Arrive San Francisco
November 13, 1854
SS Golden Gate
Captain: Unknown
From Panama
Passage
The Mountain Democrat
Placerville, California
November 18, 1854
By the arrival of the Golden Gate we have received dates from Europe to Oct. 4th, 17days later than previous advices.
SEBASTOPOL HAS FALLEN.
The most important news is tho reported capture of Sebastopol by tho allied armies. Tho following is from the New York Tribune: It is reported that after one of the most sanguinary buttles of modern times. Sebastopol bits fallen! The facts as far as known, are that a battle took place on September 20th at the river Alma—the French and English with a loss of 2800 killed and wounded, stormed the Russian entrenchments and drove the enemy buck. The Russians are reported to have nest made a stand on the Katch,—another battle was fought there on the 23d Sepember, resulting in the defeat of the Russians, who were pursued by the allies to the landward walls of Sebastopol Mure fighting took place under the walls. According to the report, on the 25th. Fort Constantine was invested by sea and land, and after an obstinate defence! was carried by storm. The allies then bombarded the city and the fleet. Ten Russian ships of the line were burned and sunk; eight hundred guns were silenced; twenty-two thousand prisoners were taken, and the Russian loss, in dead and disabled, is estimated at not less than eighteen thousand in Sebastopol alone! In the midst of this tremendous havoc, Menchikoff, with the shattered remains of his force, retired into a position in the inner harbor, and threatened to fire the town and blow up the remaining ships unless the victors would grant him an honorable capitulation. The allied generals demanded his unconditional surrender, and, in the name of humanity, gave him six hours for consideration . . . it was rumored that he had surrendered . . .
The Wreck of the Arctic
CAPTAIN LUCE'S STATEMENT
Quebec, Oct. 14, 1854
E.K. Collins-Dear Sir: It becomes my painful duty to inform you of the total loss of the Arctic, under my command, with many lives; and I fear among them must be included your own wife, daughter, and son, of whom I took a last leave the moment the ship was going down without ever expecting to see teh light of another day to give you an account of the heart-rending scene.
Tho Arctic sailed from Liverpool on Wednesday, September 20th. at 11 A M. w i t h 233 passengers and about 150 of a crew. Nothing of special note occurred during the passage until Wednesday, September 27th, when at noon we were on the Banks in lat 4G 45 north, and long 52 west steering west by compass.
The weather had been foggy during the day; generally a distance of half to three quarters of a mile could be seen, but at intervals of a few minutes a very dense fog, followed by being sufficiently clear to see one or two miles. At noon I left the deck for the purpose of working out tho position of the ship. In about fifteen minutes I heard theo cry of "Hard starboard!" from the officers of the deck. I rushed on deck, and had just got out when I felt a crash forward, and at the same moment saw a steamer under the starboard bow; at the next moment she struck against our guards and passed astern of us. The bows of the strange vessel seemed to be literally cut or crushed off for full ten feet; and second that she must probably sink in a few minutes, and taking a hasty glance at our own ship, and believing that we were comparatively uninjured, my first impulse was to endeavor to save the lives of those on board the sinking vessel. The boats were cleared, and the first officer and six men left with one boat, when it was found our own boat was leaking fearfully . . .
The engineers were set to work, being instructed to put on the steam pumps . . . Several ineffectual attempts were made to stop the leak . . . I resolved to get the boats ready, and as many ladies and children placed in them as possible; but no sooner had the attempt been made than the firemenand others rushed into them in spite of opposition . . . another boat was broken down by person rushing at the divits, and many were precipitated into the sea and drowned . . . The chief engineer, with a part of his assistants, had taken our smallest deck boat and, before the ship went down, pulled away with about fifteen persons . . . I was full convinced that the ship must go down in a very short time . . . In an instant--about a quarter to five P.M.--the ship went down, carrying every soul on board with her . . .
I soon found myself on the surface, after a brief struggling with my own helpless child in my arms . . . when a portion of the baddle-box came rushing up edgewise, just grazing my head, falling with its whole weight upon the head of my darling child. Another moment I beheld him lifeless in the water . . .
About an hour before daylight--now Friday, the 29th--we saw a vessel's light near to us . . . In about a quarter of an hour the light disappeared . . . Shortly after we had given up all hopes of being rescued, a ship was discovered to the east of us, steering directly for us . . . The ship proved to be the Cambria, of this port, from Glasgow, bound to Montreal . . .
From the Frenchman who was picked up, we learned that the steamer with which we came in collision was the screw steamer Vesta, from St. Pierre, bound for a belonging to Grenville, France . . . I have safely arrived at Quebec . . . I learned from the doctor, at quarantine, that the Vesta had reached St. Johns with several passengers from the Arctic, but could not learn the particulars . . .
James C. Luce