The Wreck of the Cheviot. The Experiences of a Photographer.

Te Aroha News, Volume V, Issue 228, 12 November 1887, Page 11

The Wreck of the Cheviot. The Experiences of a Photographer.

The narratives of the survivors from the -steamer Cheviot are of a thrilling description. The experiences of Charles Pitchforth were those of Victor Hugo's hero in the Workers of the Sea, only they were more realistic, more pathetic, and more remarkable. Driven by the sea into a dark solitary corner on the transom locked in he cabin, the water slowly encroached upon his limited accommodation, cut him. off entirely from his companions in misfortune, and kept him pent up 1 here in the darkest anguish and despair for nearly eight hours, at the end of which time he was rescued l>y Captain Richardson, cutting a hole tlnough the skylight and dragging him out into the storm and the pitiless night, where he realised for the h'r^t time lihe awhilne=>s of the catastrophe that had overtaken them. The stern of the vessel was alone visible above the foam, the passengers were huddled together on the quarter deck, drenched through and shivering, and as each succeeding wave swept over the wreck, and the swift spray dashed itself upon the inshore rocks, the unhappy pa%sengcis groaned and struggled to retain their precarious footing and keep their firm hold upon the stanchions, Avhile they encouraged each other with hopes of a speedy rescue. Let Pitchforth tell his own interesting story, as published in the "Melbourne Age ':—"I: — "I was proceeding to> i Sydney," lie says, "with the idea of purchasing a, photographic business, and had my camera, lenses, and general photo giaphic kit, along with all my other worldly possessions, except my toothpick, with me. ! It was bad enough to live at Prahran doing nothing, but it was still worse, as you will fee, to go to sea and lose one's little aIL The Cheviot had a hard time of it going down tli3 Bay, and was to&sed about a i good deal, as it was blowing a full gale and the sea was very much distuibed ; but she weathered the gale, and as she went through the Heads I was playing the piano in the cabin and Thomas Ryan, was sitting near me listening to the music The other saloon passengers had retired. All of a sudden there was a jolting, and then a crash that reverberated throughout the and the engines appeared to stop almost immediately. Something had gone wrong, and it was evident that the ship had been disabled, but there was no immediate alarm. One or two of the passengerb put their heads out of their bunks, and asked, ' What's up ?' and on being assured by the officers, who were hurrying to and fro, that 'it would be all right piesently,' they quietly withdrew to the warmth of their blankets. The movements of the officers became vciy mysterious all at once, and I went to the pantry, and ascertained from the stewaid that the screw had gone, and the vessel was being rapidly earned inshore by the sea. The stewards were already engaged quietly but determinedly strippingthemselves, and reading in their faces that it was to be a fight for life, ] immediately followed their example and took off my boots and all my clothes with the exception ot my trousers and singlet. The vcf-sel was bumping and pitching very heavily, and all of a sudden she paited in the middle, and I was thrown heavily and stunned for a moment or so. Ryan was thrown heavily on top of me, and I thought my back was broken, but I fortunately escaped with a few sciatches. When I recovered I found that the ladies and the other passengers were gone— drowned, I thought, and I was alone in the dark, and the cabin svas full of water, while out beyond the companion way theie was nothing but the raging sea, and the fore part of the vessel was either gone altogether or so deeply buried in the foam that it could not be seen. As the water encroached upon the cabin I was washed astern, and ultimately took shelter in a dry corner on the top of the transom lockers away in the furthermost recesses of the stern ; but it did not long remain either dry or cosy, and indeed, now that I come to think of it, I don't remember whether it was dry or nob at any time during my unpleasant visit. I was sitting in water up to my arm pits the greater part of the night, and passed the time ' coo-e-e-ing ' through one of the portholes near me to some persons who stood around a fire that was burning on the shore. ' I thought I was the only survivor, and had a very strong feeling to get out into the open air wheie I might have a chance for my life, for it was a dreadful thing to be crowded to death m a dark corner like that. I made several ineffectual attempts to get through the porthole, but my shoulders were too large, and I had to sit there grinning through the aperture at the cheerful fire and the inviting hills, with a very poor prospect of ever getting any closer to them. Oh, it was an awful night— one that cannot but live for ever in the minds of those who were fortunate enough to survive it. When the ship parted the agonising cries of the unhappy beings who were isolated in the fo'c'stle rang out above the howling of the storm, and were terrible indeed to hear. The real hero of this catastrophe was the captain, who worked bravely and manfully throughout the night protecting and cheering the passengers and crew, and doing everything that a mortal man could do to make the best of the occuri'ence. When he dug me out of my dark hole every hope had almost been crushed out of me, and I felfa satisfied that I was not alone. It was a great happiness to find that others were as I — that the sea had not swallowed the whole of us up and crumpled us to pieces on the rocks. I have lost everything I had in the world, with the exception of the pair of trousers that I am now wearing."