thirty brave beachmen ran down, with ropes
in their hands, to a spot on the beach to which
they knew the wind and tide would probably
drift the drowning men. Instantly five or
six of them fastened the ropes round
themselves, the others holding on firmly; and
although frequently struck down by the waves,
they still ran courageously into the sea to the
rescue. At the very first dash they grasped
and held fast the two men who were clinging
together. The other beachmen, who held the
ropes, drew them all safely to the shore.
These two were the captain of the ship, who
could not swim, and a stout lad, who could.
The beachmen, speedily disengaging
themselves from the ropes, and leaving the two
men whom they had saved to the care of
the others, who assisted their recovery
by no very gentle treatment, ran towards
the sailor who was still kept up by the boat,
which, although repeatedly struck by the
waves, fortunately maintained its position,
bottom upwards. The boat had now drifted
to a considerable distance from the shore;
but the beachmen, with great strength and
courage, at once reached the poor fellow, who
secured the rope round his body, and was
finally dragged through the surf, and landed
safe and sound. Feats like these are
continually performed by the Yarmouth beachmen
without their seeming to think they
have done anything very extraordinary,.

Such are the works which they constantly
do; now judge of the sights which they are
ever liable to see, as mementos of the fate
which may one day await themselves. During
the gales at the beginning of October, 1851, a
captain of a steamer encountered, somewhere
between Yarmouth and Holland, a vessel
which, from its ungainly movements, he knew
must be waterlogged, and likely to sink. He
therefore steered towards it, for the purpose
of saving those on board. On approaching,
he observed the master pacing to and fro on
his quarter-deck, in apparent unconcern. He
took no notice of the shouts that were
addressed to him, and seemed quite unconscious
of the close neighbourhood of the steamer.
None of the crew were visible. They were,
perhaps, worn out with pumping, and might
have lain down, giving up all further effort as
useless; or, in their despair, they might have
got to the spirits and made themselves dead
drunk, fearing to meet death in a state of
consciousness. As the master gave no sign
of wishing to accept the assistance offered,
the captain of the steamer turned away,
intending to leave the vessel to her fate.
When he had reached the distance of a quarter
of a mile or so, he gave one more look at the
sinking craft; and feeling sure, from some
awkward and unmistakeable movements, that
she must soon founder, he resolved to make a
second trial, and turned back again, getting
as near to the vessel as he dared. As before,
no notice whatever was taken of the presence of
the steamer; but the master continued pacing
backwards and forwards, as one might do
quietly and idly in one's study. In a few minutes
the ship gave a shiver and a struggle, and
went down headforemost, like a duck taking
a dip and a dive, as foundering ships mostly
do. It is nothing very strange to tell, but
must have been strange indeed to witness!
It must have been, frightful; far more so
than the inevitable loss of life. If the
master and crew were prevented from using
the opportunity of a rescue, in
consequence of having yielded to the intoxication
suggested by despair, it shows the folly (the
immorality—say, wickedness—is
acknowledged) of such cowardice. While there is
life, there is hope; and there ought to be a
battle for life, to the last gasp. Let those
who think this sentence harsh, read the
account of the Wreck of the Tweed, published
by the Christian Knowledge Society; or let
them refer to the Norfolk newspapers for the
record of the heroic exertions of a Yarmouth
man, who was seventeen hours, I think,
floating and swimming in the sea, till at
last he was safely stranded on Gorton beach,
and restored to his despairing family. The
ordinary annual rate of deaths at sea is
fearful enough; the extraordinary cases are
overwhelming to the mind. "In 1554 was a
dreadful gale of wind. Fifty sail of ships lost
on this coast in one day and night, and their
crews perished!" Such are the calamities
that sometimes happen "off" the Norfolk
Gridiron.

AGROUND UP THE GANGES.

DURING the annual overflow of the Ganges,
in the year 1838, one of the East India
Company's steam vessels grounded at the village
of Damadapore, a little beyond Dinapore, on
her passage from Calcutta to Allahabad, with
a flat in tow.

The manner of her grounding:—She was
a victim to the thirst after "short cuts" by
which so many noble vessels have been
led to destruction. At Damadapore the
river Ganges bends considerably, and when
the Megna (that was the name of the vessel)
reached that place, the land was flooded
by the rains. Although the water had
begun then to subside, the Captain thought
that he could make a short cut across, by
the overland route, to avoid following the
twist of the river. So he tried his luck at
a quick passage; and, luck failing him,
when he had got about a mile and a quarter
from the river bed the vessel struck. The
water was then falling very fast, the flat in
tow had cast off where the steamer grounded,
and found her way back again to the river
without getting aground. Three days after
this the water had fallen so much, that the
ship was high and dry. She had struck upon,
a rising mound of earth, the only bit of danger
in her way, for if she had avoided this she
would have made her short cut safely.