After some time they discover part of a mast and other wreckage entangled in the Sands, and can only conclude that the vessel has gone utterly to pieces, with the loss of all hands, during the night; they must speed on, and get the poor emigrants cared for on shore with all possible haste. But for the delay that had been occasioned, the steamer would have been far on its way to Ramsgate by this time, while it was yet too dark for them to see any distance; now in the grey light that increases rapidly they can search for any other signs of wreckage. As they proceed down the Prince's channel, and get near to the light-vessel, they see the small remnant of a wreck, which they think may be the bowsprit and jib-boom of a vessel dismasted and on her beam ends; they get nearer to her, and find that she is well over on the north-east side of the Girdler or Shingle Sands. Some of the crew wish to launch the steam tug's small life-boat, eighteen feet long, and make in through the surf to the wreck, to which they think they can see some of the crew clinging; but it is considered too great a risk to take so small a boat through such a broken sea, and it is agreed that they had better go back for the large life-boat. They put back, and passing to leeward of the _Fusilier_, strike the flag half-mast high, as a sign that the boat is to join them. This she speedily does, and they together make for the newly-found wreck; as they approach her, they can see that she is a vessel on her beam ends, with only her foremast standing. The life-boat makes in for her; the men wonder greatly that the vessel has held together so long, for she is broken and torn almost to pieces; the copper is peeled off her bottom, the timbers are started, rent, and twisted; the planking is wrenched off, almost all the cargo is washed out of the shattered hull, and here, and there, the light is to be seen through her bottom; there remains now little more than the skeleton of the ship that a few hours before, taut and trim, had buoyantly bounded over the seas; and where was her gallant crew that had so bravely sailed her then? The foremast, feebly held in position by a remnant of the deck, lies stretched a few feet above the water. The crew and pilot have been lashed to it for many hours, and have, for that time, seemed to be trembling over a fearful and yawning grave; the heavy waves foam up and beat against the hull, and the doomed ship is, bit by bit, being torn further to pieces. The crew, as they cling on, hear the timbers creaking and snapping; the deck was blown up as the water covered it, by the force of the confined air, and its fragments have been swept away in the swift tide.