At 2.30 P.M. every one got into the boats, an easy enough task now. The captain went off to take a last look roundthe only man on board,—and was loath to leave; but we shouted to him to come, as the ship showed signs that looked as if she was on the point of plunging down.

And so we left the old ship to her fate, but the master could not leave the place until she should founder. We caught hold of the rope from the ship's bow and made it fast to our boat, the bow - man having a hatchet ready to cut us adrift when the ship should go down.

Each of the boats carried a boat's lamp. We also had one used for signalling, and at the last moment Caggett had secured the ship's riding-light. Each boat had also a fine new 4-inch boat's compass fresh from the makers, not yet stripped of its packing, and also brand-new breakers for water.

The breakers had been filled at Hornillo a fortnight ago. O'Hara was pleased about this. He said to me the men objected to the work, but he told them, "It is you who may have to drink it, and you may be sorry some day if you can't get fresh water." We also carried oil.

From 2.30 P.M. we hung in contact with the doomed hulk, nine in the mate's boat, ten in ours, painfully watching the dying moments of our old friend, always expecting the next minute to be the last. Now she rolled quite slowly, and the depth of her nose in the sea did not increase. She would not go down.

At 4 P.M. there was an unmistakable movement of the hull, a kind of sob, and a lurch of the fo'c'sle head. The order was given to cut the painter, and we rowed some fifty yards ahead of the ship's stem, to avoid the suction. Then occurred what seemed to be the most wonderful sight ever seen by mortal man, though perhaps it is not uncommon,—I don't know.

She gave a queer lurch; then she slowly bowed her head

down, down, the fo'c'sle under the sea. The foremast was seen inclining towards us with a stately regular bow. The water-level receded on her forward deck. She did not plunge forward, but turned on a pivoting line amidships. Meanwhile the mainmast was seen to be also making its bow, and at the same time rising bodily in the air above the foremast. The water rose up on the foremast, and it sank beneath the waves and disappeared; and now the stern itself of the ship was seen towering above and rising higher and higher, while the foreshortened mainmast took a horizontal position in mid-air above us. The bridge dipped under water, and the funnel made its bow. At this time all the loose gear on deck, and the accommodation ladder on the poop, slithered down the whole length of the deck into the sea. In thirty seconds from the beginning she was up on end, all the half of the ship forward from the engines under the sea-the mainmast high up in the air pointing towards us horizontally, the funnel a few

feet above water lying horizontally, so that we looked on the level right into its black circle, -and all the remaining half of the ship, 150 feet up to the stern, was reared bolt upright and vertical like a lighthouse, exactly facing us, with the mast foreshortened, the hatches like great upright doorways crossed lengthways by the booms, the small boat still on the chocks now vertical,-the winches the steps at the break of the poop (I could see the glittering brass) - the clean planking of the poop with its wheel cover, skylight, companion, and meat - safe, the bollards and the ventilators of the mates' rooms,-all set upright in one marvellous plan of half a ship. So she rested steadily without a movement sideways or downwards for a period of five seconds.

Then as we looked down the funnel, first it was lapped by the waves, and then flooded by the sea pouring into its lip like a cascade. There was a noiseless burst or explosion in the stokehold, and a black cloud of smoke and coal dust filled the air. A bulkhead had given way, and the confined air had escaped. Her descent was slow at first, and, with the increasing velocity you notice at a ship's launch, she descended plumb downwards. In ten seconds from the explosion her vertical plunge was over and the stern disappeared. A few seconds later great baulks of timber that had been sucked down shot up from the foam some thirty or forty feet into the air and fell again, and all we could

see was a great white whirlpool of floating wreckage.

A few migratory birds-I noted two swifts and a hoopoe that in their flight from Africa had visited our ship, took a last turn round the boats, then flew off to the land. of Europe.

And now no time was lost in stepping the masts and setting our lug-sails. The skipper stripped the compass of its packing and took his bearings. Then he shipped the rudder-a feat that in a high sea always seems to me one of great uncertainty. The oars and other gear were roped and fixed amidships. A lifeboat has not much room, and we were all pretty well jammed together. The sailors were glad to be doing something and took turns in bailing, for the boat leaked badly.

The gale, though less, was still lashing the sea in a way that made me wonder at the ability of the boats to live in it, and at the skill of the captain and mate in preventing them from being broached to. With or lug-sail up and no reefs in it we simply flew before the wind, and after the tension of the last eighteen passive hours there was a degree of exhilaration in this mad race before the wind that was positively enjoyable in spite of, or perhaps partly because of, the danger. O'Hara kept his eye on the overtaking waves, and his frequent call of "look out!" brought a moment of excitement as the swish of the breaker came upon us when we reached the crest of a wave and got the full force of the

gale on to the sail, driving us at a speed of over fifteen knots. In the hollows of course we went slower. The two boats with their lug-sails kept well together, averaging fully seven knots, but whenever one was delayed from any cause, everything gave way to the captain's resolve to keep together and not be separated, as the mate's boat had no knowledge of the coast or its lights.

The course for Port Vendres was dead before the wind, if the captain's estimate of our position was correct, but on neither tack were we able to make the exact course. The starboard tack suited best, and we ought to make a point on shore north-east of our goal if we were right.

So soon as we were well started the captain ordered a sip of grog all round. And here the first difficulty arose. There was no pannikin. True, we had a bailer-we could not live without it. From the moment the boat was launched bailing was continuous all day and all the next night. But the steward, after a moment's pause, said, "I think I have something that will do." He opened the sack containing his store and drew out a small plum-pudding in a china dish. The dish would do to drink out of, and we ate the plum-pudding. The breaker of water was now broached, and when some water was poured into the white dish it was black. Moreover, it stank abominably. We had nothing to drink. O'Hara's precaution at Hornillo, on which he had prided himself, was futile. We put it down

to the new breakers that had been supplied for the present voyage. It was a great blow to all, but they took it very well. They each got a sip of whisky, but without any water no one cared to eat much of whatever provisions we had.

Of course there was danger every minute. It seemed like a miracle that our small boat could have come safely even so far as we had come in such a sea.

We sighted land ahead through the haze when night was just falling on us. But we saw no sign of our objective. There was high land, and we thought there was a semaphore station on the heights. The captain went to the north-east for a little, but saw no sign of a lighthouse even when darkness came on. Then for a few minutes a light was seen faintly. The captain was sure it was not Fort Béarn's three flashes every twenty seconds, and after I had held the lamp for him to consult the torn-out pages of his lights-book, he determined to cruise along the coast in the other direction. So we felt our way along until 8 P.M. It was pitch dark and very cold. Luckily the sea had gone down very much and the wind was less violent, but there was a thick haze and soaking rain, with lights from a cottage close to us on shore and a roar of breaking surf. We tried to light one of the Bengal lights, but it had got wet. It appeared that we must pass the night here. We drew a little farther from the sound of surf, and tied our painter to the

stern of the mate's boat, as he had the best sea-anchor. Ours had been torn to shreds in the terrible weather when the boat was first launched.

In this way we passed the hours in drenching rain from 8 to 11 P.M. What weary work it was! Every half-hour the captain would ask the chief for the time, and then tell him that his watch had stopped. How soaked we all were, and how cold and cramped in our limited space! We ate a little at times, and thrice in the night a spoonful of whisky was served out, with a slice of cheese. It was almost impossible to get a light when we wanted to smoke, and to some of us this was a great loss. People certainly should never go to sea without having vesuvians in a water-tight case and something kept dry for striking them on.

At 11 P.M. the fog lifted, and Charlie sighted a faint light flashing three times every twenty seconds. Hurrah! Port Vendres ahoy! But for a minute O'Hara was sceptical. He said, "It is called in the book a twenty-five-mile light, and on the French coast that means a very powerful light." Finally he made up his mind that we had made a bad shot in our position on the coast, and that the light we now saw through the haze must be at least twenty-five miles off.

to wait no longer and to sail straight for our haven. The sea had been comparatively still since sundown, luckily for

us.

But the rain came in torrents every now and then, and we were all cold and stiff in our cramped attitudes. The only men who ever changed their position during the sixteen hours we were in the boat were those employed in bailing, who relieved one another every quarter of an hour or so.

By the time we were ready to shape our course we could not find the mate's boat. Their lamp was out of order, and they had complained that they could not keep it alight. We were using the ship's bright riding-light, and had, in addition, a flashing-lamp for signalling. We lighted this to give them, but got no answer on hailing. The captain was 8 little anxious. Then we made use of the megaphone. The other boat turned up before long, and managed to keep their own light burning. So the chief, who was thinly clad and wet to the skin, took possession of the flash-lamp to put under his coat to help to warm himself.

He was the man, after the captain, who most needed compensation after the frightful work accomplished all the previous night.

Our boat went ahead with the powerful light, and the mate followed on our course. Poor man! I was sorry for him; for often, when I awoke from a doze, I saw the skipper holding the tiller all right, but with his eyes fast closed. The

lighthouse at first was very faint, but being directly under Jupiter, that star made a good mark to steer by. Looking up one time, I saw Jupiter on our beam, and asked O'Hara if he had changed his mind about the light being Fort Béarn, as we seemed to be going towards the shore. "No," he replied; "it's my fault. I am afraid I was napping." We passed several lighted places on shore, and it looked tempting to try to land; but now that we were sure of the lighthouse, it was safer to make for it and to take our chance of reefs and sunken rocks.

From this time, although our present piece of navigation was the most dangerous, the tension visibly slackened. Every man of us went sound asleep for short intervals, in spite of cold and wet and cramped position. We had been having a long and anxious time during the previous two days and nights.

So the hours went by, and sometimes we wished that the wind had kept up a little more. We did about four knots an hour, and could watch our progress as we passed the lights of villages on shore. Moreover, the light ahead was growing more distinct. Some of the crowd were nearly played out with cold and wet and want of sleep. The good old steward, sixtyfour years of age, lay silent and very miserable and prostrate with cold. I covered him with my fur rug, but it was soaking wet. Charlie, lying on his face, threw his

head on his arms and kicked out as if he was sobbing. We all still wore the lifebelts, as they seemed to keep in the heat.

From 11 P.M. till 5 A.M. we saw the light at Fort Béarn grow stronger and stronger, and at that hour dawn commenced. Then, by the aid of our chart of Port Vendres, O'Hara got our position and steered for the harbour. For a second time in twenty-four hours we were able to feel the glow of the life-giving, stimulating dawn. It was the first moment when we could really feel that all anxiety was past.

While congratulating ourselves, a mile from shore, our mast suddenly gave out, and, breaking at the step, went overboard. What a piece of luck that this did not happen earlier! We had heard some ominous creaks when rolling about after sunset with the sail down. It was easy now to row to land, and the men were only too thankful to be free to move about and ease their cramp and gain some warmth by exercise.

A fishing-boat offered a tow, but the captain refused it, expecting them to demand exorbitant fees for salvage. A pilot-boat met us at the harbour and offered to have us towed. This was declined. The captain expected to have hours of waiting, with formalities from health and customs officers, and got out his bill of health and handed it to the officer on the quay.

But the captain was all wrong. The officers were reading the ship's papers when