The Cecil Whig

Appalling Disaster—The Burning of the Steamer Austria at Sea—Over 503 Lives Lost.

The German Steamer Austria, which sailed from Hamburg on the 2nd ult., and from Southampton on the 4th, took fire during the voyage to this country, on the 13th inst., and was totally destroyed. Out of about 600 souls on board, passengers and crew, but sixty-seven are known to be saved, and there is scarcely a hope that any others have been rescued. Of those saved 57 were passengers: the others belonged to the steamer. They were mostly Germans but a considerable number resided in this country and were returning home from visiting Europe. We make the following extracts from a statement of the dreadful calamity by Mr. Charles Brew, an Englishman, who escaped.

From the time the ship was laid on her course we experienced strong westerly winds. On the 12th the weather was more favorable, and on the 13th the speed of eleven knots had been attained, and all were in high hopes of reaching New York by the 18th.

At a little after 2 o'clock P. M., I was on the quarter deck: I saw a dense volume of smoke burst from the after entrance of the steerage. Some women ran aft, exclaiming "the ship is on fire, what will become of us!" The ship was instantly put at half speed, at which she continued until the magazine exploded, from which I infer the engineers were instantly suffocated. I only walked from where I was on the quarter deck to the mast of the ship, when I saw the flames breaking throughout the mid ships. As the ship was head to the wind, the fire traveled with fearful rapidity.

All the first cabin passengers were on the poop, with the exception of a few gentlemen, who must have been smothered in the smoking room. Many of the second cabin passengers were also on the poop, and a number of them got shut in their cabin by the fire, some of them were pulled up through the ventilator, but the greater number could not be extricated. The last woman who was drawn up said there were six already suffocated."

At this time the scene on the quarter deck was indescribable, and truly heart-rending: Passengers were rushing frantically to and fro—Husbands were seeking their wives—wives in search of their husbands—relatives looking after relatives—mothers lamenting the loss of their children: Some wholly paralyzed by fear, others madly crying to be saved, but a few perfectly calm and collected."

The flames pressed so closely upon them, that many jumped into the sea: relatives clasped in each others arms leaped over and met a watery grave; two girls, supposed to be sisters, jumped overboard and sunk kissing each other. A missionary and wife leaped into the sea together, and the stewardess and assistant steward arm in arm followed.

One Hungarian gentleman with seven fine children, four of them girls, made his wife jump in, then blessed his six eldest children, made them jump one after the other, and followed them with an infant in his arms. At this time was standing outside the bulwarks holding on by the davits, leaning out to avoid the flames, which were leaping towards me. I saw a swamped boat under me, spinning by a rope still attached to the ship. As the oars were tied in her I thought if I could get to her, I would be enabled to save myself and some others.

I let myself down by a rope, passing over a man who was clinging to it, who refused to come with me. I took out a penknife to cut the tackle: the large blade broke, and I then severed it with the small blade. The ship then passed ahead, and as the boat approached the screw I found the boat drawn toward it.

I tried to keep the boat off, but the screw caught the boat and capsized it over me: I dived away from the ship—came to the surface near the boat, which was now keel upwards; I got on her, and by pressing on one side, with the assistance of a wave, she righted, but was still swamped. The oars had been knocked out by the screw. The only thing I could find in her to paddle with was some lathes nailed together as a sheathing for the sides.

When I looked around the ship was a quarter of a mile away from me. I could see the ladies and gentlemen jumping off the poop into the water in twos and threes, some of the ladies being in flames. Several hesitated to leap from the burning ship until the last moment, as the height was twenty-two feet, and were only at length compelled to throw themselves off to avoid a more painful death.

In half an hour not a soul was to be seen on the poop. I pulled after the ship and picked up a German who was swimming strongly. I got him beside me on the boat, and we paddled after the ship with the laths. I now saw a vessel under sail approaching. She reached the steamer at about 5 P. M. We continued pulling toward them, and about half past seven o'clock, after being five hours in the water, got within hail of the sailing vessel, which put off a boat and took us on board. She proved to be the French bark Maurice, Captain Ernest Renaud, of Nantes, bound from Newfoundland for the Isle of Bourbon, with fish. She had, up to that time, rescued forty passengers off the bowsprit, though a few were picked up floating around.

At about 7 o'clock one of the metallic boats came up with about twenty-three persons including the first, second and third officers; afterwards three or four men were picked up floating on a piece of the broken boat. The second officer was taken up, having been swimming, with nothing to float him, for six hours.

A Norwegian bark came up with the steamer the next morning, and a boat was observed going around the burning ship. They may have picked up a few persons, but only a very few. The Maurice had no communication with the Norwegian bark.