The long, emerald ridges, with their little, white crests of foam, rolled slowly and majestically in, to break with a regular rhythm--the panting of a tired monster.
A cable length from the shore we could see the mainmast of the barque floating upon the waves, disappearing at times in the trough of the sea, and then shooting up towards Heaven like a giant javelin, shining and dripping as the rollers tossed it about.

Other smaller pieces of wreckage dotted the waters, while innumerable spars and packages were littered over the sands.

These were being drawn up and collected in a place of safety by gangs of peasants.

I noticed that a couple of broad-winged gulls were hovering and skimming over the scene of the shipwreck, as though many strange things were visible to them beneath the waves.

At times we could hear their raucous voices as they cried to one another of what they saw.
"She was a leaky old craft," said the captain, looking sadly out to sea, "but there's always a feeling of sorrow when we see the last of a ship we have sailed in.