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HERE is something in a fire at sea which seems peculiarly to affect the imagination: shipwreck, famine, thirst, all the dreadful perils of the winds and wavesharrowing as are the catastrophes they frequently involve-are received as the natural "perils of the deep waters" to them that go down to the sea in ships." It is perhaps the strong contrast of the elements of fire and water to which the sensation owes its force -the fearful alternative of death by the flames or the waves strikes the mind with dramatic power. Perhaps for these reasons, while the narratives of such terrible calamities as the wrecks of the Medusa or the Halsewell, or the still greater catastrophe of the Royal George, are recalled with deep interest, the burning of the Kent, Indiaman, of the Queen Charlotte, and more recently of the Ocean Monarch, stir the imagination with emotions to which the former can offer no comparison.

The destruction of the mail steam ship Amazon in the Bay of Biscay was a catastrophe in no degree behind the most terrible on record in fearful interest.

The Amazon was the last built of the magnificent vessels constructed for rapid communication with the West Indies. She was of 2250 tons burden, 310 feet in length, and fitted with engines of

800-horse power. Every improvement that science could suggest had been adopted in her construction and equipment; she was fitted up with the utmost convenience and luxury for her passengers, and in this respect resembled a superb hotel afloat. This splendid vessel left Southampton on her first voyage at half-past three o'clock on the afternoon of Friday the 2nd January, having on board the mails, a very valuable cargo, 50 passengers, and a crew of 110 officers, engineers, and men. She was commanded by Captain Symons, a careful and experienced officer. During the remainder of Friday and the whole of Saturday the ship made rapid progress; everything went satisfactorily, except that the "bearings" of the engines-as is commonly or always the case with new machinery-became heated by the friction, and the speed was occasionally relaxed, or the vessel entirely stopped, to allow them to cool. Before one o'clock on Sunday morning the splendid vessel, her passengers and crew were involved in destruction in its most appalling forms!

The ship was about 120 miles from the Lizard Light, and just entering the Bay of Biscay, the greater part of the passengers had retired to rest, and Captain Symons, who had been watching the weather-for it blew heavily right

ahead-and the working of the engines, had gone below, when Mr. Vincent, midshipman of the watch, perceived smoke and fire coming up the fore-hatchway and past the galley. The alarm-bell was instantly rung, the captain and crew rushed upon deck and directed their energies to repressing the flames. It may be said that the fire had scarcely appeared when the destruction of the vessel was ensured. The engines were urging her through the water at the rate of twelve miles an hour, a fierce gale was sweeping her from head to stern, her timbers were new and dry, and the paint fresh. The flames consequently swept from the fore-hatchway to the stern with magical rapidity, the glass partitions giving way with sudden crash. Time for prudence and precaution there was none. The terrified passengers rushed on deck naked and distracted; Captain Symons and his officers did all that could be done under such appalling circumstances-kept manfully to their posts and endeavoured to get the ship's head round. This was partly effected; but the ship continued her course with unabated speed, for the fierce flames had driven the men from the engine-room before they could stop the engines; from the same cause the "donkey engine," which should have placed volumes of water at command, could not be put in motion; the flames rushed over the decks and destroyed the Downton-pump on the main deck before the men could take a dozen turns at the wheel; thus the means for checking conflagration were the first to be consumed. In the meanwhile some of the crew and passengers made frantic efforts to launch the boats, with a desperation which defeated

their efforts. The aftermost boat was got into the water with about 25 persons in her; but the moment she touched the water she was swamped, and the whole perished, clinging together in a struggling mass and uttering dreadful shrieks. The pinnace was next lowered, full of people; but by an unhappy fatality, the after-tackle alone could be unhooked, and the sea therefore swept into her and washed out all her miserable freight. The second cutter was being lowered, when, by sad mismanagement, the fore-tackle was let go, the boat hung perpendicularly, and her living burden was tilted into the foaming waters. Others of the vessel's boats (she had nine in all) were so fitted on the decks that, in the terror and emergency of the moment, it proved impossible to launch them at all; two of them were enveloped in the flames while the seamen were labouring at disengaging them, and the men were consumed while yet at their work. As the chances grew more desperate, the boats that had already been deprived of their contents, and were either half-full of water or were suspended by one end, were again resorted to by the frantic wretches; some are supposed to have made wild efforts to form a raft of the settees, two of these benches lashed together having been washed on to the shore of England.

The small boat called the "dingy" and a life-boat, containing together 21 persons, were all that were known to have reached the water in safety. To use the words of Mr. Neilson, a passenger, who gives the most connected account of the appalling catastrophe, "We drifted clear, the doomed ship rushing madly forward, the com

bined sport of the three elements; but above the roaring crash of wind and wave and fire rang the shrieks of the helpless sufferers on board the ill-fated Amazon." The lifeboat now hailed the dingy, and took her crew on board, towing her astern. But they seemed to have escaped from one danger to perish by another scarcely less terrible: the oars were locked, they had no sail-no water, no provisions-the best clad were half naked-the sea raged fearfully around them, and the swelling crests as they rolled upon them were lighted to a red glow by the flames of the burning ship, which spread a lurid glare for miles around. Near them were pieces of wreck and their perish ing companions. To attempt aid was madness, for the slightest deviation from a direct course would have resulted in their instant submersion. The oars were got out with difficulty and the boat kept head to wind; a sea struck them, half filled them, and swamped the dingy; but the boat rose buoyantly over the waves and there seemed a possibility of escape. In the meanwhile they observed the ship burning fiercely, broadside to the wind; her mainmast went first, then the foremast; after a short interval, her mizen-mast: but by the light of this terrible scene they were enabled to perceive a ship pass between them and the burning steamer, about 300 yards distant: they hailed her with the energy of despair-she answered, altered her course, and bore away! The life-boat's crew now saw that another boat had escaped the burning ship, and they mutually shouted for that aid which neither could give-suddenly the hailing ceased and they saw her no more! The chimneys of the burning ship were

now red-hot, and as they crossed her stern at the distance of half a mile her magazine exploded, discharging a considerable number of rockets, and in about half an hour after her funnels went over her sides and she sank beneath the waves, and the red lurid light which for the last five hours had illumined the dreary expanse of ocean and formed the strong ground of hope for the attraction of succour was succeeded by a gloomy darkness. The life-boat's crew,sustained by the admirable conduct of young Vincent, a mere boy, who had escaped in the dingy, and Mr. Neilson, half-clothed, without food, without compass, and with an adverse wind, lost no hope, but strove manfully with their oars to reach the French coast, calculating that they must endure the sufferings of five or six days; but their trials were providentially shortened by their coming across the brig Marsden, bound for Carolina, commanded by Captain Evans, who took them on board and treated them with every possible kindness. Captain Evans' first attempt was to transfer them to some homeward-bound ship; but none being within sight, the generous commander resolved that the duties of humanity were paramount to all other obligations, put about ship, and steered for England, and ran into Plymouth about mid-day of the 6th January.

It is impossible adequately to describe the horror which the news of this appalling catastrophe spread throughout the country-through Europe in fact. The launching and equipment of the ship, her recent departure in all the interest of a first voyage, and the suddenness and completeness of the catastrophe, shocked all minds. The