be to
keep an eye on a person in the sea, even if it is perfectly
smooth. It is one of the most exciting experiences of
sea-life. All except the rescuing party and the man at the
wheel run up the rigging and gaze with frantic eagerness to
keep in view and direct the boat towards where they think
the object of their mission is. It often happens that all
their efforts are unavailing, and when the search has to be
given up a creepy sensation, like some shuddering hint of
death, takes possession of you. I have more than once felt
it. Sailors on these occasions are subdued and divinely
sentimental, though their courage remains undaunted.

There are, however, phases of bravery, endurance, and
resourcefulness that test every fibre of the seaman's
versatile composition; and a communication to the outer
world of the tremendous struggles he is called upon to bear
would be calculated to stagger the lay imagination. It would
take a spacious library to contain all that could be
written of his bitter experiences and toilsome pilgrimages
throughout ages of storm and stress. The pity is so much of
it is lost to us, but this again is owing to the sailor's
habitual reticence about his own career. A characteristic
instance of this occurred to me about six months ago. I had
business in a shipyard, and the gateman who admitted me is
one of the last of the seamen of the middle of the century.
He was for many years master of sailing vessels belonging to
a north-east coast port. He is a fine-looking, intelligent
old fellow. I knew him by repute in my boyhood days; he had
the reputation then of being a smart captain, and owners
readily gave him employment. After greeting me with
sailor-like cordiality, he commenced to converse about the
old days, and as the conversation proceeded the weird
sadness of his look gradually disappeared, his eyes began to
sparkle, and joy soon suffused his ruddy face. His soul was
ablaze with reminiscences, and his unaffected talk was easy
and delightful to listen to. I was reluctant to break the
charm of it by introducing a subject that might be
distasteful to him. It was my desire to hear _from his own
lips_ a tale of shipwreck which is virtually without
parallel in its ghastly tragedy. I instinctively felt myself
creeping on to sacred ground. As soon as I mentioned the
matter his countenance changed and he became pensive. A
far-off look came over him, which indicated that a tender
chord had been touched. O