There is something peculiarly interesting to a seaman in the assembling of ships after a gale of wind; it occasions a sensation which a landsman can never feel, unless it is that sort of melancholy satisfaction when friends meet who have surmounted adversity together, but with the apprehension of similar calamity before them. Several of the convoy were yet undiscovered, and as the evening was closing in, the heavy report of a distant gun came booming on the waters. Another and another followed in rapid succession, and the frigate’s course was directed towards the spot from whence the sounds proceeded. The sun went down in glory; its radiance tinged the bosom of the liquid element, but it never rose again on those whose signals of distress we heard. They must have seen his last beams arching the heavens with their golden brightness, and light and hope must have expired to them for ever. The wind opposed our progress, and the swell still rolled against us, though now it was only the heaving of the sea without its breaking violence. Still we approached nearer to the object of our search, as the noise of the guns was more distinct, and the flashes were plainly visible. At length, about midnight, by the help of glasses, a dismasted ship was distinguished rolling like a log upon the waters. Every nerve was strained, every effort was made to intimate that assistance was at hand, and the boats were prepared to give succour, or to snatch from destruction. The sight was eagerly bent towards the spot where the clear horizon was broken by the dark object of our good intentions. Suddenly the curve appeared connected; in vain the eye sought the vessel in distress; for nothing obstructed the view of sky and ocean, and “She’s gone! she’s gone!” was simultaneously exclaimed by officers and men. Yes! she was gone; and the gallant ship, that had endured the fury of the tempest, sunk when its wrath was spent. But that tempest had doubtless shaken her stout frame and rent her joints asunder. Yet it was hard to perish almost within the grasp of safety. Hopes were still entertained that some, if not all, had escaped in the boats. Our own were hoisted out, and having neared the supposed spot, were immediately despatched. The morning dawned in magnificence and splendour; the sun rose in glorious majesty, but his earliest beams glanced on a scattered wreck that told a tale of death. The boats were actively employed in passing to and fro, but no appearance of human being could be discerned. The launch was discovered bottom upwards, and another boat broken nearly in two. The truth was soon disclosed, for the name, ATLAS, on the stern of the launch, informed us that nearly two hundred victims had perished in the deep. How the catastrophe had happened could only be matter for conjecture.