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The wind continued to blow fresh from north-west all day, with occasional
falls of snow, coming down now and then in heavy gusts and squalls,
from the gorges of the Labrador Mountains. But the captain, naturally anxious to clear the St. Lawrence as speedily as
possible, "cracked on" with all the sail he could carry, and all on
board were elated with the rapidity of our progress, and the
prospect of an early release from cold and dreary weather. In the
evening, by way of enlivening the scene, and infusing something of
mirth and gaiety through the ship, Lieutenant Whitmore, the Orpheus
of our party, assembled some 20 or 30 on the regimental singers on
the poop, where they sang "The days that we went gipsying," the
"Lincolnshire Poachers," and a few other popular glees, in their
usual admirable style. After passing the lighthouse on Bic Island
(which we did about three o'clock in the afternoon), the course
steered was east by north, Captain New intending to make the light
on Pointe des Monts, the northern boundary of the river's mouth,
and there "stand away" with a flowing sheet, if the wind held,
direct for Anticosti. Owing to the thickness of the weather,
however, this land-mark was not seen; and after running, as was
calculated by the reckoning, within five miles of Pointe des Monts,
the ship's course was changed to east half south, thus making, as
it proved, an insufficient allowance for the force of the southerly
current, which, though set down in the best charts as running at an
average rate of a mile and a half an hour, is known frequently to
set towards the opposite shore, during strong northerly gales, with
a force of five or six knots an hour, as it certainly did with us,
and as we were afterwards assured must have been the case by the
fishermen at Cape Chatte. This may, in some measure at least,
account for the disaster that befell the Premier, without attaching
as much blame to the master as has been done by some. In further
extenuation of Captain New, I may add, that a merchant vessel which
left Quebec with us was lost the same night, under almost precisely
similar circumstances: the captain (an old experienced mariner, who
was then making his five-and-twentieth voyage of the St. Lawrence)
steered the same course that we did for Pointe des Monts; was
equally unsuccessful, owing to the thickness of the weather, in
sighting the lighthouse on that headland; and, from thence, steered
east by south, (half a point, be it remembered, farther south than
we did,) and was, in consequence, driven ashore by the northerly
current two miles higher up. Like us, he had no previous warning of
this danger, and his ship drove right on shore amongst the
breakers, and went to pieces before daylight; the officers and crew
providentially escaping with their lives by swinging themselves
from the rigging to the rocks.
As night came on, the wind freshened to a gale and drew ahead, a
double reef was taken in the topsails, the yards were braced
forward, and, instead of running free with the wind on the quarter
or abeam, as we had been doing for some hours previously, we were
soon close-hauled, as sailors say, "on a taut bowline." At ten
o'clock, the lights were doused as usual, except one in the cuddy,
and the officers, all but the one on duty, retired for the night to
their cabins. Between decks all was still and silent, the watch
alone remained on deck; the night was thick, dark, and dreary, and
the soldiers in their great coats, the sailors in their "sou'-westers"
and pea-jackets, stowed themselves away behind the weather
bulwarks, amongst the booms, and wherever else they could obtain
most shelter; and even the "look-out" on the forecastle (one of the
unsainted worthies shipped at Quebec), as was afterwards
ascertained, actually sneaked off unobserved to his berth. In this
unpardonable dereliction of duty, and breach of a most responsible
trust, strange as it may appear, there was something, perhaps,
after all, that was providential; for (to anticipate a little) I
may state, that had the man on the look-out given warning of
approaching danger, he could not possibly have done so many minutes
before we actually struck, owing to the thick driving of the snow,
and the darkness of the night; and had the ship then been put
about, instead of running as she did into a sandy bay, she must
inevitably have driven headlong on the reef of rocks that forms the
eastern boundary of the bay, and have gone to pieces before
morning. The captain, too anxious, as may be supposed, to sleep,
remained on deck, occasionally consulting the charts which lay
spread out on the cuddy table, and superintending the steering of
the ship, which was found to be attended with more than ordinary
difficulty owing to the sluggishness of the compass. To whatever
cause this extraordinary circumstance might have been owing, the
binnacle compass of the Premier, from the time we left Quebec,
required the constant attendance of a boy, whose duty it was to
keep it in a state of activity, by tapping the box every now and
then with the finger. In this state were matters on board the
transport, when, about three hours after midnight, and while
running at the rate of five or six knots an hour, she suddenly
struck the ground with fearful violence. This blow roused me from
a sound sleep; and my first impression, or rather hope, was, that
the dreadful concussion was caused by the letting go of the anchor
and chain cable, or the striking of some heavy sea, a delusion that
unhappily was speedily dispelled. One or two still more formidable
shocks quickly followed, and D. and I (who occupied the same cabin)
were almost flung from our berths, and rushed instantly on deck,
where we encountered a scene of confusion and dismay that can more
easily be imagined than described. A heavy gale was blowing, with
thick driving snow, the night intensely dark, the sea running
mountain high, and bursting in floods over the decks; the ship
plunged and laboured dreadfully, as if struggling like an ensnared
animal to free herself, but in vain, her bottom violently striking
against the ground with a most frightful and indescribable
sensation, and the sails slatting, with thundering sound, against
the bending masts, while the shrieks of the women and children
mingled with the howling of the winds. |
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