When the “Captain” commissioned in 1870 I was sent to join her, and was rated a first class boy. She was certainly a fine ship, and was thought a lot of at the time. She was a first class Battleship, with iron masts and revolving turrets but no broadsides; she had two decks, a hurricane deck and turrets, and the lower or fighting deck. This was one of her faults, for the seas in rough weather washed through her across the lower deck and beneath the hurricane deck, and when she rolled it sometimes put her in a very awkward fix; still we never had the slightest fear of her, she went both by steam and sail, that fact alone shows you the vast difference between the man o’war of that day and this. When under full sail she carried 37,500 square feet of canvas; while she had 9,000 h.p. from her engines. 

When we commissioned under Captain Burgoyne, V.C. son of Field Marshal Burgoyne, Constable of the Tower, and was a gentleman as ever you saw, a regular John Bull, mind you, but a splendid officer; we were sent to join the Channel Fleet under Admiral Yelverton, and we fell in with the fleet off Finisterre during a tremendous gale. Nothing went wrong for a time; but in June we were ordered home to readjust the deck room owing to the boats on board being insufficient for the ship’s company. Now it’s an extraordinary fact that, when we got to England on this errand, we took on board the only boat that escaped the wreck, and the very boat that saved the few of us who managed to get away. I often think of that as a remarkable coincidence. 

Well, we joined the fleet, and at the end of August we left Gibraltar; the entire Squadron consisting of 23 ships of all classes. I shall never forget that sight. It was like a moving city, and was a wonderful scene to me. We anchored at Lisbon, then at Vigo where the fleet could show off its antics, as I called them. We left Vigo on the Friday previous to the fatal Tuesday having 524 men all told on board. The designer, Captain Coles was among the company and Mr. Childers, son of the First Lord of the Admiralty was one of our Midshipmen, and a saintly young fellow he was too, and well liked.

On the 6th September we’d given an exhibition of firing at sea, and after ‘twas over the Admiral signaled “Well done Captain”. He paid us a visit the same day and highly complimented the officers on the working of the ship; and with a little persuasion, he would have been induced to remain on board for the night. He decided however to return to his Flagship and it was a good thing for him that he did so. 

It was very dirty weather, and the ship was made snug for the night, as we thought, the officers were highly pleased with themselves after the praise. We were moving under both sail and steam. With the fore-topsail, the fore-staysail, and foresail close reefed, and the mainsail overhauled and the ropes hanging loose. She was certainly carrying too much sail for such weather, and was going very badly, heeling over very much. No attempt however, was made to ease her, until the middle watch was called, and, the Captain coming up on deck and seeing how she was going said some sharp words to the Lieut. in charge. I was standing close by at the time and he called out “How much is she heeling?” “Twenty-seven degrees by the telltale, sir.” (I can remember the answer as well as if it was a moment ago). Then the Captain gave the order “Let fly everything” But ’twas too late. 

While we were carrying out the orders she heeled right over and capsized through stress of weather, and sank immediately. I was at the main butts when she heeled over, in the act of letting go the main topsail, when I felt myself flung into the water, I was tangled in the rigging and carried down with the ship, but I never lost presence of mind and kept calm all through. I can remember all that transpired, even to the thought in my mind, as to what they would say at home if I were lost. Then I got myself clear of the ropes and rose to the surface. There I found that a lot of water had accumulated in my jersey and that I had to get it off or be drowned. After a struggle I managed to do this and struck out for the wreckage. I felt something grip my foot but didn’t take much notice. 

I saw the 32 ft. launch that we got in June floating near me. Her cover was not cut, but I made for her seeing a lot of men clinging to her. One of them had a knife, and we ripped the cover and got it off. The Captain’s gig was inside this boat, and that again was inside another launch. The latter however had been smashed to matchwood so that we had to depend on the boat which we got in June. It would hold about 50 men, but now only had 19 to carry and in this sea it was quite enough. Some of them dragged me in over the side when they found another man holding on to my leg, quite unconscious. They got him aboard too, and brought him round and he’s alive and well at this day; Werry is his name, and he lives at Plymouth. 

We had not been in the boat long before we saw our ship’s boat upside down and seven men besides the Capt. clinging to it. He said he would not come in until we had rescued the men. Five of them jumped and were saved but the other two were too exhausted. We tried to get the Capt. to get in but at that moment a big wave dashed over him and we saw him no more. I told this to his widow whom I saw in the Isle of Wight after we came home, and she said the morning after their marriage he told her that if he ever had command of a ship that went down at sea he would go down with her, and, as a man who never broke his word, she did not for one moment expect him to survive when she heard the ship was lost. He was a fine seaman, and although very strict, was very popular, for he was always fair, and that goes for a lot in a ship. 

But to go back to the boat. There were 19 of us, but one died leaving 18 to reach land. We were in a bad plight. I had only my shirt and trousers on, which were wet through and made me feel exceedingly cold, and all the others were in the same box. We had no food or water, no sails or oars and in a rough sea we seemed to have no chance of being picked up or reaching land. Mr. May was the senior in rank, and was a gunner. He is now Harbour Master at Gravesend under the Thames Conservancy. But as the more practical navigator we unanimously agreed to put Charles Tregenna a Leading Seaman in charge of the boat. He is now living in Bangor, North Wales. 

The others on board were, Ellis gunner’s mate; Walker; Bride; Harvey; Heard; Herd; Lawrence; Freeman dec’d; Dryburgh dec’d; Tomlinson; Kernan; Werry and three lads named Grange, Gribble and Saunders, all three are since dead (Gribble was actually alive and well and living in Canada - Ed.) 

After drifting about for 12 hours which seemed an age, we saw land and between one and two on the day after the disaster we landed at Finisterre. There was no British agent nearer than Corcubion 23 miles away. We were all hungry and most of us barefooted, and at 4 p.m. we started and at ten that night reached Corcubion which was not bad, barefooted over rocky roads, and the British representative, Mendes, took us and found us shelter. On Friday morning we were met by a boat crew of the “Monarch”, who told us that when we were missed on the following morning and wreckage was seen floating around, the Admiral sent ships to all points of the compass to seek for survivors and the “Monarch” found us at Corcubion. 

We were taken before the Admiral on board the “Lord Warden”, and the men on that ship were so sorry for us that they subscribed sixty three pounds for our benefit. I have not the remotest idea what became of the money. I know that I never received a penny of it. After this we were sent home in the “Volage”. All this time my folks had thought I was lost, and when I got to Portsmouth I’d no money to pay for a telegram, as all they had given us since the disaster was a pair of boots, and the telegraph clerk paid for a message for me. You may guess how glad they were when they got the telegram. My Mother was so glad that she gave all the money she had in her purse to the Telegraph boy, and when it proved to be only 6/8d she said it didn’t matter he’d have to take it for bringing such news. 

Then as survivors we were court marshalled on board the “Duke of Wellington” for losing our ship. Now I was a youth at this time but had passed my examinations and received full benefits and when the ship went down all her books were lost, and believe me the authorities refused to acknowledge my position because they had no guarantee of the benefits to which I had become entitled. According to the ship’s books I was entitled to Thirty pounds back pay. I had also lost my kit and all I possessed. The back pay etc. were worth at least Sixty pounds, but they gave me neither back pay or kit, all they gave me for my loss was 30/-d and the others were treated the same - worse than the poor fellows that went down. I complained at the court marshal to Capt. Carr Glyn, the President, and he told me it was the rule of the service. I said it was very unjust and if I knew an M.P. I would write and complain about it. He told me to keep a civil tongue in my head and that was all the answer I ever got. 

After the court marshal (we were acquitted) they gave us leave of absence and a return pass to our homes. I went to Manchester where my friends were and came back at the proper time. I think that the most dastardly business of all was, that not content with withholding my back pay, and only giving me 30/-d for that and my kit, they deducted the price of the railway pass from my first month’s pay, and I had to settle for it. Nice considerate treatment. I was sent to “Herculas” in the Channel Fleet; but kicked against that as I did not care to go back to that spot again so soon, and the same day I applied to the Commander to go to a foreign station, I was told I should be put in irons if I persisted in my request and was ordered below. I did persist however and actually wrote to the Port Admiral, Sir James Hope. He came aboard the next day with my letter, and I thought I was in for a fine row, but after I told him I’d rather desert than go back to the Bay then he treated me very kindly, and after talking to me and the Captain, he granted my request and I was put on board the “Immortalite” and went to many foreign places in the next two years. But that 30/-d was always on my mind and finding no hope of getting my due and seeing a great deal of injustice of one kind and another I purchased my discharge in December 1871”.