sir, but
you're ten minutes too late." Within that time the tide had turned
against us. We had not crossed the line of division, and so the yawl had
to be turned towards shore to anchor there, and to wait the tide until
nine o'clock at night, unless a breeze came sooner.

After three hours' work she reached the desired six fathoms' patch of
sand, just under the noble white cliff that rears its head aloft about
600 feet, standing ever as a giant wall, sheer, upright, out of the sea.

Dinner done and everything set right (for this is best policy always), I
slipped into my cabin and tried to sleep as the sun went down, but a
little land-breeze soon began, and every now and then my head was raised
to see how tide or wind progressed. Then I must have fallen once into a
mild nap, and perhaps a dream, for sudden and strong a rough hand seemed
to shake the boat, and, on my leaping up, there glanced forth a brilliant
flash of lightning that soon put everybody on the _qui vive_.

Now was heard the clink of distant cables, as I raised mine also in the
dark, with only the bright shine of the lighthouse like a keen and
full-opened eye gazing down from the cliff overhead.

Compass lighted, ship-lantern fixed, a reef in each sail, and, with a
moment's thought of the very similar events that had passed only a few
nights ago, we steered right south, away, away to the open sea.

It was black enough all around; but yet the strong wind expected after
thunder had not come, and we edged away eastward, doubly watchful,
however, of the dark, for the crowd of vessels here was the real danger,
and not the sea.

Look at the ghost of Rob Roy flitting on the white sail as the lamp
shines brightly. Down comes the rain, and with it flash after flash,
peal upon peal of roaring thunder, and the grandeur of the scene is
unspeakable. The wind changed every few minutes, and vessels and boats
and steamers whirled past like visions, often much too near to be
welcome.

[Picture: Beachy Head Ghost]

A white dazzling gleam of forked lightning cleaves the darkness, and
behold! a huge vessel close at hand, but hitherto unseen, lofty and
full-sailed, and for a moment black against the instant of light, and
then utterly lost again. The plashing of rain hissed in the sea, and a
voice would come out of the unseen--"Port, you lubber!" The ship, or
whatever it is, has no lights at all, though on board it they can see
mine. Ah,