him. On the forecastle, about 250 men were drawing water, and throwing
it upon the fire as far aft as possible.

For nearly four hours every exertion was made to subdue the flames.
Officers and men behaved with heroic courage and self-possession; but
in spite of their almost superhuman efforts, the flames rolled on, and
the destruction of the ship became inevitable.

With fruitless toil the crew oppose the flame,
No art can now the spreading mischief tame.

And many of that gallant company verified the poet's description:
almost maddened by the intense heat, they sprung overboard and
perished.

Some, when the flames could be no more withstood,
By wild despair directed, 'midst the flood,
Themselves in haste from the tall vessel threw,
And from a dry to liquid ruin flew.
Sad choice of death, when those who shun the fire,
Must to as fierce an element retire.

Lieut. Archibald Duff, who had been alarmed by the firing of guns,
attempted to get out of the ward-room door, but was driven back by the
smoke. He at last succeeded in scrambling out of the quarter gallery,
and reached the poop, from whence he jumped into the sea, and was
picked up by the launch, when in the act of casting off the tow-rope.
He had hardly left the ship when the mizenmast fell over the side, by
which great numbers were thrown into the water, and left struggling in
the waves; for, as the launch had only one oar, and neither sail nor