THE PENELOPE.

We have now to relate the painful statement of a wreck, which was not only one of the most disastrous, but the most disgraceful in its consequences, of any that we have had to describe.

Unfortunately, the loss of the ship is not the darkest side of the picture; and the insubordination of the crew of the Penelope in the hour of danger was as fatal to themselves as it was rare in its occurrence.

The Penelope, troop-ship, Commander James Galloway, sailed from Spithead for Canada on the 31st of March, 1815, and had a favourable passage to the Banks of Newfoundland. Here she fell in with large masses of ice, fogs, and strong south-east winds, so that the captain considered it unsafe to run in for the land until the weather cleared up. On the 24th of April, they made the Island of Mequilon, and at the same time encountered a very heavy gale from the north-west. On the following day they were surrounded with ice, and were frozen up for nearly twelve hours. When the ice gave way, all sail was set, and the ship entered the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and for the next few days she continued her course in a north-easterly direction, and passed between the Islands of Brion and Magdalen. The frost during this time was so severe, that the furled sails were frozen into a solid body.

On the 29th, they met with large quantities of field ice, which gave the sea the appearance of one entire sheet of ice, but it was not strong enough to stop the ship's way. In the afternoon of that day, the land about Cape Rozier, on the coast of Lower Canada, was visible.

On the 30th, the weather was more moderate, though cloudy; at noon they steered an eastward course, until the ship broke off about three points, when at sunset they tacked, and stood in for the land, which was set by the first lieutenant and the master, at three or four leagues distance.

At eight o'clock, they sounded in seventy-one fathoms; the vessel broke off to the west by north, and the captain ordered the master to go round the ship, and caution the men forward to keep a good look out,—at the same time desiring him on no account to leave the deck. The captain then sent for the first-lieutenant into his cabin, and was in the act of pointing out to him the supposed situation of the vessel on the chart; the line was at the same moment passing forward for another cast of the lead, when the ship took the ground.

'I cannot describe my feelings,' writes Captain Galloway, 'at that moment; for having, for a long time, been almost deprived of my eyesight by night, and also afflicted with rheumatic pains and other complaints, I was unable to judge correctly of the extent of our danger.' The helm was immediately put down, and the sails thrown aback. One boat was then hoisted out to sound, and found two and a half fathoms forward, and about three and a half fathoms aft, having six fathoms a little on the starboard quarter.

All the boats were immediately lowered, and the stream-anchor and cable, with part of the messenger bent on to it, stowed in the pinnace, which, from the strength of the current, was with great difficulty towed to leeward by the other boats, and dropped into five and a-half fathoms water.

On heaving round, the anchor came home, which it continued to do until more than half of the cable was run in, when it held fast, but without altering the position of the vessel. The captain then gave orders to heave overboard the guns, and cut away the anchors from the bows; but all these attempts to lighten the vessel were of no avail. The wind, which had been moderate when she first struck, had increased to a gale, and the ship beat with such violence upon the rocks, that it appeared impossible that she could hold together many hours.

In this condition they were obliged to remain until daylight, exposed to a cold north-east wind, and a pitiless storm of sleet and snow. The officers did all in their power to sustain the courage of the men, but unfortunately in many instances without success. Already symptoms of insubordination had exhibited themselves, several had skulked below to their hammocks, where they remained in defiance of every command and entreaty of their officers.

The topmasts were got over side to shore the ship up, but the motion was so violent that the lashings gave way. At daylight, as the weather did not moderate, and there was no prospect of saving the ship, orders were given to get up the provisions. This, however, had been delayed until it was too late; the water had risen over the orlop deck, and in a short time gained the lower deck. All that was saved was thirty bags of biscuits, and these so damaged by the salt water, that they were totally unfit for use.

The masts were about this time cut away, in order to ease the ship as much as possible; they fell towards the shore about a cable's length from the beach. The master was sent in the cutter to try to fasten a rope to the shore, but the surf ran so high that the boat was stove, and the crew with difficulty gained the beach.

In this condition, with very little prospect of saving the lives of the crew, the captain, anxious for the preservation of the public dispatches, entrusted them to the purser, who, with Captain Moray (aide-de-camp to Lieut. General Sir George Murray), in charge of the military dispatches, embarked in the life-boat, to which a small line was attached. They had, however, no better success than the other boat, for as soon as they reached the surf, the boat capsized, and the two officers swam to the shore with the dispatches tied round their necks.

Another cutter was then sent off in hopes that she would be more successful, but she filled almost immediately; and the rope which was fastened to her was obliged to be abandoned.

By this time it was impossible to stand upon the deck, the sea made a fair breach over the ship, and the water having rushed into the cabin, the few bags of bread that had been stowed there for protection were destroyed.

The captain being unable from ill health to make any great exertion to save his life, was lowered into the pinnace, into which were already crowded as many men as she could hold, and they took another rope on board, to make a last attempt to form a communication with the shore. The boat had scarcely left the side of the ship before a sea struck and upset her. The captain, supported by two men, made his way through the surf with great difficulty and got on shore, followed by the rest of the boat's crew, who, some by swimming and others by help of oars and spars, saved themselves from destruction. The gig was now the only boat left on board; she was lowered from the stern, and the first and second lieutenants, with eighteen men, jumped into her. They were all fortunate enough to reach the shore, and some of the men gallantly returned to the vessel, and succeeded in landing about twenty others. Again, the gig repaired to the wreck, and took off some more of the crew, but this time she was unfortunately upset in the surf, though no lives were lost.

When the men left on the wreck saw themselves thus deprived of the last chance of escape, they raised the most piteous cries for assistance, although they knew that their comrades had no means of affording it. It has been said that 'man is a bundle of inconsistencies,' and here was a proof of the assertion. These were in all probability the very men who had betaken themselves to their hammocks a short time before, and had refused to assist in providing for their own safety; they had disobeyed orders, and despised discipline, and now we find them imploring others for that deliverance which they had neglected to provide for themselves. Most of them had been drinking the spirits, and were so stupified that they were incapable of taking advantage of the floating spars and planks to which they might have clung, and so gained the land.

By drunkenness the bed of the ocean has been rendered a foul and gloomy charnel house, where the bones of thousands of our fellow-men await the summons of the Archangel's trumpets, when 'the sea shall give up her dead.' The reckless seamen, though unprepared for another world, hurry themselves into the presence of their Judge, to meet the drunkard's doom.

It has been related that upon one occasion, when the shipwreck of a large packet seemed inevitable, the sailors grew tired of working at the pumps, and shouted 'to the spirit-room!' They saw death staring them in the face, and to drown their terror for the moment, they desired to die drunk. A post-captain in the navy, who was on board the packet, knowing what would be the result if they got at the spirits, took his stand at the door of the spirit-room, with a pistol in each hand, and declared in the most solemn manner, that he would shoot the first man who attempted to enter. The men seeing themselves defeated, returned to the pumps, and by the blessing of God, the vessel was brought in safe with all her crew.[15]

Unfortunate as was the situation of the helpless creatures on the wreck of the Penelope, it was only a few degrees more wretched than that of the officers and men on the shore. They had been cast at the base of a steep mountain, bruised and benumbed by the cold; their clothes were actually freezing on their backs, and they were without provisions of any kind. Their first care was to search for wood and kindle fires, which they at last succeeded in doing, and then they dried their clothes—but before they could derive any benefit from the fire, the intensity of cold had caused many of them extreme suffering; they were frost-bitten in the hands and feet, and several lost their toes. Some of the people were employed in constructing a tent with branches of trees and blankets, others were searching for provisions and securing such articles as were washed on shore from the ship. In the evening, they found about sixty pieces of pork,—and with this and some melted snow they satisfied the cravings of hunger and thirst. Later in the evening several casks of wine, which had been stowed in the ward-room, were washed on shore; but this, which might have proved a blessing to all, was seized by a party of the men,—who broke open the casks and drank to such an excess that they fell asleep, and were found almost frozen to death. During the whole of the day the unhappy men upon the wreck had never ceased supplicating their more fortunate comrades to go to their assistance, but this was impossible; no human effort could save them. As night drew on, their cries were redoubled, and were still heard far above the howling and roaring of the tempest, when darkness had hidden the ill-fated vessel from view. About twelve o'clock three fearful crashes were followed by a still more fearful sound—the last agonized shriek of many perishing creatures.

At daylight, the remains of the Penelope were again visible, but in three separate pieces; all that were left on board had perished, save one man, who was washed on shore nearly lifeless.

The sufferings of these poor wretches must have been awful in the extreme, for their agonies of mind appear to have surpassed those of the body, and to have prolonged their lives by preventing them falling into the torpor which precedes death from cold. So severe was the frost, that the wreck had the appearance of huge masses of ice; and on shore nothing but the very large fires that were kept burning could have preserved the existence of the rest of the crew.

Upon the ship breaking up, the spirits floated on shore, when there ensued such a scene of tumult and insubordination as, happily for the honour of the service, seldom occurs in the British navy. The men broke open the casks, and before the officers were aware of it, scarcely a man was to be seen sober. This brought with it its own punishment; many had drank to such a degree that they fell lifeless in the snow. The officers then caused the remainder of the rum to be stove, excepting a certain quantity placed under their own care; but when discipline is once broken, it is not easily restored. The next day, forty-eight men deserted, after plundering several of their shipmates, and breaking open every trunk that was washed up. These paid the penalty of their crimes, for many of them were found dead in the woods by the Canadians.

We cannot do better than take up the account which is thus given by one of the surviving officers:—

'With the remaining part of the crew the boats were hauled up, which we began to repair the best way we could. Sails were made from a lower and topmast studding-sail, which were fortunately washed ashore; a cask of flour was also found, a part of which was made into dough, and preparations were made to proceed to Quebec.

'On the third day, a Canadian boat was passing, when the captain ordered her to be detained to proceed to that port. With the assistance of the cooking utensils found in the Canadian boat, all the pork that could be found was cooked and served out to the different boats, which was a very short allowance for two days.

'On the sixth day of our misery, the weather moderated, the boats were launched, and all hands embarked; sixty-eight persons in all, including two women. The wind was favourable, but light; with rowing and sailing, we got to Great Fox River that night, at which place we were hospitably entertained with potatoes and salt at a Canadian hut. Next morning we sailed for Gasper Bay, and reached Douglas Town in the evening.

'The captain and officers were accommodated at Mr. Johnston's, and the crew lodged at the different huts around the place. After three days' rest, we walked nine miles over the ice to where the transports lay; leaving the sick at Douglas Town. The captain hoisted his pendant on board the Ann, transport, and put a lieutenant in each of the others, and an equal number of men. When the ice broke up, which was seven days after we got on board, we dropped down to Douglas Town, and embarked the sick, one of whom died, and two deserted. The next morning we sailed for Quebec, where we arrived on the 28th, many of us not having a change of clothes of any description.'

In concluding the above narrative of the loss of this vessel, we will quote the language of Captain Galloway, who thus deprecates, in strong terms, the disgraceful conduct of the majority of the crew of the Penelope:—'I feel it my duty,' he says, 'to state to you the infamous conduct of the whole of the crew, with a very few exceptions. From the time that the ship struck, their behaviour was not in the character of British seamen in general; they had neither principle nor humanity; some, in consequence, have suffered severely, and several died from drunkenness.'

Captain Galloway died in 1846.

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