Part 2

'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 35_l._ in his pockets when he jumped into the sea: on reaching shore he had 10_l._ remaining. Mr. Gapper, another saved, lost about 50_l._ 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.