"Lor' bless you!" said a sailor, "did you expect him to jump from a rock with a shout and a hurrah? He's in deep water now. Hush don't talk."

A breathless silence fell on them all-a silence of words; but the hideous din of the storm waxed ever louder and more loud. The men were letting out the rope fast, and straining their eyes as they watched the small black patch rise and fall with the swell of the

waves.

he's

"He'll be through the breakers in another minute. Ah! gone. No, there he is again. He swims like a cork. I can't see. Yes, he is getting close to that point of rock. Let go the ropelet go," and it ran out fast. "He's near now; they are putting out ropes for him. Hold on, old fellow!" they shouted as if he could hear them; and now the excitement on the deck of the fast-sinking ship became intense indeed. They rushed to the side, throwing out planks, and ropes, and buoys, and finally on to one of these the gallant swimmer managed to swing himself, and was hauled up by the crew on board.

A deep-drawn breath of "Thank God" might be heard from every man, woman, and child on shore, except those who found it hard to speak at all. They, and in fact the crew of the ship itself, seemed to fancy that all would now be right, and nothing more but the presence of Bayard was needed to ensure their safety; only one or two old sailors shook their heads and said, "She'll not hold together long; whatever they do, they'd best make haste about it."

And now it became apparent that the ship was fast breaking to pieces, and while some tried to lower the boats (a forlorn-hope

indeed), others were climbing into the rigging. Bayard alone could be seen on the forepart of the ship surrounded by a knot of sailors trying to make fast the rope, by which they hoped to get the passengers and crew ashore.

"They'll never do it-they can't get it past the reef. Yes, they're going to try, as I live." A man was seen trying the rope; he was lifted over the side and swung off —one moment he appeared as a speck above the waves, then a wavering, a shake, and he was gone: another, and yet another— but still with the same result.

"Why aren't the rockets sent out again?"

"They are going to fire them now, but orders have been issued not to do so until Bayard asked for them.”

The signals again at work. From the pier: "Ship going to pieces; if help not sent at once, all hands will be lost."

Cabin: "Signal to Bayard to stick to the ship as long as possible. Ask what he thinks of situation; keep us well informed." Pier: "Lifeboat as soon as possible; rockets at once."

Cabin: "Lifeboat impossible. Bayard was instructed to calm and reassure crew; can't do as he wishes. Ask him why he stays on the ship,-what is the best way of rescuing him and the crew, and how the ship should be approached. Shall await answer before taking further steps. Assure him we have full confidence in his judgment, but cannot do as he wishes."

Pier: "Communication no longer possible."

In fact, the night was growing darker and blacker every moment; blinding sheets of rain were driving across the sky; those on the beach could hardly distinguish the outline of the doomed ship. The last they

had seen of Bayard was his figure lit up by a flash of lightning, with a glass in his hand, looking towards the shore.

"That's the last we'll see of him," said a fisherman; and he turned away and brushed his hand across his eyes. "You'd best go home to your beds, you there," he said, turning angrily to the women. "What's the use of your standing shivering and shaking there? Go to the Cabin and shiver and cry there, and see if you can move them hearts of stone." He looked again at the spot where the ship was breaking up and life after life was being swamped in the greedy remorseless waves. He could see nothing; a dense black fog veiled the awful sight from view; only every now and then a shimmer of white showed against the black darkness, as the waves, lashed to fury, leapt hundreds of feet into the air, and fell again into the seething caldron below.

"Let's all go to the Cabin; maybe we could rouse that Board a bit, and bring them to their senses. We can do no good here."

The

No sooner said than done. whole crowd of eager watchers rushed as best they could along the shore, and emerged in a tumultuous crowd on to the small open space in front of the Cabin, where the Board had been sitting all night.

They could see the lights burning through the windows, and the anxious faces of a number of men seated round the table. They seemed to be discussing something with great earnestness.

"Shall we break in?" cried the crowd.

"No, no-best not; but we'll hearken if we can hear aught of what they're saying."

One of them approached the

window and listened. The noise outside prevented him from hearing much, but Sagewill was standing up and speaking with great vehemence. His last words were caught by the man outside.

"It must be carried through at all risks. Though it cost our all, we must do it. We can never abandon it now!"

The man repeated the words to the crowd beyond. A cheer rose from them all as one man, and shouts of "A rescue; a rescue! save him-save our Bayard!" were heard above the roar of the storm.

"Stay a moment, let me listen again," said the man at the window; "Grandam is going to speak."

He began in clear distinct tones. "With reference to the scheme of dredging the harbour, which my learned friend has so ably and nobly declared his intention of carrying through, at whatever cost, I— He got no further, for as the words were repeated by the man to the expectant crowd, a howl of execration arose, which was heard by the members of the Board inside, and they rose to their feet and looked at one another in consternation.

They were all brave men, and there was not one who would flinch from danger, but to say their hearts beat no quicker would be too much to assert. Sagewill knit his brow, pulled himself together, and said: "I will go and speak to the crowd; they know me well, and I will quiet them."

He went to the door, opened it, and stepped out. By this time the crowd had assumed immense proportions, and a mob such as it was, of yelling, howling men, mad at the thought of their hero being deserted, might well have cowed a stronger man; but Sagewill was no coward. He looked to the east, where the first streak of dawn was

becoming visible, then at the mass of angry faces before him, and stepping up on a stone bench which was against the house, he addressed the mob in these words

"My friends," he said—but a roar of "Bayard! Bayard!" interrupted him. "My friends," he began again, "it will no doubt be a satisfaction to you to know that at this moment your hero is in no immediate danger. I am now awaiting an answer to my last communication with him; and as soon as that comes, you may rely on our exert ing our every effort to pursue the right and wisest course. 'The Arab City' is not the only ship in danger; there are several others in a similar situation, and we are considering the best means of relieving them. I must, however, beg you to recollect that these ships do not belong to this port. They are strangers-we have no particular interest in them, and it is a matter for very grave consideration whether we should be acting rightly in risking the lives of our sailors in rescuing them.

"We sent Bayard to 'The Arab City,' trusting that his presence would inspire the crew with confidence; but we never contemplated having to do more than this; and it has, I may say, been a matter of some surprise to us that he should have asked for more assistance, instead of leaving the ship at once when he found them in such a precarious state. It is, I regret to say, impossible as yet to acquaint you with what our intentions are likely to be, but you may rely upon nothing being done in unseemly haste or hurry. We cannot, I think, attempt to rescue one ship without the other; and it is an open question whether, under these circumstances it would not be wiser to await the course of events.

"Darkness still conceals the fate

of 'The Arab City' from our view, and until we have the fullest information and light upon the subject, it would be mere folly to attempt a rescue. We have indeed endeavoured to find several excel

lent swimmers to try and reopen communications with Bayard; but to our sorrow they have either returned in vain or have been drowned in the attempt.

"But other and yet weightier considerations are causing us the gravest anxiety, so grave indeed, that for the moment, this and our other important scheme for dredging the harbour are likely to dwindle into insignificance beside them.

"I allude to a meeting which is about to take place of representatives from all the great ports, for the purpose of considering the best means of repairing the damage done by the late storms to some of the southern harbours.

"It is of vital importance to us that we should uphold the position we have hitherto held, that this port has a paramount interest in the question. At the same time, it behoves us to recollect that the other representatives are naturally sensitive, and wish to be on an equality with us; nor would it be right to injure their susceptibilities. We shall therefore admit their claim to perfect equality, and as they will doubtless outnumber us by three to one, the inhabitants of this port must not be disappointed or surprised if, on the most important questions, their representatives have to give way. Still we consider that this meeting may be of service in, so to speak, ventilating the subject; and we shall do our best to confine it to the mere question of expense, though how far this may be practicable yet remains to be seen. These and other affairs of urgent nature await me, and I must

-to

He finished speaking, turned and entered the house again; and such was the magic influence of the man over the people, that after a few murmurs of discontent they relapsed into sullen silence, and some went back to the beach and some dispersed, while many remained waiting outside.

The night wore away, the day began to break, the storm had considerably abated, and the grey light of the morning made the lights in the Cabin burn dim.

"The storm is over," said Grantham.

"It is," said Sagewill. "Give orders that the lifeboat be got ready at once. Signal without delay. I will go out and tell the crowd who are still waiting -they will be glad to hear the news."

He opened the door for the second time. The crowd had gone. The fresh morning air blew cold against his worn and anxious brow. He looked old and haggard. The storm had passed over, it is true, and the crowd had dispersed somewhat suddenly. No; they were coming round the corner of the house, and he began to address them at once.

"My friends," he cried, "I have to inform you that we have given orders to send out the lifeboat without delay. I believe this will give general satisfaction." He waited for the expected cheer, but it did not come. "There were," he continued, with an anxiety which he could not explain to himself, "three courses open to us with regard to our friend Bayard-either to have sent the lifeboat at once; secondly, to fire rockets when he reached the VOL. CXXXVI. NO. DCCCXXV.

He stopped-a dead silence followed his words. The crowd came

slowly on; the men were bareheaded. They did not shout or cheer they walked slowly on; and a measured tramp as of men carrying a weight might be heard following them.

Sagewill bent forward with a new and horrible dread, and Grantham stood beside him. Four men were carrying what looked like a litter between them. On it came, slowly and silently. There was something lying on it the figure of a man-white and motionless. They bore him on and laid him gently down at the door of the Cabin. They had thrown a sheet over him, but the head and breast were bare. The dead man's face was calm and still; the wet hair had fallen back from the stern yet noble brow; the eyelids were half closed; the keen and steadfast eyes would never more look out for help which did not come. The lips that brought comfort to many were silent for ever, and Bayard lay dead-yes, dead. Deserted, betrayed, forsaken-he lay there, a silent yet eloquent witness-a dead yet undying reproach to those who first sent him, then left him to his fate. Calm and still he lay there at rest, like one "who valued his life at nought, and had only left much weariness for perfect peace."

That was the end of it—no, not quite. His right hand still clasped his life-belt, but the work of Faith, Loyalty, & Co. had broken when he was dashed against Hopeless Reef, and a dark and ugly bruise over the left breast showed where it had wounded his heart in the breaking.

H

NEITHER Dr Talmage nor Mr Henry Ward Beecher has yet succeeded, I believe, in framing a new decalogue for America, but that event cannot be far distant. The country seems to have acquired a moral atmosphere of its own, which foreigners require to get accustomed to before they can appreciate it. The Americans regard the accidents and misfortunes of commercial life from a different stand-point to ours. In describing matters where old-fashioned morality still presumes to intrude on the liberty and licence of financial enterprise, they use a terminology which has been modified to suit their special wants. Such ugly ill-sounding words as "fraud," "fraud," "dishonesty," and the like, are rarely heard among them outside of politics, where they mean practically nothing. For one politician to accuse another of stealing, is only a forcible way of hinting that he has had opportunities which his accuser grudges him. In Wall Street and at the Produce Exchange-nay, even at the more primitive centres of speculation in oil-people are far more polite to each other. Operators in these refined regions may come to grief, or they may have to "lie down on their contracts," but they never commit what in the old country we call acts of bankruptcy. They may "re-hypothecate" securities which they hold in pledge, but they would be shocked at the suggestion of embezzlement. Dr Talmage, who is pre-eminently the high priest of transatlantic civilisation, brought out the distinctive feature of its morality very lucidly -in fact, he made an important contribution to the Wall Street

decalogue of the future-when he observed in his sermon on the failure of the Marine National Bank: "Our sympathies should be given for the financial sufferers. We have heard only one side of the story. The word 'mistake' will often cover what the world calls a swindle." Many thanks to Dr Talmage for that pertinent and appropriate epigram. If we would know what the average American thinks of the Wall Street failures, we should ponder carefully over Dr Talmage's happy phrase: "Mistakes which the world calls swindles." It is worthy to rank with Mr Gladstone's compassionate definition of an atheist as a person who has the misfortune not to believe in God."

on.

66

If Mr Spurgeon, or any other of our own pulpit humorists, were to talk in that easy way of breaches of the Decalogue, there would be danger of his being uncharitably judged. The most devoted pillar of the Tabernacle or the City Temple might be staggered by it, but to understand divines like Dr Talmage we must know the curious materials they have to moralise The Americans have their own way of doing most things, and they are not less distinctive in their peccadilloes than in their virtues. As speculators-in other words, as gamblers-they are unique. They combine the daring and the energy of the Anglo-Saxon with the equally essential coolness of Bret Harte's Heathen Chinee-the "childlike and bland." With them to be "smart" means a great deal. It implies more than the mere cunning which most of us ciate with the term. A "smart' American has imagination, ingenu

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