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Volume 049-2 - April 1995 (8 pages)
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Page: of 8
Escape from the Sea: The Thrilling Narrative of
André Chavanne of Grass Valley
translated from the French,
as it appeared in the Nevada Morning Transcript of August 13, 1862
(We translate the following extracts from a letter written to
a friend in San Francisco by Mr. Chavanne on board the brig
Liberato on the 29th ult., which has appeared in the Echo du
Pacifique. It will be remembered that he jumped in the sea
when the Golden Gate was burning and floated 22 hours,
when he was providentially found and picked up by the
Liberato—Morning Transcript.)
I WILL DISPENSE WITH DRAWING A PICTURE of the
scenes of despair, the cries of the men, women and children,
etc. I prepared to jump in the sea at the latest possible
moment, as the ship was headed towards the shore, which
was about 5 miles distant. I hung to the ropes which had been
used to lower the boats, but when the burning tar began to
fall upon me, I did not hesitate between fire and water, and I
let myself down slowly, without much fear, and with the
conviction that my last hour had not come. Strange presentiment!
I had supplied myself with two life preservers; I placed
one under my head after having tied it to my shoulders, I tied
the other around my body. I then fastened my hat with my
pocket handkerchief, so that the brim protected my ears.
Here I was in the ocean, at the mercy of the waves with
nothing to rely upon but myself!
The burming ship continued on her course towards shore.
The cries of the passengers struggling in the water are heartrending—those of the women particularly.
Soon night comes, and with it all hopes of being picked by
a boat vanish. The cries of the women must, however, have
been heard by some of these boats, and I hope yet to see that
some of them have been saved.
I am full of hope and courage; the water is warm and I
only feel cold in that part of my body which is above
water—the chest, shoulders and neck. I swim towards shore,
but the current carries me farther and farther to sea.
Towards 1 o’clock in the moming the silence of death
reigns; a few corpses float around me; I endeavor to swim
away from them.
At 2 o’clock in the morning the steamer ceases buming.
That sinister light had up to that time been my beacon. Now I
know no longer which way to swim. I hear breakers and the
fear of being thrown on the rocks troubles me.
a@™ = Aside from that I am perfectly calm and resolved to swim
as long as possible. My regrets of the past and anxiety for the
future are not so great. I sigh aloud as much on account of
my thoughts as on account of an acute pain which I feel in
the back. Nothing is in sight. The sea is pretty calm, and I
hope that many passengers await their deliverance with as
much firmness as I do. I think particularly of G.
Towards morning I feel cold; my arms and legs are tired. I
try, but in vain, to swim towards shore. It seems that the skies
assume a lighter hue; it is the break of day. God be praised! I
begin to see a greater distance. I strain my eyes through the
twilight to see whether a boat might not be in sight! I can see
nothing. I then reflect that the boats of the steamer, and
perhaps others, will be cruising as soon as day breaks; but the
first rays of the sun appear and no help is visible. Patience!
The pain in my back is getting easier, but my feet pain me
horribly. They have swollen in my gaiters until they feel as if
held in a vice. I feel in my pockets, fortunately I find a knife.
I then performed the operation, very difficult in my position,
of cutting the gaiters from the instep to within 2 inches from
the toe, in order not only to ease my feet but also to keep my
gaiters on. I performed this operation successfully, albeit I
felt the blade of my knife in my flesh, but this was nothing
serious. After this I find myself greatly relieved and comparatively happy.
Seeing no help in sight I resolve to use all my strength to
reach the shore, only a couple of miles distant. For hours I
struggle, but in vain; I always remain at the same distance
from it. Occasionally I stop, tired, and vexed at the uselessness of my efforts; but I do not despair.
The sun burns my face and hands, the salt water hurts my
eyes, my lips are chapped and burning; but all this is not
serious; I feel neither hunger nor thirst, and my arms and legs
feel less tired than yesterday, although I have made hard use
of them.
If night appeared to me long and painful, the day which
was passing without any help coming appears to me eternal.
My reflections are these: Am I on a coast so desert that no
help will come for one, two, three or four days? I then review
my chances. I am strong yet. I am not hungry nor thirsty and
my courage is first rate. I can yet hold out 24 or 48 hours and
during that time help will certainly come.
The idea of being eaten up by a shark occurs to my mind
three or four times during my twenty-two hours of navigation.
Towards three o’clock in the afternoon, whilst making a
supreme effort to swim ashore before the setting in of another
night, and whilst struggling with all my might, my eyes
13