ABSTRACT
It was not many days before this wished-for breeze sprung up; and on Wednesday the third of September, about eleven in the forenoon, they embarked on board the good ship Columbus, Captain William Hatter, bound for London: but the harbour of Cork being nothing out of the way, the captain, who was also part owner of the vessel, promised to touch there, and land them at the Cove. e vessel was laden chie y with rice and indigo; and about three o’clock the pilot le them, having seen them safe over the bar. e day was ne, and the wind fair; and they continued upon deck gazing at the receding land, till the spire of St. Michael’s, the last object visible, sunk in the waves. As the evening advanced they retired to the cabin, where Captain/ Hatter had tea and co ee ready for them; and his son, who was his mate, and had a good voice, sung several sea songs; and the evening passed agreeably, till, the motion of the ship increasing, they perceived they had reached the gulph stream,7 when Mrs. Fanshaw and the children retired to their births; but the gentlemen, not being a ected with any sickness, ate a good supper, and joined with the captain and his son in drinking a bowl of punch to a happy sight of the Cove, and the further success of the voyage! Before morning they were clear of the gulph, and, with a fair wind and smooth sea, proceeded as prosperously as hearts could wish. Every day at noon, when their observation was made, they traced their course upon the map, and saw with pleasure every hour bringing them nearer to the object of their hopes. Oh! happy ignorance! which hides with an impenetrable veil the events of futurity, and su ers not the hour of distress/ to a ict us before our time! ey had now been twenty-seven days at sea, during which time they had for the most part favourable winds, which allowed them continually to stand their course: so that, according to their reckoning, they had run down above 40 degrees of longitude, and were rejoicing in the comfortable prospect of seeing their friends in about two weeks more. But on the evening of the last day of September the wind shi ed to the south-east, and the sun set in such a dark and troubled bank as intimated an approaching storm. e vigilance of the captain and the crew was not wanting to prepare for it: the top-gallant masts were taken down; the topmasts lowered; the sails reefed, and every thing put in the best trim possible.8 Mean
time it grew profoundly dark – the wind whistled through the shrouds – and the rumbling of the distant thunder, every peal growing louder and louder, announced the arrival of the/ tempest. e sea now rolled like mountains, the summits of which, brightened by the vivid ashes of the lightning, shone luminous on the black horizon, and threatened to overwhelm the struggling vessel in the profound abyss beneath them. e captain himself was at the helm; our passengers all closed in their births, where sleep was the least of their thoughts, and where poor Mrs. Fanshaw and her infants lay terri ed almost to death. Her a ectionate husband was tenderly leaning over her, and endeavouring to allay her terrors, when, about midnight, a tremendous crash, accompanied with a dreadful peal of thunder, was heard upon deck. e dreadful cry of ‘All hands alo !’ intermixed with the prayer of ‘Lord, save us, or we perish!’ chilled even the stoutest hearts, and bade them prepare for death. Ned instantly went upon deck, but prevailed on Captain Fanshaw to stay below with his family, nothing that they could do being of any use even to their personal/ safety. When he got upon deck, he saw the danger imminent indeed. e mainmast had been shivered with lightning, and two of the sailors struck dead. e poor captain was still at the helm endeavouring to keep the vessel’s head to the waves, whilst his son and the surviving crew were cutting away the remains of the mast and clearing them from the shrouds. e poor fellows who were struck were stowed away by themselves; and their messmates almost envied them that they had been so speedily relieved from all their terrors. Towards morning the gale abated; but the sea continuing to run mountains high, the ship laboured9 dreadfully, and made so much water that they feared the lightning had done her some material damage. e crew was now reduced to six mariners, with the captain and his son; three male passengers, Captain Fanshaw, Edward, and David Morgan; Mrs. Fanshaw and her maid, with three children: in all sixteen souls, eleven of whom only could be of/ any use. e weather continued rough and squally; and the leak, notwithstanding that all hands relieved each other constantly at the pumps, considerably increased upon them. Five days did they struggle with these disastrous circumstances, when, nding that notwithstanding all their labour there were now seven feet water in the hold, they gave it over, and a melancholy council was called to see what they should do. ey computed that they were somewhat above 500 miles from Cape Clear in Ireland, and about 400 from the Azores. ere were two long boats in the vessel, one considerably larger than the other, but either of them capable to carry all that remained of the company: – but then the hazard of being exposed in the Atlantic ocean at a stormy time of the year, in an open boat, scarcely gave them a chance for life; whilst, on the other hand, the ship seemed to a ord them still less, for she was lling fast with water, and could not, in/ their opinion, oat for four-and-twenty hours longer. eir only chance in her was some vessel heaving in sight that might discover their distress, and take
them on board. As long as this faint hope held out any possible prospect, they determined to wait upon the deck, which alone was now habitable, for the water was two feet deep in the cabin; but a thick fog coming on in the a ernoon, this last hope was taken away, and nothing remained but to trust themselves to the boat. Poor Captain Hatter was advanced in years; and almost all that he had in the world being embarked on board this vessel, he determined never to quit her while she remained above water, and at last, if no relief came, to go down with her. His son did all he could to make him change this resolution, but in vain; and when he found him immovably determined, he piously and a ectionately resolved to share his fate, let it be what it would, and never to abandon his dear/ parent in the hour of distress. All the seamen, however, determined for the boat; and the largest of them was accordingly launched into the water. e good captain gave them free liberty to take whatever stores they could nd either in the cabin or from the cargo. e latter was almost wholly overwhelmed with water; but from the cabin they got some biscuit10 and rice, as also a case of spirits and some wine. Ned carried with him his musket and Indian belt, with powder and ammunition: a hogshead11 of fresh water was also put on board, and a compass. e evening was dark and gloomy; and night coming down apace. It was the h of October, between four and ve in the a ernoon, when they departed from the ship. Poor Captain Hatter and his son stood on the quarter-deck, and, with a magnanimity truly heroic, gave them three parting cheers. ey were answered from the boat with that heartfelt a ection which/ the melancholy presage that they should never meet again in this world would naturally inspire. As long as light permitted them to see, their eyes were mutually turned towards each other; but the increasing thickness of the fog, added to the coming down of night, soon closed this sad interview, and separated them for ever. e night, though gloomy, was not boisterous,12 and the wind was fair; yet the consciousness of their forlorn condition, and utter inability to weather any future gale, forbade them to build any strong hope on this favourable circumstance. Poor Mrs. Fanshaw, unused to di culties of any kind, and with an infant at her breast, was an object of the most a ecting consideration. Every attention that was possible to be paid to her, she received, not only from her husband and from Edward, but also from the whole crew. Her terror, however, was extreme, and the rst consequence of it was her milk going away./ e little innocent, who had as yet known no other food, and who in this situation could get no substitute, fell a sacri ce to this loss, and expired in its mother’s arms on the second evening of their melancholy voyage.
