en knocked to pieces in a gale. At all events
none were lowered. The people waved and shouted more vehemently than
ever. They had good reason for so doing. I saw by the way that the
vessel was labouring, and by her depth in the water, that she was on the
point of sinking. Already she had given one or two ominous rolls. I
cried out to my men to pull up alongside as fast as they could. We were
soon up to her. "Leap, leap!" was the shout. I was afraid that the
boats might get foul of some of the rigging, or be drawn into the
vortex. Not a moment was to be lost. The merchantman's crew saw their
danger, and threw themselves headlong over the bulwarks. The deck was
already almost awash with the sea. Some reached the boats unhurt,
others got much bruised, and two poor fellows plunged into the water.
One of them sank before we could get hold of him, and the other we had
considerable difficulty in saving from the vortex made by the foundering
ship.

"Shove off! shove off!" I had to cry out. "Give way--give way, my
lads!"

We had barely time to get clear of the vessel before she gave a terrific
roll, her stern lifted, and down she went, as if dragged by some
invisible power towards the depths of the ocean. We hurried back to the
Charon, without attempting to pick up anything, for the weather was
coming on bad, and the boats were already as full as they could hold. I
could not help remarking how little the men seemed to care for the loss
of their ship. Most of them grumbled about losing their bags, but as to
any thought of gratitude for their preservation, it did not seem to
occur to them that there was any necessity for feeling it. Had no other
ship been near, or had their vessel gone down in the night, not one of
them would have been saved.

"Oh, they are a precious rough lot, are my men," observed the master.
"There's nothing they wouldn't do, and nothing they care for."

I thought as he spoke that he was precious rough himself, and that it
was very much owing to him, and men like him, that merchant-seamen are
so often little better than barbarians--without a thought of religion,
or a knowledge of a future life. Several more days passed by, and we
were making good progress. I little guessed what was in store for us.
Often, as I kept my midnight watch, my thoughts flew to Madeline
Carlyon, and I delighted to picture to myself the happiness which I
anticipated when I should one day be united to her. Of c