ship foundering at her anchors.

About eight o'clock, loud above the howling of the tempest and the
booming of the minute gun, arose the wild cry of _fire_: and thick
smoke was discernible from the shore, issuing from the hatches. Now
were the opposing elements of air, fire, and water combined for the
destruction of the ill-fated ship. For an instant, all stood
paralysed; but it was only for an instant. Again the voices of the
officers were raised in command, and every man was ready at his post.

The smoke came up from the hatches in such dense volumes, that all
attempts to go below to extinguish the fire were abortive. Each man
felt that his last hour was come,--there was not a shadow of hope that
their lives could be saved; it was but a choice of death by fire or
water: to quit the ship must be fatal; they had seen the boat and its
crew swallowed up by the yawning waves, when the tempest raged less
fiercely than now, and she was too far from the shore to afford even a
ray of hope that the strongest swimmer might gain the beach. On the
other hand, to remain on board was to encounter a still more terrible
death--a burning funeral pile amidst the waters. While they hesitated
in doubt and horror, one of their fears was relieved,--the heavy sea
that washed incessantly over the wreck extinguished the fire. The ship
continued to drive at the mercy of the waves till about ten o'clock,
when she stranded, broadside to the shore, heeling on her port side
towards the sea.

The captain then ordered the main and mizen masts to be cut away, and
the foremast soon afterwards went by the board. At this juncture, a
man of the name of Connolly, a favourite with both officers and crew,
volunteered to jump overboard with a deep-sea line attached to his