THE S. S. HERO IN A STORM.

Globe, Volume IV, Issue 447, 19 November 1875, Page 3

THE S. S. HERO IN A STORM.

The following account of this disaster, written by a passenger, appears in the Auckland Star:— The Hero cleared Sydney Heads at 5.30 p.m. on Wednesday, the 20th October, weather calm—an ominous calm though, for Captain Logan told me thatthestorm signals were out, and a blow was anticipated from eome quarter or other. The Hero was in excellent trim, carrying only a moderate cargo. Everything snug by 9 p.m. Sharp white rain squalls came up from the southward, which soon settled into a gale, and we ran into a heavy sea, so that almost within sight of Sydney light Captain Logan lays his vessel to, and under reefed mizen trysail, with propeller gently revolving, we lay to, jollily enough, amusing ourselves listening to the tremendous thumps with which the sea would every now and again hit the iron sides of our faithful vessel. Sleep vas out of the question. All were anxiously watching the evident signs of the storm’s increasing fury; spray and water sweep the decks continuously. Thursday morning dawns with awful grandeur; about 7 a.m. a solid green wall arose and tumbled in on deck from main hatchway aft with an awful weight, lifting the starboard quarter boat, snapping the solid iron davit as a carrot, tearing away all the weather shrouds and backstays of mizen rigging, landing boat on deck, smashing bulwarks, rail, hen-coops, &c, setting all adrift, carrying away the after hatchway companion, pouring quantities of water down into steerage and engine-room. The sheeppens and bulwarks forward are now washed overboard by another sea, live stock and all; the seas wash us all over for’ard and aft; one fancies an earthquake wave passes by, or a water spout engulphs us. The scene aft is a mass of drowned and crushed live stock, litter and wreck, which no pen caa describe. The wind is now cyclonic in fury, and blinding white with spray. Captain Logan, Mr Bell, Mr Wiesner and all hands are clearing up the debris and battening the after hatch over with canvas. Now the vessel gives a kick, and a spoke of the steering wheel is broken against the ribs of a good sailor, Martin Anderson, whohas sailed six years in the ship. Our mizen mast Is bending like a coach-whip, the wire rigging is streaming like a silken lash. It must go over the side and get entangled in the screw ; one cannot believe a pine stick will bend like that. Captain Logan stands by the mast. Now a grand sea and a small mountain. Tons and tons of water poured down on our devoted ship, making her quiver and tremble fearfully. Some of the more timid passengers in the saloon feel the ship sinking. They never felt a ship sinking before. Will we ever see the surface again 1 They fancy the saloon is filling with water at last, and truly the water finds its way down, but that is nothing. The whole ship’s crew are now afloat aft, being carried away to eternity by the ruthless water. Captain Logan is jammed up against the winch, where he hangs on for very life. The velocity of the water is so great he can hold on no longer, his fingers are slipping,

and lie will go. Mr Bell, the first mate, feels himself going—floating overboard. Ho can ea ch nothing. He is over the rail, in fact, when by a lucky chance he is entangled in the lee spilling lines of our reefed mi/en trysail, to which he sticks as only a drowning man ean, and humanly speaking owes his life thereto. Our sailors, who are dragging the old sail over the hatchway, are crushed down, and forcibly hurled with the mass of floating wreck against the deckhouse, abaft the wheel. This house, which has only recently been erected, backed the water, and allowed it time to get through the nettings, nr nothing could have saved them —they must all have met a watery grave. They are not dead—that is all you can say for certain. The sight is indescribable; eight strong men, hanging on the rail all bleeding and groaning 1 Half the steering wheel has gone, but gone not, alas ! alone, for gone also is John Weisner, a young German, aged twenty-six, known to all of you as the amiable and obliging second officer of the Hero, Poor fellow—he was a fine sailor; he is swallowed up in the waves. No human hand can aid him now. Too truly, he was taken in the bloom of youth, and health, and strength, while faithfully learning to do his duty ; taken as we may all hope to be taken, to learn brighter, better, and happier lessons in some other part of the wide universe of God, A serious gloom is addedvto our position. It is no time for sentiment—action is our duty, and Logan, with true Scotch pluck, is equal to the occasion. It is imperative, and there he stands cap less, and on one leg (the other is badly crushed), working with the remainder of his men with an energy truly admirable I believe there is no grander sight than that of men nobly acting from a sense cf the sacredness of duty. Thank Heaven, the whole crew are not, as they very nearly were, washed overboard—the ship rides well. The wounded men crawl, and are being helped forward and tended. Just imagine the position if you can, which all happens in less time than it takes me to write one line. Starboard boat banging against engine hatch, raizen bending like cane, and seems certain to go with every roll of the ship ; rail, bulwarks, davits, everything moveable over-board-steering wheel smashed, binnacle washed away, the poor second mate drowned, eight sailors hors de combat, sea running literally mountains high. It is often heard of and talked about, but I for one don’t want to see such mountains again. Now is the time to see what sort of stuff a man is made of. The chief steward is at the wheel and keeps her at it with the three or four spokes that remain, while Captain Logan, Mr Bell, Mr Bennett, and his fireman, the steerage steward, and those two faithful servants so well known to all of you as inseparables of the Hero, “ Lamps ” and “ Chips,” work as only Britons can, and soon the hatchway is secured. An iron yoke is rigged across the rudder head, and ropes from each end passed round the small capstan, and the steering apparatus is complete till the wheel is temporarily repaired. You all know the great height above the water of our bridge side lights, it will give you some idea of the waves to hear that they even reached and smashed the green light on the starboard side. On shore, comfortably seated in a cosy room, when one reads of a gale, “ Oh, the last gale of a sailor is always the worst.” It may be, but I only hope that neither we nor your readers may ever experience the like; or if you do, you may sail in as true a ship, with as stout hearted a crew to man her, as the Hero. The wind blows a heavy gale, and for thirty-five hours (from four o’clock on Thursday night to three o’clock on Saturday morning'), we were “lyirg-to,” making the best we can of it, but Captain Logan has decided to proceed instead of returning to Sydney. On Saturday, 23rd October, by noon we find we are sixty miles to southward of our course, and although ship roils heavily we are at last on our way. Sunday, 24th October: We have made fair headway, acting Good Samaritan to the wounded. Our skipper held service in the saloon, which was attended by all, who returned hearty thanks for deliverance from a watery grave. Mr Gogswell and one of the passengers dressed the captain’s leg, which is black from knee to ankle. It’s hard times for the crew. “ Lamps” is in the captain’s watch, and recognises the dignity of the office; “Chips” is in the first mate’s watch, but he is at work night and day with his axe and saw. Monday and Tuesday : The weather is finer. Our wounded men are recovering. The poor boatswain (John Nicholas) is severely bruised, as also are five other sailors. Wednesday : We have passed the Three Kings and are in smooth water. After dinner the passengers presented an address of sympathy to the captain and crew, accompanied by a souvenir, although a trifling one will serve none the less to show the feeling of our hearts towards those we have known so long and so well. Captain Logan accepted and acknowledged the attention in the same good spirit which actuates us.