THE PALLAS AND THE NYMPH.

In the month of December, 1810, the Pallas, a 32-gun frigate, commanded by Captain Paris Monke, was returning, in company with the Nymph, Captain Edward Sneyd Clay, from a month's cruise on the coast of Norway, and was steering for Leith, with a prize in tow. She had not got far to the southward, when, on Tuesday morning, the 18th, between nine and ten o'clock, land was discovered, but the weather was so thick, it could not be clearly defined. The pilot, however, gave it as his opinion that they were north of the Red-head. Towards the middle of the day they fell in with some fishing-boats, and Captain Monke having requested one of the fishermen to come on board the frigate, he learnt from this man that the ship was at that time off Stonehive and the Tod Head. At four o'clock, P.M., the usual order to pipe to supper was given; the wind was blowing from the north-west, and the vessel going at the rate of four knots an hour. Supper being over, the drum beat to quarters, and the captain, having received the usual reports, ordered the watch to be called. At six o'clock, in compliance with the wish of the pilot, the course was altered from south-west to south-south-west. For the last quarter of an hour the ship had been increasing her rate of sailing from five and a half to six knots an hour; the top-gallant scudding sails were therefore taken in, and the royal and top-gallant stay sails hauled down, as also the jib and the spanker. Soon after this the pilot, pointing towards the coast, said to the captain, 'There's Lunan Bay;' and shortly afterwards he said, 'There's the Red Head;' but it was too dark, then, to see the land, much less could the outline of the coast be distinguished. The captain inquired if they should not soon see the Bell Rock Light, and he was answered in the affirmative. He then ordered the officer of the watch to hail the forecastle, and direct the men to keep a vigilant look-out for the Bell Rock Light.

Ere many minutes had elapsed after the order was given, a light was perceived before the starboard beam, which the pilot declared to be a signal hoisted on the pier at Arbroath to show that there was water enough for vessels to enter the harbour. The captain then went below to consult the book of sailing directions, and when he returned upon deck, he said to the pilot, 'If that light be on Arbroath pier, as you suppose, we ought most certainly to be in sight of the light on the Bell Rock.' The pilot replied, 'We shall soon see it;' and Captain Monke repeated to the officer of the watch his order to keep a sharp look out.

As the light on the Bell Rock did not appear, the captain became exceedingly anxious; the more so, as he was convinced, by reckoning the distances from the Tod Head to the Red Head, and from the Red Head to the Bell Rock, and comparing their sum with the run from four o'clock, that the ship had run as many miles to the southward as would bring her up to the Bell Rock. To ascertain exactly the position of the ship, he desired the master to work off the run by the log up to eight o'clock, P.M., and in a short time the master reported that by his calculation the light which they saw was no other than the floating light of the Bell Rock, and that they had now only to bear up and shape a course for the Isle of May.

The captain had been upon deck for more than five hours, and was so much fatigued that he went down to the gun-room to get some refreshment, at a little after ten o'clock, leaving positive orders with the officer of the watch and the master to be most attentive to the ship's course; and he was so anxious for her safety, that he had scarcely sat down in the gun-room before he sent for the pilot-book of sailing directions, that he might ascertain more exactly the position of the Bell Rock, and the course and distance from thence to the Isle of May. In a few minutes, the officer of the watch went down to report that the May light was in sight, and Captain Monke was in the act of going upon deck, when the vessel struck the ground. He instantly rushed upon deck, and inquired of the master where he supposed the ship had grounded. The reply was a startling one:—'I am afraid,' said he, 'that we are on the Bell Rock, and not a soul will be saved, unless we can forge her over it.' How they could possibly be upon the Bell Rock, when the master had himself so confidently declared they were running from it for some hours, appeared a mystery: but this was no time for arguing the matter. Captain Monke saw the danger both to the ship and all on board: he ordered the drum to beat to quarters, and the men were soon on deck and each at his post Having assured himself that the rudder was not damaged, the captain ordered the foretack to be hauled on board, and the yards to be braced with the larboard brace, which was done without loss of time. The lead was cast, to ascertain the depth of water, which the quarter-master reported to be twelve feet. The ship, which at first had taken the ground easily, now began to strike with great violence; and when they found that she did not forge ahead, the yards were braced aback, but to no better purpose, for she remained hard and fast as before.

Land was now seen to leeward, and the master changed his opinion, and imagined that the frigate had struck on the Isle of May; but the pilot thought they were on shore in St. Andrew's Bay, and blamed the master for having hauled too soon. As the tide was falling, there was little hope of getting the ship afloat, although this was so far fortunate, that it afforded a better chance of escape for the crew.

Orders were given to man the pumps, and the people obeyed with alacrity, and worked by turns throughout the night with the utmost vigour. The ship seemed to come up easier for a time, and the carpenter reported twelve feet water in the hold. When the moon rose, the position of the frigate with regard to the land was discovered; and as the tide ebbed, her larboard bow appeared to be but a short distance from the nearest rocks. From the time of the ship's striking, guns had been fired as signals of distress, to arouse the attention of the inhabitants of the coast, and these signals were soon answered by lights displayed along the shore, and large fires kindled on the beach. The glare of the torches moving to and fro on the shore denoted the inclination of the people to render assistance to the unfortunate vessel. Voices were heard hailing the ship, but it was impossible to distinguish the words. The boatswain and carpenter, and some others, declared that the men said, 'You are in St. Andrew's Bay—come on shore,' Upon this, the boatswain and gunner volunteered to land with two men in a small prize skiff, for the purpose of reconnoitring the beach. This proposition was immediately rejected by the captain, who assembled the principal officers on the forecastle and declared to them his determination not to suffer a single boat to be lowered during the night—but that they should all stick to the ship until daylight, as the only chance of preserving their lives.

Happily the captain's orders were obeyed, though doubtless many would feel tempted to risk a landing. The Pallas became more and more uneasy—her rudder was carried away, and the sea broke completely over her. The men were each served with a dram, and were still kept at the pumps until three o'clock A.M., when the main beam broke and the others began to give way in succession. In order to lighten the vessel, the mainmast was cut away. At first, this did not appear to have the desired effect—but in all probability it would have fallen of itself and have done injury to the people; it now hung over the side, and promised to serve as a raft in case of necessity. The foremast was then cut away, and the mizenmast was doomed to follow—but the axe and tomahawk, which had been carried forward, were lost, or washed away. The ship by this time had fallen upon her beam ends, and the sea was making breaches over her, so that every individual had enough to do to keep himself from being washed overboard.

About four o'clock in the morning, the spirits of the crew were revived by seeing a boat appear between the wreck and a large fire that had been kept burning immediately opposite. This was a welcome sight, and it was hailed by three loud and hearty cheers from the Pallas.

Many of the men by this time were suffering much from cold, hunger, and fatigue, and those who were able, got into the weather chains for safety and shelter. Daylight discovered to them the real position of the ship; the light which had been supposed to be on the Isle of May was that of a lime-kiln on the main land, and as the Bass and North Berwick Law were plainly visible, it was evident from their bearings that the frigate was on shore near to Dunbar. She was now a total wreck—the bottom had separated to some extent amidships from her upper works; a considerable portion of her floor timber was lying about ten yards to windward of the rest of the hull, and the iron ballast within this frame of timber was thus open to view. It was now time for every man to provide as far as possible for his own safety. A Portuguese sailor, an excellent swimmer, was the first to quit the wreck and swim on shore; several men attempted to follow his example, but five of them perished. The life-boat from Dunbar, which had been launched with great difficulty on account of the heavy surf beating on the rocks, reached the ship at ten o'clock in the morning of the 19th, and she took off a boat-load from the wreck and landed them in safety.

This success encouraged the people to try to employ the boats of the Pallas, but they were all found to be stove, or otherwise rendered useless, with the exception of a sixteen-oared cutter. The cutter was launched without material injury, and fortunately reached the land with as many as she could carry. The life-boat again neared the ship, and made a second successful landing with a number of officers and men; and a third time she touched the wreck, and was again crowded with people, but unfortunately the rope which she carried as a hauling line was too short to reach between the ship and the shore, and this time she had scarcely put off from the quarter before she filled and upset. By this accident, six of the crew of the Pallas were drowned, and one of the bravest fellows belonging to the life-boat The other thirteen men who manned the boat, and several people from the wreck, were saved with great difficulty; a small fishing-boat, which had been opportunely launched through the surf, picked them up. Amongst others so rescued from a watery grave were Captain Monke, and Mr. Walker, the first lieutenant. The crew of the fishing-boat persevered with great courage and good judgment in their efforts to save the rest of the crew. They procured a small tow-line, which being held by one end on the beach, they made fast to the mizen chains of the ship. The boat was then hauled to and fro until, in eight or ten trips, she had cleared the wreck of all the people; and, with the exception of Mr. Tomlinson, the boatswain, and ten or twelve others who perished, the whole of the ship's company were saved.

The kindness and hospitality exercised by the inhabitants of Dunbar and the surrounding country were beyond all praise. The sufferers, many of whom were insensible when carried on shore, and unconscious of the manner in which their lives had been preserved, were lodged, fed, and clothed. Captain Monke, who was much bruised, was carried by Captain Maitland to the house of his father, Lord Lauderdale, at Dunbar. The first lieutenant, Mr. Walker, who was picked up apparently lifeless, was conveyed to Broxmouth, the seat of the Duchess of Roxburgh, where he was, under Providence, indebted for his restoration to the unremitting attentions of the duchess and her husband, Mr. Manners.

The humblest of the crew were equally well cared for. The duchess went from room to room, ministering to the wants of the sufferers, and seeing that every comfort was provided for them.

It is gratifying to record that a handsome pecuniary reward was given by government to the fishermen and other inhabitants of Dunbar who so nobly risked their lives for the sake of their fellow-countrymen; and the widow of the man who was lost in the life-boat had a pension of £25 per annum settled upon her.

'I am persuaded,' writes Captain Monke, in his narrative, 'that this court will participate in my feelings, and would think me most forgetful, if I did not here publicly express my grateful sense I shall ever retain of the humane and liberal conduct of the Duchess of Roxburgh and Mr. Manners, who in their hospitable mansion at Broxmouth administered every sort of comfort and medical relief to the far greater part of the suffering officers and people of the Pallas, many of whose lives were thereby preserved to their country. In justice to my own feelings, I cannot close my narrative without declaring to this honourable court that no men under similar circumstances could behave better than did the crew of the Pallas. So far from being dismayed by their perilous situation, they manifested equal firmness and subordination; and, in fact, from the first moment of the ship striking the ground, to the time when necessity compelled every individual to consult his own safety, they obeyed all the orders with as much alacrity as cheerfulness, and (what is more) without either noise or confusion. Hence, sir, I consider myself justified in asserting that, notwithstanding the number victualled on board at the time was reduced to one hundred and sixty, if any human exertion could, in the first instance, have got the Pallas afloat, she would not have been irrecoverably lost to the service. I must also beg leave to add, that the officers set every example; and that from Mr. Walker, the first-lieutenant, I derived, throughout this trying scene, the most effectual support and assistance.'

The Nymph, which we have mentioned as being in company with the Pallas, got on shore the same night, on a rock called the Devil's Ark, near Skethard, misled by some irregularity in the lights on the Bell Rock and Isle of May.

The crew of the Nymph were all saved, but the fine frigate was lost.