Diary in America, Series Two. Фредерик Марриет
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was washed ashore on this piece of 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. 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 Ocracoke lighthouse, 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, so far as their circumstances, would allow, assisted in properly disposing the numerous bodies thrown upon the shore.
“The survivors, after remaining on the island till 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 favours be gratefully remembered by the survivors of the unfortunate Home.”
Even if the captain of the Home was intoxicated, it is certain that the loss of the vessel was not occasioned by that circumstance, but by the vessel not having been built sea-worthy.
The narrative of the loss of the Moselle is the last which I shall give to the reader. It is written by Judge Hall, one of the best of the American writers.
“The recent explosion of the steam-boat Moselle, at Cincinnati, affords a most awful illustration of the danger of steam navigation, when conducted by ignorant or careless men: and fully sustains the remark made in the preceding pages, that, ‘the accidents are almost wholly confined to insufficient or badly managed boats.’
“The Moselle was a new boat, intended to ply regularly between Cincinnati and St. Louis. She had made but two or three trips, but had already established a high reputation for speed; and, as is usual in such cases, those by whom she was owned and commanded, became ambitious to have her rated as a ‘crack boat,’ and spared no pains to exalt her character. The newspapers noticed the quick trips of the Moselle, and passengers chose to embark in this boat in preference to others. Her captain was an enterprising young man, without much experience, bent upon gaining for his boat, at all hazards, the distinction of being the fastest upon the river, and not fully aware, perhaps, of the inevitable danger which attended this rash experiment.
“On Wednesday the 25th of April, between four and five o’clock in the afternoon, this shocking catastrophe occurred. The boat was crowded with passengers; and, as is usually the case on our western rivers, in regard to vessels passing westerly, the largest proportion were emigrants. They were mostly deck passengers, many of whom were poor Germans, ignorant of any language but their own, and the larger portion consisted of families, comprising persons of all ages. Although not a large boat, there were eighty-five passengers in the cabin, which was a much larger number than could be comfortably accommodated; the number of deck passengers is not exactly known, but, as is estimated, at between one hundred and twenty and one hundred and fifty; and the officers and crew amounted to thirty, making in all about two hundred and sixty souls.
“It was a pleasant afternoon, and the boat, with steam raised, delayed at the wharf, to increase the number—already too great—of her passengers, who continued to crowd in, singly or in companies, all anxious to hurry onwards in the first boat, or eager to take passage in the fast-running Moselle. They were of all conditions—the military officer hastening to Florida to take command of his regiment—the merchant bound to St. Louis—the youth seeking a field on which to commence the career of life—and the indigent emigrant with his wife and children, already exhausted in purse and spirits, but still pushing onward to the distant frontier.
“On leaving the wharf, the boat ran up the river about a mile, to take in some families and freight, and having touched at the shore for that purpose, for a few minutes, was about to lay her course down the river. The spot at which she thus landed was at a suburb of the city, called Fulton, and a number of persons had stopped to witness her departure, several of whom remarked, from the peculiar sound of the steam, that it had been raised to an unusual height. The crowd thus attracted—the high repute of the Moselle—and certain vague rumours which began to circulate, that the captain had determined, at every risk, to beat another boat which had just departed—all these circumstances gave an unusual éclat to the departure of this ill-fated vessel.
“The landing completed, the bow of the boat was shoved from the shore, when an explosion took place, by which the whole of the forepart of the vessel was literally blown up. The passengers were unhappily in the most exposed positions on the deck, and particularly on the forward part, sharing the excitement of the spectators on shore, and anticipating the pleasure of darting rapidly past the city in the swift Moselle. The power of the explosion was unprecedented in the history of steam; its effect was like that of a mine of gunpowder. All the boilers, four in number, were simultaneously burst; the deck was blown into the air, and the human beings who crowded it hurried into instant destruction. Fragments of the boilers, and of human bodies, were thrown both to the Kentucky and the Ohio shore; and as the boat lay near the latter, some of these helpless victims must have been thrown a quarter of a mile. The body of Captain Perry, the master, was found dreadfully mangled, on the nearest shore. A man was hurled with such force, that his head, with half his body, penetrated the roof of a house, distant more than a hundred yards from the boat. Of the number who had crowded this beautiful boat a few minutes before, nearly all were hurled into the air, or plunged into the water. A few, in the after part of the vessel, who were uninjured by the explosion, jumped overboard. An eye-witness says that he saw sixty or seventy in the water at one time, of whom not a dozen reached the shore.
“The news or this awful catastrophe spread rapidly through the city, thousands rushed to the spot, and the most benevolent aid was promptly extended to the sufferers—to such, we should rather say, as were within the reach of human assistance—for the majority had perished.
“The writer was among those who hastened to the neighbourhood of the wreck, and witnessed a scene so sad that no language can depict it with fidelity. On the shore lay twenty or thirty mangled and still bleeding corpses, while others were in the act of being dragged from the wreck or the water. There were men carrying away the wounded, and others gathering the trunks, and articles of wearing apparel, that strewed the beach.
“The survivors of this awful tragedy presented the most touching objects of distress. Death had torn asunder the most tender ties; but the rupture had been so sudden and violent, that as yet none knew certainly who had been taken, nor who had been spared. Fathers were inquiring for children, children for parents, husbands and wives for each other. One man had saved a son, but lost a wife and five children. A father, partially deranged, lay with a wounded child on one side, a dead daughter on the other, and his wife, wounded, at his feet. One gentleman sought his wife and children, who were as eagerly seeking him in the same crowd—they met, and were re-united.
“A female deck passenger, that had been saved, seemed inconsolable for the loss of her relations. To every question put to her, she would exclaim, ‘Oh my father! my mother! my sisters!’ A little boy, about four or five years of age, whose head was much bruised, appeared to be regardless of his wounds, but cried continually for a lost father; while another lad, a little older, was weeping for his whole family.
“One venerable looking man wept a wife and five children; another was bereft of nine members of his family. A touching display of maternal affection was evinced by a lady who, on being brought to the shore, clasped her hands and exclaimed, ‘Thank God, I am safe!’ but instantly recollecting herself, ejaculated in a voice of piercing agony, ‘where is my child!’ The infant, which had been saved, was brought to her,