain was the last man who left the
vessel, refusing to quit it till all had gained the rock. All the boats
but one had been staved in pieces; the jolly-boat indeed remained, but
they could not haul it in. For a time the hull of the wreck sheltered
them from the violence of the surf; but it soon broke up, and it became
necessary to abandon the small rock on which they stood, and to wade to
another somewhat larger. In their way they encountered many loose spars,
dashing about in the channel; several in crossing were severely hurt by
them. They felt grievously the loss of their shoes, for the sharp rocks
tore their feet dreadfully, and their legs were covered with blood. In
the morning they saw the sea covered with the fragments of the wreck,
and many of their comrades floating about on spars and timbers, to whom
they could not give any assistance.

They saw that they were cast away on a coral rock almost on a level with
the sea, about four hundred yards long, and three hundred broad. They
were at least twelve miles from the nearest islands, which were
afterwards found to be those of Cerigotto and Pera. In case any vessel
should pass by, they hoisted a signal of distress on a long pole. The
weather was very cold, and the day before they were wrecked, the deck
had been covered with ice; with much difficulty they managed to kindle a
fire, by means of a flint and some powder. They erected a small tent,
composed of pieces of canvas and boards, and were thus enabled to dry
their few clothes. The night was dreary and comfortless; but they
consoled themselves with the hope that their fire might be descried in
the dark, and taken for a signal of distress. Next day they were
delighted at the approach of a small whale-boat, manned by ten of their
comrades. When the vessel was wrecked, these men had lowered themselves
into the water, and had reached the island of Pera, but finding no fresh
water, were compelled to depart; and noticing the fire were enabled to
join their shipmates. But the waves ran so high that the boat could not
come to the shore, and some of those on the land endeavored to reach it.
One of the seamen called to Captain Palmer, inviting him to come to
them, but he steadily refused, saying, "No, Smith, save your unfortunate
shipmates; never mind me." After some consultation, they resolved to
take the Greek pilot on board, intending to go to Cerigotto, where, he
assured them, were a few families of fishermen, who might perhaps be
able to afford them some relief.

After the boat departed, the wind increased; in about two hours a
fearful storm came on. The waves mounted up, and extinguished their
fire; they swept over nearly the whole of the rock, compelling them to
flee for refuge to the highest part. Thus did nearly ninety pass a night
of the utmost horror; being compelled, lest they should be washed off,
to fasten a rope round the summit of a rock, and to clasp each other.
Their fatigue had been so great that several of them became delirious,
and lost their hold. They were also in constant terror of the wind
veering more to the north, in which case the waves would have dashed
over their position.

They now began to sink under their hardships, and many had suffered
deplorably. One had been so dashed against the rocks as to be nearly
scalped, exhibiting a dreadful spectacle; he lingered out the night, but
expired next morning. They were ill prepared to sustain famine, and they
were almost hopeless of escape. They dreaded lest the storm should come
on before the boat could have reached the island, for on her safety
their own depended. In the midst of these horrors the daylight broke,
and they saw the bodies of their departed shipmates, some still writhing
in the agonies of death. The sea had broken over them all night, and
some, among whom was the carpenter, had perished from cold.

Soon after, a vessel approached, and their hearts beat high with the
hope of deliverance. All her sails were set, and she came down before
the wind, steering right for the rock. They made repeated signals of
distress, and the vessel hove to, and hoisted out her boat. They hastily
prepared rafts to carry them through the surf, confident that the boat
was provided with supplies to relieve them. The boat came within
pistol-shot, full of men dressed in the European fashion. But what were
their indignation and grief, when the person who steered, after gazing
at them a few minutes, waved his hat, and then rowed off to the ship!
Their misery was increased by seeing the crew of the stranger-vessel
employed in collecting the floating fragments of the wreck. After this
grievous disappointment, their only hopes lay in the return of the boat.
They looked in vain; not a glimpse of her was to be seen. A raging
thirst tormented them; and some, in spite of warning, drank salt water;
raging madness soon followed, and their agonies were terminated by
death. Another awful night was passed by them. To preserve themselves
from the cold, they huddled close together, and covered themselves with
their few remaining rags. They were haunted by the ravings of those who
had drunk the sea-water, whom they tried in vain to pacify.

About twelve o'clock, the crew of the whale-boat hailed them; they cried
out in their agony for water. They could not procure it, for those in
the boat had none but earthen vessels, which could not be conveyed
through the surf. They were assured that they would be taken off by a
fishing vessel next morning; but there seemed to be little chance of
their surviving till then.

In the morning, the sun for the first time shone upon the rock. They
waited hour after hour, but there was no appearance either of the boat
or the vessel. Famine consumed them; but they looked with loathing on
the only means of appeasing it. When, however, the day wore on, after
praying for forgiveness of the sinful act, they were compelled to feed
on one of their number who had died the preceding night. Several
expired towards evening; among whom were the captain and first
lieutenant. During the night, some thought of constructing a raft which
might carry them to Cerigotto. The wind seemed favorable; and to perish
in the waters seemed preferable to remaining to die a lingering death
from hunger and thirst. At daylight, as fast as their feeble strength
permitted, they prepared to put their plan in execution, by lashing
together a number of larger spars. Scarcely had they launched it, when
it was destroyed. Five, rendered desperate, embarked on a few spars
hastily lashed together, which gave them scarcely room to stand; they
were soon carried away by unknown currents, and were no more heard of.

In the afternoon the whale-boat came again in sight. The crew told them
that they had experienced great difficulty in persuading the Greek
fishermen of Cerigotto to venture to put to sea, because of the stormy
weather; but they gave them hopes, that if the weather moderated, the
boats would come next day. Before they had done speaking, twelve men
plunged from the rock into the sea, and nearly reached the boat; two
were taken in, one was drowned, and the rest were so fortunate as to
recover their former station.

As the day wore on, their weakness increased. One of the survivors
described himself as feeling the approach of annihilation; his sight
failed, and his senses were confused; his strength was exhausted; he
looked towards the setting sun, expecting never to see it rise again.
Suddenly the approach of the boats was announced; and from the depth of
despair, they rose to the very summit of joy. Their parched frames were
refreshed with copious draughts of water.

Immediate preparations were made for departure. Of one hundred and
twenty-two persons on board the Nautilus, when she struck, fifty-eight
had perished. Eighteen were drowned when she was wrecked, five were lost
in the small boat, and thirty-four died of famine. About fifty now
embarked in four fishing vessels, and landed the same evening at
Cerigotto; making sixty-four in all, including those saved in the
whale-boat. During their six days sojourn on the rock, they had nothing
to subsist on, save human flesh.

They landed at a small creek. The Greeks received them with great
hospitality, but had not skill to cure their wounds, and had no bandages
but those procured by tearing up their own shirts. Wishing to procure
some medical assistance, they desired to reach Cerigo, an island twenty
miles distant, on which an English vice-consul resided. Fourteen days
elapsed before they could set sail. They bade adieu to these kind
preservers, and in six or eight hours reached Cerigo, where all possible
help was afforded them. Thence they were conveyed by a Russian ship to
Corfu; where they arrived on the 2d of March, 1807, about two months
after their melancholy disaster.




GALLANT EXPLOITS OF COMMODORE DECATUR.


Decatur is one of the most illustrious names in the naval annals of
America. Among the many officers who have borne this name, none was more
celebrated and admired in his life time and none more deeply lamented
at his untimely decease than Commodore Stephen Decatur.

[Illustration: BURNING OF THE PHILADELPHIA.]

His life was a series of heroic actions. But of these perhaps the most
remarkable of all is that which is recorded in the following language of
his biographer--the burning of the frigate Philadelphia.

Decatur had been sent out from the United States, in the Argus, to join
Commodore Preble's squadron before Tripoli. He exchanged this vessel
with Lieutenant Hull for the Enterprise.

After making that exchange, he proceeded to Syracuse, where the squadron
was to rendezvous. On his arrival at that port, he was informed of the
fate of the frigate Philadelphia, which had run aground on the Barbary
coast, and fallen into the hands of the Tripolitans. The idea
immediately presented itself to his mind of attempting her recapture or
destruction. On Commodore Preble's arrival, a few days afterwards, he
proposed to him a plan for the purpose, and volunteered his services to
execute it. The wary mind of that veteran officer at first disapproved
of an enterprise so full of peril; but the risks and difficulties that
surrounded it, only stimulated the ardour of Decatur, and imparted to it
an air of adventure, fascinating to his youthful imagination.

[Illustration: COMMODORE PREBLE.]

The consent of the commodore having been obtained, Lieutenant Decatur
selected for the expedition a ketch (the Intrepid) which he had captured
a few weeks before from the enemy, and manned her with seventy
volunteers, chiefly from his own crew. He sailed from Syracuse on the 3d
of February, 1804, accompanied by the United States brig Syren,
Lieutenant Stewart, who was to aid with his boats, and to receive the
crew of the ketch, in case it should be found expedient to use her as a
fire ship.

After fifteen days of very tempestuous weather, they arrived at the
harbor of Tripoli, a little before sunset. It had been arranged between
Lieutenants Decatur and Stewart, that the ketch should enter the harbor
about ten o'clock that night, attended by the boats of the Syren. On
arriving off the harbor, the Syren, in consequence of a change of wind,
had been thrown six or eight miles without the Intrepid. The wind at
this time was fair, but fast declining, and Lieutenant Decatur
apprehended that, should he wait for the Syren's boats to come up, it
might be fatal to the enterprise, as they could not remain longer on the
coast, their provisions being nearly exhausted. For these reasons he
determined to venture into the harbor alone, which he did about eight
o'clock.

An idea may be formed of the extreme hazard of the enterprise from the
situation of the frigate. She was moored within half gunshot of the
bashaw's castle, and of the principal battery. Two of the enemy's
cruisers lay within two cables' length, on the starboard quarter, and
their gunboats within half gunshot, on the starboard bow. All the guns
of the frigate were mounted and loaded. Such were the immediate perils
that our hero ventured to encounter with a single ketch, beside the
other dangers that abound in a strongly fortified harbor.

Although from the entrance to the place where the frigate lay, was only
three miles, yet, in consequence of the lightness of the wind, they did
not get within hail of her until eleven o'clock. When they had
approached within two hundred yards, they were hailed and ordered to
anchor, or they would be fired into. Lieutenant Decatur ordered a
Maltese pilot, who was on board the ketch, to answer that they had lost
their anchors in a gale of wind on the coast, and, therefore, could not
comply with their request. By this time it had become perfectly calm,
and they were about fifty yards from the frigate. Lieutenant Decatur
ordered a small boat that was alongside of the ketch, to take a rope and
make it fast to the frigate's fore-chains. This being done, they began
to warp the ketch alongside. It was not until this moment that the enemy
suspected the character of their visitor, and great confusion
immediately ensued. This enabled our adventurers to get alongside of the
frigate, when Decatur immediately sprang aboard, followed by Mr. Charles
Morris, midshipman. These two were nearly a minute on deck, before their
companions could succeed in mounting the side. Fortunately, the Turks
had not sufficiently recovered from their surprise to take advantage of
this delay. They were crowded together on the quarterdeck, perfectly
astonished and aghast, without making any attempt to oppose the
assailing party. As soon as a sufficient number of men had gained the
deck to form a front equal to that of the enemy, they rushed in upon
them. The Turks stood the assault for a short time, and were completely
overpowered. About twenty were killed on the spot, many jumped
overboard, and the rest flew to the maindeck, whither they were pursued
and driven to the hold.

After entire possession had been gained of the ship, and every thing
prepared to set fire to her, a number of launches were seen rowing about
the harbor. This determined Lieutenant Decatur to remain on board the
frigate, from whence a better defence could be made than from on board
the ketch. The enemy had already commenced firing on them from their
batteries and castle, and from two corsairs that were lying near.
Perceiving that the launches did not attempt to approach, he ordered the
ship should be set on fire, which was done, at the same time, in
different parts. As soon as this was done, they left her; and such was
the rapidity of the flames, that it was with the utmost difficulty they
preserved the ketch. At this critical moment a most propitious breeze
sprang up, blowing directly out of the harbor, which, in a few moments,
carried them out of reach of the enemy's guns, and they made good their
retreat without the loss of a single man, and with but four wounded.

For this gallant and romantic achievement, Lieutenant Decatur was
promoted to the rank of post captain, there being at that time no
intermediate grade. This promotion was peculiarly gratifying to him,
insomuch as it was done with the consent of the officers over whose
heads he was raised.

In the ensuing spring, it being determined to make an attack upon
Tripoli, Commodore Preble obtained from the King of Naples, the loan of
six gunboats and two bombards, which he formed into two divisions, and
gave the command of one of them to Captain Decatur, the other to
Lieutenant Somers. The squadron sailed from Syracuse, consisting of the
frigate Constitution, the brig Syren, the schooners Nautilus and Vixen,
and the gunboats.

Having arrived on the coast of Barbary, they were for some days
prevented from making the attack, by adverse wind and weather. At
length on the morning of the 3d of August, the weather being favorable,
the signal was made from the commodore's ship to prepare for action, the
light vessels towing the gunboats to windward. At nine o'clock, the
signal was given for bombarding the enemy's vessels and the town.

The gunboats were cast off, and advanced in a line ahead, led on by
Captain Decatur, and covered by the frigate Constitution, and the brigs
and schooners.

The enemy's gunboats were moored along the harbor under the batteries
and within musket shot. Their sails had been taken from them, and they
were ordered to sink, rather than abandon their position. They were
aided and covered, likewise, by a brig of sixteen, and a schooner of ten
guns.

Before entering into close action, Captain Decatur went alongside each
of his boats, and ordered them to unship their bowsprits and follow him,
as it was his intention to board the enemy's boats.

Lieutenant James Decatur commanded one of the boats belonging to
Commodore Preble's division, but, being farther to windward than the
rest of his division, he joined and took orders from his brother.

When Captain Decatur, who was in the leading boat, came within range of
the fire from the batteries, a heavy fire was opened upon him from them
and the gunboats. He returned the fire, and continued advancing, until
he came in contact with the boats. At this time, Commodore Preble seeing
Decatur advancing nearer than he thought prudent, ordered the signal to
be made for a retreat, but it was found that in making out the signals
for the boats, the one for a retreat had been omitted.

The enemy's boats had about forty men each; ours an equal number,
twenty-seven of whom were Americans, and thirteen Neapolitans.

Decatur, on boarding the enemy, was instantly followed by his
countrymen, but the Neapolitans remained behind. The Turks did not
sustain the combat hand to hand, with that firmness they had obtained a
reputation for. In ten minutes the deck was cleared. Eight of them
sought refuge in the hold, and, of the rest, some fell on the deck, and
others jumped into the sea. Only three of the Americans were wounded.

As Decatur was about to proceed out with his prize, the boat which had
been commanded by his brother, came under his stern, and the men
informed him that they had engaged and captured one of the enemy; but
that her commander, after surrendering, had treacherously shot
Lieutenant James Decatur, and pushed off with the boat, and was then
making for the harbor.

The feelings of the gallant Decatur, on receiving this intelligence, may
be more easily imagined than described. Every consideration of prudence
and safety was lost in his eagerness to punish so dastardly an act, and
to revenge the death of a brother so basely murdered. He pushed within
the enemy's line with his single boat, and having succeeded in getting
alongside of the retreating foe, boarded her at the head of eleven men,
who were all the Americans he had left. The fate of this contest was
extremely doubtful for about twenty minutes. All the Americans, except
four, were now severely wounded. Decatur singled out the commander as
the peculiar object of his vengeance. The Turk was armed with an
espontoon, Decatur with a cutlass; in attempting to cut off the head of
the weapon, his sword struck on the iron, and broke off close to the
hilt. The Turk, at this moment, made a push, which slightly wounded him
in the right arm and breast. He immediately seized the spear, and closed
with him. A fierce struggle ensued, and both fell, Decatur uppermost. By
this time the Turk had drawn a dagger from his belt, and was about to
plunge it into the body of his foe, when Decatur caught his arm, and
shot him with a pistol, which he drew from his pocket. During the time
they were struggling on the deck, the crews rushed to aid their
commanders, and a most sanguinary scene took place, insomuch that when
Decatur had despatched his adversary, it was with the utmost difficulty
he could extricate himself from the killed and wounded that had fallen
around him.

It is with no common feeling of admiration that we record an instance of
heroic courage, and loyal self-devotion, on the part of a common sailor.

During the early part of Decatur's struggle with the Turk, he was
assailed in the rear by one of the enemy, who had just aimed a blow at
his head which must have proved fatal; at this fearful juncture, a
noble-hearted tar, who had been so badly wounded as to lose the use of
his hands, seeing no other means of saving his commander, rushed between
him and the uplifted sabre, and received the blow on his own head, which
fractured his skull. We love to pause and honor great actions in humble
life, because they speak well for human nature. Men of rank and station
in society, often do gallant deeds, in a manner from necessity. Their
conspicuous station obliges them to do so, or their eagerness for glory
urges them on; but an act like this we have mentioned, so desperate, yet
so disinterested, done by an obscure, unambitious individual, a poor
sailor, can spring from nothing but nobleness of soul. We are happy to
add that this generous fellow survived, and long after received a
pension from government.

Decatur succeeded in getting, with both his prizes, to the squadron, and
the next day received the highest commendation, in a general order, from
Commodore Preble. When that able officer was superseded in the command
of the squadron, he gave the Constitution to Captain Decatur, who had
some time before received his commission. From that ship he was removed
to the Congress, and returned home in her, when peace was concluded in
Tripoli.




EXPLOITS OF COMMODORE HULL.


Commodore Hull became a sailor when he was only eight years old. He
distinguished himself greatly in the naval war with France, and in the
war with Tripoli, especially at the capture of Derne, in Africa.

[Illustration: COMMODORE HULL.]

At the commencement of the war of 1812, Hull having been advanced in the
meantime to the rank of captain, was placed in command of the frigate
Constitution, in which he was destined to perform those brilliant
actions which have rendered him one of the most celebrated heroes of our
navy. His first exploit was the escape of the Constitution from a
British squadron, which is justly regarded as one of the most remarkable
recorded in naval history. The account of it contained in the official
letter of Captain Hull has all the interest of a romance. It is as
follows:


     "SIR:--In pursuance of your orders of the 3d instant, I left
     Annapolis on the 5th instant, and the capes on the 12th, of which I
     advised you by the pilot who brought the ship to sea.

     For several days after we got out, the wind was light and ahead,
     which, with a strong southerly current, prevented our making much
     way to the northward. On the 17th, at two P.M., being in twenty-two
     fathoms water off Egg Harbor, four sail of ships were discovered
     from the masthead, to the northward and in shore of us, apparently
     ships of war. The wind being very light all sail was made in chase
     of them, to ascertain whether they were the enemy's ships, or our
     squadron having got out of New York, waiting the arrival of the
     Constitution, the latter of which I had reason to believe was the
     case.

     At four in the afternoon, a ship was seen from the masthead,
     bearing about north-east, standing in for us under all sail, which
     she continued so to do until sundown, at which time she was too far
     off to distinguish signals, and the ships in shore only to be seen
     from the tops; they were standing off to the southward and
     eastward. As we could not ascertain before dark what the ship in
     the offing was, I determined to stand for her, and get near enough
     to make the night signal.

     At ten in the evening, being within six or eight miles of the
     strange sail, the private signal was made, and kept up nearly one
     hour, but finding she could not answer it, I concluded she and the
     ships in shore were enemy.

     I immediately hauled off to the southward and eastward, and made
     all sail, having determined to lie off till daylight to see what
     they were. The ship that we had been chasing hauled off after us,
     showing a light, and occasionally making signals, supposed to be
     for the ships in shore.

     On the 18th, at daylight, or a little before it was quite light,
     saw two sail under our lee, which proved to be frigates of the
     enemy's. One frigate astern within about five or six miles, and a
     line of battle ship, a frigate, a brig, and a schooner, about ten
     or twelve miles directly astern, all in chase of us, with a fine
     breeze, and coming up fast, it being nearly calm where we were.
     Soon after sunrise, the wind entirely left us, and the ship would
     not steer, but fell round off with her head towards the two ships
     under our lee. The boats were instantly hoisted out, and sent ahead
     to tow the ship's head around, and to endeavor to get her farther
     from the enemy, being then within five miles of three heavy
     frigates. The boats of the enemy were got out and sent ahead to
     tow, by which, with the light air that remained with them, they
     came up very fast. Finding the enemy gaining on us, and but little
     chance of escaping from them, I ordered two of the guns on the gun
     deck to be ran out at the cabin windows for stern guns on the gun
     deck, and hoisted one of the twenty-four pounders off the gun deck,
     and ran that, with the forecastle gun, an eighteen pounder, out at
     the ports on the quarter deck, and cleared the ship for action,
     being determined they should not get her without resistance on our
     part, notwithstanding their force and the situation we were placed
     in.

     At about seven, in the morning, the ship nearest us approaching
     within gunshot, and directly astern, I ordered one of the stern
     guns fired, to see if we could reach her, to endeavor to disable
     her masts; found the shot fell a little short, would not fire any
     more.

     [Illustration: ESCAPE OF THE CONSTITUTION.]

     At eight, four of the enemy's ships nearly within gunshot, some of
     them having six or eight boats ahead towing, with all their oars
     and sweeps out, to row them up with us, which they were fast
     doing. It now appeared that we must be taken, and that our escape
     was impossible--four heavy ships nearly within gunshot, and coming
     up fast, and not the least hope of a breeze to give us a chance of
     getting off by out sailing them.

     In this situation, finding ourselves in only twenty-four fathoms
     water, by the suggestion of that valuable officer, Lieutenant
     Morris, I determined to try and warp the ship ahead, by carrying
     out anchors and warping her up to them; three or four hundred
     fathoms of rope was instantly got up, and two anchors got ready and
     sent ahead, by which means we began to gain ahead of the enemy;
     they, however, soon saw our boats carrying out the anchors, and
     adopted the same plan, under very advantageous circumstances, as
     all the boats from the ships furthermost off were sent to tow and
     warp up those nearest to us, by which means they again came up, so
     that at nine, the ship nearest us began to fire her bow guns, which
     we instantly returned by our stern guns in the cabin and on the
     quarter deck. All the shot from the enemy fell short; but we have
     reason to believe that some of ours went on board her, as we could
     not see them strike the water. Soon after nine, a second frigate
     passed under our lee, and opened her broadside, but finding her
     shot fall short, discontinued her fire; but continued, as did all
     the rest of them, to make all possible exertion to get up with us.
     From nine to twelve, all hands were employed in warping the ship
     ahead, and in starting some of the water in the main hold to
     lighten her, which, with the help of a light air, we rather gained
     of the enemy, or, at least, held our own. About two, in the
     afternoon, all the boats from the line of battle ship and some of
     the frigates were sent to the frigate nearest us, to endeavor to
     tow her up, but a light breeze sprung up, which enabled us to hold
     way with her, notwithstanding they had eight or ten boats ahead,
     and all her sails furled to tow her to windward. The wind continued
     light until eleven at night, and the boats were kept ahead towing
     and warping to keep out of reach of the enemy, three of the
     frigates being very near us; at eleven, we got a light breeze from
     the southward, the boats came along side and were hoisted up, the
     ship having too much way to keep them ahead, the enemy still in
     chase and very near.

     On the 19th, at daylight, passed within gunshot of one of the
     frigates, but she did not fire on us, perhaps, for fear of
     becalming her, as the wind was light; soon after passing us she
     tacked, and stood after us--at this time six sail were in sight,
     under all sail after us. At nine in the morning, saw a strange
     sail, on our weather beam, supposed to be an American merchant
     ship; the instant the frigate nearest us saw her, she hoisted
     American colors, as did all the squadron, in hopes to decoy her
     down; I immediately hoisted the English colors, that she might not
     be deceived; she soon hauled her wind, and, as is to be hoped, made
     her escape. All this day the wind increased gradually, and we
     gained on the enemy, in the course of the day, six or eight miles;
     they, however, continued chasing all night under a press of sail.

     On the 20th, at daylight in the morning, only three of them could
     be seen from the masthead, the nearest of which was about twelve
     miles off, directly astern. All hands were set at work wetting the
     sails, from the royals down, with the engines and fire buckets, and
     we soon found that we left the enemy very fast. At a quarter past
     eight, the enemy finding that they were fast dropping astern, gave
     over chase, and hauled their wind to the northward, probably for
     the station off New York. At half past eight, saw a sail ahead,
     gave chase after her under all sail. At nine, saw another strange
     sail under our lee bow, we soon spoke the first sail discovered,
     and found her to be an American brig from St. Domingo, bound to
     Portland; I directed the captain how to steer to avoid the enemy,
     and made sail for the vessel to leeward; on coming up with her, she
     proved to be an American brig from St. Bartholomew's, bound to
     Philadelphia; but, on being informed of war, he bore up for
     Charleston, South Carolina. Finding the ship so far to the
     southward and eastward, and the enemy's squadron stationed off New
     York, which would make it impossible to get in there, I determined
     to make for Boston, to receive your farther orders, and I hope my
     having done so will meet your approbation. My wish to explain to
     you as clearly as possible why your orders have not been executed,
     and the length of time the enemy were in chase of us, with various
     other circumstances, have caused me to make this communication much
     longer than I could have wished, yet I cannot in justice to the
     brave officers and crew under my command, close it without
     expressing to you the confidence I have in them, and assuring you
     that their conduct while under the guns of the enemy was such as
     might have been expected from American officers and seamen. I have
     the honor to be, with very great respect, sir, your obedient humble
     servant,

     ISAAC HULL."

[Illustration: Hull's Victory]

Such is Captain Hull's modest account of this truly brilliant exploit.
Sailing on a cruise immediately after this, with the same frigate,
officers, and crew, on the 19th of August he fell in with His Britannic
Majesty's ship Guerriere, rated at thirty-eight guns, and carrying
fifty, commanded by Captain Dacres, who, sometime before, had politely
endorsed on the register of an American ship an invitation to Captain
Hull to give him a meeting of this kind.

[Illustration: DACRES DELIVERING UP HIS SWORD.]


At half past three, P.M., Captain Hull made out his antagonist to be a
frigate, and continued the chase till he was within about three miles,
when he cleared for action; the chase backed her main-topsail and waited
for him to come down. As soon as the Constitution was ready, Hull bore
down to bring the enemy to close action immediately; but, on coming
within gunshot, the Guerriere gave a broadside and filled away and wore,
giving a broadside on the other tack; but without effect, her shot
falling short. She then continued wearing and manoeuvring for about
three quarters of an hour to get a raking position,--but, finding she
could not, she bore up and ran under her topsails and jib, with the wind
on the quarter. During this time, the Constitution, not having fired a
single broadside, the impatience of the officers and men to engage was
excessive. Nothing but the most rigid discipline could have restrained
them. Hull, however, was preparing to decide the contest in a summary
method of his own. He now made sail to bring the Constitution up with
her antagonist, and at five minutes before six P.M., _being alongside
within half pistol shot_, he commenced a heavy fire from all his guns,
_double shotted with round and grape_; and so well directed, and so well
kept up was the fire, that in sixteen minutes the mizzenmast of the
Guerriere went by the board, and her mainyard in the slings, and the
hull, rigging, and sails were completely torn to pieces. The fire was
kept up for fifteen minutes longer, when the main and foremast went,
taking with them every spar except the bowsprit, and leaving the
Guerriere a complete wreck. On seeing this Hull ordered the firing to
cease, having brought his enemy in thirty minutes after he was fairly
alongside to such a condition, that a few more broadsides must have
carried her down.

The prize being so shattered that she was not worth bringing into port,
after removing the prisoners to the Constitution, she was set on fire
and blown up. In the action, the Constitution lost seven killed, and
seven wounded; the Guerriere, fifteen killed, sixty-two
wounded--including the captain and several officers, and twenty-four
missing.

The news of this victory was received in the United States with the
greatest joy and exultation. All parties united in celebrating it, and
the citizens and public authorities vied with each other in bestowing
marks of approbation upon Captain Hull and his gallant officers and
crew.

[Illustration: HYDER ALLY AND GENERAL MONK]




EXPLOITS OF COMMODORE BARNEY.


This gentleman was one of the old fashioned commodores, a capital
sailor, an intrepid warrior, and a thorough going patriot. He was born
in Baltimore, in 1759. He entered the marine early in life. At the age
of sixteen he served in the expedition of Commodore Hopkins to the
Bahama Islands, and continued in active service through the whole
revolutionary war.

In 1780 he was captured by a British seventy-four, when taking a prize
into port and sent with other prisoners to England. On the passage, the
prisoners--amounting to about sixty--were confined in the most loathsome
of dungeons, without light or pure air, and with a scanty supply of
provisions.

They thought when they arrived at Plymouth, that their privations were
at an end; but they were only removed to another prison-ship, which,
although dirty and crowded, was, in some measure, better than the one
they had left. From this, contrary to expectation, as soon as they were
so much recovered as to be able to walk, they were brought on shore and
confined in Mill prison, where they met the anxious faces of several
hundred American prisoners, who had undergone the same privations as
themselves.

This prison was surrounded by two strong walls, twenty feet apart, and
was guarded by numerous sentries. There were small gates in the walls,
and these were placed opposite each other, the inner one generally
remaining open. The prisoners were allowed the privilege of the yard
nearly all day, and this set the inventive mind of Barney upon the
scheme, which, in the end, terminated in his liberty; not, however,
without infinite danger and trouble. He set about finding out some small
chance which might afford the least hope of release; and having
discovered one of the sentries that had served in the United States, and
remembered the kindness with which he had been there treated, Barney and
he formed the means of escape. It was arranged that Barney should affect
to have hurt his foot and obtain a pair of crutches, and thus lull
suspicion.

On the 18th of May, 1781, he habited himself in the undress uniform of a
British officer, the whole covered with a old greatcoat, and, by the aid
of the sentinel, cleared the prison; when he threw off the coat, and
soon arrived at the house of a well known friend to the American cause,
in Plymouth. That he might not be soon missed, he got a lad, who, after
answering to his own name, was to get out, and answer to Barney's, in
the yard, which little stratagem succeeded admirably. When Barney
arrived at the friend's house, he made preparations to leave as soon as
possible, well knowing that if any of the British were detected
harboring him, they would be convicted of high treason. In the evening,
therefore, he departed to the house of his friend's father, at a
considerable distance, where he would be safer. On arriving there, he
was surprised to find two of his old friends--Americans--who had been,
for some time, anxiously waiting for an opportunity of returning home,
and now thought that the time had arrived.

Lieutenant Barney determined to sail for the French coast, and, for this
purpose, he and the two gentlemen purchased a small fishing vessel, and
habiting themselves in some fishermen's old apparel, they set sail on
their intended voyage. Admiral Digby's fleet lay at the mouth of the
river, and our adventurers had to pass through the midst of them, and
then run the chance of capture by the numerous British cruisers, which
continually ply about the channel. This was a daring undertaking, as the
fleet, he thought, had doubtless received notice of his escape, and the
enemy would be rigid in their search. He, therefore, determined to act
with coolness, and, if intercepted, to give such answers to the
questions put to him, as might best lull suspicion. If he was detected,
he would pay for the attempt with his life.

He knew that if his escape was detected, it would be immediately
communicated to the fleet, and thus lessen his chances; especially as
the least unusual appearance in his assumed character, would excite
immediate suspicion. Even should he be able to pass through the fleet,
the British channel abounded with the English cruisers, which were quite
adept in the art of picking up stragglers. With these dangers painted in
lively colors before his eyes, he preserved his usual self-possession,
and inspired with confidence his companions, who had never handled a
rope, and relied exclusively upon his daring.

By sunrise, the next morning, they were "under way," the two gentlemen
remaining below, and Lieutenant Barney and the servant being the only
ones on deck, to avoid suspicion. With a good breeze, and a favorable
tide, it was not long before they were in the midst of the hostile
fleet, which seemed to take no notice of them. Their hearts beat quick
when they were thus hanging between life and death; but as soon as the
last of the enemy was passed, they declared themselves safe through
_that_ portion of the ordeal.

But what attempt ever ended to the satisfaction of the undertaker?
Before the enemy were clear out of sight, the practised eye of Barney
caught a sail which he knew to be bearing down upon him. He saw that
resistance was out of the question; but that if he managed the affair
adroitly he _might_ escape. It was now that he was called upon to
exercise that firmness of mind, coolness and contempt of danger, and
quickness of resource in time of need, that ever distinguished his
character, and showed him to be a man of no ordinary talents. In less
than an hour the privateer--for such she was--came alongside, and sent
an officer to see "what he wanted steering for a hostile coast." The
first questions that were put, and answered unhesitatingly, were--what
he had on board? and where he was bound? Of course he had nothing on
board, and his destination was France--on business of importance from
the ministry; at the same time untying the rope that bound the old coat
around him, and displaying the British half uniform. The officer touched
his hat, begged pardon, and said he would go on board and report to the
commanding officer.

The result of the interview was that Barney was made a prisoner once
more, and ordered with a prize-master to Plymouth. But being forced by
stress of weather into a small bay, near Plymouth, he contrived to
escape from his captors, and find his way to the mansion of the
venerable clergyman, at Plymouth. Deeming it unsafe to remain there,
lest he might be discovered, after a few days he set out at midnight in
a postchaise for Exeter, and from thence by stages to Bristol, where he
had a letter of credit to an American gentleman.

Here he remained for three weeks, and from thence he went to London,
directed to a countryman, who received him kindly, and offered his
services towards effecting his final escape. After remaining here for
six weeks, he found an opportunity of sailing for France; and after an
extremely boisterous and squally passage, reached Ostend, from whence he
soon found his way to Amsterdam, where he seized the opportunity of
paying his respects to Mr. John Adams, then Minister Plenipotentiary
from the United States to Holland. Through the courtesy of this
gentleman, he obtained a passage to his own country, and, after some
adventures, reached Philadelphia, on the 21st of March, 1782.

But he was not long allowed to enjoy the pleasure which he expected,
after such a trial of danger and fatigue. In less than a week after he
arrived at Philadelphia, he was offered the command of the Hyder Ally,
of sixteen guns, fitted out by the state authorities of Pennsylvania, to
repress the enemy's privateers, with which the Delaware river abounded.

On the 8th of April, 1782, he entered upon his destined service, which
was to convoy a fleet of merchantmen to the capes, and to protect them
from the "refugee boats," with which the river abounded. While waiting
at the capes, he was assailed by two ships and a brig belong to the
enemy, who, finding him unsupported, commenced a furious attack, which
he sustained with great coolness, while his convoy were safely retiring
up the river. The brig came up first, and gave him a broadside as she
was passing; but kept her course up the bay after the convoy, while
Barney waited for the ship, which was coming up rapidly. Having
approached within pistol shot, the Hyder Ally poured a broadside into
her, which somewhat staggered the enemy, who thought Barney would
"strike his colors." The enemy seemed disposed to board, and was ranging
alongside of him, when he ordered the quarter-master, in a loud voice,
to "port the helm!"--having previously given him secret instructions to
put the helm hard a-starboard, which latter order was obeyed; by this
manoeuvre the enemy's jib-boom caught in the fore-rigging of the Hyder
Ally, thus giving her a raking position, which Captain Barney knew how
to improve. The firing on both sides was tremendous;--an idea of it may
be obtained from the fact, that more than twenty broadsides were fired
in twenty-six minutes! In the mizzen staystail of the General Monk there
were afterwards counted, three hundred and sixty-five shot-holes. During
the whole of this short but glorious battle, Captain Barney was
stationed upon the quarterdeck, exposed to the fire of the enemy's
musketry, which was excessively annoying, and began to be felt by the
men, insomuch that Captain Barney ordered a body of riflemen, whom he
had on board, to direct their fire into the enemy's top, which
immediately had the desired effect.

The capture of the General Monk was one of the most brilliant
achievements in naval history. The General Monk mounted eighteen guns,
and had one hundred and thirty-six men, and lost twenty men killed, and
thirty-three wounded. The Hyder Ally had sixteen guns, and one hundred
and ten men, and lost four men killed, and eleven wounded.

All the officers of the General Monk were wounded except one. The
captain himself was severely wounded. The brig which accompanied the
enemy ran ashore to avoid capture. Captain Barney now followed his
convoy up to Philadelphia. After a short visit to his family, he
returned to his command, where he soon captured the "Hook-'em-snivy"--a
refugee schooner, which had done a great deal of mischief on the
Delaware river.

These captures struck such terror among the privateers, that they began
to disperse to more profitable grounds. In consequence of the glorious
actions, Captain Barney was presented with a gold-hilted sword, in the
name of the state.




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