This was the memorable storm on the 28th of December, 1793. So tremendous became the hurricane before sunset of the day following its commencement, that the Babet became literally buried in the tremendous seas. She had lost her bowsprit, close to the stem, a great portion of her bulwarks, and all her boats, and just as night set in, a sea of terrific bulk and fury broke on her larboard bow; fortunately, it was expected, and the crew saved themselves from being washed overboard by timely precaution; but for several moments all thought the corvette was sinking, when a tremendous crash took place, and both main and fore masts went over the side, a furious sea striking her at the same time, fortunately driving her right round before the tempest. Holding on by ropes stretched across the decks, Captain O’Loughlin and William Thornton called out to the crew to cut away the wreck with their axes, and two men were lashed at the wheel to keep her steady before the storm. “Be St. Patrick, William,” said the Commander, giving himself a shake, “it was nearly up with us. We shall drive ashore before morning, I fear.” “God forbid!” said our hero, thinking of the terrified and dismayed females fastened down below. “She is quite tight yet, the carpenter says; very little water in her.” “So far so well,” said the Captain; “but all depends upon the distance we are from the land. This morning, you know, I calculated as the wind blew that we were about two-and-forty miles from the Spanish coast, in a direct line. As we are going now we shall run aground somewhere between Pralamos and Ampurias, for the force of the hurricane came from the east and south.” A change was coming over the elements as he spoke; a furious deluge of rain, accompanied with continued peals of thunder took place. Gradually the wind began to lull, and before an hour was out, a ceaseless torrent of rain was the only remains of the tempest, excepting, of course, the sea, which for several hours would remain in a terribly disturbed state. The great danger to be apprehended in the cessation of the hurricane was the Babet’s getting broadside on to the sea, in her perfectly powerless state. “We shall have the gale out from the Gulf of Lyons before morning,” observed Captain O’Loughlin to our hero. “We are in a nice mess. You may manage to get down below, however, and see how our poor passengers get on; they must be awfully frightened.” “Sad loss, our masts,” remarked the midshipman, whilst some of the crew were removing the tarpauling over the companion. “Faith, it’s just what I expected,” said O’Loughlin. “Look at the hasty way we were fitted out; and yet there was no help for it. In the confusion, we were over-masted, too, and the rigging quite new. I’ll venture to say many of the smaller craft foundered in the gale—the heaviest I ever remember.”