Part 12
All around the ship the sea was a blazing mass, for the oil which had been pumped overboard had caught fire. The two lifeboats sped through the sea towards the flaming ship, but were driven back by the intense heat. Ever and anon there were reports as of great guns--with a roar the oil tanks exploded, and added to the volume of flame which enveloped the hapless ship and men. Then lesser reports; the steel plates of the vessel were being blown out.
“No hope--no hope!” cried the entrapped men; and then, driven mad by despair, determined to take all risks. Some of them flung themselves overboard into the flaming cauldron. They were never seen again.
Then there took place one of those deeds of heroism which will never die while men have lips to tell of courage and endurance. The chief engineer was seen by those on the tugs to be standing on the poop with three other men; hurriedly they saw him give his comrades a lifebuoy each. They expected to see him don one himself, but, looking again, realised that he had not one left. In the brilliant light they could see him urging his comrades to jump; could see them reluctant to leave him; but, pressed by the brave man, at last they leapt clear of the ship--into the sea of fire on which were floating several lifebuoys and belts thrown out by the tugs and lifeboats. They disappeared for a moment, then came to the surface again, and could be seen striking out towards the _Furness_, which, pushing as near as was possible, went to their rescue. By the greatest of good luck, after a fearful struggle for life against sea and fire, two men, Second Engineer McLoughlin and Fourth Engineer Dixon, were picked up, sadly burnt, almost exhausted, but alive. The third man was not so fortunate, and was not seen again.
Meanwhile, the chief engineer had himself jumped overboard, without any lifebuoy, and fought his way yard by yard through the sea of flame till he came within an arm’s length of the boat which had been put off to rescue him. As though angry at being robbed of the other men, the sea, seeming to gather in fury, at that moment picked up the engineer on a tremendous wave and hurled him back into the inferno, then back against the death-ship, battering him to death.
It was evident now that there was no hope for any other of the stricken crew. The funnels and ventilators were belching forth mighty columns of flame--every part of the ship was ablaze. Only one man was still visible on deck, and he was so scared that he could do nothing but cry agonisingly for help.
“Jump!” they yelled to him. “Jump!”
“I can’t swim!” was the tragic answer; and, fearing to trust himself to the treacherous sea, he remained where he was, to become the victim of a still more treacherous foe.
So ended the tragedy of the _Vedra_. Although the tugs and lifeboats loitered about all night in the hope of finding some survivor, they were unsuccessful. Morning came. The ship was still burning furiously, great columns of flame and smoke ascending to such a height that they were visible at Fleetwood and Blackpool, twenty miles away. Her plates were red hot; all her tanks had long since exploded with terrific reports; and when night fell she was nothing but a shapeless skeleton, glowing in the sea, which itself was like a burning oil well.
Out of a crew of thirty-six only two men were taken off, and that despite all the gallant efforts that were made. Even of these two only one lived, for a week later one of them died in hospital from burns and shock.
* * * * *
The story of the burning of the _Earl of Eldon_, one of the finest trading vessels then afloat (it was on September 27, 1834, that the fire was discovered), is an instance of the spontaneous combustion of a cargo such as has often sent good ships to their doom. The _Earl of Eldon_ left Bombay on August 24, carrying forty-five souls, including three ladies and a baby amongst her passengers. She was laden with cotton bales, screwed so tightly that when the time came to move them, in order to try to save the ship, it was found impossible to shift them sufficiently. Before the cotton was put aboard it had been allowed to get thoroughly wet through, but, knowing the danger of wet cotton in a ship’s hold, the owners had had it dried before shipment. Apparently the drying had not been thorough, because the only explanation of the fire on the _Earl of Eldon_ is that, in just the same way that a haystack takes fire from the firedamp that generates inside it, so the cotton bales generated their own fire. As stated above, the first signs of anything wrong were discovered on September 27, when some of the passengers noticed steam issuing from the fore-hatchway. Captain Theaker, however, assured them that it was only steam, which was a usual thing on cotton-loaded ships. Presently, however, the smoke became so dense that the passengers were really alarmed, and an officer of the Madras Artillery, who was on board as a passenger, was not at all surprised when Captain Theaker knocked at his door and informed him that part of the cotton was on fire, and that he wished all the gentlemen passengers to come on deck for consultation. The rest of the story cannot be better told than in the words of the Indian officer.
“Being assembled,” he says, “the captain stated the case to be that some part of the cargo appeared to have spontaneously ignited, and he proposed removing the bales until they should discover the ignited ones, and have them thrown overboard, as also those which appeared to be in the same damaged condition. He said that there did not appear to be immediate danger, and that he hoped we might be able to avert it altogether. However, at eight o’clock the smoke became much thicker, and began to roll through the after-hatchway--the draught having been admitted forward in order to enable the men to work. Several bales were removed, but the heat began to be intolerable below; the smoke rolled out in suffocating volumes, and before nine o’clock we discovered that part of the deck had caught fire; in short, the men were obliged to knock off work. The captain then ordered the hatches to be battened down, with a view to keep the fire from bursting out, and to hoist out all the boats and stock them in case of necessity. This was done, and about half-past one the three ladies, two sick passengers, an infant, and a female servant were put into the longboat, with two hundred and sixteen gallons of water, twenty gallons of brandy, and biscuits for a month’s consumption, together with such pots of jam and preserved meats as we could get at, and the day’s provision of fresh and salted meat.
“It was now about two o’clock; the hatches were then opened, and all hands set to work to endeavour to extinguish the fire. The main hatch being lifted, and a tarpaulin removed, there was a sail underneath which was so hot that the men could hardly remove it; when they did, the heat and smoke came up worse than ever, and it being now known from inspection that the fire was underneath that part, orders were given to hoist out the bales until the inflamed ones could be got at; but when the men laid hold of the lashings to introduce a crane-hook, they were found to have been burned through beneath, and came away in their hands.
“The case now appeared bad, indeed. However, we cut a bale open and tried to remove it by handfuls, but the smoke and heat became so overpowering that no man could stand over it, and water only seemed to have the effect of increasing it, in the quantities we dared to use, for had the captain ventured to pump water into the ship to extinguish the fire, the bales would have swelled so much as to burst open the deck, and have increased so much in weight as to sink the ship, so that either way destruction would have been the issue. Under these circumstances, perceiving the case to be utterly hopeless, the captain called us together on the poop, and asked if anyone could propose any expedient likely to avail in extinguishing the fire and saving the ship, as in that case ‘we will stick by her while a hope remains.’ It was unanimously agreed that all had been done that could be done; the men were all perfectly sober, and had been indefatigable in their exertions, but one and all seemed coolly and positively of opinion that the case was hopeless. The heat was increasing so much that it became dangerous to leave the poop; the captain therefore requested us to get into the boats, told off and embarked his men, and at three o’clock he himself left the ship, the last man, just as the flames were bursting through the quarter-deck. We then put off, the two boats towing the longboat. The ship’s way had been previously stopped by backing her yards. She was now in one blaze, and her masts began to fall in. The sight was grand, though awful. Between eight and nine o’clock all her masts had fallen, and she had burned to the water’s edge. Suddenly there was a bright flash, followed by a dull, heavy explosion--her powder had caught. For a few seconds her splinters and flaming fragments were glittering in the air, and then all was darkness, and the waters had closed over the _Earl of Eldon_!
“Sad was the prospect now before us! There were in the longboat the captain and twenty-five persons, including an infant four months old; the size of the boat 23 feet long by 7-1/3 feet broad. In each of the others ten individuals, including the officer in charge. One of the boats had some bags of biscuit, but the chief provision was in the longboat. We were, by rough calculation, above 1,000 miles from Rodrigue, and 450 from Diego Garcias, the largest of the Chagos Islands; but to get there we must have passed through the squally latitudes we had just left, and been subject to variable winds and heavy weather or calms, neither of which we were prepared to resist. Seeing, then, that our stock was sufficient, we determined on trying for Rodrigue. About eleven o’clock we accomplished rigging the boats and were under sail. We carried a lantern lashed to our mast in the longboat to prevent the other boats from losing us during the night; and when day broke sent them sailing in all directions around to look-out for ships. While the wind was light they could outsail us, but when it became strong, and the sea very high, the difference of speed was rather in our favour, as the weight and size of the longboat enabled her to lay hold of the water better.
“On the third day of our boat navigation, the change of the moon approaching, the weather began to wear a threatening aspect; but as we were in the Trade, we did not apprehend foul or contrary winds. In the course of the night it blew fresh, with rain. We were totally without shelter, and the sea, dashing its spray over us, drenched us, and spoiled a great part of our biscuit, though we happily did not discover this until we were nearly out of the want of it.
“In the course of the next day the weather grew worse, and one of our small boats, in which was Mr. Simpson, the second mate, with nine others, was split by the sea. She came alongside, and we put the carpenter into her, who made what repairs he could, but with little hope of their answering. We then proceeded to fasten a spray-cloth of canvas along our gunwale, having lashed a bamboo four feet up the mast, and fixed it on the intersection of two stanchions at the same height above the stern. The spray-cloth was firmly lashed along this, so as to form a kind of half-pent roof, and had it not been for this imperfect defence we must have been swamped; and we still shipped seas to so great an extent that four men were obliged to be kept constantly employed in bailing to keep her clear of water. Towards evening it blew hard with a tremendous sea, and, not thinking the other damaged boat safe, we took in her crew and abandoned her. We were now thirty-six persons, stowed as thick as we could hold, and obliged to throw over all superfluities. We had not more than eight inches of clear gunwale out of water!
“This night I shall never forget. Our situation was indeed awful. Wet, crushed, and miserable, the night passed away, and the day broke at last. A tremendous sea came roaring down, and I held in my breath with horror; it broke right over our stern, wetted the poor women to their throats, and carried away the steersman’s hat. The captain then cried out, in a tone calculated to inspire with confidence he afterwards told me his heart did not re-echo:
“‘That’s nothing! It’s all right! Bail away, my boys!’
“He never expected us to live out that night; but, harassed as he was in mind and body, he gallantly stood up, and never by word or deed betrayed a feeling that might tend to make us despair. He stood on the bench that livelong night, nor did he ever attempt to sleep for nearly forty-eight hours.
“The morning broke and passed away, and, after the change of the moon, the weather began to moderate, and we enjoyed a comparative degree of comfort. We had three small meals of biscuit and some jam, etc., and three half-pints of water per day, with brandy, if we liked it. The men had one gill of spirits allowed them daily. We had plenty of cigars, and whenever we could strike a light we had a smoke, and I never found tobacco so great a luxury. The ladies were most wretched, yet they never uttered a repining word.
“On the thirteenth evening we began to look out for Rodrigue. The captain told us not to be too sanguine, as his chronometer was not to be depended upon after its late rough treatment. The night fell, and I went forward to sleep, and about twelve was awoke by the cry that land was right ahead. I looked and saw a strong loom of land through the mist. The captain had the boat brought to for an hour, then made sail and ran towards it, and at half-past two it appeared still more strongly. We then lay to until daylight. I attempted to compose myself to sleep, but my feelings were too strong, and after some useless attempts I sat down and smoked with a sensation I had long been a stranger to. With the first light of dawn, Rodrigue appeared right ahead, distant about six miles, and by eight o’clock we were all safely landed. A fisherman who came off to show us the way through the reefs received us in his house, and proceeded to feed us, and in the meantime sent to tell the gentlemen of the island of our arrival. Two of them came down immediately, and, having heard our story, said that we had been miraculously preserved. They then gave our bundles to their negroes, and took us to their houses, where everything they had was set before us--clean linen and a plentiful dinner. They shook us down four or five beds in an outhouse, and we enjoyed what we had not known for the last fortnight--a sound sleep.”
ROMANCE OF TREASURE-TROVE
These are True Stories of Treasure, and they are as Strange as Fiction
Interwoven with the story of the sea there is a vast amount of romance that wraps itself around hidden treasure. Ever since the days when the pirates roamed the seas at their own sweet will and took toll of shipping, these tales of treasure have been told. Dotted about here and there are small islands where tradition has it that the pirates hid their hoards of gold, silver, and precious jewels, intending to come back for them at some future date; but, being caught and hauled to justice, they died with their secret unrevealed, and the treasure remained. Then someone was told--or perhaps imagined--that such-and-such an island held it, and expeditions would be fitted out to seek for the treasure, which, as time rolled on, grew in size and value till it assumed fabulous proportions.
Of course, there _are_ hidden treasures secreted by the old pirates, and there are, too, other hoards which it would be well worth while to salvage, if the exact places were known. One can go back as far as the reigns of Tiberius and Caligula and find mention of richly laden ships which foundered with all their treasure; two galleys, for instance, containing plate, gold, art treasures, and many jewels were lost in the Lake Nemi, and nothing has ever been recovered, although the lake at this spot is only little more than a hundred feet deep.
Coming to a much later date, the seventeenth century, there is an authentic record of the recovery of a vast quantity of lost treasure which was lost off Hispaniola, when a great Spanish galleon went down very many years before. A ship’s carpenter named John Phipps by some means became aware of this sunken treasure, and after some time prevailed upon the Duke of Albemarle to fit out an expedition to recover it. That expedition lasted a year, and folks at home began to think that Phipps’s idea had been all moonshine, and that nothing had come of it. Then one day the one-time carpenter turned up with treasure worth £300,000. The story was romantic. Phipps had been searching about the sea round Hispaniola, for he had no sure idea as to exact locality, and perhaps he himself had a suspicion that his information had been incorrect, for he could find no trace of the wealth he sought. Then one day, when off Port de la Plata, looking over the side of the _Periaga_, a man “spied,” says the account written by a New England historian, “a feather growing, as he judged, out of a rock, whereupon one of their Indians (whom they had brought for the purpose) dived in, and, bringing up the feather, brought them withal a surprising story that he perceived a number of great guns in the watery world where he had found his feather, the report of which great guns exceedingly astonished the whole company, and at once turned their despondencies for their ill-success into assurances that they had now lit upon the true spot of ground which they had been looking for; and they were further confirmed in their assurances when, upon further diving, the Indian fetched up a ‘Sow,’ as they styled it, or lump of silver, worth perhaps two or three hundred pounds. This news was communicated to Phipps. ‘Then,’ said he, ‘thanks be to God, we are made’; and so away they went, all hands to work.... Now, most happily, they fell upon that room in the wreck where the bullion had been stored up, and they so prospered in this ‘new fishing’ that in a little while they had, without the loss of any man’s life, brought up _thirty-two tons of silver_! For it was now come to measuring silver by tons. Thus did there once again come into the light of the sun a treasure which had been half a hundred years groaning under the water. Besides that incredible treasure in plate of various forms thus fetched up from seven or eight fathoms under water, there were vast riches of gold and pearls and jewels.”
Carpenter Phipps received a boisterous welcome in England when he returned, and was knighted, and in due course became Governor of Massachusetts.
Sometimes seekers after treasure go forth on their quest and are never heard of again. In 1888, for instance, there left the Thames a little steamer called the _Seabird_, which was destined, so it was said, for coastal work in South America. Some three months later she was seen off Descada, and from that time to this has not been heard of. Plainly one of those mysteries of the sea referred to in another chapter; but a mystery with something behind it. The accepted explanation is that the owners had gone to seek treasure-trove buried by La Fitte, a French pirate, in the early days of the nineteenth century, on one of the Leeward Islands, either Marie Galanti or Descada, where the _Seabird_ was sighted. There might be little in that to connect the _Seabird_ with treasure-hunting, were it not for the fact that when she left the Thames she had two divers aboard, who were ranked on the books as steward and cook’s mate. Twelve months after the _Seabird_ disappeared the mother of Rider, the “steward,” heard from her son, who sent her a draft on a San Francisco bank for £100, and a letter saying that she would hear from him again, and that he and the “cook’s mate,” Cadman, had been “lucky.” He was as silent as the grave as to the fate of the _Seabird_; and neither he nor any of the crew has been heard of since.
If the pirates were alive, and would only speak! If Blackbeard, that picturesque scourge of the sea, could but reveal the place where he hid his treasure, unseen even by his own men, what a rush there would be! What a hoard might be found! Though not perhaps so large a one as the tales that are told lead one to suppose. Poor old Captain Kidd’s hidden wealth, for instance, started with £300--according to a man who sailed with him--and after the captain was hanged it grew and grew and grew until it was so large that not one, nor two, but dozens of places were necessary to hold it! So do myths arise from the flimsiest of facts.
During the sixteenth century, when English ships scoured the seas to wring wealth from Spain, many a Spanish ship was sunk, with all her treasure, rather than it should fall into the hands of the “English devils”; and when the Invincible Armada was put to flight, and, storm-tossed, sought to reach home by sailing round the north coast of Scotland and the west coast of Ireland, numbers of the vessels were wrecked; and, as they contained huge treasures, fortunes might be gained by properly organised search parties with the latest dredging and diving apparatus.
Sometimes the romance of treasure-trove is over-clouded by tragedy; and very often for nothing. The story is told of the foundering of the American ship _Reliance_, Captain Harding and his crew of twelve men barely escaping with their lives in the boats. Then a storm broke upon them and separated the boats, and Hiram Manly, mate, and nine men found themselves alone on the watery waste, being buffeted about, in danger every minute of being swamped. They worked desperately to keep her afloat, happy to be so far safe. Then one man was washed overboard by a huge wave, another fell dead from his exertions, and the survivors, day after day under pitiless sun, and night after night, held on their way, economising the few provisions and little water they had, becoming delirious as the anxiety told on them. Two more men were lost one night--perhaps the madness seized them, and they flung themselves overboard to end it all; perhaps a wave took them. But, whatever it was, they disappeared without a sound. The survivors, after what seemed an eternity of suffering, were at last flung upon a coral island, where they found water, which, because of the uncontrolled thirst upon them, killed two of them. Then fish was found; Hiram built a fire from drift wood, lighted it by the crystal glass of a watch and the sun’s rays, and then went to rouse his sleeping comrades. One man was dead.
Then the three castaways fell to eating their first good meal for many a day, and afterwards set out to explore the island, Manly going in one direction and the other two--Dillon and Harper--in another. They found no sign of human beings, and presently Dillon and Manly met.
“Where’s Harper?” asked Manly.
“We’ll never see him again,” was the reply. “He’s dead.”
“Dead!” cried Manly. “Where did it happen, and how?”
“Sharks!” said Dillon. “He went to bathe, and--and they got him!”
“Did the body come ashore?” Manly asked, filled with horror, and wondering when his own turn would come. “Let’s go and see!”
“No!” exclaimed Dillon. “It’s no use. We should never find him!”
But Manly persisted, and ran off in the direction from which Dillon had come; and in half an hour came upon the body of Harper, with a knife wound in his chest!