It was not long in coming. There was a crash that shook the ship from stem to stern; her keel had struck a rock. Again she swung till her bows pointed inshore. Then came another crash, the main and mizzen masts went over the side, and after one or two violent motions the _Gannet_ remained hard and fast, the heavy seas pouring right over her. By this time the day had dawned, and we could see that the ship’s bows were close inshore, so that had our bowsprit and jibboom remained they would have been touching the rocks, up which the broken water dashed in a terrific manner that made any attempt to swim ashore a matter of utter impossibility. The after part of the ship was now breaking up fast. Our gallant captain still remained on the quarterdeck, having buckled on his sword as if going into action. Grasping his speaking-trumpet he shouted his last order: "Look to yourselves, men, and God have mercy on us all!" Then came a huge, tumbling, white-crested wave that swept the doomed vessel from the stern as far for’ard as the foremast. When it had passed, not a sign was to be seen of the brave and ill-fated captain, who, with a score of his men, had been swept against the pitiless rocks. Clustered in blank despair on the fo’c’sle were all that remained of the once smart crew of the _Gannet_. I remember seeing the lieutenant, the bos’n, Greville Drake, and about a score of the men, but, huddled on the lee side of the bulwarks, I remained, chilled to the bone and drenched by the drifting spray, hardly conscious of my peril or the presence of my shipmates in distress. Above the slight motion caused by the heavy seas striking the hull there came a greater shock --the _Gannet_ had parted amidships. The bos’n’s voice was heard faintly above the roar of the elements, and looking up I saw that, by the breaking of the ship, the forepart of the _Gannet_ was raised in consequence of the ’midship portion subsiding, and that her bows were nearly level with a flat, rocky ledge but twenty feet away. At the same time several men appeared on shore, looking at us intently, yet making no offer of assistance. We waved, making signs to them to throw a rope, but, to our astonishment, our appeals were met with a callous indifference. "You miserable wretches!" yelled the bos’n, shaking his fist in the direction of the inhospitable men. "Would I could get at you, ye cowardly landlubbers!" Then a seaman close to me cried out: "Never a helping hand will we get from they, bos’n. I know where we be, for yon’s the Tilly Whim Caves, and nought but smugglers and wreckers bide hereabouts." Smugglers and wreckers! Instantly my mind harked back to the scene in the court at Winton, when Master Joseph Hawkes gave testimony against the two rascally Dorset smugglers. "Now, men, bestir yourselves," said the bos’n, turning towards us. "Bear a hand with that spar, and with the help of Providence we’ll save our skins yet."