The Loss of the "Colborne" at Makerel Point.

Navigating the Lower Saint Lawrence in the 19th Century.

The Loss of the "Colborne" at Makerel Point.

	From "The Chronicles of the St. Lawrence", pulbished in 1878 by Dawson Brothers, Montreal, Dawson & Co., Quebec and John W. Lovell, Rouses Point, N.Y., we pick up the story of the Colborne as recounted by the historian and prolific author Sir James MacPherson LeMoine. "Two voices are there - one of the sea, One, of the mountains - each a mighty voice." Wordsworth. "The 21st September 1871, was indeed for me a bleak, gloomy day on the sea coast; the autumnal equinox was raging. Scrambling over mountain gourges and dark gullies in a springless, two-wheeled post stage is not cheering at any time; still less with a raw easterly wind and drizzling rain switching your face. One feature of the landscape was in marvellous keeping with the surrounding gloom - the ceaseless roar of the surf on the iron-bound coast I was skirking." "A hollow, hollow, hollow sound As is that dreamy roar, When distant billows boil and bound Along a shingly shore." Hood. "Never had I heard old Ocean's voice in grander tones - never, in more impressive majesty. I cannot say it had exactly a depressing influence; though it certainly made one thoughtful. Closing in with the dark rocks of Pointe-au-Maquereau, bristling with their silvery crest of foam, I thought of the horrors of that awful night of October, 1838, which at this very spot, consigned to the "chambers of the deep" so many brave men, so many loving young hearts. On my way down I had been shown, in the church-yards at Paspebiac and Port Daniel, the graves of the Hudsons, of Captain Kent, and of several other victims of that shipwreck." "Before the era of light-houses, fog-whistles, beacons, etc., the coast of Gaspé was particularly dreaded by English mariners bound for Montreal or Quebec. Many and heart-rending were the tales of marine disaster, starvation and death, in these localities; few left a deeper impression than the loss of the ill-fated barque "Colborne", stranded at Pointe-au-Maquereau on the 16th October, 1838." "The extraordinary value of her cargo, - some 400,000 dollars worth of silks, wines, hardware, silver plate, specie, drifting ashore at Harrington's Cove and Port Daniel, - a vast heap of confusion; the spoils picked up by wreckers; the sale by auction of such untold wealth, which built up the fortunes of many a nobby family; the appalling loss of life, exposure and sufferings of the few survivors, all conspired to render the shipwreck of the Montreal trader, a harrowing, a most memorable occurrence. This shipwreck now commemorates an era on the Gaspé coast." "After crossing by the ford at Port Daniel the path winds round a cape of a very rugged aspect. By some it is called Cap d'Enfer, by other Cap au Diable, and to one ascending these dreary heights, at the gloaming, on a bleak autumn evening, it does seem a haunt not uncongenial to his satanic majesty. An artist might fittingly select Pointe-au-Maquereau to depict the Spirit of Evil hovering over, under the guise of the "Flying Dutchman," looking out for some storm-tossed bark to revel in the death-groans of the drowning mariners." "On we jogged, over rough roads and rougher bridges, until the sombre outlines of the trees in the valley beneath were scarcely visible at all. Evening had fairly set it; the rain, wind and the moaning of the sea increased. Seeing no dwelling, I at last asked the jehu, who was rather of a bibulous turn, "Where are we then to stop tonight?" In reply, I was told that we were rapidly nearing l'Anse-au-Gascon; that the hospitable roof of Joseph Jones Acteson, Esq., J.P., would soon shelter us." "'Are there, then, no regular hotels on the coast?' I enquired." "None, sir, I am sorry to say. travellers have to trust to the good-will of inhabitants for food, - and shelter. However, you are, I consider," he added "rather in luck's way, you, who appear so keen after local traditions, local history, and general information. Soon you will have an opportunity of conversing with a thorough-going Englishman - the father of a numerous family - probably the sole survivor of this side of the Atlantic of the fifty-four human beings who, in 1838, constituted the crew and passengers of the British bark 'Colborne' stranded close by. Mr. Acteson will, I am certain, take pleasure in relating to you all that took place before and after the loss of this ill-starred ship." I was accordingly introduced to Squire Acteson, J.P., and though he suffered at the time from the effect of a kick from a horse, he turned out so communicative that, tea being dispatched, I asked him for full particulars of the shipwreck, and with his consent, committed them in his presence to paper, as follows:" "The Loss of the "Colborne" at Makerel Point, 16th October, 1838, as described by Mr. Acteson." "O! never may the moon again disclose me such a sight As met my gaze when first I looked on that accursed night. I've seen a thousand horrid shapes begot of fierce extremes Of fever, and most frightful things have haunted in my dreams." The Demon Ship. Hood. "The 'Colborne' was a bark of about 350 tons, owned by parties in Hull, and commanded by Captain Kent, an experienced seaman. We sailed from London, for Quebec and Montreal, on the 30th of August, with an unusually rich cargo of British merchandise, wines, spirits, sperm oil, spices. There was also on board valuable silver plate for Sir John Colborne; ornaments for R.C. churches, and a number of boxes of specie for the banks, each box containing about £1,000. Our crew consisted of seventeen men and some thirty-eight passengers, amongst whom I can remember Captain James Elliott Hudson of the British army, his lady, five daughters and six sons; Mr. William Walker, of the Royal Navy, brother-in-law to Captain Hudson; Mr. W. Scobell, of Hamilton, Ontario; Mr. J. Scobell, of Devonshire, wife and six children, and four children of his sister's, a Devonshire widow; Captain Bucket, wife and child; Mr. Gilbert, father of a person of that name in Hamilton; Mrs. Wilson, wife of ....... Wilson, Esq., Hamilton; Mrs. Keast, mother of Mr. Hawkins, of Toronto; Mr. Barrows, of Devenshire, and Mr. George Manly, of Quebec, Deputy Sheriff. The day had been overcast, the weather, foggy; a catch of delicious codfish served up for dinner had put us all in prime humour. Our captain had sighted, as he thought, a light on Anticosti, though I strongly maintained to him that, at that time, no such light was keep up. The light seen was probably on Mount Anne, at Percé. Therein lay our trouble." "Close to twelve o'clock at midnight of the 15th October, whilst Captain Kent and Captain Hudson were taking a glass of wine together in the cabin, the watch was called. While aloft reefing topsails, one of the hands sung out, 'Breakers ahead.' Before the ship could be put about, she struck heavily, starting stern port and unshipping rudder." "Everything was tumult in an instant. The ladies rushed about frantic, in their night-dresses, seizing on all the wearing apparel they could, to clothe themselves and their little children - every one of them indeed sobbing and sheddding tears. We tried the pumps; eight feet of water in the hold. The chief mate asked the Captain for leave to cut away the masts, and get the boats ready, but Captain Kent replied: 'There is no danger, that he was master, and that the masts would not be cut." Our ship lost her rudder at the first stroke, but the Captain, by shifting the sails, got the vessel in deep water. Finding her fast filling, he attempted (though she was but a stone's throw from the shore when the ship first struck) to reach the rocks; she failed, having no helm. In about half an hour, it blowing very fresh, the ship again struck and fell over. In an instant all were in the sea; the women wild with terror, the poor dear children, whom we, rough sailors, used to play with on deck, uttering piercing cries. When I now recollect the scene I subsequently witnessed on the wreck floating ashore, when we grappled with boat-hooks for their little bodies, and fished them up between the hatches, I could shed tears as if the whole thing had happened but yesterday. I was then young and active and an excellent swimmer; five seamen and myself had managed to get in the jolly-boat, which was amidships and had served as a roof to protect some livestock deposited in the longboat. A huge green billow struck her, and making her turn over a sumersault, I felt myself sinking to a great depth. At that moment I thought it was all up. I fancied I could see myriads of stars high above my head, shining through the waters - the most secret thoughts of my whole life crowded before my mind, as if I were looking in a mirror. Possibly the stars seen might have been the phosphorus emitted by the waves during the storm; the whole sea seemed on fire that night. I gradually rose to the surface; my first thought was to rid myself of my coat; it was no use trying. I made for the ship's yard, as she was on her beam ends, and with three others who had previously been with me in the jolly-boat when she capsized, I got into the long-boat, which was between the masts in the water. After clearing her from the rigging, we tried to reach the wreck to pick up some of the crew or passengers; but, having lost our oars, we had to drift at the mercy of the waves. With some boards found in her, we rigged a kind of aft-sail by sitting with our backs to them; this kept the boat's head to the sea. Thus, we drifted about all night, which was intensely cold. Two of Captain Hudson's sons who were on board would likely have perished from cold, wet and exhaustion, had we not protected them, by sitting down on them. We were in the neighbourhood of the ship, and could hear all night particularly loud and melancholy cries onboard; this was a powerful young sailor, who never ceased moaning until he sank exhausted about dawn, uttering even from under the waves a loud scream for help; none ever was to come to him. This strong fellow had shipped just as we started from London, instead of two lads from Hull, who had deserted. Thus had they escaped the fate of the majority of us; the lad had had just time to jump on board, as we left the London docks. It is now thirty-three years ago since I heard his cries of despair, and many a time have I woke in my sleep, horrified, fancying I heard the same awful screams. At five o'clock next morning our long-boat was towed by the natives into Anse-au-Gascon. Some of us were quite insensible; the unremitting attention shown to us by the French and English fishermen, after some hours, brought us all around. The 'Colborne' drifted about, water-logged, from Monday night to the following Saturday, when the numerous boats which the news of her shipwreck had attracted, succeeded in towing her ashore in Harrington Cove, a mile and three-quarters distant from Port Daneil harbour. Some of the crew were found in the rigging, dead; some, quite exhausted. Captain Hudson was fished up with a boat-hook from the wreck, also two children and Mr. Walker; one sailor, the body of Captain Kent, and another were picked up amongst the rigging - all were taken on shore at Port Daniel, to the store of William Carter, Esq., where the inquest was held. Of the fifty-four souls on board, the second mate, eight seamen, two sons of Captain Hudson, and one steerage passenger were alone saved. I am now fifty seven years of age, and have resided on the coast ever since, having married Isabella Chedor, the daughter of the man who rescued me the morning after the shipwreck." "Several bodies were picked up. It was reported that the body of Mrs. Hudson, on whom was found £600 in bank bills, had been found, the same having drifted across the Bay, and a number of vessel had been seen picking up the goods floating in the Bay and Gulf. I could mention to you many other details, but it is getting late." "I dropp'd my pen, and listen'd to the wind That sang of trees uptorn and vessels toss'd." It was indeed, as Squire Acteson well observed, getting late, and I retired to my sleeping-quarters facing the beach, from which broke forth, like a mournful dirge, the ceaseless roar of the sea; that relentless sea whose foam, like a shroud, had closed over poor Captain Kent and his luckless passengers. It moaned as of yore, and "What were the wild waves saying?" Next morning my host told me all about the extraordinary appearance of the bay and beach, strewn with the valuable merchandise of the stranded ship when she broke up; silver plate put up to a auction, and knocked down for a few shillings; church ornaments of great value used by the natives as wearing apparel; costly wines and silk dresses sold for a trifle. Five boxes of specie of £1,000 each were saved. In spite of the efforts of the auctioneer and authorites, valuable lots disappeared as if by magic. The 400,000 dollars of the "Colborne" did indeed enrich many wreckers, and some that were not wreckers."

Posted:
Nov. 1, 1998.

Updated:
July 15, 2003.