“As every particular is a matter of interest, especially to those who had friends and relatives on board,—it may not be improper to state, that one individual urged the propriety of lowering the small boats, and putting the ladies and children into them for safety, with suitable persons to manage them, before we struck the breakers. By this arrangement, had it been effected, it is believed that the boats might have rode out the gale during the night, and have been rescued in the morning by passing vessels, and thus all, or nearly all, have been saved. But few supported this proposition, and it could not be done without the prompt interference of those who had authority to command, and who would be obeyed.
“Immediately before we struck, one or two passengers, by the aid of some of the seamen, attempted to seek safety in one of the bouts at the quarter, when a breaker struck it, swept it from the davits, and carried with it a seaman, who was instantly lost. A similar attempt was made to launch the long-boat from the upper deck, by the chief mate Mr Mathews, and others. It was filled with several passengers, and some of the crew; but, as we were already within the verge of the breakers, this boat shared the fate of the other, and all on board (about ten in number) perished.
“Now commenced the most heart-rending scene. Wives clinging to husbands,—children to parents,—and women who were without protectors, seeking aid from the arm of the stranger, all awaiting the results of a moment, which would bring with it either life or death. Though an intense feeling of anxiety must, at this time, have filled every breast, yet not a shriek was heard, nor was there any extraordinary exclamation of excitement or alarm. A slight agitation was, however, apparent in the general circle. Some few hurried from one part of the boat to another, as if seeking place of greater safety; yet most, and particularly those who had the melancholy charge of wives and children, remained quiet and calm observers of the scene before them.
“The boat, at length, strikes; it stops, as motionless as a bar of lead. A momentary pause follows, as if the angel of death shrunk from so dreadful a work of slaughter. But soon the work of destruction commenced. A breaker with a deafening crash, swept over the boat, carrying its unfortunate victims into the deep. At the same time, a simultaneous rush was made towards the bows of the boat. The forward deck was covered. Another breaker came, with irresistible force, and all within its sweep disappeared. Our numbers were now frightfully reduced. The roaring of the waters, together with the dreadful crash of breaking timbers, surpasses the power of description. Some of the remaining passengers sought shelter from the encroaching dangers, by retreating to the passage, on the lee side of the boat, that leads from the after to the forward deck, as if to be as far as possible from the grasp of death. It may not be improper here to remark, that the destruction of the boat, and loss of life, was, doubtless, much more rapid than it otherwise would have been, from the circumstance of the boat heeling to windward, and the deck, which was nearly level with the water, forming, in consequence, an inclined plane, upon which the waves broke with their full force.
“A large proportion of those who rushed into this passage, were ladies and children, with a few gentlemen who had charge of them. The crowd was so dense, that many were in danger of being crushed by the irresistible pressure. Here were perhaps some of the most painful sights ever beheld. Before introducing any of the closing scenes of individuals, which the writer witnessed, or which he has gathered from his fellow passengers, he would beg to be understood, that it is not for the gratification of the idle curiosity of the careless and indifferent reader, or to pierce afresh the bleeding wounds of surviving friends, but to furnish such facts as may be interesting, and which, perhaps, might never be attained through any other channel.
“As the immediate connections of the writer are already informed of the particulars relating to his own unhappy bereavement, there is no necessity for entering in a minute detail of this melancholy event.
“This passage contained perhaps thirty or more persons, consisting of men, women and children, with no apparent possibility of escape; enclosed within a narrow aperture, over which was the deck, and both ends of which were completely closed by the fragments of the boat and the rushing of the waves. While thus shut up, death appeared inevitable. Already were both decks swept of everything that was on them. The dining cabin was entirely gone, and everything belonging to the quarter-deck was completely stripped off, leaving not even a stanchion or particle of the bulwarks; and all this was the work of about five minutes.
“The starboard wheel-house, and everything about it, was soon entirely demolished. As much of the ceiling forward of the starboard wheel had, during the day, fallen from its place, the waves soon found their way through all that remained to oppose them, and were in a few minutes’ time forcing into the last retreat of those who had taken shelter in the passage already mentioned.
“Every wave made a frightful encroachment on our narrow limits, and seemed to threaten us with immediate death. Hopeless as was the condition of those thus hemmed in, yet not a shriek was heard from them. One lady, unknown to the writer, begged earnestly for some one to save her. In a time of such alarm, it is not strange that a helpless female should plead with earnestness for assistance from those who were about her, or even offer them money for that aid which the least reflection would have convinced her it was not possible to render. Another scene, witnessed at this trying hour, was still more painful. A little boy was pleading with his father to save him. ‘Father,’ said the boy, ‘you will save me, won’t you? you can swim ashore with me, can’t you, father?’ But the unhappy father was too deeply absorbed in the other charges that leant on him, even to notice the imploring accents of his helpless child. For at that time, as near as the writer can judge, from the darkness of the place they were in, his wife hung upon one arm, and his daughter of seventeen upon the other. He had one daughter besides, near the age of this little boy, but whether she was at that time living or not, is uncertain.
“After remaining here some minutes, the deck overhead was split open by the violence of the waves, which allowed the writer an opportunity of climbing out. This he instantly did, and assisted his wife through the same opening. As he had now left those below, he is unable to say how they were finally lost; but, as that part of the boat was very soon completely destroyed, their further sufferings could not have been much prolonged. We were now in a situation which, from the time the boat struck, we had considered as the most safe, and had endeavoured to attain. Here we resolved to await our uncertain fate. From this place we could see the encroachment of the devouring waves, every one of which reduced our thinned numbers, and swept with it parts of our crumbling boat. For several hours previously, the gale had been sensibly abating; and, for a moment, the pale moon broke through the dispersing clouds, as if to witness this scene of terror and destruction, and to show to the horror-stricken victims the fate that awaited them. How few were now left, of the many who, but a little before, inhabited our bark! While the moon yet shone, three men were seen to rush from the middle to the stern of the boat. A wave came rushing on. It passed over the deck. One only, of the three, was left. He attempted to gain his former position. Another wave came. He had barely time to reach a large timber, to which he clung, when this wave struck him, and he too was missing. As the wave passed away, the heads of two of these men were seen above the water; but they appeared to make no effort to swim. The probability is, that the violence with which they were hurled into the sea disabled them. They sunk to rise no more.
“During this time, Mr Lovegreen, of Charleston, continued to ring the boat’s bell, which added if possible to the gloom. It sounded, indeed, like the funeral knell over the departed dead. Never before, perhaps, was a bell tolled at such a funeral as this. While in this situation, and reflecting on the necessity of being always prepared for the realities of eternity, our attention was arrested by the appearance of a lady, climbing upon the outside of the boat, abaft the wheel near where we were. Her head was barely above the deck on which we stood, and she was holding to it, in a most perilous manner. She implored help, without which she must soon have fallen into the deep beneath, and shared the fate of the many who had already gone. The writer ran to her aid, but was unable to raise her to the deck. Mr Woodburn, of New York, now came, and, with his assistance, the lady was rescued; she was then lashed to a large piece of timber, by the side of another lady, the only remaining