Found a site on Rootschat about the Vaughan brothers who were both killed on the Brig "Hope" in 1843, this reminded me about a passage in my book, and ironically but sadly, it is a testimony to that very night, the Brig and Schooner that went down that terrible night are both mentioned.
Henry Seymour was trying to get to his brothers side in Laibach, where a recent letter had said he was very ill. Poor John Billingsley Seymour died on the 16th October, but letters taking so long in those days, the letter arrived to the Seymour's the very day he died overseas. Henry and his father set out the very night. This excerpt is during the last days of the Seymour's owning Tyntesfield, they were however, living on the Isle of Wight by this time, Tyntesfield was up for sale.
"My Father was still unwell when we got on board and he was so taken ill between that time and 4 in the morning that he said he could not go on. I went up on deck with him but the vessel had just shoved off and he was too late. He then determined to get out at Gravesend in the morning, we arrived there about 7 in the morning. He got into a boat and I watched him safe on shore.
Felt dreadfully melancholy after he was gone about this time the wind was getting up it was dead in our favour. I went up to the Captain and asked him if we should not get across in half the time as the wind was so favourable, “if this wind continues” he said “we sha’nt get in at all”. We had not come within 10 miles of Margate the vessel began rolling and tossing very much. We still went on till we had got the other side of Margate where the sea was running tremendously high, I was still on deck on one side of the vessel getting dreadfully sick and was obliged to hold on very tight for fear of being sent overboard. The Captain said it would be very dangerous to try to get her across so we anchored near Margate and there we staid rocking and tossing dreadfully till 10 o’clock at night, I thought it would never be over. I went down into the cabin about 9 o’clock in the morning and went to bed.
Was dreadfully sick all day long, at 10 o’clock at night we started again and made our way with a tremendous sea across to Ostende as I supposed but I was doomed to be bitterly deceived in the morning, everything was to be chained to the bottom of the cabin. The cries of “Steward” the tumbling of people out of their berths, the breaking of basins, the creaks and groans of the vessel were dreadful and the “ensemble” to which the Havre passage was luxury cannot possibly be described and can only be imagined by those who have experienced it. 41 vessels were wrecked that night, a Brig and a Schooner went down within 40 miles of our track of which the passengers and crew of one were lost.
About 9 o’clock in the morning was the 1st time I saw the Steward as I was congratulating myself internally of our arrival at Ostende in an hour’s time, I asked him whether land was in sight, “No Sir” was his answer “but in three hours we shall get off Margate I trust if we can keep her straight”, the fact was the captain had done all he could to get her over to Ostende but the wind got up so much and the sea was so immensely high that she got quite unmanageable and he was obliged to tack and we were then making our way back with the wind in our teeth to Margate.
About 12 we got there and anchored again all day tossing and rolling as before. The next attempt however, proved successful and after another tremendous day we reached Ostende about 9 at night."
This is just a tiny portion of my 600 page book, it reads like this the whole way through, one amazing story to the next.