The suggestion was followed. In a few minutes, those who had been so fortunate as to obtain beds, had retired to the loft above; while the remainder stretched themselves indiscriminately on the floor, and were soon buried in profound repose.

By this time the tempest had increased again, so that the signal guns could not be distinguished. But Major Gordon, who had never heard similar sounds before, was long haunted in his sleep by the report of cannon booming solemnly across the night.

Ir is time that we should say something of the young officer, who, as the reader has suspected, is destined to play no inconsiderable part in our story.

Major Gordon had been left an orphan at an early age, with but a small competence, most of which had been exhausted on his education, so that, on his attaining his majority, his whole property, consisted of little more than sufficient to purchase a library and support himself for a couple of years. By assiduity in his profession, however, which was that of the law, assisted by a natural gift of eloquence, he rapidly rose to ease and distinction; and was fast taking rank, indeed, among the eminent advocates of whom Philadelphia boasted then, as now, when the war of

Independence broke out. Like most other generous and heroic spirits, he threw himself with ardor into the patriotic cause. Abandoning his practice and the tempting offers it held out, he joined the troops raised by the colony of Pennsylvania, in which he speedily attained the rank of Major. Subsequently he had been attached to the staff of General Wayne, and afterwards had been employed on several delicate missions, where judgment and discretion were required as well as courage. It was one of these latter tasks which had brought him to the coast now. A cargo of powder was expected to be landed in the river, and as it was much wanted at camp, he had been despatched to receive and forward it to head-quarters.

There were as yet no signs of daybreak, when Major Gordon, who had slept but indifferently, awoke and looked at his watch. By the dim light of the solitary candle, he saw that morning would dawn by the time they could get their craft ready; and accordingly, picking his way between the rows of beds, he descended into the lower apartment, and proceeded to arouse Mullen. The latter individual was

awoke with some difficulty.

"Morning, is it, Major?" he said, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "Why the night's as black as a wolf's mouth yet. Look at the window and see for yourself."

"But it will be daylight before we are ready. I'd trust my watch sooner than my eyes, especially on a morning like this."

"Well, I'm your man," said Mullen, who, being now thoroughly awake, sprang up with alacrity and proceeded to arouse his comrades, one by one; carefully avoiding, however, disturbing the other sleepers, who all slumbered heavily after their debauch.

In a short while the little band came forth and took their way, by the light of a lantern, to the spot where Mullen's craft was moored.

"What a storm it has been," said Major Gordon. "I heard the rain beating, the wind roaring, and the waters dashing, all through the night. Sometimes I also fancied I distinguished signal-guns; but that, I began to fear, was only a dream, since there's no sign of them now."

"It's sartain none have been fired since we came out," answered Mullen, "for we'd have been sure to hear 'em. The wind has lulled, but the gale's not over. There'll may

be not much more rain fall; but I shouldn't be surprised to hear it blow great guns the better part of the day."

"I suppose the schooner would not be apt to come in, on such a morning,” said Major Gordon, alluding to the vessel whose arrival he was expecting.

“No, she'd keep an offing, while she has it. Her skipper is a good sailor, and he'll turn up, right and tight, though not till the gale's over."

"Unless he's been captured," said the Major. "He should have been here two days ago, and his delay makes me think, sometimes, that he has been taken by the British."

"Give yourself no consarn on that p'int, Major," retorted Mullen. "The schooner's a clipper of a craft; none of your scows, made by the cord and cut off in lengths to suit customers; but a ra'al beauty, sharp as a nor'wester on a winter mornin', and that can go into the wind's eye like a duck. The skipper, too, knows every inlet on the coast, and all the shallows, so that if a cruiser was to follow him, he'd lead the fellow aground in no time, and then giving him a shot, to make fun of him like, set everything drawing on the opposite tack, and leave him to get off as he could."

By this time they had reached their craft, which was a half-decked boat, with a single mast, of a description still frequent in those waters. There was some delay in getting her ready for a start, and still more in tracking her out of the small creek where she lay; but at last the adventurers succeeded in gaining open water just as the gloom of night

was giving way to the dim, stormy day. The high wind compelled the crew to close-reef their mainsail, and even with this mere shred of canvass, the boat staggered along like a drunken man, laboring heavily in the rough, cross sea. "Heaven grant we may be in time," said Major Gordon. "But this long silence of the alarm guns, and this fierce wind, are ominous of disaster."

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"It's four chances to one that we're goin' on a fool's errand," answered Mullen. 'First, the ship's probably gone down before this; and second, if she hasn't, her people are most likely drowned; for, if neither of these had happened, we would have heard her guns off and on through the night. Third, if she's struck, it's probably on the outer bar, a mile from shore, where nobody can get at her. Fourth, if even she's in the very breakers, she'll probably go to pieces before we can do anything to help 'em."

"Surely," said Major Gordon, "if she's in the breakers, we can save her people in some way."

"You

"There's small chance of that," was the answer. don't know this coast like I do, Major, or you'd hardly have insisted on coming out. No boat could live a moment in the surf that must now be beating on the shore. I've seen many a poor fellow hang in the shrouds, in my time, for a matter of twenty-four hours or so; and that, too, with a dozen or more looking at him all the while-yet he's been forced to drop into the sea at last, because no one could get to him. It was only last January, that one of King George's transports struck and bilged in a snow-storm, on the beach right ahead of us; and not a soul was saved. The coast was strewed, for miles, with dead bodies, some of officers in uniforms, and others of common soldiers; and there were women, too, among 'em. I wasn't on the beach myself, but from all accounts it was howsomever, I knew three men to of a sloop, which had sunk in some

dreadful to see. Once, cling to the cross-trees twelve feet water, and

there they held fast, like dying men will, for two days and a night. I could hear their cries all the while, for the wind blew strong on shore; but they got weaker and faint-like, 'specially towards the first night; and on the second morning there was only one could be heard."

He paused, moved by the mere recollection, and then proceeded.

"His voice, too, as the day went on, got weaker, till about an hour before sunset, and when at last the surf was beginning to go down, he dropped quietly into the sea. The others had died hours before. So I doubt if we can do any good, even if we find a wreck. It's a bad thing, too, Major, to see poor creatures in mortal agony, yet not be able to help 'em. You'll wish you'd never come. But

as you say go, go we do."

"Thank you," answered Major Gordon, with a husky voice, deeply moved by the sad narratives of the speaker, and almost convinced that he was only conducting them to the threshold of another drama of the same character. "But I could never again rest in my bed, if I didn't make an effort, at least, to see if there's a wreck, and try what can be done. I should be always hearing the boom of the alarm gun in my dreams."

The ram had now ceased, but a drizzling mist had set in, through whose folds the dreary landscape looked more desolate than ever. The slate-colored clouds, flying just overhead, drifted rapidly in from the sea, and sweeping past, like the wings of gigantic birds seen in the dusk of night, disappeared in the vague haze inland. As the boat beat across the bay, the water flew crackling over her forecastle, often even wetting Major Gordon and Mullen in the stern; while the parted waves, bubbling and hissing by, whirled off behind in creamy eddies.

After awhile the southern edge of the open water was attained, when the craft entered a labyrinth of compara