Chapter 11

THE WRECK OF THE "FORFARSHIRE."

"Never bronze, nor slab of stone, May their sepulchre denote: O'er their burial place alone Shall the shifting sea-weed float.

"Not for them the quiet grave Underneath the daisied turf; They rest below the restless wave, They sleep below the sleepless surf.

"O'er them shall the waters wrestle With the whirlwind from the land, But their bones will only nestle Closer down into the sand;

"And for ever, wind and surge, Loud or low, shall be their dirge; And each idle wave that breaks Henceforth upon any shore, Shall be dearer for their sakes, Shall be holy evermore."--E. H. O.

Only they who have had to brave the dangers of the deep for many years, can understand what its perils really are. Unfortunately, as the reader knows, these are so great and frequent, that to describe a wreck is but to take one of many which have been still more sad and disastrous. But as the wreck of the "Forfarshire" deserves especial mention, because of the heroic conduct of the lighthouse-girl, it will be necessary that we should become acquainted with as many of its details as have been preserved.

The "Forfarshire" steamer was a vessel of about three hundred tons burden, and it was under the command of one, John Humble, who had formerly been master of the "Neptune," of Newcastle. The "Forfarshire" was to go from Hull to Dundee, with a valuable cargo of bale goods and sheet iron; and she sailed from Hull on Wednesday evening, September 5th, 1838, at about half-past six o'clock. Two other vessels left at the same time, the "Pegasus" and "Inisfail," both bound for Leith. The vessel might almost have been called a new one, for she was but two years old, but her boilers were in a very bad state of repair. They were examined before the ship left Hull; and a small leak which was detected was closed up, and it was hoped that the vessel had been made safe. Sixty-three persons sailed in her, including twenty passengers in the cabin, and nineteen in the steerage, Captain Humble, his wife, fourteen seamen, four firemen, two coal trimmers, and two stewards. Several persons noticed an unusual bustle on board, and found, on inquiring, that it was caused by the state of the boilers. This very naturally occasioned great anxiety on the part of those who were to sail in her, and one of the steerage passengers, Mrs. Dawson, was heard to say, that if her husband came down to the steamer in time, she would return with him, and not sail in the vessel at all.

Off Flamborough Head the leakage was again detected, and continued for six hours; but it did not appear to be very serious, inasmuch as the pumps were able to keep the vessel dry. Still it was enough to cause some alarm, for two of the fires were extinguished by it, and had to be relighted when the boilers had been temporarily repaired. Things were not very encouraging, since the vessel could only move slowly; and before she had proceeded more than a little way on her course, three other steamers passed her.

It would have been only wise and right if, under such circumstances, the vessel had not attempted to pursue her course, but had put into the nearest port. Such was not the case, however, and though she was known to be in a most inefficient state, she proceeded on her voyage. It was about six o'clock on Thursday evening when the "Forfarshire" passed through the Fairway, the water which lies between the Farne Island and the mainland. It was night when she entered Berwick Bay, and at that time the wind was blowing strong from the north, and the sea was running very high. Naturally enough the strain upon the vessel, caused by its greatly increased motion on account of the violence of the weather, widened the leak. The firemen reported that they could not keep the fires burning, as the leakage had increased to such an extent that the water put them out. The captain ordered two men to be employed in pumping water into the boilers, but no good came of that, for as fast as they pumped the water in it escaped again through the leak.

The storm continued to rage with unabated fury, and it was felt by all on board that they were in imminent danger. The captain strove to keep up the courage of the men and passengers, but their anxious faces told too surely of the sinking hearts within.

"Where are we now?" was the question asked at ten o'clock; and those who asked, would have given not a little to be in happy British homes, safe from the fury of the winds and sea.

"We are off St. Abb's Head," was the reply, shouted at the top of the man's voice, that it might be heard, for in the din and roar it was difficult to make each other understand.

Presently the enginemen, working hard at their engines, found that their efforts were entirely vain. They persevered until it was evident that perseverance was useless and then they represented the case to the captain.

"The engines will not work, sir," they said, "though we have done our best to make them."

The captain looked, and felt extremely anxious, for he knew that a terrible danger menaced the vessel, and all on board.

"Hoist the sails fore and aft," was the order, for it was well known that there was great probability of their drifting ashore. The vessel was put about, and every endeavour made to keep her before the wind, and away from the rocks. It was thought by some that an attempt would be made to anchor, but it was not so. The vessel was not long before it had become perfectly unmanageable; and those who were helpless to guide her felt, with dismay, how near they were to destruction and death. The tide was setting in to the south, and the ship drifted in that direction.

All this time it was raining heavily, and the fog was so thick that nothing could be distinctly seen. It was impossible to tell where they were; and in darkness and uncertainty, fearing the worst, and quaking with terror, the unhappy passengers and crew waited for their doom, as men and women have done so often under circumstances similarly appalling. There was nothing they could do but wait and pray; and they were the happiest who could keep alive in their bosoms the faintest spark of hope, and who, being ready either to live or die, had confidence in the strong arm and watchful care of Him who holds the waters in the hollow of His hand.

At length there was a startled cry, "Breakers to leeward!" and that discovery increased the excitement and terror a hundredfold. All eyes were strained in the endeavour to ascertain something of their position, and presently the Farne Lights became visible. After a moment's consultation, the awful truth made the men desperate. There was no doubt as to the imminent and immediate peril in which they were, for the dangerous character of the coast of the islands was well known. The captain and men, aroused to almost superhuman effort by the awful catastrophe that was coming upon them, tried to avert what seemed almost inevitable, by endeavouring to run the vessel through the channel that lies between the Farne Islands and the mainland. But the gloomy apprehensions of all who understood the state of the case were rather increased than diminished by the attempt; for the vessel would not answer her helm; and the furious, turbulent sea tossed her hither and thither, making her the sport of its own awful will.

It was between three and four o'clock when, with her bow foremost, the "Forfarshire" struck on the rock.

Those who are not acquainted with the Farne Islands can scarcely form an idea of the ruggedness of those rocks, which stand up in the ocean as if intent on destroying all that comes near them. The rock on which the "Forfarshire" struck is so sharp and rugged that it is scarcely possible for persons to stand erect upon it, even when it is dry, and it descends sheer down into the water more than a hundred fathoms deep.

The shock, therefore, and the awful scene that followed, may be imagined, but cannot be described. The night was round about the helpless passengers, and added to their danger and dismay. The sea was tremendously high, and the waves seemed to be so many graves rising to receive the bodies that must shortly drop into them. The noise and tumult were so great as to bewilder those who listened. The wind howled in its rage, and mingled with the thunder of the waters. The sea-gulls screamed as they flew madly about the ship, and towards the shore. The women shrieked so piercingly that their voices could be heard above all other sounds, and were by far the maddest and most mournful of all. Nor was this surprising, for the great vessel was lifted up by the action of the water, and again forced upon the jagged rock, while the beams and timbers gave way, and that to which the passengers and sailors had trusted their lives proved itself little better than a grave.

The bustle and confusion on board were naturally very great at this juncture. All tried to find their way on deck, but some did not live to reach it. Others, as soon as they had gained that which they hoped was a place of safety, were at once swept off into the great deep below.

At this time some of the crew, eager to save themselves, lowered the larboard quarter-boat, and sprang into it. Among these were James Duncan, the first mate, to whom some blame seems to have been attached, and Mr. Ruthven Ritchie, of Perthshire. It is little wonder that in such a crisis all should do what could be done to save themselves. But we have some memorable instances of unselfish heroism on the part of British sailors, who have even lost their own lives in saving those of others.

"It is the signal of death," was the hurried conclusion to which many came when they felt the shock of the vessel on the rock. Then followed a most heart-rending scene. The master lost all self-control in his anguish and terror; but, perhaps, that is not surprising when it is remembered that he had on board his own wife. It is so natural for a woman to think that her husband can save her from everything; and this woman clung to the master, and looked into his face with imploring eyes, "Oh, save me! save me! Surely you can do something! Do not let me drown. Oh, my beloved, will you not save me?" she cried, holding him in her arms, while the tears ran down her white face.

"Would to God that I could, my darling," was all the man could say, as he felt his utter helplessness to protect her, or any of those who had been committed to his care. Other women there were who called upon him, and upon the sailors, and most of all upon God, though their cries seemed altogether unavailing. The men were more quiet. They looked death in the face calmly, though still they clung to the doomed vessel, hoping against hope to the very last.

Many of the passengers were asleep in their berths when the vessel first struck. The steward ran down to give the alarm without loss of time.

"For God's sake, get up, all of you. The vessel is on the rocks, and we shall all be drowned."

What a terrible awakening it was for those who had gone calmly to sleep the night before! No warning had been given to them. They little knew how the angels wrote above their cabin, "There is but a step between thee and death." With busy brains, planning all sorts of work for future years, and dreaming of worldly success and prosperity, they laid down to sleep. While the night yet lasted came the terrible cry, "Behold, the bridegroom cometh: go ye forth to meet Him." And what terror and affright the message caused, only He knew who looked down from Heaven into the souls of the men and women. Was it not a pity that they had not thought of this before? If only they had been His friends, they would not have feared to see His face. But to those who had persistently turned deaf ears to His invitations, the cry, "Prepare to meet thy God," sounded like a summons to eternal doom.

To others, however, it was not so. They looked across the waters to another shore, where the lights are always burning, and where shining ones stand to welcome the weary voyagers who would safely gain it. As they saw the danger they knew that the shore they loved was not far away; and when they cried in strong faith, "Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly," they heard the still small voice of their God saying, "It is I, be not afraid." Death by drowning was for them only a short swift passage to the heavenly land, where "there shall be no more sea." And though life must have been dear to them--for every one had some tie to keep him below--still, there was not one Christian but would be willing "to depart and be with Christ, which is far better," and the summons, though it was brought by seething waters and howling winds, could not be unwelcome. For a few seconds there would be nothing but darkness, pain and bewilderment, but then all would be over, and their day would begin. "They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more. The Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them to living fountains of water, and God shall wipe all tears from their eyes." Happy, indeed, are they, for they "have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb; and they shall serve Him day and night in His temple."

But what of them who have always been His despisers? In the days of their health they cried--"We will not have this man to reign over us;" and now, what could He be to them but a judge whom they feared? To them death by drowning was a very different thing from that which it was to those who were his friends. It gave them too little time to prepare. They wanted to pray, but the waters were over their heads, and in the darkness they could not find Him. They wanted to repent, but no space for repentance was given to them then. It was too late--too late! They had had time. For months and years the patient Spirit had been striving with them; but they had resisted Him. Christ had been saying--not as a judge, but as a pleading Saviour--"Come unto me, all ye that labour, and I will give you rest." "Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If any man will hear me, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me." But it had been no use. Deaf ears, that would not hear His voice, blind eyes, that saw no beauty in Him that they should desire Him, unresponding lips that would give Him no invitation--these were all that the Lord had met with. And now it was too late, for that storm had burst, and the ship was settling down, and there remained for the rejecters of Christ nothing but hopeless desolation!

Does not this, and every shipwreck, cry aloud to the sons of men to be wise? "Now is the accepted time, now is the day of salvation." "To day, if ye will hear his voice, harden not your hearts." Death must come soon, and it may come any night, and, rousing the sleeper, may hurry him into eternity. Is it not folly to remain unprepared?

The "Forfarshire," soon after the first shock, was struck by a powerful wave, which lifted her for a moment off the rock, but only to dash the doomed ship on it again with greater violence than before. On this occasion, the sharp edge of the rock struck the vessel about midships aft of the paddle-boxes. Then the survivors rushed on deck, and about three minutes later, another shock cut the vessel completely in halves.

The part containing the stern, quarter-deck and cabin, was instantly carried away, with all who were upon it, and went rushing into the terrible current, known by the name of the "Piper Gut." This current is so tremendously strong, that, even in calm weather, it runs between the islands at the rate of six miles an hour; and the fate of those who, in a hurricane, were borne through the rapids, is indeed terrible to contemplate.

It has been said that the larboard quarter-boat was launched by the chief mate, James Duncan. Only one passenger was, however, saved--namely, Mr. Ritchie. He heard the steward's cry of alarm; and immediately sprang from his berth, and, seizing his trousers, rushed upon deck. He noticed that some of the sailors were leaping into a boat, and without loss of time, and with great presence of mind, he at once seized a rope, and by a marvellous effort swung himself into it. He afterwards looked upon his escape as nothing short of miraculous. Just as the boat was leaving the ship, two persons made frantic efforts to detain it. They were the aunt and uncle of Mr. Ritchie. They endeavoured to seek his place of safety, but perished in the attempt, for, instead of gaining an entrance into the boat, they fell into the water, and perished before the eyes of their nephew, who was powerless to aid them.

Those in the boat had a narrow escape. The night was dark and cold, but Mr. Ritchie had nothing on excepting his shirt and trousers. All the time he was in the boat he was occupied in baling out the water with a pair of shoes, for if this had not been perseveringly done, the boat would have sunk, and all in her have perished. No one knew how to steer; but Providence guided the men rightly, for there was but one means of escape from the dangerous breakers, which must have dashed the boat against the rocks. Not one of them could say where this outlet was; but they were guided through it unawares. Surely every man must have felt grateful to Him who had taken them safely through such dangerous waters! About eight o'clock on Saturday morning, they were picked up by a Montrose sloop, bound for Shields; and the whole nine who had embarked in the boat were saved. Mr. Ritchie had some money in his pocket, with which he was able to buy necessary food and clothing.

Those who had been left on the wreck were less fortunate. It has been stated that the fore-part of the vessel remained on the rock; but the situation of the poor wretches thus exposed was most perilous. Gigantic waves kept dashing over them; and one of these swept the captain and his wife away into the boiling sea. He had not been able to save her; but he died with her, as a brave man would do. Let us hope that they went together to the rest and joy in Heaven.

There were only nine left on the wreck which still stuck to the rock--four of the passengers, and five of the crew. Words cannot describe their sufferings while they held on for dear life; the waves, which had hurried away so many of their companions, continually rising, as if in a malicious endeavour to secure them also for their prey. While strength remained, they cried and screamed for help, though even as they did so, their hearts sank within them, for it seemed utterly vain to hope that their shrieks would be heard above the awful clamour of the winds and waves. Now and then they died into complete silence, and then one of the number would shout for help, while the others feebly, but with all their strength, seconded his endeavours. They were half-frozen by the cold; and the heavy seas that washed over them tore off their clothing, leaving them nearly naked. They made frantic exertions to hold on, and resist the fury of the waves, but, as the night wore slowly away, these endeavours quite exhausted the sufferers, and left them almost prostrate.

One spectacle was particularly agonising. It has been mentioned that Mrs. Dawson, one of the passengers, had declared before the vessel started, that, if she could, she would leave it, and would not sail. But her husband did not come in time, and she had therefore gone with the rest. She was among the number of those who were in the fore-part of the vessel, and which clung to the rock. She had with her two children, a boy and a girl, aged respectively eight and eleven years. She held them firmly, one by each hand, resolved to save them if a mother's love could do it. But they were delicate, and could not endure the continued buffeting of the waves. They were so beaten and battered by being thrust to and fro against the rock that they both died; but even after they were dead, Mrs. Dawson refused to believe it, and still held them firmly by the hand. The mother's heart might have broken quite had she known, but as it was she was eventually saved.

Scarcely less wonderful was the escape of a man named Donovan, one of the firemen of the ill-fated vessel. He lay on the rock for three hours in the greatest suffering, being beaten by the terrible waves as they washed over him, stripping him by the force of their blows. But all that time he held on to a strong spike-nail; and though his hands were bleeding, and almost raw, he would not let go, for he knew that if he did he would lose his only chance of safety.

So they waited and prayed for deliverance, while the terrible moments wore into hours. It must have seemed to them that God had forgotten to be gracious, and that they were forsaken both by Him and their fellow men. But many an agonising prayer rose to heaven, and at last, though they little expected it, succour was nigh. It is true that it came by a maiden's hands, but God was, indeed, the deliverer. His time often seems very late, and His coming long delayed, but, after all, He knows the right moment, and those who put their trust in Him will not be confounded. Over the stormy water came a little boat on an errand of mercy; and He, without whom not a sparrow can fall, was Himself in it, aiding and blessing His servants. Let us see how wonderfully He had cared for the few survivors on the Farne rocks, and by what enthusiastic heroism He had filled the breast of the youthful lighthouse-girl. And let us learn from it to trust in Him when our times of need come.

"Say not my soul, 'From whence Can God relieve my care?' Remember that Omnipotence Has servants everywhere."