This account would appear almost incredible. It is true men are
sometimes found to act the part of inhuman monsters, but then they are
generally actuated by some motive or extraordinary excitement; here,
however, there was neither; but on the contrary, the condition of the
poor prisoners appealed most forcibly to the mercy and humanity of their
jailor. The surgeon of the ship states, in his account of her loss, that
as soon as the spars, booms, hen-coops, and other buoyant articles were
cut loose, 'the prisoners were ordered to be let out of irons.' One
would imagine, indeed, that the officers on this dreadful emergency
would not be witness to such inhumanity, without remonstrating
effectually against keeping these unfortunate men confined a moment
beyond the period when it became evident that the ship must sink. It
will be seen, however, presently, from Mr. Heywood's own statement, that
they were so kept, and that the brutal and unfeeling conduct which has
been imputed to Captain Edwards is but too true.
It is an awful moment when a ship takes her last heel, just before going
down. When the _Pandora_ sunk, the surgeon says, 'the crew had just time
to leap overboard, accompanying it with a most dreadful yell. The cries
of the men drowning in the water was at first awful in the extreme; but
as they sunk and became faint, they died away by degrees.' How
accurately has Byron described the whole progress of a shipwreck to the
final catastrophe! He might have been a spectator of the _Pandora_, at
the moment of her foundering, when
She gave a heel, and then a lurch to port,
And, going down head foremost--sunk....
Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell--
Then shriek'd the timid and stood still the brave--
Then some leap'd overboard with dreadful yell,
As eager to anticipate their grave;
And the sea yawn'd around her like a hell,
And down she suck'd with her the whirling wave,
Like one who grapples with his enemy,
And strives to strangle him before he die.
And first one universal shriek there rush'd,
Louder than the loud ocean, like a crash
Of echoing thunder; and then all was hush'd,
Save the wild wind and the remorseless dash
Of billows; but at intervals there gush'd,
Accompanied with a convulsive splash,
A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry
Of some strong swimmer in his agony.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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