exposed to its fury.  During this dreadful storm, above 12 ships were dashed to pieces on the coasts and rocks of the island of Tercera all round about, so that nothing was to be heard but weeping, lamenting, and wailing, now a ship being broken in pieces in one place, then another at a different place, and all the men drowned.  For 20 days after the storm, nothing else was done but fishing for dead men that were continually driving on shore.  Among the rest, the Revenge was cast away on a ledge of rocks near the isle of Tercera, where she split to pieces and sunk, having in her 70 men, Gallegos and Biscaineers and others, with some of the captive English, one only of whom got upon the rock alive, having his head and body all wounded.  Being brought on shore, he told us the sad tidings, and desired to be shriven, after which he presently died.  The Revenge had in her several fine brass pieces of artillery, which were all sunk in the sea; but the islanders had great hopes of weighing them up next summer.

Among those ships that were cast away about Tercera, was one of those fliboats which had been arrested in Portugal for the kings service, named the White Dove, the master of which was one Cornelius Martenson of Schiedam in Holland, having in her 100 soldiers, as was the case in all the rest.  Being overruled by the Spanish captain, so that he could not be master of his own ship, he was sailing about at the mercy of the winds and waves, and came at length in sight of Tercera, whereupon the Spaniards, thinking all their safety consisted in putting into the roads, compelled the master and pilot to make towards the island; and when they remonstrated, saying they would certainly be cast away and all destroyed, the Spanish captain called him a drunkard and heretic, and striking him with a staff, commanded him to do as he was ordered.  Seeing this, the master said, “Well then, since it is your desire to be cast away, I can lose but one life.”  He then made sail for the land, which was on that side of the island where there is nothing but rocks and stones as high as mountains, most terrible to behold.  Several of the inhabitants stood on the cliffs with long ropes, having bundles of cork fastened to one end, to throw down to the men, that they might lay hold of them and save their lives.  Few of them, however, got near enough for this, as most of them were dashed to pieces before they could reach the rocks forming the wall-like shore.  At this time, when approaching the rocks, the master, who was an old man, called his son who sailed with him, and having embraced and taken a last farewell, the good old father desired his son to take no note of him, but to seek and save himself.  “Son, said he, thou art young, and mayst have some hope of saving thy life; but I am old and it is no great matter what becomes of me.”  Thus, shedding many tears, as may well be conceived in such a situation, the ship struck the rocks and went in pieces, the father and son falling into the sea on different sides