The voyage was prosperous till the "Nottingham Galley" was within fifty leagues of the American coast. A furious gale then sprang up, and thick weather came on, so that no observations could be taken. Deane endeavoured to bring the ship to, that he might keep off the coast till the weather should moderate. In vain, however, did he make the attempt. The after-masts were carried away; and now the ship could only run before the gale, it being feared every moment that the seas which came roaring up astern would break on board. He hoped, however, that the weather might moderate before they reached the entrance of the Delaware river, up which the galley was bound. Vain hope! The darkness of night came on, and instead of moderating, the gale increased. The crew, hardy as they were, clung to the bulwarks and the shrouds, expecting that every moment would be their last. Still the fury of the tempest increased. The wind whistled through the shrouds, and the seas raged up alongside. A loud roar was heard ahead. "Breakers! breakers!" shouted the crew. The next instant there came a fearful crash. The helpless galley was driven forward amid the rocks. The seas swept over her. Many were washed away, or dashed furiously against the rocks. Deane felt himself lifted up by a sea which dashed against the devoted vessel. He suspected that the fate which had overtaken many of his crew would now be his. Onward the sea bore him. He struck out, struggling bravely for life. His feet touched the hard sand, and the next instant he was thrown high upon the beach. He staggered forward, and before the following sea had reached him he had escaped from its clutches. The despairing shrieks of his crew reached his ears. In vain he endeavoured to render them assistance. He rescued two, however, at the risk of being himself thrown back into the foaming surges. Three others had been thrown as he had been on shore.