The narrative which is at once the completest and most touching is that of Mr. Russell, which takes the following historical form:--
'On entering the saloon, Mr. Allen, the head steward of the second cabin, came and told the passengers they had better not go on deck, as it might cause confusion. The order was implicitly obeyed. Time passed anxiously and wearily: the storm still raged. Suddenly the vessel struck, not violently--not even with sufficient force to throw the passengers off their seats. Water then came pouring down into the cabin. A voice shouted for the second-class passengers to go into the lower saloon, as the mainmast was going to be cut away. The passengers nearest to the entrance doors attempted to open them (they were hinged in the ceiling), and finding some difficulty, they were immediately smashed. Still there was no hurrying or crushing; all silently took their seats. On deck, sailors and officers, stripped to the waist, laboured to cut away the mainmast. The vessel rolled and thumped so heavily that in delivering their blows, the men were many times thrown on to the deck, but the motion of the vessel assisted the work; the waves, too, lent their aid, and soon the mast tottered, then fell with a crash overboard. Immediately afterwards the raging sea threw the vessel still higher up upon the rocks. The foremast was then cut away, and almost at the same time the mizenmast broke off at the mizenmast-head. Boats were lowered, but the moment they touched the waves they were carried with irresistible force against the rocks, and their inmates were either crushed or drowned in the sea. No boat could live in such a storm. There appeared scarcely any need of boats, so close upon the shore was the vessel. Having struck, the vessel slewed round port side to the rocks. When in the lower saloon, about this time, an apprentice boy, Charley, entered, telling the passengers from the captain that they were to keep up their hearts, all was well, they were only on a sand-bank. The passengers still remained quietly in the cabin. Mr. Cowie, the second mate, accompanied by the purser and two men, came down; they were stripped, having on only their shirt and trousers. They passed through the saloon to the powder-magazine--as they went bidding the passengers keep up their hearts, as they were not far from the shore. The water entered the saloon at the same time, and the waves striking more heavily, the vessel thumped harder. Those in the lower saloon then passed into the upper one. There they found assembled some of the first and third class passengers. No words were spoken, hope and fear struggled for the mastery in their countenances; by this alone was it seen that life and death were in the balances. The stillness of the assembly was at length broken: a young lady, about twenty, Miss Murray, who was on board with her father, mother, and brother, fainted, and was immediately carried to her cabin, from whence she never emerged. Daylight now began to dawn. They had been tossing on the sea and labouring on the rocks all night. Shortly after daylight, a third-class passenger came down; he had on only his trousers, and had been in the bows of the vessel for several hours. He said the forepart of the vessel and the bows touched the land--every one could wade ashore. All hopes of saving the vessel having disappeared, and the boats having been rendered unserviceable, the captain ordered a hawser to be got ready. A seaman, named Joseph Rogers, volunteered to swim ashore with it. The line was made fast to his body, and the noble fellow gallantly dropped overboard and breasted the waves with the resolution of a sailor. For a time he was lost to sight, as wave after wave dashed over the vessel and broke upon the rocks; then the line tightened, and the man was seen clambering up the rocks.