“On the 20th of January, (instant,) 20 minutes before 8 P. M. we had the misfortune to run ashore on Absecum Bar, on the Jersey side of the Delaware Bay, and after making every exertion to get off, but without success, we turned our attention to the means of preserving our lives—At 12 o’clock at night the vessel bilged and filled, when we (7 in number, including Mr. James V. Fraser, a passenger) secured ourselves on the quarter-deck suffering all the horrors of an awful ship-wreck. At about 2 in the morning the schooner severed at the break of the quarter deck, when little remained to us but the assurance of a watery grave. The quarter deck, however, holding together, a ray of hope dawned from the reflection that this our last resting place, might remain entire until the return of day, when some friendly sail might snatch us from impending destruction. About the dawn of day, our sufferings were for a moment mitigated by he sight of a sail, with an old shir attached to an oar, we made a signal to attract their attention; but from the heaviness of the weather and increasing thickness of the fog, they soon disappeared to our view, perhaps without having observed our signal of distress. At this moment, hope seemed to abandon us forever, but in a short time the fog began to dissipate, the land became visible, and discovered to us the welcome sight of some vessels, which had made a harbor, about two miles distant—we also saw some persons walking on the beach, but soon discovered that they were much more intent on saving the ruins of our vessel and cargo for their own benefit, than on procuring the means of rescuing us from our perilous situation.—Some of the crews of the vessels in the harbor, seeing our deplorable condition, came with great difficulty to our relief, and conveyed us to their vessels, where we were received with the greatest kindness and treated in a manner which merits our eternal gratitude.
“Having lost every thing except what we had on our backs, the benevolence of these strangers it may be supposed was a cordial to our bosoms. But while we acknowledge with hearts overflowing with thankfulness, the good offices of these our seafaring brethren, we want language sufficiently strong to depict the base and inhuman conduct of some of the inhabitants of Absecum and the adjacent country, who although apprised of our misfortunes and destitute situation, refused even to deliver up our cloathing which they had picked up on the beach, after it had drifted on shore, and treated us in other respects so much like savages, that we had just reason to believe, that but for the humanity and generosity of the masters and crews of the vessels in the harbor, we should have been abandoned to all the horrors of shipwreck, on a coast where the claims of humanity were stifled by the sordid and unmanly consideration of self aggrandizement.
E. L. B . TAPSCOTT, one third owner.BENJAMIN GEORGE, Master.JAMES V. FRASER, passenger.
And the CREW of the Fair American
And who was E. L. B. Tapscott? He was Ellis L. B. Tapscott (middle names unknown), son of Rawleigh and Ann (Shearman) Tapscott and grandson of Capt. Henry Tapscott. We have met him once before in this Blog as a purchaser of half interest in the schooner Dispatch from his uncle Martin Shearman (Chicanery, Monday, August 25, 2014). Although he escaped from the shipwreck, Ellis was soon deceased, dying by 20 May 1822, when a bond was issued to administer Ellis's estate. Ellis, seemingly a well-to-do business man, died young, less than forty years old, without widow or descendants.
The ship’s master, Benjamin George, was probably Ellis’s second cousin, son of first cousins Nicholas Lawson George and Susanna Tapscott. Benjamin and Ellis had the same great grandmother, Ann Edney. And not only were they related, the two had served in the same regiment and company during the War of 1812.
