HMS Captain 1870         

The Story of HMS Captain (cont)

 

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James May's story

In 1872, the Captain’s only surviving officer, James May, published his own account of the Captain’s  loss. This small book, about fifty pages long, is called “Narrative of the Loss of HMS Captain”.  

May had joined the Captain in 1869, whilst she was still under construction, and was the second longest server on the ship. He survived because of his habit “when at sea to turn out at any hour I may awake, have a look round, and turn in again”. He had barely been on deck for a minute or two, and had entered one of the turrets when “the ship was thrown on her beam ends, and I was overboard struggling for dear life”.  

This is May’s story of the survivors, edited only for conciseness.

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“The ship made no effort to right herself or return to her original position, but continued to go over on her beam ends. A heavy sea striking her weather bilge at the same time, and assisting her over; I dropped my lantern, as if by magic, and made for the sighting hole immediately over my head in the crown of the turret, the side of the gun slide and carriage had by this time become a platform, in consequence of the ship being on her beam ends: the sighting hole was about 22 inches in diameter, only just large enough for a moderate-sized man to crawl through; and by the time I got to  it,  nearly even  with  the  water,  I crawled  through and tumbled into the boiling waves; finding myself over-board in company with many others belonging to the watch on  deck, among them Captain Burgoyne. 

On recovering myself from the first immersion, I looked round and saw the ship bottom up, my horror at that sight is beyond description: and the scene that must have taken place on board, as she became inverted, is shocking to contemplate. Machinery, shot, shell, provision casks, chests, and heavy weights giving way in all directions, it must have been dreadful. 

I do not think, from the time I recovered myself, after falling overboard, looking round, and seeing the ship bottom up, more than five minutes elapsed until she was gone; and can but wonder that she did not roll on top of me as I came out of the sighting hole of the turret.   

While in the sea, looking round for something to cling to, the steam pinnace came to the surface, bottom up, in the midst of several men struggling like myself for dear life. Captain Burgoyne was among this number; he took hold of me, and begged me to help him, and we succeeded in reaching the bottom of the steam pinnace together. The first words he said to me afterwards were - "My God, May, I never thought we were coming to this;"  

The last I saw of the "Captain" was her prow, or the projecting part of the stem, well above the sea, as she sank, stern first. The noise at this time was quite deafening, steam issuing from the steam pipe, and I also remember hearing something like an explosion, probably caused by the weather boilers and steam pipe connection breaking away. There was quite an absence of human voices; I did not hear any screams, only the cries from the few who were on the bottom of the pinnace with me.  
Our situation, hanging on to the bottom and keel of the steam pinnace, was a most trying one, the sea washing over us, and without handhold or anything to cling to, the boat's bottom  being as smooth as paint could make  it. I do not think I could have held on five minutes longer, as it was some were washed off and managed to get back again. 

 

While in this miserable plight, the "Inconstant" frigate passed about fifty yards   to leeward, we hailed and cried for help as only strong men in extremity could hail.  

We now gave up all hope of being saved; there appeared nothing but death before us; darkness above and below, everything looked black except the white bottom of the boat we were clinging to and the crests of the waves as they dashed furiously over us. The whole of my past life seemed to come before me in those few awful moments.

 I wished Captain Burgoyne "Good bye," and prayed to the Almighty to have mercy upon my soul; but to our great joy another boat almost immediately appeared on the scene, only a short distance to windward, drifting fast before wind and sea toward us. The boat proved to be the second launch, supplied to the "Captain" at Plymouth.  

 It neared us very fast, and we were afraid would run us down, as she appeared to be coming directly on to the pinnace. When within a few yards of us, I said to Capt. Burgoyne, "Stand by to jump with me, Sir, on board the launch as she passes." I cannot properly recall to mind his answer, but believe he said "All right, May, look out and save yourself," or words to that effect. He also encouraged others on the pinnace to jump, as if thinking more of the safety of those with him than of his own.  

In a few seconds, the launch shot close up alongside the pinnace, on the top of a wave, running very fast before wind and sea. Seeing this, I called out instantly - "Jump, lads! this is our last chance!" hoping all would follow my advice. I, with some others, jumped. It was a "leap for life." Five of us succeeded in getting hold of the gun­wale of the launch as she passed, and were pulled in by James Ellis, a gunner's mate, and others, who were already in that boat.  

After getting into the launch and assisting one or two others, who had jumped from the pinnace at the same time as myself, I looked round for Captain Burgoyne, and was never more, surprised in my life than when Ellis told me that he - Captain Burgoyne - had not jumped, or attempted to leave the bottom of the pinnace; thus, the last seen of him was clinging to that boat in the same position as when we left.  

It is difficult to understand why Captain Burgoyne remained behind on the pinnace:  his chance was as good as mine, and better than that of the men who jumped from her with me.  For some time afterwards, I thought he must have made the attempt, failed, and sunk between the two boats. So closely did the launch pass the pinnace, I was nearly jammed between them; but according to the statements of those who watched our proceedings from the launch, I have since been convinced that Capt. Burgoyne did not leave the bottom of the pinnace when we did. 

On finding myself the only officer in the launch, I at once took command and ordered the Captain’s gig to be cleared away and thrown overboard, also both launches’ masts and stay tackle, in fact everything except the oars, a few empty casks, the anchor and cable, and gunslide.  

At this time we only had a steer oar out, and were running dead before the wind.  

As soon as the launch was cleared of superfluous gear, the oars were got out, and we pulled the boat round with her head to the sea, in the hope of saving more of our unfortunate shipmates; but before doing this, some of the men said to me - ''If you pull her round, Sir, you will drown the lot of us ; keep her before it, and we may yet be all right." In spite this, I was naturally anxious to save others if possible, as we could have stowed at least a dozen more men in the boat; had we been fortunate enough to pick them up. I thought it possible we might get back to the pinnace, on which we left Captain Burgoyne and two men.  With this object, in view, the launch had scarcely been pulled round head to wind, when a heavy sea swept over us, washing George Myers, A.B. out of the bows of the boat.  

The sea that washed Myers out half filled our boat, she almost going from under us. Under these circumstances, we most reluctantly decided to bear up, and run before the wind again; so we got the boat round, and then turned our attention to pumping and bailing her out; another sea like the one she had shipped would certainly have filled her, and down we must have gone.  

We had now no easy task to keep the boat before the sea and clear of water; at times the waves would over-run us, nearly filling her up. I also felt very anxious, as there was a possibility of the launch running into or under the bows of the ships of the centre and leeward columns (of the fleet).  

As it was, we pursued our perilous course before the wind; at times the boat would be in the hollow of the waves, losing her way, and almost becalmed; the following sea would roll up, roaring like a lion, and looking as if it would overwhelm us. It was then we had to pull hard, and get way on the boat, to keep her end on; for in an instant we would be on the crest of the sea, literally flying like the wind; and our great fear, at such moments, was that the launch might broach to, and capsize or swamp.  

Capt. Aplin, of H.M.S. "Inconstant," in his description of the weather on the morning of the 7th Sept., says "several seas formed into a sort of pyramid, which broke on the starboard side of his ship, wetting the First Lieutenant and himself on the bridge."  He describes it as a remarkable sea; and I quite agree with him, seeing that the height of the “Inconstant's" bridge above the water line is-about 24 feet. Officers belonging to other ships also stated that heavy seas would comb and break to windward. The gale was blowing from the South-West, with a heavy swell running from the North-West, which may in some measure account for this heavy confused sea, the most dangerous a seaman  could meet with.  

About one a.m., the squalls were more fre­quent, with blinding rain, and some of these squalls coming down upon us in the launch were terrific. It was very difficult for the men to hold on to their oars; as it was several of them were blown away, flying through the air like pieces of straw.  

It frequently happened that we had to toss the oars over from one side to the other, to prevent the launch broaching to, owing to the limited number of them left, namely nine, one also being in use as a steer oar, which was ably managed by Charles   Tregenna, leading seaman. The launch was a sixteen-oared boat, and had there been that number of oars in her we could have pulled them, the eighteen survivors forming exactly a boat's crew, namely, sixteen to pull, one to  steer, and myself in  command;  though as it happened, three of the eighteen survivors were so overcome and exhausted that for a long time they could not render much assistance ; two boys lay in the bottom of the boat in such a condition that I scarcely knew whether they would live or die; and Lewis Werry, a petty officer, was so ill that I despaired of his recovery.  

The gale lasted about three hours after the "Captain" went down: during this time very little was said in the launch, all doing their best towards the two great objects – keeping the boat before the sea, and clear of water.  

I confess that there was very little hope among us of us ever reaching land, for at times it seemed almost impossible that the boat could live in the heavy confused sea which was running, and it appears miraculous to me that our frail boat should have survived the storm which had proved fatal to the ship

About this time - three a.m. - the weather began to improve, getting finer overhead, although it still blew very hard:  the stars came out, and looked most beautiful, - they never looked more  so to me. I picked: out the Pole Star among them; which gave me some idea of the course we were steering. The moon also shone out for a time, which cheered us not a little, and we began to hope the gale had well-nigh blown itself out. 

Directly the weather cleared, Cape Finisterre light was seen, but at that time we could only get a glimpse of it occasionally, as the boat rose on the tops of the waves, and  every eye would then be strained to ascertain whether it was the light on Cape Finisterre or the mast-head light of some vessel; at the same time we also observed; one of the ships of the Fleet,  which I believe to have been the "Bristol," only about 400 yards to windward of us. Shortly after sighting this vessel we thought she had seen us and was coming down to our rescue, but were mistaken, as she hauled to the wind on the port tack, and was soon lost to sight.

The wind gradually moderated, becoming quite light for a short time, and then shifted sud­denly round to the North-West, blowing hard from that quarter. The stars disappeared, the moon became obscured, and a pall-like darkness again enveloped us.  I feared greatly that we were going to have a second part of the gale from the N.-W. quarter. The change of wind compelled us to alter our course for a time, and also caused the sea to become more confused, and our situation, if possible, more perilous, the seas breaking constantly into the launch, made it a most difficult matter to keep her from being swamped.  

Towards daylight the wind lessened, and must have changed again to the Southward, the weather moderated, and as daylight broke, we found the launch was heading in for the land about Cape Finisterre, but no ships were in sight.  

When the sun rose, the weather cleared up quite fine, the only trace of the past gale being a long heavy swell from the South-West, which of course proved of great assistance to us in the launch, helping us to reach the shore sooner.  

Our joy on sighting land may be better imagined than described. When first seen, it did not appear to be more than four miles from us and we calculated on reaching it in about two hours, but as the sun rose it appeared to get farther away.  

There was now a pleasant breeze blowing, and we would have given much for a sail to hoist in the launch. Various were the contrivances resorted to, to rig up something in lieu of a sail. Some clothes were spread out, and two boat sail covers were split up, laced together with rope-yarns, and spread out on two boarding pikes, which helped us a little. Other pieces of canvas were cut up to make caps, as only three of the eighteen survivors had any on, and we began to feel the heat of the sun on our heads, although the wet clothes kept our bodies rather too cool. Ellis sensibly remarked that the canvas should be cut to cover our feet as well as our heads, for if we reached the land, we should want shoes as well as caps.  

Most fortunately for us, the general direction of wind was towards the shore. During the morning, a few heavy showers fell, the rain beating down the swell, and by holding up our months we got a little water to quench our thirst.  

As we neared Cape Finisterre, the sea was dashing with great violence to an immense height against it, seeming to forbid our approach. We passed close by the Cape, seeing the lighthouse keeper, who, when he observed us, hoisted the Spanish flag.  

After coasting a short distance on the South side of the Cape, we got well into the centre of Corcubion Bay, and very soon opened the top of a red-tiled building on our port hand, which proved to be the village church of Finisterre; we at once altered our course and gradually the whole village appeared in sight. When nearing the shore, and looking out for a landing place we observed a boat, with two men in it, coming out to meet us. This boat piloted us into a very snug cove between two pro­jecting rocks, where we could land with ease and safety.  

This was about noon, so that we had been in the boat for nearly twelve hours, and now most providentially found ourselves at Finisterre, on the coast of Spain. As the bow of the launch took the beach, the oars were tossed in, and a hearty "Thank God!" sprang simultaneously from the lips of all in her, and truly we had reason to be thankful for our merciful deliverance from a watery grave.  

We all landed, wet, cold, hungry, and thirsty, some half naked, others bruised and knocked-about very much. No doubt we presented a miserable appearance. A man, who spoke English, and represented himself to be the Captain of the Port of Finisterre, took charge of us, and we were arraigned before a medical man, who examined us to ascer­tain if we were suffering from any infectious disease, a sort of quarantine. Our boat was hauled up on the beach, and soon stripped of everything moveable. Soon after we landed it was affecting to see the female por­tion of the spectators in tears when they understood what had happened, and they were very kind afterwards in providing food and other necessaries for us.

After the medical inspection we were put in a large shed, and locked up for about half-an-hour. The shed ap­peared to be used for storing fishing-tackle, and boats’ gear. Some dry clothes were then brought, in exchange for our wet ones, which were taken away to be dried. A temporary table was soon erected, and we were supplied with coffee and bread, also fish and meat cooked in oil with garlic, all of which, with the exception of the latter, was very acceptable. 

Many people came to see us, but we, not understanding a word of Spanish, or they of English, we could not con­verse together. The priest of the village was most active in supplying our wants, and doing all in his power for us.  

After we had refreshed ourselves, I made enquiries if there was a British Consul in the neighbourhood. The Captain of the Port said there was one at Corcubion, and promised I should see him. I was anxious to find some means of forwarding a letter or a telegram to England without delay to make known the fate of the ship.  

I was the only one saved that came from below, the seventeen petty officers and seamen survivors all belonged to the watch on deck, in fact were employed on deck when the ship capsized and foundered. "