but without
success, and it was not until she was fearfully near to the rocks that
she could be brought to an anchor, in twenty-five fathoms, with the
best bower anchor veered away to two cables' length. The top-gallant
masts were lowered upon deck, and in this state she rode from five
o'clock P.M., when she anchored, till four o'clock the next morning,
when the cable suddenly parted. During the night, the gale was
tremendous, and the sea ran mountains high; they had nothing now to
depend upon for the safety of the ship but a small bower anchor, which
was immediately let go, and this held until eight o'clock, when it
also parted. The ship was no longer an object of consideration;
Captain Lydiard felt that he had done his utmost to save her, but in
vain, and that now every energy must be put forth for the preservation
of human life. The tempest raged with such fury that no boat could
possibly come to their aid, nor could the strongest swimmer hope to
gain the shore. It appeared to Captain Lydiard that the only chance of
escape for any of the crew was in running the ship as near the coast
as possible. He gave the necessary orders, and the master run the
vessel on the sand which forms the bar between the Loe Pool and the
sea, about three miles from Helstone. The tide had been ebbing nearly
an hour when she took the ground, and she broached to, leaving her
broadside heeling over, and facing the beach.

The scene of horror and confusion which ensued on, the Anson striking
against the ground, was one which baffles all description. Many of the
men were washed away by the tremendous sea which swept over the deck;
many others were killed by the falling of the spars, the crashing
sound of which, as they fell from aloft, mingled with the shrieks of
the women on board, was heard even amidst the roar of the waters and
the howling of the winds. The coast was lined with crowds of
spectators, who watched with an intense and painful interest the
gradual approach of the ill-fated vessel towards the shore, and
witnessed the subsequent melancholy catastrophe.

Calm and undaunted amidst the terrors of the scene, Captain Lydiard
is described as displacing in a remarkable degree that self-possession
and passive heroism, which has been so often the proud characteristic
of the commander of a British ship of war under similar harassing
circumstances. Notwithstanding the confusion of the scene, his voice
was heard, and his orders were obeyed w