We brought up that night, and got under weigh next afternoon; anchored again at dusk, and very unfortunately, just before daybreak, our jolly-boat broke adrift, and was carried away by the tide. The gig was manned, and sent after her, and we followed in the vessel, as soon as we could get our anchor: we picked up both boats, but not without a great deal of trouble; the gig we hoisted up on the starboard quarter, and the jolly-boat was towed astern. We anchored again at night, and next morning started with a fine fair wind, expecting to be at Chusan in a day or two. At this time all the marines but one, two of the first-class boys, and Webb and Wombwell, were ill of the dysentery, leaving very few hands to work the ship. At nine o'clock on Tuesday morning, the 15th of September, I was relieved from the wheel, and went below to look after Webb and Wombwell, and to get my breakfast. About half past eleven, whilst attending on the sick, I heard the master order the anchor to be let go. I immediately jumped on deck, ran forward, and let go the stopper; the vessel was now striking heavily aft, all the chain on deck (about sixty fathoms) ran out with so much velocity that the windlass caught fire. The vessel being by the stem, and catching the ground there, the anchor holding her forward, she could not get end on to the tide, and was consequently broadside on, and as it was running like a sluice, she was capsized in a moment. When the anchor was let go, Twizell and I ran aft, let go the main top-gallant and top-sail haulyards, and were clewing the yards down with the larboard clewlines, when I felt the ship going over. I directly seized hold of the main topmast backstay, and swung myself on to her side, as she was falling: Twizell caught hold of one of the shrouds of the main rigging, and did the same. At this moment I suppose Mr. Noble to have been thrown overboard--I heard him call out to his wife, "Hold on Anne," but did not see him, and the tide must have carried him away, and of course he was drowned.[1]