Having partially repaired damages, Admiral Reynolds weighed anchor on the 17th December, and proceeded, in consort with the Defence and Cressy, to convoy a homeward-bound fleet of merchantmen.

On the 23rd, another north-westerly gale was encountered, on the coast of Jutland.  At midnight, signals were made to wear, but owing to the disabled state of the St. George, this was found impossible.  In the hope of bringing her head round to the wind, an anchor was let go, but the hawser, catching under her keel, tore away the temporary rudder, and snapped itself with the strain, and again the ship fell off.  The captain gave orders to strike the lower yards and topmasts, and to lighten the vessel.  Between five and six in the morning of the 24th, the report of a gun was heard from the Defence, which was supposed to have got on shore about two miles and a half off.  A short time after, the St. George struck, and drifted towards the shore, and from this moment all hope of saving the ship vanished.

Upon examining the well, the carpenter reported ten feet water in the hold; and this rose so rapidly, that in the space of half an hour it reached the lower deck, driving the people to the main deck.  Admiral Reynolds and the captain used every effort to encourage the men to remain steady to their duty, as the only chance of preserving their lives.  At ten o’clock, the sea swept the main deck, so that all hands were obliged to seek refuge on the poop.  All the boats, except the yawl, had either been stove or washed overboard.  As an instance of the obedience and discipline of the crew of the St. George, three or four men came forward, and asked permission to attempt to reach the shore in the yawl:  this request was at first granted, but as they were about to lower her into the sea, it was considered impossible that the boat could live, and the men were directed to return to their posts.  Without a murmur, they instantly obeyed; and as if Providence had rewarded this implicit obedience and reliance upon their officers, two of these men were of the few that were saved.

It is impossible to describe the suffering of the helpless crew.  Their numbers, originally about seven hundred and fifty, had been terribly thinned by the severity of the weather, and the surging of the waves, which every instant burst over them.  At eight o’clock in the evening of the 24th, fourteen men took the boat and attempted to pull from the wreck, but they had not gone many yards when she upset, and her crew perished.  The mizenmast still stood, and orders were given for its being cut away, but as no axes could be found, the men were obliged to use their knives to cut the lanyards of the rigging; at this moment, a sea struck the mast, carrying away the poop, and the men who were upon it.  As the poop was swept away from the wreck, it bore not only the living but the dead.  The latter far outnumbered the former, and it became necessary for the general preservation to cast overboard the bodies of their dead comrades.  But their strength, already weakened by previous suffering, was unequal to the performance of this painful duty; and while thus employed, a sea swept over the poop, scattering the men upon the foaming billows.  Five regained it, but were again washed off, and again succeeded in reaching their former position.  Of these, two died, and the other three were washed on shore.