Wreck of the "London. " by Anonymous

With her precious freight of human life on board, the _London_ left Plymouth in the very early morning of Saturday, January the 6th. A sailor's superstition had been respected, some would say, and the anchor had not been hove up until a short time after midnight of Friday; so that it was really on a Saturday that the vessel set sail. The weather was then moderate, the wind blowing lightly from the northward, and little or no sea running. The breakwater was cleared, and the ship proceeded on her voyage at the speed of about eight knots an hour: she was going under steam with head to wind.

They sighted the Lizard lights about four hours after they set sail, and the weather then was calm and fine. But an hour later, at six o'clock on Saturday morning, the weather changed: the wind veered to the westward, and the sea began to rise. It is important to bear this in mind, because of the criticism which has been applied to Captain Martin leaving Plymouth when the barometer was indicating stormy weather. One after another of competent witnesses examined affirmed most positively that the barometer was so shifty that it could not be relied upon, and that the weather was as favourable as any one could desire for going to sea. And even if the weather had been threatening, to have asked Captain Martin to put back on this account, would have been asking him to throw away the reputation which it had taken years to acquire, and to have acted in opposition to the practice of the most experienced seamen of the day.

On Sunday, January 7th, the wind, which was still westerly, increased in violence, and there were strong squalls and a heavy sea, in which the ship rolled considerably. Religious service was of course held on board, and it was conducted by Dr. Woolley and Mr. Draper.

It was not until Monday, the 8th, that the passengers began to feel anxious concerning their safety, and to regard their position as becoming every hour more and more perilous. During Sunday night it was evident that a gale might be expected, and on Monday morning it was blowing with great violence. The Captain ordered the engines to be stopped and sail to be made on the ship. Towards noon the wind appeared to lull somewhat, and in the evening the weather had so improved that all sails were taken in, and the engines again set in motion. The weather, however, soon changed again, and the gale seemed only to have lulled to gain new strength; for between eight and twelve of Monday night the spanker of the ship was blown away by its violence.

Captain Martin and some of the crew, amongst whom was the gallant John King, one of the survivors, endeavoured to get the spanker in, and at last succeeded. It was a night of raving wind and rolling sea, and we hear of sleepless passengers below in their cabins reading the Bible to each other, and offering solemn prayer to Him who rode upon the wings of the wind. All that night Captain Martin was here and there throughout the ship -- indeed he was to sleep no more until the dreadful afternoon of Thursday -- and all the orders which he gave were speedily executed by the crew. The wind was blowing a full gale, and mizenstaysail and forestaysail and maintopmaststaysail and reefspanker had been set.

On Tuesday morning, January 9th, commenced that dismal series of disasters under which eventually the noble vessel succumbed. The wind was blowing a hard gale from the S. W. and there was a very heavy sea. The ship was now making little more than two knots an hour, as her speed had been reduced, and she was going through the water under steam only. She pitched tremendously, and every now and then whole seas dashed over her bows. Such was the state of things early on Tuesday morning; but the passengers below as yet only heard the fury of the storm without; they were safe and dry in their cabins: the fires burnt brightly in the engine-room, and the two engineers, Messrs. Jones and Greenhill, surveyed with satisfaction the strong hatchway which protected their engines from the seas which broke over the vessel. Bearing in mind what we have said concerning the size of the engine-room, the reader will be prepared to learn, that if that engine-room were flooded with water, the ship would undoubtedly sink. There needed no other accident than this to secure the shipwreck of the vessel. The officers on deck could comfort themselves with the assurance, that though exposed themselves to the storm and heavy seas which broke over the ship, their passengers were safe, and they would, by the help of their good engines below, slowly plough their way through waves that looked as if they would roll mountains high.

At seven o'clock on Tuesday morning an unusually heavy sea broke into the lifeboat stowed on the port-quarter, filling the boat and carrying her away, with all her gear. This was deemed a most melancholy occurrence, and a series of minor disasters followed. At nine o'clock the ship gave a tremendous pitch forward, as if she were about to bury herself, prow foremost, and in a moment afterwards the sea, with a force that made the hardiest seaman quail, tore away the jib and flying jibboom, which carried away with them the foretopmast, the foretopgallantmast, foreroyalmast, and mainroyalmast, with all their spars and sails, and other gear. Portions of the wreck fell clattering on the deck, or hung suspended by the rigging: the topmast was swinging in the rigging and the foreroyalmast was hanging down and swinging with the motion of the ship. The jibboom was lying on the starboard bow, right over in the water!