Diary in America, Series Two. Фредерик Марриет

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 place that afforded any prospect of safety. The former lady (Mrs. Shroeder) was washed ashore on this piece of wreck, one of the two who survived. The writer having relinquished to this lady the place he had occupied, was compelled to get upon a large piece of the boat, that lay near, under the lee of the wheel; this was almost immediately driven from its place into the breakers, which instantly swept him from it, and plunged him deep into the water. With some difficulty he regained his raft. He continued to cling to this fragment, as well as he could, but was repeatedly washed from it. Sometimes when plunged deep into the water, he came up under it. After encountering all the difficulties that seemed possible to be borne, he was at length thrown on shore, in an exhausted state. At the time the writer was driven from the boat, there were but few left. Of these, four survived, viz. Mrs. Shroeder and Mr. Lovegreen, of Charleston; Mr. Cohen, of Columbia; and Mr. Vanderzee, of New York.

      “On reaching the beach, there was no appearance of inhabitants; but after wandering some distance, a light was discovered, which proved to be from Ocracoke lighthouse, about six miles south-west of the place where the boat was wrecked. The inhabitants of the island, generally, treated us with great kindness, and, so far as their circumstances, would allow, assisted in properly disposing the numerous bodies thrown upon the shore.

      “The survivors, after remaining on the island till Thursday afternoon, separated, some returning to New York, others proceeding on to Charleston. Acknowledgment is due to the inhabitants of Washington, Newbern, and Wilmington, as well as of other places through which we passed, for the kind hospitality we received, and the generous offers made to us. Long will these favours be gratefully remembered by the survivors of the unfortunate Home.”

      Even if the captain of the Home was intoxicated, it is certain that the loss of the vessel was not occasioned by that circumstance, but by the vessel not having been built sea-worthy.

      The narrative of the loss of the Moselle is the last which I shall give to the reader. It is written by Judge Hall, one of the best of the American writers.

      Loss of the Moselle.

      “The recent explosion of the steam-boat Moselle, at Cincinnati, affords a most awful illustration of the danger of steam navigation, when conducted by ignorant or careless men: and fully sustains the remark made in the preceding pages, that, ‘the accidents are almost wholly confined to insufficient or badly managed boats.’

      “The Moselle was a new boat, intended to ply regularly between Cincinnati and St. Louis. She had made but two or three trips, but had already established a high reputation for speed; and, as is usual in such cases, those by whom she was owned and commanded, became ambitious to have her rated as a ‘crack boat,’ and spared no pains to exalt her character. The newspapers noticed the quick trips of the Moselle, and passengers chose to embark in this boat in preference to others. Her captain was an enterprising young man, without much experience, bent upon gaining for his boat, at all hazards, the distinction of being the fastest upon the river, and not fully aware, perhaps, of the inevitable danger which attended this rash experiment.

      “On Wednesday the 25th of April, between four and five o’clock in the afternoon, this shocking catastrophe occurred. The boat was crowded with passengers; and, as is usually the case on our western rivers, in regard to vessels passing westerly, the largest proportion were emigrants. They were mostly deck passengers, many of whom were poor Germans, ignorant of any language but their own, and the larger portion consisted of families, comprising persons of all ages. Although not a large boat, there were eighty-five passengers in the cabin, which was a much larger number than could be comfortably accommodated; the number of deck passengers is not exactly known, but, as is estimated, at between one hundred and twenty and one hundred and fifty; and the officers and crew amounted to thirty, making in all about two hundred and sixty souls.

      “It was a pleasant afternoon, and the boat, with steam raised, delayed at the wharf, to increase the number—already too great—of her passengers, who continued to crowd in, singly or in companies, all anxious to hurry onwards in the first boat, or eager to take passage in the fast-running Moselle. They were of all conditions—the military officer hastening to Florida to take command of his regiment—the merchant bound to St. Louis—the youth seeking a field on which to commence the career of life—and the indigent emigrant with his wife and children, already exhausted in purse and spirits, but still pushing onward to the distant frontier.

      “On leaving the wharf, the boat ran up the river about a mile, to take in some families and freight, and having touched at the shore for that purpose, for a few minutes, was about to lay her course down the river. The spot at which she thus landed was at a suburb of the city, called Fulton, and a СКАЧАТЬ