CHAP, I.—LIFE-BOAT WEATHER AND LIFE- BOAT WORK 

Do we not often find, in the winter's even-ing, that our warm rooms seem more cosy, and the flames lap more brightly and closely round the half-consumed log, as a blast of wind moans in the chimney, and perhaps the cry of some poor street-hawker tells its plain tale of toiling misery, as he goes shiveringly along the street? Do we not find our sensations of personal comfort increased, and our sympathy for the sufferer quickened, as the wintry gale and slashing rain beat against our well-shuttered windows, and suggest the hardships we should have to endure if we were less cared for and protected? but, if we learn the deeper to realize our blessings, and the more to quicken our sympathies, by contrasting our respective positions with those endured by many of the poor toilers on shire, still more may we do so, as we think over the hardships suffered by the toilers at sea. I want to gain espical sympathy  - and it is generally so freely given, that I know I have no hard task before me - not only for the ship-wrecked, crying aloud in their quick peril and deep agony for rescue, but also for the poor brave-hearted boatman of our coasts, who never hesitate to do all, when the prospect before them is that of saving life. 

 j }'«» that you may be quickened in every t and assoeiatioBs j from the pSesssui noofe . | and sunny corners of memories which yoits ; chord of sympathy, as yoa let me carry -'yoar thoughts away Into the dread dark- ingly along the street ? Do we not find , ness, which is broken only by spectral our sensations of personal comfort increased, j sheens of light shed by flying foam, and to and oar sympathy for the sufferer quick- 1 picture the rolling sea-mountains hurling ened, as the wintry gale and slashing rain j along their avalanches of white spray; to beat against oar well-shattered windows, listen to the dread discords of a howling and suggest the hardships we should have I tempest; to hover fa fancy mid a scene of to endure if we were less cared for and '. fierce turmoil and strife, where the dements protected? But, if we may learn the deeper 1 in their rage seem to have loosened all to realize our blessings, and the more to i hounds of fury, and determined to sweep quicken our sympathies, by contrasting our j from their P h every vestige of man and respective positions with those endured by his works ; and now to let your eyes centre many of the poor toilers on shore, still more ' upon a shattered wreck, to which aw cling- naay we do so, as we think over the hardships suffered by the toilers at sea, I want to gain especial sympathy—and it is generally so freely given, that I know I have no hard task before me—not only for the ship- wrecked, crying aloud in their quick peril ing a few storm-beaten sailors, trembling upon the very verge of a grave. Look where a fitful light gleams in the darkness, now rides high on the crest of a huge wave, now falls buried in the trough of the sea, shines out again, is hidden in a cloud of spray, and deep agony for rescue, bat also for the 1 but gets nearer and nearer to the ship- poor braveJiearted boatmen of our coasts, wrecked. The light gleams from a life- who never hesitate to do all, and to dare" boat, in which a small band, of men are all, when the prospect before them is that battling—battling on in the teeth of the of saving life, fierce storm, checked by no terrors, dis- Let as first think of some of the features { mayed by no failures, with no other hope In the calling of those whom we may well than that of saving life, but in that holy call the stormy petrels of seafaring life";, who j hope strong in perseverance, and undaunted not only find their bread upon the waters, jin courage.

but upon the stormiest waters of most j In such scenes we see the men actually troubled seas; who, the darker the night, i »* their work in their efforts to save life and the sterner the tempest, the more blinding i property; but the life-boat and hovelling the snow-drift, are the more full of expe i work does not merely consist in perform- tation that their services will be needed, j ing & at the moment'of its necessity, but - , . . . . . ' and, therefore, the more determined to arge their way out into the storm, to be ready to render aid at the first call for assistance, and perhaps to pluck a harvest of saved lives off the very edge of the scythe of Death.

Yes, my readers, I would carry you in thought far away from quiet home-scenes also in the unwearying watch and readiness which it necessitates. Many a Ramsgate boatman leaves his poor but warm and com- fortable home, his humble but loving home-circle, to pace Ramsgate Pier for hours; and this night after night for many winter months, and for the mere chance of being among the first to make a s jvag im for August.

to u» axBtegy ot tie Author snd the for permksi&ti t& repriat i» ova colaains iitis very interest- We are nish for the iffe-boa whett the signal is criven to man her — s, chance that may not ., ,. -j.1, „„! come a dozen tunes in the season, and which, when it does come, may afford, indeed, a great opportunity for daring all and doing all for the saving of life, but not much in the way of refilling the half-empty cupboards at home, or rubbing off much of the growing score at the baker's, or with the landlord.

Other boatmen go out " hovelling," or cruising, in their fine luggers, seeking for vessels in distress. Night after night, in the worst weather, they hang about the dread and gloomy Goodwin Sands, generally returning without having earned a penny for all the peril and hardship they have endured. In spite of the outcry sometimes raised against our boatmen, certain it is that few men lead harder lives, follow a more hazardous calling, and, upon the whole, are worse paid.

Owners of ships and cargoes often think it a shameful thing that they should be called upon to pay more than a modest sum for actual service rendered ; forgetting that the men must be paid, in one way or an- other, for being at sea night after night, storm after storm; persevering often through months of disappointment, in order that they may be ready to render assistance di- rectly it is required — for the Goodwin Sands, and the broken seas which scourge them, are fierce and fatal enough in their power, to give but short time for hope of safety to any vessel or crew that is wrecked there. The only thing that encourages the men to persevere in their hazardous calling is the hope, constantly before them, of ob- taining a " hovel," as it is termed,—that is, salvage for rescuing a ship or cargo,—which shall repay them, not only for their toil and risk at the time, but also somewhat for all their past unprofitable labour. It may sometimes seem hard upon the owners of property thus saved, that so heavy a charge should rest upon them ; on the other hand, the amount paid for salvage generally bears but a small proportion to the value of the property saved. The men are necessary; they must be encouraged and kept afloat ; if not, there will be many a sad addition to the already too tragic catalogue of brave men, and gallant ships, and rich cargoes, lost on the Goodwin Sands.

And now I have a tale to tell of deeds done by these brave boatmen, of acts of daring and determination, for which I claim a place amid the records of the bravest, grandest deeds of heroism of the age; a tale to tell, which, unless I fail utterly in the telling,—and this, " God forbid," I reve- I rently pray, and pray it for the sake of the i noble deeds done, and the good life-boat | cause;—a tale which must move the hearts i to sympathy for the suffering and en- I dangered; to sympathy for the daring and j unselfish workers of brave works; a tale i the echoes of which may weli stir, as a j trumpet peal, stout hearts to perseverance ! and brave deeds, to do and dare all, what- 1 ever the storm of opposition, in God's name i and for the right.

! j CHAP. II.—THE FATAL GOODWIN SANDS.

THE early days of last year were bleak and cold : strong northerly and easterly winds swept .over land and sea ; people on shore spoke of the weather as being seasonable, but shuddered over the word.

At Ramsgate, on the 5th of January, it was a fresh breeze from the east-south-east, and, as usual, the anxious boatmen were keeping a good look-out. About half-past eight in the morning, the boomings of the signal-guns were heard, both from the Good- win and Gull light-ships.

The boatmen, who had been watching all night in momentary expectation of such a signal, made the usual rush for the life-boat.* The steamer, the Aid, was speedily ready, and taking the boat in tow, away they went steering for the North Sands Head light- vessel. As they were making across the Gull stream, they saw what proved to be a shipwrecked crew in their own boat: they took them on board the steamer, and found they were the crew, eight in number, of the schooner Mizpdh, of Brixham. The schooner had stranded on the Goodwin, in a thick fog, the night previously; the weather was still thick, and the men could give no account of the position of the schooner, and thought it hopeless to try and find her, or to get her off", if they did find her, and so the steamer took the boat in tow, and returned to Ramsgate.

It proved afterwards, that as the tide rose it lifted the vessel, and she floated off the Sands. A Broadstairs hovelling-lngger, while cruising about, fell in with her, and succeeded in bringing her into Ramsgate.

The vessel and cargo were worth 6,000/. or 7,OOOZ.; the men obtained 350?. as salvage.

The life-boat men were glad, after their night's watch and morning's work, to rest a | few hours, but plenty of boatmen remained * The Bradford, a gift from the people of Bradford to the NATIONAL LIFE-BOAT INSTITUTION, and by it placed at Ramsgate, under the control of the Harbour Authorities; she is one of the finest boats in the life-boat fleet.

on watch, ready at any moment to make up a crew. The cold became hour by hour more intense, and the fresh breeze steadily grew into a gale; the sea at high tide broke in flying volumes of spray against the pier, thundered down upon it, and poored over it, in foaming cascades, into the harbour.

As the evening grew on, the gale became terrific in force; heavy snow-storms went sleeping by; showers of freezing sleet came resiling along; and the night was dreary and dismal, dark and cold in the extreme.

At about half-past ten the storm was in its full fury, and the sea a very howling wil- derness of raging waters. At that moment, mid the roar of the wind and sea, the signal- guris were heard, and rockets were seen in the direction of the Gull light-ship. ( The life-boat was manned with despatch," would be the short report the coxswain of the boat would afterwards make to the harbour- master—-this means, that the boatmen, in spite of the piercing cold and terrific gale, rash along the pier, hurry down the harbour steps and into the boat, to face the dread peril of the wild sea, as readily as school- boys bound down the school-stairs and out on to the common for the joy of a summer holiday. It takes the steamer and life-boat about one hour and a half to urge their way out to the Gull light-ship; they speak her about one in the morning, and are told that the men on board saw, some time since, a large light burning south-east by south, but they lost it about twenty minutes ago. The steamer at once tows the boat in the direc- tion, a careful look-out is kept, the snow- storms come down more wildly than ever, the cold is very bitter, the sea running mountains high ; still on, and no signs of a light. The crew hold a consultation as to what is best to be done; there appears no possibility of one of the crew of the vessel being still alive, clinging to any floating" wreckage; still, some other vessel may be in danger, they will wait and watch for any light or signal of distress, and, not seeing it, at all events remain there until daylight, that they may be sure they are not leaving behind them any who may be perishing for want of their aid; and so, while most, if not all of you, my readers, were comfortable in your beds, (the wakeful ones of you per- haps listening wistfully to the storm, and perhaps having your hearts moved with pity and to prayer for the poor fellows at sea,) these brave men—from choice, not for hope of money reward, bat for the far dearer hope of saving life—waited on and on, by those gloomy Sands, a prey to all the fierceness of the gale, the raging seas, and deadly cold.

Time after time, the mad rushing waves break over the boat, burying her in clouds of spray and foam, or, coming in' heavier volume still, put the men for a moment or two completely under water; the sufferings of the crew become very severe, they en- courage each other, and still let the boat lay' to. Willing as every man is to endure to the utmost, they soon feel that it is getting beyond their strength; they are frozen through and through, and rapidly getting numbed and exhausted with the continual wash, of heavy seas, and at last they are compelled to make a signal for the steamer, and are towed back to Ramsgate, arriving between four and five in the morning.

The name of the vessel that was lost was never known, the greedy Sands soon swal- lowed every vestige of the ship; her name may perhaps be found among the list of missing ships at Lloyd's; hope doubtless long lingered, may still linger, in many mournful homes, still the story be told to the children, how their father or their brother sailed from a foreign port for home on such a day, and has not since been heard of, bat no clae ever be found, as to which of the many missing vessels it was, that came to such sadden destruction on the Goodwin Sands.

Shall we linger another moment or two, in thought, over the poor fellows thus lost in the fierce seas? We fancy that the bronzing of a tropical sun was still ruddy npon their cheeks: a few weeks since they were ready to loll in the shadow of the sails, and lie about the deck at night; and then speeding home, they were met in the chops of the Channel by the rough welcome of the strong adverse wind, against which, day and night, they sought to beat their way, while the sails and cordage grew hard and stiff with frozen rain and spray. Favoured at last with a slant of wind, the vessel finds her way tip-channel; the crew count the hours until when they shall be in doekj night falls as they pass the South Foreland.

The wind goes moaningly back to its old direction; hour after hour it increases, a gale sweeps along in dread force, the blinding snow bewilders the pilot, who can now see no guiding light, and soon in the darkness of the night, the force of the wind, and the swirl of the tide, the vessel is driven through the raging surf on to the Sands. The men make a rush for the boat: useless; she wonld not float a mimtte in such, a boil of sea,. The waves fly over the vessel, new lift her to crash her down with the force of all her weight upon the Sands, now thunder against her, and shake her each moment to her keel; the captain burns a blue light, the spray washes it out; the men get a tar- barrel on deck, knock in the top, fill it with combustibles, and light it; it flares up, and for a time resists the rash of spray; the light-vessel sees the signal, fires a gun and a rocket; the life-boat starts upon her mission, but the wares lift the vessel and crash her down again time after time; the decks are swept of everything that the force of the water can tear from them, the tar-barrel is washed out, the men are unable to move on the deck, bat have to lash themselves to the mast, and wait on ia darkness and despair; a tremendous wave comes boiling along, it lifts the vessel, half rolls her over, the masts snap like reeds, the ship fills, and sinks in the hole she has made in the quicksand; another half-hour perhaps, and the life-boat is there: too late!—only the tangled spars and cordage float near, tokens of the death and destruction that have been wrought:— and all living things on board have thus swiftly been engulfed, and found their grave j in the rush of the boiling sea.

CHAP, III.—"Ws WILL NOT oo HOME WITHOUT THEM." As soon as it is daylight on Sunday morning, the coxswain of the life-bait and others of the boatmen feel very anxioas; fearing that, after all, there may be some poor fellow clinging to a remnant of wreck, or perhaps a ship on the Sands, lost in the darkness of tie night, and unable in the rush of the sea to make any signal of dis- tress: they cannot rest; and although the life-boat has been in only a few hours, the coxswain of the boat and the mate of the steamer go to the harbour-master, and ask his leave to go to sea again, and search round the Bands. This permission is readily given, " Go, by all means," Ten fresh hands join the coxswain and bowman of the life- boat, and soon after light on Sunday morn- ing they start on their dangerous but hopeful mission. They are towed again by the steamer AM, and make for the North Sands Head light-vessel, keeping a good look-out for the faintest signal of distress. The men seeing nothing on this side of the Sands, it is determined to round the light-vessel, and search at the back, or the French side of-the Sands. Soon they discover in the misty distance what seems to be a large vessel on the south-east spit of the Sands; they tow with all speed in her direction, they are goiog along the edge of the sand, just out- side of the broken water. The waves are beating down on the Sands with tremendous force, the surf flying up in great sheets of foam, and the roar of the breakers like loud quivering thunder; the scene is enough to make the stoutest heart quail, but, without any thought of flinching, the men cling to the life-boat, as the seas break over her, and patiently bear all the cold and storm and wash of water, * as they are towed on in the direction of the wreck. One said, in answer to questions as to what his feelings were as. he watched the tremendous seas, and knew that shortly he would be battling in the midst of them, " Well, sir, I think every man has his inward feelings; soldiers say they have theirs when they go into battle, and I am sure we have ours; a man can't help knowing the danger, and thinking about it, and feeling about it too; bat we are not going to be made cold-hearted about it, or we shouldn't be out there. We can't help seeing that we've got our work cut out for us, and we determine, by God's help, to do it, and won't flinch. We hope to save others, and feel we shall do our best; but we know that we raay lose our own lives. We think about this sometimes as we are sitting in the boat, holding on against the wash of the seas; but when we get to the wreck we forget all about ourselves, and think only about saving the others." The seas become heavier and heavier as they get nearer the vessel, and approach a more exposed part of the Sands; they have to encounter one great rush of water, which, urged by the hurricane of wind and strong tide, comes raging along through the Straits of Dover.

They find the vessel to be a large barque; she has settled down somewhat in the Sands, heeled over a good deal, and huge waves are foaming over her. The men look at the awful rage of sea, hear the tremendous roar with which the seas break upon the sand, and say to each other, " We have indeed our work cut out for us!" They can see no signs of any one being left on board—the crew may have been swept away, or have vainly attempted to get to land in their own boat. The flag of distress is still flying, and they go in nearer to the Saods, until they are almost abreast of the wreck; they can now make out the crew crouching down under cover of the deck-house, while the wild waves make a complete breach over the vessel, and threaten every moment to wash the deck-house and the crew away.

The steamer now tows the boat tip to windward; the life-boat men feel their turn for the battle has come, and make every preparation—sails are got ready to hoist, the cable is made all clear for paying out, the coxswain sees that they are far enough to windward, the steamer's tow-rope is cast off: the boat lifts on a huge wave as the strain of the rope is taken off her, they hoist her sail, round she flies in answer to her helm, and she makes in for the wreck; they mount on the top of huge seas, go plunging down into the trough of the waves; the spray flies over them, as the gale catches the crests of the towering breakers, and fills the »ir with the flying foam ; a minute more, and they are in broken water, the seas rash and recoil and leap together, fly high, and fall in tangled volumes of foaming water over the boat; she is almost unma- nageable ; tossed in all directions as the seas pour over her. The men have to cling with all their strength to the thwarts. They get within about sixty yards of the wreck, the anchor is thrown overboard, the cable payed oat swiftly; the sea is rushing with tremen- dous force over the ship, the boat sheers in under her lee-quarter; the men cheer to the poor half-dead sailors whom they see m board. All is hope : " A minute or two more," they think, " and we shall have saved them," A shout, " Hold on, men, for your lives hold on !" A glance up, a huge tower- ing wave like a wall of water conies swiftly on, its crest curls, breaks, falls—the men and boat are carried dowa by the tremendous weight of water. Some of the men seem almost crushed by the pressure and blow of the falling wave; they do not know whether the boat is npset or not, they cling con- vulsively to her; she floats, and frees her- self. The men find that the wave that thus buried them has taken the boat in its irre- sistible flood, and, dragging the anchor with it, has carried it more than one hundred yards away from the ship.

The men shake themselves free from the water, and look at the vessel; they cheer to the crew, and determine, please God, they will have them safe yet. They hoist sail, and try and sheer the boat to the ship. In vain: sea after sea breaks over them; the boat is thrown by the broken seas in all directions, sometimes the coxswain feels as if he would be thrown bodily forward on the men, as the waves lift her almost end on end. Again and again are they buried be- neath the water; but after each time the boat floats buoyantly, and the men bear tip bravely, and all are once more ready for a fresh struggle. They labour on, bat in vain; they get tha oars out, the waves take them and send them leaping from the rowlocks, and out of the men's hands; they must give it up for this time. AH their thoughts are i for the poor shipwrecked crew, and the I bitter, bitter disappointment they must feel.

[ Again they cheer to them, and shout to | them " to keep their hearts up, they will soon be at them again;" and then make the best of their way to the steamer. They have failed in their first attempt. The steamer again tows them into position, and they make boldly into the wreck for the second time; they steer as near to the stern as possible, avoiding the danger of being washed over it on to the deck of the vessel, and thus crashed to pieces ; they get nearer than they did before, and hope to get along'- side, but again they are overwhelmed in the rash of a fearful sea, buried in its deluge of broken water, and the boat is once more hurled away by the force of the waves many yards from the vessel; the anchor holds, but the tide is running more strongly than ever, and right away from the ship, and so it is hopeless for them to attempt to get any nearer to her. The tide has risen, and is nearly at its height; the vessel is still more over on her side; the deck is completely under water, the top of the deck-house is jnst above the sea; the crew have lashed a spar across the mizen shrotids, and are all clinging to it, while the wild waves rush, and beat over them continually. It is with terrible agony that the poor crew witness the second failure of the life-boat: " She will never come again," says the captain ; " the men cannot do it, the life nrast have been washed and beaten out of them." Great is their astonishment to find that no sooner does the life-boat clear herself of the water that seemed to drown her—no sooner do the men free themselves from the rash of foam which has for a time overwhelmed them—than they begin to cheer again, as if only rendered the more determined by their second defeat, the more courageous by the difficulties and dangers they had endured.

And the shipwrecked crew, encouraged by the hoarse cheers of the exhausted, half- drowned boatmen, begin again to hope; but it is almost against hope.

The boat is again towed into position by the steamer, and for the third time makes in for the wreck. They throw the anchor overboard farther from the vessel than before, give longer scope to the cable, sail in well under the ship's stern, again steer as near as possible to her lee-quarter, lower the foresail.

They are within a dozen yards of the ship; the bowman heaves a rope with his greatest force, it falls short; the boat sweeps on; they check the cable, and bring her head to the ship, abreast of her, but, unhappily, some distance off.

The captain of the ship had despaired of the boat being able to come in the third time; but when he saw her coming, he felt convinced it was their last opportunity of being saved, and determined that if the boat were again swept from the vessel, he would jump into the sea, and try and swim to her. The boat comes, and misses ; and the boatmen see the captain hastily throw off his sea-boots, seize a life-buoy, and pre- pare to plunge into the sea : they shout to him not to do so—to the crew to hold him back. " The tide in its set off the Sands would sweep him away; the seas would beat his life out of him : they will be back again soon, and won't go home without them." The steamer has followed the boat as closely as possible, running down the edge of the sands, just clear of the broken water.

The life-boat has swung out to the full length of her cable, and is in deep water; the men, upon looking for the steamer, after being again beaten for the third time from the wreck, find her making in towards the boat. The men on board the steamer had watched with increasing anxiety and dis- may the vain efforts of the life-boat; they grew more and more excited each time the boat returned to them, and are prepared to run any risk to help the life-boat men in their gallant endeavours, so they make in towards the life-boat, throw a rope on board, and then hope to be able to sheer the boat into the wreck. The boat- men have hold upon their own cable, to which the anchor is attached; they gradually draw in upon this, while the steamer seeks to tow the boat nearer and nearer to the vessel, and for the fourth time they approach the wreck.

The steamer ventures into the rage of the sea, and her position becomes one of great peril; she rolls in the trough of the tremendous waves till her gunwales are right under water, and her men cannot stand on the deck ; the foam and spray dash com- pletely over her, and tons and tons of water ' deluge her deck; they gradually approach i the vessel; the life-boat sheers in, the seas I and tide and wind catch her in their full | power, and whirl her away again. A huge I wave bodily sweeps over the steamer; she j is in extreme danger; the life-boat men for the moment fear that the wave will swamp I her; rolling, plunging, burying herself in the foaming seas, the steamer bravely holds her own, till to remain longer is certain death to all; and sorrowfully they have to give it up, and make out of the rage of the I broken water. The life-boat men rejoice to see the steamer get clear of the deadly peril; | they are in scarcely less danger them- ! selves; they cut the steamer's tow-rope, and then find that they must cut their own cable to avoid being dashed over the wreck; and away they go. They look at each other; beaten off for the fourth time, not one heart fails, not one speaks of giving it up, not one has such a thought for a moment—the only consideration is, what next they shall try; and weak, and ex- hausted, and almost frozen with cold, but determined and courageous as ever, they are only anxious for the poor shipwrecked ones, whose peril increases each moment, and hasten to prepare for a fifth effort for their rescue, strong still in their determina- tion " that they will not go home without them." CHAP. IV.—SAVED AT LAST.

THE ship's hull had been now for some time completely under water, and it was very evident that she was breaking up fast.

She had coals and iron on board; this dead weight kept her steady on the Sands, and prevented the waves lifting her and crash- ing her down, or she w.ould long since have been torn to fragments; as it is, the decks have burst, and the lighter portions of her cargo are being rapidly washed out of her; the sea in some places is black with coal- dust, and much wreckage—pieces of her deck and forecastle, and fragments of her boats— are being rapidly swept away in the rush of the tide. Each time that the men on board the steamer and life-boat look at the vessel and see the crew in the rigging, they think it indeed a wondrous mercy that they are still safe, and get each moment more im- pressed with feelings of deep sympathy for the poor fellows, and with the greatest eagerness to dare all to save them.

DANIEL READING, the brave and long- tried master of the steamer, is ill on shore, and so she is in charge of JOHN SIMPSON, the mate; he and WILLIAM WHABEIEE, the j Thus the men speak to each other; they engineer, consult as to the possibility of i are in a glow of eagerness and excitement, making another effort with the steamer. ! and can scarcely restrain themselves to keep The tide is setting off the Sands with such i quiet. As they watch .the poor fellows, force that they cannot see how it is possible and time after time the rash of wave and and they for the life-boat to get in to the vessel; the crew of the steamer are ready to second them in any eflbrt they determine to make.

They get the mortar-apparatus ready, and hope to approach near enough the ship to fire a line into the rigging, with which they may haul a rope from the vessel, which they can give to the life-boat crew, and thus en- able the men to pull the boat over the tide, and alongside the ship. They put the spray passes, and tliey can see them still clinging on, they feel almost as if they could jump at them, to try and save them ; they • lose all sense of weakness, cold, and ex- 1 haustion. One of them said afterwards, ! "We were thoroughly warm at our work, and felt like lions, as if nothing could stop us," In this spirit they consult together how they shall make their next effort. First one plan is suggested, and then another; steamer's head towards the wreck, and go j but these seem to give no better hope of those that have been al- At last a plan is proposed which must indeed prove rescue to the shipwrecked, or death to all. " I tell my men: if we are going to poor fellows, there is only one way of doing it; it must be a case of save all, or lose all, that is just it, We must go right in upon the vessel, hit her between the masts, and throw onr anchor over right upon her decks." " What a niad-brained trick f* says one; " why, the boat would be smashed to pieces." " Likely enough; but there is one thing certain, is there not?—and that is, that we ahead cautiously. The tide has been flowing : success than some time; the steamer does nofc draw much ready tried, water; they are almost within firing dis- tance : the steamer is nearly overrun with the waves; a huge roller comes rushing 1 you what, along; she lifts high on its crest, falls down j save those into the trough, as down the side of a wall, and strikes the Sands heavily. The en- gines are instantly reversed ; she lifts; and, being a very quick and handy boat, at once moves astern, and they are saved from shipwreck; and thus the fifth effort to save the crew fails. No time is lost: at ouce the steamer heads for the life-boat, and makes ready to tow her again into position. Again not a word—scarcely a are not going home and leave those poor thought—about past failures ; only eager- 1 fellows to perish; and I do not believe there ness to commence at once a fresh attempt.! is any other way of saving them, and so we " Look out, my men; here is another rope 1 must just try it, and God help us and them I" for you," " All right!" is shouted as the ! Not a single word, now, against it! What! charge in upon the vessel, in that mad rage of sea!—Victory or death ! Indeed!— Most of the life-boat men are married men, line is caught, and tie hawser is drawn into the boat "All right; tow us well to windward; give us a good position, plenty of room; we must have them this time. [ with families, loved wives and loved little All fast; away you go; hurrah!" The men ones dependent upon them. Thoughts of watch the vessel as they are being towed this—tender, heartfelt thoughts of this— past her. " Oh ! the poor fellows, to think i come to them. ** Well, and so we have, we have not got them yet." " Well, we and have not those poor perishing fellows have had warm work for it." " But we j wives and little ones too; and are not they will save them—we will save them yet." j perhaps thinking of them as much as we "Ah! look how that wave buried them j are thinking of ours; and shall we go home all! There they are again. Let us give i without running all danger, and doing all we them a cheer, it will help them to keep« can, and let them see us go home to oar their hearts up ;** and, as the boat rose on a j dear ones, while we leave them to perish wave, they shouted, and waved to the ship- i thinking of theirs ? No! please God, that wrecked crew, " There! another sea j shall never be said of us!" Such thoughts caught her ! Look how her masts begin to ! as these pass through the minds of some of swing about, in different directions too; j them. Among the ship's crew, clinging they are getting unstepped and loose; she a few feet above the boil of the sea to the is breaking up fast, working all over—all of loose and shaking rigging, there is one who a quiver and tremble! Poor fellows! poor guesses their thoughts. All the others fellows 1 we have not a moment to spare— think it impossible that the life-boat can it must soon be all over, one way or other!" j make another effort. He encourages his mates. " I have sailed in English ships," he says. " I have often heard about life- boat work, and I know they never leave any one to perish, as long as they can see them; and they will not leave us." The boat is towed into ipasitiaa, •aad they make in again for the wreck. They get well to windward; they are crossing the stern of the vessel, A tremendous breaker comes heading along : " Look at that fellow! if he catches us, it is all up with us; the boat will be dashed high up into the masts of the ship." « Hold on al! I" " Ah ! thank God we have escaped; it breaks ahead of us." " Ready all; be ready all," shouts the coxswain. Every man is at his station, some with the halliards in hand, others with the anchor ready to cast overboard; past the stern of the vessel the boat flies; down helm ; round she comes; down foresail, the ship's lee-gunwale is under water, the boat shoots forward, and hits the rail of the vessel with a shock that almost throws all from their posts, as she literally, for a moment, leaps on board the vessel; over with the anchor; it falls on the vessel's deck; all the crew are in the mizen shronds; they cannot get to the boat; a fearful rush of sea is between them and it. Again and again the boat thumps with shocks that almost shake the men ftom their hold; the seas are rushing completely over them, the boat is carried away from the vessel.

" Hurrah! the anchor holds; veer out the cable; steadily, my men, steadily; do not disturb the anchor more than you can help; we shall have them now, we shall have them; let her have a little more cable ; get your grappling-hook; throw it over that line; there you have it;" and they haul on board a line which had been attached to a cork fender, and thrown from the vessel early in the day, but which the boatmen had never before been able to reach.

They get the boat straight; haul in slowly upon both ropes ; cheer to the crew; " Hurrah, my mates, hurrah!" All is joy and excitement; but steady, attention to orders; now the boat is abreast the mizzen- rigging, where the men are. " Down helm !" the boat sheers in; " Haul in upon the ropes; handsomely, my men, hand- somely ;" the boat jumps forward, hits the ship heavily with her stem, crashes off a large piece of her forefoot. The men are for a moment thrown down with the shock ; up they leap, two men jump on to the bow gunwale and seize hold of the captain of the vessel, who seems nearly dead, drag him in over the bows; two of the sailors jump on board; "Hold on all! hold on!" A tre- mendous sea rolls over them; the boat is washed away from the vessel; the anchor still holds; in they sheer the boat again ; Vtay mike. tW -soya's, fa&t, a»d festeft tVus boat alongside to . the shrouds : they will not be washed away again until they have all the crew on board. A man jumps for ! the boat; she falls in the trough of the sea ; the man falls between the boat and the rigging; a second more, and the boat will be on the top of him, crushing him against j the rail of the vessel, upon which the keel of the boat strikes heavily; two boatmen seize him, they are nearly dragged over- board, they are caught hold of in time, and all three are pulled into the boat; up she flies and crashes against the spar in the rigging. " Jump in, men; for your lives, jump in!" Now all are on board, all on board ; cut the lashings ; cut the cable, up helm, up foresail. The seas catch the boat and bear her away from the vessel; away she goes with a bound, flying through the broken water. Thank God, thank God ! all are saved at last! Saved at last! The boat is through the breakers, out into deep water; the men have time to look at each other—and how gladly, how fondly they do sol—all is gladness, and thankfulness, and cheerfulness; they shake hands, the rescued and the rescuers, time after time; the crew of the steamer greet them with cheers! Who can describe the jov they all feel at the successful ending of their long battle with terrible danger and threatened death! They lift the captain on board the steamer ; he is thoroughly ex- hausted; they carry him into the engine- room, and, in the warmth there, do their best to revive him, and he soon recovers.

The sailors will not leave the life-boat, " No! no! you saved us, you saved us! you had plenty, plenty trouble ; we thought you never do it. We stop with you, we stop with you!" It is thus the mate answers in broken English, when they tell him that the crew would be more comfort- able on board the steamer. The life-boat men often find the men whom they have saved thus refuse to leave the boat; it is a sort of simple expression of gratitude, as if to go would be to desert their new friends, who had done so much for them.

In Ramsgate the anxiety is very great.

The steamer and life-boat have been out ] many hours; nothing can be seen of them in i the mist that hangs over the Sands. " Can anything have happened?" is the restless question put from one to another; it might well be so in so fearful a storm. At about half-past two, hundreds of people are col- lected on the pier, and, to the great joy of all, the steamer and life-boat are seen speed- ' ing to the harbour; flags are flying from ; the life-boat—a sign of success. As they i enter the harbour cheer after cheer welcomes j them. The crew land; they are ten Danish j sailors, from the Danish barque Aurora } Borealis. They are taken to the Sailors' Home, and well cared for. Many of them are very weak, and can scarcely walk, but they speedily recover under the hospitable care with which they are greeted, and are full of gratitude for the rescue so bravely wrought out for them, and are all now well able to feel that confidence in the untiring courage of an English life-boat man, which one of them expressed in the height of their danger, when he said, " They will never give us up while they can see us !" The Board of Trade, -in recognition of the gallant services of the men, presented them with ll. each. The King of Denmark for- warded two hundred rix-dollars to be divided among them. They are all poor men, and these presents proved very acceptable; but the joy with all was, and is, in the fact of their having so successfully persevered in saving life, in rescuing their drowning brother-sailors; while all who know the circumstances declare that never, by land or sea, was more gallant service done. And 1 have, my readers, but ill performed my task if I do not gain from you an echo to this assertion.—And now let me give you the names of these brave men, if I have moved you to sympathy with their heroic deeds.

I am sure that you will with pleasure read their names:— DANIEL FRIEND.

WILLIAM STEAD.

WILLIAM WHITE.

JAMES STEVENS.

THOMAS WILKINSON.

WILLIAM Fox.

ISAAC JARMAN, cox- JAMES WHITE.

swain.

CHARLES FISH, low- man.

WILLIAM PENNY.

ROBERT PENNY.

WILLIAM GORHAM.

The crew of the steam-boat also deserve most honourable mention for their courage and perseverance, and their names may, therefore, be read with much interest:— JOHN SIMPSON. JAMES FREEMAN.

WILLIAM WHARRIER. THOMAS TUCKER.

THOMAS NICOL. WM. HARLAND.

FREDERICK LAURENCE. BENJAMIN DALE..