THE WRECK OF THE "GROSVENOR."

THE
WRECK OF THE "GROSVENOR:"

AN ACCOUNT OF
THE MUTINY OF THE CREW AND THE
LOSS OF THE SHIP
WHEN TRYING TO MAKE THE BERMUDAS.

IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. I.

LONDON:
SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE & RIVINGTON,
CROWN BUILDINGS, 188, FLEET STREET.
1877.

(All rights reserved.)

LONDON:
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS,
STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.

1

THE WRECK OF THE "GROSVENOR."

CHAPTER I.

There was every appearance of a south-westerlywind. The coast of France, whichhad been standing high and shining uponthe horizon on the port bow, and so magnifiedby the clear northerly air that youcould discern, even at that distance, thedim emerald sheen of the upper slopes andthe streaky shadows thrown by projectingpoints and elbows on the white ground, wasfast fading, though the sun still stood withinan hour of its setting beyond the bleakForeland. The north wind, which had2rattled us with an acre of foam at our bowsright away down the river, and had nowbrought us well abreast of the Gull lightship,was dropping fast. There was barelyenough air to keep the royals full, and theship's number, which I had just hoisted atthe peak—a string of gaudy flags whichmade a brilliant figure against the whitecanvas of the spanker—shook their foldssluggishly.

The whole stretch of scene, from theNorth Foreland down to the vanishingFrench headlands miles away yonder, waslovely at that moment—full of the greatpeace of an ocean falling asleep, of gentlymoving vessels, of the solemn gathering ofshadows. The town of Deal was upon thestarboard bow, a warm cluster of houses,with a windmill on the green hills turningdrowsily, here and there a window glitteringwith a sudden beam of light, an inclined3beach in the foreground with groups ofboats high and dry upon it, and a line offoam at its base which sang upon theshingle so that you could hear it plainlyamid intervals of silence on board the ship.The evening sun shining over the giantbrow of the South Foreland struck the greyoutline of the cliff deep in the still water,but the clear red blaze fell far and wideover the dry white downs of Sandwich andthe outlying plains, and threw the distantcountry into such bold relief against theblue sky that, from the sea, it looked closeat hand, and but a short walk from theshore.

There were three or four dozen vesselsat anchor in the Downs waiting for achange of wind or anticipating a dead calmfor some hours. A few others, like ourselves,were swimming stealthily over theslack tide, with every foot of their canvas

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