where the capsized boat was floating, their boat was swamped almost level to her thwarts, and two of the men were washed clean out of her. The pump was set going, and the boat bailed out with their caps, &c., as far as possible. They then made a second attempt to row the boat against the sea, which was as unsuccessful as before. Meantime, poor Burgoyne was still clinging to the pinnace, in “a storm of broken waters.” When the launch was swept towards him once, one of the men on board offered to throw him an oar, which he declined, saying, nobly, “For God’s sake, men, keep your oars: you will want them.” This piece of self-abnegation probably cost him his life, for he went down shortly after, following “the six hundred” of his devoted crew into “the valley of death.” The launch was beaten hither and thither; and a quarter of an hour after the _Captain_ had capsized, sighted the lights of one of their own ships, which was driven by in the gale, its officers knowing nothing of the fate of these unfortunates, or their still more hapless companions. Mr. May, the gunner, took charge of the launch, and at daybreak they sighted Cape Finisterre, inside which they landed after twelve hours’ hard work at the oars. [Illustration: THE “CAPTAIN” IN THE BAY OF BISCAY.] One man, when he found the vessel capsizing, crawled over the weather-netting on the port side, and performed an almost incredible feat. It is well told in his own laconic style:—“Felt ship heel over, and felt she would not right. Made for weather-hammock netting. She was then on her beam-ends. Got along her bottom by degrees, as she kept turning over, until I was where her keel would have been if she had one. The seas then washed me off. I saw a piece of wood about twenty yards off, and swam to it.” In other words, he got over her side, and walked _up_ to the bottom! While in the water, two poor drowning wretches caught hold of him, and literally tore off the legs of his trousers. He could not help them, and they sank for the last time.