"Let go," he shouted, in this extremity.

Quick as lightning the anchor went to the bottom but with such way on the ship, the sudden strain snapped the chain, and the Lapwing rushed upon her doom, while cries of terror and despair arose from the passengers, who had by that time crowded on deck.

To the surprise of the captain, and those who were capable of intelligent observation, the ship did not immediately strike again, but sailed straight on as if right against the towering cliffs. Still onward it went, and as it did so there settled around them a darkness so profound that no one could see even an inch before his eyes. Then at last the ill-fated vessel struck, but not with her hull, as might have been expected. High up above them a terrific crash was heard.

"God help us," exclaimed the captain, "we've sailed straight into a cave!"

That he was right soon became evident, for immediately after the crashing of the topmasts against the roof of the cave, a shower of small stones and several large fragments fell on the deck with a rattle like that of musketry. Some of the people were struck and injured, though not seriously so, by the shower.

"Get down below, all of you!" cried the captain, himself taking shelter under the companion hatchway. But the order was needless, for the danger was so obvious that every one sought the shelter of the cabins without delay.

The situation was not only terrible but exceedingly singular, as well as trying, for as long as stones came thundering down on the deck it would have been sheer madness to have attempted to do anything aboveboard, and to sit idle in the cabins with almost certain death staring them in the face, was a severe test of endurance.

From the motion of the vessel several facts could be deduced. Although the scraping and crashing of the masts overhead told eloquently of destruction going on in that direction, the heaving of the ship, and her striking occasionally on either side, proved that there was deep water below her. That they were not progressing into an interminable cavern was made evident by the frequent plunging of the shattered bowsprit against the inner end of the cave. This action sent the vessel reeling backwards, as it were, every time she struck, besides shattering the bowsprit. That the cave, also, was open to the full force of the sea was only too severely proved by the rush of the billows into it, and the frequent and severe shocks to which they were in consequence subjected. These shocks had extinguished the lamps, and it was only by the aid of a few candles that they were delivered from sitting in absolute darkness.

In these awful circumstances the young Wesleyan proved that, besides the courage that he had already shown in facing danger on a sudden emergency, he also possessed that far higher courage which can face the slow and apparently sure approach of death with equanimity and self-possession. Moreover, he proved that the Word of God and prayer are the true resources of man in such extremities.

Calling those who were willing, around him, he led them in prayer, and then quieted the timid among them, as well as comforted all, not by reading, but by quoting appropriate passages from Scripture, in which he was profoundly versed.

"D'ee know when it'll be low water, sir?" asked Joe Slag of the captain, when the ship gave one of her upward heaves and rasped her timbers again on the sides of the cave.

"Not for three hours yet, but it's falling. I expect there will be less sea on in a short time. If the ship holds together we may yet be saved."

There was a murmured "thank God" at these words. Then Bob Massey expressed some fear that there might be a danger of striking the rocks underneath before low water.

"I wish it was the risin' tide," he said, and the words took his mind back, like a flash of lightning, to the time when he used them in a very different sense. Then all was peace, hope, sunshine, and his bride was sitting like a good angel beside him, with a sweet smile on her fair face. Now, something like darkness visible, showed him his poor wife— still beside him, thank God—but clinging to his arm with looks of terror amounting almost to despair. "What a contrast!" he thought, and for the first time a feeling of rebellion arose in his mind.

"There's no use o' sittin' here to be drowned like rats," he cried, starting up. "I'll go on deck an' take a cast o' the lead, an' see what chances we have."

"No, you won't, Bob," cried Nellie, throwing her arms firmly round him. "There's big stones falling all about the deck yet. Don't you hear them?"

As if to corroborate her words, a piece of rock nearly half a ton in weight fell on the sky-light at that moment, crashed completely through it, through the table below, and even sank into the cabin floor. Fortunately, no one was hurt, though Slag had a narrow escape, but that worthy was not easily intimidated. He rose up, and, saying that, "it was as well to be killed on deck doin' somethin' as in the cabin doin' nothin'," was about to ascend the ladder when Dr Hayward suddenly entered, all wet and dishevelled, and with blood trickling down his face.

"No use going up just now, Joe," he said, as he sat down beside his wife, and permitted her to tie a kerchief round his head. "Only a slight wound, Eva, got while taking soundings. I find that there are sixteen fathoms of water under us, and, although I couldn't see my hand held up before my face, I managed to make out by the flash of a match, which burned for a moment before being blown out, that the sides of the cave are quite perpendicular, not the smallest ledge to stand on. The tide, however, is ebbing fast, and the water in the cave calming, so that if no bad leak has been made by all this thumping we may yet be saved. Our only chance is to stick to the ship."

While he was speaking the vessel again surged violently against one side of the cave, and another of the huge masses of rock that were brought down by the swaying masts came crashing on the deck.

"There is no bad leak as yet," said the captain, re-entering the cabin, which he had quitted for the purpose of sounding the well. "If we can keep afloat for an hour or two we may be able to use the boats. Just now it would be useless to attempt launching them."

Although the captain's words were not particularly reassuring, his confident tone and manner infused hope, and comforted the people greatly. Some of the male passengers even volunteered to face the shower of stones, if need be, and lend a hand in launching the boats, when the time for doing so arrived.

These boats, three in number, were lying bottom up on deck, and to reach them involved the risk of death to whoever should attempt it. They were therefore compelled to wait.

It is difficult to form even a slight conception of the horrors of that night. For several hours they sat in the after-cabin, and the ship surged and plunged in the wildly-heaving water, striking the sides continually, while rocks fell at intervals on the deck, thus adding to the noise of wind and waves as they raged with echoing, deafening noise in the black cavern. Each moment it seemed as if the ship must have her planks stove in and be sunk, but she was a new vessel and strong. Of course she leaked considerably, but when the tide went down the sea calmed a little, the rocks ceased falling from the roof, and they were enabled to rig the pumps and work them vigorously. The boats, meanwhile, were cast loose and got ready to launch at the first glimmer of daylight! Fortunately, they had received no serious injury from the falling rocks.

Oh, how they longed and prayed for the day! It came at last, a gleam so faint that it showed nothing of their surroundings save the outline of the cavern's great mouth.

"Shall we launch the boats now, sir?" asked the first mate, who was becoming anxious, because the carpenter had just reported that the water in the hold was increasing dangerously in spite of the pumps.

"Not yet—not yet," returned the captain, hurriedly. "We must have more light first. The loss of a boat would be fatal. I'm afraid of the rising tide."

"Afraid of the rising tide!" Again the words struck strangely on Bob Massey's ears as he stood wiping the perspiration from his brow after a long spell at the pumps—and once more carried him back to the sunlit sands of Old England.

Soon the increase of water in the hold was so great that the getting out of the boats could no longer be delayed. The first launched was a small one. It was lowered over the stern by means of the studding-sail boom, with a block and whip, which kept it from dropping too quickly into the water. Massey and his friend Slag, being recognised as expert boatmen in trying circumstances, were sent in it, with two of the crew, to run out a line and drop an anchor in the sea outside, so that the heavier boats might be hauled out thereby. Two hundred and fifty fathoms of rope were given them—more than sufficient for the purpose. On getting outside, Bob and his friend, according to custom as lifeboat men, kept a sharp look-out on everything around them, and the feeble daylight enabled them to see that the black cliff which had, as it were, swallowed up the Lapwing, was full six hundred feet high and a sheer precipice, in some places overhanging at the top, and without the symptom of a break as far as the eye could reach in either direction.

"A black look-out, Joe," muttered Massey, as he assisted his comrade to heave the anchor over the side.

"Ay, Bob, an' the worst of it is that the tide's risin'. A boat can live here as long as that ridge o' rocks keeps off the seas, but in an hour or so it'll be rollin' in as bad as ever."

"I knows it, Joe, an' the more need to look sharp."

Returning to the ship, our coxswain made his report, and recommended urgent haste. But the captain required no urging, for by that time the ship's main deck was level with the water, and the seas were making a clean breach over the stern. The passengers and crew crowded towards the port gangway where the large boat was being brought round to receive the women and children first. This was such a familiar scene to the two lifeboat men that they kept cool and self-possessed from the mere force of habit. Seeing this, the captain ordered Mitford to get into the boat first, and help to stow the others, for it would be a tight pack, he said, to stow them all. Dr Hayward was ordered to assist. Ned Jarring volunteered to help to fend the boat off during the operation, and, without waiting for permission, jumped into her.

Mitford had consigned his wife to the care of his friend Massey, who at once undertook the duty by tying a kerchief round Peggy's head to keep her hair out of her eyes, after which he did the same for Nellie. Both women were perfectly quiet and submissive—the first owing to fear and exhaustion, the last from native courage, which enabled her to rise to the occasion. Massey then stripped off all his own clothes, except shirt and trousers, so as to be ready for swimming, and, catching up a rope, advanced towards his wife, intending to fasten it round her waist.

"Peggy first, Bob; I'll wait for you," said his wife.

"Look sharp!" cried the captain.

Bob turned at once to Peggy, and in a few seconds she was lowered into the boat. Mrs Hayward followed. Then Massey insisted on his wife going, and the obedient Nellie submitted, but, owing to a lurch of the ship at the moment, she missed the boat, and dropped into the water. One of the men attempted to pull her in, but could not, and, as all the others were engaged at the moment in trying to fend off the rocks, Massey at once jumped into the sea, and helped to get his wife into the boat.

At that moment there arose a cry that the ship was sinking, and a wild rush was made for the long-boat, which had also been successfully launched. Of course it was instantly overcrowded, for all discipline was now at an end. Before anything else could be done the Lapwing sank in sixteen fathoms of water, carrying the long-boat and all the people in her along with it, but those in the other boat had shoved off at the first wild cry, and hauling on the anchored cable, just escaped being sucked down by the sinking ship.

Bob Massey clung to the boat's gunwale, and thus escaped. Rowing back instantly, however, to the spot where the ship had gone down, they sought eagerly for swimmers. Only three were discovered and rescued, but the others—seventy souls in all—found a watery grave in the dark cavern of that unknown land.



STORY ONE, CHAPTER 7.

So rapidly did the final catastrophe take place that it was difficult for the rescued party at first to credit the evidence of their senses. On the spot where the Lapwing had been beating her sides against the cruel walls of the cavern, and where so many hearts had been throbbing wildly between hope and fear, no living creature remained; nothing but a few feet of the shattered masts appearing now and then above the surging waves, was left to tell of the terrible tragedy that had been enacted there.

For upwards of an hour the party in the boat hovered about the place, not so much with the hope of rescuing any of their shipmates as on account of the difficulty of tearing themselves away from the fatal spot. Perhaps the natural tendency of man to hope against hope had something to do with it. Then they passed silently out of the cavern and rowed slowly along the base of the tremendous cliffs.

At length the feeling of self-preservation began to assert itself, and Bob Massey was the first to break silence with the question—

"Does any one know if there's anything to eat aboard?"

"We'd better see to that," observed Dr Hayward, who was steering.

Bob Massey pulled in his oar, and, without remark, began to search the boat. It was found that all the food they had brought away consisted of nine tins of preserved meat and three pieces of pork, a supply which would not go far among ten persons.

The ten survivors were Dr Hayward and his wife; Massey and Nellie; Joe Slag; John Mitford and his wife Peggy; Terrence O'Connor, the assistant cook; Tomlin, one of the cabin passengers; and Ned Jarring. All the rest, as we have said, had perished with the ill-fated Lapwing.

Little was said at first, for the hopelessness of their condition seemed so obvious that the men shrank from expressing their gloomy fears to the women who sat huddled together, wet and cold, in the bottom of the boat.

As we have said, as far as the eye could see in any direction, the frowning cliffs rose perpendicularly out of deep water. There was not even a strip of sand or a bay into which they could run in case of the wind increasing.

"There is nothing for it but to push on till we come to an inlet, or break of some sort in the cliffs, by which we may land," said Hayward, speaking encouragingly to the women. "God helping us, we are sure to find some such place ere long."

"Don't look very like it," muttered Black Ned, gloomily.

"We can see how it looks about as well as you can," retorted John Mitford, indignantly. "If ye can't say somethin' to cheer the women, there's no need for to look blue an' tell us what a mere babby could see for itself."

This remark, coming as it did from lugubrious Mitford, caused Terrence O'Connor to smile.

"True for ye," he said, "we can see what's fornint us, but even Black Ned can't see round the corner."

"Besides, there may be a flat shore on the other side o' the island," added Bob Massey in a cheerful tone; "I've often noticed islands o' this build, and when they're so high on one side they usually are low on the opposite side; so we'll only have to pull round—an' mayhap there are people on it—who knows?"

"Ay, natives pr'aps," growled Jarring, "an' cannibals who are fond of eatin' white folk—specially women!"

"Shut up your black muzzle, or I'll heave ye overboard!" said Mitford, fiercely, for like many easy-going, quiet men, he was unusually savage when fairly roused.

Whatever Black Ned may have felt, he gave no expression to his thoughts or feelings by word or look, but continued calmly to pull his oar.

All that day, and all that night, however, the party pulled steadily along the shore without finding an opening in the cliffs or any part which could be scaled by man. During this period their plight was miserable in the extreme, for the weather at the time was bitterly cold; they were drenched through and through with spray, which broke so frequently over the side as to necessitate constant baling, and, to make matters worse, towards evening of the second day snow began to fall and continued to do so the greater part of the night. Fortunately, before dark they came to some small rocky islets, on which they could not land as the waves washed over them, but in the lee of which they cast anchor, and thus were enabled to ride out a furious gale, which sprang up at sunset and did not subside till morning.

It need scarcely be said that the men did all that lay in their power to shelter the poor women, who had exhibited great fortitude and uncomplaining endurance all that weary time; but little could be done for them, for there was not even a bit of sail to put over them as a protection.

"Nellie, dear," said Massey, when the boat was brought up under the lee of the rocks, "d'ee feel very cold?"

"Not very," replied his wife, raising her head. "I'm strong, thank God, and can stand it; but Peggy here is shudderin' awful bad. I believe she'll die if somethin' isn't done for her."

"I think if she could only ring the water out of her clothes," whispered Mrs Hayward to her husband, "it might do her some good, but—"

"I know that, Eva: it would do you all good, and we must have it done somehow—"

An exclamation in the bow of the boat at that moment attracted attention. It was John Mitford, who, having taken off his own coat, and wrapped it round his shivering wife, had gone to the bow to rummage in a locker there, and had found a tarpaulin. Massey had overhauled the locker for food before him, but the tarpaulin had been so well folded, and laid so flat in the bottom, that it had escaped his notice.

Retiring aft with this god-send, the lugubrious man speedily, with the assistance of his comrades, covered over the centre of the boat so completely that a small chamber was formed, into which the women could retire. It was not high enough, indeed, to stand in, but it formed a sufficient shelter from wind and spray.

"Now, Peggy, my dear," said her husband when it was finished, "get in there—off wi' your things an' wring 'em out."

"Th-thank you, J-John," replied Peggy, whose teeth chattered like castanets, "but 'ow am I t-to d-dry 'em? For wet c-clo'es won't dry wi-without a fire. At least I n-never 'eard of—"

The remainder of her remarks were lost to male ears as the tarpaulin dropped around her after Eva Hayward and Nellie had led, or half-lifted, her under its sheltering folds. How they managed to manipulate the shivering Peggy it is not our province to tell, but there can be no doubt that the treatment of her two friends in misfortune was the cause of her emerging from under the tarpaulin the following morning alive and comparatively well, though still far from dry.

The aspect of things had changed greatly for the better when the unfortunates resumed their voyage. The wind had abated, the sea, although still heaving, was smooth. The snow had ceased, and the sun arose in a cloudless sky, so that when poor Mrs Mitford raised her dishevelled head and felt the sun's cheering rays she exclaimed, with a sigh of relief: "La! if the sun ain't blazin' 'ot! An' I'm so 'ungry. Dear, dear, 'ave you bin rowin' all night, John? 'Ow tired you must be; an' your 'ands blistered, though you are pretty tough in the 'ands, but you couldn't 'old a candle to Bob Massey at that—Yes, yes, Nellie, I 'ear you, but la! what does it matter 'ow your 'air an' things is deranged w'en you're wrecked at sea and—"

The abrupt disappearance of the dishevelled head at that moment suggested the idea that Mrs Mitford had either fallen backward suddenly or been pulled under cover by her companions.

"She's all right, anyhow," said O'Connor, adjusting his oar.

"She's always all right," remarked Mitford in a funereal tone, which, however, was meant to be confidential. "Bless your heart, I've seen that woman under all circumstances, but although she's timid by nature, an' not over strong in body, I've never seen her give in or fairly cast down. No doubt she was pretty low last night, poor thing, but that was 'cause she was nigh dead wi' cold—yet her spirit wasn't crushed. It's my solemn conviction that if my Peggy ever dies at all she'll die game."

With a profound sigh of satisfaction at having thus borne testimony to the rare and admirable qualities of his wife, the worthy man applied himself to his oar with redoubled vigour.

It is quite a pleasure in this censorious world to see any man absolutely blind to his wife's faults, and thoroughly awake to her good qualities. The opinion formed of Peggy—by Mrs Massey and Mrs Hayward respectively, did not quite coincide with that of John Mitford.

"How did you get on with poor Peggy last night, Eva?" asked Dr Hayward of his wife, in an undertone, as they breakfasted that forenoon beside the tiller, while the rest of their companions were similarly engaged in the middle of the boat, and at the bow.

"Pretty well, Tom, but she's troublesome to manage. She is so unusually timid, poor creature, so prone to give way to despair when things look bad, yet so sweetly apt to bound into high spirits when things are looking hopeful,—and withal, so amusingly garrulous!"

Strange to say, at the very moment that this was uttered, Nellie was remarking to her husband in a low tone that, "poor Peggy was quite a puzzle, that she was all but dead at one moment, and quite lively at another, that she professed to be all submission, but was as obstinate as a pig, and that her tongue—soft though it was—went like the clapper of a mill!"

We have referred to breakfast, but the meal spread before the castaways hardly merits that name, for it consisted of only a small slice of pork to each; a few pieces of ship's biscuit that Slag had discovered in his pockets; and a cup of water drawn from the pond which had accumulated in a hollow of the tarpaulin during the night.

"It is lucky that one of the pieces of pork happened to be cooked," observed Dr Hayward, as he served out the allowance, "for I would have been sorry to break into the preserved meat tins till forced to do so. We must keep these as a reserve as long as possible."

"Right you are, sir!" said Slag, with his mouth full, while with a clasp-knife he carefully cut off another morsel to be ready, "right you are! That 'minds me when we was starvin', me and my shipmates in the Arctic regions, so as our ribs was all but comin' through our skins, an' we was beginnin' to cast an evil eye on the stooard who'd kep' fatter than the rest of us somehow, an' was therefore likely to prove a more satisfyin' kind o' grub, d'ee see—"

"I say, Joe," said Hayward, interrupting, for he feared that Slag's anecdote might not tend to render the pork breakfast more palatable.

"Sir?" said Slag.

"Will you just go to the bow and take a squint ahead? I think there seems to be something like an end o' the cliffs in view—your eyes are better than mine."

Slag swallowed the mouthful on which he was engaged, thrust after it the morsel that was ready to follow, wiped the clasp-knife on his thigh, and went forward to "take a squint."

It turned out that the "end" of the cliffs which the doctor had only supposed possible, was a reality, for, after a long gaze, Slag turned and said—

"Your eyes are better than you think, sir, for the end o' the cliff is visible, an' a spit o' sand beyond is quite plain."

As this report was corroborated by Bob Massey, and then by all the other men, it sent a thrill of gratitude into the hearts of most of the party—especially the women, who, having lain so long wet and almost motionless, were nearly benumbed in spite of the sunshine. Longer exposure, indeed, would probably have proved fatal to poor Mrs Mitford, possibly also to Mrs Hayward, who was by no means robust. As for our coxswain's wife, having been reared among the health-giving breezes of the sea-shore, and inured from infancy to exposure and hard work, she suffered much less than her female companions, and busied herself a great part of the time in chafing their cold limbs. In doing this she reaped the natural advantage of being herself both warmed and invigorated. Thus virtue not only "is," but inevitably brings, its own reward! Similarly, vice produced its natural consequences in the case of Black Ned, for that selfish man, being lazy, shirked work a good deal. It is possible to pull an oar in such a way that, though the rower may be apparently doing his best, he is, in reality, taking the work very lightly and doing next to nothing. Acting in this way, Ned Jarring became cold when the sleet and spray were driving in his face, his blood flowed sluggishly in his veins, and his sufferings were, consequently, much more severe than those of his comrades. Towards the afternoon of that day, they rounded the spit of sand mentioned by Joe Slag, and came upon a low-lying coast. After proceeding a considerable distance along which, they discovered a good harbour. This was fortunate, for grey clouds had again covered the sun and a bitter east wind began to blow.

"Thank God, Eva," said Hayward, as he steered into the bay, "for if we had not come upon this harbour, your strength and that of poor Peggy, I fear, would have failed, but now you'll be all right in a short time."

"Oh, no, sir, I don't think as my strength would fail," said Peggy, in a feeble voice, for she had overheard the remark. "Not that I shouldn't be thankful all the same, I allow—for thankfulness for mercies received is a dooty, an' most on us do fail in that, though I say it that shouldn't, but my strength ain't quite gone yet—"

"Stand by, Slag, to fend off with your oar when we get close in," said the doctor, interrupting Peggy's discourse.

"Have any of you got matches in your pockets?" asked Massey, clapping his hands suddenly to the various receptacles about his person, with a look of unwonted anxiety.

"Ye may well ax that, Bob," said O'Connor, using his own hands in the same way. "Cold, wet weather, and no house! It 'ud be death to the women, sure, av—"

"Here you are!" shouted Tomlin in a burst of triumph, in spite of his naturally reserved disposition.

He held up a box of vestas which, being a smoker, he fortunately had in his pocket.

"I hope they ain't wet," remarked Black Ned, suggestively.

"Wrap 'em well up," said Slag.

Tomlin drew out his handkerchief and proceeded to do so. At the same moment the boat's keel grated softly on the shingly shore.



STORY ONE, CHAPTER 8.

Seldom have the mysterious sparks of life been sought for more anxiously, or tended and nursed with greater care, than were the little sparks of fire which were evoked with difficulty from Tomlin's match-box.

Drizzling rain had commenced just as the wrecked party landed. The tarpaulin had been set up as a slight, though very imperfect, shelter; the ground underneath had been strewn with twigs and grass, and a large pile of dead branches had been arranged to receive the vital spark before any attempt was made to create it.

"Everything must be quite ready, first," said Hayward to Tomlin, "for our very lives depend, under God, on our securing fire; so keep the matches snug in your pocket till I ask for them."

"I will," replied Tomlin, "D'you know it never occurred to me before how tremendously important the element of fire is? But how will you ever manage to make the branches catch, everything being so thoroughly soaked?"

"You shall see. I have had to make a fire in worse circumstances than the present," returned Hayward, "though I admit they are bad enough. Have you got the small twigs broken and ready, Slag?"

"All ready, sir."

"Now look here, Tomlin."

As he spoke, the doctor picked up a dead but wet branch, and, sheltering himself under the tarpaulin, began to whittle it with his penknife. He found, of course, that the interior of the branch was dry. The thin morsels which he sliced off were handed to Slag, who placed them with great care in the heart of a bundle of very small twigs resembling a crow's nest. A place had been reserved for this bundle or nest, in the heart of the large pile of branches lying on the ground. Meanwhile, Slag held the nest ready in his hands.

"Now, Tomlin, get out your matches," said the doctor.

With the utmost care the anxious man unfolded the kerchief, and, opening the box, looked into it earnestly.

"Wet?" asked Hayward.

Tomlin shook his head. "I fear they are." He took one out, while the whole party assembled round him to note the result.

The first match dropped its head like a piece of soft putty when scraped on the lid. The second did the same, and a suppressed groan escaped from the little group, for it could be seen that there were not more than ten or twelve matches in the box altogether. Again and again a match was struck with similar result. The fifth, however, crackled a little, and rekindled, sinking hope in the observers, though it failed to kindle itself. The seventh burst at once into a bright blaze and almost drew forth a cheer, which, however, was checked when a puff of wind blew out the new-born flame.

"Och! let Bob Massey try it!" cried O'Connor. "Sure he's used to workin' in throublesome weather."

"Right, boy," said Slag, "hand it to the coxs'n."

Tomlin readily obeyed, only too glad to get some of the failure shifted to other shoulders.

Massey readily undertook the task, and success attended his first effort.

"I knowed it!" said Nellie, in a quiet tone, as she saw the bright flame leap up and almost set her husband's beard on fire. "Bob never fails!"

The burning match was quickly plunged into Hayward's handful of shavings, which blazed up as he thrust it into Slag's nest; and Slag, holding the nest with the tender care of a loving sick-nurse, and the cool indifference of a salamander, till it was a flaming ball, crammed it into the heart of the pile of sticks. Tremendous was the volume of smoke that arose from the pile, and anxious were the looks riveted on it.

"Sure ye've smothered it intirely," gasped O'Connor.

"Oh, me!" sighed Peggy in a voice of mild despair.

"No fear, it's all right," said Massey, in a confident tone, while Joe Slag, on his knees, with cheeks inflated and nose all but kindling, blew at the glowing heart with unwearied determination, regardless alike of friend and foe.

"It's going to do," remarked John Mitford in his most dismal tone.

"Any child might tell that," said Nellie, with a light laugh.

The laugh seemed infectious, for the whole party joined in as a glorious gush of flame rushed among the sticks, dried up the dampness, and effectually changed the pillar of smoke into a pillar of fire.

The fire thus kindled was rightly deemed of such vital importance that it was not permitted to go out thereafter for many months, being watched night and day by members of the party appointed to the duty by turns. It had, indeed, not a few narrow escapes, and more than once succeeded in reaching what appeared to be its last spark, but was always caught in time and recovered, and thus was kept burning, until a discovery was made which rendered such constant attendance and care unnecessary.

"Now," said Dr Hayward, when the fire was safely established, "we have not much daylight left, so it behoves us to make the most of it. You are a man of action and experience, Robert Massey, what would you advise us to do first?"

"Well, doctor, since you're good enough to ask me, I would advise that we should appoint a leader. You see, mates," he continued, addressing himself to the company in general, "there's no possibility of a ship gettin' along without a captain, or an army without a general. If we was going off to a wreck now, with or without a lifeboat, I would claim a sort o' right to be coxswain in virtue o' past experience; but, as we've now begun a sort o' shore-goin' business, which requires a deal o' general knowledge, besides seamanship, an' as Dr Hayward has got that by edication, I move that we make him our leader."

"Right you are, Bob," said Joe Slag. ("As he always is," said Nellie, sotto voce.) "So I second the move—if that's the reg'lar way to do it."

"Hear, hear!" said every one with right good will, and a gleam of pride flashed from Eva's pretty brown eyes as her husband was thus unanimously appointed leader of the shipwrecked band.

Like a sensible man, knowing his capacity, he at once accepted the command without any display of undue modesty, and proved his fitness by at once going to work.

"The first thing, then, is to thank God for our deliverance, which we all do, I am sure, most heartily."

This was received with a responsive "Amen" from every one—not even excepting Black Ned.

"Next, we must find fresh water and boil a bit of pork—"

"Ah, then, we haven't a kittle!" exclaimed O'Connor.

"Haven't we a big baling-dish, Terrence?" said Hayward.

"Sure we have, sor, an' it's a tin wan as'll stand fire," returned Terrence with a reproved look.

"Well, then, you go fetch it; wash it well out, and get the pork ready. Jarring and Tomlin will gather as much dead wood as they can find and pile it beside the fire. Mitford will search for fresh water—there must be a spring or brook not far off—and Massey and I will rig up some sort of shelter for the night."

"Please, sir, may I go with Mitford to seek for water?" asked Nellie.

"By all means, if you wish to."

"And I will keep you company, Nell," said Mrs Hayward energetically.

"So will I," chimed in little Mrs Mitford, feebly. "I was always fond of water. As a child I used to paddle about in it continually, an' sometimes tumbled into it, for of course young people will—"

"No, Peggy, you must sit by the fire with my wife," said the doctor. "Neither of you is fit for work of any kind yet, so sit down and warm yourselves."

Eva was too wise, and Peggy too weak, to offer objection, so these two sat by the fire while the others went to work.

Energy of action tends to lighten the burdens that may be laid on human spirits, and to induce the most favourable view of the worst circumstances. The toil which the party now undertook was such a blessed relief to them after the prolonged exposure to cold and comparative inaction in the boat, that all returned to the camp-fire in a much more cheerful state of mind than they left it. The searchers for water came back first, having found what they sought close at hand; and Terrence, filling his baling-dish, soon had the pork boiling, along with some mysterious herbs gathered by the doctor to convert the liquid into soup. Tomlin and Black Ned returned heavily laden with firewood, and Bob Massey discovered a tree with branches sufficiently spreading and leafy to protect them to some extent from rain.

"'Tis as well we have found overhead protection, Massey," said the doctor, when our coxswain led him to the spot, "for I have been thinking that as we have no blankets, we shall be obliged to use our tarpaulin as a quilt rather than an umbrella."

"That's true, sir," returned Massey, "but how about the women?"

"Well, I've been thinking about that," said Hayward, "and I've devised a plan for to-night at least; to-morrow I hope to hit on a better arrangement. First of all, we'll spread in front of a fire, which we will kindle beneath this tree, a layer of branches and grass. In the middle of this the women will lie down side by side, after having dried and warmed themselves thoroughly at the fire. Then we'll take two of the floor planks from the boat, and put one on each side of them— partially frame them, as it were. Then one half of us men will lie down on one side of the frame, the other half on the other side, and we'll draw the tarpaulin over us all."

"Hm! not very comfortable," said Massey, "for the poor women to be framed like that."

"Admitted; but what else can we do?" said Hayward. "It would risk our lives to sleep without covering of any kind in such cold weather, and with sleet falling as it does now. Better have the sheet spread upon us than merely over our heads. So now let's kindle another fire, and do you arrange our couch, Bob."

In spite of the cold and the sleet, things looked much more cosy than persons unacquainted with "roughing it" could believe possible, and they became comparatively happy when the couch was spread, and they were seated under the sheltering tree, with the fire blazing and crackling in front of them, suffusing their faces and persons and the leaf-canopy overhead with a deep red glare, that contrasted well with the ebony-black surroundings, while a rich odour of pork soup exhaled from the baling-dish.

"Ah! now there's nothin' wantin' to produce parfit felicity but a pipe," said O'Connor with a sigh.

"That's so, lad," assented Tomlin, echoing the sigh, and feeling in his pocket from force of habit, though he knew too well that nothing was to be found there.

"Here, Terrence," said Massey, handing him an empty pipe, at the same time asking him to shut his eyes and draw, and try to imagine himself smoking, but Terrence shook his head.

"I couldn't do that, Bob," he said, "but I'll sing ye a stave in praise o' the weed."

Without waiting for permission, the jovial Irishman at once began:

"Oh! it's 'baccy as is my chief joy, At mornin', noon and night; An' it's verily my belief, boy, That I love it with all my might. If your liver an' lungs are squeakin', An' your head is growin' cracky, There's nothin' so sure to kill or cure, As fumes o' the strongest 'baccy."

"If it would improve your voice, Terrence," observed Mr Mitford, meekly, "I'm sure I wish ye had pounds of it, for it's that harsh— though, of course, I make no pretence to music myself, but—"

"Just listen to that now, 'Harsh!' an' that to a man whose own mother, by the father's side, towld him he shud make music his purfession! Arrah, howld on, Black Ned, ye spalpeen; ye've had two helpin's already!"

This latter remark had reference to the baling-dish of soup which was being passed round the party, so that each might help himself to two mouthfuls of soup before passing it on. As they had no spoons, the doctor had extemporised ladles of folded bark, which served the purpose pretty well.

"Haven't ye a small bit o' 'baccy in the corner o' wan o' yer pockets, doctor, dear?" asked Terrence, insinuatingly. "May be ye'd find a morsel if ye'd try."

"Quite useless to try, my poor fellow," returned the doctor, with a look of affected pity, "for I'm a non-smoker. I never indulge in such an absurdity."

"Sure, it's a true proverb that says 'doctor's differ,'" retorted O'Connor, "for most o' the saw-bones of my acquaintance have smoked like lime kilns."

"More's the pity, Terrence, but if you'll heave on some more firewood you'll have a smoke that may do as a substitute at present."

By heaping quantities of fresh branches on the fire till it was large enough to roast an ox, the party managed to pass the night in comparative comfort, in spite of cold and sleet. Hayward watched the fire during the first part of the night. Then he was relieved by our coxswain, who was succeeded by Joe Slag, and no Vestal virgins ever tended their fire with more anxious solicitude than those three men guarded theirs during that first night on the island.

As if to make up for the sufferings of the past few days, the morning that followed broke with unclouded splendour, and the rising sun shone upon as beautiful a scene as could well be imagined, for it revealed an island richly clothed with verdure, which, rising out of a calm blue sea, sloped gradually upwards, until its western ridge met the bright sky. Evidently that terminating ridge was the place whence descended the precipitous cliffs, along which they had sailed immediately after leaving the cave of the wreck.

There is no accounting for the eccentricities of weak-minded females, whether pretty or plain. The first thing that pretty little Mrs Mitford exclaimed on opening her eyes and beholding the glorious view was—

"Oh! I do so wish that we had oysters for breakfast!"

If she had expressed a desire for elephant chops, she could not have taken Eva Hayward more by surprise. As for Nell Massey, she went off into a hilarious giggle.

"I fear there are no oysters hereabouts," said Hayward, "but I shouldn't wonder if we were to find mussels and things of that sort. Come, lads, we'll go and have a search for them, while the ladies fill and boil our kettle."

Limpets, mussels, and other shell-fish were found in great abundance. With these warm soup was soon made, and after a hearty breakfast, Hayward organised the party in two bands which were sent off in different directions to explore the island, Peggy and her husband being left behind to cook the dinner and keep up the fire.



STORY ONE, CHAPTER 9.

For several days the shipwrecked party continued to live chiefly on limpets and mussels gathered on the sea-shore. Only a very little of the pork was used, for the purpose of converting the food into soup. As they could not tell, of course, how long they might be compelled to live there, it behoved them to be very careful of the food-supply already in possession. Fortunately, the weather continued fine, though cold, so that it was not necessary at first to make any alteration in their camp arrangements.

During this period much of their time was necessarily spent in laying in a stock of shell-fish, and in attempting to bring down with stones some of the gulls which flew inquisitively about and very temptingly near to the camp, but none of the party was a good marksman with stone ammunition, and it soon became evident that unless some other means of obtaining food were discovered there was every prospect of starvation ending their career.

In this emergency Dr Hayward organised an exploring expedition on a more extended scale. He divided the party into three bands—one consisting of Ned Jarring, Tomlin, and himself, to examine the shores; another comprising Joe Slag, John Mitford, and O'Connor, to penetrate the interior and higher lands; while it was appointed to Bob Massey, who had by that time come to be more frequently addressed by his old title of "coxswain," to stay at the camp, keep the all-important fire going, and guard the women.

"You see, we must go about this business thoroughly," said the doctor, when they were all assembled in the camp one day after their frugal meal, excepting O'Connor, who was a short distance off, trying, with unwearied perseverance and unvaried failure, to kill gulls with stones. "And for this purpose, we must hold a council of war. Where's Terrence?"

"He's pelting the gulls as usual," said Black Ned.

"A-missin' of 'em, you mean," suggested Mitford.

"Hallo, Terrence!" shouted Hayward, catching sight of the Irishman at that moment. "Here! we want you."

"Comin', sor, jist wan more shot at this baste. He's bin flyin' round me hid for half-an-hour at laste, winkin' at the stones as they go by him. Och! missed again—bad luck to ye!"

As he uttered the malediction the disappointed man heaved a last stone, angrily and without an attempt at an aim. He did not even look up to observe the result, but turned sharply round towards the camp.

That stone, however, was like the arrow shot at a venture. It hit the bird full on the breast and brought it down, which fact was made known to the sportsman by a cheer from the camp and a heavy thud behind him.

"Well done, Terrence!" cried Hayward as he came up with his prize. "I regard it as a good omen—a sort of turn in the tide which will encourage us on our contemplated expedition."

The leader then gave minute instructions as to how long they were to be away; how much food they were to take; the direction to be followed, and the work to be done.

"In short," said the doctor in conclusion, "we must use our eyes, ears, and limbs to the best advantage; but bear in mind that the grand object of the expedition is—"

"Grub," suggested O'Connor.

"Just so. Grub is our first and greatest necessity. Meanwhile, Peggy, Nell, and Eva will do what they can to make our camp comfortable: gather mussels and other shell-fish and see that the coxswain does not eat more than a fair share of victuals, and conducts himself in all respects like an obedient and trusted servant."

With such and similar touches of pleasantry Hayward sought to cheer the spirits of the party, and divert their minds from dwelling too much on the fact that their case was a very serious one—almost desperate, for they were on a comparatively small island, far to the southward of the usual track of ships, without food or shelter, and without any of the ordinary means of procuring either.

The remainder of that day was spent in making preparation for the projected expedition. As they had no offensive or defensive arms, except two gully knives, their first business was to provide each man with a spear. Fortunately, some of the surrounding trees had very straight branches of various sizes, so they had only to cut down such as were suitable, and peel the bark off. But the formation of hard points gave them some anxiety, until Tomlin hit upon the idea of utilising the bones of their pork.

"The very thing!" said Mitford, with a look of melancholy satisfaction.

Having no turn whatever for mechanics, he never saw difficulties till they met and overcame him, and was always ready to rush in where mechanical angels—if we may say so—feared to tread.

"And how would you propose to cut the bones, John?" asked Slag, with an air of modest simplicity.

"Cut 'em? eh! well—wi' the knife, of course."

It was found, however, that the knife made but slight impression on the bones, and after one or two vain attempts, they turned to a more effective method. Finding a huge boulder of some kind of sandstone they broke it up, and on the rough surface thus produced, ground the bones into sharp points, and by an ingenious method known to Slag, who learned it from the Eskimos, they fixed these firmly on the ends of their spears.

Thus armed, and with a small quantity of cold pork, and a large allowance of cold boiled limpets and mussels in their wallets, they set out on their explorations.

It is impossible to accompany two parties at once. Let us follow just now the one composed of Joe Slag, Terrence O'Connor, and John Mitford. These, with Joe as their leader, proceeded along the shore some miles in a northerly direction; and then, turning into the bush, which was nowhere thick, they pushed into the interior of the island. After advancing about ten miles they came on a wide stretch of sandhills or downs, and found that, having crossed a sort of isthmus, they had come out again on the sea-shore.

"This won't do," said Slag, on making the discovery. "We'll have to steer d'rect for the highest land."

"That's so, Joe," said Mitford, "and yonder's a height away there, right in the wind's eye, that will act as a beacon to us."

"I sees it, John—but, I say, what's the matter wi' Terrence?"

This question was drawn forth by the action of the Irishman, who had walked on about fifty yards in advance of his comrades. He was standing in the attitude of an ancient Roman about to discharge a javelin. Stooping low as if to render themselves less conspicuous, Mitford muttered, "hallo!" and his comrade whispered, "Sh! he sees suthin'!"

Whatever it was he saw, O'Connor evidently felt too far off to act effectively, for, after standing a moment in the classic position just referred to, he suddenly lowered his spear, dropped on hands and knees, and made a slow, undignified advance of a few yards. Then he rose again, became classic once more and discharged his spear, in a manner that would have done credit to Achilles himself.

The growl that followed, and the "bad luck to ye," that came faintly back on the breeze, told too plainly that the result was a miss.

"Sure it's a rabbit I saw," he said, returning to his companions, "an' if I'd only sent it two yards more to the left, I'd have hit the baste!"

To the satisfaction of the explorers, it was found that the sandhills were burrowed all over by rabbits, and that there existed there a large colony of them. Cheered by this—in spite of their bad javelin play— they made for the high ground, and soon found themselves threading a belt of wood, after crossing which they reached the foot of the range of hills that bounded the island to the westward.

It was a weird, rugged spot, covered with great boulders that had rolled down the hill-sides, and with gaps and chasms here and there of considerable depth, that suggested the idea of volcanic action having visited the place at some remote period. These chasms or rents in the earth were overgrown with trees or bushes in many places, and obliged the travellers to make wide detours in some places to avoid them.

Thus they were so much delayed that night was upon them before they had reached the higher parts of the hill-range where they had intended to encamp.

The difference between blanketing and gossamer is great, yet it is inconceivably slight compared with the difference between gossamer and nothing! In the pride of their strength the members of the exploring party lay down to sleep without covering of any kind, for the good reason that they possessed none, and before morning they would gladly have given a fabulous price for even a gossamer coverlet.

"It's freezin' I am, if not froze," said Terrence O'Connor at the end of the second sleepless hour. "If we could have only brought away some o' the fire in our pockets, what a comfort it would have bin!"

He got up, shook himself, and slapped his arms across his breast vigorously.

Slag and Mitford followed his example.

"I'm beginnin' to feel better on the outside," continued O'Connor, pausing, "but my spinal marrow isn't properly warm yet."

"'Minds me o' Baffin's Bay," growled Slag, with a mighty slap of the arms between each word.

Mitford seemed to think any remark superfluous, for he only groaned.

"Pity it's too dark to see yer face, John," said Terrence. "It must be a sight worth seein'. Och, av I only had a good-sized pocket-han'kicher I'd wrap me feet in it, anyhow."

"Suppose we cut some grass and try that?" suggested Mitford.

The suggestion was acted on.

It was slow work cutting grass with a clasp-knife; tearing it up in handfuls was still slower, but the labour warmed the tired explorers, and when they lay down again under this Adam-an'-Eveic bedding, they fell asleep almost immediately, and did not waken till the sun was pretty well up in the eastern sky.

"Breakfast fust," said Slag, on completing a tremendous stretch and yawn. "It's always bin my way since I was a babby—business first; pleasure to foller. Grub is business, an' work is pleasure—leastwise, it ought to be to any man who's rated 'A. One' on the ship's books. Hallo! sorrowful-monkey-face, clap a stopper on yer nose an' tumble up,—d'ye hear?"

Mitford did not hear, but a touch of Slag's toe caused him to feel and to rise.

O'Connor was already astir, preparing breakfast. Cold boiled mussels and a bit of pork may be good food, but it is not appetising. Consequently they did not linger long over the meal, but were soon striding up the mountain-side rejoicing in the fresh air and sunshine.

There was a certain phase in John Mitford's character which had not yet been discovered by his friends, and was known only to his wife. He was romantic—powerfully so. To wander through unknown lands and be a discoverer had been the dream of his youth. He was naturally reticent, and had never said so to any one but Peggy, who, being the reverse of romantic, was somewhat awe-stricken by the discovery, and, in an imbecile way, encouraged him to hope that, "one of these days he'd 'ave 'is desires gratified, as there was nothink to prevent 'im from goin' to Novazealand—if that was the right way to pronounce it—or to Van Demons land—not in a sinful way of course, for they had given up transportin' people there now—though wherever they transported 'em to she couldn't imagine—anyhow, there was nothink to prevent his tryin'." And John did try, which was the primary cause of his being a member of the exploring party now under consideration.

Influenced by his romantic spirit, Mitford betrayed a troublesome tendency to wander from his comrades in pursuit of the Unknown. O'Connor, with the straightforward simplicity of his nation, set it down to pig-headedness. Slag, being a man of feeling, opined that it was absence of mind.

"The spalpeen! he's off again," said O'Connor, turning round as they halted to rest a minute, after breasting the hill for half-an-hour. "Hallo, John! Where are ye, boy?"

"Here—all right," shouted a voice in the distance, "I'm exploring behind the knoll here. Go ahead; I'll meet ye at the top o' the hill."

By that time they were within about an hour's walk of the highest ridge of the island, so they pushed on without delay, expecting to find their lugubrious friend there before them, or not far behind them. It turned out as had been supposed. The mountain ridge formed the summit of the great precipice, along the foot of which they had sailed after quitting the cavern, or, as they had come to call it, the wreck-cave. For some time the two stood on the giddy edge, looking in silence on the tremendous depths below, and the sublime spectacle of illimitable sea beyond, with its myriad facets gleaming in the sunshine.

Then they bethought them of their comrade, and turned back to look for him; hallooing now and then as they went, and expecting every moment to see him emerge from one of the gorges that led to the ridge. But there was no answering shout, or any sign of his having been there. Soon, becoming anxious and then alarmed, the two men set to work in earnest to search for their lost comrade, but they sought in vain. Returning to the spot where they had last heard his voice, they continued the search in that direction, and made the rocks echo with their shouting. Still no John Mitford was to be found, and the curious thing was that there seemed to be no very rugged or precipitous formation of land where he could easily have met with an accident. At last, evening approached.

"We must go back at wance," said O'Connor, with anxious looks, "an' rouse all the men out to seek for him wi' torches."

Without another word they turned and made for the camp as fast as they could go.

Meanwhile, Dr Hayward and his party had been successful in their exploration, for they not only discovered a rabbit-warren, but had observed seals basking on the rocks, and found the tracks of goats, or some animal of that kind with divided hoofs. They had even succeeded in getting between a young seal and the water and speared it, so that there was something like jubilation in the camp on their return at the prospect of a fresh meal and better fare in future.

But this was abruptly put an end to by the arrival of Slag and his comrade with the news of Mitford's disappearance. Poor Mrs Mitford was thrown into a state of terrible alarm, and at first insisted on accompanying the search party, but under the united entreaties of Eva and Nelly she was prevailed on to remain behind.

With torches made of resinous wood, which burnt admirably, they searched all that night, and, taking only a few hours' rest, continued the search all the following day, but without success. Day after day the search was continued, even after all hope of ever again seeing their comrade alive had died out, but at last they were compelled to give it up and devote themselves to the urgent duty of procuring better shelter and food.

As for poor Mrs Mitford, she sank into a state of helpless and hopeless despair.



STORY ONE, CHAPTER 10.

Men in straits cannot afford to sit down to grieve and mope over their sorrows. Although a deep gloom had been cast over the shipwrecked party by the loss of one whom they had learned to respect, the urgent need of obtaining better food and shelter compelled them, as we have said, to give their whole mind and attention to this work.

They pitied poor Peggy sincerely, however, and endeavoured to comfort her a little by raising the hope that her husband might have merely lost himself in the woods of the island, and would yet, perhaps, be found alive and well. But, although their intentions were kindly, they could comfort neither Peggy nor themselves with such a hope; for their experience convinced them that the woods, although thick and tangled, were not extensive enough for any one to be permanently lost in them, and it seemed quite certain that if the lost man had not met with some fatal accident, he would certainly have made his way to the coast, by following which he could have easily found the camp.

"It is very sad to give over our search for poor Mitford," said Dr Hayward one morning, while seated on a ledge of rock near the beach, taking counsel with his male companions as to the order of procedure for the day, "but we cannot afford to delay our operations longer. This poor fare of mussel soup, with such a small allowance of pork, is beginning to injure the health of our women, not to mention ourselves; besides, the pork won't last long, even though we put ourselves on the shortest possible allowance; so I think that to-day we must go on an expedition after the seals we saw the last time we went to the southern end of the island. What say you, comrades?"

"All right, cap'n," answered Massey. "You've only got to say the word. But who's to stop at home to mind the camp-fire and the women?"

"I'm afraid," returned Hayward, with a deprecatory smile, "that it's your own turn, Bob. I would say that I'm sorry for you, were it not ungallant to pity a man for being condemned for a day to female society."

The way in which the coxswain received this showed that he did not repine at his fate. He did not even object to O'Connor's remark that, "Faix, he might consider himself the luckiest man o' the lot!"

Accordingly, Massey remained at the camp while the doctor, Slag, O'Connor, Tomlin, and Jarring set out on a hunting expedition with two days' cooked provisions in their wallets. The doctor and Tomlin armed themselves with spears, but Jarring and Slag preferred clubs.

"You see," said the latter, "I've heard—though I can't rightly say I've seed it done myself—that the seal-hunters o' the north do their work wi' clubs; so, if one man can kill a seal wi' such a thing, I don't see why another shouldn't."

And, truly, there was some reason for this covert boast; for Joe, besides possessing arms of prodigious power, had cut and shaped for himself a knotted club which might have suited the hand of Hercules himself.

It turned out that Bob Massey's satisfaction at being left behind that day was not altogether the result of regard for female society. While he was sauntering back to the camp, after his comrades had left, he congratulated himself aloud on having at last a chance of making his experiment without being laughed at during the trial. "That is—if Nellie has got enough of line made."

At that moment Nell was busy with the line in question, and at the same time doing her best to comfort Mrs Mitford—Mrs Hayward being engaged in preparing dinner; by no means a difficult duty, which the women undertook day about.

"Keep up your spirits, dear Peggy," said Nell, in that sweet, cosy tone—if we may say so—which played such havoc in Bob's bosom at the time when she was known as the coxswain's bride. "I feel sure that your dear husband will return to us. No doubt, some sort o' misfortune has come to him; but he's such a sensible, handy man, is John, that I can't help feelin' he'll come back to us; an' when I feel anything very strongly, d'ee know, I've almost always found it come true. Do you believe in strong feelin', Peggy?"

Poor Mrs Mitford, who had been sitting with her hands clasped in her lap, and an utterly woebegone expression on her pale face, raised her head with a troubled look on being thus directly appealed to.

"Believe in strong feelin's, Nellie? I should just think I do. Not to mention my own feelin's—which are so strong that I never felt nothink like 'em before—any one who has been married to my John must know well what st-strong—oh! no, I shall never see 'im again; dear Nellie, don't tell me," she said, beginning to cry. "I know—I know—"

"There, now—there's a good soul. Don't go off again. Look! D'ee know what this is for?"

As she spoke, Nellie held up a ball of what appeared to be twine, and her companion—whose mind resembled that of a child, in that it could be easily diverted—said no, she didn't know what it was for, and that she, (Peggy), had seen her making it when the men were off excursioning, and had asked about it; and why didn't she, (Nellie), relieve her curiosity before, upon the point, instead of waitin' till now?

"Well, you see, Peggy," replied her friend, with the confidential air of one who has a secret to tell, "my Bob has took it into his head to give his mates a surprise by fishin' for albatrosses."

"Lawks! Nellie, an' that will give 'em a surprise!" interrupted Mrs Mitford, drying her eyes. "How ever can any man fish for a bird— unless, indeed, it goes under water an' changes its nature, which no creetur can do; though, now I come to think of it, I have seen flyin' fish, an' so, perhaps, there may be albytresses, or other birds, that—"

"Hallo! Nellie, hard at the twine, lass? You've made about enough of it now," cried our coxswain, entering the camp at that moment, sitting down beside his wife, and examining the ball of cord which she had been so busily spinning.

"I'm glad you think there's enough, Bob, for I've come to the end o' the stuff you gathered for me."

"Plenty more where that came from, Nell; but there's no need to gather more than enough; for enough, you know, is as good as a feast. Well, Peggy," he added, turning to the poor woman, and patting her gently on the shoulder, "has Nell been tellin' you what I'm goin' to try?"

"She was beginnin' to tell me, Mr Massey, when you came in, something about fishin' for albytresses, an' I always thought albytresses was birds, and—"

"Quite right, Peggy. See, this is how it is: you bait a hook—but come," said the coxswain, rising suddenly, and taking up the ball of twine, "they do say example's better than precept. Come along wi' me an' Nell, an' we'll show you how to do it."

So saying, Massey led the two women down to the boat, telling Mrs Hayward, whom they passed on the way, to heave some more sticks on the fire, as it was getting low.

"Never fear," said Eva, who carried the baling-dish full of shell-fish in her hands. "I shall never forget the fright we got that time Joe let it get so low that it was almost at the last spark. You won't be long away, will you?"

"Not long. Anyhow, we'll be sure to turn up for dinner."

During their short residence on the island, the coxswain had observed that albatrosses paid them frequent visits. The giant birds had exhibited some signs of curiosity as to the doings of the new arrivals on the island; so he resolved to capture one of them, with a view to soup!

Embarking in the boat, he rowed towards a point of rocks jutting out into the sea, over which albatrosses had been seen hovering many times. On the way, Nellie, who had previously been taught what to do, fastened a small bit of wood to the end of the line she had spun. Hanging from this was a hook that the coxswain had made from a gull's breast-bone. It was baited with a piece of pork. Before arriving at the point of rocks, they saw that an albatross was soaring over it on its mighty outspread wings. On observing the boat, it flew away and disappeared in the distance; but Bob was not much concerned about that.

"Now, Nell," he said, on landing, "carry this bait out to sea as far as the line will let you, lay it on the water, an' then pull back into yon cove, and see that you hide the boat an' yourselves well, and keep quiet. You mustn't even talk, Peggy! Yon fellow will soon be back."

Nellie did exactly as she was directed; and then her husband, holding the shore-end of the line, concealed himself among the rocks.

He was right about the bird. Ere long, it was seen returning, and soon, on motionless, expanded wings, it hovered over the rocky point. Then it caught sight of the floating bait. With a majestic swoop, it dived, caught it up, and next moment was flouncing wildly about, hooked by the tongue, while Bob Massey hauled in the line. He had provided himself with a stick, and when the huge bird came within reach he felled it, to the immense delight of the watchers in the cove, who had already begun to smell savoury soup by anticipation!

While these were thus engaged, the sealing party was even more successful in the opposite direction. They had not gone half-a-dozen miles when they sighted a group of seals, sleeping—or sunning themselves—on a flat rock, near high-water mark.

"Now, then, Hercules, lead the way with your club," said the doctor to Joe Slag, in a whisper. Joe at once shouldered his weapon and led the party round by some sheltering rocks, so as to get between the seals and the sea; then, rushing forward in a body, they took the creatures by surprise, and intercepted two of them. On coming to close quarters, however, they found that the seals were much more formidable to look at than anything that any of them had ever seen in the Arctic Seas; and when Joe brought his club down on the skull of the foremost with a terrible thwack, it refused to tumble over, but continued to splutter and flounder towards the sea. Dr Hayward, however, used his spear at this moment with such effect that the seal fell, and another blow from the Herculean club finished its career.

As this animal was about half-a-ton in weight, they left it on the beach with the intention of cutting off some steaks on their return, and sending the boat round afterwards to fetch the remainder of the carcass.

Considerably elated by their success, they pushed on. In a valley which led towards the interior hills they found fresh tracks of goats, and saw one of those animals in the distance. Rabbits were also seen, but none killed at that time. They had not gone far into this valley, when a most interesting discovery was made. On opening up a new turn in the valley they came on the ruins of a hut.

With feelings of profound interest, they entered—for there was no door to bar their progress—and gazed around on the silent, mouldering walls.

"Good luck!" exclaimed O'Connor, springing forward, and grasping an object which lay on the ground. It was a hatchet, covered with red rust. "Here is something else that will be useful," said Tomlin, picking up a file, which was also covered with rust.

The party at once began an eager search in the hope of finding other things that might be of use to them, and they were not altogether disappointed; for Jarring found a clasp-knife—much rust-eaten, of course, but still fit for use. Slag found a much-battered frying-pan, and Tomlin discovered a large cast-iron pot behind the hut, with a chip out of its rim. A bottle was also found, and the party crowded round to watch while the doctor examined it.

"Gin, I hope," said Jarring, in a low tone.

"Physic, I think," murmured Slag.

"A paper!" exclaimed the doctor, holding it up to the light; then, breaking the bottle, he unfolded the paper, but much of the writing on it had been obliterated by water which had leaked in. The few sentences, however, that were more or less legible, conveyed the fact that a vessel had been wrecked on the island in 1848; that the crew had lived there eighteen months when a ship, chancing to pass that way, rescued them; that they had no provisions to leave for the use of unfortunates who might chance to be cast away there in future; and that there was a garden, with some vegetables in it, about—

Here the writing became quite illegible.

"Now, we must find that garden," said the doctor, "and as we've not much daylight left, we must begin at once. Come along, lads."

In half an hour they found the garden, with potatoes growing in it, and a few other roots that were new to them.

Rejoicing over their discoveries the party started back without delay for the camp, carrying the pot, the frying-pan, etcetera, along with them, and not forgetting a good slice of the seal in passing. Arriving late that night, they found Bob Massey and the women already enjoying a supper of albatross soup.

"Hooroo, Bob!" exclaimed O'Connor, flourishing the frying-pan in his excitement, "we've found some praties, boy! Shovel out some o' that into this, honey, an' I'll soon let ye smell the smell of an Irish stew!"

Next day the party removed from the camp and took up their abode in the old hut, which was soon repaired sufficiently to keep out wind and rain, and the skin of the seal—with that of another killed next day—was large enough to screen off part of the hut as a separate chamber for the women.

From that time forward they had no lack of food, for they succeeded in killing plenty of seals, and in snaring a great many rabbits, though they failed entirely to kill any of the goats. And thus they lived for several months in comparative comfort, though suffering considerably from cold and bad weather.

During all that time the poor women were kept pretty busy cooking, looking after domestic matters, and mending the garments of the men. This last they accomplished by means of needles made from albatross bones and the finely divided sinews of various animals, instead of thread. When the European garments were worn out—which they were, long before deliverance was sent to them—Nell Massey proved her fitness for a Robinson Crusoe life, by actually splitting the sealskins—which were as thick as sole leather—so as to obtain material thin enough for clothing.

Of course, a flagstaff had been among the first things erected. It stood on a prominent hill, and a seal-skin flag was hoisted thereon, to attract any vessel that might chance to pass that way, but the flag fluttered in vain, for, as we have said, the island lay far out of the usual track of commerce.

Although poor Mrs Mitford appeared to become resigned to her great loss as time passed by, it was evident to her kind-hearted female companions that she was not recovering from the shock she had received. In spite of their care of her she grew thinner and older-looking every day, and although she quietly took her share of the work, she had become sad and silent—caring little apparently for what was going on around her, and never indulging in those prolonged observations of an irrelevant nature, to which she had been addicted before her husband's disappearance.

Things were in this state when, about two months after their landing, a boat-voyage to the western cliffs of the island was arranged for purposes of further exploration.



STORY ONE, CHAPTER 11.

Within the dark recesses of a great cavern in the western cliffs, in the midst of a mass of wreckage, there sat one morning a man whose general appearance might have suggested to a beholder "the wild man of the cave"—or, at the least, an unhappy maniac—for his grey locks were long and unkempt, his eyes bloodshot and wild, his garments torn, so that his wasted limbs were exposed in numerous places, and his beard and moustache dishevelled and bristling.

No one looking at that gaunt creature—not even the mother who bore him—would have easily recognised John Mitford; yet it was he.

On the day when he mysteriously disappeared he had come upon a great hollow, or hole, of about sixty yards in diameter, which appeared to descend into the very depths of the earth. The sides of the hollow sloped towards the centre, and were covered with bushes. Noting this, our romantic friend resolved to explore the spot. He descended cautiously till he came to a place where the hole had narrowed to about twenty feet in diameter, and the herbage ceased because of the absence of the earth to sustain it. Filled with eager curiosity, the reckless man held on to a branch and stretched his head over the edge of the hole. He saw nothing but blackness. He soon felt something, however, for the branch suddenly broke off, and John went headlong down into that hole!

Then and there he would certainly have paid for his curiosity with his life, had not a mass of earth, a few feet further down, and against which he struck, broken his fall in some measure, and shunted him off to the opposite wall of the rock. This latter proved to be a slope so steep that it let him slide, like lightning, to the bottom, a depth of about thirty feet or more, where he was stopped with such violence that he lay stunned for a considerable time.

Recovering, he found that no bones were broken, and that, indeed, he was not much damaged considering the violence of the fall; but the satisfaction and thankfulness that this undoubtedly caused him were diminished by the fact that he was in total darkness, and at the bottom of a hole of unknown depth. A feeling of horror rushed over him at the thought of being thus, as it were, buried alive. Springing up, he felt all round the walls of his prison for some inequalities or projections, by which he might climb out, but none such could he find. The place was like a well of not more than about ten feet wide, with smooth rocky sides, which were almost perpendicular as far up as he could reach. On looking upward, he could see the mouth of the hole, through which he had fallen, glimmering like a little star above him.

After a fruitless search of nearly half-an-hour the poor man sat down on a piece of fallen rock, over which he had stumbled several times in his search, and a deep groan burst from him as he began to realise the fact that escape from the place was impossible, and that a lingering death awaited him—for he could scarcely hope that his companions would find him in such a place. Hope, however, is hard to kill in the human breast. Perhaps they might hear him if he shouted. Immediately he began to shout for help with all the strength of his lungs. Then, as no answering shout came down from the little star above—at which he continuously gazed—a feeling of wild despair took possession of him, and he yelled and shrieked in mortal agony until his vocal chords refused to act, and nothing but a hoarse whisper passed his parched lips. Overcome at last, alike with horror and exhaustion, he fell to the ground and became partially unconscious.

How long he lay thus he could not tell; but, on recovering and looking up, he found that the star was gone—telling plainly that night had set in.

Then it was, when all hope of delivering himself, or of being delivered by others, had fled, that a word which had been uttered by Dr Hayward to a dying man on board the ship, leaped into John Mitford's mind like a gleam of light. "Call upon Me in the time of trouble and I will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify Me." He had seen this invitation accepted by the dying man and deliverance obtained—if a happy smile and a triumphant gaze across the river of death were to be regarded as testimony. "But, then," thought John Mitford, "that was spiritual deliverance. Here it is a hard physical fact, from which nothing short of a miracle can deliver me. No—it is impossible!"

Was it a voice within him, or an old memory, that immediately whispered the words, "With God all things are possible?" At all events, the poor man rose up slowly in a somewhat calmer frame of mind, and began once more to feel round the walls of his narrow prison. He found nothing mew, save that once he narrowly escaped falling down what seemed to be a still deeper hole among the fallen rocks already referred to. Then he lay down—or rather fell on the floor exhausted—and slept till morning. The fact that another day had begun was only ascertainable by the shining of the star-like mouth of the hole. He attempted again to shout, but found that his voice had left him, and that even if his comrades should return to the place he could not make them hear! In the fit of despair which followed he went round and round his living tomb like some wild beast in a cage. During one of these perambulations, he stumbled again over the fallen rocks, dropped into the hole behind them, and slid a few feet downwards, but not rapidly, for the slope was gradual, and it terminated on a flat floor. Looking cautiously round, on reaching this lower depth, he saw what appeared to be a faint light far beneath him, and considerably in advance of the spot where he stood, or rather to which he clung.

Gradually his mind calmed, and, resolving to make for this light, he groped his way downward. It was a long and wearisome scramble, involving many a slip and slide, and not a few falls, (for it was made, of course, in total darkness), and the distant light did not appear to become stronger or nearer. At last it seemed as though it were growing. Then John found himself on ground over which he could walk, guiding himself by touching perpendicular walls of rock on either side with his hands. It was a great split in the mountain, caused perhaps by those mighty subterranean forces, which some men recognise as volcanic action, whilst others, admitting—but passing beyond—second causes, recognise them as tools with which God is moulding this world according to His will.

"Strange!" thought the man, as he moved slowly forward. "Was this split made hundreds—perhaps thousands—of years ago, for the purpose of enabling me to escape?"

"Certainly not—absurd, presumptuous idea," answered Unbelief, smartly.

"It was," remarked Faith, slowly, "made, no doubt, for hundreds—it may be millions—of other purposes, but among these purposes the saving of your life was certainly in the mind of Him who 'knows all things from the beginning,' and with whom even the falling of a sparrow is a matter for consideration."

We do not assert that John Mitford's reasoning took the precise form of these words, for many minds can think somewhat profoundly without being able to express themselves clearly; but some such thoughts undoubtedly coursed through John's mind, as he moved through that subterranean labyrinth, and finally emerged—through a narrow crack, not so large as an ordinary door—upon the inner margin of a stupendous cavern.

With a fervent "Thank God!" and a hopeful leap of the heart, the poor man beheld the waters of the sea rushing up to his very feet; and beyond the cave's mouth lay the grand ocean itself, like a bright picture in a black frame. But what was that projecting from the water, not twenty yards from where he stood? The broken mast of a sunken wreck! Mitford's heart almost stood still, for he became aware that he had made his way to the very cavern, in which the ill-fated Lapwing had met her doom, and around him were masses of wreckage that had been washed up and thrown on the rocks at the inner end of the cave where he stood.

An involuntary shudder passed through the man's frame as he glanced round expecting to see the dead bodies of his late shipmates. But nothing of the kind was visible, and the spars, masts, and other wreckage which had reached the rocks had been shattered into "matchwood" by frequent gales.

John Mitford now hastened in eager hope along the sides of the cave towards its mouth, intending to go out to the base of the cliffs, forgetting, in his eagerness, that the mouth could not be reached without a boat. He soon discovered this, and was then thrown into another fit of despair by remembering that he could not swim.

Oh! how bitterly he blamed himself for having neglected to acquire such a simple accomplishment. He might have learnt it when young, had he not been indifferent, or lazy about it. Often had he been advised to learn it by companions, but had treated the matter lightly and let the chance go by—and now, only fifty yards or so of deep water intervened between the end of the ledges of rock and the outside of the cavern, where he might perhaps find foothold enough to scramble along the base of the cliffs—but those fifty yards were equal to the Atlantic to him, he could not swim that distance to save his life. Once or twice, in a fit of desperation, he had almost plunged in to attempt it, and take his chance. Fortunately his courage failed. Had he taken the plunge his fate would no doubt have been sealed.

Returning to the inner end of the cave he searched among the wreckage for wood, with which to make a raft, but it was so shattered that he found no pieces large enough to be thus used. He found, however, a barrel of pork and another of pease jammed into a crevice. These proved an immense relief to his feelings, for they secured him against absolute starvation, which he had begun to think stared him in the face.

From that time forward the unfortunate man made incessant and wild efforts to get out of the cave. He climbed and scrambled about until his clothes were almost torn off his back. He gathered the largest masses of wood he could find and tied them together in bundles, until he had made something like a raft; but John was not a handy workman; his raft overturned the first time he tried it, and went to pieces, and he would have been drowned at that time if he had not been within grasping distance of the rocks. As it was, he got a fright which made him finally turn from that method of escape in despair.

Then the raw pork and hard pease tried him severely, and brought on a complaint which lasted a considerable time and greatly reduced his strength, but John was tough, and recovered—though not much more than the skeleton of his former self remained.

Thus he continued to exist in that cavern, during all the time that his wife and friends were mourning him as dead; and in this condition was he there seated, on the morning in which this chapter opens.

"Weary, weary—desolation!" moaned the unfortunate man, lifting his head and gazing round, with the air of one from whom all hope has long since departed.

It is said, or supposed, that when a spoke in Fortune's wheel is at the lowest, there must needs be a rise. Mitford's experience at this time would seem to give ground for belief in the saying; for the word "desolation" had scarcely passed his lips, when distant voices of men were heard, causing his heart to bound violently. Next moment a boat glided in front of the cave's mouth.

John Mitford sprang up and gave vent to a yell!

Hope raised to strong life after being long deferred; despair suddenly trampled in the dust; joy bounding as from the tomb into rampant being— and a host of indescribable sentiments and passions found vent in that tremendous, that inconceivable howl!

And its effect on those in the boat?—Well—

That morning our exploring party had resumed their voyage with somewhat saddened hearts, for they remembered the look of the coast well, and knew that an hour or so would bring them to the cave where the Lapwing had gone down. Even Black Ned had become sentimental, and given vent to a few expressions of a semi-religious nature!

"We can't be far from it now," said Dr Hayward, as the men ceased rowing, and the boat glided slowly, silently along.

"It's a gruesome place," remarked Black Ned, in a low voice.

"To think that so many lives were lost here—or hereabouts," murmured Tomlin.

"An' their ghost, maybe, hangin' about!" suggested Slag, with a superstitious glance over his shoulder.

Just then Hayward bade O'Connor get up and stand in the bow with the boat-hook, ready to fend off,—an order which the Irishman, having been somewhat awed by the tone of the conversation, obeyed in silence.

It was at this point that they glided in front of the cave, and drew forth the yell which burst upon them like a clap of thunder. The shock to the nervous system of each was terrific. In the case of O'Connor it was visible, for he fell flat back into the bottom of the boat and fetched Jarring a tremendous whack on the head with the boat-hook in falling. Afterwards, Terrence asserted stoutly that a slip of the foot as he stood on the th'ort was the cause, but those who knew him best held that it was "a case of nerves."

Need it be said that, on recovering nervous equilibrium, the joy of rescuers and rescued was intense?

"Come along, let's take 'im home at wanst," cried the Irishman, when they had got the poor dazed man into the boat. "Isn't it Peggy that'll open her eyes an' screech for joy when she sots her eyes on ye!"

"We'll have to wash and comb an' clothe him first," said Tomlin.

He did not say "shave," for they had no razors,—and by that time the beards of most of the party were as long as Mitford's; but their locks had been trimmed by means of a clasp-knife super-sharpened, whereas Mitford's were in wildest disorder.

That night they encamped in the wreck-cave, made a fire, and prepared a splendid supper of pork and pea-soup for John and themselves, after which they subjected their recovered comrade to a scrubbing and cropping and repairing of habiliments that almost proved fatal to his constitution. Next day they loaded the boat with all the pork and pease they could find, as well as portions of cordage that might be useful. Then they started off on the return journey.

It was a fine day when they reached the encampment, where the coxswain and the women were on the look-out. Massey, of course, was the first to observe, as the boat approached, that an extra hand was in it; but he wisely said nothing at first. Then his heart began to beat as it used to do when he brought in rescued men and women from wrecks, for the truth suddenly flashed upon him. He glanced at Peggy. Poor thing, her sad eyes had wandered from the approaching boat and were resting wistfully on the horizon beyond.

"Nell," murmured the coxswain in a deep, earnest whisper to his wife, who stood at his elbow, "the tide's a-goin' to rise again wi' poor Peggy, if my eyes are tellin' truth."

"What d'ee mean, Bob?" asked Nellie, with a quick, anxious look.

"Five men went away, Nell; six are comin' back!"

As he spoke, a tall figure rose up in the stern of the boat and waved a hand.

Nellie glanced quickly at her friend. She was standing with glaring eyes, parted lips, and a deathly pallor on her worn face.

"Peggy!"

The familiar word came rolling to the shore, and a piercing shriek replied to it as the poor woman threw up both hands and fell backward into the ready arms of the coxswain's wife, who had sprung to her side in anticipation of some such catastrophe.

There was the voice of prayer and thanksgiving that night in the hut on the lonely shore—such thanksgiving as we might conceive filled the hearts of Jairus and of the widow of Nain in the days of old.



STORY ONE, CHAPTER 12.

The state of things on the island was now considerably improved. Peggy, under the influence of gratitude for restored felicity, became more helpful than she had formerly been, and more loquacious than ever. Her female companions, being amiable and easily pleased, were rather amused than otherwise, at the continuous flow of discursive, sometimes incomprehensible, and always good-natured small talk—particularly small talk—with which she beguiled the hours that might have otherwise hung heavily on their minds while their hands were busily engaged with the bone-needles and sinew threads which the coxswain had manufactured for them. For the clothes with which they had landed on the island— especially those of the men—had begun to wear out after eight or ten months, and new garments had to be made, while repairs never ceased.