Shortly afterwards a large steamer, the Stanley, of Aberdeen, with
thirty passengers (most of whom were women), thirty of a crew, a cargo
of merchandise, and a deckload of cattle, attempted to take the river.
On approaching she sent up rockets for a pilot, but none dared venture
out to her. The danger of putting out again to sea was too great. The
captain therefore resolved to attempt the passage himself. He did so.
Three heavy seas struck the steamer so severely as to divert her from
her course, and she ran on the rocks close to the Friendship, so close
that the cries of her crew could be heard above the whistling winds and
thundering waves. As soon as she struck, the indescribable
circumstances of a dread disaster began. The huge billows that had
hitherto passed onward, heaving her upwards, now burst over her with
inconceivable violence and crushed her down, sweeping the decks
continuously--they rocked her fiercely to and fro; they ground her sides
upon the cruel rocks; they lifted her on their powerful crests, let her
fall bodily on the rocks, stove in her bottom, and, rushing into the
hold, extinguished the engine fires. The sound of her rending planks
and timbers was mingled with the piercing cries of the female passengers
and the gruff shouting of the men, as they staggered to and fro, vainly
attempting to do something, they knew not what, to avert their doom.