nothing was to be seen but the white flash of the sea, which broke over the boat and drenched the crew. As quickly as she freed herself of water, she was buried again and again. At length the wreck was reached, and while the men were waiting for a rope to be passed to them, a gigantic wave burst over the Stanley and buried the lifeboat. Every oar was snapped off at the gunwale, and the outer ends were swept away, leaving nothing but the handles. When the men made a grasp for the spare oars they only got two--the remainder had been washed overboard.

It was almost impossible to work the Constance with the rudder and two oars, and while she was in this disabled condition a second wave burst upon her. Four of the crew either jumped or were thrown out of the boat, and vanished from sight. A third mighty billow swept the lifeboat away from the wreck, and it was with the utmost difficulty that she was brought to land. Two of the men, who had been washed out of the boat, reached the shore in safety, having been kept afloat by their lifebelts. The other two were drowned.

Speaking of the attempted rescue, the coxswain of the Constance said: "Although this misfortune has befallen us, it has given fresh vigour to the crew of the lifeboat. Every man here is ready, should he be called on again, to act a similar part."

Thirty-five of those on board the Stanley, out of a total number of sixty persons, were afterwards saved by means of ropes from the shore.

One of the most heartrending disasters, which have befallen the modern lifeboat, happened on the night of the 9th of December 1886. The lifeboats at Southport and St. Anne's went out in a furious gale to rescue the crew of a German vessel named the Mexico. Both were capsized, and twenty-seven out of the twenty-nine who manned them were drowned. It was afterwards found out that the Southport boat succeeded in making the wreck, and was about to let down her anchor when she was capsized by a heavy sea. Contrary to all expectations the boat did not right, being probably prevented from doing so by the weight of the anchor which went overboard when the boat upset.

What happened to the St. Anne's lifeboat can never be known, for not one of her crew was saved to tell the tale. It is supposed that she met with some accident while crossing a sandbank, for, shortly after she had been launched, signals of distress were observed in that quarter. Next morning the boat was found on the beach bottom up with three of her crew hanging to the thwarts--dead.

NEWS OF A WRECK ON THE COAST.

Such is the fate that even to-day overhangs the lifeboatman on the uncertain sea. Yet he is ever ready on the first signal of distress to imperil his life to rescue the stranger and the foreigner from a watery grave. "First come, first in," is the rule, and to see the gallant lifeboatmen rushing at the top of their speed in the direction of the boathouse, one would imagine that they were hurrying to some grand entertainment instead of into the very jaws of death. It is not for money that they thus risk their lives, as the pay they receive is very small for the work they have to perform. They are indeed heroes, in the truest sense of the word, and give to the world a glorious example of duty well and nobly done.

CHAPTER III.

THE WARRIORS OF THE SEA.

[On the night of the 9th of December 1886, the Lytham, Southport, and St. Anne's lifeboats put out to rescue the crew of the ship Mexico, which had run aground off the coast of Lancashire. The Southport and St. Anne's boats were lost, but the Lytham boat effected the rescue in safety.]

Up goes the Lytham signal!

St. Anne's has summoned hands!

Knee deep in surf the lifeboat's launched

Abreast of Southport sands!

Half deafened by the screaming wind,

Half blinded by the rain,

Three crews await their coxswains,

And face the hurricane!

The stakes are death or duty!

No man has answered "No"!

Lives must be saved out yonder

On the doomed ship Mexico!

Did ever night look blacker?

Did sea so hiss before?

Did ever women's voices wail

More piteous on the shore?

Out from three ports of Lancashire

That night went lifeboats three,

To fight a splendid battle, manned

By "Warriors of the Sea."

 

Along the sands of Southport

Brave women held their breath,

For they knew that those who loved them

Were fighting hard with death;

A cheer went out from Lytham!

The tempest tossed it back,

As the gallant lads of Lancashire

Bent to the waves' attack;

And girls who dwelt about St. Anne's,

With faces white with fright,

Prayed God would still the tempest

That dark December night.

Sons, husbands, lovers, brothers,

They'd given up their all,

These noble English women

Heartsick at duty's call;

But not a cheer, or tear, or prayer,

From those who bent the knee,