whole of the crew were in a very weak and exhausted state, and the
greater part of them were also severely bruised and wounded.'

Such is Mr. Lewis's account of the wreck of the Apollo, one of our
finest frigates, and the loss of sixty of her men.

The cause of this catastrophe seems to have been an error in the
reckoning. At twelve o'clock on Sunday, the land was supposed to be
thirty or forty leagues distant, nor were they aware of their true
position when the vessel struck at three o'clock the following
morning, on what was supposed to be an unknown shoal. Never, perhaps,
in the annals of maritime disaster, was there a scene more rife with
horror than that upon which the daylight broke on the morning of the
2nd of April.

The frigate, which but a few hours before had been careering on her
way with her gallant company full of life and energy, now lay a
hapless wreck--her timbers crashing beneath the fury of the waves. The
merchant vessels around were stranded in all directions, and the air
resounded with the despairing shrieks of those on board. The
destruction of the Apollo seemed inevitable; but in this hour of
trial, the captain was firm and resolute, sustaining by words and
example the courage of his crew; and when no other means of escape
presented themselves, he sacrificed his own life in the endeavour to
obtain rescue for those under his charge.

The narrator of this sad tale, has touchingly described in no
exaggerated terms the sufferings of the wretched crowd who were
exposed for nearly three days and nights to the worst of physical and
mental evils--hunger, thirst, cold, and nakedness--in their most