For a moment was heard the heavy and hurried tramp of the men to their stations, and the fall of frozen coils, flung from belaying pins upon the deck.

"All ready forward, sir!" was the scarcely intelligible response from the forecastle.

"Helm's a-lee!"

In obedience to her helm, the good ship, for a moment, swung from her course. But her sails were stiff and motionless, and immediately she fell back again.

"What's the matter there!-Won't she come up?"-thundered the trumpet from the quarter deck.

"No sir! The topsail blocks are frozen, and the yards won't work!" -A terrible oath was about to escape the lips of the master, as he heard this disheartening response; but some better feeling checked it. He knew that now he must be too near the land to wear ship; that time would be lost in clearing away the frozen rigging, to put the ship about; and it was probable that even then, the frozen sails would not "take back." He therefore gave orders to the helmsman to keep the ship to her course, determined to hazard the attempt of running safely into Boston harbor, with the alternative of shipwreck, should he fail. On, on, like a goaded steed, dashes the ship; and a wake, like a maelstrom, is roaring and foaming behind her.

A solemn silence reigns along the deck. An instinctive prescience of some impending danger, has closed every lip. The watch have stowed themselves away under the weather rail; but there, as the ship pitches suddenly into a sea the cold spray is dashed over them. The man at the helm is blinded with snow. The binnacle lamp throws its steady flame upon the quivering face of the compass. Here, the eye of the master, at one moment, is resting; then it is watching the head of the booming ship, buried in the spray that gleams through the darkness like the flashes of a meteor.

"We'll fetch it yet!" said the master, exultingly, to his officer, as they both stood, side by side, against the weather rail, each wrapt in a heavy storm jacket that faithfully shed the pelting sleet and snow. "We'll fetch it yet! The good old ship knows her way in the dark too well to miss it!"

Again all are silent. Anon, between the lispings of the gale, can be heard the harsh creakings of the over-strained wheel, fixed in the steel grasp of two stalwart men; the shriek of the spars laboring to escape from their hamper; the rattle of the icy spray falling back from the frozen canvas.

On, on sweeps the ship, the brave ship. Night fills her perilous path, and the arms of an angry ocean are lifting to check her daring course. Still, on sweeps the ship, the bold ship. The wild winds are whistling through every shroud, and each lofty spar bows, like a sapling, before the might of the storm. Still, on sweeps the ship, the adventurous ship, flying, like a frightened sea-bird, before the relentless gale. Anxiety is upon its utmost stretch. Doubt, fear, alarm, settle gloomily upon every heart.

But, lo! a shock! The strong ship reels!

The beams quake;

the bulkheads groan; every man is prostrate upon the deck; panic and confusion follow universal.

The ship had struck. Where-upon what-no one knew. For a moment she remained hard and fast. She seemed immovable. But one broad-backed wave came hastening on, and, with a single blow, swung her around, broadside to the seas that were fast rolling in, eager to dash her timbers to atoms, and wash away all traces of her death.

The masts were snapped in a twinkling. The sturdy planks groaned to parting. Yet, notwithstanding the imminent danger of the breaching seas, the master lost none of his self-command. Getting a gun to leeward, it was three times loaded and three times discharged in the hope of acquainting some one with their distress. The heavy report was snatched away by the wild gale, but darkness and distance brought back no response.

CHAPTER III.

Riseth the winter sun

Over the sea;

All white and pitiless

Down looketh he;

Still comes the winter wind,

Howling and free;

Still thunders the surf,

And the ice lines the shore,

But again shall that gallant ship

Sail never more.

The Winter Shipwreck.

"This is a wild night, a very wild night," said the old wrecker of Point Alderton to his wife, as they sat in the cozy kitchen of their little cottage upon the cliff, listening to the gale without.

66

'Aye, dear, it is," she replied, dropping her knitting and leaning forward to add another log to the crackling pile already upon the hearth; "it is a wild night, but we need not mind it; there's comfort in that. I'll get ye your pipe."

66

No, no, not now," said the wrecker, rising and buttoning up his heavy storm jacket and pulling on his huge jack boots; "I'll take a puff at that when I come back."

"When ye come back!" exclaimed his wife.

"Surely, man, ye're

not going out such night as this! It isn't fit that a dog should stir from the house!"

66

Perhaps not, dear," returned the wrecker, "but that may be no reason why a man shouldn't. I must go," he continued, "and look after those lads. It's an hour now, and better, since they went off to see what those guns meant, and it's high time they were back, unless they've got into trouble."

66

"But, stay with me; the lads will be here soon," rejoined his wife. Aye, here they come now!"

The cottage door was unlatched. The wind flung it open, and two hardy-looking young men entered, encased in numerous layers of jackets, over which the freezing sleet, to which they had been exposed, had formed an icy covering. They brought ropes and lanterns in their hands.

"Well, lads, what do you make out? You've had a tough siege, I reckon; and I began to be afeared for you." Such was the greeting from the old wrecker, as his two sons drew near to the blazing hearth. "We don't make anything out, sir!" replied one of the young men. "There's a ship on the Point, like enough; and those guns, like enough, came from her. But we can't tell anything certain, for it blows the very devil's hurricane; I never saw such a night on all this coast; why, the pier down in the cove is half torn away!"

"And so you've learned nothing about those guns?"

"No, sir; nothing at all!"

"But can't you find out whether there's a ship on the Point or not? Wife! say, are there any rockets in the locker ?"

"That there isn't, my man, not one; and I told ye that when ye went up to the city, the other day. I knew ye'd be wanting them, the first bad night."

"There's no hailing the Point?-no lights?-no bonfires ?-'eh, lads?" said the wrecker, turning again to the young men.

66

No, sir; there's nothing of the kind why, bless you, it blows wild enough down there to take a dead man's breath away!" "And yet you think there is a ship there?"

"I think there is; those guns could not have come from any but an inward-bounder; but how can we know, its darker than the devil's pocket, and you can see nothing at all, six inches ahead of a lantern!" "How is it with the weather? Is it going to slacken ?" and with this query, the wrecker stepped to the door of his cottage to take a survey of the storm.

His well-practised eye took in all at a glance. Dense darkness above and around. Not one solitary star disclosed a break in the heavens. The surf thundered at the foot of the cliff, and, now and then, the increasing tempest, tearing off with a giant's grasp, the crests of the enormous billows, would fling the spray high over the face of the rock, to the very spot where the wrecker stood. The beach below was fringed with whirlwinds of spectral foam; and the glare of the comb on the billows, chasing each other landward with fearful velocity, now and then flashed through the darkness upon the wrecker's sight. Anon, some stray diver, or frantic sea-gull, went screaming by; but their clangorous cries were soon lost amid the tumult of the elements. Northward, in the direction of the Point, nothing was discernable. Wind and waves were spending their fury upon that unprotected spot, and darkness gave no tokens of their mercy.

"A wild night, indeed," said the wrecker, shutting the door and approaching the hearth, where the young men were warming them

selves. "A wild night, indeed; if any poor fellows are on the Point they will fare hard till day breaks!"

"The gale must hold up before morning, sir;" rejoined one of the young men. "It never hangs a great while at this pitch."

66

Aye," answered the wrecker, "it will be all spent before day-light, Old Davy can't blow in this way long, without splitting his cheeks. Come, lads!" he added, after a pause, "turn in and rouse out as soon as day breaks, and we'll go down to the beach to see what can be done. And, mind you,” continued the old man, as they clambered up to the loft for their bunks, "that you turn out early."

When the next morning dawned, the gale had abated, and the waters of the Bay had somewhat subsided from their fury. A heavy swell was rolling in, from far seaward, dashing the cold waters of the ocean against the weather-beaten rocks that dared to offer a limit to their course.

The wreckers of Point Alderton were early astir. The first gray light of dawn found them descending to the beach, to render assistance to any who might be suffering from the gale of the previous night.

Upon the irregular chain of rocks, jutting far out to the Northeast, lay the battered hull of a large ship. The waves were beating heavily against it, tearing away, morsel by morsel, its remaining timbers, and, now and then, making a complete breach over and above it. Her masts were gone. Upon her decks appeared the forms of men hurrying to and fro, as in the hope of discovering approaching relief.

The situation of the ship was no sooner made known to the wreckers, than the plan was formed of carrying instant assistance to her. The life-boat was dragged from its cover to the beach, and launched into the surf. But the sea rolled too high, and broke too fearfully. Again and again did the strong arms of the wreckers guide the buoy. ant boat after the receding surf, and as often did the enraged sea turn back and dash it to the beach.

The people on board the wrecked ship had watched with intense anxiety, these attempts to bring them succor; and when they saw that each had failed, and the signal of the wreckers told that it was useless to attempt, at present, their relief; despair settled heavily upon their distressed spirits. Inevitable death again stared them in the face. Death, in any other form, would have brought no fears. But such a death death upon their native shores, from which they had been so long absent, towards which their every thought, for months past, had been turning; death within sight of aid, and almost within sight of home; such a death was more than the sturdy souls of those shipwrecked men could endure, without one attempt, one struggle of their own for life; and to succeed or perish in that attempt was all! It was to swim!

A form appears upon the bow. Balancing itself, it plunges into the boiling surf. Another follows; now, another-and another. They buffet it long and manfully. From the shore and from the ship, their strugglings are anxiously watched. Now they approach the beach. They are near. They have almost reached it. They cannot sustain

VOL. XIV.

20

But, alas!

the strife much longer. One wave more will roll them on. that wave comes not, ere" with bubbling groan," each manly form has settled, lifeless, beneath the surface of the angry waters.

Day advances; and, as the morning sun bathes land and sea in his cheerful light, the billows of the Bay seem to assuage their commotion, thus offering a less perilous navigation to the wreckers.

The life-boat is again dragged to the beach; and, and prolonged and hearty cheers, it rides the heavy swells, shaking itself free from their foamy embrace. The boat hastens to the ship, which is now crumbling upon the rocks; and, reaching her side in safety, the poor fellows slide down and are drawn into it. All are in, and the command is given, "cut away!" A sheaf knife gleams along the painter; it is severed, and the boat, turning about her head, speeds her way to the shore.

But the boat, in the hurry of its departure, had left one of the company on board the wreck. The master, wishing to be the last to desert his ship, had awaited the descent of all his men to the boat, ere he himself came forward to descend. Unfortunately, while crossing the deck, a heavy lurch of the ship threw him from his feet; and being unable, in his exhausted state, to recover himself before the order to cut away was given, he was left the solitary and helpless inhabitant of a crumbling wreck !

The boat pursued its way towards the shore, unconscious that it had left behind a part of its burden. The missing man was discovered leaning over the ship's side, and endeavoring, by feeble shouts, to arrest attention; when a dozen voices in the boat exclaimed, "We must go back for him! we must save him!" But how could they go back? Their boat had already as heavy a burden, as it could safely carry through the swell. An attempt to go about would be extremely hazardous. It was but a short distance to the shore; they might accomplish that, and afterwards return to the ship. But the ship was fast breaking in pieces upon the rocks. Before they could reach the shore, and return, she might be entirely gone. It was a moment of anxious suspense. What should they do? There was no alternative

but to proceed and return.

"Give way! Give way cheerily, my lads!" cried the skipper, and the boat was hurried on towards the beach; where it landed the rescued crew, and once more turned its head to the ship.

The wreckers, regardless of their own safety, and bent only upon the rescue of a fellow being from an awful death, urge the boat boldly through the seas, that uplift themselves, as if to warn them of the peril of their undertaking.

They are approaching the wreck; the master is anxiously awaiting their coming, and now they are almost within his reach. But, lo! a deep groan! The ship opens, splits asunder, and Henry L., falling through the chasm, sinks into the watery depths below and is seen no more !