The North Star (Rochester)/1848/01/14/"The Burned Ship"
For the North Star.
"THE BURNED SHIP."
The above is the title of a thrilling and affecting story which I read some months since in the Saturday Courier, said to be founded on fact, the substance of which is as follows:
The captain of an American vessel engaged in the cotton trade, hearing of the sudden advance in the price of that article in Great Britain, immediately purchased an extensive cargo, and set sail. Having long and ardently cherished the idea of one day becoming "rich," and knowing that in view of the extrusive rise of cotton, if he could but reach that port before others, his golden dreams of wealth would he realized, he resolved that nothing should turn him from his purpose, and all his thoughts were now bent on the accomplishment of this one object.
The third or fourth night they had been out at sea, a great light was descried at a distance, which soon proved to be a ship on fire. A little nearer approach gave him and his crew a more distinct view of the appalling sight, and brought them within hearing of the cries and shrieks at terror, and the roar of the signal guns from the burning vessel, which lay somewhat off the direction they were pursuing. They soon discerned that the fire had made great inroads on the ship, and beheld the passengers and crew standing on the forward deck, the flames at times almost curling round them. As soon as they discovered the approaching vessel, they all simultaneously held up their hands and gave one long and thrilling shout of joy, which rung out on the night winds and along the billows of the deep. They were about to be rescued!—those fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers and lovers—from a doom so unspeakably terrible; and thoughts of home and friends in distant lands, from whom, a moment before, they expected to be torn forever, now filled their hearts, as they stood, embracing each other, nearly frantic with joy! During this time there was a struggle going on in the mind of the cotton trading captain. The "lust for gold" haunted him. He seemed influenced by a spirit of infatuation. In that dreadful emergency he hesitated. The delay of a few hours, or moments, might be sufficiently long for other vessels to pass, and then his fortune was lost. What should he do? A moment more, and the love of gold triumphed; and he ordered his crew, who were as hardened as he, to pass onward. Those on the burning ship, not dreaming that he was going to pass, and leave them thus to perish, stood gazing impressed with the thought that the vessel was only "rounding to," until it had passed some distance beyond them; and still they could not believe it, though doubt and uncertainty, and dismal foreboding now began to agitate their hearts, as they gazed yearningly on the receding vessel; and, at length, when the terrible reality forced itself upon their minds, such a wail of agony and despair as went up from those poor beings, no mortal ear ever before heard. It seemed to pierce the very heavens, and rung on the ear of the unnatural and icy-hearted captain with a terrific power. Their joy was turned to agony; their hope to despair. "The flames rolled on;" the wild winds howled; and old ocean's "bounding billows and foamy surges" beat around the burning ship, no more, nor less, unpitying than the human monster who refused, for the sake of gold, to reach forth his hand to save. And he passed on,—reached the port in due time—and realized a vast fortune. He returned to this country, and lived in splendor and affluence: but that dread shriek ever haunted him. Amidst all his wealth, he was wretched, which was remarked by his friends to whom, after many years, he revealed the awful circumstance.
So dark and terrible a picture of the human character seems unnatural and incredible. We can scarcely believe that any human being could have the inhumanity and heartlessness to do so base, cruel and hard-hearted a deed—so revolting and shocking to all our better feelings—a deed which seems to stand without a parallel in the annals of infamy and crime! But is it so? Is it more inhuman to be a passive agent in the destruction of our fellow beings, than an active one? Is it worse to suffer them to perish, where we could save them, than to go forth with sword in hand and slaughter them? Is not this nation engaged in a work little less inhuman and dreadful? Does it hot stand passively and indifferently by on the one hand, while thousands are perishing by its "peculiar institutions?" and is it not actively engaged, on the other hand, in the destruction of fellow beings by slavery, and by a war which riots in the slaughter of Mexican fathers and mothers, and their beautiful daughters? and under pretexts and excuses more paltry and unreasonable, if possible? And yet, agonizing as is the thought, these rapacious and horrible doings receive the sanction and support of those who set themselves up as the religious instructors and teachers of mankind—Reverend Clergymen and Doctors of Divinity. This awful deed, when done under circumstances a little different—when "legalized am sanctified,"—becomes popular and praiseworthy; winning for the actor the title of hero and patriot. Do not such men more nearly resemble, or partake of the nature of wild beasts, or blood-snuffing vultures? And viewed in the light of a better philosophy and a purer Christianity—when mind shall have expanded and developed, will they not be so regarded? Then a truer appreciation of things as they really are, will be had, and the glaring and fatal inconsistencies and incongruities which now prevail, will be seen and acknowledged, and practical works, full of blessedness, and wisdom and peace, will follow.
New Brighton, Pa., Dec. 26, 1847.