The glare of the torches moving to and fro on the shore denoted the inclination of the people to render assistance to the unfortunate vessel.  Voices were heard hailing the ship, but it was impossible to distinguish the words.  The boatswain and carpenter, and some others, declared that the men said, ’You are in St. Andrew’s Bay—­come on shore,’ Upon this, the boatswain and gunner volunteered to land with two men in a small prize skiff, for the purpose of reconnoitring the beach.  This proposition was immediately rejected by the captain, who assembled the principal officers on the forecastle and declared to them his determination not to suffer a single boat to be lowered during the night—­but that they should all stick to the ship until daylight, as the only chance of preserving their lives.

Happily the captain’s orders were obeyed, though doubtless many would feel tempted to risk a landing.  The Pallas became more and more uneasy—­her rudder was carried away, and the sea broke completely over her.  The men were each served with a dram, and were still kept at the pumps until three o’clock A.M., when the main beam broke and the others began to give way in succession.  In order to lighten the vessel, the mainmast was cut away.  At first, this did not appear to have the desired effect—­but in all probability it would have fallen of itself and have done injury to the people; it now hung over the side, and promised to serve as a raft in case of necessity.  The foremast was then cut away, and the mizenmast was doomed to follow—­but the axe and tomahawk, which had been carried forward, were lost, or washed away.  The ship by this time had fallen upon her beam ends, and the sea was making breaches over her, so that every individual had enough to do to keep himself from being washed overboard.

About four o’clock in the morning, the spirits of the crew were revived by seeing a boat appear between the wreck and a large fire that had been kept burning immediately opposite.  This was a welcome sight, and it was hailed by three loud and hearty cheers from the Pallas.

Many of the men by this time were suffering much from cold, hunger, and fatigue, and those who were able, got into the weather chains for safety and shelter.  Daylight discovered to them the real position of the ship; the light which had been supposed to be on the Isle of May was that of a lime-kiln on the main land, and as the Bass and North Berwick Law were plainly visible, it was evident from their bearings that the frigate was on shore near to Dunbar.  She was now a total wreck—­the bottom had separated to some extent amidships from her upper works; a considerable portion of her floor timber was lying about ten yards to windward of the rest of the hull, and the iron ballast within this frame of timber was thus open to view.  It was now time for every man to provide as far as possible for his own safety.  A Portuguese sailor, an excellent swimmer, was the first to quit the wreck and swim on shore; several men attempted to follow his example, but five of them perished.  The life-boat from Dunbar, which had been launched with great difficulty on account of the heavy surf beating on the rocks, reached the ship at ten o’clock in the morning of the 19th, and she took off a boat-load from the wreck and landed them in safety.