a grey, steamy, calm morning, promising a very hot day, without wind.

About 10.30 a.m., the cry of 'Sail on the port beam!' caused general
excitement, and in a few minutes every telescope and glass in the ship
had been brought to bear upon the object which attracted our
attention, and which was soon pronounced to be a wreck. Orders were
given to starboard the helm, and to steer direct for the vessel; and
many were the conjectures hazarded, and the questions asked of the
fortunate holders of glasses. 'What is she?' 'Is there any one on
board?' 'Where does she come from?' 'Can you read her name?' 'Does she
look as if she had been long abandoned?' Soon we were near enough to
send a boat's crew on board, whilst we watched their movements
anxiously from the bridge. We could now read her name--the
'Carolina'--surmounted by a gorgeous yellow decoration on her stern.
She was of between two and three hundred tons burden, and was painted
a light blue, with a red streak. Beneath her white bowsprit the gaudy
image of a woman served as a figure-head. The two masts had been
snapped short off about three feet from the deck, and the bulwarks
were gone, only the covering board and stanchions remaining, so that
each wave washed over and through her. The roof and supports of the
deck-house and the companions were still left standing, but the sides
had disappeared, and the ship's deck was burst up in such a manner as
to remind one of a quail's back.

We saw the men on board poking about, apparently very pleased with
what they had found; and soon our boat returned to the yacht for some
breakers,[1] as the 'Carolina' had been laden with port wine and cork,
and the men wished to bring some of the former on board. I changed my
dress, and, putting on my sea boots, started for the wreck.