Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Letters and Journals of Thomas Wentworth Higginson

[134] gone ashore in the night. . . . She had struck at the very worst points on the shore, inaccessible for boats, and far from any village. The surf was not unusually high, and only very rarely seemed to break over her. There she lay, and whether the crew were saved, no one could judge; though it seemed, on the whole, probable. The prospect of saving her cargo seemed small, indeed.

Those acquainted with the reputation of the Dabney family will not be surprised to hear that in two hours after the vessel was seen, two of the gentlemen of the family had set sail in a boat, furnished with provisions and clothing for a fortnight. ... I felt greatly disappointed at being absolutely prevented, by circumstances, from joining this expedition.

. . During [the same] morning an American barque rounded the southern point, which proved to be the Sumter, Captain Humphrey, which had left Charleston soon after the Keying and was now leaking badly with the pumps choked. She was soon followed by a French barque of the same size and in similar condition; making the sixth distressed vessel. But the wind was directly ahead for them, and it was pathetic to watch hour after hour and see the great wounded creatures spreading their wings in vain and toiling with the harbor full in sight unable to gain it. It is singular how one personifies a vessel; my sympathies seem to be much more with her, individually, than with any person on board. It shows how live a thing a ship is, thus to condense into itself all the anxieties and sorrows she bears.