The report of David Breck, Able Seaman aboard HMS Rhinocerus, then under the command of Lt the Hon. Henry Wooster, regarding the events of the night of the 2nd of August, 1871:
There were shouts all around, and I was reaching from the wheel in the middle of the hatch, thinking I could throw it open again, when the wheel turned so violently in my hand that I was thrown out of the boat and into the marsh!
By the time I reached the surface and had gotten me air back, things were in an even stranger state. Sir Spencer had dove or fallen into the water, as had Mr Frazer. And the metal contraption had sunk back into the depths as well. I was making my way back to the long boats when Sir Spencer and Mr Frazer surfaced near me and urged me to make haste. We had barely pulled ourselves back into the boat when something exploded under the surface.
Then there was an explosion behind us. I guess those kidnappers must have been storing flammables inside the lower sections of the barge, because you never saw such a brilliant blue flame as what come out the side of that hull. The barge was breaking into more pieces by this point, and the fire must have spread to the deck because there were queer flashes of light coming from up there.
The remainder of the barge was sinking fast. Sir Spencer had his rifle in hand again and was aiming at the gang of cutthroats when the deck sunk down to our level.
Another boat had come from somewhere. It was like something you'd see at the fun fare--shaped like a swan with sparkling glass eyes and everything. Sir Cosmo and her Ladyship had gotten into the swan boat somehow. They and another fellow seemed to be trying to turn it's rudder or something. And then the boat lit up as if someone had poured lamp oil over ever bit of it and struck a match.
I felt sure those three had died in there. The force of the blast lifted the boat right up into the sky, but then I saw Her Ladyship and the others in the water, and I got busy trying to get an oar to them before someone drowned.
By this point cutthroats and sailors and the others were abandoning the fragments of the barge faster than rats from a sinking ship. The Commander was calling out orders about seeing to the safety of those in the water. We did our best. But some of those fellows in the black clothes didn't seem to want to be rescued.
There was much shouting and confusing. The Commander comandeered the steam launch and headed off in search of someone. I think it must have been people who had leaped off the back side of the barge. We had wounded everywhere.
The metal thing came back to the surface and the hatch opened up. There were Prussian officers inside, it appeared. Along with the woman who shouldn't have been there and Young Edward.
The woman was, well, her condition had moved on to the next stage, if you take my meaning, and so she was hustled into the launch and sent back to the Rhinocerus along with several others.
There was more diplomatic doings before it was through. I was never so glad to be relieved of duty as I was when the third boat came and we were switched out. By morning there was a tug there to pull out the Prussian metal contraption, sunk as it was.
And there were two newborn babies on the Rhinocerus, to boot. Twins, she'd had, a boy and a girl. The gunner's mate says as the mother and the midwife (apparently Sir Spencer's daughter is a midwife!) had wanted the babies weighed after they were born. Imagine! The only scales on board was the ordinance scale, and it was pressed into service for the task.
We returned to dock set about setting things ship shape, once more.
It was the strangest duty I ever stood. At one point we had or other in the night we had at least two French nobles and one French servant, one Prussian officer, five ladies, and two babies aboard the ship!
And I don't know if we ever found the kidnappers
or the missing child.
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