PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND.

LOSS OF THE “J. J. FRASER,"

With Captain George Clark, Two Brothers, and Three Brothers-in-Law, January 17, 1867.

By W. S. Clark.

On January 17, 1867, the fine brigan- tine, J. J. Fraser, Captain George Clark, hailing from New London. P. E. I., and loaded with coal for New York, was driven by a terrible gale on a ledge of rocks near Canso Strait and totally wrecked, with the loss of all on board except James Sherman. the cook. This tragic event has been em- balmed in the following lines by W. S. Clark of the Island, a sketch of whom will be found elsewhere in this work. The verses will doubtless be of interest to the numerous surviving relatives of those who perished in the disaster. Mr. Clark. the author of the lines, lost three brothers and three brothers- in-law in the wreck of the ill—fated craft.

Come, friends, and listen to my tale,— ’Twill hardships of the sea unveil.

At dawn of one fine, fatal day,

This ship her moorings cast away.

The seventeenth of January past,

A morning cold with biting blast;

With crew aboard gallant and gay,

She swiftly sped along her way.

And rounding stormy Scatterie,

With topsails set and sheets all free,— With wind still veering to the east.

She bounded on—twelve knots at least. A gale it was that made her creak— At eight o’clock she sprang a leak— At ten hauled down the mainsali fast,— She yaws, giving 'way before the blast. The captain for Green Island Light Pressed her on before the night.

A snow-storm now most thickly grew, The wind with force terrific blew;

At eleven o’clock he hove her to,

But staysail sheets quite parted through; He kept her off before the wind,

And called aloft more sail to bend.

As we were setting the topsail

We saw a sight that turned us pale: Foaming breakers—a shallow sea— The captain shouted “Helm a-lee!” And bounding on we struck the rock, That made us shudder with the shock.

Then stern to sea we swung around, And wave on wave o'er us did bound. On top the house we had to go,

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Thence view destruction’s sweep below, When, reeling on the rocky ledge, Our good craft totters on the edge. Another sea and she heaves ahead,

A midnight move for a watery bed. With terrific sweep of tempest blast That makes her quiver in every mast, She leaps from off the rocky strand And swiftly bounds toward the land. Then creening o’er on her beam ends, A dismal sound aloud she sends.

A gloomy night for sailors bold— Seven in number, when all were told, To her bulwarks in haste repair—

A heartless sight, of sad despair.

She rights again on the midnight deep, The waves her deck in fury sweep—— Her timbers creak—she settles fast— And plunges down before the blast. Seven sailors and none to save,

She leaves behind upon the wave. Heaven spare the devoted band,

The bone and sinew of the land!

This craft, she sank in fifty feet,

Her crew, alas, grim death did meet

Four cling to a plank upon the wave, And to the mast three of the brave.

They view the strife from mast and plank— From ocean’s bitter draught they drank; They view their rise on mountain roll, Looking with anguish to the goal,

And clinging hard to the fragile wood, With clenched teeth and curdling blood. The captain to the rigging clings,

While in his ear their death knell rings. To leeward. on the foaming surf,

He sees a brother dear by birth,

Youngest dear of his mother's sons, Favourite child of his mother's ones.

He hears him cry. “lave or I die!"

A cry of anguish from John Geddia Escapes between his chattering teeth, And is borne away on the foaming wreath. Hush! he sinks to rise no more

Until he reach the eternal shore;

And going down with gurgling breath, He rests at last in a watery death.

And o'er his head the billows sweep,

And there he lies in his last long sleep. Three comrades still. by their own hand, And clinging on, drift to the land.

The elements tempestuous roar,

And dash themselves on the iron-bound shore. On all the foaming billows torn

Floats the tempest’s reeking scorn,

And breaking high above their heads, Forces them down in watery beds,

The dreaded undertow rushing back, Sweeps the orphan in its track;

Now comes a mighty mountain wave,

In vain they struggle themselves to save, And in despair they sink to rise,

Only to sunder Nature's ties.

, No dear ones than are near to save

Them from the wrath of the cruel wave. But one alone of this fine crew

Was left. yes. tears our eyes bedew,— Only James Sherman, sad to relate, None but him to tell of their fate.