apparently shouting with all his power, though his voice could not be heard amidst the roaring of the sea and the lashing of the ropes as the ship was luffed up close to the wind. Captain Davenport seized his speaking-trumpet and shouted, “We will keep by you! Do not fear!” Just then another head was seen. “A young girl!” cried several of those looking on. A mere child she seemed at that distance, her light hair blowing about in the wind.

“Bless them!” said old Tarbox; “I would go to help them if there was twice the sea there is on.”

Preparations were now made for heaving the ship to, but the captain was anxious to wait, in the hopes of the sea going down still more before night, when there might be less risk in bringing the people from off the wreck. A great risk under similar circumstances is run when those on board a ship on fire or likely to sink leap hurriedly in too great numbers into the boat alongside. In many such instances the boat has been swamped, and the lives of all in her sacrificed. Here, such a danger was not likely to occur, as no crew apparently remained on board. The question, however, was, whether the wreck would float till the sea had sufficiently gone down to enable a boat to board her without risk. As the ship gradually receded from the wreck, the young boy was seen to lift up his hands imploringly, as if to beg for assistance. At length the boatswain came aft and addressed the captain.

“If you will let me have the life-boat, sir, there are six hands ready to go in her; and I will undertake to board that craft, and bring off any people we may find alive. To my mind, from the way she rolls, she has not got many hours longer to swim; and if she was to go down, those young people we saw would have to go down in her, and that’s what my eyes would not like to watch.”

“No indeed, Tarbox,” said the captain. “Mr Thudicumb, what do you say?”

“I was going to volunteer, sir,” said the first officer; “but though I yield to no other man on board in the management of a boat, I acknowledge that Tarbox can handle one in a sea better than any man I have ever met with; and on that account, and not because I am afraid of risking my life, I yield to him.”

“Thank you, Mr Thudicumb,” said the boatswain. “I should have said the same thing of you, sir; but you have a wife and children at home, and it matters little what becomes of old Dick Tarbox.”

Once more the ship was brought up as close as she could be to the wreck, and again being hove to, the life-boat, with the six hands selected by the boatswain, was carefully lowered. And now everybody on board watched her with anxious eyes, as she pulled towards the wreck. The young lad saw her coming, and was observed to be bending down as if to announce the event to some one below. Again the little girl’s head appeared above the deck, but the lad would not allow her to come up further, evidently being afraid of her being jerked overboard—an event but too likely to occur, from the way the ship was rolling. On pulled the boat, now sinking down deep into the trough of the sea, which curled into mountain billows, and seemed about to overwhelm her; now she rose up high on the crest of a wave. Many of those who gazed at her held their breath, scarcely believing that she could possibly live amid the tumult of waters. Slowly she proceeded, guided by the well-practised hand of the old boatswain. She was close to the wreck. Now she seemed to sink far down below the deck, now to rise up, as if the next instant she would be thrown upon it. Could any human being ever manage to gain the wreck from that tossing boat? Yes, yes! a man stands up in the boat. He makes a spring! He has gained the deck, hauling himself up by a rope which he has clutched. He waves off the boat till he is ready to return to her.

Dick Tarbox was the man. He was seen to leap down the hatchway. For some time he did not appear. What could have become of him? “There he is! there he is!” shouted several voices. He came, bearing a young girl in his arms. The boat again drew near the dismasted ship. Those who looked on held their breath, for how could he manage to convey his burden to the tossing boat? He stood for a minute or more waiting, but not irresolute. His eye was watching the boat. He was calculating the rolling of the ship. He made a signal to one of the men to be ready to receive the girl. Then, quick as lightning, he leaped across the deck, and dropped her—so it seemed—into the man’s arms. The boat again kept away from the ship, and the boatswain disappeared once more down the hatchway.

“He will bring the boy this time!” But no; he came up carrying a far heavier burden—a man wrapped in a cloak, and apparently unable to help himself. Dick shouted to one of the crew to go aboard and help him. Together they got the sick man into the boat. The little girl clasped her hands in her anxiety as she saw him lowered down. Sorrowfully she stooped over him, supporting his head in her arms; forgetting, apparently, where she was, and the fearful danger to which she was still exposed. The boy had followed the boatswain, apparently with the intention of leaping into the boat by himself. Dick was seen to hold him back: then he lifted him in his arms, and, waiting for the right moment, sprang into the boat.

No one on board had watched these proceedings with more apparent eagerness than Merlin; and as the boat came alongside the ship, he ran to the gangway to receive those whom she brought. The little girl was first lifted up the side, and received by the captain, Merlin instantly coming up to lick her hands and attract her attention. She had no thought, however, for any one round her, but endeavoured to look down into the boat to watch her companions. The sick man was next hoisted up; the boy, till he was safe, refusing to leave the boat. He then, aided by Dick Tarbox, hauled himself up on deck.

“We will carry him aft, and take him at once to my cabin,” said the captain. “He looks very ill.”

This was done; the young people keeping by the sick man’s side, anxiously gazing on his countenance, apparently scarcely aware where they were, and paying no attention to any one else.

“Is he your father, young gentleman?” asked the captain, as the sick man was placed on the bed.

“Oh yes, yes!” answered the boy. “But can you do nothing for him? He is, I am afraid, very, very ill.”

At that moment the surgeon, who had been attending on a patient below, came up, and entering the cabin, looked at the sick man’s countenance and felt his pulse. The look he gave the captain was observed by the little girl: she seemed to understand it.

“Oh do, sir, tell me what is the matter with him! Will he die?” she asked, bursting into tears.

“There is no time to be lost,” observed the surgeon, hurrying away to his own cabin without answering the question.

“Our lives are in God’s hands, young lady,” said the captain, in a kind tone. “The doctor will do all he can for your papa; be assured of that.”

The surgeon instantly returned with a restorative; after taking which the sick man recovered slightly, and was able to utter a few words in a faint voice. He recognised his children, and beckoned them to approach.

“I am leaving you, I fear,” he whispered; “for I feel as I have never felt before. Walter, take care of Emily; never leave her. Think of your dear mother and me sometimes.” Then he turned his glance towards the captain. “These, sir, will be orphans before many hours have passed,” he said, in a faltering voice. “You, perhaps, are a father, and can feel for me. As a fellow-creature, you can do so. You have been the means of preserving the lives of those children; watch over them, and do what you can for them. They will tell you about themselves. I cannot speak more.”

While he was uttering these words, he seemed about to relapse into a state of insensibility. His eye was growing dim. He stretched out his hands,