the confused mass of cabins, furniture, and
clothing, had not been washed overboard.

The wreck was, after great exertion, cut
adrift; but we were at the mercy of the
waves, which rolled over us from side to side,
lashing in upon us furiously, carrying away
all our boats, hencoops, and sky-lights. The
ship too appeared to be settling down. The
well was sounded, and eleven feet of water
reported. The order was then given to send
a gang of hands to the pumps, and another
to lighten the ship by throwing overboard
some of the cargo. It was found impracticable
to obey either command. The uppermost
part of the cargo consisted of Chinese
umbrellas, packed in cases that contained
one hundred each. They were very light;
and, when thrown overboard, were always
again washed on deck. The ship tossed like
a log on the water; and, finding that we
could not get rid of the cargo while the sea
was continually pouring down the hatchways,
the order was given to desist. Men
were not more successful at the pumps.

I have before said that the bulwarks were
washed partially in board, and that the cabin
furniture was strewn over the deck. The
boxes of umbrellas added bulk to the confused
mass; which formed a wild heap, shifting and
rolling constantly from side to side; sweeping
the deck, and preventing any one from
standing on it. Nor could we, with all our
efforts, get rid of the load. The weight of
it was so enormous, that it was dashed to
and fro against the sides of the ship with the
force of a battering-ram; opening the ship
out so much, that several articles fell through
the deck, together with much water. There
were by this time seventeen feet of water in
the hold, and the vessel was quite
unmanageable. The crew were powerless; night
gathered about us, and the deck ran level
with the sea. The chief officer told the
captain that he thought we must be going down.
The crew had for the last thirty-six hours
been served only with the allowance of a
couple of cabin biscuits and a glass of rum.
As no fire could be kept alight, we were now
again served with the same quantity; but
what we needed most was water. A very small
supply had been on deck, and we dared not
open the hatches to get more.

In this condition night overtook us. The
wind howled, and the sea made breaches over
us. We had worked our strength away, and
were entirely worn out with fatigue. Hope
was fast ebbing: the Lascar crew, huddled
up close together under the topgallant-foresail,
frantically called on Allah and on
Mahomet his prophet to come to their aid
and rescue them; offering up also large
quantities of incense to propitiate. Aft, under the
poop deck, just abreast the stump of the mizen
mast, were the captain and officers waiting
their doom. Not a word was uttered: every
man's thoughts were with his home or
with God. The second officer had with him
on board his younger brother as a passenger;
and for hours the two brothers sat hand in
hand, exchanging rarely a few words. One
murmured occasional regrets for mis-spent
years of his past life: the other hushed him
then with words of hope. They spoke
together most about their mother. How many
years of suspense she would have to bear,
and after all not hear of her two sons; each
saying ,to the other, that he could bear his
own fate quietly if he could be assured of the
other's safety, that he might take tidings
home. They seemed to wish that one of them
should live, not for his own sake, but for the
sake of their mother.

Thus passed the night until two in the
morning, when the typhoon had reached its
utmost fury. Rain fell in torrents, lightning
flashed, thunder rolled ceaselessly, the wind
veering round to all parts of the compass.
At length the foremast—the only remaining
mast —broke in two places, the head
going over one side and the centre falling
over the other. The crew gave
themselves up as wholly lost, expecting to go
down every instant; but that which to us
appeared the finishing disaster saved the
vessel. In a few moments a sensible
difference was felt in her motion, and she became
much more easy. The mast floating a-head
had become a kind of a stop-water for the ship
— it kept her head to the wind, and broke
the force of the waves. The typhoon also
was at last passing away; so that by daylight
no sign of it remained but the turbulence of
the waters, and even that was rapidly
subsiding. Those of the crew who were capable
(many were utterly exhausted) then set to
work to clear the decks of the enormous mass
of lumber. That labour they got through by
noonday, while gangs at the pumps were
relieving one another every hour. After three
days and nights of incessant labour the good
ship was once more dry, and in fifteen days
arrived at Singapore, under jury-masts, in safety.

                     BRAN.*

.

* This ballad commemorates the great Battle of Kerloan
fought in the tenth century, Kerloan is a small village
situated on the coast of the country of Leon, one of the
ancient divisions of Brittany. Evan the Great then and
there challenged the men of the North (Normans). The
illustrious Breton chief compelled them to retreat; but
they carried away many prisoners when they embarked;
and, among them, was a warrior named Bran, grandson of
an earl of the same name, who is often mentioned in the
Acts of Brittany, Near Kerloan, on the sea-coast, there
still exists a small village, where most probably Bran was
made prisoner. It may be necessary to add that Breton
traditions frequently represent the dead appearing in the form of birds, and that the love of country and of home, is to this day a passionate feeling among the Bretons. Bran, besides being a man's name, signifies also a crow in the Breton language.

"Wounded sore was the youthful knight,
Grandson of Bran, at Kerloan fight.

In that bloody field by the wild sea-shore,
Last of his race, was he wounded sore