" Thy flitting form comes ghostly dull and pale, As driven by the beating storm at sea; Thy cry is weak and scared, As if thy mates had shared The doom of us. Thy wail— What does it bring to me ?" IT was perhaps an impious wish, hut I had often wished to see a storm at sea, and to be present at a wreck. But little did I think that I should wit- ness such a scene whilst staying near the Knock- mahon Copper Mines. It was however to be. I was aroused one morning by the roar of the wind as it rushed past my bedroom window. It was like no other wind that I had ever heard. Its roar was defiant. It came in heavy gusts, which shook the house, and sounded like the muffled salvoes of far-off artillery. The windows were blinded by the driving spray, and above all, there was the sullen roar of the ocean as it fell on the beach in foaming cataracts. The angry breakers told of a week of bad weather, and the Atlantic waves came tumbling in, broken and discoloured, lashed by a thousand storms into masses of curly white foam, which assumed a snowy whiteness as the bounding waves dashed over the black and dismal-looking rocks of Mount Airy.

In the early part of the morning I heard the coastguardsmen had been vainly endeavouring to pierce with their glasses the murky veil of vapour which, hung over the sea. The weather had been such for some days as to throw home- ward-bound vessels out of their ordinary courses.

The coastguard patrols had brought word that the harbours and roadsteads on either side of us were thronged by weather-bound vessels, waiting tor the old storm king to abate his wrath. I knew this, but still -could hardly realise the force and violence of the wind. 1 watched throughout the day the majestic waves come rolling in, when suddenly a distant boom was heard. My heart jumped, as it were, at the sound, and I rushed into the street. The old inhabitants, in answer to my numerous inquiries, said it was only a blast in the neighbouring mines. They had become used to such sounds; but this was not satisfactory to me. The mines were to the east, and the wind was blowing a hurricane from the south-west. It- was not the miners, "fifty fathoms underground." But what could it be? Hark, again ! " Boom-" came the sound of a gun dis- tinctly from the seaward. I bounded out and rushed up the cliffs; but when there, I found that the gale was stronger than I. No mortal man, much less a boy, could face it unaided. I was obliged to lie down and crawl along to a point where a low wall would shelter the body from the force of the wind. There, crouching down and resting my telescope on the wall, 1 endeavoured to find some sign of the vessel whose guns now ; broke with appalling regularity on the ear. My eyes were not used to the haze and foam-drift; j but even an old seaman who joined me failed to ! discover the whereabouts of the vessel, for it was evident that the guns were fired, as signals of dis- tress, from some storm-tossed vessel.

We turned wistfully round, and again our I anxious eyes endeavoured to pierce the mist, j The boom of the gun was evidently nearer at hand, but no sign could be discerned of the ! stricken ship. A crowd of fishermen and miners : now assembled, and their hard, weather-beaten faces showed signs of anxiety. They were will- ing to afford such aid as was possible, but, alas ! aid there was none. The nearest life-boat station ; was twelve miles off. However, not a moment was lost in despatching a mounted messenger to inform her of the dangerous position of the vessel. Meanwhile, we knew that there were throbbing human hearts close to us in dire ex- tremity ; but we were helpless. No boat could be launched through the raging surf; even the dashing cutter belonging to the coastguard would be disabled in a moment, if they were mad j enough to try to launch her. It was heart-sicken- ing to think of our utter inability to aid; and we feared, in the absence of the Life-boat, that we : should see the agonising spectacle of our fellow- creatures' death-struggle. But this was not to be. j The gun was no longer heard. With our senses | at the utmost tension, we strained our eyes and ' ears towards the heaving waters. We could see nothing but the waves and vapour, and our ears j drank in but a faint cry which came over the surface of the raging sea. It might have been but the shriek of the sea-bird ; but my thoughts travelled to the labouring ship and the struggling ; crew in that war of waters. I Later on the fog suddenly lifted and showed us j a smart-looking brig, beating against the gale not ; more than four or five miles off. This was evi- dently not the vessel we had heard in the fore- j noon; still, she was obviously unable to battle j with the gale. The night was closing in, yet in i the intervals of the mist we could see the strug-gles of the gallant little vessel to keep her head to i the wind; yet, at the same time, perceptibly I nearing the shore. Still she made no sign of dis- i tress. At last we saw her foresail rent into ! ribbons, and her head forced round to the shore. ( We knew then, instinctively, that the fight was [ all but over.

We rushed to the beach. Our only hope was to prevent her going on the rocks on either hand ; for if she did so, her fate would be similar to the proud vessels of the Spanish Armada, which found an end on the same coast—neither vessel nor people could be saved. The vessel was now distinctly perceptible from the beach, and doubts arose as to whether she could keep sufficiently to windward to make the sand of the strand. Again came the boom over the water. Now we were prepared for it; we could even see the flash ere we heard the report. We waited but for this, and loud over the din of surging waters went the an- swering gun into the darkening night. Almost immediately we fired a blue light as a beacon, to guide the storm-tossed, if not to a haven of safety, to the least inhospitable spot on that inhospitable shore. We could see the sailors on board wave the binnacle-lamp, and then, with bated breath, we watched the catastrophe. Onward came the doomed vessel, seeming to increase in size and bulk, in the darkness, as she rose to the crest of each successive wave; and as she rolled, her top spars seemed to come over our heads in the dark- ness ; yet we knew she was as yet in deep water.

Where would she strike the fatal earth? Where? We had scarcely time to think. A few yards more or less would, we knew, make the difference of perhaps a dozen lives. It was now dark; but we could make out distinctly both the hull and rigging of the brig when they were relieved against the whitening foam. It seemed an age, but it was only a few seconds, ere we saw her tall spars totter, and we felt the vibration along the shore. She had struck at last; and we men- tally thanked that overruling Providence which guards both sailors and landsmen that she had not struck on the Lady's Rock.

Away we ran along the beach, for the tide rising fast, added to the force of the tempest, had carried the brig, in that brief space of time, more than a quarter of a mile to leeward. Then again she struck with immense force, her rigging broke asunder, and we saw her gradually settle down on the bank at some distance from where we stood. The enormous waves began to break over her; but we could not discover a sign of life —not a glimmer of light could be discerned on board of the ill-fated vessel. All was silent and quiet as death. The waters boiled around like a seething cauldron. The hardy coastguard stood there ready with ropes and other appliances to aid the distressed; but no sign of them was ap- parent. We all stood i/n the shore watching anxi- ously when some dark object was seen to be struggling with the waves ; expectation ran high, but it only proved to be a part of the rudder. At last an opening was observed which gave a chance of reaching the vessel; the waves had receded, and had left the ship apparently dry. A dozen ready volunteers dashed forward, but they were met by the surging billows which came back with renewed force; and these strong men were hurled like corks to our very feet, drenched to the skin, bruised on the shingly beach, and taught a lesson which they doubtless long remembered. It was indeed a wrestle with the waves and with death.

A new danger threatened us. Loud and pro- longed shrieks came from the barren strand be- hind us. We turned round and found that the sea had broken through the storm-wall, and we were all surrounded by the foaming surf. We stood upon a small spot of land, which seemed like an island in the midst of the raging sea.

The tide had more than an hour to run. and un- less the storm abated we should be washed away from our vantage-point. We were in the centre of a heavy and threatening mass of foaming waters. Dark though it was, we could see that the water had reached the village behind, for each cot and cabin stood like a black patch on the foam. A council was held, when it was resolved that those who had been in the water should en- deavour to reach the village through the surf, and reassure the friends whose cries added to the terror of the scene, for they thought all were lost.

The struggle through the mingled sand and water was an arduous one. The shrieks.became louder, for only half-a-dozen heads and figures could be seen in the water. The wives of the coastguards- men were loud in their lamentations for their lost husbands; they, like Rachel, refused to be com- forted, even when assured of the safety of their husbands on the sand-spit.

Thus the night passed on. Nothing more could be done; we had only to wait patiently the ar- rival of the Life-boat, which was coming over hill and dale, drawn by six horses, in a tempest that was enough to overpower both man and beast. At last the arrival of the boat was an- nounced, and loud were the acclamations of de- light of every one at her appearance. No time was lost in arranging for the launch of the Boat, and after some difficulty that was successfully and skilfully accomplished. It was now very late at night, and, after some most difficult and peril- ous attempts to reach the vessel, the crew were ultimately rescued. They were so exhausted and half-drowned, that they could hardly stand on their feet when they reached the shore. We com- forted them; fed and housed the poor Arab sailors. The ship was the Selim of Beyrout, and the bright sun shone the next morning on the wreck. The poor captain had lost his all. The crew went on their way, relieved and grateful, to find other ships to sail other voyages, with a more prosperous termination, we hoped.

I could not forget, however, the cry which I heard in the-morning; it rang in my ears with a strange pertinacity. I wandered along the tall and rugged cliffs, and found each beach strewed with the waste of the storm; even the rocks were wreathed with the coarse sea-wrack and the flotsam and jetsam of the ocean. Here and there the poor were searching for firewood and some stray relics, cast up by the storm. A few fisher- men told me that they had seen a small schooner in distress in the storm just before the wailing cry came over the water; then she was seen no more. In the course of the day the body of a poor boy was washed up on the beach. In his hand he grasped a piece of spar, but he had long been dead. Near the spot a seaman's chest was dis- covered a few days afterwards. The style and similarity of marking the linen showed that it belonged to the boy. In the chest were found a few letters in Italian, which told us of fond motherly love in a far-off Genoese home. Ere I left the neighbourhood I heard with pleasure that the poor mother had received the relics of her son, and had thanked those who had given the body a decent burial. It was my first and last shipwreck, and formed a remarkable termination of my first holiday in Ireland.

J. T. BURGESS.