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  Chapter IV

12/22/03

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Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
ChapterXVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
Chapter XXIII
Chapter XXIV
Chapter XXV
Chapter XXVI
Chapter XXVII
Chapter XXVIII
Chapter XXIX
Chapter XXX
Chapter XXXI
Chapter XXXII
Chapter XXXIII
Chapter XXXIV
Chapter XXXV
Chapter XXXVI
Chapter XXXVII
Chapter XXXVIII
Chapter XXXIX
Chapter XL
Chapter XLI

 

The loss of the "Captain."

            About the time I completed my course in the “Excellent,” in the spring of 1870, there was waiting to be commissioned for service a new battleship of novel construction, the “H.M.S. Captain.” I was in the draft that comprised her first compliment, which was a crew of six hundred and thirty-seven officers and men. She was flat bottomed, carried the turret guns which were just coming into vogue, and the whole ship was considered in the light of an experiment. Almost as soon as she put to sea the word went around that she was top heavy.

            We joined the channel fleet, and for six weeks cruised about the coast of Spain, calling at many points in the Mediterranean. The weather was fine and the ship acted splendidly. While ploughing our way through the Bay of Biscay in fan formation, the Admiral of the fleet signaled an invitation to the various captains to dinner on the flagship, which included the designer of the “Captain,” whom we had aboard. The sea was calm when the boats put off, and a gentle breeze was coming from the east. At eight bells that evening the party dispersed to their ships in a stiffening wind that was brewing in the southwest, and the captains’ galleys had to pull hard to reach their ships.

            All through the first watch the gale increased in violence; the ships began to separate; and it was every one for himself. The “Captain” was a full rigged ship, and we were under double-reefed topsails and unreefed courses. The propeller having been unshipped and hoisted, she was breaking through mountainous seas with the wind before the beam. At six bells we cast the log, but the line was snapped off before we could count the knots. The loss of the log, while not serious, threw our course into dead reckoning and we were running wild. This continued until eight bells (midnight), which was the time to change watches.

            The rule was to call the watch below from their hammocks on the stroke of the bell, and muster them five minutes later by calling their names as they passed around the captain, the first watch remaining on duty until the middle had been mustered. It was this fateful five minutes that caused the loss of the “Captain,” her designer, and all but nineteen of her crew. The toll of the midnight bell had hardly ceased when a heavy gust of wind struck her. The order from the bridge “Watch up course!” was taken up by the boatswain’s mate and resounded through the ship, but there was no one to obey it. The first watch was rushing down the Hatchways to their hammocks while the watch just called was declaring they were not on duty until they were mustered. In this way both watches were below with the ship heeling over and the water pouring down the hatches. Again the cry from the officer of the watch, “All hands save ship!” rang through the lower deck, but the panic stricken crew could go neither up nor down, and the ship was nearly on her beams ends in the trough of the sea with the fore and mainsail full of water holding her down. As officer of the fo’castle. I clung to the upper works along with a few stragglers who did not get below, and endeavored to unlace the canvas cover from one of the launches that were carried in the waist of the ship. None of the men had a knife to cut the rope, but I found a small penknife in one of my pockets and this saved our lives. The cover was ripped off and all of us clambered into the boat as a sudden lurch lifted it out of the crutches and we were afloat. The oars were shipped and we pulled frantically from the suction of the sinking ship as she gradually rolled more and more until she was bottom up. We lost sight of her in this position, but it could not have been more than a few minutes before she took her final plunge, carrying with her more than six hundred lives.

            The launch was equipped with sails as well as oars, but the wind was so fierce that the men could not step in the mast. With the oars we kept her head to the wind until morning, when we sighted land. We stepped out on the shore of Cape Finnisterre and found shelter in some fisherman’s homes.

Home | Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III | Chapter IV | Chapter V | Chapter VI | Chapter VII | Chapter VIII | Chapter IX | Chapter X | Chapter XI | Chapter XII | Chapter XIII | Chapter XIV | Chapter XV | Chapter XVI | Chapter XVII | ChapterXVIII | Chapter XIX | Chapter XX | Chapter XXI | Chapter XXII | Chapter XXIII | Chapter XXIV | Chapter XXV | Chapter XXVI | Chapter XXVII | Chapter XXVIII | Chapter XXIX | Chapter XXX | Chapter XXXI | Chapter XXXII | Chapter XXXIII | Chapter XXXIV | Chapter XXXV | Chapter XXXVI | Chapter XXXVII | Chapter XXXVIII | Chapter XXXIX | Chapter XL | Chapter XLI

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