tempest blew such a violent gale, that it caused "The William Wallace" to be hurried, with vast impetuosity, through the straits between Fair-Head and the Mull of Cantyre, and then boldly to be at once launched into the Irish Sea.

The storm now raged with such fury, that it was necessary to furl every sail, and to beat about the entire night under bare poles; while the pitchy darkness of the sky, added to the horrors of the storm, made their situation still more alarming and formidable.

The Reverend Chaplain, much fatigued and wearied, thought it advisable to retire below to his hammock; so thought too even the solitary stranger, who, although hitherto he seemed to woo the breeze, and enjoy the storm, yet also thought it prudent to resume his station in the cabin, and descended accordingly.

None now remained upon deck except such of the crew as were upon immediate duty, and who were lashed to the masts; the hatchways were closed down, and the sea, in mountain cataracts, burst over the deck with impetuous roar; while overpowered with fatigue, perhaps too with fear, the passengers fell into a sound sleep. Thus passed away the first tempestuous night of their voyage.

Before the morning watch the wind strangely and perversely changed to the opposite point of the compass, while squall fiercely succeeded squall; and the dawn of day witnessed them coasting, west and by south,

"The storm-swept Orcades," [4]

in a boisterous swollen sea, and beneath a darkened sky. Sorry we are here to have it our duty to narrate that the vessel, probably from the straining of her timbers, unhappily sprung a leak. All hands instantly were at their post, and the crew exerted them-selves to the utmost in closing the chasm, and incessantly, without respite or intermission, plying every pump; and at length their efforts providentially fully succeeded: for what will not determined resolution do, and persevering unabating energy achieve! Relieved from this imminent and impending danger, once more they proceed on their perilous course, amid this fearful warfare of the elements.

The entire of this eventful day the storm raged with unabated fury, the wind continuing still in the same point, and onward tumultuously they were driven by force of wave and wind. Towards night-fall the vessel came close to the Feroe Islands, where it shortly got hemmed in amid a cluster of rocks, not noticed in their charts. The night was pitch-dark. However, after an interval, the clouds partially giving way, the moon, which was nearly full, arose, and afforded a sufficient friendly light for the Captain to ascertain the extent of the danger which he had to encounter. He immediately caused the gunwale to be lightened, by throwing the guns overboard, which effectually raised her, and the waves of the returning tide assisted in extricating the vessel from imminent peril. They at length happily succeeded in clearing the vessel from her jeopardy, and rescuing the crew from impending destruction. Still, however, it was momentarily dreaded that a new leak might break forth, or that the vessel, bulging upon other unknown rocks, might go to pieces, and the sufferers be swallowed up by the treacherous and remorseless deep. These apprehensions continued throughout the entire day.

The storm ere long returned more furious than at its first onset, and soon broadly launched the vessel into the Northern Sea,

"While to the helm unfaithful still she lies."

The masts now became dreadfully shattered from the intensity of the storm. Dangers and difficulties so increased, that all hopes of safety seemed nearly at an end. Upon Providence, nevertheless, still the hapless crew devoutly placed their trust; the Captain, from the very perilous situation in which they were placed, was compelled to try one desperate remedy, namely, to cut away the shrouds, and stay, and with all possible expedition to hew down the mizen-mast. During this awful operation the crew did not conduct them-selves like men without hope, although around them all was danger and despair! They felt, however, fully aware that little less than a miracle could extricate them from the horrors which surrounded them. With instant promptitude having obeyed and executed the orders of their Captain, with bold and skilful celerity they soon lightened the vessel, which bounded with desperate rapidity into the vast and boundless German Ocean: the watery world was now all before them, and Providence their guide!

Once more it was day. Nothing however, worthy of being recorded, occurred at that period, nor during the night.

On the fourth morning a watery sun arose in a hazy sky, they now were close in view of the coast of Austrian-Flanders, with such rapidity, had wind, and tide, and currents impelled them onward. They now proceeded at the surprising rate of twelve knots an hour, the wind and tide conjointly impelling, unassisted by any sail!

On the disastrous afternoon of this day the vessel made a desperate plunge, striking upon a cluster of rocks some leagues distant from land; the shock was so violent that nearly it had split the stern of the gallant ship. Overcome by terror and fatigue, depressed by despair, and more like the dead than the living, they remained awfully wedged in between these dreadful rocks. Eventually, after an interval of suspense and horror, which appeared to all as though it would never end, the force and ascendant power of the buoyant billows heaved the vessel completely over these formidable crags. She was now once more afloat, but her rudder was borne away; and onward she was drifted at the sport and will of the fiercely rolling waves.

Thus rapid was the vessel whirled, the mounting waves every moment dashing in torrents athwart the deck. Again a second shock was encountered. It was then all despair, desperation, madness! But, oh how appalling to every feeling heart was the dreadful cry,

"All's lost! to prayers, to prayers! all's lost!"

Still in this state awfully the vessel rapidly was impelled, and approached more closely to the coast of Austrian-Flanders. But alas! it is our painful lot to record the unhappy fate of "The William Wallace of Ayr;" when approaching Ostend the ill-omened bark struck upon a sand bank, which but too truly is called "Banc-Dangereux;" then her crushing timbers fatally loosened, and, dissevered by the convulsive shock, promiscuously scattered upon the surface of the waves were seen floating the disjoined wreck, shattered spars, divided stores, bales of cargo, &c., along with the mangled corses of the dead, and the struggling bodies of the living, all commingled, and tumultuously undulating upon the agitated billows. But providential it was for the survivors, who, in number, we grieve to state, were but few, that this dreadful catastrophe occurred so closely to the shores of Ostend. Sorry, however, we are to relate that all the crew (except two persons) perished; and that among those who were saved, we have only to count the Captain of the ship, the Mate, the Rev. Doctor M'Kenzie, Colonel Davidson and his servant, these forming the very confined list, we regret to say, of those who survived the terrors of that eventful day.

Impelled by the resistless call of humanity, several boats had put out from the harbour, perceiving the perilous situation of the poor unhappy sufferers; so that when the dread event took place, these were