An attempt to take in, and house, the top gallant masts, failed, owing to the violent rolling of the ship; but every thing practicable was effected by our indefatigable crew, although reduced by the recent impressment, to secure the masts from the evidently increasing hurricane. The hatches were battened down, and all made snug for the approaching “tug of war.” All was now breathless suspense and a stern gravity sat on the boldest countenance, when a sudden and tremendous blast threw the ship on her beam-ends, and, with a terrific crash, the mainmast went by the board, carrying with it, in its fall, the mizen-yard, poop, sky-lights, hen-coops, larboard quarter gallery, and three of our seamen. Here was “confusion worse confounded”—passengers and servants making their escape from beneath the wreck—sailors shouting, tugging, and hauling—a chaos of disasters enough to daunt, one would suppose, the stoutest heart; but he little understands the stuff of which English seamen are composed, who thinks there was any quailing or relaxation of energy here. Sudden as the disaster were the efforts made to repair it. The voice of the officer was instantly heard above the storm, giving directions, and the active crew immediately at work, with their axes, cutting the shrouds and ropes, for the purpose of detaching the wreck of the mast from the vessel, which, beating furiously against the bottom and sides, seemed to threaten her with instant destruction. With infinite difficulty, this operation was at last effected, and the short but delusive “pleasures of hope” once more dawned upon us. On getting clear of the wreck, the vessel partially righted, the hurricane raging with awful violence, the sea running right over her, and sweeping, with resistless force, every opposing article from the deck. Our only remaining sail, the foresail, was now, with much difficulty, taken in, and the vessel scudded under bare poles. Throughout the remainder of the day, the hurricane raged with unabated fury: the ship rolled gunwales under, and the water poured in through the aperture caused by the broken mast. Never can I forget the sounds and scenes below—the groaning of the timbers, the labouring and lurching of the ship, like the throes and struggles of a dying man; the moans and cries of the women—stores, cargo, cabin, bulk-heads, baggage, and a cannon or two, all loose and adrift, and dashing with frightful violence from side to side, as if animated by some maddening spirit of destruction. “Colonel,” said Marpeet rather archly:—who, in or out of season, loved a joke—to the ex-resident, clinging on close to me, his teeth chattering like a pair of castanets; “Colonel, _you_, I take it, have never seen anything to beat this?” “Eh! why—no! not exactly,” said the colonel, who, having the fear of Davy’s Locker before his eyes, seemed rather loath to indulge in anything apocryphal.