The morning dawned dark and cheerless, masses of black and angry-looking clouds shut out the sun and obscured the sky, or, at times, through their rifts.
1' THE EAST.
gave passage to gleams of wild and lurid light, which displayed at once and augmented the horrors of the scene. It had blown heavily during the night, but the wind now rapidly increased to a violence and fury such as the oldest pilots never before remembered to have witnessed. The sea rose with its own peculiar abruptness, and, as it dashed its gigantic waves upon the iron barrier of the coast, they broke into clouds of sjjray, which mounted for hundreds of feet up the precipitous cliff, and dispersed themselves far away inland. Blinding vapours of scud and mist, mingled with hail, came driving down the gale, shutting out the horizon, and wrapping the fearful waste of seething waters in a still more fearful gloom. Anon they lifted, only to discover the strongest ships snatched from their anchors, and hurled with inconceivable violence upon the rocks, where a few minutes sufficed for the work of their destruction.
The Prince, a magnificent new screw steamer, of 2,700 tons burden, which had arrived only a few days previously with the 46th regiment on board, and with a cargo valued at half a million sterling, consisting of large quantities of munitions of war, medical stores, and a complete supply of winter clothing, was among the earlier and the most costly victims of the tempest. Providentially the troops had been landed, but the cargo still remained intact, and her crew numbered 150 souls. Torn from her anchors, the cable of one of which it was stated had been improperly clinched, and did not hold at all, every effort was made by her captain and by the Admiralty Agent to avert her fate, but in vain. The masts were all cut away to lighten her, and steam was turned on in order to get her to sea; but the rigging of the mizenmast unfortunately got entangled with the machinery of the screw, every revolution of which only served more effectually to hamper it, till at last her steampower became null, and she hopelessly drifted towards the coast. So tremendous was the sea, at the moment when she struck, that within ten minutes afterwards not a vestige of her was to be seen. Some floating pieces of wreck, scarce any of which were more than a yard long, and a few lifeless bodies, maimed, bruised, and mangled, alone remained to mark the spot where perished this noble vessel, and where 150 human beings, who but a short space before had trodden her decks in confidence and hope, met their untimely fate. Of the whole crew only six men and a midshipman escaped.
The Rip Van Winkle, the Panola, the Progress, and several others shared the disaster of the Prince, and in most cases were lost with all hands on board.
The master of the Avon, a large West-Indian steamer, finding it impossible longer to contend with the fury of the wind and of the sea, adopted a daring and desperate resolution, which was crowned with a success almost providential. Reversing the position of the ship, he determined to make for the narrow entrance of the harbour, which was at times only dimly visible through the fog, and accordingly shaped the Avon's course in that direction, with her engines working at the full power of the steam. A fortunate puff of wind facilitated the enterprise, and enabled her to steer clear of the rocks into the confined opening of the port. Her crew were subsequently engaged, with those of the other vessels enjoying the same shelter, in aiding the escape of the straggling survivors from the wrecks outside, who were hauled up by ropes from their perilous position at the foot of the precipices where they had found a precarious respite from the terrors of the storm.
In the foreground of the drawing which has given rise to this imperfect sketch, the Prince and the Rip Van Winkle are described in the last moments of their fruitless struggle with the pitiless elements. A little while and the hoarse notes of unavailing command, the bitter cry for help where no help is, the half-uttered yet fervent prayer, and the loud despairing shrieks of hundreds as they meet their doom, will be alike for ever hushed, and the jarring discords of the ocean and the skies echoed only, at ever decreasing intervals, by
" the bubbling cry Of some strong swimmer in his agony."