have cleared Cape Agulhas, the most southern point of Africa. But Cape Agulhas was never reached. At 7.20, some thirty-five minutes after the Captain had hauled half a point off the land, the Teuton had struck on an outlying rock, ripping open her port side for some distance, the water immediately filling the first compartment. The Captain, no doubt believing that the bulkheads of the other compartments would hold, put his ship round, and made, apparently, for Simon's Bay. Boats were lowered and provisioned, but at 10.50, a little more than three hours after the ship struck, the bulkhead of the main compartment suddenly gave way, and the ship immediately filled and sank head foremost. In the earlier reports of the casualty it was stated that the Teuton had taken the rock which some years since had proved fatal to the Birkenhead troopship, involving a loss of 436 lives. But this was an entire mistake; for the "Birkenhead Rock," as it is now marked on the charts, is off Danger Point, some eighteen or nineteen miles to the westward of the spot where the Teuton received her death-blow. Like Danger Point, Quoin Point is surrounded by outlying rocks, some of them a-wash, some of them covered by a few feet of water, but all of them presenting formidable dangers to navigation; and the only safety for shipping passing along this part of the African coast is to be found in giving these dangers a wide berth. Quoin Point and Cape Agulhas form the two spurs of a bay some eighteen miles across, Cape Agulhas being lighted by a firstclass dioptric light, placed at an elevation of 128 feet above high-water mark, and with a range of eighteen miles, while Quoin Point is not lighted. Agulhas Light probably could only just have been seen from the Teuton before she struck, and the coast in the neighbourhood of Quoin Point is described in the Sailing Directions for that part of the African seaboard as extremely dangerous.

The full story and details of this terrible catastrophe can perhaps be best told in the words of some of the survivors, consisting of 25 of the crew, and 11 passengers-36 in all, as before mentioned, including one female only, a girl of sixteen. The narrative of Mr. Kromm, a passenger-whose own escape is said to be one of those marvellous incidents which, until they occur, are deemed impossible-is as follows:

"We left Table Bay with a light south-east wind shortly after 10 o'clock on Tuesday morning, the 30th August. Nothing occurred worthy of mention until we came off Quoin Point. The evening was beautifully fine. The moon and stars were shining; and there was not the slightest sign of fog or vapour. We could make out the land line perfectly, and could see even the sandy shore, which did not appear to me to be more than a mile distant. Suddenly, without any warning whatever, the ship struck. I do not know who the officer was on watch. It was not the chief officer, for he was sitting with me at table. We had just finished dinner, and were sipping coffee. The captain had a cup of

coffee in his hand, and it was shaken out of his hold, so violent was the concussion. The whole table was swept of glass and dinner ware, which fell on to the port side, showing us that the ship had been struck on that side. After striking, she shivered like an aspen leaf, and heeled over to port. There was some little confusion. The women shrieked, and there was general rush on deck. The order kept on deck was admirable, and officers and men vied in their efforts at soothing passengers. The pumps were immediately sounded, and it was found that the fore compartment was leaking, The boats were slung out and provisioned in biscuit and water within half an hour of the ship striking. The passengers were all ordered on to the poop, and were directed to sit quietly until they were told off to the boats. The doctor was in charge of the passengers. All this time the ship was settling down gradually by the head. Volunteers were called for from among the male passengers for the pumps, and there was a ready response. After striking, the ship's head had been put round to the westward, evidently with the hope of reaching Simon's Bay. There was a little south-east wind with a slight sea on. It was between a quarter and half-past 7 o'clock when the ship struck, and for three hours she had kept on her way, and everything was orderly on board. At half-past 10 the ship's head was so down that the stern was out of the water, and her screw was of little use. The captain now gave orders for the starboard waist lifeboat to be lowered, and the women and children to be put in. This was done. The ship was now hardly moving, for her propeller was out of the water. The engines were stopped, and the steam blown off. The starboard-quarter boat had already been lowered, and was ordered alongside to receive passengers. This was the first time I heard the captain's voice. Why do not you,' he cried, hurry up and get the boat alongside?' No sooner were the words out of his mouth than the ship gave a dip, and in less than a minute she appeared to make a somersault. I, seeing this, jumped overboard at the port quarter. I could not swim, but I was fearful of being carried down by the suction, and I hoped to be picked up by the port-quarter boat, which had been lowered some time. I struggled about, and at last came across a teakwood casing used for covering the iron bollard on the deck. I tried to get on to it, but it kept revolving, and twice threw me away from it. I at last, however, got a good grip of it in position, and must have held on to it for twenty minutes or half an hour, when I saw at a short distance one of the boats showing a light. My cries for help brought them to me in about five minutes, and I was taken into the carpenter's boat. We succeeded in taking three men off a boat which was bottom upwards. The other came alongside of us and we divided passengers, and rowed about and picked up, I think, five people. We heard few cries. The bulk of the passengers must have gone down in the vortex. They were on the poop, and when the ship went down head first they would be precipitated into the water and be drawn down by the suction of the vessel. She went down like a streak of lightning. I could not have believed it possible that a vessel would have gone down so suddenly. There was a loud crashing of timber, an escape of steam, a wild rush of water, and the Teuton was out of sight. We only saw some wreckage floating about. I am almost certain the boat with the women and children in it was fastened by a rope to the vessel; at any rate, it did not get clear of the vortex. The moonlight enabled us to see everything distinctly, and we could not see anything of the boat with the women. After pulling round the spot for half an hour the course of the two boats was made for Simon's Bay. The crew pulled all night. The men were most orderly and well-behaved, and did all they could. Sail was got on the boat at daybreak. There was then a fresh breeze and an ugly jobble of the sea, which compelled us to keep baling. We had a double-reefed sail during the forenoon, but as the wind freshened another reef was taken in, and even then we found she had as much sail as she could carry. We got up to Cape Point, and were about five miles off from it between 11 and

12. We overran 10 or 12 miles in mistaking the entrance to Simon's Bay, and but for this we should have arrived earlier in the bay than we did. The other boat, which was a better sailer than ours and had made a direct run, arrived there first. In fact, she ran out of our sight altogether."

Mr. Forder, the Second Officer, speaking of the disaster, states :"It was about 7.15 p.m. on Tuesday, the 30th August, when the ship struck. The vessel was about four miles off the land, and Quoin Point had been passed about a quarter of an hour. When the ship struck there was considerable concussion; the vessel heeled over, but did not stop. She went off whatever she struck at once and kept her way. The pumps were, of course, immediately sounded, and, from the way in which the water came in, she appeared to have struck on the collision bulkhead, and this allowed water to get into both compartments. Every pump was at once manned and worked. The boats were got ready, and a compass and provisions and water placed in each. As the ship was settling down at a quarter to 10 the officers were ordered to get passengers into the boats. The passengers were all on the poop. They were told to sit quiet, which they did, and obeyed orders most perfectly. They were quiet and orderly throughout, and more composure, with confidence in those in command, it would be impossible to conceive."

Mr. John Cooper, who lost his wife and five children, writing from Simon's Town to the superintendent of a Wesleyan Sunday-school at Wolverhampton, a copy of which letter was sent to the Cape Town paper, says:—

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I have lost my dear wife and five children, and it is a miracle how my own life was saved. Our ship struck at half-past 7 p.m., and from that time till a quarter to 11 we were all doing our utmost to save the ship. The greatest order prevailed on board. The boats were all provisioned and ready to be launched, but the captain delayed in transferring us to the boats, in the hope of his ship being able to reach port. About a quarter of an hour before the vessel went down I came back to where my wife and family were gathered, having been assisting at the pumps. I was drenched, and my family all got round me, when my daughter Alice commenced singing the hymn 'Abide with me,' in which we all joined and endeavoured to cheer one another. All at once the ship gave a sudden plunge, bow first, and carried us all down under water, We all went down together, my wife and children in my embrace just as we were standing, but somehow we became separated, and I saw them no more. Giving myself up as lost I took in as much water as I could, so as to die as quickly as possible; but I distinctly remember lifting my hands in the attitude of prayer, and saying, 'Father, Thy will be done,' when I immediately rose to the surface, and then caught hold of some of the wreckage, from which I was afterwards taken into a boat, and after 12 hours sailing in a rough sea I landed here alive-but all alone-deprived of those so dear to me. I can testify to the worth of religion in the hour of danger and in the face of death, and I am sure that by and by I shall join my dear wife and children, when life's voyage is over, in that world free from grief and sin. It is but right to say that when our boat-the second-arrived here we were carefully tended, and every sympathy and kindness shown us. I have received much of both while here, and those who were in our boat will ever feel a debt of gratitude for the skill displayed by the boatswain and carpenter, who managed the frail boat in so tempestuous a sea with such care. It is a most painful thought that out of all the women and children on board only one girl, about 16 years of age, has been saved. Strange to say, that she was already in a boat when the ship foundered, but it was upset, and her mother and father and sister were drowned. I have nothing in the world but what I stand up in; my tools and

luggage are all gone. The only relics I have of my family are a small sock and one of the little one's undergarments, which I hurriedly thrust into my coatpocket when the vessel struck."

Miss Lizzie Ross, who is referred to as the only woman saved, seems to have shown remarkable courage and self-possession throughout the sad disaster. She had gone out with her parents and a young sister from Glasgow, and was in the cabin with her mother and father getting the baby to sleep, when they heard a dull grating sound. Miss Ross could swim a little, and, although encumbered with her heavy clothing, she saved herself, when the ship went down, by striking out for and getting hold of some spars and other wreckage until she was picked up. Although overwhelmed with grief at the fate of her parents, she gave an exceedingly clear account of what happened among the passengers. The doctor, who was perfectly cool and collected, assembled them all on the poop, and told them to keep their seats exactly where he placed them, so that the women and children might be got into the boats first. He called out, "If any man gets up I will knock him down.' One man did attempt to cross over to his wife when she called him, but the doctor instantly pushed him back into his seat again, saying that the slightest disorder would lead to the swamping of the boats, but if they were all quiet they would get in safely. After that not a single passenger rose from his or her place till called. Between 10 and 11 o'clock they were ordered into the boats. There was no bidding of good-byes or anything of that kind, as the passengers supposed they would all be saved. One lady passenger had wrapped her baby so tightly in her shawl that a ship's officer thought she was trying to evade the order that passengers were only to take what they stood in, and he made her unwrap it accordingly. Miss Ross had taken in one child that was clinging to her dress, and in answer to the appeal of a fellow-passenger was taking another baby into the boat with her, when it capsized. Mothers and children were lost in an instant. Miss Ross, when she reached the surface, after the capsizing of the boat, could see no ship-nothing but boxes, hen-coops, and spars floating about. She sank twice, but each time she came to the surface, and swimming a little and getting hold of a spar, she was soon picked up by the boat which brought her to Simon's Bay.

We will conclude this tale of woe by recording the fact that the passengers all speak in the highest terms of the discipline of the crew. No doubt the number of the crew saved is altogether disproportionate to the number of the passengers saved; but this arises from the natural ability of sailors to take care of themselves in such dangerous situations, and no advantage prejudicial to the passengers seems to

have been taken of this ability. Those of the crew who escaped had all actually been in the water, and exhausted all their efforts to rescue their fellow voyagers by the ill-fated Teuton.

THE GREAT STORM IN SHETLAND.

A FEARFUL storm swept over the Shetland Islands on the night of Wednesday, the 20th July last, and continued to blow with great fury till the Thursday morning, resulting in the destruction of property, and a loss of life, unprecedented in the North since 1832.

On that Wednesday the weather happened to be peculiarly favourable for prosecuting fishing, and boats from every station throughout the Islands had put to sea, when the storm burst, with a suddenness that gave no preliminary warning. The boats were far out at sea; those prosecuting herring-fishing had their nets set, and those at cod-fishing had lines set. The storm prevented the fishermen from hauling their lines or nets, and a great loss of fishing material was sustained. On the Thursday it was found that all the large decked boats fishing from Lerwick had arrived in safety; but as the day advanced, and reports came in from the inland stations, it was only too apparent that a terrible calamity had overtaken a large proportion of the inhabitants of the Islands. At Dunrossness, for instance, five boats were at first missing, but these afterwards arrived late on the Thursday night, to the inexpressible joy of the wives and families of the men. The fleet at Scalloway and Walls, too, which were all decked boats, weathered the gale in safety, though they suffered the loss of their material.

It was in the north Isles of Shetland, however, that the most disastrous loss occurred. Owing to the difficulty of communication, and the want of telegraph facilities to some places, it was long impossible to get full details; but the grave fears entertained at first were unfortunately sadly confirmed, it being eventually ascertained beyond doubt that ten boats had been lost in the Isles. These were native boats, locally known as "sixerns," that is, pulling six oars, but also using lug sail, and generally having a crew of six men each. One boat had a narrow escape. It was one of the large full-decked boats, and the crew having set their nets decided to stick by them. The boat rode out the storm, although the craft was often covered by heavy seas. When the storm abated, the men found an extraordinarily heavy take of herrings in the nets, and the boat was unable to get all on board, even though the ballast was thrown over. After taking in about seventy crans of herrings, valued at over £60, the crew handed over the remainder of their nets to an Irish boat, belonging to Dublin, and at the time fishing in Shetland, that came to render assistance.