his object by fair means or foul.  When he fails to thrash a dozen sailors with his fists, and to pitch them into the sea, he resorts to the pistol, which, in his hand, never misses in its aim.  In our calling, my lord, I yield to none but Mac.  He is my superior in everything, except in this observatory.  Oh, were he here to-night!  We shall want a man of his metal.”

“This time your wish will be gratified.  I expect Mac here every moment.  Look, he’s coming down the road from Southerndown, in our direction.  *  *  *  Call up the men from the beach, Duncan; I wish them to be present when Mac arrives, so as to inform them of the appointment.”

The men were duly summoned by the head watcher.  On arriving at the tower, they stood in a row, in front of the entrance, to await their master’s commands.  Presently he appeared, accompanied by Duncan and Mac, and, addressing his men, spoke of their fidelity to his interest, called their attention to the many splendid victories achieved over the enemy, of the rich laurels already reaped from wrecks, and, further, that there was the strongest ground for hoping that their past gains were but as a drop of the bucket to those they might expect to realize hereafter.  “But your success,” said Mr. Vaughan, “will depend wholly upon yourselves.  You must be united, there must be harmony in your ranks, hearty co-operation; while all must cheerfully bow to the order of the commander-in-chief.  To that office I have selected a man after your own heart.  You who are in favour of having Mac for your captain, hold up your hands.”

To this request every hand was held up, whereupon Mac took his post at the head of the wreckers.  They were then regaled with a liberal supply of whisky, and when each one had taken his fill they repaired again to the beach.  No sooner, however, had they departed than there were seen coming down the channel two fine vessels.  The wind now blew a frightful gale, raising up the waters into waves like mountains, on whose crests the ships were carried at their mercy.  Everything appeared favourable to the wreckers.  In the west the sun had declined.  The shades of night were falling fast.  Every minute the darkness thickened.  The tempest increased in fury, while the roar of the ocean and the winds howling in the rocks and caverns around Dunraven Head, were most appalling.  Notwithstanding the tempest, neither Mr. Vaughan nor Duncan moved from the spot of observation.  As the vessels neared the point, the fatal light was placed in the tower.  The captains of both ships now fully realised their danger: that there was no hope of saving either their ships or their own lives.  The crews, too, were well aware of being on the enemy’s ground, and, informing their commanders of their apprehension, at once unanimously resolved, if they must perish by treachery so base and devilish, that others should also perish at their hands.  On their ships being driven into the bay they heroically prepared themselves for the combat.  Each one armed himself with a cutlass, and when the vessels were dashed against the rocks of Dunraven Head, they, as one man, leaped into the boiling surge, and swam for the shore.  But in this heroic attempt to save their lives, several received severe injuries, while others sank to rise no more.  However, the greater portion of them arrived safely on the beach, but no sooner had they landed than they saw, creeping along the shore, under the shelter of the rocks, a strong body of men well armed.  The sailors, however, were in no way alarmed at the appearance of the enemy.  Before quitting their vessels they were well aware that the lord of Dunraven was on the alert.  Of this the light on the Watch Tower was a sufficient proof.  Hence, when they saw the wreckers approaching they placed themselves on the defensive, and patiently awaited the attack.  They had not long to wait, for the Dunraven men immediately came up and called upon the sailors to surrender.  To that call, however, they paid no heed, but drawing out their daggers, fell with terrible force upon the wreckers, who, however, stood their ground manfully.  The battle was a desperate one, while the slaughter was most appalling to witness.  Many a brave man on both sides fell, mortally wounded.  For a time the sailors had the best of the fray.  Their arms were nerved, too, by the consideration that, if beaten, death would be the lot of each.  Just, however, when they thought their victory was sure, there came up to the rescue of the wreckers their captain, who, with his own hand, killed six of the sailors.  The work of butchery now commenced in earnest.  One after another of the sailors fell, never to rise again.  Indeed not one single man of their number survived to tell the tale.  When the work of slaughter was completed, the captain ordered all the bodies to be carried to the adjoining cavern, where they were buried in a large chasm in the rock.  After interring the dead, Mac and the survivors returned to the beach, and watched there for the morning dawn.  During the night both vessels were broken to atoms by the fury of the waves, and as daylight appeared, the shore, for half a mile, was literally covered with articles of great value, which on being sold, realised a large sum.

The deeds of that terrible night spread far and wide.  The owners of the vessels and merchants pressed the Government to send down a special commission of inquiry.  For several weeks these commissioners carried on their investigations; but, while collecting a large amount of evidence, yet in consequence of the absence of one witness, whose evidence was essential to bring the charge home to the lord of Dunraven, they failed in substantiating the case against Mr. Vaughan.  A week subsequent to the departure of the commissioners, that witness was found; but he could tell no tale, being a mangled corpse.  The body had been washed ashore near Porthcawl.  The remains were those of Captain ap William, the father of John.  The news of this discovery was at once carried to his widow, who was busily engaged in preparing her son’s wedding dinner when the messenger arrived.  After breaking the fatal news to Mrs. ap William, the messenger continued his journey to the little village of St. Bride’s, and, going up to the church, he met at the porch the newly-married pair.  To Captain John, as he was generally called, the messenger told his sad tale.  Both John and his wife were deeply affected on being apprised of their bereavement.  They returned to their home to weep and to mourn; so John’s bridal day, which he hoped would be a day of unclouded joy, proved to be one of sadness, of sorrow, and of death.  He thus fully realized, by personal experience, the truth of the inspired saying, that we know not what a day may bring forth.