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Rh as at first, but in masses of water, hiding everything, several feet deep over the heads of the miserable crew. It was becoming a question of minutes, and the whole distance from the wreck to the cliffs was already covered with beams, and timber, and spars floating in every direction. At this time, as we learnt afterwards, the first mate had been brought up from his cabin, where, since the masts had gone, he had been lying with a broken leg, and was lashed in that condition to the raft. The captain had been drinking for two days past; he was quite drunk when they were off the land; and just before the ship struck he went into his cabin, refused to leave it, and was drowned there.

Before four the ship parted in the middle; the fore part swung round a little, and stuck fast; five-and-twenty men were now, some lashed, some clinging, upon the raft. Two men came to the side and took off their jackets and their shoes; we could see them shake hands: the first plunged into the water and was drowned; the second sprang after him, and though not seen again was at last washed in and saved. The next minute the bowsprit fell into the sea; and a tremendous wave, breaking over everything, swept the raft off clear of the ship. This was within one hour of the time she struck, and now not a living soul was left on board—every one was at the mercy of the raging sea. The first wave that struck the raft lifted it high in the air, covered it with water whilst ten might be slowly counted, and, reappearing, it was borne back by the reflux of the sea with scarcely half the number who were at first upon it. And so, amidst a heaving, tossing, mass of foam and masts and spars, now visible now invisible, the raft for twenty minutes more wavered backwards and forwards from the wreck to the land. Each time it sank between the breaking seas, some one or two were lost; once, it completely capsized, and all were under it for a few seconds; until at last, when it slowly, very slowly, was washed in upon the rocks, only two could still be seen clinging to it in despair.

The raft came in under the point of the low cliffs on the north side of the harbour, into a little creek, perhaps fifty yards across, by this time full of great fragments of broken timber. There were several dead and the two living men lashed to it. A line was passed down the cliff, and one by one, twelve men, six dead and six living (four having been washed ashore) were drawn up as carefully as could be, rescued as they had been with difficulty from the tangled heaps of wreck below, and laid upon the grass. So fearful was the exhaustion of all who yet survived, that only one could speak; and open bleeding wounds, caused by blows from the drifting spars, made them look still more ghastly. All were carried to the village; and, by great exertions, the six who still breathed were at last recovered.

It was a terrible wreck: out of a crew of thirty-five, six men only were saved. The cargo was a valuable one; and some of it, during the next few weeks, was saved. The day after the wreck, a very heavy ground-sea set in; and one of the iron masts, weighing perhaps nearly twenty tons, with a great mass of wire rigging, sails, and cordage, was swept up quite three hundred yards by the force of the waves. We have given an illustration of this.

The first of our two woodcuts represents the bed of the ship, taken five weeks after the wreck. By this time, owing to great exertions and employment of a hundred men between each tide, all the starboard side had been thoroughly cleared. A very large quantity still remained upon the other side, half buried in the sand. Both these illustrations are from photographs taken at the time of low-water during very low spring-tides: at other tides the wreck could not be got at.

We have no more space left. Much that might still be said of Bude, its scenery, its wrecks, must be put off until another opportunity.