Their voices must
have been drowned by the waves. By twelve many more had perished. Some
from cold and fatigue could no longer retain their hold; every instant
those who still hung on, were shocked by the splash, which told that
another of their number had yielded to his fate. In a short time, boats
were again heard near them, but they did not, though repeatedly hailed,
come near enough to take any on board; an act of cold and calculating
timidity, which could not be justified by the excuse, that they feared
lest all, eager to be saved, should have jumped down, and borne them to
the bottom.
At length two sloops, which had heard the guns of distress, anchored
close to the wreck, took off the survivors, twenty at a time, from the
shrouds, and in the morning conveyed them to Weymouth; so far from
crowding into the boats, they got off one by one, as called upon by
those who commanded the boats. One still remained; the sixth mate
ascended the mast and found him in a state of insensibility; he bore him
down on his back, and with his burden reached the boat in safety; but
the delivered person died the next day.
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