 | INTEMPERANCE AT SEA. Water-drops |  |
29. INTEMPERANCE AT SEA.
Where like one dead, I lay,
And a ship-boy small had strength enough
To carry me away.”
Howitt.
The evils of intemperance at sea, it is impossible for
any pen adequately to describe. The oaths, the quarrels,
the debasing vices that it occasions among sailors, may
in some measure be imagined by what is seen on land.
But the narrow limits to which they are confined, allow
no opportunity of concealment, and more immediately
extinguish all moral sensibility. There are no dark lanes,
in which to sleep off their debauch,—no home to which
they may stagger, and in the misery inflicted on wife and
children, hide awhile their sin from the public eye. All
is open and shameless.
But the sufferings inflicted on passengers by the intemperance
of those to whom they have intrusted their
property and lives,—the wrecks that have ensued by a
helm badly steered, or wrong orders from those who have
tarried over the bowl until the storm was high—the multitudes
thus torn from sorrowing friends, and buried in
watery graves, can never be known or told, till the seas
give up their dead.
It was early during the war that severed the United
States from Great Britain, that an armed vessel sailed
out of Boston. The day before Christmas was the time
fixed for her departure; and though some hearts were
sad at not being able to keep that sacred festival with
loved ones, seated around the pleasant household board,
yet it was a proud sight, when she spread her white sails
to the morning sun, and steered from the harbor of
Plymouth. She was not large, but strongly built, and
balanced herself beautifully amid the waves, like a bird
cutting the air. She carried twenty guns, and a crew of
more than one hundred, with provisions for a cruise of
six months.
There were moistened eyes, and a waving of handkerchiefs
from the shore, as she weighed anchor and departed.
For she bore as goodly a company of bold and
skilful seamen, as ever braved the perils of the deep.
While she hovered round the coast, the skies became
troubled, and the north wind blowing heavily, brought a
rough sea into the bay. Night came on with thick darkness.
The strong gale that buffeted them became a blast.
and the blast a hurricane.
Snow drifted through the clouds, and the cold grew
exceedingly severe. The vessel was tossed by the merciless
waves, until she struck a reef of rocks. Beginning
to fill with water, they hasted to cut away her masts.
But the sea rose above the main deck, and the wild
surges swept over it.
Every exertion was made that courage could prompt,
or hardihood sustain; but so fearful were the winds,
and so piercing the cold, that the stoutest men were
unable to labor, exposed to their influence but a short
time without being relieved by others. When they
found all their efforts to save the vessel hopeless, they
thronged together upon the quarter-deck,—not to bewail
their hapless condition, neither to entreat mercy of God,
like men on the verge of eternity. Unfortunately,
they had got access to the stores of ardent spirits, and
many of them were, even then, in a state of intoxication.
Insubordination and mutiny ensued. The officers
remained clear-minded, but lost all authority over the
sailors, who raved around them like madmen. The darkened
sky, the raging storm, the waves breaking against
the rocks, and threatening to ingulf the broken vessel,
and the half-frozen beings who maintained a feeble hold
on life, breathing imprecations instead of prayers, formed
a scene truly frightful.
Some of the inebriated wretches lay in disgusting
stupidity,—others, with fiery faces, blasphemed their
Maker. Some, wild with delirium, fancied themselves in
palaces, surrounded by luxury, and abused the imaginary
servants, who refused to do their bidding. Others, amid
the beating of that pitiless tempest, believed themselves
to be in the homes which they were never more to see,
and with hoarse reproachful voices, asked for bread, and
from them, by those who were most dear.
A few, whose worst passions alcohol had inflamed to
fiend-like fury, assaulted all who came in their way, raising
their shouts of defiance above the roar of the tempest.
While intemperance was displaying itself in the most revolting
attitudes, Death began his work. Every hour,
some miserable creature fell dead upon the deck, frozen
stiff and hard, in the extreme wintry cold. Each corpse,
as it became breathless, was dragged to the heap of dead,
that there might be more room for the living. Those who
had drank most freely, were the first to perish.
On the third day of these horrors, some boats that had
boldly ventured from the harbor of Plymouth, reached
the wreck, amid many dangers from breakers and the
storm. The hardy mariners were horror-struck at the
scene that presented itself. Corpses, stiffened into every
form that suffering could devise, were strewed around.
Some were piled in a mass together, like the frozen soldiers,
on the retreat from Moscow. Others sate with
heads bent to their knees; others, in their dead hands;
grasped the ice-covered ropes, or the empty spirit-cup,
while some, in a posture of defiance, or defence, glared
like the sculptured gladiator.
Every sign of life was earnestly sought for. One boy
was about to be thrown among the mass of dead, when it
was discovered that one of his eyelids faintly trembled,
and he was saved. The survivors were borne to the
the inhabitants, until they could be removed to their own
homes. It was found that only a small band, besides the
officers of the vessel, had abstained from ardent spirits.
These survived the hardships of the storm and the wreck,
though some of them were in a state of exhaustion.
The angel of Temperance, like the Prophet with his
censer, literally stood “between the living and the dead,
so that the plague was stayed.” Some, who had been less
deeply intoxicated, were borne to the land alive, but died
in a short time. Others, after long sickness, were restored,
but with impaired strength, or mutilated frames.
When the tempest subsided, the boats again approached
the wreck, to remove the dead. What a solemn sight,—
as under a clear, wintry sky, they slowly bore over the
heaving waters, the bodies of those who had so recently
parted from their friends, in health and exulting hope!
Their funeral obsequies were mournful beyond description.
Nearly one hundred bodies were placed in the
little church, fixing their stony immovable eyes upon the
beholder, their features hardened into horrible expressions
of the last mortal agony. The aged Pastor fainted at
the sight of this terrible congregation. He soon recovered
himself, but his voice was mournful and tremulous, as he
performed the last sacred services of religion.
The bodies not claimed by friends for separate graves,
were interred in a large pit on the south-east side of the
burial ground. And after that generation had faded
the perished crew of that lost vessel await the resurrection.
Near by, in a humble abode, might have been seen a
pale-faced widow, with her young daughter, sedulously
attending the couch of a sufferer. The boy lay there,
whose trembling eyelid had saved him on the wreck,
among the dead.
“Mother! it was you who taught me to avoid whatever
would intoxicate. Your lessons have saved my life.
When my poor comrades became drunk around me, it
was as much as I could do to protect myself from them.
Some dared me to fight, and struck me. Others held
strong liquors to my lips, and bade me drink. My throat
was burning, and my tongue parched with thirst. But I
knew if I drank, I must lose my reason like them, and
blaspheme Him who made me.
“One by one they fell down, those reeling and maddened
people. Even now, their shouts and groans ring in my
ears. It was in vain that our officers, and a few good
men among us, warned them of the fate that would befall
them, and tried to establish order. They persisted in
swallowing draught after draught, until they grew delirious,
and died in heaps.
“Our sufferings from hunger and cold, were dreadful.
After my feet were frozen, but before I lost the use of
my hands, I saw a box under water, among fragments of
the wreck. I tried with a rope to bring it up, hoping
failed, and a comrade helped me. After long toil, it came
within our reach, and we succeeded in bursting it open.
Alas! there was no bread there, only a few bottles of
olive-oil. Yet for these, in our famished condition we
were thankful. Now and then we moistened our lips
with a few drops of the oil; and even found, that to
swallow a small quantity, allayed the severe gnawing
pains of hunger.
“But soon my comrade died, and I lay beside him,
benumbed and helpless. Then the roar of the tempest
lulled, and I heard strange voices as if in a dream, and
the hurrying feet of those blessed people, who had dared
every danger to rescue us. They carefully wrapped in
blankets all who were able to speak, or whose slightest
motion betrayed life. Almost every drunkard was among
the dead.
“And I was so exhausted with labor, and cold, and
want of food, that I was not able to utter a word,
or stretch a finger to my deliverers. Again and again,
they passed me, where I lay among the dead. Again
and again, they bore the living away to their boats. A
terrible dread took possession of me, lest I should be
left behind. I strained every nerve and muscle to speak,
but could utter no sound. The effort almost stifled my
feeble breath. I strove to lift my hand. All power over
the muscles had forsaken me. It was like some awful
vision.
“Then I prayed agonizingly in my heart: `For the
sake of my poor mother and sister, Oh Lord, save me!'
Methought the last man had gone, for I heard no longer
any footsteps. Then I said, `Lord Jesus, receive my
spirit!'
“Ah! was there not something like a warm breath on
my cheek? Was not the hand of a human being laid
upon mine? My whole soul strove and shuddered within
me; but my body was immovable as marble. A voice
said, `I think this poor lad lives;—one of his eyelids
trembles.' Oh, the music of those words! It was not the
trembling eyelid, but your lessons of temperance, dear
mother, and the prayer to God, that saved me.”
Then the loving sister ran with tears to embrace him,
and the widowed mother, bowing her head, said,—
“I thank thee, Merciful Father, who hath spared my
son, to be the comfort of my age.”
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