Mr. Stevens, the first officer, was a fine young fellow of some thirty summers. He was a most agreeable companion, delighted in song or dance, and if he got a quiet moment with a friend, would talk by the hour of the young wife and little-ones he had left at home. He made every one his friend--was a friend to every one.
Mr. Cowie, the second officer (he was third when I came home) was like a character out of Marryat. He was about three or four and twenty years of age, was as bold and bluff as the captain; and was never so delighted as when he was singing 'Hearts of Oak' in the cock-pit.
Mr. Rogers, the chief engineer, was a man of rough exterior, but of simple, child-like manners. His whole time during _my_ sojourn on the ship was spent in looking after the engines, and entering into amusing discussions with the purser on the right pronunciation of words. Poor fellow!
The purser (Mr. Lewis) was one of the best men that ever walked the earth. He did justice to passengers and owners, and at the time when we ran short of food, I knew him, with all the ship's stores at his command, to abstain from dinner, that the children of the intermediate and steerage passengers might in turn receive his share of the slender stock of dainties left to us on board. He has gone where stewards cease from troubling!
But why continue these memorials of the dead? We call on the names of the good and brave men in vain. Saddest of all sad stories is that which I have attempted to tell. The cheek of the boldest grows pale as he reads it, and my pen falls from my fingers as the old familiar faces rise before me.
THE _Times_, after some preliminary observations on the gale of Wednesday, contents itself with a general record of the calamity:--