The Bridgewater, he says, “was just beginning to draw off, when the Porpoise was scarcely a ship’s length to leeward, settling with her head towards us, and her broadside upon the reef; her foremast was gone and the sea breaking over her.  At this moment we perceived the Cato within half a cable’s length, standing stem on for us.  I hailed to put their helm a-starboard, by which means she just cleared us, and luffed up under our stern; had she fallen on board of us the consequences must have been dreadful indeed.”  On the 18th, “When the day was broke, we had the mortification to perceive the Cato had shared the fate of the Porpoise; the bow and bow sprit of the latter only at intervals appearing through the surf. (The Porpoise and Cato were mistaken for each other.) The latter lay with her bottom exposed to the sea, which broke with tremendous fury over her; not a mast standing.  Finding we could not weather the reef, and that it was too late had it been in our power to give any assistance; and still fearing that we might be embayed or entangled by the supposed chain or patches; all therefore that remained for us to do was either by dint of carrying sail to weather the reef to the southward, (meaning the Cato’s Bank,) or, if failing in that, to push to leeward and endeavour to find a passage through the patches of reef to the northward.  At ten a.m., we found by chronometer we had got considerably to the westward; and that it would be impossible, with the wind as it was then blowing strong from the S. E. with a heavy sea, to weather the southern reef; we therefore determined, while we had the day before us, to run to the westward of the northern reef.”

“At two p.m. we got sight of the reef bearing N. N. E. At five p.m. we could perceive the wrecks, and ascertained the westernmost extent of the reef to lay in 155 deg. 42’ 30” east longitude.”

“After passing the reef we lay too for the night; and in the morning we lost sight cc of it, having drifted to the northward.”

Such is the substantial part of Mr. Palmer’s account, omitting his own fears and congratulations, and his “most painful reflexions on the sufferings of the shipwrecked.”  Nothing is said of the sand bank; but I have been favoured with a copy of the journal of Mr. Williams, third mate of the Bridgewater, and the following passages are taken from it.

“At half past seven a.m. (Aug. 18.) saw the reef on our weather bow, and from the mast head we saw the two ships, and to leeward of them a sand bank.  The weather abated much, we set all our sails, and every man rejoiced that they should have it in their power to assist their unfortunate companions; as there was every probability of our going within two miles of the reef.  The morning threatened; but before the wind increased we had time to satisfy ourselves if there were any still in existence; we had nothing to apprehend but what could be seen before we approached so near.  The ships were very distinctly