A WRECK. 8? 



on deck, under the impression that we were about 

 to run into some unthought of danger. It was 

 (he hull of a vessel, mastless, and lying upon her 

 beam ends, which we had nearly gotten foul of. 

 The sea ran too high for us to have heard a cry, 

 had there been any one on the wreck, and the 

 night was too dark to distinguish aught else than 

 a huge shapeless mass, wallowing in the waves 

 which broke against it. 



We shortened sail instantly, and lay-to till day- 

 break, in order to ascertain beyond doubt whether 

 or no the wreck was tenantless. But when day 

 broke, the hulk had disappeared, and after cruis- 

 ing about the spot for two hours, we were reluc- 

 tantly compelled to stand on our course not 

 knowing but that to that wreck some poor wretch 

 was clinging with the fixed grasp of despair, 

 hoping against hope that his faint cry would be 

 heard above the roar of the sea. 



With a favoring breeze the thousand miles of 

 ocean which separate Tristan from the Cape of 

 Good Hope were soon left behind us. It was 

 upon a sunny forenoon, as we were rushing 

 through the water, before the wind, with top-mast 

 and lower studding sails set on both sides, that 

 we witnessed a most beautiful and exciting race. 

 Th e log had just been hove, and proclaimed the 

 ship to l.e running at the rate of twelve knots per 

 hour, or a mile e^ery five minutes. Just then, 

 and while we, who had superintended the reeling 

 up of the line, were still upon the poop, four large 



