Thrilling Adventures by Land and Sea - James O. Brayman
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The hull of the Erie was towed within about four miles of shore, when it
sank in eleven fathoms of water. By this time it was daylight. The lines
were cast oft. The Clinton headed her course toward Buffalo, which place
she reached about six o'clock.
Upon inquiry it was found that there had been between thirty and forty
cabin passengers, of whom ten or twelve were ladies. In the steerage
there were about one hundred and forty passengers, nearly all of whom
were Swiss and German emigrants. The whole number of persons on board,
who were saved, did not exceed twenty-seven.
All that imagination can conceive of the terrible and heart-rending was
realized in the awful destruction of this boat. Scores sank despairingly
under the wild waters; but there is reason to fear that many, very many,
strong men, helpless women, and tender children perished in the flames.
Among the passengers were a young gentleman and lady, who first became
acquainted with each other on board. The lady was accompanied by her
father. Upon an intimacy of a few hours an attachment seems to have been
formed between this couple. When the passengers rushed to the deck,
after the bursting forth of the flames, the lady discovered her new
acquaintance on a distant part of the deck, forced her way to him, and
implored him to save her. The only alternative left them was to jump
overboard, or to submit to a more horrible fate. They immediately
jumped, the gentleman making the first plunge, with a view of securing
for the young and fair being, who had measurably committed to his hands
her safety, a plank floating a short distance from the boat. As soon as
the plank was secured, the lady leaped into the water and was buoyed up
by her clothes, until the gentleman was enabled to float the plank to
her. For a short time the young man thought that his fair charge was
safe; but soon his hopes were blasted--one of the fallen timbers struck
the lady on the head, her form sank upon the water, a momentary
quivering was perceptible, and she disappeared from human view. Her
father was lost, but the young gentleman was among the number picked up
by the Clinton.
There was a fine race-horse on board, who, soon after the alarm, broke
from his halter at the bow of the boat, and dashed through the crowd of
passengers, prostrating all in his way; and then, rendered frantic by
terror and pain, he reared and plunged into the devouring fire, and
there ended his agony.
One of the persons saved, in describing the scene, says:--"The air was
filled with shrieks of agony and despair. The boldest turned pale. I
shall never forget the wail of terror that went up from the poor German
emigrants, who were huddled together on the forward deck. Wives clung to
their husbands, mothers frantically pressed their babes to their bosoms,
and lovers clung madly to each other. One venerable old man, his gray
hairs streaming on the wind, stood on the bows, and, stretching out his
bony hands, prayed to God in the language of his father-land.
"But if the scene forward was terrible, that aft was appalling, for
there the flames were raging in their greatest fury. Some madly rushed
into the fire; others, with a yell like a demon, maddened with the
flames, which were all around them, sprang headlong into the waves. The
officers of the boat, and the crew, were generally cool, and sprang to
lower the boats, but these were every one successively swamped by those
who threw themselves into them, regardless of the execrations of the
sailors, and of every thing but their own safety.
"I tried to act coolly--I kept near the captain, who seemed to take
courage from despair, and whose bearing was above all praise. The boat
was veering toward the shore, but the maddened flames now enveloped the
wheel-house, and in a moment the machinery stopped. The last hope had
left us--a wilder shriek rose upon the air. At this moment the second
engineer, the one at the time on duty, who had stood by his machinery as
long as it would work, was seen climbing the gallows-head, a black mass,
with the flames curling all around him. On either side he could not go,
for it was now one mass of fire. He sprang upward, came to the top, one
moment felt madly around him, and then fell into the flames. There was
no more remaining on board, for the boat now broached around and rolled
upon the swelling waves, a mass of fire. I seized upon a settee near me,
and gave one spring, just as the flames were bursting through the deck
where I stood--one moment more and I should have been in the flames. In
another instant I found myself tossed on a wave, grasping my frail
support with a desperate energy."
One of the not least interesting facts connected with the catastrophe,
was that the helmsman was found burnt to a cinder at his post. He had
not deserted it even in the last extremity, but grasped with his charred
fingers the wheel. His name was Luther Fuller. Honor to his memory!
A boy of twelve years of age, named Levi T. Beebee, belonging to
Cleveland, Ohio, was among those saved. He exhibited a degree of
self-possession and fortitude rarely surpassed. Though molten lead from
the burning deck was dropping on his head, and his hands were scorched
by the flames, he clung for at least two hours and a half to the chain
leading from the stern to the rudder.
CONFLICT WITH AN INDIAN.
David Morgan had settled upon the Monongahela during the early part of
the revolutionary war, and at this time had ventured to occupy a cabin
at the distance of several miles from any settlement.
One morning, having sent his younger children out to a field at a
considerable distance from the house, he became uneasy about them, and
repaired to the spot where they were working. He was armed, as usual,
with a good rifle. While sitting upon the fence and giving some
directions as to their work, he observed two Indians upon the other side
of the field gazing earnestly upon the party. He instantly called to the
children to make their escape, while he should attempt to cover
their retreat.
The odds were greatly against him, as in addition to other
circumstances, he was nearly seventy years of age, and, of course,
unable to contend with his enemies in running. The house was more than a
mile distant, but the children, having two hundred yards the start, and
being effectually covered by their father, were soon so far in front,
that the Indians turned their attention entirely to the old man. He ran
for several hundred yards with an activity which astonished himself, but
perceiving that he would be overtaken, long before he could reach his
home, he fairly turned at bay, and prepared for a strenuous resistance.
The woods through which they were running were very thin, and consisted
almost entirely of small trees, behind which, it was difficult to obtain
proper shelter.
Morgan had just passed a large walnut, and, in order to resist with
advantage, it became necessary to run back about ten steps in order to
regain it. The Indians were startled at the sudden advance of the
fugitive, and halted among a cluster of saplings, where they anxiously
strove to shelter themselves. This, however, was impossible; and Morgan,
who was an excellent marksman, saw enough of the person of one of them
to justify him in risking a shot. His enemy instantly fell,
mortally wounded.
The other Indian, taking advantage of Morgan's empty gun, sprung from
the shelter, and advanced rapidly upon him. The old man, having no time
to reload, was compelled to fly a second time. The Indian gained rapidly
upon him, and, when within twenty steps, fired, but with so unsteady an
aim, that Morgan was wholly unhurt, the ball having passed over
his shoulder.
He now again stood at bay, clubbing his rifle for a blow, while the
Indian, dropping his empty gun, brandished his tomahawk and prepared to
throw it at his enemy. Morgan struck with the butt of his gun, and the
Indian hurled his tomahawk at one and the same moment. Both blows took
effect; and both of the combatants were at once wounded and disarmed.
The breech of the rifle was broken against the Indian's skull, and the
edge of the tomahawk was shattered against the barrel of the rifle,
having first cut off two of the fingers of Morgan's left hand. The
Indian then attempting to draw his knife, Morgan grappled him, and bore
him to the ground. A furious struggle ensued, in which the old man's
strength failed, and the Indian succeeded in turning him.
Planting his knee on the breast of his enemy, and yelling loudly, as is
usual with the barbarians upon any turn of fortune, he again felt for
his knife, in order to terminate the struggle at once; but having lately
stolen a woman's apron, and tied it around his waist, his knife was so
much confined, that he had great difficulty in finding the handle.
Morgan, in the meantime, being an accomplished pugilist, and perfectly
at home in a ground struggle, took advantage of the awkwardness of the
Indian, and got one of the fingers of his right hand between his teeth.
The Indian tugged and roared in vain, struggling to extricate it. Morgan
held him fast, and began to assist him in hunting for the knife. Each
seized it at the same moment, the Indian by the blade, and Morgan by the
handle, but with a very slight hold.
[Illustration: THE LAST SHOT.]
The Indian, having the firmest hold, began to draw the knife further out
of its sheath, when Morgan, suddenly giving his finger a furious bite,
twitched the knife dexterously through his hand, cutting it severely.
Both now sprung to their feet, Morgan brandishing his adversary's knife,
and still holding his finger between his teeth. In vain the poor Indian
struggled to get away, rearing, plunging, and bolting, like an unbroken
colt. The teeth of the white man were like a vice, and he at length
succeeded in giving his savage foe a stab in the side. The Indian
received it without falling, the knife having struck his ribs; but a
second blow, aimed at the stomach, proved more effectual, and the savage
fell. Morgan thrust the knife, handle and all, into the body, directed
it upward, and, starting to his feet, made the best of his way home.
FIRE ON THE PRAIRIES.
The following account of one of those fearfully sublime spectacles--a
fire on the prairie--is from the "_Wild Western Scenes_" by J.B. Jones.
The hunters have been out and are overtaken by night, and are lost in
the darkness.
Ere long, a change came over the scene. About two-thirds of the distance
around the verge of the horizon a faint light appeared, resembling the
scene when a dense curtain of clouds hangs overhead, and the rays of the
morning sun steal under the edge of the thick vapor. But the stars could
be seen, and the only appearance of clouds was immediately above the
circle of light. In a very few minutes the terrible truth flashed upon
the mind of Glenn. The dim light along the horizon was changed to an
approaching flame. Columns of smoke could be seen rolling upward, while
the fire beneath imparted a lurid glare to them. The wind blew more
fiercely, and the fire approached from almost every quarter with the
swiftness of a race-horse. The darkened vault above became gradually
illuminated with a crimson reflection, and the young man shuddered with
the horrid apprehension of being burnt alive! It was madness to proceed
in a direction that must inevitably hasten their fate, the fire
extending in one unbroken line from left to right, and in front of them,
and they now turned in a course which seemed to place the greatest
distance between them and the furious element. Ever and anon a
frightened deer or elk leaped past, and the hounds no longer noticed
them, but remained close to the horses. The flames came on with awful
rapidity. The light increased in brilliance, and objects were
distinguishable far over the prairie. A red glare could be seen on the
sides of the deer as they bounded over the tall dry grass, which was
soon to be no longer a refuge for them. The young man heard a low
continued roar, that increased every moment in loudness, and, looking in
the direction whence they supposed it proceeded, they observed an
immense, dark, moving mass, the nature of which they could not divine,
but it threatened to annihilate every thing that opposed it. While
gazing at this additional source of danger, the horses, blinded by the
surrounding light, plunged into a deep ditch that the rain had washed in
the rich soil. Neither men nor horses, fortunately, were injured; and,
after several ineffectual efforts to extricate themselves, they here
resolved to await the coming of the fire. Ringwood and Jowler whined
fearfully on the verge of the ditch for an instant, and then sprang in
and crouched trembling at the feet of their master. The next instant the
dark, thundering mass passed overhead, being nothing less than an
immense herd of buffaloes driven forward by the flames. The horses bowed
their heads as if a thunderbolt were passing. The fire and the heavens
were hid from view, and the roar above resembled the rush of mighty
waters. When the last animal had sprung over the chasm, Glenn thanked
the propitious accident that thus providentially prevented him from
being crushed to atoms, and uttered a prayer to Heaven that he might by
a like means be rescued from the fiery ordeal that awaited him. It now
occurred to him that the accumulation of weeds and grass in the chasm,
which saved them from injury when falling in, would prove fatal when the
flames arrived. And after groping some distance along the trench, he
found the depth diminished, but the fire was not three hundred paces
distant. His heart sank within him. But when on the eve of returning to
his former position, with a resolution to remove as much of the
combustible matter as possible, a gleam of joy spread over his features,
as, casting a glance in a contrary direction from that they had recently
pursued, he beheld the identical mound he had ascended before dark, and
from which his unsteady and erratic riding in the night had fortunately
prevented a distant separation. They now led their horses forth, and,
mounting without delay, whipped forward for life or death. Could the
summit of the mound be attained, they were in safety--for there the soil
was not encumbered with decayed vegetation--and they spurred their
animals to the top of their speed. It was a noble sight to see the
majestic white steed flying toward the mound with the velocity of the
wind, while the diminutive pony miraculously followed in the wake like
an inseparable shadow. The careering flames were not far behind, and,
when the horses gained the summit and Glenn looked back, the fire had
reached the base!
Fortunately, that portion of the plain over which the scathing element
had spent its fury, was the direction the party should pursue in
retracing their way homeward.
The light, dry grass had been soon consumed, and the earth now wore a
blackened appearance, and was as smooth as if vegetation had never
covered the surface. As the party rode briskly along, (and the pony now
kept in advance,) the horses' hoofs rattled as loudly on the baked
ground as if it were a plank floor. The reflection of the fire in the
distance still threw a lurid glare over the extended heath. As the smoke
gradually ascended, objects could be discerned at a great distance, and
occasionally a half-roasted deer or elk was seen plunging about, driven
to madness by its tortures. And frequently they found the dead bodies of
smaller animals that could find no safety in flight.
THE CAPTAIN'S STORY.
At the close of the war with Great Britain, in the year 1815, I took
command of the brig Ganges, owned by Ebenezer Sage, Esq., then a wealthy
and respectable merchant at Middleton. I sailed from New York on the
20th of August, bound for Turk's Island for a cargo of salt, and, on the
5th of September, I arrived at my destined port. It being the season for
hurricanes in that region, it was thought most safe for us to go around
into a small harbor on the south side of the island. In order to reach
this harbor, we had to go through a narrow, crooked channel, with rocks
and dangerous reefs on every side, but, with a skillful pilot, we made
our way through safely, and came to anchor. On the next day we
commenced taking in our cargo of salt. On the 9th of September, a day
that I shall ever remember, my pilot came to me somewhat agitated, and
said that there were strong indications of an approaching hurricane, and
advised me to make all possible preparations to encounter it.
We therefore quit taking in salt, and made every thing about the ship
snug as possible. At twelve o'clock, midnight, the gale commenced, as
the pilot had anticipated, and continued to increase until six in the
morning, at which time it became most terrific. Every blast grew more
and more violent until our cables all parted, and we were left to the
mercy of the gale. It blew directly from the land. We got the ship
before the wind, as the only course we could pursue. In doing this we
were well aware of the dangerous channel we had to pass, and my only
hope was, that we might get to sea clear of the land. But this hope soon
vanished. In about twenty minutes after we started, the ship struck a
rock, which knocked off her rudder, and set her leaking badly. The
rudder being gone, we of course had no control of the vessel. She came
around side to the wind, and at this moment her mainmast was blown over
the side. We at once cut away the rigging that attached it to the hull,
and it floated off, and the foremast still standing, the ship swung off
again a little before the wind. All hands were soon set to pumping, but
we found that in spite of all our exertions, the water rapidly increased
in the hold.
The appearance of the elements at this time almost baffles description.
So violent was their commotion that no one could stand without grasping
something for support. Not a word could be heard that was uttered. I had
to communicate every order by means of signs, while I stood on the
quarter-deck holding on to the cabin doors. In this situation I
endeavored calmly to reflect. Here we were, as we supposed, on the open
ocean,--in a tempest of unparalleled violence--with no rudder--one mast
gone--boats all lost--and the ship settling under us from the weight of
water in the hold. The sky was black almost as midnight above us, and
the waves beneath, and around, and over us--for they dashed at quick
intervals, like so many furies, across the devoted ship--seemed ready to
drown us ere we sank into their dread abyss. The voice of the gale as it
howled through the rigging, mingled with the creaking of timbers, and
the roar of waters as they struck the vessel, was an awful wail, as it
appeared to me, over bodies devoted to almost instant death. Destruction
seemed inevitable. It would not, to all human calculation, be protracted
even an hour. We were sinking down, down--inch following inch of the
fated vessel in rapid succession--down remedilessly to our graves in the
maddened sea, amid the monsters of its great deep.
I descended to the cabin, and attempted calmly to surrender myself to
Him who made me. My thoughts--oh, how they flew at once to my wife and
children at home! I attempted to pray, and for the first time since I
had left my pious mother. I _did_ pray--for my family first--and oh how
fervently, in closing my supplications, I besought for myself pardon and
forgiveness through Him who is ever ready to hear the penitent!
The water had now got on to the cabin floor, I therefore placed myself
on the stairs leading on deck. Shortly after this the wind shifted, and
in a few minutes the ship struck with a tremendous crash. I rushed on
deck, and at once saw rocks fifty feet high, and perpendicular, but a
few feet from the after part of the ship, which now soon filled with
water, and rolled over toward the land. At its fore part, and at the
only point where we could by any possibility have been saved, the rocks
descended gradually, and the foremast leaned over them. Not a moment was
to be lost. We crawled up the rigging, and, swinging ourselves on to the
rocks, made our way up the precipice on our hands and feet, and,
reaching the summit, at once sought, in holes in the rock, shelter from
the tempest, which still continued so violent that no one could stand
upon his feet.
Our escape happened about ten o'clock in the morning; at five in the
afternoon the gale had so moderated that we could stand. We then crawled
out from our hiding places, and, assembling together, found that all
were safe except my brother, who was mate of the ship, and he, we
supposed, was lost, in attempting to get on shore. We soon, as was very
natural, approached the precipice to learn the fate of the ship. Nothing
was to be seen of her but plank, timbers, spars, sails, and rigging, all
in one confused, broken mass, and washing up against the rocks. It was
truly to us a most deplorable spectacle. We had no resource in the
vessel; not a thing of value was left.
As night was approaching, we now walked along before the wind toward the
south part of the island, and there found, by the side of a huge pile of
rocks, a hole or sort of cave, about eight feet square and five feet
high. Here we all crawled in, wet and cold, but with hearts grateful to
God for our wonderful preservation. As we were packed very close to each
other, the natural warmth of our bodies soon relieved us considerably
from the sensation of wetness and cold, and we passed the night as
comfortably as our varied miseries would allow.
Morning came, and we left our cave. The gale had much abated, and we
could see some distance. We found that we were on a small desolate
island, about a mile long, half a mile wide, and about ten miles from
the place we left the day before. It was covered mostly with huge rocks,
with here and there a small patch of soil, overrun with prickly pear,
and inhabited by no living animal excepting lizards and small poisonous
snakes. We had been now over twenty-four hours without food or water. Of
the latter article, on searching around, we found a little in the
hollows on the rocks, but it was about half salt, having been made so by
the spray which the gale had thrown from the ocean quite over the
island, and the more we drank of it the more thirsty we became. As to
food, we were soon convinced that this was out of the question. Toward
night, we found a cask near the beach, standing on one end, with one
head out, which held about two gallons of water, that had rained in.
This was not salt, but smelled badly. We, however, scooped out with our
hands about one half of it, and left what remained for the next day. We
got some relief from this, and then we returned to our former
resting-place for the night.
When we crawled out on the following morning we found that the weather
had become fine and clear. We could see vessels passing at a short
distance from us, but had no means of making any signal, nor any for
leaving the shore. This being the third day of our distress and
privation, some of us began to suffer much from hunger. Others suffered
more from thirst. We, however, cheered each other with the faint hope
that some thing would appear for our relief. We wandered about as we had
done the day before, seeking for water but found none. We had nothing to
dig with but our hands; these we used, but in vain; no water appeared.
Toward night we went to the cask, and drank what remained there. We then
returned again to our cave for the night, all much exhausted and
low-spirited. Despair began to shade every countenance. Very little was
said, and we passed the night well as we could, pressed by hunger and
parched by thirst. Morning came, and again we all left our shelter. The
weather continued fine and clear. The men again separated in search of
water, but being myself very feeble, I took my seat on some rocks near
the cave, at a point from whence I could see every thing moving on the
water, and with a lingering hope that something would appear for our
deliverance.
About ten o'clock, an object loomed up in the distance. I thought it
was a boat, but could not at once tell. It approached, and soon I saw it
distinctly. It _was_ a boat, with one sail, and was steering directly
for a low beach not far from where I was seated. My feelings at this
moment were so overcome that I lost all power of utterance. I could not,
at first, rise from the rock, My strength, however, shortly returned a
little, and I got up and made all the noise I could. Some of the men
near at hand heard me, and came up. I at once pointed to the boat, which
was now near the shore. They shouted to their companions, and we were
all soon at the beach near where the boat was landed. A black man got
out of the boat, and came to me with a letter--but, before reading it, I
besought him for water. To my surprise he had none, but instead of it
had a bottle of rum and a small bag of biscuit. I told him to bring
these on shore, and, taking them, I gave each of my crew a swallow of
the rum and a biscuit. This had the effect of moistening a little our
parched mouths and tongues. I then opened the letter. It was from my
warm and faithful friend Mr. Tucker, of Turk's Island, and it read as
follows, omitting my name: