occasionally at the scene which I had left. Its novelty, joined with the
incidents of my condition, threw me into a state of suspense and wonder
which frequently slackened my hand and left the vessel to be driven by
the downward current. Lights were sparingly seen, and these were
perpetually fluctuating, as masts, yards, and hulls were interposed, and
passed before them. In proportion as we receded from the shore, the
clamours seemed to multiply, and the suggestion that the city was
involved in confusion and uproar did not easily give way to maturer
thoughts. _Twelve_ was the hour cried, and this ascended at once from
all quarters, and was mingled with the baying of dogs, so as to produce
trepidation and alarm.

From this state of magnificent and awful feeling I was suddenly called
by the conduct of Welbeck. We had scarcely moved two hundred yards from
the shore, when he plunged into the water. The first conception was that
some implement or part of the boat had fallen over-board. I looked back
and perceived that his seat was vacant. In my first astonishment I
loosened my hold of the oar, and it floated away. The surface was smooth
as glass, and the eddy occasioned by his sinking was scarcely visible. I
had not time to determine whether this was designed or accidental. Its
suddenness deprived me of the power to exert myself for his succour. I
wildly gazed around me, in hopes of seeing him rise. After some time my
attention was drawn, by the sound of agitation in the water, to a
considerable distance.

It was too dark for any thing to be distinctly seen. There was no cry
for help. The noise was like that of one vigorously struggling for a
moment, and then sinking to the bottom. I listened with painful
eagerness, but was unable to distinguish a third signal. He sunk to rise
no more.