The Wreck of the "Royal Charter" / Compiled from Authentic Sources, with Some Original Matter
Date: 2018-11-27T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Royal Charter (Ship); Shipwrecks -- Wales -- Anglesey

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Title: The Wreck of the "Royal Charter"

Author: Frank Fowler

Release date: November 27, 2018 [eBook #58364]

Language: English

Credits: E-text prepared by Sam W. and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by the National Library of Australia (https://www.nla.gov.au)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WRECK OF THE "ROYAL CHARTER" ***

E-text prepared by Sam W.
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(http://www.pgdp.net)
from page images generously made available by
the National Library of Australia
(https://www.nla.gov.au)

Note:

Images of the original pages are available through the National Library of Australia. See http://nla.gov.au/nla.obj-395637356

THE
WRECK
OF THE
“ROYAL CHARTER.”

COMPILED FROM AUTHENTIC SOURCES, WITH
SOME ORIGINAL MATTER.

BY
FRANK FOWLER,
LATE OF HER MAJESTY’S CIVIL SERVICE, NEW SOUTH WALES.
AUTHOR OF “SOUTHERN LIGHTS AND SHADOWS,” “DOTTINGS OF A LOUNGER,” ETC.

LONDON:
SAMPSON LOW, SON, AND CO., 47 LUDGATE HILL.
1859.

LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET.

CONTENTS.

| PAGE
NOTE INTRODUCTORY | 3
THE WRECK OF THE “ROYAL CHARTER” | 5
THE PRESS ON THE CATASTROPHE | 43
ADDENDA | 58
LIST OF STEERAGE PASSENGERS | 58
DR. SCORESBY ON THE ‘ROYAL CHARTER’ | 59
THE REV. CHARLES VERE HODGE | 64
THE ADJOURNED INQUEST | 65
THE VERDICT | 78
LATEST DETAILS FROM MOLFRA | 78
POSTSCRIPT | 80

NOTE INTRODUCTORY.

This little book is prepared under the conditions of saving the Mail which leaves England on the 12th, and of being a complete narrative of the Wreck. The one condition is adverse to the other; but I have endeavoured to meet them both.

F.

London, November the Eighth, 1859.

“Forth from the polar caverns of the snows,

Dripping with winter, leapt a northern storm,

And shook himself, and she lay buried white....

Oh! and we were homeward bound!”

Balder.

THE WRECK
OF
THE “ROYAL CHARTER.”

The prints of Tuesday, the 25th of October, contained this brief telegram:—

‘Queenstown.—The “Royal Charter,” from Melbourne, fifty-eight days out, is off this port. She expects to be at Liverpool tomorrow night.’

In the Times of Thursday, the 27th, appeared the following:—

‘A telegraphic despatch has reached us as we are going to press, announcing the loss, on her way from Queenstown to Liverpool, of the “Royal Charter,” with over four hundred passengers on board, of which number only about twenty are saved.’

The last news was so overwhelming—so unexpected and improbable after the early telegram—that at first it was received with some amount of incredulity. No other paper of that morning but the Times contained the intelligence; and from behind this fact there came a gleam of hope. At about eleven o’clock, however, the journals issued as usual their second editions, and then it was the statement in the Times was confirmed, and that the mournfullest piece of news in connection with marine disaster which ever reached this country was generally accepted. The ‘Royal Charter’ was lost! Men passed the news from one to another in whispers, shook their heads, and moved on to the newspaper and telegraph offices for later items bearing upon the calamity. The announcement in the first edition of the Times was sad enough. Such details, however, as that journal was enabled to give in its second edition far more than confirmed the early telegram. Instead of only four hundred persons being on board, it appeared there were close upon five hundred, while the proportion of saved was not in the slightest increased. Some of the circumstances grouped around the wreck, too, were now supplied us. The vessel had, after a terrible battle with the storm, in which masts were cut down and much noble life was spent, struck upon the rocky coast of Wales, parted amidships, and gone down not twenty yards from shore, and scarcely four hours’ sail from Liverpool.

I was in Sydney when the ‘Dunbar’ was lost. I remember, with painful distinctness, the gloom cast upon the colony by that catastrophe. The same cold sense of horror seemed on Thursday last to take possession of the metropolis. At Lloyd’s, at the Jerusalem, at the Baltic, men moved silently about with white faces and knitted brows. As each new telegram arrived and was posted in the rooms, groups would crowd anxiously around it, and amongst them—thrust forward with a most touching anxiousness—the face of many an old colonist could be seen. There was an element of uncertainty in the disaster which added to its painful and prostrating effect upon the public mind. The ship had brought eleven days’ later news; there was no list of its passengers to be had in England; and who could tell but that his friends or kinsmen were on board? We all knew here the splendid qualities of the vessel: we all knew how high her colours stood in the colony. I knew I had travelled the six hundred miles of dangerous sea between Sydney and Melbourne to make my journey home in her. Who then that had a relative or connection in the colony could—or can to this hour—help the bleak conviction that in this vessel, which the cruel rocks have battered, and the remorseless waves have beaten to fragments, he or she was making a visit to the mother country? There were many of course that Thursday morning at Lloyd’s, and the colonial coffee-houses, who by the last mail had received letters from friends intimating their intention of coming home by the ‘Charter.’ To them the intelligence of the wreck had terrible interest. Hour after hour they hung about the City, and when, just before closing, a ‘List of the Saved’ was received at Lloyd’s, it was with difficulty the clerk was enabled to keep them from tearing the document from his hands and post it upon the walls. One gentleman, white-headed and bent with age, who, I subsequently found, had a son on board, swooned the moment he saw the list. His boy was saved.

I endeavour to be brief in these introductory remarks; but somehow the atmosphere of dejection which has rested upon us all since the evil tidings first met us, reproduces itself as I write, and I find myself calling up with mournful minuteness the earlier passages in the History I have been requested to prepare. To that task let me now compel myself.

While the news of the wreck was still being bandied from mouth to mouth, I, who knew the ill-fated craft, and thought, without taking upon myself to suggest a reason for the disaster, I could yet set down many things which might enable others to do so, wrote the following article for one of the newspapers:—

‘The finest ship that ever left the port of Liverpool has gone down with five hundred lives on board. I knew the ship—unhappily I knew some of those who have perished. I purpose to tell my impressions of the vessel, of the captain—everything I know that is likely to be read with interest by the dread light of the calamity.

‘Nearly this time two years I left Melbourne for Liverpool in the vessel. She had—and, in most particulars, deserved it—the reputation of being the finest ship that ever came to Hobson’s Bay. The “Great Britain,” belonging to the same line, was of larger burden, and of much higher steam capacity; but among her splendid performances there was no record of a passage from England to Australia in fifty-nine days. This extraordinary run the “Royal Charter” had made, and a reputation had in consequence attached to her which always filled her cabins with home-bound colonists within ten days or a fortnight of her arrival at Melbourne. As I am writing this I am in utter ignorance of the details connected with the loss of the vessel; and it would be a mere impertinence were I to suggest a cause for the catastrophe. This I must say, however—I feel bound to say it, for the sake of all those who go down to the sea in ships—that if the “Royal Charter” had not made such rapid passages, lives lost on board before this final casualty would certainly not have been sacrificed. Let me, before proceeding further, explain what I mean. It is a practice with more than one large shipping firm, like that to which the “Charter” belonged, to give very heavy rewards to those captains who are enabled to make “the voyage”—that is, the passage out and home—within a specially limited time; let us say five months. Captain Taylor, of the “Royal Charter,” told me himself that his owners had promised him five hundred pounds whenever he made the journey from Liverpool to Melbourne and back in one hundred and fifty days. The consequence of this arrangement was, that speed rather than safety became the characteristic of Captain Taylor’s command. It would be cruel to make this statement if I were not prepared to prove it; but when I add that the “Charter” never made a voyage without an accident of some kind or other occurring—that when I came from Melbourne in her, her gear was so defective that a yard-arm fell, killing one man and wounding others, the very day we left Hobson’s Bay, and that throughout the passage her rudder was so faulty that we had to slacken sail whenever the ship attained a speed of twelve knots,—the veracity (or taste) of my assertion cannot be questioned. Everything was sacrificed to speed: a quick passage seemed to be the sole aim of the captain—was, in fact, the sole aim, as, to conclude these prefatory remarks, one little circumstance will show. When I came home in the ship, she happened, from a stress of foul winds, to make an extraordinarily long run. Well, a month before we arrived in port, we were placed on short allowance of food. Rapidity was so relied on that only sixty or seventy days’ provisions (instead of, as the Shipping Act provides, one hundred and twenty) had been put on board when we left Melbourne!

‘But, with all, she was a noble vessel; and the captain was a noble sailor. If he was a little reckless, the “Liverpool System” is rather to blame than he. He had risen, I believe, from before the mast, and was a man of a certain rough amiability, of seafaring energy, and dogged determination. A slight anecdote fits in here as an illustration. Once he was commanding a ship which had sprung a leak, and a number of the sailors, for some reason or other, refused to work. Captain Taylor ordered all the refractory men in irons, and then, fitting up a windmill, pumped out the vessel without any manual assistance whatever.

‘The “Royal Charter” was a magnificent specimen of shipbuilding. She was some thirty feet longer than the “Great Britain;” could, without her “auxiliary screw,” sail eighteen knots an hour; and was, in matters of internal appointment, more like a West-end hotel than a ship which had to brave the seas and storms of Cape Horn. Her principal saloon was one hundred feet long, was fitted up with stained glass, rich hangings, velvet couches, candelabra, bookcases, piano, and all the other elegancies which have of late been made so much of in the reporters’ descriptions of the “Great Eastern.” There were about forty cabins at the sides of the saloons, beside some twenty or thirty first-class berths on the deck immediately under. The “intermediate” and “steerage” accommodation was very large—capable, I should say, of receiving from four hundred and fifty to five hundred passengers—while in the forecastle and “cock-pit” there were, when I came from Australia, about one hundred men, consisting of officers, pursers, midshipmen, crew, etc., etc. Along the main-deck there was a row of shops—a wine-store, a grocery-store, a meat-store, and a bakery, together with two or three kitchens. (I may add here that the ship carried a score of stewards and cooks.) In the centre of the vessel a large space was devoted to the engine and engineers’ apartments, and just on one side were the cow and sheep pens. Altogether a noble craft—so noble that I never looked at it without thinking, “Great God! will this vessel ever be swallowed by the waters!”

‘Why was this Thought always uppermost as I walked about the ship? I can scarcely tell. I used to think it arose from the gloomy influence of the accident which occurred as we left Hobson’s Bay; but then for weeks after I arrived in England I seldom went to sleep without dreaming I was perishing in a wreck, and that that wreck was the “Royal Charter.” There are those who will be inclined to smile at this portion of my communication; but as I hope never to meet with such a fate as that which has befallen those poor souls whose bodies now lie rotting on the coast of Wales, I solemnly declare that, from the hour I placed my foot on board the vessel until the moment when the news reached me that she had gone to pieces, I had a presentiment some dire calamity would overtake her. Some of those who were on board with me will, doubtless, recognize the hand that pens this memoir. Henceforward, the most stolidly sceptical of these must admit that feeling is sometimes higher than reason, and that there are more things under heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our material philosophy. I should not waste space to chronicle these presentiments—which the majority of readers will, I am aware, regard, and perhaps naturally so, as idle—had they not arisen with me in a manner so utterly unaccountable, and been fulfilled in a manner so utterly disastrous.

‘And at this point, as bearing somewhat upon these forebodings, I may as well state that, from first to last—from her birth to her death, as it were—the “Royal Charter” was, except in the all but uniform swiftness of her voyages, an unfortunate vessel. Imprimis, she was originally built as a sister boat to the unfortunate “John Tayleur.” It will be in the recollection of the reader that, some years ago, this “John Tayleur” was wrecked not very far distant from the spot where the “Charter” went ashore, and with about as many passengers as the “Charter” had on board. There was a great deal written and said at the time about the negligence of the captain, but on inquiry he urged that the wreck had been occasioned through a deviation—the ship was of iron—in the compasses. This explanation was accepted; but it had so much weight with the owners of the “Tayleur” that they at once sold the iron hull of the sister ship they were engaged in building, determining never to have anything more to do with other than wooden vessels. This hull was bought by Messrs. Gibb and Brights, and, as it was originally intended merely for a second-class ship of a thousand or eleven hundred tons, it was, I was told, lengthened amidships by the new owners until it was thirty feet longer than the “Great Britain,” or nearly one-half the length of the “Great Eastern.” It is unnecessary to add that while this extension of the craft from stem to stern was going on, her beam could never be increased. She was, in fact, more like a long iron arrow than a ship. Her extreme length, coupled with her extraordinary narrowness, rendered her a splendid sailer; but it is a grave question with me whether her peculiarity of build may not have had something to do with the accident. In a heavy sea she rolled tremendously, and would only “wear” on one tack. But to continue my record of her calamitous career, the very first time the sister ship of the unfortunate “Tayleur” went to sea (and, let us note, a year had been spent in trying to launch her) she had to put in at Plymouth owing to bad weather, and—I think—some slight injury to her machinery. On arriving at Melbourne, an accident happened on board, and several men were killed. On returning to Liverpool, she ran foul of a vessel just leaving that port, took away her anchor in her bows (fortunately above water-mark), and carried it with her into dock. On the next passage out to Melbourne, the unfortunate ship, soon after crossing the line, was found to be on fire, and it was with great difficulty the conflagration was extinguished. It was on the same run, too, that her rudder was first discovered to be faulty in its working—that is, it shook the vessel to such an extent that sleepers were sometimes thrown from their bunks at night. On her return to England, the yard-arm fell, and—as I have already mentioned—one man was killed, and several were injured. On this passage it was that the ship found itself short of food; moreover, the coal had run out long before we had reached the tropics. In consequence of the last fact, the journey home occupied ninety-seven days; and I was subsequently told great was the anxiety throughout the country for the safety of the vessel. And, apart from the long passage, there was special cause, although unsuspected on shore, for this anxiety. For three days before we made Cork, we had been unable to get a sight of the sun, and, consequently, no observations had been taken. On the eve of the last day a stiffish gale was blowing, and a thick fog floated on the water. At about midnight the gale increased, and the captain, not knowing exactly where we were, ordered the ship to be laid to. Next morning we found we were about twelve miles from the coast. Another hour’s run overnight, and we should all have been landed in eternity.

‘My narrative is now brought down to about eighteen months ago. I know little of the “Royal Charter” since then. She made, it seems, her last run out to Australia in fifty-nine days, and in a Melbourne paper I received by the last mail, I saw it stated that “an able band of musicians had been engaged to proceed with the vessel home!” Ah! jollity enough was there on board, I doubt not, as the barque neared port! Fifty-eight days from Melbourne to Cork! Splendid winds must she have had all the way home; high must have been the spirits of captain, crew, and passengers! Where is the merry company now? It is a sad, sad story. Women must wring their hands, and strong men must weep, as they read that after a haven had been actually reached—after some of the passengers had even landed in Ireland, and set the telegraph in motion to tell their friends in distant places that they were safe on British soil—the ship should have been dashed to pieces by the merciless sea-spume, and that of the five hundred souls on board, four hundred and seventy should have perished!

‘I could write more. I knew so many of the brave officers and crew who have perished. I knew the bluff, honest, daring captain. But of what avail is it to speak of them now? They have all gone. May they rest in peace until that day when even the sea shall render up its dead!’

That was written on Thursday afternoon. The evening papers of that day contained nothing very new. On the Friday morning, however, there was sufficient in the daily journals to show me that I had—without presuming to expressly state—rightly indicated the cause of the ship’s destruction. Not a life need have been lost if the “Charter” had not broken her back. What a strange light that sentence sheds upon what I have written concerning the build of the ship—of her scant beam and startling length.... Of the setting aside, in fact, of the normal conditions of the Thing!

How the vessel came upon the coast is a question running parallel with the foregoing, and the character of the captain, as set forth in that newspaper communication of mine, comes in here with answer. That answer, we all desire, should carry due amount of weight with other commanders of ships with precious freight of human souls on board. There are a few iron plates, rolled up like shrivelled parchment, on the rocks of Molfre Bay. They are all that is left to us of the wreck of the “Royal Charter,” auxiliary screw, thousands of tons burthen, fire-proof bullion-room, patent reefing topsails, and the rest. What precious warning in those crumpled iron plates! Will sea-captains read of them and still go steaming up channel on nights piteously dark with fog and mist? Unhappily, experience says they will.

If shrivelled iron plates fail, as perhaps they may, to carry caution, then let our sea-captains read deeply of the narratives of the saved, which I must now, assuming my proper duty as compiler, proceed to set forth. And at the onset, the bitterest narrative lies in the fact that of near five hundred souls—passengers and crew—on board the vessel, the following mournfully scant catalogue contains the name of every survivor[A]:—

Saloon Passengers.

W. H. Morse.

F. Grundy.

H. C. Taylor.

Saloon Passengers landed at Queenstown.

Mr. Gardner.

Mr. M‘Evoy.

Mrs. Nahmur and child.

Third-Class Passengers (including those landed at Queenstown).

C. M‘Phiel.

John Judge.

W. J. Ferris.

James M‘Clappon.

W. Russell.

J. Bradbury.

Samuel Granfell.

Carl Bertal.

N. Hegan.

John Loome.

S. E. Gapper.

W. Bowden.

Crew.

William Foster.

John O’Brien.

Thomas Griffiths.

William M‘Arthur.

George Irisher.

George Suaicar.

E. Wilson.

Thomas Tims.

Henry Evans.

John Richards.

James Rogers.

David Stroman.

William Hughes.

Thomas Ellis.

George M‘Givrin.

Owen Williams.

William Draper.

Thomas Cormick.

John Stannard.

[A] A list of the riggers who were saved will be found at p. 32. [Back to text]

We are anxiously awaiting the next mail, in order to learn the names of those who are lost. At present the lists that have been published are limited, contradictory, and hypothetical. Each survivor has supplied the newspaper reporters with the names of just as many of his lost fellow-passengers as he could remember. You in the colony, however, will be able, with your files of papers, to complete this section of the story of the Lost Ship.[B]

[B] The following is from the Times of November 1st. It is only a sample of a class of advertisements that are daily appearing in the papers:—

TO the SURVIVING PASSENGERS of the ROYAL CHARTER.—Could any one inform the under-mentioned whether among the saloon passengers of that ill-fated vessel there was one named HENRY LAFARGUE, age 26? They would greatly relieve the anxious minds of that gentleman’s relatives. There appeared in the Times of Thursday, in the list of the lost, the name of La Fargur; in Friday’s, M. La Forgue; and in Saturday’s, La Fargol, which might all have been intended for Lafargue. Address, Miss Lafargue, No. 2 Clarges-street, Piccadilly, W. [Back to text]

The narrative which is at once the completest and most touching is that of Mr. Russell, which takes the following historical form:—

‘On entering the saloon, Mr. Allen, the head steward of the second cabin, came and told the passengers they had better not go on deck, as it might cause confusion. The order was implicitly obeyed. Time passed anxiously and wearily: the storm still raged. Suddenly the vessel struck, not violently—not even with sufficient force to throw the passengers off their seats. Water then came pouring down into the cabin. A voice shouted for the second-class passengers to go into the lower saloon, as the mainmast was going to be cut away. The passengers nearest to the entrance doors attempted to open them (they were hinged in the ceiling), and finding some difficulty, they were immediately smashed. Still there was no hurrying or crushing; all silently took their seats. On deck, sailors and officers, stripped to the waist, laboured to cut away the mainmast. The vessel rolled and thumped so heavily that in delivering their blows, the men were many times thrown on to the deck, but the motion of the vessel assisted the work; the waves, too, lent their aid, and soon the mast tottered, then fell with a crash overboard. Immediately afterwards the raging sea threw the vessel still higher up upon the rocks. The foremast was then cut away, and almost at the same time the mizenmast broke off at the mizenmast-head. Boats were lowered, but the moment they touched the waves they were carried with irresistible force against the rocks, and their inmates were either crushed or drowned in the sea. No boat could live in such a storm. There appeared scarcely any need of boats, so close upon the shore was the vessel. Having struck, the vessel slewed round port side to the rocks. When in the lower saloon, about this time, an apprentice boy, Charley, entered, telling the passengers from the captain that they were to keep up their hearts, all was well, they were only on a sand-bank. The passengers still remained quietly in the cabin. Mr. Cowie, the second mate, accompanied by the purser and two men, came down; they were stripped, having on only their shirt and trousers. They passed through the saloon to the powder-magazine—as they went bidding the passengers keep up their hearts, as they were not far from the shore. The water entered the saloon at the same time, and the waves striking more heavily, the vessel thumped harder. Those in the lower saloon then passed into the upper one. There they found assembled some of the first and third class passengers. No words were spoken, hope and fear struggled for the mastery in their countenances; by this alone was it seen that life and death were in the balances. The stillness of the assembly was at length broken: a young lady, about twenty, Miss Murray, who was on board with her father, mother, and brother, fainted, and was immediately carried to her cabin, from whence she never emerged. Daylight now began to dawn. They had been tossing on the sea and labouring on the rocks all night. Shortly after daylight, a third-class passenger came down; he had on only his trousers, and had been in the bows of the vessel for several hours. He said the forepart of the vessel and the bows touched the land—every one could wade ashore. All hopes of saving the vessel having disappeared, and the boats having been rendered unserviceable, the captain ordered a hawser to be got ready. A seaman, named Joseph Rogers, volunteered to swim ashore with it. The line was made fast to his body, and the noble fellow gallantly dropped overboard and breasted the waves with the resolution of a sailor. For a time he was lost to sight, as wave after wave dashed over the vessel and broke upon the rocks; then the line tightened, and the man was seen clambering up the rocks.

‘The villagers (brought by the signal-lights) crowded round, the hawser was hauled ashore and made fast to a rock, a boatswain’s chair was slung on to the rope, and a number of sailors ordered ashore to work it. Every order was obeyed without confusion. Amongst others landed were two brave fellows—George Suaicar, Malta, boatswain’s mate, and William Foster, Liverpool, carpenter. Word was passed down to the saloons that the ladies were to come on deck. There was a movement immediately towards the staircase. At the same time the ship’s sides began to creak: then there were two heavy thumps experienced; and the ship broke in two across the main hatch. A great number of passengers were standing amidships, and when the vessel parted they disappeared for ever. At the same time a boat abaft the fore rigging fell. The chief officer, Mr. Stevens, and the chief engineer, Mr. Rogers, were standing under it, and both were killed. A second line was attempted to be carried on shore from the poop, but failed. Mr. Russell, his wife, and children, on gaining the deck found that they were on the stern part of the vessel, separated from the fore part by a yawning chasm, into which every moment human beings were dropping, or being driven by the waves. It was a moment of the intensest anguish. As each clung to the rail at the top of the stairs, a hurried farewell was spoken; then they awaited death calmly. Mr. Russell had several times essayed to get a rope. So close were they to the shore, he imagined he might fasten the rope around his family, cast the rope ashore and save them. In vain were his efforts. They were still clinging to each other, when a huge wave came and separated them. When the wave had passed, Mr. Russell’s eldest girl was missing; and when she was found, a box had been washed on to her leg. Mr. Russell moved the box and liberated her. Again for a few minutes they were united. Another wave came—they lost hold of the rail; Mrs. Russell and the two girls were washed against the side of the vessel, Mr. Russell overboard. As the water returned, Mr. Russell sprang at a piece of iron which hung from the side, seized it, then caught a rope; in another moment he was on deck. His youngest daughter was nearest him; he attempted to lay hold of her, had his hands just on her, when another wave came, broke over the ship, poured down with irresistible force, and washed him overboard again. For a time he was struggling in the waves convulsively; he clutched at something which he felt against his body; it was only a piece of canvas; another moment and he felt seaweed under his feet. A wave came, he was almost insensible, yet he saw a man standing before him. Was it a dream, or a reality? He stretched out his hand, he grasped another hand—yet another wave came, and the hand unloosed—he was borne back again—a mightier wave broke, and the hand was again grasped—it held him—he was saved. In a moment or two he recovered his senses, he was lying on a rock; he turned his eyes seaward, there was no living creature left on the stern of the vessel. He then became insensible again, and was borne by the villagers to the hospitable cottage of Mr. and Mrs. Lewis, in the neighbourhood.

‘There were one or two scenes before Mr. Russell was finally washed off the wreck, which imprinted themselves on his memory; words uttered which no time can ever obliterate. They were the last glimpses caught of fellow-voyagers; the dying expressions of old companions. Mr. Henderson, a merchant of Melbourne, on his way to London, was holding on to the binnacle with a gentleman named Watson, one of the firm of Watson, Passmore, and Co., of Melbourne, and he exclaimed, “Oh! Watson, all is gone.” A Jewess, named Markes, was jammed in near a place where the vegetables were kept: and her husband, in vainly endeavouring to release her, tore all her clothes to rags. They had two children on board, and came from Ballarat. A gentleman named Welsh, while in the lower saloon, tied two black canvas bags full of gold around his neck. He was lost. Several other passengers fastened money about their persons; all were lost. Mr. Taylor, one of the saved, had 35l. in his pockets when he jumped into the sea: on reaching shore he had 10l. remaining. Mr. Gapper, another saved, lost about 50l. out of his pockets while he was being carried ashore by the waves. A gentleman named Bradbury, who was on his way to Manchester, dislocated his right ankle on board, and in endeavouring to free himself broke his leg. He afterwards lowered himself overboard into the sea, exchanged one piece of wood for another, shared it with a gentleman named Lewis, who was not hurt at all, was dashed against the rocks several times, was saved, and his companion was lost.’

Mr. Russell completes his statement in these affecting words:—

‘When the vessel broke, an awful shriek—the death-cry of hundreds—was heard above the violence of the storm. On shore, the villagers and the sailors who had escaped unhurt linked hands, and the bravest stepped into the surf to catch hold of those whom the waves bore towards them on their crests, before they were drawn back into the sea. Foremost in one link was George Suaicar, and he was instrumental in laying hold of nine out of those rescued, until exhausted, he fell senseless on the rock, and was borne away. William Foster was another who joined in forming the link. The vessel struck finally about seven, and broke about nine o’clock. On board were the officers of three vessels coming from Australia, and they, with the captain and officers of the ill-fated “Royal Charter,” were all lost.’

The George Suaicar, thus honourably mentioned, speaks for himself with the modesty of a brave sailor. His position on the ship was that of boatswain’s mate. His testimony has special value as bearing upon the earlier passages of the tragedy:—

‘On Monday,’ he says, assuming a staid, log-book form, ‘we left Queenstown in the afternoon, after putting some passengers on board the pilot-boat “Petrel,” who desired to be landed. We proceeded on with calm weather and water smooth. We made Ballycotton Light at half-past seven P.M.; and Youghal Light, on the Irish coast, at half-past eight. Reached the Menay Light at nine; made the Nook Light in half an hour; and sighted Tuskar at about half-past eleven o’clock. On Tuesday morning saw Bardsey, at which time the wind began to freshen. The wind heading, we took in the square-sails; and at ten o’clock A.M., the wind increasing, took in all the fore and aft sails. In the afternoon made Holyhead at half-past one, and at half-past four were right ahead of Holyhead harbour. Could see the steamship “Great Eastern.” Off Bardsey the steam-tug “United Kingdom” came alongside and handed on board some newspapers, asking if we would give a free passage to eleven riggers, as we were going to Liverpool, and the tug was not going until she got a tow. The riggers were taken on board. At a quarter to eight on Tuesday evening were abreast of the Skerries, distant about a mile and a half. At this time the wind had increased to a heavy gale, and the ship was making little or no progress in the water. She was driving up with the strength of the tide, and nearing the shore; the steam had no effect, but we did all to keep the ship off. The maintopsail was lowered, but she still drifted. Clewed up the maintopsail, and the hands were sent up to furl it. The wind had now increased considerably, almost blew the sail from the yard, and it became entangled on the starboard side. It was difficult to get the sail stowed. At this time Mr. Bean, the third officer, with several seamen and myself, were trying to make the sail fast, but could not succeed in accomplishing it. Shortly afterwards orders were given to cock-bill the port anchor, and let go. This was done, giving her seventy-five fathoms of chain. The vessel was steaming the whole time. Finding she was dragging, we let go the starboard anchor. Still finding her dragging, we paid out all the port chain. The vessel was still steaming, and the wind had now increased to a perfect hurricane. We then went to get the stream anchor up, and while doing so the starboard chain parted. I then felt the ship canting over to port, and fancied the wind had changed.

‘Orders were then given to cut away the mainmast, which was done, and in a few minutes afterwards she struck on a bank. The captain gave orders to the engineer to give her as much steam as he could, to harden her on the bank. It was then about three-quarters ebb tide. The place where she struck was at the west of Moelfra, eastward of Point Lynas. Heard the captain give orders to starboard the helm, to keep her on the shore, so that the sea would not have so much power on her broadside. When she became hardened on, the chief officer gave me and the boatswain orders to cut the main and maintopmast stays, as they were lying across the boat, so that the boat could be cleared in case of need. We did so. The chief boatswain and myself were afterwards sitting on a spar, on the deck-house, the sea at the time making a complete breach over the ship. I then went forward to look out, and ascertain whether we were on sand or rock, when I discovered the land distant about thirty yards. I went back, and told the chief officer that it was land; and he said, “We will loose the foretopmast-staysail, and when the tide makes up run her up.” I said it would be as well to give her the foresail. It was then getting daylight. I volunteered to go ashore with a line to get a hawser ashore, immediately after which I felt the ship striking heavier than ever, supposing it was in consequence of the tide making. The sea still broke over her with even greater violence than ever. The captain was at this time on deck, standing by the steam telegraph. I told the chief officer again I was willing to go ashore with a line, and do everything to save life. Asked him if he would allow me a few minutes to put my lifebelt on; and he said of course he would. I afterwards told the boatswain I was going to try and get a line on shore, and he said it was useless, the sea was running too high. Afterwards had a small line slung round my body, and wished some one to volunteer to attend to it while I swam ashore. After some hesitation, a man volunteered. Just as I was being lowered into the water, some one called out that there was a line on shore from forward. Upon hearing that I did not go. A hawser was got on shore and made fast to a rock, and with this contrivance myself and some of the other seamen saved our lives. The hawser was made fast by several of the inhabitants on shore, who came to render assistance.

‘After the ship struck, all the passengers were directed to go aft until the hawser could be properly got out, so that as many as possible might be saved. Shortly after this the vessel parted amidships; and a large number of passengers, standing on the deck where she parted, were swept into the sea and drowned. The boats were smashed to pieces by the fury of the gale, and the others could not be lowered, so that none of them could be made available. The passengers saved were driven on shore by the force of the waves. Sixteen of the crew got ashore by the hawser. An endeavour was made to get a second hawser ashore to rescue the female passengers; but this could not be accomplished. Not a single female passenger was saved. In three hours after the vessel struck she began to go to pieces. Saw about seventy passengers on the port bow, all anxiously awaiting some means of getting them on shore; but a heavy sea which struck the starboard bow stove it in, the ship gave a lurch, and the people were all driven into the sea and drowned. Some of the passengers saved were thrown upon the rocks, and picked up by the crew and others who came to render assistance.’

From the narratives, then, of Mr. Russell and the Boatswain’s Mate, this much may be gathered—that the ‘Royal Charter’ had drifted (shall we say had been foolishly allowed to drift?) too near the coast; that the hurricane had gradually increased, and as the vessel laboured so heavily, the masts had been cut away to ease her; that the screw, which had to an extent served to keep the ship from striking, became suddenly entangled with the falling spars, and ceased to work; that the strong wind and stronger waves then bore the craft against the rocks; that, through the courage of a seaman, a rope was carried to the coast with a ‘boatswain’s chair’ secured upon it; that (when a sufficient number of the crew had landed to work ‘this contrivance’) the passengers had been summoned to be sent ashore; that, just as they were congregating amidships, a crash was heard, the vessel parted, and fell to pieces like a house of cards; that a few hasty farewells, a quick exchange of hopeless glances, a waving of hands which heretofore had been joined in all life’s struggles, and a last wild cry to heaven, through which the wintry sun was slowly breaking, followed that awful crash; that the ship gradually sank and the sea gradually swelled; that a few bodies, cruelly mutilated, were washed upon the shelving crags; that the sun rose higher and higher, until at length its beams flickered among the crimson gouts upon the faces of the rocks; and, finally, that the Welsh villagers gathered upon the spot, and, with true Welsh hospitality, bore the bodies of the unfortunate passengers to their homes.

And the sun set and the moon came up; and the wives of the officers and crew—and all those who knew, or thought, they had friends or relatives on board—assembled upon the spot, searching along the shore for tokens or memorials however slight from which LIFE or DEATH might be interpreted, and suspense changed, for better or for worse, to certainty.

Other narratives come in at this point, all more or less afflicting. The first is that of James Dean, which is remarkable as showing how, in the most harrowing exigencies, the presence of mind of some men never deserts them. Dean is a smith returned from Melbourne, and he speaks bravely and bluffly, after the manner of his class. In reading his story, it is well to mark the religion and heroism which breathe through the words I have underlined.

‘He says he was in bed in a berth with four other passengers when the ship struck, and he was aroused by one of his comrades exclaiming, “I think we’re lost.” He dressed himself, and after a few minutes’ prayer, ascended on deck, where he had not been more than a very brief period when the vessel parted in the centre “like the snapping of a tobacco stump.” The people on board stood petrified, as it were, seemingly unable to make the slightest struggle for their lives; whilst their terror was increased by the awful scenes presented as unfortunate creatures fell and were crushed to atoms in the chasm separating the two parts of the ship. He never for a moment lost his presence of mind. He saw that most of those in the water struggled towards the large pieces of the wreck, and he saw also that most of those who trusted to these heavy portions of the vessel were crushed to death, and their bodies dreadfully mutilated against the rocks. Though totally unable to swim he jumped overboard, and just seized a box he saw floating near him. Almost at the very moment he seized this a head was thrust under his arm, and a second claimant appeared. Dean said it would not support both of them; so as soon as possible he left the box for another piece of wood, and with this he was thrown upon the shore. He left his support and tried to gain a position of security; but ere he could do so a wave overpowered him and carried him back to sea, where he became entangled in the floating remnants of the vessel, and it was with the greatest difficulty that he extricated himself. When he had succeeded in this, he was again thrown on shore. Whilst momentarily expecting the arrival of another wave, a rope was thrown to him, and by it he was finally drawn out of danger, without experiencing any injuries or bruises other than of a very trifling description. He soon recovered strength. He was bringing home a cheque for a considerable sum of money, and before his voyage he had taken the precaution to enclose this in a waterproof belt, which he kept around his waist. This cheque is therefore saved, and his only losses are his clothes and a small sum of money which was with them.’

Mr. John Bradbury speaks not only on the accident, but gives us a glimpse of the earlier portion of the voyage. His sufferings on escaping from the wreck were very great, and will serve as a hint of what may have been endured before death by many of those whose bones are now bleaching beneath the waters. But for his athletic person and robust constitution, John Bradbury—who speaks as under—would, without doubt, have been numbered with the lost:—

‘We sailed from Melbourne on the 26th of August, and had on board, as I know, about five hundred passengers and crew. The captain was Mr. Thomas Taylor; the chief officer, Mr. Stevens; and the second mate, Mr. Cowie. The ship ran almost entirely under canvas up to the equinoctial line, when she encountered strong head winds. Her screw power was then brought into requisition. On the 10th of September, about four o’clock in the morning, the weather being thick and dark, we ran close past a large iceberg. Mr. Cowie was on watch, and had it not been for his able manœuvring, the ship would have been in imminent danger. The passengers showed their appreciation of his ability by presenting him with a testimonial on the eve of the dreadful disaster. We arrived at Queenstown on Monday forenoon, when twelve passengers disembarked. We left Queenstown about two o’clock, under steam alone. The ship was laid on her course for Liverpool, but the storm had the effect of diverting her to such an extent that I saw the “Great Eastern” at Holyhead. The wind was then blowing very hard. We sighted the light on Point Lynas about five o’clock in the afternoon. The sea was running high, though not equal to what we had experienced on the passage; but the wind was stronger. It was found we could make no headway, and two anchors were dropped. She dragged her anchors, and the engines were working, but I understood the screw was broken.

‘About two o’clock on Wednesday morning the vessel struck. A great number of passengers were then in their berths; but they suddenly rushed upon deck, many of them but partially dressed. There was not much confusion at first, but it increased as people became aware of the real danger. I believe the captain was not sober; but Captain Withers, who was a passenger, and the chief mate and officers, did all they could to save the ship. A rope was got out from the head of the vessel, but I cannot say how. A kind of rope chain was made and placed upon it. By means of this some were drawn along the hawser to the shore. When the rope was seen there was a great rush to the forecastle deck, in order to get the first advantage. A large wave washed over her head and carried them into the sea. Others followed, but only to meet a similar fate. I was standing near the davit of a boat on the poop, when a sea jammed me fast between the boat and something else. I was beaten about and my ankle dislocated, and then my leg was broken. I then became insensible for a short time, but on regaining my consciousness I got a rope, and fastening it, lowered myself down from the poop into the sea, upon a piece of the wreck, along with the storekeeper. I was knocked up and down, turned topsy turvy, driven and battered against this thing and the other till I lighted upon a piece of cabin framework, and paddled myself along with my hands. The waves washed me three times on the rocks, and took me back, battering me about. The next time I fell between two rocks, which held me, and I was picked up by two men. Four men brought me to this house, which is kept by Mr. Owens; who has been very kind to me. My leg was set by Mr. Thomas of Liverpool.’

The simplicity of that statement must touch the strongest. Captain Withers, it may be worth mentioning, was returning from Australia, after having lost his ship in the Pacific. His exertions throughout the storm were very great, and it was under his advice that the masts were cut away.[C] There are those who say that if the ship had been earlier dismasted she would not have gone to pieces. I can speak with no authority upon this point. This, however, I know, Captain Taylor so loved his craft that when we ran short of provisions coming home, and might, with two or three hours’ supply more of fuel have made the Island of St. Vincent, and taken in a stock both of firing and food, he preferred running all the hazard of ‘keeping on,’ rather than touch the ‘beautiful spars’ of his vessel. The loss to his owners in consequence was many thousand pounds. In compensation to second and third class passengers alone, they had to pay something like fifteen hundred pounds. I can, therefore, readily understand that the dismasting of the vessel may have been unfortunately delayed until it was too late to save her. At the same time it is but fair to the memory of the captain—than whom a braver sailor never trod a deck—to say that all such rumours should be accepted with caution. Colonial readers will well remember the many absurd and contradictory reports which were current when the ‘Dunbar’ went ashore.

[C] The following appears in the Morning Herald of November 2nd:—‘Captain Withers, the master of the wrecked vessel “Virginia” (lost in the South Pacific), with nine men, after being nineteen days at sea in an open boat, and enduring innumerable privations, all arrived safe at the Feejee islands, and thence they were conveyed to Sydney, New South Wales. On arriving at Sydney, Captain Withers after seeing that the crew were provided with clothes, went on to Melbourne, and took a passage home to England in the “Royal Charter.” He is the “Captain Withers” mentioned by one of the persons saved from the wreck of the “Royal Charter,” who behaved with such noble fortitude and unflinching bravery when all seemed lost, and when it was a mockery to hope against such a fearful tempest. But he was doomed to die a sailor’s death, for the last seen of him was when he called out to Mr. Stevens and Captain Taylor, “God bless you, Stevens! God bless you, Taylor! Keep firm.” The ship broke up immediately after: the rest already too well known.’ Strange are the ways of Providence! Captain Withers was saved, after terrible privations, from perishing in the South Pacific to be dashed to pieces on the rocks of Wales! [Back to text]

That the captain was in some degree ignorant of the exact spot where he was, and was but imperfectly acquainted with the coast, seems manifest from this,—when the hurricane gathered in its might, it was proposed that a barrel of tar should be fired and sent adrift, in order to light up the coast. ‘When the vessel struck,’ says one of the daily newspaper reports, ‘signal guns were fired, rockets sent off, and every means adopted to attract attention from the shore; but the houses in the neighbourhood being few and far between, no practicable assistance was attracted. No life-boat could live in the raging sea, and the boats of the vessel herself were perfectly unavailable.’

From the foregoing, a picture only too vivid of the catastrophe may be realized. The Boatswain’s Mate describes the storm; Mr. Russell paints the ship with all its intense and death-foreboding excitement; and Mr. Bradbury conveys, with dread distinctness, the manner in which the handful of saved fought their way from the jaws of death.

One or two other narratives, purporting to be from survivors, have appeared, but as they are mere paraphrases of those I have given, I have some doubt in the first place of their genuineness, and in the second of the desirability of occupying space with repetitions.

Let the description of the night of the wreck end here.

The moment the news of the disaster reached London and Liverpool, agents from Lloyd’s and the owners of the ship were despatched to Molfre Bay. They were accompanied by representatives of the principal London and Liverpool journals, and the communications which the reporters subsequently addressed to their several papers were affecting in the extreme. Here is the first:—

‘Molfra Bay, Thursday Evening.—It is my very painful duty to record the total wreck of the screw steamship “Royal Charter,” Captain Taylor, which took place at from three to eight o’clock on the morning of Wednesday, at Molfre, a rugged portion of the Anglesea coast, and about midway between Amlwch and Ruffin Island. The ill-fated vessel sailed from Melbourne on the 26th of August, having on board 388 passengers, of whom 63 occupied the saloon, and a crew, including officers, of 112 persons. While the ship was passing Queenstown, on Monday morning, 13 of the passengers landed in a pilot-boat. On Tuesday morning, at eleven o’clock, the “Royal Charter” spoke the steam-tug “United Kingdom,” which, instead of returning to port with riggers who had been assisting in the working of a ship to Cardiff, transferred 11 of the riggers to the “Royal Charter,” Captain Taylor having kindly agreed to take them to Liverpool; so that there were on board at the time of the wreck 498 souls, and of these only 39 were saved.

‘The loss of life on this sad occasion was 459 persons. The “Royal Charter” had on board a large quantity of specie on freight, the exact amount of which cannot be ascertained, as all the ship’s papers have been lost, but it was variously estimated by the surviving passengers and crew at from 500,000l. to 800,000l. One of the saloon passengers, who was drowned, was stated to have had in his possession gold to the value of 10,000l. She had only a moderate cargo, principally of wool and skins.’ [Did the small cargo have anything to do with the loss of the vessel? Would she, if more heavily laden, have drifted so rapidly upon the rocks?] ‘From the time of leaving Port Phillip Heads till the arrival off the Irish coast the passage was in the highest degree favourable; she was only once in danger, and then from an iceberg. After passing Queenstown the wind veered round to E.N.E., blowing strong. On Tuesday night it blew a gale, and continued to increase in violence, till at length, on the morning of the fatal disaster, it became a perfect hurricane. Arriving off Point Lynas at six P.M. on Tuesday evening, signal rockets were for several hours thrown up, in the hope of attracting a pilot, but none made their appearance. Captain Taylor, finding that his ship was making leeway, and gradually drifting towards the shore, let go both the anchors, but such was the violence of the wind, and the heavy cross sea prevailing, that the chains parted.’ [The same night the “Great Eastern” was all but lost through one of her massive cables snapping.] ‘Notwithstanding that the engines were worked at their full power, the captain was unable to work to windward, and the unfortunate vessel struck the rocks stern first in four fathoms water. Up to this period (about three A.M.) not the slightest alarm was evinced among the passengers, a large portion of whom were women and children. The most perfect discipline and order prevailed. The masts and rigging were cut adrift, but caused no relief, as the ship continued to thump on the sharp-pointed rocks with fearful rapidity.

‘Shortly after she struck, the ship was thrown broadside on, perfectly upright upon the shelving stony beach, the head and stern lying due east and west, the former not being more than twenty yards from a projecting rock. At this juncture one of the crew, a Maltese, named Joseph Rogers, nobly volunteered to struggle through the heavy surf and convey a rope on shore. Though it was not believed by any one that danger was imminent, the captain gave the order, and Rogers ably fulfilled his duty. A strong hawser was then passed and secured on shore, and to this was rigged a “boatswain’s chair.” At five o’clock the ship laboured and bumped to such an extent that the ladies and children exhibited the greatest anxiety and fear: they crowded together in the after part of the saloon, and the Rev. Mr. Hodge, of East Retford, a Clergyman of the Church of England, offered up a prayer; but his exhortations were interrupted by the violent thumping of the vessel on the rocks, and the heavy seas which came dashing into the cabin.’ [Throughout the passage, this reverend gentleman had administered religious service, and had made so many friendships that his fellow-passengers had presented him with a testimonial.] ‘The scene in the saloon was of the most heartrending description; children and parents, husbands and wives, were clinging to each other in affectionate embrace. Captain Taylor and Captain Withers came down and tried to allay their fears by assuring them that there was no immediate danger. Scarcely had their words been uttered before a succession of tremendous waves swung her about on the rocks, and she divided amidships, engulfing all on board. Shortly afterwards she also parted at the forehatch, throwing a large number of persons into the sea. Many were killed by the breaking up of the ship. Several of the crew saved themselves by means of the hawser to the shore, while the remainder were hurled upon the rocks by the waves. All the officers perished. Captain Taylor was the last man seen alive on board. He had lashed his body to a spar and was drowned.’ [Some affirm he was killed, after he was in the sea, by a boat falling from its davits. It is said he and Mr. Cowie, the second officer, were seen together, and that the boat struck both at once. Mr. Stevens, the first officer, and Mr. Rogers, the chief engineer, were—runs the main body of testimony—also killed together by the falling of a suspended boat upon the deck.] ‘Mr. Stevens, the chief officer, was killed, it is thought, by the falling rigging. Several of the more fortunate passengers received severe injuries while struggling for life. With the exception of a portion of the midship bulkhead, which appears a few feet above the water, there is scarcely a vestige of the “Royal Charter” remaining. The bullion chest, which was substantially built of iron, and secured to the framing of the ship, is supposed to have been shattered, from the fact of a gold box having been picked up with the address of a leading banking firm upon it.’ [The subsequent operations of the divers have, up to the time I am writing, tended to confirm this hypothesis, although assurances at fifty, sixty, and eighty per cent. are still being effected at Lloyd’s.]

‘About two hundred and fifty sovereigns and a quantity of notes had been picked up among the rocks.

‘At least thirty bodies which have been cast ashore are lying in the adjacent church; most of them are frightfully mutilated. William Hughes, the only apprentice saved, states that when the vessel parted he was in the waist, and was precipitated among the machinery, which was hurled to and fro by the action of the waves. He had given himself up for lost, when a wave lifted him clear of the ship, and landed him in an unconscious state. The survivors during their stay at the scene of the wreck were very kindly treated. Two ladies made themselves conspicuous by their attention to the sufferers. It is stated that all the boats were in perfect readiness for lowering had circumstances permitted.’ [Some of the passengers say the boats were launched, and were dashed to pieces on the rocks.]

The second correspondent’s letter is equally interesting. Of course a number of persons describing one event will, as has been often pointed out, fall into discrepancies of statement. It is not for me to make the reports uniform. I have thrown in a parenthetical explanation here and there; but otherwise the several newspapers must speak for, and explain, themselves. The second communication runs thus:—

‘The “Royal Charter” did not, as was at first stated, strike the ground in Red Wharf Bay, but a place between that point and Amlwch. It is a small opening in the coast, the beach being chiefly sand and stones. It is to the west of Point Lynas, and known as Molfra, a village in the immediate locality, being of that name. The coast is thinly inhabited, and the land flat and uncultivated. Very soon after the fatal catastrophe, which resulted in such an awful sacrifice of human life, the vessel broke up, and nothing remains but pieces of the wreck, which were moved to and fro by the action of the tide. As one of the seamen described it, she broke up like a bandbox.

‘Those of the crew and passengers who escaped were provided with temporary accommodation in the neighbouring cottages, where they received every mark of kindness from the inhabitants. During the day most of them left the place, and were conveyed to Liverpool in steam-tugs sent out by the owners of the ship.’ [And were, it is said, shamefully treated after their arrival. But of this in time.] ‘Last (Friday) evening only one passenger remained, Mr. Russell, with the boatswain’s mate and the carpenter of the ship. Many persons visited the scene of the wreck yesterday, and were making anxious inquiries as to the fate of relatives and friends. For this purpose every facility was afforded. Some of the scenes arising out of these inquiries amongst those deprived of their nearest relatives and friends were affecting in the extreme. Shortly after the wreck several of the bodies of the unfortunate sufferers by the calamity floated upon the beach; subsequently others were picked up, and the number amounted at a late hour last evening to twenty-six. Of these, five were females, and two of them young children. The bodies were conveyed to Llanallgo church, and carefully laid out on straw, so as to afford an opportunity for identification. Some had on their clothing, while others were only partially dressed, as though when the vessel struck they had been in their berths, and rushed suddenly to the deck in a state of alarm on being made acquainted with the perilous position of the ship. Many of the bodies bore evidence of injuries, probably sustained from being dashed against the rocks, or coming into violent contact with portions of the wreck. One man had nearly all his limbs broken, and the body had, as it were, to be gathered up. Another was without the head, and several were much bruised on various parts of the body. Some small boats and papers were picked up yesterday on the beach. One of the papers appeared to be a diary kept by a passenger on board, supposed to be a clergyman of Nottingham. The various incidents of the voyage, from the time of leaving Melbourne until the arrival at Queenstown, were carefully recorded by the writer.’ [This is doubtless Mr. Hodge, a good man who would keep a diary.] ‘The riggers previously referred to as being on board the “Royal Charter” when she grounded have lost six of their number, namely, James O’Neill, Richard Morris, William Thomas, Peter Topping, Thomas Corcoran, and Henry White. Those saved are James White, Patrick Devine, —— Pritchard, Thomas Cunningham, and William Burton. Some of them swam ashore, and others succeeded in saving themselves by the aid of the hawser. So far none of the passengers’ luggage or articles of a similar kind have been washed on shore.’ [Much was afterwards found, as will be seen.] ‘A few articles of male and female attire have been collected, and these are taken care of by the officers of police and coast-guard now on duty. The services of the Anglesea militia have also been called into requisition, to assist in the protection of any property received, and also in the removal of the bodies washed up on the shore. The position of the vessel at the time of the catastrophe, and whether or not blame attaches to the captain or his officers, were subjects of comment amongst many of those who visited the spot yesterday. At present it would be unfair to give currency to these remarks, seeing that the matter will undergo a strict investigation at the coroner’s inquest. The number of persons saved is now stated to be thirty-nine; and of these, twenty-one are passengers, and the remainder belong to the crew. Only very few of the bodies recovered have yet been identified. A gentleman attended yesterday, to make inquiry as to his wife, whom he supposed to be on board the “Royal Charter.” The body of his beloved partner was not amongst those lying in the church, but on a closer investigation, his eye fell on the corpse of a faithful servant, who, he felt sure, would accompany his wife on the voyage. This fact too truly told the mournful result.

‘The man who swam on shore with the hawser was a Maltese, and not a Portuguese, as first said. He lost everything he possessed, and swooned when he reached land.’

Depend upon it that man (“heroism has no country”) will be rewarded. We shall not do here as was done in Sydney when the ‘Dunbar’ was lost,—allow our sympathy to expend itself upon the saved to the all but utter forgetfulness of the saviour.

A third and a later newspaper reporter’s letter must find a place:—

‘Molfra Village, Redwharf Bay, Saturday.—Who does not shudder at the mention of a shipwreck? In Llanallgo church, about a mile from the desolate coast on which the unfortunate “Royal Charter” has gone on shore, lie about thirty distorted and mangled bodies, and to that locality anxious and distracted relatives crowded early yesterday morning. At another church hard by, which is known as Penrhos, there were also the bodies of two children and two ladies laid out; and the anxiety of friends may be gathered when it is stated that through pelting and incessant rain, over almost inaccessible roads, for more than fifteen miles, hundreds of people wended their way to the locus in quo of the wreck.

‘This has been pronounced the most dreadful occurrence of the kind that has happened on this coast. Perhaps it is the most terrible marine disaster that has ever happened anywhere. So complete is the wreck, that Captain Fell says in his naïve nautical style, that he has been seventeen years “at this sort of work,” but never saw a vessel so completely destroyed. The size of the ship, too, and the number of persons lost, render it an unexampled calamity.

‘Captain Fell, from Lloyd’s, was in attendance early yesterday (Friday) morning, at Molfra or Moelfra, deputed to make inquiries for the underwriters. The vessel had on board 49,000l. in specie, 79,000 oz. in gold, valued at 320,000l., making a total of 369,000l., besides a large quantity of money in the hands of the passengers. The excitement at Lloyd’s on the arrival of the disastrous intelligence is described by Captain Fell as intense, the confidence from the first in the ship’s sailing qualities being so great that insurances were taken at 80s. per cent. As an indication of the wealth in the hands of the crew and passengers, it may be mentioned that torn and dilapidated garments have been picked up on the shore, some of which contain considerable amounts of money, watches, and other valuables. Intimation was early given of the danger in which the ship was placed, but though little hope was entertained of the safety of the vessel herself, every one seems to have retained a hope of life, and rushed to his and her valuables and money, and sought safety with as little encumbrance in the shape of clothing as possible.’

And yet another communication, though only of a few lines, must be given. It were easy to write a most pathetic prolusion to it, but I prefer to let it stand in its nude significance:—

‘Liverpool, Sunday Morning.—This banquet (that is, a Grand Conservative Banquet to the Earl of Derby and Mr. Disraeli), which during the last two months has been anticipated with so much interest by the whole Conservative party, is just concluded.... Altogether the general effect was remarkably brilliant and picturesque. It ought to be remarked, however, that many persons of position were absent on account of the wreck of the “Royal Charter.” The calamity has cast a perceptible gloom over the town, and at the beginning of the banquet the conversation rather turned on the catastrophe than on politics. Some thought the banquet ought never to have been held; but the news of the accident arriving so near the day, it was impossible to delay it: otherwise there is no doubt it would have been postponed.’

That one brief paragraph will attest to the colony how deep is the sympathy entertained in England for the friends of those who are lost. Had it been practicable to put off the feast to a more convenient season it would have been done. The committee met and considered the matter, and found it was impossible. The shadow of the lost ship, however, rested upon the banquet!

How could it be otherwise? The day before, the inquest on the bodies of some of the lost voyagers had been opened, and the following heartrending description of it appeared in the Saturday’s papers which the banqueters must have bought on their way, from all parts of the country, to Liverpool:—

‘The Inquest.—The inquest on the bodies was commenced yesterday (Friday) afternoon, at Llanallgo church, before Mr. William Jones, coroner of Anglesea, and a jury who were sworn in Welsh. It was an impressive sight when the coroner, standing at the communion table, surrounded by the group of dead and mangled corpses, amid the audible sobs of those who had recognized their friends, commenced his melancholy task.

‘Mr. Moore, solicitor of Warrington, before the opening of the inquest, asked the coroner what course he intended to pursue.

‘The coroner thought he should be satisfied, under the melancholy circumstances, with the identification of the bodies.

‘Mr. Bright, of the company owning the vessel, undertook to have any of the surviving crew present who would be able to give any information.

‘Mr. James Russell, who said his father lived in Linlithgowshire, and who was one of the passengers who escaped, recognized John Smith, son of Edmund Smith, Mrs. Woodroff (companion to Mrs. Forster, also in the vessel and lost), Catherine Margaret Russell, and Richard Reed. Mr. Forster lives at Grindlow House, Manchester, Mrs. Woodroff’s husband is expected home by the “George Marshall.” Richard Walton, of 22 Duckworth Street, Brunswick Road, Liverpool, identified his brother James, between 21 and 22. Thomas Outerside, 6 Clare Street, Liverpool, printer, identified John Emery, Stone, Staffordshire.

‘The coroner then proceeded to Penrhos church, where he also charged the jury with the investigation into the circumstances of the death of the bodies lying there. The inquests were adjourned until Wednesday.’ [Later proceedings before the coroner, will be found elsewhere.] ‘In reply to an application, the coroner undertook to have an interpreter provided.

‘Several parties were present who stated they were prepared to vindicate the character and memory of Captain Taylor. The vessel it was stated, made no water until it broke up. The ladies it was arranged, should go first; but before opening the saloon doors, the vessel parted in two and stopped all communication.

‘Mr. Samuel Henry, a jeweller from Adelaide, who had been confined on the ground that he was insane, was amongst the number in Llanallgo church. Mr. Glover, a gentleman of fortune (from Adelaide, it is said), who was coming to England for the purpose of consulting some skilled oculist, is also amongst the number, and a large sum of money was found on his person. Writing-desks, likenesses, letters, a part of the post-office, and various other relics, have been washed up.’

The touching allusion to the likenesses and letters leads naturally to the following (further) particulars from the scene of the calamity:—

‘Molfra Bay, Tuesday, Nov. the 2nd.—It is necessary that the public should be on their guard against the rumours in circulation as to the discoveries made by the divers who commenced operations on Sunday. It was reported as an established fact in Bangor last night that one of the divers had entered the saloon of the “Royal Charter,” and there found about 200 passengers in the positions they occupied when the ship went down; some sitting round the table, others standing upright, and others as if in the act of coming from their berths. A similar story was told some six or seven years ago, after the wreck of a large steamer off the Bailey Light, Hill of Howth. Indeed, in that case, the diver was made to describe some of the passengers as in the act of lifting glasses to their mouths. The lie was printed, and obtained very general circulation before it was contradicted. The less detailed account is in the present case equally destitute of foundation. Two experienced divers, who came from Liverpool in the steam-tug “Fury,” the property of Gibb, Brights, and Co., made a descent yesterday, and remained a considerable time under the water, but they saw no corpses beneath; neither did they find any gold; but they saw some copper. This morning they resumed their descents under very favourable circumstances as regards weather and the state of the sea. They have discovered no bodies; but up to one o’clock this afternoon they had succeeded, with the assistance given them by men on board the steam-tug, in raising about three tons of copper bars. These bars have undergone some smelting, but are not in a finished state. There is a good deal of silver mixed with the copper. At one o’clock the divers suspended operations for a short rest and refreshment. They resumed after about an hour’s interval.

‘Some additional articles of wearing apparel, with spars, etc., have been cast upon the beach. One or two canvas huts have been erected on the remnants of masts, and in front of one of these such articles as have names on them, or would otherwise serve for purposes of identification, are spread out in melancholy array. Amongst them are seven photographs, two of men, two of ladies, two of children, and one landscape. None of these have as yet been identified as portraits of individuals whose friends have arrived at the scene of the wreck. There is a stocking with the name “Jane Murray,” and another with the name “F. Davis” upon it. There is a portion of a shirt, with the name “J. E. Smith,” and another with the name “R. Thornhill,” followed by the date “1846.” A large, coarse wrapper has the inscription “C. R. Ross, passenger, ‘Royal Charter,’” painted in black letters upon it. On a piece of a shirt, “E. Fenwick;” on another, “John Lees, 1855.” On a piece of a stocking, “T. W.;” and on a small piece of linen, “T. G.” There are a number of visiting cards spread on a piece of wood: one has the inscription, “Mr. Eddowes, 146 Cambridge-street, Pimlico;” another, “Mr. Sam. Moxley Wade, Low, and Cill, Liverpool.” On a piece of linen is “James Davis, Woodside, 1859.” The whole scene of the wreck is an extremely melancholy one; but a peculiarly affecting incident took place to-day. A poor young woman was searching along the beach to endeavour to find some trace of her husband, about whose fate she was uncertain. She discovered a waistcoat which had just been washed in, and which had been hung up in front of the tent by one of the coast-guard. Almost frantically, she pulled it down. It proved to be that of her husband, a man named Barrett, who had been painter aboard the “Royal Charter.” The grief of the poor widow was heartrending to witness. Some of the standers-by, in an attempt to comfort her, suggested that she might be mistaken. “Oh, no,” said she, “here is my own work upon it. My husband, my husband! God, look down upon me!” Amongst those who anxiously inspected this relic was the Rev. Mr. Lewis, a Wesleyan minister. Two of his brothers were aboard the ship—one as purser. Their arrival at Queenstown had been telegraphed to their aged mother, who wrote to the rev. gentleman to meet them at Liverpool. He now, poor fellow, paces the shore at Molfra Bay to watch for the dead bodies. Five bodies were washed ashore at Molfra, and seven at Penmaenmaur yesterday. None of these have as yet been identified. No bodies have been washed up to-day. Several of the dead persons have already been interred in Molfra and Llanallgo churchyards. The wreck remains in precisely the state as she was on Wednesday last when the coast-guard from Amlwch were put in charge. At low water a good piece of her hull is visible. At high water there are only portions of two of the masts. As the officials along the line of the London and North-Western Railway are besieged with inquiries as to where Molfra Bay is, it may be as well to state that the nearest approach to it for any person not in the island of Anglesey, is from Bangor railway station. It is fourteen miles from Bangor, over a horrible road, with most expensive posting. There is no mode of communicating with London from it but through Bangor, and there are no public conveyances of any kind. But, notwithstanding this, great numbers are visiting the scene. On the whole, the people in the neighbourhood are reported to have acted very well. Several sums of money found by them have been given up to the coast-guard. The fragments of the spars, and even of the mainmast, seem as if they had been smashed into small pieces by some crushing blade impelled by steam power. If an army of giants had fallen to to hew up the ship it could not have presented a more fragmentary appearance.’

A correspondent of the Manchester Guardian describes the wreck from the same stand-point. He says:—

‘Immediately after the adjournment of the inquest, on Friday, orders were given for the interment of the bodies which had been identified; the remainder were kept throughout the whole of Saturday, and every hour brought a fresh accession of visitors bent on the melancholy errand of inquiry after missing friends. The distortion and disfigurement of the bodies consequent on drowning, and the absence of clothing, made the examination necessarily more minute and painful; but in some instances the features and limbs were mangled from violent dashing against the rocks, and recognition of friends was almost impossible. Mr. Bradbury, a survivor, describes one of the young ladies whose bodies were lying in Penrhos church as the recognized belle of the vessel, and the charm and admiration of a large circle. Mrs. Foster, who is among the lost, had gone to Australia to superintend the sale of some land, and it is conjectured that she had with her the whole of the proceeds of the sale. Her companion, Mrs. Woodroff, who has been identified, was the wife of an innkeeper in Melbourne: her husband is expected to follow her. Among the company at Bangor was an elderly gentleman from Gloucestershire, named Wright, who had heard of the wreck at Liverpool, where he had come in expectation of meeting his son, Mr. Iles Wright, of Evesham, who was the surgeon of the ship, and who had written from Queenstown anticipatory of his arrival.

‘At low water the remaining portion of the hull of the vessel is quite discernible, and when the neap tides prevail it is expected that much of the treasure and many more bodies will be recovered. The fact that so few, proportionately to the number lost, have been recovered has occasioned much wonder, and is variously accounted for. The partition of the vessel is supposed by some to have enclosed the bodies as in a box. The débris of the wreck lies scattered about the shore, the woodwork being literally nothing but chips. The exact position of the wreck is about a mile and a half from the Llanallgo church, where most of the bodies are lying. The Anglesea militia, the coast-guard, and a body of police are placed there for the protection of the property washed on shore, and a temporary shed is constructed on the shore. The nearest dwellings to the wreck are at Molfra village, which is more than half a mile from the spot. Captain Fell and a staff from Lloyd’s are located there. At the inquest, which is adjourned to Wednesday, a strict examination is expected to take place into the statement made of the captain being intoxicated at the time of the fearful disaster. The statement is broadly made by some of the survivors; but the owners of the vessel and some nautical men say they can triumphantly vindicate the memory of the deceased.

‘Among the Lancashire people lost in the vessel whose friends came to seek for them on hearing of the wreck, were Mr. Casper Lewin, nephew of Mr. Adam Casper, of Market Street, Manchester; Miss Wrigley, Byron Street, Manchester; Mr. and Mrs. Kirkbride, Liverpool; and Mrs. Robinson, of Southport, wife of the editor of one of the Melbourne newspapers.’

In a letter dated ‘Molfra, Wednesday afternoon,’ another writer says:—

‘Four more bodies, all males, have been cast ashore since my communication of yesterday—one last night and three this morning. Three of them are now lying in the parish church of Llanallgo; the remaining body has been removed to the church of Penrhos Lligny, having been thrown ashore in the latter parish. All yesterday evening a very heavy sea rolled; and about four o’clock the lifeboat, manned by a crew of eight, put out to rescue those on board a brigantine, which was observed to be rapidly approaching the rocks a little to the north of the spot in Dulas Bay, in which the wreck of the “Royal Charter” lies. The brigantine, however, got safely in on the sands, in a little creek about a mile from Molfra, where she now lies. As the waves beat violently in on the Dulas Rocks last evening, large quantities of clothing were to be seen tossed about. Some of it was cast ashore, but a great deal was carried out to sea again. It has been suggested by some of the relatives of the drowned passengers and seamen, that if boats were sent out many more bodies would be recovered. I think this extremely likely, after what I have witnessed with respect to the action of the waves on the clothing and spars. The Rev. Mr. Hughes is about to take the matter in hand. There has been some objection on the part of the authorities, as they apprehend that thefts might be committed by some of the persons going out in the boats; but if rumour speaks truly the watchers themselves require watching. It is unfair to make charges against men having a responsible duty to perform, but one of the police inspectors has told me that he himself caught a coast-guardsman in the act of thieving. Friends and relatives complain that there is more anxiety to discover gold than bodies; but the fact is no gold has as yet been discovered by the divers. They recommenced operations at ten o’clock this morning, but have brought up nothing but copper bars. Fathers, mothers, wives, children, and other relatives pace the beach from an early hour in the morning. Yesterday delicate women braved the rain and storm all day, making their melancholy search. Every now and then I was met by persons with sorrowful faces, one inquiring, “Have you seen any trace of my husband? his name was ——;” or “Have you found anything with the name of ——? she was my child.” Indeed, it is a heartrending thing to go near the beach, and to see these mourners, and to meet the carts carrying the mangled corpses, or the parish coffins in which they are to be interred. None of the bodies found last night have been identified. Forty-five bodies have been discovered up to this time.’

The tone of one part of that communication leads naturally to the following stinging words from a Liverpool journal:—

‘Loud are the complaints here at the manner in which those saved from the wreck were treated after their arrival here. It is said, with great indignation, that when Captain Martin (the representative of Messrs. Gibb and Brights) arrived here, with the rescued passengers, in the steam-tug which had been despatched to the scene of the wreck, he left them standing upon the landing-stage; and had they not been received at the Sailors’ Home, they would have had to wander all night about the streets.’

This, of a verity, is caring more for gold than human bodies. One would have thought the best accommodation the best hotel in Liverpool could afford would have been prepared by the owners of the wrecked vessel in anticipation of the arrival of the poor creatures whose all, save life, had been buried beneath the waves.

In penning my narrative up to this point, it is impossible but that the reader should have felt a large amount of interest in the captain and officers of the vessel. Whatever mistake of those in command may have brought the ship so near the coast, the heart of every one must swell as he reads how heroically the storm was coped with. ‘First killed,’ or ‘last seen on the ship,’ are phrases that, like the noblest epitaphs, are associated with the captain and his officers. They succumbed, after glorious battling, to the fate of the sailor; but to show how ill the world could afford to lose such men let me endeavour, in a few concluding lines, to portray them to the reader.

Brave and rugged as a lion was the captain. His defiant front, his curt, honest conversation, his implacable will, which, like a wave, bore down all before it; his natural humour and intense love of jollity; his large solicitude for his passengers and crew; his all but feminine love for his ship, and his fervent belief that no other craft was fit to touch the waters with her,—all these points grow upon me as I write, and cause me to blur the paper as I lash them to the name of Thomas Taylor. I do not believe that man was drunk on the evening of the calamity. This, however, I know, that to those who were not in constant communication with him, Captain Taylor always appeared drunk. He had a ruddy face, a quick, abrupt manner, and a husky utterance which, to the superficial observer, naturally proclaimed him intoxicated. This concludes on that head: I never saw Captain Taylor the worse for liquor during our passage home. On the other hand, I heard him pronounced drunk by second and third class passengers nightly.

Mr. Stevens, the first officer, was a fine young fellow of some thirty summers. He was a most agreeable companion, delighted in song or dance, and if he got a quiet moment with a friend, would talk by the hour of the young wife and little-ones he had left at home. He made every one his friend—was a friend to every one.

Mr. Cowie, the second officer (he was third when I came home) was like a character out of Marryat. He was about three or four and twenty years of age, was as bold and bluff as the captain; and was never so delighted as when he was singing ‘Hearts of Oak’ in the cock-pit.

Mr. Rogers, the chief engineer, was a man of rough exterior, but of simple, child-like manners. His whole time during my sojourn on the ship was spent in looking after the engines, and entering into amusing discussions with the purser on the right pronunciation of words. Poor fellow!

The purser (Mr. Lewis) was one of the best men that ever walked the earth. He did justice to passengers and owners, and at the time when we ran short of food, I knew him, with all the ship’s stores at his command, to abstain from dinner, that the children of the intermediate and steerage passengers might in turn receive his share of the slender stock of dainties left to us on board. He has gone where stewards cease from troubling!

But why continue these memorials of the dead? We call on the names of the good and brave men in vain. Saddest of all sad stories is that which I have attempted to tell. The cheek of the boldest grows pale as he reads it, and my pen falls from my fingers as the old familiar faces rise before me.

THE PRESS ON THE CATASTROPHE.

The Times, after some preliminary observations on the gale of Wednesday, contents itself with a general record of the calamity:—

‘The “Royal Charter” was built about four years ago; she was of 2,719 tons register, and 200 horse power. Her owners were Messrs. Gibb, Brights, and Co., of Liverpool. She was an iron vessel, worked by a screw. On the 26th of August last she sailed from Melbourne, having on board 388 passengers, and a crew, including officers, of 112 persons. She accomplished her passage in two months as near as may be. On Monday morning she passed Queenstown, and thirteen of the passengers landed in a pilot-boat. The next day the “Royal Charter” took on board from a steam-tug eleven riggers who had been assisting in working a ship to Cardiff. Thus, at the time of the calamity there were on board 498 persons, and of these only 39 were saved. The ship, as we are informed, had on board but a small cargo, mainly of wool and skins. A more important item of her freight was gold and specie, which at the lowest estimate is put at 500,000l. On Tuesday evening there was blowing from the E.N.E. a violent gale, which fell with full force on the ill-fated ship. She arrived off Point Lynas at six o’clock in the evening of Tuesday, and for several hours Captain Taylor continued throwing up signal rockets, in the hope of attracting the attention of a pilot. None made his appearance. The gale increased in violence; the ship was making leeway, and drifting gradually towards the beach. It was pitch dark; no help was at hand. The captain let go both anchors, but the gale had now increased to a hurricane, and had lashed the sea up to madness. The chains parted, and, notwithstanding that the engines were worked at their full power, the “Royal Charter” continued to drift towards the shore. At three A.M. she struck the rocks in four fathoms of water. The passengers till this moment had no idea of the imminence of their peril. The masts and rigging were cut adrift, but this gave no relief. The ship continued to grind and dash upon the rocks. The screw became foul with the drift spars and rigging, and ceased to act. The consequence was, that the ship was thrown broadside on to the rocks, and now the terror began. The officers of the ship either hoped against hope, or endeavoured to alleviate the agony of the passengers by assuring them there was no immediate danger. A Portuguese sailor, Joseph Rogers—his name deserves to be recorded—volunteered to convey a rope on shore through the heavy surf, and succeeded in his attempt. Had time been given no doubt every person on board could now have been safely conveyed on shore; but it was fated that the end should be otherwise. One tremendous wave came after another, playing with the “Royal Charter” like a toy, and swinging her about on the rocks. She divided amidships, and wellnigh all on board were swept into the furious sea. A few minutes afterwards she also parted at the forehatch, and then there was an end. Those who were not killed by the sea were killed by the breaking up of the ship. In the course of a very few moments the work was done, and four hundred and fifty-nine persons were numbered among the dead. It was about seven A.M. on Wednesday that she broke up.

‘It is said by those who have visited the scene of the calamity that never was destruction more complete. The ironwork of the vessel is in mere shreds; the woodwork is in chips. The coast and the fields above the cliffs are strewn with fragments of the cargo and of the bedding and clothing. In the words of one of our reports, “A more complete annihilation of a noble vessel never occurred on our coast.” Worse still, the rocks are covered with corpses of men and women frightfully mutilated, and strewn with the sovereigns which the poor creatures had gone so far to seek, and which were now torn from them in so pitiful a way. Of course, as is usual in all such cases, the reasons given for the occurrence of the calamity are various. In one account we see it attributed to the order given before midnight to veer out on the starboard cable. This, as it is said, brought too much strain upon the port cable, which parted, and then the other parted also, and then the ship drifted ashore. Others tell us that if the screw had not been fouled by the drift rigging and spars, the “Royal Charter” might have been saved. These, however, could have been but secondary and minor causes. The origin of the calamity seems to have been that in a wild night, with a gale blowing that soon became a hurricane, the ship was brought up dangerously near a lee shore. Let it be remembered, however, that Captain Taylor was the last man seen alive on board.’

The Morning Herald, after chronicling the disaster, concludes with this valuable paragraph:—

‘This greatest and most terrible of the results of the late hurricane—for it cannot be otherwise described—will argue strongly either on behalf of those who demand ports of departure less channel-bound than Liverpool, or for those who urge the great necessity for a national system of providing life-boats which shall give, even in such wild bays as this where the “Royal Charter” went to pieces, a chance to some of the passengers of ill-fated ships that may be driven into them in such a storm as that of Tuesday night or Wednesday morning. Unfortunately the outcry on these subjects rises only while the mind of the public is resting on such a disaster as that which has just befallen the “Royal Charter,” or at a time when the whole country is deploring such a series of wrecks as those which have strewn our coasts within the last three days. The life-boat question should certainly not be left to private benevolence, or to the efforts of companies. Governments have gone too far in their neglect of such subjects or their refusal to interfere, and we are certain that there is no other mode of using the public money which would meet with more hearty popular assent than that which would devote it to the provision of life-boats and harbours of refuge.’

The colony may study these words with equal advantage to ourselves.

The Daily News is none the less able on the subject, because for once disposed to be smart. Does “Singleton Fontenoy” speak in the following?—

‘There is a true savour of sea-salt in the grim irony of that couplet in one of Dibdin’s sea-songs, where Jack is contrasting the freedom and security of life aboard ship with the continual jeopardy to which landsmen who walk about streets and dwell in houses are exposed:—

“While you and I, Bill, on the deck

Are comfortably lying,

My eyes! what tiles and chimbly pots

Around their heads are flying!”

‘The recklessness of temperament which sends a lad to sea, and which, hardened and confirmed by conflict with the elements, laughs at real danger, and yet is apt to shrink with a sort of dismayed disgust from the vulgar inconveniences of artificial existence, is happily and humorously expressed. The dweller in cities, on the other hand, with all his habitual scepticism and indifference, who peeps at the moon as at a raree show, and takes a return ticket to go and gape at an eclipse from some distant hill in the country—your acute, hard-headed, practical man on Change, in the Law-court, in the Club, stares and marvels like a mere baby when he is brought face to face with the terror and mystery of Nature in any of her sublimer moods. A fashionable public at Brighton running out to see the effects of a gale of wind upon real “water” is surely as sorry and ludicrous a combination as the genius of mockery can devise for the laughter of the stars. Accidents and offences, fires and murders, burglaries and poisonings, are as dull and stale as taxation, or as births, deaths, and marriages; they are the “useful and the beautiful” of well-regulated society; and who but a dry statistical philanthropist reads the wreck-list, or ponders the significance of the annual catalogue of casualties among merchantmen and coasters? It is only when the great meteorological staple of English conversation derives a certain freshness and novelty from a sudden attack of winter upon the rear of autumn, or when a hurricane has torn up a tree in the park and blown an old woman into the river or a child into the canal, that our inland world begins to feel that the universe is not absolutely done to order yet.

‘Last Tuesday night, when town and country were well abed, and let us hope not without thankfulness of heart, nor without having taken thought of “all those who travel by land or sea;”—when even the rancid haunts of vice in London were emptying, and the homeless were slinking off to snatch forgetfulness somewhere out of reach of wind and rain:—in the dead hour of a desolate night, desolate enough among street lamps flickering in a clammy fog, more desolate still when a sickly moon peered dimly through a drift of ragged cloud, and the wind howled and moaned with a roar of rage and anguish—in that desolate night and that dead hour one of those terrible calamities which are remembered for centuries was hurrying near five hundred of our fellow-creatures to sudden death at sea, after a safe and prosperous voyage of twelve thousand miles, within six hours of port, and within stonethrow of the long-wished-for land. Heartrending and disastrous is the shipping intelligence of this week all round our coasts, but the wreck of the “Royal Charter” will be a melancholy fireside tale among our children’s children. If, indeed, what is called “progress” be truly defined as an increasing dominion over time and space, then England, marching at the van, atones for her pre-eminence by many a hostage. We talk of bridging seas by the size and speed of our ships, but every now and then we offer up costly sacrifices to avenge our triumphs, and correct our pride.

‘It would be easy for some glib interpreters of Providence to pronounce homilies on the fate of a ship laden with the root of all evil, and of men hasting to be rich; for it is certain that the “Royal Charter” had at least 500,000l. on board, and that many of her passengers were returning from Australia with fortunes in their hands. But this catastrophe may point, we think, a safer and more serviceable moral. To mortal sight human destinies are at best a chaos, and it is not for mortal wisdom to presume to fabricate out of inexplicable chances a providential order of its own. Here, for instance, was a ship touching at Queenstown, and landing thirteen passengers, one of whom left his wife on board to pursue her voyage to Liverpool, and, as it turned out, to meet death on the way; here were ten poor riggers, just returned from working a vessel to Cardiff, taken on board from a steam-tug in the Channel, and five of them condemned to perish with a ship that had come all the way from Australia in safety. Who will presume to judge? “The one was taken and the other left.” Let us be content to moralize more humbly and humanely on the fate of our fellow-creatures. It were a miserable task, while the bodies of the poor castaway people are still awaiting Christian burial, to look about for whom to blame, when all but a score are beyond the reach of blame or praise. It is easy for us to wonder and regret that the “Royal Charter” should ever have passed on from Queenstown and sailed up the Irish Channel without a pilot in wild and threatening weather—that without a pilot, and with a northerly gale coming on, she should have passed by Holyhead, and kept hugging a dead lee shore at night along the most dangerous line of all our coast. Any one who knows that coast, or who has even glanced at a chart, cannot fail to be struck with consternation at the bare thought of such a ship as the “Royal Charter” keeping that Welsh land close on board in the worst of weather, night coming on, without a pilot, in the hope of finding one, and for the sake of saving a few hours at the close of an astonishingly rapid and successful passage.

‘How the “Royal Charter” ever had the right to get into that atrocious Dulas Bay, where the rocks stick up like jagged teeth, is a question quite as easy to ask as it is difficult to understand how the “Royal Charter” should have ventured to pass Holyhead in a gale without a pilot. From Holyhead to the point where the ship struck is all danger; and though with the wind off the land and a pilot on board the course for a ship bound to the Mersey may be in shore, was it the safe course, it may be asked, under opposite circumstances? Yet it is not to be presumed for a moment that the common signs of weather, or the rules for approaching land, were deliberately set at nought, or that the weather-glasses were not consulted, or that the tidal currents and the notorious indraught on the Welsh coast were forgotten or neglected by the lamented commander of the “Royal Charter” and his officers, none of whom, alas! remain to tell the story. From the moment when it was found that the ship could not make head against the hurricane and the indraught, and that it was impossible to make the Mersey, the fate of the ship needs no explanation. Blue lights and rockets were burnt for a pilot; but, as no one who knows Welsh pilots will be surprised to hear, no pilot appeared; and, pilot or no pilot, it was now too late. The ship was hove to, and drifting helplessly into Dulas Bay. Here she let go her anchors, “keeping her screw working to ease the cables.” One after the other the cables parted with the strain; at half-past two she struck, the tide ebbing, and with the flood she went broadside on to the shelving beach, literally split in two amidships, and was smashed to pieces on the rocks. We are guilty of no presumption in drawing one conclusion, and that is, the worse than uselessness, the absolutely fatal mischief of the so-called “auxiliary” screw. The “Royal Charter” was, it should be remembered, an iron ship of 2,749 tons, “originally intended for a sailing vessel,” but transformed into a screw steamer, “with engines of 300 horse power.” The value of these screw engines to a ship of this size and quality seems to us at least problematical; at best it could only serve her in making way across the “calm belts;” and as a set off to this exceptional service, there was the dead weight of the engines and the space they occupied, often to no purpose. Whatever may have been the use of the auxiliary screw in calms, it is too certain that in working off a lee shore it was not only not serviceable, but disastrous; it not only failed to claw the ship off, but it failed to ease the cables, and when the spars were cut away, the screw got fouled, and ceased to work. Is it absurd or unjust to suppose that had there been no auxiliary steam power in the “Royal Charter” she would never have been permitted to hug a lee shore at night in search of a pilot, with a hurricane dead on her weather bow, and strong indraught to the shore? Had she trusted to her sailing powers only, would she not have consulted her weather-glasses more anxiously, and kept well out to sea? We do not attempt to answer these questions, but we ask them deferentially, sorrowfully, and under a due sense of responsibility.

‘The “Royal Charter,” like others of her class, was probably built for speed rather than for strength; and it is no secret that these Australian clippers are severely strained by “carrying on.” It is no matter of surprise, then, that the ship “split amidships” after she struck, “letting her engines and passengers through,” and afterwards parted longitudinally “at the forehatch.” Even the “Great Eastern” would have been’ [was] ‘sorely tried by such a sea on such a shore. Let us draw a veil of pity over the horrors of that scene. The poet of “The Shipwreck,” with all his imagination, aided by all his terms of art, has not conceived anything more terrible than the sudden, complete and indiscriminate destruction of the “Royal Charter” with her four hundred and seventy souls on board, and her chests of gold—all going down together in that hungry sea, and torn to pieces by those cruel rocks. Yet even a calamity like this has its compensations; for all on board, from Captain Taylor—who by his stedfast devotedness and unalterable courage preserved discipline to the last, and died like a British seaman at his post of duty—to the poor seaman who volunteered to carry through the blinding hurricane and the foaming surf a hawser to the rocks, and the good clergyman who calmly said the last prayers for the dying, all met death unflinchingly, and in their last moments left an example to the few who survive, and to all who mourn them.’

The above is the most notable article which has appeared on this disaster. It deals with gale, ship, captain, causes, and results. Its penultimate paragraph seems to me to hit the secret of the casualty direct.

The Morning Chronicle is rather didactic than descriptive:—

‘The loss of the “Royal Charter” is an awful illustration of that solemn text, the vanity of all human expectations. It preaches the humiliating lesson which divines and moralists are ever urging with an impressiveness which must make its way to the dullest and most callous mind. When the poet or preacher of old drew his illustration of mundane instability from the perils of the sea, and bade men look how “a dark night and an ill guide, a boisterous sea, and a broken cable, a hard rock and a rough wind, dashed in pieces the fortune of a whole family,” his imagination fell far short of the fearful fact we now deplore. A noble vessel, which had sailed round the world in safety, has been totally destroyed within a few miles of its port; and nearly four hundred human beings, whose eyes had already been gladdened by a glimpse of their native land, have found a fearful death on the morning of that day whose evening should have made that land again their home....

‘We hardly know whether to note with satisfaction or sorrow that, so far as can be gathered at present, this melancholy catastrophe was not the result of negligence and overconfidence on the part of any one. Whilst it is most gratifying to think that no prudence could have averted the disaster, and that no blame attaches to the memory of a man who perished as Captain Taylor did, at his post, it is lamentable to reflect that no application of human ingenuity is able to withstand the elemental rage. Here was a large stout ship, one of the kind and size which assumed to enjoy an immunity from the power of the tempest—left to work its will on small craft and old crazy tubs—well manned, well commanded, nothing neglected that art or experience could suggest, offering as useless a resistance to the storm as the worn-out hulls in which greedy owners were wont to convey poor Irish emigrants. A blunder on the part of some one would have allowed us to cherish the idea that security is possible, and may be guaranteed, to stout material and good seamanship; but the new ship, the “Royal Charter,” completely destroyed within sight of port, with the loss of 400 lives, although it may read a useful lesson of humility, and warn men against too great an assumption of victory over natural forces, is a terrible blow to that confidence which the past immunity of ocean steam navigation had fostered.’

Thus—judicially—the Morning Post:—

‘Out at sea such a vessel as the “Royal Charter,” if well commanded, ought to be proof against any gale of wind; and in point of fact hardly any ship can pass from Australia to these shores without encountering as heavy seas in mid ocean as that which raged a few days ago so fearfully in the Irish Sea. It is only when such a ship accidentally fouls land that much danger is to be apprehended. Captain Taylor has shared the fate of his crew and passengers; and one may hesitate to criticise one who is not here to answer for his seamanship. But it seems clear that Captain Taylor knew perfectly well where he was, and that, instead of putting out to sea, there to ride out the gale of Tuesday night, he stood in for the Welsh coast, burning lights for a pilot in a sea in which no pilot, it may be assumed, could have joined him, with the whole force and scope of the Irish Sea to windward and an iron-bound coast to leeward. The result was, as a mere instinct in dynamics would suggest, that the force of wave, wind, and current was greater them the steam power of the “Royal Charter.” Captain Taylor soon found that his anxiety to keep in the most direct track to Liverpool was fraught with fatal results. The ship gradually made leeway; and when he attempted at length to put out to sea he could not. At last he threw out two anchors; but the chains of one of them broke. The ship, steaming away from the rocks, gradually neared the rocks; and at length came the first fatal crash. Then the masts and rigging were instantly cut away in a forlorn attempt to save her; but it appears that the falling rigging fouled the screw, and from that moment it ceased working. From that moment, probably, in spite of desperate exertions and words of encouragement, all hope was really abandoned. After the first thump against the rocks, the ship rebounded, only to thump again with fearful force in a few moments by the stern; for it was in the attempt to steam away from the coast, nearly head to wind, that the first crash took place. Then she was completely at the mercy of wind and wave; and as soon as the screw ceased working her position changed, and she went broadside against the rocks. Still she did not lurch. At this juncture a negro sailor volunteers to swim through the surf with a hawser, and thus to gain a communication with the shore. Lucky fellow! he was well rewarded for his heroism. He escaped the wreck first, and two others, according to the most reliable accounts, got to shore by the rope thus thrown out.

‘Then followed the last scene with appalling and unexpected rapidity. Time after time the “Royal Charter” was driven with the same heavy thump against the rocky shore; the darkness and the tempest mingled together in increasing confusion and relaxing discipline. Everything was felt and nothing was seen. The waves dashed with overwhelming force upon the ship, and the wind drowned every voice; for when the “Royal Charter” struck it was but two hours past midnight and by seven in the morning, when the sun rose, she had entirely broken up. The passengers during these successive collisions with the rocks, had huddled together in the saloon, where the chaplain was offering up a prayer. In the midst of this Captain Taylor came down to offer a few words of hope, couched in that ominous assurance that “there was no immediate danger.” But he had hardly spoken when the waves burst upon the ship with new force, and after being thus struck several times, she suddenly parted amidships, the machinery falling through, and the waves sweeping out the crew. Nearly at the same moment the fore part of the ship thus dissevered from the rest, is reported to have split longitudinally also. Then of course all perished but those few who, in a manner which most of them themselves cannot explain, found themselves on the beach. The force of the waves seems to have dashed some on shore before they knew what had happened, and before life had become extinct; while later in the morning the sea began to give up also its dead who had been tossed upon the ebb and flow. One child was thrown on the shore yet breathing, but it expired shortly afterwards. Most of the bodies washed ashore were found with sums of gold upon them, and all were placed in a field adjoining the churchyard of Moelfre for identification.

‘Such is the sad story of the loss of at least four hundred and sixty lives, of a fine ship, and of gold variously estimated between 300,000l. and 500,000l. The gold lost is again computed at seventy-nine thousand ounces; but it is hoped that the iron case which contained the treasure may yet be recovered. The ship had had a favourable and remarkably fast passage. It was supposed to be eleven days in advance of every other in its letters and information, and to anticipate the next overland mail from Australia. Probably the pride of all this contributed to the catastrophe; and the captain appears to have been resolved to make Liverpool as soon as possible after his successful passage. The scene of the wreck is in itself an ill-fated one. At Moelfre, some ten miles from Beaumaris, the wreck happened, and close to that spot the “Rothsay Castle” was also wrecked some years ago. Only one danger appears to have been experienced by the “Royal Charter” during her whole voyage from Australia to Queenstown, and that arose from proximity to an iceberg. All this seems a cruel result of so much hope, and so much apparent prosperity. All the care and watchfulness devoted to a voyage from the antipodes—all the prospects of return after long expatriation to one’s native country—all the sums hoarded through years of industry in the gold fields or in Australian farming—all the self-felicitations for a voyage thus far so favourably encountered—thus vain, thus useless, thus belied.

‘Viewing the shipwreck simply in its bearing on nautical management, we can hardly doubt that it might have been prevented; but the only utility of that reflection is now to warn other captains from hugging a Welsh shore in a gale from the North.’

The Morning Advertiser:—

‘One of those awful calamities which carry mourning and desolation to hundreds of hearths, hearts, and homes—which send a pang not only through the bosoms of bereaved relatives, but cast a gloom over every thoughtful and feeling mind, has just visited us in the wreck and total loss of a noble steamer, the “Royal Charter,” which perished with more than 400 souls, on the Welsh coast, on the night of Tuesday last. There are circumstances which add largely to the melancholy facts, so far as they are yet known of this dreadful disaster. The stately steam-ship, with her rich freight and her numerous passengers, had gallantly ploughed the waters of the broad Pacific and breasted the waves of the rude Atlantic; she had sighted the noble haven of Queenstown; and there, fondly dreaming the perils of the deep were past, her joyful passengers had voted a testimonial of gratitude to the commander of the gallant ship, who had so far safely brought them from their far port of homeward departure at the antipodes. Among these 450 passengers and crew, how many anxious hearts already in anticipation embraced expectant kindred and friends!—how many—the “battle of life” fought out successfully, and competency gained—looked for that native shore, which they were only to see with despairing eyes in their death-struggle, as the haven of a peaceful life, to be closed by a calm death among those they loved best, in the land of their birth! We can well imagine the buoyant spirits of the young, and the calmer joy of the old, at the near prospect of the happy close of their long sojourn on the wide waters. But He, in whose hands are the issues of life and death, willed otherwise. The ship left the shores of Ireland on Monday last, all well; on Tuesday a gale arose, which towards night became a tempest of surpassing violence. The doomed vessel was driven towards the Welsh coast, and there her fate was sealed. There is at present no reason to suppose that in this sad disaster any want of precaution; any undue effort to effect a speedy passage by running a dangerous course; any miscalculation of rate of sailing, deviation of compass, or other neglect or accident, contributed to the lamentable catastrophe. It seems to have been one of those calamities beyond human foresight or wisdom to avert, to which we must bow the head in silent resignation, not, however, without thoughtful consideration as to whether human means might not have mitigated the sufferings of the wrecked, or diminished the loss of life. We are as yet without sufficient data to know whether a more efficient life-boat service at this part of the coast, a supply of life-lines, coast-mortars, &c., at the principal places near Moelfra, at Beaumaris, Penmanmawr, might not have enabled us to add to the scant list of the rescued sufferers. We repeat, we are as yet without details, and write merely in presence of an overwhelming calamity, hopeful that so solemn a warning to be prepared may have its effect, while yet the grief is new, of producing an increased energy in doing all that may be done by liberality and skill to save the lives of our brave seamen, and of those who “go down into the great waters.” The steamship “Royal Charter,” the loss of which has given occasion for these remarks, was a nearly new and splendid screw steamer. She had on freight 79,000 ounces of gold, valued at 316,000l., besides a large amount of gold and valuables belonging to her 450 passengers and crew. She sailed from Melbourne on the 26th of August, with 60 cabin passengers, ten of whom are saved, and ten others, we are happy to say, are reported as having been landed at Queenstown. Of the seamen 25 survive, thus leaving nearly 400 souls, including Captain Taylor and all the officers of the ill-fated ship, sharers in her sad fate.’

The Standard touches on the event with its usual calmness of utterance:—

‘But as the approach to Liverpool was more alive with shipping, of course the most terrible of the disasters were to be expected off the coast of Wales; and there has seldom been recorded a more awful wreck than that of the “Royal Charter” in Red Wharf Bay, near Bangor. The “Royal Charter,” a very splendid vessel, left Melbourne on the 26th of August, having on board about five hundred souls, and carrying seventy-five thousand ounces of gold. The power of the vessel may be concluded from the fact that she made Cork Harbour in less than two months. At this port some ten or a dozen of the passengers had the fortune to quit her, and she proceeded on her way to Liverpool as far as the Welsh coast, where she was overtaken by the terrible storm of Wednesday morning, and utterly lost in a wild bay some seven miles to the north-west of Beaumaris, and about three miles west of Puffin Island, in Anglesea. The circumstances are surrounded with unusual suspense and terror, for the railway has been at several points washed away, the embankment thrown down, and the action of the telegraph stopped. We are, in fact, acquainted with only the details of the distressing disaster which we have presented yesterday, and present elsewhere to-day. The rapidity of the voyage had led the passengers to offer to unfortunate Captain Taylor a testimonial, and everything in the shape of danger was taken naturally to be at an end when the unfortunate ship went down in sight of her port.’

The Telegraph proposes the speedy exaltation of the sailor who swam ashore with the rope:—

‘The passengers were crowded in the saloon, where the scene was of the most heartrending description. Children and parents, husbands and wives, were clinging to each other in despairing embraces. The captain endeavoured, hoping against hope, to reassure those under his charge. Mr. Hodge, a missionary from New Zealand, did his best to administer religious consolation, but the victory was on that black Wednesday morning with the demon of the storm. A succession of tremendous waves swung the “Royal Charter” from the rocks, and she parted, first amidships and then longitudinally, and was soon but a mass of shapeless spars, eddying about in a briny maelstrom. All the officers, save, as we mentioned yesterday, the carpenter and a boatswain’s mate, perished. Captain Taylor was the last man seen alive on board. A few of the crew saved themselves; the remainder were hurled upon the rocks, and suffered a speedy but agonizing death. It is some miserable consolation, however, to record that between thirty and forty of the passengers and seamen were enabled to save their lives by means of the hawser, rigged at the peril of his life by the man described as a Negro. If this hero, foreigner and civilian as he may be, does not deserve the Order of Valour, Horatio Nelson was a coward, and Bayard was false and craven.’

The Observer has a leader which, dealing with what may be termed the technics of the matter, stands out from the mass of articles which have appeared in the weekly papers:—

‘The disastrous wreck of the “Royal Charter” is one of those calamities that come upon us now and then, at intervals, to remind us of the insignificance of man and his grandest works, when opposed to the mighty forces of Nature. There has seldom happened such an amount of destruction in one single storm of short duration as was effected amongst the shipping upon the coasts of this island on Tuesday night; but the list of mortality in that terrible conflict with the elements is swollen to a lamentable extent by the four hundred and sixty souls who perished at that one fell swoop. This wreck is another illustration of the well-marked fact that all the perils of long voyages across the broad ocean are little in comparison with those that beset the mariner in leaving or approaching these shores. The “Royal Charter” was a noble specimen of the clippers employed in our great Australian trade, and had made several prosperous voyages, of which the last, if it had ended happily, would have been the most remarkable for rapidity. Iron built, supplied with all the improvements of modern shipbuilding, aided with the auxiliary power of steam, and manned with a sufficient crew, well officered and commanded, it would have seemed almost out of the range of probability that such a ship should have been drifted upon a lee shore in a familiar locality by a gradually increasing storm, and there shattered to fragments, and engulfed, with well nigh all her human freight, within a few hours’ sail of her own port. In reading the account of this wreck we cannot escape the conviction that the possession of auxiliary steam power, which should have been her safety, was really the cause of the “Royal Charter’s” loss. This vessel was of nearly 3,000 tons burden. The engines by which her screw propeller was worked were only of 300’ [only of 200] ‘horse power. Such a power was enough for working a vessel over the tropical calms, or aiding her progress now and then in light winds, but it was a treacherous reliance in such a position as she was allowed to get into on Tuesday evening. It was useless for contending against the furious pressure of the hurricane that was surely driving her upon the jagged rocks of Dulas Bay, whilst the structure of the ship was greatly weakened by the dead weight of the engines and the open spaces necessary to contain them.

‘Captain Taylor was evidently an able and courageous seaman. He animated all his officers and crew to maintain discipline and continue their exertions to the latest moment, and it is with no desire to suggest blame that we express the belief that but for relying on the power of his screw to keep the vessel off, he would never have been in the position he was on that fatal Tuesday evening, when on a rugged lee shore he was losing precious hours endeavouring to procure a pilot. Either a safe port or the open sea were the only situations that could give security in a hurricane like that of Tuesday. There seemed to be a fatality attending the last voyage of the ill-fated ship that was to pursue her crew and passengers to the extremity of destruction, for the rapidity of her passage brought her upon the most perilous part of our coast that she had to near, just at the outbreak of the most violent storm we have experienced for very many years, and after striking upon the shore, her hull succumbed to the fury of the waves, and became rent and shattered almost in a moment, just as a communication had been established, by means of the hawser passed to the shore, that promised the fairest chance of saving the lives of all on board. The gallant action of the seaman who performed this feat, all but too late as it proved to be, was the means of saving many of the thirty-nine, who were all that escaped out of near five hundred.

‘The records of shipwrecks upon the coast of Great Britain have been carefully compiled for some years past, and the annual number of vessels totally lost is known to range from 1000 to 1200. Of these, however, a very large proportion are small craft, coasting traders, and colliers, whose short voyages generally keep them in dangerous proximity to the shore, and whose crews are often insufficient for working them successfully out of a sudden emergency. This year, there will be a terrible excess over the average losses. The destruction of vessels in the night between Tuesday and Wednesday amounts, according to what is already known, to hundreds; whilst the loss of life by the “Royal Charter,” which, though the greatest, is only one amongst a numerous list of such losses, will vastly increase the average mortality. The sacrifices even of human life, demanded and paid in the pursuit of our peaceful commerce, are not less appalling sometimes than those which render war terrible. This storm gives us a longer list of lives lost in a few hours on the English coast than has been the result of many a mighty battle.’

Many other articles have appeared in the English journals; but those here given will speak for the scope and tone of them all. British sympathy was never perhaps more intensely quickened than it has been by this unparalleled marine disaster. It is the topic of every tongue. From almost every pulpit the subject was dwelt upon last Sunday. Mr. Binney, who narrowly escaped coming home in the ship, preached with pathetic power on the melancholy event of the week. Prayer was put up for his miraculous preservation. Many good men have gone, but the blow to Both Worlds—the Old and the New—would have been severe indeed if the ‘old man eloquent’ had perished.

ADDENDA.

LIST OF STEERAGE PASSENGERS.

The following list of steerage passengers is supplied by Mr. Lynch, of Cashel, who was one of the fortunate passengers who landed at Queenstown. The list is from memory:—

‘Mr. Holland, wife and three children; had been in India, and was in the volunteer corps. Two brothers named Hogarth, from Scotland; one was married, and had a little boy about eight years old. Mr. and Mrs. Lyons, from London, had two sons, one about ten and the other about twelve. Mr. Lyons was a watchmaker. Mrs. Atkey, somewhere near London, had a girl about sixteen. Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy, from Bruff, county Limerick, and three children. Mrs. Willis and two children, one a little boy about nine and a girl eleven years, English. Mr. Faulkner and little girl about six years old. Mr. Barrett, belonged to the medical profession, and was employed to take care of Mr. Henry, a lunatic, English. A young man, native of Dublin, about twenty-six, named Kelly, dark foxy hair, worked at Prarhan, near Melbourne, brickmaking. A musician, named Harris, an Irishman, but was going to see his brother to London, or some of his friends, age about twenty-eight, foxy whiskers and hair, low size, but stout and smart looking. Mr. Wickett, another musician, about thirty, dark complexion, and dark hair. George Taylor, age about forty-five, was going to Belfast, and went out to Melbourne as doctor in the “Ben Nevis,” and was only just recovering from colonial fever; was but a few months in Australia. Henry Laughton, from some part of Lincolnshire, was going home to his wife and children, and was seven years in the colony: he had a son ten years old, who wrote him a letter to come home, and it was signed John Hudson Laughton. William J. Green, London; had been some time in South Australia. Edward Allen, London, red hair, and about thirty years old; was a digger. A fine-looking young man named Bishop, about twenty-five years old, from London. Two brothers named Roe, English. Peter and John Morton, Cornwall, England. Bakewell, a draper, about twenty; tall, and light hair. I think he was from London. A most respectable man, named Wade; tall and slight make, with dark hair, and was some time at the Ovens Diggings; English, age about forty.

‘A respectable man named Thompson; went out in the “Royal Charter,” obtained a situation in Melbourne, and was coming home for the purpose of bringing out his family. Mr. Thompson, aged about fifty; a stout-looking man, an engineer; had left his wife and family in Hobart Town, Tasmania. James Wyatt, a fine stout-looking young man, age about twenty-eight, dark complexion and dark hair, about six feet high; a native of England, and had been at sea before. An Irishman, named Cavanagh, low sized, but very stout; light hair, and age about thirty. I think he was from the county Limerick, but am not certain; had been in America, and had been sailoring for some time, and worked in a steamer that sailed between Melbourne and Launceston, Tasmania. An Englishman named Cowley, age about thirty-five. A stout-looking man named Grice, aged about forty-five. An old man and his son, from about Nenagh; I think their name was Faba. Charles Conway, from some part of England, age about twenty-eight, and was a working jeweller; was of low size and slight make, with light hair. William Ford, age about twenty-five, dark complexion and dark hair, of low size and slight make, and was a smart intelligent fellow; I think he was from London, or some part of England, and was working at the Ovens Diggings for some time. A young man named Purdy, a blacksmith, native of England; of low size, age about twenty-five, dark complexion. Joseph Moss, London, a Jew, age about forty-five; was in Australia before, and sailed in the “Kent.” Mr. Davis, a Jew, low size, dark hair, age about forty-three. Mr. Rea was going to London, and had been some time in New Zealand, spoke French and English, age about forty, with thin features. A low size, thin-faced man, named Jones, age about forty, very much pock-marked. An old man, over fifty, low size, stout make, worked in a foundry in Castlemaine, was going home for his family. I wrote a direction on two cards for him, one was Dowles and the other Abergavenny; these were to put on his boxes or luggage. I think he worked for Mr. Varian, Castlemaine, and was an Englishman. John Tyrrel, age about twenty-three, dark hair; was a native of some part of England. An Englishman named Jacob. George Sieter, a German, age thirty. Francis Weber, German, age twenty-six. A young man named Fowler, a German, age twenty-one. A young man named Hughes. Mr. James P. O’Dowd, of Dublin, who had made several voyages in the ill-fated vessel.’

This list is given with all its imperfections, because the names of steerage passengers are not usually published in the colonial newspapers.

Dr. Scoresby on the ‘Royal Charter.’

It will be recollected that the late Dr. Scoresby—who made himself so great a name in the history of Arctic discovery—went round the world in the ‘Royal Charter’ in order to study the deviation of compasses in iron ships. The fine old sailor in his posthumous work[D] thus speaks of the ship and her performances:—

[D] ‘Journal of a Voyage to Australia and Round the World, for Magnetical Research.’ [Back to text]

‘Now, as to the action and performance of the “Royal Charter” under this hard gale and mighty disturbance of the waters, the experience we again derived was truly astonishing, and, compared with all my previous experience, what I should have deemed impossible; for by far the greatest portion of the time, I should say four minutes out of five, we had no observable motion, the ship being steady, quiet, and often apparently absolutely still. A minute or two would often pass whilst these heavy waves were rolling harmlessly forward, and but just raising in a slight degree the stem and alternately depressing it, when we might have seemed to be sailing in a sea of extreme calmness in the finest weather. In these intervals of dead quiet, no woodwork, joint, or junction of iron and timber, emitted an audible sound—no creaking was heard,—and at night there was sometimes a quiet most striking in its stillness. Of cases of this perfect quiet in time of heavy sea, squalls, and storm, I frequently noted intervals of seven and eight seconds, of ten to twelve, sometimes twenty up to twenty-four seconds, where there was not motion sufficient to break a silence of repose like that of dock or harbour. Hence, notwithstanding the lurches on rolling, extending sometimes to 16° or 20° on one side, and perhaps once in several hours to 30°—the maximum never exceeded up to this time,—a rolling inseparable from a progress directly before the wind, in difficult steering and with squared yards,—yet most occupations below, while ladies as well as others, went on as usual; and, when the state of the decks as to dryness would admit, exercise on the deck likewise. Thus when the waves were at the highest—when elevations of forty feet and upwards were rolling around and beneath the ship—Mrs. Scoresby accompanied me on deck for exercise, and to view, in an instant of bright sunshine, the sublime scenes around, and found no difficulty in walking the poop deck, which was unencumbered and dry. She accompanied me, too, along the gangways extending from the poop to the deck-house, and from thence to the broad and spacious forecastle up to the very bitts, within a few feet of the stem,—and even to this extent, and along a range of three hundred and twenty feet of deck and platform, the progress was perfectly easy, and at the time the whole extent was clean (unusually so, almost to whiteness), and dry from end to end.

‘Again, I may remark, that our meals were always served up to the minute, in the handsome services, covers, and appendages before noticed. Everything cooked with the same effectiveness and completeness in storm as in calm: fresh provisions, roasted and boiled, in fowls, mutton, pork, etc., unfailing and abundant,—pastry, puddings, and the variety of niceties, for each particular course, always ample and good of their kind; so that in speaking of the servants and cooks as part of the ship, and of the ship as a thing or creature of life, I may say that the “Royal Charter” had no consciousness of bad weather, and made no signs of complaining in storms or heavy seas. During a heavy squall, for instance, at dinner-time on this day—a fierce snow-storm for a period, the wind blowing tremendously—no effect whatever was produced on the comfort of those who sat at table; and a wine-glass I had emptied stood for many minutes entirely unsupported betwixt the protecting bars of the table, and it was only liable to be disturbed by some particular lurch which might happen to occur. Again, in regard to pitching and “sending,” the action of the ship was equally remarkable, both for the easiness of the motion and the smallness of the inclination of the keel from the horizontal level. A forty-feet wave, on its entrance below the stern or counter of the ship, whilst the bow was exactly in the lowest or most depressed portion betwixt crest and crest, should raise the stern, as from the simplest view of the case it might seem, to at least its own elevation, or give an angle of inclination to the keel of about 7°; but no such measure of pitching or “sending” motion was ever observed—probably not above half as much. For, in no instance in scudding, did I ever observe the bow of the ship plunge nor the stern rise to anything like the position apparently due to the elevation of the passing waves. The action, indeed, was obviously of this nature; from the admirable adjustment of the ship’s lines of construction, forward and aft, the loftiest wave, on its reaching the stern-post below, exerts its lifting tendency, not abruptly or suddenly, as where the quarters are heavy and the run thick, but very gradually, so that the disturbing force, passing beyond the place of greatest influence before its due action is realized, becomes modified and reduced.

‘These principles are no doubt in operation in every tolerable mode of marine architecture, but not to the degree of perfection in which the tendency to assume horizontality of position, and to receive the least possible disturbing effects from the most formidable disturbing causes in the action of rough, irregular, or heavy seas, has been attained in the modelling and building of the “Royal Charter;” and whilst similar results in kind will be found to have been obtained in very many or most of the scientifically constructed and splendid clipper and other first-class ships of this important age, I should much doubt whether in any single instance the approach to perfectness of the model of the “Royal Charter” has been exceeded, or even—in all the elements of the perfect “sea-boat,” as adapted for these southern regions, proverbial for turbulent seas and boisterous weather—been equalled. The view from the poop and forecastle which my wife and some others of our ladies witnessed for considerable periods together, even in the height of the gale, was one, especially during the favourable occasions of bright sunshine, of sublime magnificence; whilst the general view of the tumultuous waters as we looked astern, as the ship was scudding before the storm, and as we marked the waves rolling perpetually onward, and overtaking in succession the swift-sailing ship, presented a picture of striking grandeur. The more threatening storm seas, as every now and then they rose high above our position, and intercepted (astern and on the quarters of the ship) every other portion of the mighty waters, could hardly be contemplated,—I ought to say, could not rationally be contemplated, without awe! Nor was the action of the ship under the mighty disturbance the least impressive or least striking feature in the general picture.’

I remember that passage being quoted in the Athenæum, with this pleasant remark: ‘Only to think of all this jollity at sea—in a voyage round the world—dainty ladies for companions instead of howling savages; fresh fish, flesh, and fowl, champagne, old port, and silver dishes, in place of remainder biscuit, salt pork, and hot grog.’ Ah! only to think of all the jollity! Little did Dr. Scoresby imagine, when he penned that passage—little did the reviewer think when he affixed that genial comment to it—that the ship, with its jollity, its dainty ladies, and its silver trappings, would so soon lie ‘sunk in the waves!’

But the life on board the vessel has been elsewhere described. In a tiny tome of sketches lately published[E] is the following attempt at a picture:—

[E] ‘Dottings of a Lounger.’ By Frank Fowler. [Back to text]

‘Our Ship looks best, I think, at night. She’s by no means unworthy of being sketched in the morning when a few albatrosses are sailing round her, and a whale blowing his foamy fountain just a length or two behind. She’s pretty at sunset again, when her sails flush purple, and the passengers form themselves into so many little knots, and, as the twilight thickens, watch the roseate touches dying in the west. She’s brave in a storm at any time.... She shakes off a sea as a restive horse throws its rider. But she’s best of all o’ nights, when the dancing is going on aft, the sailors are singing “Chiliman” round the galley, and any number of proposals are being made among the “intermediates” behind the long-boat. How beautifully, at the stilly hour of eight bells, she moves through the water, and flings the phosphorescent foam about her like an Eastern queen beneath a rain of pearls. What was Cleopatra’s barge in comparison, or any “Nicean barque” that ever sailed upon a “perfumed sea?”

‘But the best part of Our Ship, either by day or night, isn’t on deck at all. There is a snug little cockpit forward, before the jollity of which mere cuddy luxuries count as nothing. The second and third mates, one or two young middies, a guitar, plenty of grog and smoke, a good old cheese, and some biscuits, will make as jolly an evening among them as any Christian need wish to spend. On Our Ship these parties are nightly occurrences. There is a young midshipman on board with lots of money. He is always inviting his friends to meet him. He is a pleasant youth, with large, bland eyes, and a superfluous number of oaths. I never knew a lad, though, who imprecated more innocently. He evidently thinks that good swearing and good seamanship go together. He swears at a little child on board all the time he is filling its lap with candy and comfits. He is, withal, a good-tempered youth, but constantly getting into scrapes with the officers. After the breaking up of these festivities—which doesn’t generally happen until an advanced hour, when not even the ghost of a deadlight remains—it sometimes happens that you find it difficult to discover your right “home” amongst the long line of cabins down the side of the dimly-lighted saloon. This kind of thing, though, is by no means confined to festivities at sea.

‘There is pleasant work on the R—— C—— in the evening. A select whist party takes one table, chess, draughts, and backgammon occupy another, and a jovial circle of “speculators” a third. At nine o’clock the hot water is served, when each brews his glass of toddy—baling out a wine-glass of the smoking liquor for his lady neighbour—and jollity holds sway for the remainder of the evening. Those who don’t understand Hoyle—who are dummies at whist, dull at dominoes, and regularly thrown on their backs with regard to all-fours—who think draughts dry, and see no point in backgammon—generally retire to the poop after tea, to get up their little music and dancing parties, and warble and waltz gaily enough ’neath the light of the glistening stars.

‘In dirty weather Our Ship is not to be altogether slighted. She rolls a good deal, I admit, but show me the vessel that doesn’t. There is a polarity, too, as Mr. Emerson would say, about this rolling. See how it churns the preserved milk (there is a cow attached to Our Ship, but I think she is only a kind of stage property, for, certes, her via lactea is as dry as leather), and makes a rich syllabub of the port wine. What an excuse it affords, too, for bad carving at dinner, and for becoming a sort of “shore” to the pretty young lady who sits next to you. If the lurches do empty the soup-plates occasionally in your lap, and chip the edges of the crockery until the dishes look like circular saws—if they do throw you out of your bunk at night, and land your head in the water-jug—what of that? Of course, no harm can ever come to the R—— C——, and, comforted by this conviction, all you have to do is to put up with the little annoyances for the sake of the “amenities” which, as I have shown, lurk beneath them.

‘For there are some very nice girls—and with this I must conclude—journeying upon Our Ship. I like to see them in the cold morning furred up to their pretty little noses, peeping up the companion-ladders to see if the weather will admit of a walk before breakfast. I like to see them at “church” on Sundays, gathered round a pork barrel “rigged” as a pulpit, with an old Union Jack rolled up for the cushion, and hear them lifting up their voices in solemn praise across the solemn sea. It is a grand sight this last. Full service in a cathedral is nothing to it. Jack in his clean shirt, and with that same Bible in his hand which his mother gave him years ago, when his face, now hardened with brine and scarred with sleet, was the pride of the old woman’s heart, is as impressive a figure to me as the finest-clad young neophyte who ever swung a censer. I know Jack sings out of tune, and ultimately swamps the Old Hundredth in the Bay of Biscay. But what matters that? Despite defects in harmony, the song of praise goes aloft in all its purity.’

Truly, a very ghastly humour plays about these descriptions as we read them now. The mirth seems like that in Holbein’s ‘Dance of Death.’

The Rev. Charles Vere Hodge.

‘The rev. gentleman was appointed to the vicarage of Clareborough in 1844, and shortly afterwards his wife, from some unsettled disposition, proposed to visit some distant relation in New Zealand. Notwithstanding all the remonstrances of her husband, she proceeded to the antipodes without a guide, protector, or friend. After remaining some years there, she returned to this country, and again took up her residence with her husband and children, of whom she was the mother of ten—seven sons and three daughters. She, however, could not rest long in this country, and ultimately persuaded her husband and part of her family to accompany her to New Zealand. For this purpose the rev. gentleman applied to and obtained leave of absence from the bishop of his diocese for two years; but, at the expiration of that period, not returning, a monition was issued for his immediate return to his cure. It was in obedience to this mandate that the rev. gentleman was returning in the “Royal Charter,” when he met his melancholy fate. Mr. Hodge left behind him in New Zealand his wife and three sons. Three sons and one daughter are at present in England, the others having died in infancy. Mr. Hodge’s only brother, the Rev. Henry Vere Hodge, M.A., perpetual curate of Middleton, near Tamworth, is at present engaged in the melancholy duty of watching the shore in the immediate neighbourhood of the wreck, seeking to recognize the person of the deceased. Mr. Hodge was universally respected and held in high esteem by his parishioners for his deep-rooted piety and sincerity in all things.’

He died like old Gilbert—went down beneath the waters Bible in hand.

The Adjourned Inquest.

When the inquest (see p. 34) was adjourned, every one imagined the inquiry would be of a most searching character. The calamity was of a nature which demanded the fullest investigation; and the public naturally expected that an officer from the Board of Trade would be despatched to Molfra to watch the proceedings. How these notions have been realized will be gathered from the following remarks which appeared in the Manchester Guardian of November the 4th:—‘Our readers will peruse with deep and painful interest the report we give to-day of the evidence adduced at the Llanallgo inquest. The statements of the survivors examined yesterday and the day before add but little perhaps to the information we were already in possession of as to the general features of the wreck of the “Royal Charter,” but many details of a personal nature are given, and thus the several narratives are invested with a peculiar fascination. It will be observed that the statement that Captain Taylor was intoxicated at the terrible moment that his ship was drifting on to destruction is repudiated by all the witnesses who have hitherto been examined, and that they bear the highest testimony to his courageous attitude from the commencement of the storm down to the time when the vessel broke up. He was always at his post, and they express their firm conviction that everything was done which good seamanship could suggest. To their testimony is added that of one of the passengers landed at Queenstown. Mr. J. M‘Envoy writes:—“Of all men I ever met, he was the most sober. I cannot recollect an occasion on the voyage when he exceeded the strictest bounds of temperance; he was always true to his duty, devoting his abilities and his attention to the safe guidance of the ship.” If we may judge from the character of the proceedings so far, it is highly probable that the Llanallgo inquest will be eminently unsatisfactory. The jury is composed of Welshmen, and the evidence has first to be written down—in English of course—by the Coroner, and afterwards translated by an interpreter. This must prove a very tedious process, but it will cause less concern than the behaviour of the jurors. These gentlemen do not appear to appreciate, in the most remote degree, the serious importance of the duty they have been called upon to perform; they have to be watched like schoolboys by a policeman, and, indeed, this latter functionary seems as much inclined as his wards to steal out of the schoolroom whenever an opportunity presents itself. We do not always perhaps expect to find Coroners’ Juries composed of the most intelligent men of the community; but we cannot help observing that these Welshmen have conducted themselves with a clownish levity which, in the interest of the public, we must stigmatize as utterly disgraceful.’

The tone of this is fully justified, as the reader will admit when he has perused the following:—

‘The general inquiry into the cause of the wreck, and of the consequent death of her crew and passengers, was commenced in the schoolroom of Llanallgo parish at one o’clock on Tuesday, the 2nd of November, before Mr. William Jones, coroner for Anglesea. The Rev. Mr. Williams, of Tyddyn, and H. Pitchard, Esq., of Troscawan, magistrates, attended to see that a full investigation was gone into. Mr. Mellor, of Oldham, solicitor, attended for Messrs. Gibb and Brights, the owners of the “Royal Charter.”

‘The jury was composed of very humble-looking men—small farmers and seafaring persons.

‘The Coroner asked Mr. Bright if he had got any witnesses?

‘Mr. Bright replied that he had collected all the witnesses whom he thought could throw any light on the matter, and several first-class passengers were in attendance. Mr. Gapper, a second-class passenger; William Foster, the carpenter of the ship; George Suaicar, the boatswain’s mate; John O’Brien, sailor; Henry Evans, sailor; and Thomas Cormick, one of the stewards, were also present.

‘Coroner.—Is there any one else who wishes to give evidence on this inquiry?

‘Several voices.—Mr. Russell.

‘Mr. Russell then answered to his name.

‘Coroner.—I believe there are other persons. Where is Mr. Bradbury?

‘It was answered that he was laid up with a broken leg.

‘Mr. Bright.—There is also Hughes, an apprentice, who is in bed, laid up.

‘The Coroner then said he was about to commence one of the most painful investigations which it had ever been his or any other coroner’s lot to conduct. He hoped the jury would discharge their duty without fear, favour, or affection, and quite uninfluenced by anything which they might have read or heard outside that room. He regretted the circumstance that some of the jury did not speak English, or understand it at all when spoken; but he had requested Mr. Robert Pritchard, auctioneer, of Bangor, to act as interpreter, and that gentleman had kindly consented to do so. He (the Coroner) was now prepared to hear any evidence that might be tendered to him, and which might throw any light on the unfortunate occurrence, the precise cause of which it would be desirable to ascertain. He had every intention that the inquiry should be a full and searching one.

‘Mr. Bright said that he had taken down a statement from Mr. Morse, one of the saloon passengers, which the Coroner might avail himself of if he thought it would be of any use to him.

‘The Coroner.—I shall examine the witness in the first instance myself.

‘The interpreter having taken the usual oath,

‘Mr. William Henry Morse, a saloon passenger, was sworn and examined by the Coroner.—I was a saloon passenger on board the “Royal Charter,” from Australia. That vessel was wrecked on this coast on Wednesday morning, the 26th ult. She sailed from Melbourne on the 26th of August last. The captain’s name was Taylor. The “Royal Charter” was bound to Liverpool. There were about sixty-one saloon passengers, including myself, and about three hundred second and third class. The vessel did not touch or call at any place before we were wrecked. She was said to be 3500 tons burden. I do not know what her register was. Her engines were 200 horse power. She had a full supply of coal and a full cargo. The crew consisted of one hundred and ten or one hundred and twelve persons, including officers. At no time was the vessel deficient in sailing, or in any other respect, up to the time of the wreck. We first saw land on the Monday morning. We saw the Irish coast then. That was at daybreak. We put some passengers on shore by a pilot-boat when we were off Cork—about thirteen. We passed Holyhead about four or half-past four on the evening of Tuesday, the 25th ult. No passengers were landed at Holyhead. The wind was blowing fresh off Holyhead. I do not know from what point, but it was rather ahead, and against us. We passed two or three lighthouses. The storm continued to increase, till at last it came to a perfect hurricane. She was drifting when the anchors were let go in sight of Point Lynas at about twelve at night. I cannot tell at what part of the vessel the anchors were let go, as I am not a nautical man. We had passed Point Lynas then, I believe. I do not know how far we had passed Point Lynas when the anchors were let go. I had no conversation with the captain during the hurricane, but I saw him. No one in my hearing made any remonstrance with him about turning back or going into any harbour. I saw him on deck, giving orders and directions, up to five o’clock on Tuesday evening. I was not much on deck myself after that time. There was nothing wrong that I knew of with the machinery of the vessel after the anchors were let go. There was nothing that I knew of wrong with the screw. She must have parted her first cable about two in the morning. The anchors were let down at ten or twelve o’clock. She parted her first anchor at, I think, two or three o’clock. She parted the other about an hour after. Lights and signals were “going” before we came to Point Lynas. Guns were fired and blue lights and rockets sent up, which were continued till daybreak on Wednesday morning. We struck on the rocks about three o’clock. I was below at the time. I do not know what part struck first, but I understood it to be the bow. The first shock was but a slight one. I went on deck once after that. She divided about daylight. She broke in two about seven or half-past seven o’clock. It was four or five hours from the time she first struck till she went to pieces. The hawser was out just before she went to pieces. One of the seamen took it on shore. I did not see him. I was in the saloon, and heard it. I saved myself by swimming. I was, I believe, washed on shore. I had no conversation with the captain after the vessel struck. He came down into the saloon, and spoke to some ladies. I believe I saw him in the cabin. He told the ladies there was no danger; that they would shortly be able to walk on shore. I heard him say that.

‘The Coroner.—I now come to a very painful part of the inquiry. Was Captain Taylor sober then?

‘Witness.—Perfectly sober.

‘The Coroner.—Had you seen him intoxicated before?

‘Witness.—Never at any time during the whole voyage, nor any of the officers of the ship. Everything was going on well till this accident occurred. I think the captain was aware of the part of the coast he was on; but he thought we were on a sandy beach. I did not hear him say that; I heard Captain Withers, one of the passengers, tell that to the ladies. Captain Withers was consulted by Captain Taylor, but I had no conversation with Captain Taylor after about three o’clock on the Monday.

‘The Coroner.—Mr. Bright, you can now put any question you like.

‘Examination by Mr. Bright.—There was a testimonial given to Captain Taylor by the passengers. All the saloon passengers except two joined in that testimonial. There was a slight difference between Captain Taylor and the second and third class passengers. This was, I believe, about their not being allowed to dance on the poop. After the anchors were let down I heard Captain Taylor speak cheeringly to the passengers. He was calm and collected while doing so. He was down two or three times after he cast the anchors, and exhibited the same calm and collected manner. He came down to cheer the ladies, and one time to order coffee. I partook of that coffee. I did not see Captain Taylor drink anything whatever that night. He was not at dinner with us on Tuesday evening. I heard him tell the ladies and other passengers in the saloon that he had been forward, and there was no strain on the cable. I do not know how far the vessel was from the rock when she struck, but the anchor was in sixteen fathoms of water.

‘Examined by Mr. John W. Mellor, solicitor, of Oldham (who asked the Coroner to pardon him if he exhibited any excitement, as he had lost a brother and cousin).—The testimonial was presented to Captain Taylor either on Saturday or Monday, I cannot say which. It was in the evening. After leaving Cork we took riggers on board from a steam tug; I do not know how many. We had had no weather so rough during the voyage as we had off this coast at the time of the wreck, or on the night of Tuesday, the 25th ult. I remember a storm off the River Plate. It was not so bad there as here during the wreck. Up to the time the ship had her anchors let go the weather was not so bad as it became afterwards. I think the storm off the River Plate was as bad as that which we had here previous to the anchors being let go. I do not know where the riggers were shipped; I only know from hearsay. I saw a vessel leaving the side of ours. I do not know how long the vessel lay off Queenstown; I think about two hours. I had no means of knowing accurately. I really cannot tell the hour of the last time I was on deck before the vessel struck. I was on deck once after dark and before she struck. I cannot tell the time, for, not expecting any accident, I took no particular notice. I do not know what part of the coast the ship was at; not being a nautical man I did not pay much attention to that. I did not, to my knowledge, see the captain on deck at that time. I was on deck several times after half-past three in the afternoon, but I did not speak to the captain after that hour. I saw him about three times. This was in the saloon. He was in the saloon at the time word was sent him that she had parted her anchor. I know nothing whatever about the management of a ship.

‘To the Coroner.—No one, in my hearing, asked the captain to turn to Holyhead or any other harbour, saying it would be dangerous to proceed.

‘To Mr. Mellor.—It was when the first anchor parted the captain was in the saloon. He had only shortly come down. The reason the captain did not dine with us that day was that he had been up for three or four nights, and was resting. The captain did not always dine with us.

‘The Coroner.—I cannot think that is material.

‘Mr. Mellor.—It may become so. The witness now says the captain had been up for two or three nights before, and before he said everything had gone right up to the accident. If everything had gone right, why was the captain up for two or three nights? (Laughter.) Gentlemen, this may be a laughing matter for you; it is none for me.

‘The Coroner.—The matter is not a laughing one for any one.

‘To Mr. Bright.—The captain might have been on deck without my seeing him. He left the saloon as soon as it was announced that the anchor had parted.

‘The Coroner.—I think it would be very convenient if the friends and relatives of parties combined and employed one solicitor to put all their questions.

‘A Relative.—There is no combination amongst us.

‘The Coroner.—I am only suggesting that there might be, so far as regards the employment of a solicitor, for my convenience and that of the public.

‘Mr. Mellor.—I should be happy, not as a matter of business, but as one of friendship, to put any question for a relative of any one who has been lost (applause).

‘Mr. Russell, one of the passengers, asked permission to make a statement in reference to what had been said about a difference between the captain and the second-class passengers.

‘Mr. Martin, one of the owners of the vessel, said that any statement made by a passenger ought to be on oath.

‘The Coroner.—It is better for Mr. Russell to reserve any observations he may have to make.

‘Mr. Bright observed that the tonnage of the “Royal Charter” was 2719 tons register, and her horse-power 200.

‘Mr. Thomas Carew Taylor said—I concur in the evidence given by Mr. Morse up to the time of our arriving off Cork. Some of the passengers were there sent ashore in a pilot-boat. While we were at dessert on Tuesday one of the stewards came and asked me if I would like to see the “Great Eastern.” This was about five o’clock, I think. It was then blowing very strong, almost a gale, and it was foggy weather. I do not recollect having seen Captain Taylor on deck the whole of that day. I might have seen him. I saw him after I jumped overboard, when the accident occurred. I saw him in the saloon after the vessel struck last. I saw him on deck when I jumped over. I saw him before daylight come into the saloon, and assure the ladies that they would be all on shore in ten minutes. I cannot tell how long this was before the vessel divided, because I was greatly frightened. Captain Withers joined him in what he said, and added, “Ladies, you will all be able to walk on shore.” Captain Taylor said that we were firmly embedded in the sands. I was deputed by some ladies to see some of the officers and get authentic information. The two captains seemed so cheerful that when I saw them I felt sure we should be saved. Captain Taylor made use of the expression, “We shall be left high and dry.” I felt so sure that all was safe that I went to bed at eleven, and lay there till I heard Captain Withers say to a lady, “I shall take your child.” The port anchor was out when I went to bed. He said, “Come directly; I shall take your child.” There was some answer to this, and Captain Withers said, “No, directly. There is no time to be lost.” His voice had awakened me, and I jumped out of bed. I heard it was half-past two o’clock. Then I opened my door and looked up and down the saloon. I saw no one; but I am sure it was to Mrs. Woodroff he spoke. I then felt the ship as if rubbing along the ground, and then there were three or four violent concussions. I immediately put on my greatcoat, trousers, and slippers, and ran up into the upper saloon. I found ladies and gentlemen in the greatest state of consternation. Mr. Hodge, the clergyman, was there, and they all prayed together. I went up to look for my nurse and child. The lobby of the saloon was so crammed that there was no chance of my being able to find my child there. I eventually found them. The bumping of the vessel continued and increased in rapidity and violence, and water began to come in in all directions, so that I was perfectly wet through for hours before I left the ship. I do not know what hour it was when I jumped overboard; but the man who saved me told me it was half-past seven. I was on deck when the vessel split. I was knocked down by the waves, and I saw Captain Taylor lying on the deck, where he had been knocked down by a wave. He had a rope round his waist and a log tied to the end of it. I said, “Oh, Captain Taylor, what a fearful scene this is!” He did not reply. Another wave came in on me. I flung off my greatcoat and jumped overboard. I got hold of a log of wood, on which there was a mainyard. I then got on the mainyard. I was washed off it twice. I was washed to the rock, and grasped the weed. I was twice washed away with weed in my hands. I was carried in a third time, and two or three men caught me by the point of the fingers, and prevented me from being carried out again. A man, named Robert Lewis, had me carried to his house, where I was treated with the greatest kindness by Lewis and his wife. My little daughter and also her nurse were lost. Captain Taylor was perfectly sober when I saw him, before I jumped overboard—as sober as a child three months old. I never saw him intoxicated, or anything approaching to it. He was rather averse to taking anything. I have frequently asked him to take a glass, and he declined on the ground that he had already had some. If I had thought he was intoxicated I should not have gone to bed and left my valuables away from me, and I have left all except ten sovereigns and my gold watch. I never heard any one suggest that he was on any occasion intoxicated, till I heard a man do so after this accident.

‘To Mr. Bright.—Captain Taylor had been knocked down by a wave when I saw him lying on the deck.

‘To Mr. Mellor.—I heard Captain Withers say once or twice during the voyage that there was some difficulty in steering the ship. I do not know whether Captain Taylor was present.

‘The Coroner did not think this was evidence.’ [The Coroner seems about equal in sagacity to his class.]

‘Mr. Mellor.—I think it is, sir, and I hope the press will think so.

‘The Coroner.—Unfortunately the press are not the jury here, and I think it is rather early for speeches.

‘Mr. Mellor.—Oh, sir, I am not going to make any speeches.

‘Examination by Mr. Mellor continued.—When Captain Taylor said all was right, Mrs. Fenwick sent for her children’s shoes and stockings, and put them on, that they might walk ashore. I felt in a state of uncertainty. I did not know what to think. Sometimes I thought one thing and sometimes another.

‘Mr. F. Thomas Gundy examined.—His evidence was corroborative of the foregoing.

‘The inquiry was then adjourned till next morning.

‘The inquest was resumed on Thursday morning at eleven o’clock. As on the previous day, the owners of the “Royal Charter,” Messrs. Gibb, Brights, and Martin, were present. Mr. Mellor, solicitor, of Oldham, again attended. The room in which the inquest was held was very much crowded.

‘The Coroner observed that he was not a nautical man himself, and asked Mr. Bright whether he had any gentleman present who could at a future stage of the inquiry give a professional opinion on matters connected with the management of the ship?

‘Mr. Bright.—I have, sir.

‘The Coroner said that, though the county paid for a large police force, he had, on the day before, been left without the assistance of even a single constable to see that the jury remained in their places and that order was preserved.

‘A constable who was present promised [!] to remain during the day.

‘Mr. Samuel Edward Gapper, examined by the Coroner.—I was a second-class passenger on board the “Royal Charter.” I have been working at threshing machines in New Zealand. The “Royal Charter” reached Queenstown about half-past one on Monday, the 24th October. Either eleven or thirteen passengers were sent on shore there. The vessel arrived off Holyhead about half-past four on Tuesday afternoon; it was hazy weather, and blowing fresh, when we arrived off Holyhead. There was a tug called the “United Kingdom” came up before we reached Holyhead, and put some men on board. I do not recollect seeing Captain Taylor on deck on Monday. I saw him many times on deck on Tuesday. It came on to blow very hard after we passed Holyhead. The wind was on our port bow. The first signal of distress or for pilots that I remember to have seen exhibited was put out about eight o’clock on Tuesday evening. I do not know the distinction between signals of distress and those for pilots. There were rockets and blue lights, and occasional guns were fired. The anchors were first let go about eleven o’clock; we had then passed Point Lynas. Previously to the anchors being let go, or at any time, I did not hear any one remonstrate with the captain about the course of the vessel or any one say she ought to be turned back. I should say she struck the rocks about half-past two in the morning, but I cannot remember to within a quarter of an hour. She parted her first anchor at about two o’clock. It would be impossible for me to say how far we were from shore when the first anchor was let go. One could not see from the poop to the other end of the ship. She first struck on the sands, and not on the rocks. It must have been six o’clock when she struck on the rocks. She was about three-quarters of an hour on the rocks before she went to pieces. The hawser was sent ashore as soon as it was light. I cannot say how it was sent ashore. I saw the captain on deck during the three-quarters of an hour that the ship was on the rocks. I was up and down the deck at least twenty times during the night, and saw the captain several times on the deck. In the intervals between the signals he was walking on the quarter-deck, with a telescope in his hand. The gun at last filled with water. The signals were continued up to the time the anchors were let go. I did not hear the captain speak while he was walking up and down. He appeared to be watching. He appeared to me to be perfectly sober, for though the ship was pitching heavily he did not stagger. At half-past four in the morning I heard him speak to the ladies in the saloon. He said, “Ladies, we are on shore, but I think we are on a sandy beach; with the help of God we shall all get on land when daylight appears;” or words to that effect.

‘Examined by Mr. Bright.—We could see the “Great Eastern,” but only very dimly, when we were off Holyhead. I cannot answer as to whether the wind was blowing a hurricane after we passed Point Lynas; but it was blowing tremendously. The wind shifted about ten o’clock. There was a captain on board named Adams. I was down stairs with him examining a chart of the coast about ten o’clock at night. He said he should not be surprised if we were on shore before morning, and, describing the operation of swimming with his hands, he said he thought we could not get off, and would have to do that. The vessel was then to the eastward of Point Lynas Light. I never saw Captain Taylor the worse for liquor on board.

‘Mr. Pitcher (a gentleman who has lost several relatives by the wreck).—Was there any request made of Captain Taylor on Tuesday to go near Holyhead, for that was out of his course?

‘Witness.—Yes; I heard persons in the second cabin say, they wished he would go close to Holyhead, so that we might see the “Great Eastern,” the men who came on board having told us that she lay there. The wind was blowing to the shore. I heard no orders given to put the ship out to sea.

‘The Coroner.—Did you hear any one ask Captain Taylor to go near Holyhead?

‘Witness.—I heard that that wish was expressed to him.

‘Mr. Mellor.—What was the answer of Captain Taylor?

‘The Coroner.—I think we are going too far.

‘Mr. Mellor.—If this was an inquiry against Captain Taylor, it would not be evidence, but as it is an inquiry into the cause of the death of other people, the answer ought to be taken even on hearsay for what it is worth.

‘The Coroner.—What was the effect of the answer carried back?

‘Witness.—That the captain said, we might sight the “Great Eastern,” but he must not stand away for it, as he wanted to get home.

‘By Mr. Mellor.—I knew the time I have mentioned principally by the changes of the ship’s watch. I cannot say there were no signals before eight o’clock. Those that I saw at that hour were the first I knew of. We had examined the chart three or four times with Captain Adams previously to the time I have mentioned. Point Lynas Light bore on the starboard quarter at ten o’clock. The chart was similar to the one you now show me, and we were in hopes when the anchors were snapped off. I do not know the exact hour when Captain Adams said he should not be surprised if we were on the shore before morning. It was after the anchors were let go.

‘Examination by Mr. Mellor resumed.—When off Holyhead we saw the “Great Eastern,” but very indistinctly. This was on account of the distance and of the thickness of the weather. It was not very thick. I cannot say it was very hazy. It was not dark before we were off Holyhead. The masts were cut after the anchors were broken from their moorings. I have no idea how soon after. The mainmast was cut away before the ship struck on the rock. Captain Withers, Captain Adams, and Captain Taylor consulted together; I know that because Mr. Croome, the fourth officer, came to the second cabin and took Captain Adams from my side to the consultation. Croome told Adams that Captain Withers was with Captain Taylor, and that they were waiting for him to consult together as to the best means of saving the ship. This was before the mainmast was cut away, and after the anchors had parted. There were two guns on board. Both were used for signals. The weather gun was full of salt water the last time they went to charge it. The vessel ceased to use the screw when she was hard and fast. She was lying for about half an hour near the rocks before she struck. She was lying on the sand from half-past five o’clock. No rocket was fired to the shore to carry a rope or anything else. I never saw any mortar on board for firing shells. It was so dark from half-past five to six o’clock that we could not see. I saw no preparations on board between half-past five and six o’clock for putting the passengers ashore, but I saw some of the passengers with life-belts on, and others putting them on at that time. I know of no light being shown from the ship’s deck between half-past five and six o’clock. I don’t think I was on deck during that time. Previously to half-past five I had seen a globe light at the telegraph which communicated with the engine-room. I remarked it because I had never seen a light there before. It was a globe light. Rockets and blue lights were let off at intervals during the whole night.

‘Mr. Mellor said it might be a convenience to the Coroner and the owners of the ship if he announced that he should confine himself to endeavouring to ascertain what was the ship’s course on Tuesday night and Wednesday morning previously to the wreck. There was another matter which he wished to ask, which was whether the “Royal Charter” had been altered at any time after she was built.

‘Mr. Bright.—No, sir, there was no—’ [No what?]

‘The Coroner.—Do not enter into an argument.

‘Mr. Bright.—I am prepared to give evidence as to her course; the vessel took—

‘Mr. Mellor.—I wished to give you notice of what I intend to ask.

‘The inquiry was then adjourned.’

At a later period in the day the inquiry was resumed.

‘George Suaicar, a Maltese, was examined. On the Scriptures being tendered to this witness, he asked what the book was, as he was a Roman Catholic. On it being explained to him that the book was a copy of the sacred Scripture, he said he felt an oath on it perfectly binding on his conscience. He was then sworn, and gave evidence similar to his statement at pp. 20-22.

‘William Foster, examined by the Coroner.—I was carpenter on board the “Royal Charter.” Nothing wrong occurred to the ship from the time she left Melbourne till she reached Queenstown, nor till we came up to Point Lynas on this coast. The wind was right ahead as we came from Holyhead, but I do not know in what point. It was blowing a good stiff breeze after we came off Holyhead. We were obliged to put out signals off Point Lynas, first for a pilot, and then signals of distress. She reached Point Lynas in the evening.

‘The inquiry was then adjourned till the following day.

‘The Coroner and jury assembled at a quarter before ten o’clock the next (Friday) morning, when

‘William Foster, the carpenter of the “Royal Charter,” proceeded with his evidence.

‘To the Coroner.—The “Royal Charter” was from half an hour to an hour on the rocks before she parted. She broke right off at the main-hatch, across the main-hatch. Previous to this a line had been sent ashore. There were villagers on the rocks when the hawser was cast ashore. Sixteen were sent ashore by the hawser. Those sixteen were a portion of the crew. More could have been got across only that there was a female in the forecastle who hesitated, and delayed, and dallied for half an hour. There were a great many on the forecastle at that time. In the end the female refused to go, and I went across myself, and about three of the crew after me. Some of the passengers were below in the saloon. A heavy sea broke across the starboard bow and swept every one from the forecastle—about sixty or seventy. During the whole time we were trying to wear and stay the ship, the captain was on board. I saw him frequently, and he was sober. I have been four or five voyages at sea. Considering the gale of that night, I do not think the captain could have done more than he did to save the vessel. I do not think I observed any change in the wind after we passed Point Lynas. I never mind the wind or the course of the vessel. The wind freshened and blew stronger and stronger. Took soundings. The lead was kept going the whole night, both hand and deep-sea leads. It is my duty to see that the vessel was making no water. She made no water after she first grounded.

‘To Mr. Mellor.—We could see Point Lynas Light when the anchors were dropped. I do not know how it bore. I cannot say how soon we lost sight of it afterwards. I think we were between three and four miles off shore when the ship dropped anchor. I cannot tell how far we were from where the ship first grounded when we dropped anchor.

‘To Mr. Bright.—I did’ [? not] ‘hear Suaicar say that the captain was drunk.

‘To the Coroner.—I have no recollection of seeing Mr. Mellor and Mr. Walsh at the cottage where Suaicar and I lodged yesterday week. There have been hundreds of people there. I never heard Suaicar tell Mr. Mellor that he had asked the captain to cut away the masts, and that the captain had refused. I never said that the captain was drunk, or anything to corroborate that statement.

‘Mr. John Brown Marsh, of Chester, said—I had a conversation with Suaicar about nine o’clock on the night of Thursday, the day after the wreck. Foster, the carpenter, was present at the time. After taking down Suaicar’s and Foster’s narratives in writing, I asked Suaicar whether he had anything more to tell me. He said—“Some man on the beach has been saying the captain was drunk, but he was as sober all the time as I am now. I should like to meet the man who says he was drunk.” He then added, “I was running about all night carrying messages from the captain to the officers, and from the officers to the crew, and I can swear he was not drunk.” I took these words down at the time.

‘Mr. Mellor here announced that he had received a letter from home announcing the death of another relative, and he was sorry to say that he must now leave Molfra.

‘The Coroner said he was sorry for the occurrence, as he should like Mr. Mellor to hear some remarks which he should feel it his duty to make to the jury. If the jury were satisfied that the captain was sober, it would not be necessary to examine the steward on that point.

‘The Jury said they were satisfied that the captain was sober.

‘The Coroner then asked, could any of the sailors give evidence as to the navigation of the vessel?

‘Mr. Bright observed that the common sailors did not understand this.’

THE VERDICT.

‘After some further evidence of the same general character, in the course of which nothing new was elicited, the jury late the same evening found a verdict to the effect that the wreck of the “Royal Charter” was caused by purely accidental circumstances; that Captain Taylor was perfectly sober; and that he did all in his power to save the vessel and the lives of the passengers.’

Who doubted that Captain Taylor did all he could to save the vessel after she struck upon the rocks? That was only one question out of several that should have been considered. The construction of the ship, the ‘hugging of the coast,’ looking for a pilot in such tempestuous weather, the delay (if any delay there were) in cutting down the masts—these were the lines of inquiry to which the coroner and jury should have directed their special attention, and followed to their just terminations. But the investigation was feebly conducted throughout, and is not likely to rest at its present unsatisfactory point. The Press will not be silent upon the matter. While no one desires a different verdict, the public at large has a right to expect that the evidence upon which any verdict in such a case as this is founded should be of the completest character. Every calamity has its lesson; and if that lesson is not learnt at once, depend upon it the calamity will be repeated until it is. But what lesson is it possible to learn from such an ‘investigation’ as that which has just concluded at Bangor?[F]

[F] The Times of this day (8th of Nov.) states that a government inquiry into the causes of the catastrophe is immediately to take place. [Back to text]

Latest Details from Molfra.[G]

[G] There is a want of sequaciousness in the arrangement of these Addenda which the exigencies of a hurried publication can alone justify. [Back to text]

The latest particulars (Nov. the 7th) from the scene of the wreck which can be here incorporated are these:—

‘The divers found one body yesterday forenoon, and some copper, but no specie. No bodies have been cast ashore last night or this morning. Up to the present moment forty-eight bodies have been recovered, but of these few have been identified. The following is a correct list of those who have been identified, with such further particulars respecting them as have, after the best inquiries that could have been made here, been discovered. A child named Pitcher, claimed by the uncle, Mr. Pitcher, of Northfleet, Kent. John Emery, of Liverpool, steward on board the “Royal Charter.” [I know poor Emery so well! He was a good, generous fellow.] John Smith, four years old, child of Mr. and Mrs. Smith, passengers; there were five of this family on board. Miss Russell, ten years old, child of Mr. Russell, the passenger who had the miraculous escape, and whose wife and two children were drowned. Mrs. Lyon, of Melbourne, identified by Mr. Gapper, a passenger.’ [There is some doubt as to this lady’s identity.] ‘Miss Jane Fowler, supposed at one time to be a Mrs. Woodroff. Richard Read, of Plymouth. Jacob Roberts, fireman. James Walton, steward, son of Mr. Walton, of the Amphitheatre, Liverpool. James Edwards, passenger. Henry Aspinall, rigger. Mr. John Grove, on whose person a sum of 56l. 10s. was found. Richard Tierncough, sailmaker. Wilson, boiler-maker. John Rees, of Pistill-Nevin. Lambert, seaman. Russell, seaman.

‘All the above have been interred. In cases where the relatives or friends do not bury, the bodies are interred in trenches. Parish coffins are provided for them, and the Rev. Mr. Hughes, of Llanallgo, and other benevolent individuals, have provided linen and flannel for several of the poor shipwrecked passengers. His lordship the Bishop of Bangor, Mrs. Williams, lady of the Rev. Mr. Williams, Llandygnan, Captain Moore, 4th Dragoons, and Mr. Marshall are amongst those who have contributed to this charitable object.’

The whole of the details which have crowded the papers for the last eight or ten days are now, in such summary manner as their importance would permit, entirely disposed of. It would be useless to delay this Narrative for any further particulars from Molfra. One knows so well what the nature of those particulars will be—fresh bodies, more tattered rags, more copper bolts and bars twisted like wire, more iron plates and beams gnawed by the sea as dogs gnaw bones, more recognitions by disconsolate friends of those whom, long ere this, they had hoped to welcome at an English fireside!

Let us drop the curtain upon the picture as speedily as possible, and pray Our Father in Heaven to take unto his keeping the bereaved friends of those who have left Life’s sea of troubles for the Haven of Eternity.

POSTSCRIPT.

I have been for the last thirty-six hours (the time allowed me) preparing this book. I have had to wade through a mass of most mournful material. The labour has certainly not been a grateful one; but perhaps my friends in the Australian Colonies will rightly appreciate the motives which have induced me to supply them with a reliable history of the Wreck.

F.

LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET.

Transcriber’s Note

As much of the book contains material quoted from other sources, inconsistent hyphenation and spelling is preserved as printed.

The Table of Contents has been created by the transcriber for the convenience of the reader.

Punctuation errors have been corrected.

The following changes have been made:

Page 61—moed amended to mode—... in every tolerable mode of marine architecture, ...

Page 63—short amended to sort—... and for becoming a sort of “shore” to the pretty young lady ...

Page 66—readeir amended to reader—... as the reader will admit when he has perused ...

Page 79—unastisfactory amended to unsatisfactory—... is not likely to rest at its present unsatisfactory point.

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Table of Contents

- E-text prepared by Sam W. and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by the National Library of Australia (https://www.nla.gov.au)

- THE WRECK OF THE “ROYAL CHARTER.” COMPILED FROM AUTHENTIC SOURCES, WITH SOME ORIGINAL MATTER.

- CONTENTS.

- NOTE INTRODUCTORY.

- THE WRECK OF THE “ROYAL CHARTER.”

- THE PRESS ON THE CATASTROPHE.

- ADDENDA.

- LIST OF STEERAGE PASSENGERS.

- Dr. Scoresby on the ‘Royal Charter.’

- The Rev. Charles Vere Hodge.

- The Adjourned Inquest.

- THE VERDICT.

- Latest Details from Molfra.[G]

- POSTSCRIPT.

- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE