Summary

Frank Fowler The Wreck of the "Royal Charter"

A fashionable public at Brighton running out to see the effects of a gale of wind upon real “water” is surely as sorry and ludicrous a combination as the genius of mockery can devise for the laughter of the stars. Accidents and offences, fires and murders, burglaries and poisonings, are as dull and stale as taxation, or as births, deaths, and marriages; they are the “useful and the beautiful” of well-regulated society; and who but a dry statistical philanthropist reads the wreck-list, or ponders the significance of the annual catalogue of casualties among merchantmen and coasters?
Source: Gutenberg

Frank Fowler The Wreck of the "Royal Charter"

Children and parents, husbands and wives, were clinging to each other in despairing embraces. The captain endeavoured, hoping against hope, to reassure those under his charge. Mr. Hodge, a missionary from New Zealand, did his best to administer religious consolation, but the victory was on that black Wednesday morning with the demon of the storm. A succession of tremendous waves swung the “Royal Charter” from the rocks, and she parted, first amidships and then longitudinally, and was soon but a mass of shapeless spars, eddying about in a briny maelstrom.
Source: Gutenberg

Frank Fowler The Wreck of the "Royal Charter"

It is only when the great meteorological staple of English conversation derives a certain freshness and novelty from a sudden attack of winter upon the rear of autumn, or when a hurricane has torn up a tree in the park and blown an old woman into the river or a child into the canal, that our inland world begins to feel that the universe is not absolutely done to order yet.
Source: Gutenberg

Get perspective with Kwize: daily news enlightened by great literature