Northern Lights.—High Winds.—Spoke with Captain Clough.—Ships seen in the Distance.—Storm increasing.—No Observations.—Blowing heavily.—Scene awfully sublime.—Ship struck by a Sea.—Shoal Water.—Rocks and Breakers.—Ship unmanageable.—Fore and mizzen Topsails carried away.—Ship striking astern, bow, and midships.—Foremast cut away.—Narrow Escape of Captain Norton.—Mizzenmast gone by the Board.—Sad Condition of the Seamen.—Land in Sight.—Ship drifting towards the Shore.—Undertow.—The Lantern Keg.—Mainmast cut away, and falling towards the Shore.—Men escaping on the Mast.—Trying Scene.—Captain washed ashore.—Affecting Deaths.—Wreck piled up on Shore.—Fire made.—Men perishing with Cold.—Five missing.—Prospects dark.—Destitution.—Tent erected.—Merciful Circumstances connected with the Wreck.

On the 21st of September, we finished cutting in a whale, about twelve o'clock, midnight, wind high from the north-east. The northern lights were uncommonly brilliant, which prognosticated a storm; and the broken water and flying spray round the vessel seemed as if composed of an infinite number of diamonds glistening in the rays of the sun.

The season of the year had now arrived in which, in those high latitudes, sudden changes and violent storms were expected. At three o'clock on the morning of the 22d, the ship was put under short sail; rough; unable to keep fires in the furnace; ship heading to the south-east. We spoke with Captain Clough, who had just taken in a "raft" of blubber. We took a whale; and for a little time the wind moderated, which gave us hope that we should have favorable weather some time longer. Captain Clough left us that day, and turned his ship towards the straits, saying, "I am bound out of the ocean, and have enough." His ship was full; he had thirty-two hundred barrels of oil on board.

We concluded to remain on the ground a while longer, in lat. 68° N. The wind, which had in a measure subsided, now began to rise and increase, until it had reached a heavy gale. We saw in the distance several ships steering for the straits, and bound for the islands. On the 23d, it blew hard, and we were unable to boil.

We judged we were, at this time, about one hundred and fifty miles from land. The weather had been thick for several days past, and therefore we were unable to get an observation. We saw several ships lying to, and heading some one way and some another. The water, we perceived, was very much colored, which indicated that we were drifting towards the eastern shore of the Arctic. At twelve o'clock, wore ship, heading north-west by north. At the same hour that night, wore ship again, heading north-east.

We passed a ship, within the distance of half a a mile, under bare poles, laboring very hard. On the 24th, four o'clock, wore ship north-north-west, wind blowing very heavily from the north-east. We saw great quantities of drift stuff, such as barrels, wood, &c., probably the deck load of some ship swept by the sea. At twelve o'clock, wore ship again; the wind appeared to lull somewhat, but the sea was very rugged; we judged we were about one hundred or one hundred and twenty miles distant from land; weather thick, with rain, sleet, and fog. About one o'clock, on the morning of the 25th, the wind increased, and swept over the ocean with the violence of a hurricane. The darkness of the night added to the tumultuous and mountainous waves that were running at that time; the surface of the ocean lashed into fury by the thickening storm, still gathering its strength; the noble ship now rising the crested billow, and then sinking into the watery valley beneath, and pressed down by the beating and overwhelming elements, made the scene one of indescribable grandeur and awfulness. With the return of morning light, an ugly sea struck the ship, and took her spars from the bow, and carried away one of the starboard boats.

The mate immediately reported to the captain, who was below at the time, that the ship was in shoal water. As soon as he reached the deck, he ordered to set the fore and mizzen topsails. About the same time, the fourth mate reported that there were rocks and breakers just before and under the bows of the ship. From the house, the captain saw projecting rocks through the opening waters, and land all around to the leeward, while the sea was breaking with tremendous violence between the ship and shore.

It now became a certainty, which no earthly power could change, that the ship must go ashore; and the only hope for any one on board was to avoid, if possible, the fatal reef, which appeared to extend out some distance from the land. To strike upon that reef was certain destruction; we saw no way of escape.

The man at the wheel was ordered to put the helm hard up, and at the same time command was given to the seamen to sheet home the fore topsail. The ship immediately paid off two or three points, when she was struck again by another sea, that threw her round on the other tack.

The ship was now in the midst of the rollers, pitching and laboring dreadfully, while the sea was flying all over her deck, and the spray reaching nearly or quite to her fore and main yards. She was utterly unmanageable; and, at this instant, another sea boarded her, and took off three boats. The yards were ordered to be braced round as soon as possible; but, in the act of bracing them, a terrible blast of wind struck and carried away the fore and mizzen topsails, half-sheeted home. The foresail was now ordered to be set, the ship still pitching, tumbling, and rolling frightfully, and tossed about as a mere plaything at the mercy of winds and waves. In the act of setting the foresail, the weather clew was carried away, and with the next sea the ship struck aft very heavily, and knocked her rudder off, and sent the wheel up through the house. From five to eight minutes she struck forward with such stunning and overwhelming effect that the try-works started three or four feet from the deck, and opened a hole so large in her starboard bow that the largest casks came out.

About this time, the foremast was cut away, with the hope of temporarily relieving the foundering vessel. Shortly after this, the ship struck midships; and the dreadful crash which followed showed that her entire framework was shattered, while the standing masts bent to and fro like slender reeds when shaken by the wind. This was in effect the finishing blow; and what was to be done towards rescuing any thing below deck must be done soon or never.

The captain, at this critical juncture, went into the cabin to secure what articles he could, such as clothes, nautical instruments, money, &c. While there, the stern burst in, and the water came in between the opening timbers in such torrents as to send him backward and headlong with the few articles he had hastily gathered, and scattered them in every direction. The floor of the cabin opened beneath his feet. There was no time for delay. His life was in imminent peril. He at once started for the deck, but was unable to reach it on account of the house having been thrown down upon the gangway, and the mizzenmast having gone by the board, one part of which rested upon the rail. All access to the deck by the cabin doors was thus cut off.

Mr. Fisher became aware of the condition of the captain in the cabin, and called to him to come to the skylight; and as he jumped, he was caught by his arms, and drawn up by several who had come to his rescue. On reaching the deck, the captain saw at once the sad condition of his men. The sea was making a clear breach over the vessel, and they were huddled together round the forecastle and forward part of the ship, amazed, stupefied, cold, and shivering, and had apparently given themselves up to the fate which awaited them.

The fog having in a measure cleared away, the land was more plainly seen, and just at hand—not more than three hundred yards distant. The mainmast was still standing; and there was every indication that the entire top of the vessel, including the first and second decks, had become separated from her bottom, and was drifting in towards the shore. This proved to be the case. The standing mast was now inclining towards the shore, which seemed to present the only way to deliverance and life. The captain, therefore, encouraged his men to seize the first opportunity which should occur, and escape to land, and the sooner they did so the safer and better.

As the ship changed her position by the action of the waves, which swept over and around her with resistless fury, the end of the flying jib boom, at one time, was brought quite near the shore. The seamen were again urged to make an effort to save themselves. It was, indeed, a most desperate chance to venture an escape even from a present danger, with the liability of falling into another, unknown, and perhaps more to be dreaded. Though so near the solid land, towards which every eye looked and every heart panted, still the surging billows and receding undertow around the bow of the ship, were sufficient to appall the most courageous mind.

About this time, as near as can be recollected, the cooper and one of the boat steerers, having dropped themselves from the bow, reached land in safety. The captain, having observed that two had gained the shore, and knowing the utter impossibility of getting fire ashore if it was deferred until the breaking up of the ship, and without it all must unavoidably perish, even if they were saved from a watery grave, held up the lantern keg to attract their attention, and, making signs to them as far he was able for them to look after and save it, tossed the keg overboard. It was borne on the advancing and retreating waves back and forth for more than a quarter of a mile, before it was finally secured. In this keg, which was air-tight, there were candles, matches, tinder, and other combustible materials. It was indeed a most timely and fortunate rescue.

An effort was now made to get a line ashore. One of the crew fastened a line round his body, and attempted to reach the shore, the captain paying out the warp as was necessary. But in consequence of the great force of the current and undertow around the bow of the ship, the line swayed out so far that the man was compelled to let it go in order to save his life. It was with the greatest difficulty he reached the shore.

As the only and last resort which remained, offering reasonable prospect of deliverance, the mainmast was cut away. The ship was now lying nearly broadside to the shore, with her deck inboard, and so much heeled that it required the greatest attention to prevent one from falling off. The mast fell in the direction of the shore, and nearly reached land. The sea was still breaking with fearful power over the vessel, and its spray flying in dense masses over every thing around us, and the din of the thundering billows, as they beat upon the wreck and upon the shore, drowned all human voices to silence.

Again the captain passed along to the forward part of the ship, and once more remonstrated, urged and entreated his men to exert themselves for their safety and lives, as they had now the same means of getting ashore that the officers had; and, furthermore, that in a short time the deck would go to pieces, and then there would be but little, if any hope of their being saved. He resolved he would not leave the wreck until he saw his men in a fair way of escape. Up to this time, no one, it is supposed, had been lost; several had reached land in safety, but those still on the wreck were exposed every moment to a watery grave.

At length, the steerage boy lowered himself down from the bow, and with manly efforts sought to gain the land. He was immediately swept away, and was never seen after. About this time, many began to crawl down on the mainmast, still lying in the direction of the shore. In working their way along on the mast, their progress was not only slow, but they were chilled, benumbed with cold, their clothes thoroughly wet to their backs, and the sea at the same time flying over them. It was with the greatest difficulty they could hold on. The sight was a most affecting one. It was a period of painful anxiety. How many of these seamen will be saved?—how many will be lost?

While attempting thus to escape upon the mast, the advancing or the returning waves would frequently wash numbers off, and then they would struggle with all their energies to regain the mast or the rigging; while those who were more fortunate, and had retained their hold, would aid them as far as possible in getting on to the mast again. It was a most trying and heart-rending scene.

The captain and Mr. Fisher were on the quarter deck, and observed a part of a boat hanging by the side of the ship; and they proposed to get into it, and, if possible, reach the land. Their purpose was to hold on to the boat, and thus be borne by the sea towards the shore. They did get into it; but whether it was carried towards the shore or not, or what became of the piece of the boat, they have no recollection. They were struck by a sea, and probably stunned. The first returning consciousness the captain had, he found himself floating alongside of the ship. He knew not what had become of Mr. Fisher until some time after. He regained a foothold on the quarter deck again, and seemed awakened more fully than ever to the conviction that he must do something, and that soon, in order to save his own life. He was chilled, benumbed, and exhausted; chances of escape appearing less and less probable, as a last resort, said Captain Norton, "I threw myself into the water, among casks, broken pieces of the wreck, and, besides, my own men floating all around me, that I might, if possible, gain the shore. I was probably insensible for some time. I knew nothing of what took place around me. When I came to myself, I found I was lying near the edge of the water, having been cast ashore by some friendly wave. I looked around, and the first man I saw was the fourth mate, floating about in the water a short distance from me. Mr. Fisher was washed ashore about the same time I was. We hastened to the fourth mate as soon as we were able; and one held on to the hand of the other, and hauled him ashore, supposing him to be dead. He, however, revived."

A heavy sea came along, and washed a number from the mast, and brought them ashore; but one man was carried off by the undertow outside the ship. The next sea brought him near to the shore again; and four of those on shore took hold of each other's hands, and ventured as far as safety would allow into the water, and succeeded in drawing him safe to land.

The condition of the carpenter was painful and distressing in the highest degree; yet no one could help him—no earthly power could afford him any assistance. He was plainly seen by those on shore. He was probably washed from the mast, with some others, and carried out to the deck again; and while there, he was doubtless caught in between the opening planks and timbers, and held fast by his legs; and it may be he was otherwise injured. He answered no signs made to him from the shore; he made no effort to free himself or to escape; and, in his case, an escape was an impossibility. In that position, his head dropped upon his breast, and there he died. Soon after, another sea struck the deck, and broke it all to pieces. The largest part that could be seen was that from the bow to the fore chains.

Another painful occurrence was witnessed by those on the shore. A Portuguese sailor was discovered floating about among the broken pieces of the wreck, among casks, barrels, &c. His efforts for self-preservation were remarkable. His shipmates would most gladly have given him a helping hand, but it was impossible to do so. Every heart was moved with sympathy for him. As the towering wave would hurl towards him some piece of the wreck, or a cask or barrel, he was seen to dive, and thus avoid being crushed by it. This he did repeatedly, until, from exhaustion or injury, or both, he sunk to rise no more.

We had three dogs on board, but they were all either killed or drowned; and of three hogs, only one got ashore alive. Within two hours from the time the ship first struck, the wreck was piled up on shore, opposite to where the disaster occurred, to the height of ten feet or more. Spars, timbers, planks, casks both whole and broken, shooks, &c., were thrown together in frightful confusion; and in this promiscuous mass we saw what was once our home and hope on the deep. Here we saw before our eyes a striking illustration of the feebleness of man's frail bark, and with what ease it is torn to pieces, and scattered far and wide, by the resistless power of the elements.

All who were living of our number had reached the shore. Those that were saved had become greatly chilled, and some were nearly perishing. Notwithstanding it was storming at the time, one of the first efforts of a part of our men was to make a fire over a cliff some little distance from the shore, affording a partial protection from the wind and rain.

In searching for articles as they came ashore, we discovered a small keg of spirits, which, in our condition of cold and destitution, was somewhat reviving to all our minds. Five casks of bread, also, were cast upon the beach; but neither beef nor pork was found. The latter probably sunk where the ship left her bottom.

The whole company was soon gathered round the fire, in order to dry our clothes, and, if possible, to obtain some additional warmth. All, however, of our former number were not there; it was a solemn gathering, and the appearance of all of us indicated that we had a narrow escape. Alas! some of our comrades and fellow-seamen were left behind in the surges of the deep, or mingled with the floating wreck, or cast with it upon the shore. The roll was called by the captain, and thirty-three answered to their names; five were numbered with the dead.

The few hours of the past had been full of painful and distressing interest. The majority of our number had been mercifully rescued; but we were cast shelterless, with a small supply of provisions, with no clothing, only what was upon our backs, upon the most barren and desolate region of the earth.

What were our present prospects? They were dark and ominous indeed. A new voyage, in effect, was just opening before us, with diminished numbers, of the progress and termination of which we could not even entertain a reasonable conjecture; yet one thing was certain—its commencement was inauspicious. And, though hope might measurably sustain our minds, still the prospective view before this company of castaway seamen—the rigors of the arctic winter before us, wholly unprepared with clothing to withstand the merciless and long-continued cold of the north, uncertain whether there would be any deliverance for us by any friendly sail, or what would be our reception among the natives,—indeed, the prospect before us was any thing but cheering and encouraging. But here we were, in the providence of God, vessel and boats gone, at an unknown distance from civilized life and from the settlements of the natives; this was our present lot. Self-preservation, therefore, prompted us to make immediate efforts, in anticipation of what we might need in the future. A common misfortune united all our interests and exertions.

The captain ordered that every thing of value to them in their present circumstances found among the wreck—such as provisions, casks of sails, pieces of canvas, ropes, broken spars, tools, whale gearing, &c.—should be selected, and brought out of the reach of the surf and the accumulation of ice upon the shore. More than a thousand barrels of oil had drifted ashore, and could have been saved had some vessel arrived about that time. A temporary tent was erected as soon as possible, in which various articles could be stored, as well as afford some protection to us from the inclemency of the weather.

There were two circumstances exceedingly favorable in our disaster. It might have been much worse, and no one might have lived to relate the sad event. We realized, upon the review, that this would have been our certain fate, had the ship gone ashore in the night time. It was, however, daylight, and thus we had a clear view of our condition, danger, and prospects. Had it been otherwise, and the same general features of the wreck been transferred to the darkness of night, we do not believe that one soul of us would have been saved.

The other favorable circumstance was, we were not cast upon a rocky part of the coast, or against some high and precipitous cliffs, which lift their bold and defiant fronts against the surges of the ocean far into deep water; to strike against such as we saw, would, at the first concussion, have been the last of the ship and of all on board.

In the good providence of God, however, we drifted upon a part of the coast which presented, for half of a mile or more, quite a plain, sandy beach. We were, therefore, wrecked in the most fortunate spot. On both sides of us, to the west and south-east, cliffs began to rise, and broken and abrupt ledges extended some distance into the sea. Though five of our number found a watery grave, yet the fact that so many of us reached the shore was a matter of profound gratitude to that God who controls the elements, and before whom the sparrow does not fall to the ground without his notice.