the end of it and then slipped off, receiving a very
violent bruise in his fall, and before he could
recover his legs. he was washed off by the surge.
He now supported himself by swimming, until a
returning wave dashed him against the back part
of the cavern. Here he laid hold of a small projection
in the rock, but was so much benumbed that
he was on the point of quitting it, when a seaman,
who had already gained a footing, extended his
hand, and assisted him until he could secure
himself a little on the rock; from which he
clambered on a shelf still bigger, and out of the reach
of the surf.

"Mr. Rogers, the third mate, remained with the
captain and the unfortunate ladies and their
companions nearly twenty minutes after Mr. Meriton
had quitted the ship. Soon after the latter left the
round-house, the captain asked what was become
of him, to which Mr. Rogers replied, that he was
gone on deck to see what could be done. After
this, a heavy sea breaking over the ship, the ladies
exclaimed, "Oh poor Meriton! he is drowned!
had he stayed with us he would have been safe!"
and they all, particularly Miss Mary Pierce,
expressed great concern at the apprehension of his loss.

The sea was now breaking in at the fore-part of
the ship, and reached as far as the mainmast.
Captain Pierce gave Mr. Rogers a nod, and they
took a lamp and went together into the stern-
gallery, where, after viewing the rocks for some
time, Captain Pierce asked Mr. Rogers if he
thought there was any possibility of saving the
girls; to which he replied, he feared there was
none; for they could only discover the black face
of the perpendicular rock, and not the cavern
which afforded shelter to those who escaped.
They then returned to the round-house, where
Mr. Rogers hung up the lamp, and Captain
Pierce sat down between his two daughters.

"The sea continuing to break in very fast, Mr.
Macmanus, a midshipman, and Mr. Schutz, a
passenger, asked Mr. Rogers what they could do to
escape. 'Follow me,' he replied, and they all
went into the stern-gallery, and from thence to
the upper quarter-gallery on the poop. While
there, a very heavy sea fell on board and the
round-house gave way; Mr, Rogers heard the
ladies shriek at intervals, as if the water reached
them; the noise of the sea at other times drowning
their voices.

"Mr. Brimer had followed him to the poop where
they remained together about five minutes, when
on the breaking of this heavy sea, they jointly
seized a hen-coop. The same wave which proved
fatal to some of those below, carried him and his
companion to the rock, on which they were
violently dashed and miserably bruised.

"Here on the rock were twenty-seven men; but
it now being low water, and as they were
convinced that on the flowing of the tide all must be
washed off, many attempted to get to the back
or the sides of the cavern, beyond the reach
of the returning sea. Scarcely more than six,
besides Mr. Rogers and Mr. Brimer, succeeded.

"Mr. Rogers, on gaining this station, was so
nearly exhausted, that had his exertions been
protracted only a few minutes longer, he must have
sunk under them. He was now prevented from
joining Mr. Meriton, by at least twenty men
between them, none of whom could move, without
the imminent peril of his life.

"They found that a very considerable number of
the crew, seamen, and soldiers, and some petty
officers, were in the same situation as themselves,
though many who had reached the rocks below,
perished in attempting to ascend. They could yet
discern some part of the ship, and in their dreary
station solaced themselves with the hopes of its
remaining entire until day-break; for in the midst
of their own distress the sufferings of the females
on board affected them with the most, poignant
anguish; and every sea that broke inspired them
with terror for their safety.

"But, alas, their apprehensions were too soon
realised! Within a very few minutes of the
time that Mr. Rogers gained the rock, an universal
shriek, which long vibrated in their ears, in which
the voice of female distress was lamentably
distinguished, announced the dreadful catastrophe. In
a few moments all was hushed, except the roaring
of the winds and the dashing of the waves; the
wreck was buried in the deep and not an atom of
it was ever afterwards seen.''

The most beautiful and affecting incident
I know, associated with a shipwreck, succeeds
this dismal story for a winter night. The
Grosvenor, East Indiaman homeward bound,
goes ashore on the coast of Caffraria. It is
resolved that the officers, passengers, and
crew, in number one hundred and thirty-five
souls, shall endeavour to penetrate on foot,
across trackless deserts, infested by wild
beasts and cruel savages, to the Dutch settlements
at the Cape of Good Hope. With this
forlorn object before them, they finally
separated into two parties—never more to meet on earth.

There is a solitary child among the passengers—
a little boy of seven years old who has
no relation there; and when the first party
is moving away he cries after some member
of it who has been kind to him. The crying
of a child might be supposed to be a little
thing to men in such great extremity; but it
touches them, and he is immediately taken
into that detachment.

From which time forth, this child is
sublimely made a sacred charge. He is pushed,
on a little raft, across broad rivers, by the
swimming sailors; they carry him by turns
through the deep sands and long grass (he
patiently walking at all other times); they
share with him such putrid fish as they find
to eat; they lie down and wait for him when
the rough carpenter, who becomes his especial
friend, lags behind. Beset by lions and
tigers, by savages, by thirst, by hunger, by
death in a crowd of ghastly shapes, they
never —O Father of all mankind, thy name
be blessed for it! —forget this child. The
captain stops exhausted, and his faithful
coxswain goes back and is seen to sit down
by his side, and neither of the two shall be
any more beheld until the great last day;
but, as the rest go on for their lives, they take
the child with them. The carpenter dies
of poisonous berries eaten in starvation; and
the steward, succeeding to the command of
the party, succeeds to the sacred guardianship
of the child.

God knows all he does for the poor baby;
how he cheerfully carries him in his arms
when he himself is weak and ill; how he
feeds him when he himself is griped with
want; how he folds his ragged jacket round
him, lays his little worn face with a woman's
tenderness upon his sunburnt breast, soothes
him in his sufferings, sings to him as he limps
along, unmindful of his own parched and