Not a breath of wind was stirring. Everything
portended a gale. As we lay slowly rolling from side to side, both
ship and boat were sometimes plainly visible, and then again both
would disappear, for what seemed an age, in the deep trough of the
South Atlantic rollers.
For two hours we could see the smoke pouring from various portions of
the ill-fated barque. Our men, who had brought off the last of her
crew, reported that, as they left her, flames were just beginning to
burst from the fore-hatchway; and it was therefore certain that the
rescue had not taken place an hour too soon. Whilst we were at dinner,
Powell called us up on deck to look at her again, when we found that
she was blazing like a tar-barrel. The captain was anxious to stay by
and see the last of her, but Tom was unwilling to incur the delay
which this would have involved. We accordingly got up steam, and at
nine p.m. steamed round the 'Monkshaven,' as close as it was deemed
prudent to go. No flames were visible then; only dense volumes of
smoke and sparks, issuing from the hatches. The heat, however, was
intense, and could be plainly felt, even in the cold night air, as we
passed some distance to leeward. All hands were clustered in our
rigging, on the deck-house or on the bridge, to see the last of the
poor 'Monkshaven,' as she was slowly being burnt down to the water's
edge.
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