Wreck of the Emgrant Barque the John 1855
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SUPPLEMENT TO THE “ROYAL CORNWALL GAZETTE” NEWSPAPER TRURO, FRIDAY MAY 11, 1855 WRECK OF AN EMIGRANT SHIP on the MANACLES ‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐‐ A HUNDRED AND NINETY‐SIX LIVES LOST! It is our melancholy task to describe the most dreadful shipwreck which has occurred on the Coast of Cornwall within the present century; equalled in loss of life by only two similar catastrophes, and far more distressing than either of these, in that the ship was sacrificed under circumstances which admit of no explanation or excuse, and a large proportion of the sufferers were neighbours, whose loss carries mourning into almost all parts of this and the neighbouring County. The Manacles reef, where this calamitous event occurred, is a bed of rocks about two miles wide, and extending from a mile and quarter to a mile and a half from the shore. It is formed by a large dyke of greenstone which crosses St. Keverne, giving it the fertility for which the parish is distinguished, and which prevails wherever this rock is found, and marked in its course by boulders on the surface. It slopes to the sea, forming a shore everywhere more or less accessible and very different indeed from the bold cliffs which form so large a part of our coast. The steep slopes are thickly covered with boulders, and occasionally the rock shoots up in abrupt crags. The portion of this great dyke which extends under the sea is very uneven, everywhere rising in rocks, of which a very few are always exposed, many are visible only at low water, and the greater number are always covered. Channels through them exist wide and deep enough for a vessel, which the pilots and fishermen know and use, but which it would be almost certain destruction for any one to who is not thoroughly acquainted and familiar with the locality. A Packet was once piloted through them by a fisherman, who was accidentally on board, and thus escaped an enemy’s cruiser which had thought to cut her off on her rounding the reef. Three of the outermost rocks are always visible, and may be plainly seen, even without a glass, for some six or eight miles distance; and a large buoy moored a little beyond them marks the utmost extent of danger. To these conspicuous rocks the name of the “Manacles, “or outer Manacles, is particularly given. The reef towards the shore is known as generally the “inner Manacles,” and the principal rocks over all the reef have their distinguishing names. The shore forms a projecting headland, between a deep and narrow inlet, Porthowstock or Prowstock Cove to the North and a deep bight or bay, Coverack Cove, to the South, both fishing stations. The northern extremity of this headland is the Manacle Point. About the middle of it is another promontory, high, sharp and craggy called Dean’s Point, with Godrevy Cove between the two. To the South, a moderately swelling plain lies at the foot of the hills, scarcely a dozen feet above the sea, and formed of a bed of the very fine sand which is used for castings in the foundries, which here lies over the greenstone. The entire beach along the headland is a mass of large round boulder stones. The Manacles Reef is a natural breakwater to which Falmouth harbour owes much of its safety in gales from the Southward; and with very ordinary care and knowledge it is not, or ought not to be, a danger in channel navigation. The Lizard lights are conspicuous not three leagues to the South West, and St. Anthony’s light is equally so, little more than two leagues to the North‐North East. The spire of St. Keverne Church above it is a conspicuous and well‐known mark. With this sketch of the locality the circumstances of the late miserable wreck may be understood. The barque John, of Plymouth, 468 tons, Edward Rawle, master, left that port for Quebec on Thursday afternoon, about four o’clock, having on board 268 passengers, and a crew of 19 hands, including the captain. Of the passengers, 98 were children and 16 infants. She passed the Dodman, the captain says, between 6 and 7 o’clock, at the distance of 8 or 9 miles; the chief mate, at 8 o’clock, at a distance of 4 or 5 miles; and so material a discrepancy between the two principle officers, both at the time in charge of the ship, shows at least great inattention. At 8 o’clock, the chief mate gave up the watch to the second mate, but the captain being on deck, both mates appear to have considered the charge of the ship to have been with him. St. Anthony’s light at the entrance to Falmouth harbour was seen about 9 o’clock, and no difficulty could have arisen as to the proper course. There was a strong leading wind, varying from N. to N.N.W., and N.E. The night was clear, with a beautiful twilight between the clouds to define the outliers (?) of land to the westward, and the moon, but one day past the full, would rise before twilight faded away. The vessel had been steered along shore, instead of making a channel course to clear the Lizard, but almost to the last moment she had a leading wind to carry her clear of danger; while the Falmouth light, visible for an hour, or an hour and a half before the ship struck, showed exactly where they were, and the land was always to be distinguished. Nevertheless, she was steered up into Falmouth Bay, miles from where she ought to have been, and she was within a mile of the land, and running upon it, when she struck. At this time, she was north of the Manacle Reef and enclosed within it, the wind being from N.E. to E.N.E. She struck about 10 o’clock, but tailed off the rock, apparently with loss of rudder, drifted towards the shore, and was brought up by another rock on which she rested, about a quarter of a mile off Dean’s Point. An anchor was now dropped, it does not appear with what object. Low water was not until midnight, consequently from three to four hours were available for getting the passengers on shore, and it would have been the work of a very short time to send a well manned boat in charge of a competent officer, if such was on board, to find a suitable spot for landing, and to determine the precautions which the nature of the shore required. The spot where the surviving passengers were headed was not 500 yards from the wreck. But nothing effectual was done. The quarter boat was lowered, but no one was placed in charge. Five sailors and a passenger got into her, and she drifted away and reached Coverack about eleven o’clock, when she gave the first information of the wreck. Boats could not have gone from Coverack against the wind over the reef to the ship, and the coast guard therefore hastened to Porthoustock, 3½ miles distance. The precious time was thus lost in which all might have been saved, for the wind moderated and the sea went down towards low water, but rose as the flood tide made after midnight. After the quarter boat got adrift, the life‐boat so called, a large and deep boat, but very slightly built, was got into the water. This appears to have been done as the voluntary act of the parties launching her, and the consequence of undirected efforts was, that she was injured in getting her out, and she too drifted away with two persons, instead of 20, or 25, whom she would carry. She came on shore on the point of the Lowlands, where she lies, stove at all points, but not broken up. The captain would allow no further efforts to get out the remaining boats, and forbade one of the seamen to cut away an obstruction which hindered the launching of the long‐boat. All this time the vessel remained fixed, steady, and dry on deck, though full of water below. The captain appears to have entertained a full conviction that there was no danger, and discouraged all attempts till daylight. The crew were even employed for an hour and half, according to the testimony of the second mate, in furling the sails. Midnight brought low water, and with the flood tide the wind and sea rose, and baffled the efforts of the coast guard men to get off to her from Porthoustock. Long before daylight the sea covered the deck. The ship had a poop cabin, and a number of the passengers crowded upon this. The rest, with the crew, took to the rigging; husbands, fathers, and brothers, supporting their female relatives there. But as the tide rose, the highest of the springs, the poop deck ceased to be safe. The chief mate who was there succeeded in getting to the main rigging, but the passengers, unequal to such effort, were enclosed for inevitable destruction, and before daylight the appalling shriek of a multitude, quickly and completely silenced, told the horror‐stricken watchers on the shore that they had all been swept away. Meantime the numbers of those who had clung to the rigging were fast lessening; some falling from exhaustion, other swept off by the seas. Several of the children had also been lost in the unsuccessful attempt to get them into the rigging. One man, William Clemence, with a wife and seven children on board, three of them from 3 to 4 years old, attempted to save these by fastening the three younger in a sheet to get them aloft, but unfortunately he failed.