In a single moment the men in the boat seemed to take in at a glance all that transpired on board. They saw the stem of the vessel rise so high, that her keel was completely out of water as far as the foremast. The boatswain, the butcher, the baker, and the purser’s mate, it is said, had resolved to attempt their escape in the remaining boat over the cuddy, which was already provisioned and launched; but no sooner were these men ready to put off, than the sinking vessel sank beneath them, making, in her descent, a very whirlpool of angry and confounding waters, and the escaping ones in the cutter saw their comrades swallowed up quickly and disappear with the lost ship. They saw young Angell going down while standing at his old post of duty: for a moment they saw two men with life-belts struggling amid mountains of water: they rose with the waves, and then descended into the deep, deep grave which the sea formed for them, and then not a trace of men or of ship was to be seen! The gale thundered so furiously, that if there was a cry from the sinking ship, it was not heard. Once more to the bottom of the Bay of Biscay had gone a noble ship and valuable cargo; but O! saddest of all, more than two hundred forms, that a few days before had been seen sitting in mirth and friendliness around many an English fireside, had gone down too. And once more the billows rolled on, curling their monstrous heads, as if in contempt of the beings who would seek to master them when once they rose in their terrible might and majesty. [Illustration] CHAPTER X. THE LIGHT BEHIND THE CLOUD. Was there such a light? It was one of the saddest of calamities, desolating at a stroke many a bright home, and nipping in the bud some of the fondest hopes and purposes. Was there such a light? The disaster swept away two hundred and twenty lives, around which many other lives twined like the gentle tendrils of a vine, and who will, perhaps, wither now that the props to which they sweetly clung have been torn ruthlessly away. Was there such a light? The aged and the young went down together into the same grave. The infant child of four months old was dashed far away from the sinking mother’s breast, and heroism of the loftiest type received no higher reward than the dullest, basest cowardice. Was there such a light? The refined scholar, for whom his pupils wait--the tender father, for whom a widow and six children, with only slender means for their support, anxiously look out--the gently strong John Woolley has gone down into the deep, and the sea has taken no more account of his worth and power than it has of the fool.