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 toward 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 the loss of life was, doubtless, much more rapid than it otherwise would have been, from the circumstances of the boat keeling 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 portion 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 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 obtained 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 into 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 every thing that was on them. The dining cabin was entirely gone, and every thing 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 every thing 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, (supposed to be the son of Hardy B. Croom, of Newbern, N. C.) 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 rested upon him, even to notice the imploring accents of his helpless child. For at that time, as near as the writer could 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 previous, 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 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 of 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 regain 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 up on 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 the 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. 17-VOL. V. 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 Ocracock light-house,—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, as far as their circumstances would allow, assisted in properly disposing of the numerous bodies thrown upon the shore. The survivors, after remaining on the island til 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 favors be greatfully remembered by the survivors of the unfortunate HOME." |