The Foxwell

In the extreme North East corner of the Parlour – behind the Admiralty Buoy Lights – you will find the remains of the rudder of “The Foxwell” mounted on the wall (starboard side). This consists of two long copper fastenings which were hammered down through oak timbers.

James discovered the remains of “The Foxwell” on the West side of the Conningmore Rock in 30 meters of water at the base of the rock. The story of “The Foxwell” is recounted in vivid detail in Volume II of “IRELAND, its SCENERY, CHARACTER, &c. by MR. & MRS. S. C. HALL.” (published in London in 1846). The following is the complete extract which makes fascinating reading:

“The Wexford coast is exceedingly rugged and dangerous; our memory can recall many cases of frightful shipwrecks off the Saltees, the Keeroes, Burrow of Ballyteague, and what – by right of affection – we call “our own Bannow”. We remember, in special, one desperate winter of storms, that brought the remnants of two noble ships to our strand. One of them called – if our memory serves us rightly – “The Foxwell,” struck, on a dark night, upon a rock near the Saltees, upon which seven-and-twenty persons escaped, thinking it joined the main-land, and when the tardy morning came, bringing light certainly, but no mitigation of the storm, the crew found themselves surrounded by the ocean; while the Saltee Islands were hidden from their view by the dashing waves. To make their case more wretched – the rock bore evidence of being washed over at high water; and there they were, seven-and-twenty living souls, upon a shelving rock, without food or prospect of release: three of the crew were boys; and a favourite Newfoundland dog of the captain’s had also followed his master’s fortunes, and looked sadly into his face. No vestige of the ship was visible, and after looking in vain for any token of her existence, the captain said, with an air of as much cheerfulness as he could assume, “Well, boys, thank God we are all here – all saved!” “Not all,” was the answer, “Long Philip has gone down in the ship.” “Now the Lord have mercy on his soul!” was the captain’s observation; “he must have forced in the spirit store,” As the morning advanced the tide rose, and the higher it came the higher crept the men on the shelving rock, keeping together, clinging to each other, so as to present a firm resistance to the waves, that washed over, but did not cover, them.

“We are still saved, boys,” said the captain, breaking the breathless silence they had long maintained. “We are still saved, the tide has turned!” The entire of that day the wind drove the waters at intervals over these poor creatures; as night advanced the wind lulled and the surf lessened, but still there came no sign of help. Wet, cold, and starving, the crew clung more closely together the whole of the live-long night. Some mastering their fears and maintaining a determined silence, others repeating over and over again such words of prayer as they had learned at their mother’s knee. One poor fellow persisted in going through the morning service of the church, or as much as he could remember of it. The boys cried themselves to sleep, and the dog stretched himself across their bosoms, as if conscious that warmth was a protection. Another morning, and though the surf still ran high between them and the Saltees, the sea was comparatively calm; the sun glared upon the waters, and the gulls wheeled above their heads, wondering doubtless what creatures had taken possession of their demesne. They took off two shirts to make a signal, but they had neither staff nor spar to hang it on. So the tallest man stood on the highest point of the rock and lifted a boy on his shoulder, who waved the flag as long as he was able, when another took his place. Some who lacked faith to continue their snatches of prayer, cursed and swore, and the captain and the passengers were prevented from dwelling on their own privations by unceasing endeavours to keep peace and impart fortitude to the crew.

Hope came with the morning, but disappeared with the light; some of the men had one or two oranges; those they had divided the previous day. During the entire of the second they had nothing to allay the burning heat in their parched throats – the night was spent in misery; the cold was seized upon the feet of one of the lads, and his low moans were audible at intervals. They had to endure the washing over of the spray; and some called upon the death they dreaded. This horrible state was broken upon by the morning, which showed the surf as high as ever between them and the Saltees; impelled by the cravings of nature, they proposed to the captain to kill his dog, and though the creature looked piteously in his face, he consented. At the instant they were about to sacrifice the poor animal the hand of the executioner was stayed by someone calling out “A boat! a sail!” Their almost extinguished faculties revived – they raised a faint cheer – again and louder. They were not deceived; it was not one or two but several boats that came to their relief; there was a good-sized fishing-smack, capable of riding a heavy sea, then a smaller, and smaller, and smaller, until the line dwindled down to a little cock-boat, which at last approached them with a huge coil of rope; the boats were chained together, and after two or three unsuccessful efforts the cable was caught by the men on the rock; man after man slided along it through the surf until he reached the little boat, and scrambled on until he was safe in the smack; the captain held the rope to the last, and then, fastening it round his body dashed into the surf and was drawn through the waves.

They owed, strangely enough, their preservation to the missing seaman. Long Philip had broken into the spirit store, and, in a state of intoxication, been unable to quit the ship. She was laden with wine and raw cotton, and when struck was divided, as the people expressed it, “into two halves.” The pipes of wine rolled out, and the cotton bore up the portion of the vessel and floated it safely into Ballyteague Bay, where Philip was discovered fast asleep among the bales. He was enabled to give some idea of the probable position of his comrades, and, immediately, stout hearts and ready hands were sent to the rescue. The second day they could not near the wreck, but on the third day they effected their purpose. Every house, from the lowly cabin to the gentleman’s mansion, was thrown upon to the crew. They were billeted among “the neighbours,” – the captain was our own allotted guest – and there was literally a contest as to who would have the privilege of manifesting Irish hospitality. The honesty of the people was also strongly exhibited. It was long before the time of “temperance,” yet, as the pipes of wine drifted in, they were consigned to the charge of a party of the peasantry who had formed themselves into what may be justly termed “a guard of honour;” and we may safely assert that of the property washed on shore every article was restored to its rightful owners.

This shipwreck left a comparatively joyous impression among us; the mercy of God had been signally shown, and no lives were lost - but such was not always the case: we remember experiencing a thrill of horror seeing three mangled bodies lying one above the other in the little sand bay of Graige, where in summer-time we bathed, and in winter used to gather shells and sea weed. We remember, too, while listening to the midnight storm, watching the flash and hearing the minute-gun of distress as some doomed ship neared our cruel rocks. We remember also, dimly as a vision, a group of mourning women coming from Fethard to return thanks to those who had given to seven drowned fishermen, washed on the same shore, the rites of a decent burial, We remember brown and swarthy smugglers – and above all, tales that would fill a volume, of the corse lights gleaming in Bannow Church, and spirit-vessels lying stranded in the clouds.”