I pretended not to hear the remark, and the boat pushed off from the ship's side. Away she pulled towards the bar. I could not help following her with my glass. The bay was calm, but the current was running out strong, and a slow, smooth, rolling swell came in from the offing. The boat glided swiftly on towards the mouth of the river. Just before she reached the bar I had observed two or three rollers break with great fury on it. I called the attention of Captain Packenham and some of my brother-officers to what I had remarked. I fancied that I could see York looking back in triumph, as much as to say, "You see I don't fear the bar you speak of." Then on glided the boat. A huge roller rose between us and her so suddenly, it seemed to come from the very depths of the sea. On it went; others followed; but where was the boat? A cry of horror escaped from all those looking on. With my glass I made out through the mass of foam a black object and several smaller ones floating near, but they rapidly disappeared. There could be no doubt that the boat was swamped. The instant this was ascertained the captain ordered all the boats to be lowered that they might go in and endeavour to pick up any of the crew who might be carried out to sea. I went in one of them. Our orders were especially not to venture on the bar. We were not long in reaching the place. We looked eagerly about for any traces of our lost shipmates. Even the boat had been rolled over and over till not a plank remained holding together. An oar came floating out towards us, and as I watched it I saw one end rise up suddenly as if the other had been pulled at violently. We pulled up to it, and as we got near I saw a dark triangular fin gliding away through the blue bright water. I now saw clearly what had been the fate of any of the crew who might have hoped to save themselves by swimming. We returned with sad hearts on board, but sailors cannot mourn long even for their best friends. The fate of those who have been taken may be theirs to-morrow.