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in their berths, alternately praying and thinking of their distant homes and friends; others, resolved to know the worst, rose from their beds and endeavoured to dress themselves as rapidly as possible, as they staggered about, sometimes thrown completely off their legs by the violent motion of the ship. Presently, however, a sound was heard, which banished all thought of sickness from the minds of the most helpless and languid amongst them.

The companion-way was suddenly opened, and the voice of the captain was heard shouting to them in the cabin. "Passengers," he said, "hurry on deck for your lives; the strange ship is close on board of us, and if she strikes us it will be fortunate if either one of us escape destruction."

The hatchway was immediately closed with a crash, for the water had been pouring into the cabin while the captain was speaking, and the terrified passengers, who had all risen at the dreadful summons, were mingled together in confusion, and left to attire themselves in their garments, which had been thrown on the deck, and were dripping with the water which floated the cabin to the depth of an inch. A fearful sight presented itself to the few who were able to gain the deck. The day was just breaking, but the thin grey light only served to render the confusion more palpable: a heavy mist shrouded everything from view at the distance of a few yards. The deck was covered with coils of rope, which had been thrown down, and which were dashed violently from side to side, while with every roll the ship dipped gunwale under, and sent a volume of water dashing across the deck with such violence as to sweep everything overboard, through the broken bulwarks, which was not securely fastened to the deck.

It was only with the utmost difficulty that the passengers could save themselves by clinging tightly to the rails and stanchions from being swept into the seething ocean-and, most fearful sight of all! apparently close upon them to windward, looming phantom-like and terrifically large, through the mist, was the ship that had been seen in the evening, shortly after the gale commenced.

Her crew were evidently aware of their danger, for above the storm could be distinctly heard, at intervals, the hoarse commands issued through the trumpets of her captain and officers.

To wear the ship seemed the only possible way to escape a collision, and this operation was dangerous in that heavy sea, and might be fatal to the ship, and should the strange vessel

try the same manœuvre at the same moment, the hope of safety by this means would prove their mutual destruction. The mate proposed to put the ship before the wind; but this the captain dared not do; the stern of the Montezuma was low in the water, and he was afraid of "pooping" the vessel in the attempt. However, delay was dangerous, and more sail was set, though the masts creaked and trembled beneath the force of the wind thus brought to bear upon them. The passengers were hurriedly ordered to lash themselves to the railing, and the hazardous feat of wearing ship in such a sea was attempted. For a moment, as the vessel righted, she trembled in every plank, as though she was aware of her imminent peril-then she again heeled over-and the strange ship passed ahead, almost scraping the bow of the Montezuma as she did so. The danger was over, and the captain and passengers breathed more freely. The perils of the gale-which appeared to increase in force as the daylight approached-seemed as nothing, compared with the more imminent peril which they had so narrowly escaped.

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Towards noon the weather suddenly cleared up, and the wind temporarily lulled; but this was only the precursor, as the captain was well aware, of a change of wind from southwest to northwest, when it would probably blow with more violence than ever. But the ship was prepared for the change which soon occurred. The short broken sea now took a wider sweep; overhead the sky was clear and cloudless, and notwithstanding the gale had increased in fury, all were rejoiced at the change. A tight ship, a bright sky, and a long steady sea, banished all thought of fear, even from the minds of the passengers. The vessel now "lay-to" snugly; no longer shipping a drop of water to windward, but rising and falling as gracefully as a sea-fowl, as she alternately rested on the summit of the mountain wave, and then sank into the valley of waters beneath.

The strange sail was still visible at intervals; but there was now a long and a safe distance between them.

Now, however, there was a commotion apparent amongst the crew on the forecastle, and the mate sent forward to know what was the matter.

"One of the men is missing," was the reply.

"Who ?"

"Bill Hooper, sir."

"When was he missed ?" asked the mate, who had now himself gone forward.

"He hasn't been seen since daylight that I knows of, sir,"

replied one or two of the men; "but nobody seems to have missed him till just now. Jack Williams says as how he was alongside of him when we was wearing ship.

"Are you sure he has not gone below ?"

"Yes, sir. We've sarched the fo'ksel, and he can't be found nowheres."

"Poor fellow!" exclaimed the mate, "he was doubtless swept overboard by the sea that broke over us and carried away the galley, just before the wind changed."

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The news soon spread amongst the passengers. It is an awful thing-the loss of a man at sea. The words, 66 a man overboard," strike terror into the stoutest heart. Still more awful is the thought that the man has gone silently to his doom, unseen and unheard. His death-shriek of agony unheeded amid the noise of the elements; the sound of his own voice mocking him, taunting him, as it were, with his impotency. A man is lost!" One of the little family of human beings who form a world of their own in the midst of the waste of waters! We hear of a sudden death, or of a mysterious disappearance on shore, with consternation and dread. But tenfold more fearful is such an accident at sea, where the man is necessarily known to each, and missed by all. It is, for the time being, as though one of our own family had been suddenly snatched from us.

"A man was lost overboard during the night, or early this morning," was whispered in terror-stricken tones in the cabin, and the question "who?" was asked by all present, and by the ladies, who had seldom visited the deck, and who could not be expected to know the man by sight.

"Poor Bill Hooper," replied the captain. "The mate thinks he was swept overboard by the sea that took the galley, but I rather suspect he must have been lost while we were wearing ship. I fancied 'I heard a cry of agony just at the moment the strange ship was crossing our bows, but I listened and did not hear it repeated, and therefore thought I had been mistaken. My mind was so occupied at the time, that I had forgotten the circumstance. I have no doubt now that it was poor Bill Hooper's cry for help that I heard."

"How shocking!" exclaimed one of the ladies.

"Yes," replied the captain; "still, even if he had been heard by any one on board at that moment, nothing could have been done to save him."

"Bill Hooper, did you say, captain ?" said Mr. Selby. "Yes, sir. You must recollect the man; a tall, straight young fellow; one of the best hands on board the ship."

"I recollect him well," replied Henry. "Captain, I never mentioned the matter before, but Bill Hooper was not the young man's real name. It was Carter. I knew him when he was a boy."

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Indeed! do you know his friends, sir ?" asked the captain. "Well," replied Henry. "One principal object of my visit to New York is to see them. I cannot relate the particulars now, but some time I will tell you the cause of the young man's assuming a false name."

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"I have ordered his chest and other effects to be brought aft," said the captain, who knew Henry Selby's position in Calcutta perfectly well. Perhaps, Mr. Selby, you would wish to take charge of them yourself, and deliver them to his friends in New York ?"

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"I will willingly undertake the mournful duty," replied Henry, though I really cannot say that I know where to find the family.'

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For that matter," said the captain, "I know no more than yourself where to find the poor fellow's friends, but they can most likely be found by advertising. But I must go on deck, and see how things look. Mr. Selby, I'll order the mate, as soon as the weather moderates, to strike the chest down into the hold, where the bulk of your luggage is stowed, and I will deliver you the key, sir, which one of his messmates tells me is hanging on a nail over his bunk in the forecastle."

"I'm happy to be able to tell you, ladies and gentlemen,' continued the captain, looking at the barometer, that there is every prospect of the gale shortly abating. I see the mercury is rising very fast. I trust we shall have fine weather again before night. By this time to-morrow there is a prospect of your being at anchor in Table Bay."

The captain was followed on deck by two or three gentlemen passengers, amongst whom was Henry Selby. Jack Jenkins was standing at the gangway, holding on to the railing, and gazing at the sky to windward. Turning his head, he saw Mr. Selby, and immediately came towards him.

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The back-bone o' this here gale's broke, Mr. Selby," he said, "but it's been the means o' sending one poor soul to its last account, sir. You've heerd that poor William Carter's lost the number of his mess ?"

"Yes, Jack, and truly sorry I am," replied Henry. "It'll be sad news to communicate to his poor father and mother and sister—that is," he added, after a pause, if they are still living."

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"Loose the fore-topsail, and shake a reef out of the main

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topsail, and then set the courses, Mr. Dobbins," shouted the captain to the officer of the deck; "she'll bear them now;' and in a few moments all was bustle and confusion, to the unpractised eye, on board the Montezuma.

The captain's prophecy was correct: before night the vessel was sailing before a fine breeze, with all sail set; and at noon, the next day, she cast anchor in Table Bay.

She remained there a few days to refit and repair the damage sustained during the gale, and then set sail again for New York. The remaining portion of the voyage was effected without anything of special importance having occurred; and seven weeks from leaving the Cape, the arrival of the Montezuma off Sandy Hook, from Calcutta and the Cape of Good Hope, was telegraphed in New York.

CHAPTER XXXI.

NEWS UPON 'CHANGE.

"Albeit, I neither lend nor borrow,

By taking or by giving of excess

Yet, to supply the ripe wants of my friend
I'll break a custom."-Merchant of Venice.

THERE, in Wall-street, "where merchants most do congregate," had assembled on the afternoon of which we write, an assemblage of the busy, anxious mercantile men, and brokers and bankers of New York; men whom we are wont to term hard-hearted, close-fisted, wholly absorbed in the one grand object of amassing wealth. Nevertheless, amongst these men may be found many possessed of all the most generous attributes of human nature. Hard, they may be, in making a bargain-close in examining into the nature of securitiesunwilling, in the way of business, to disburse a penny, unless they can be led to believe that the penny will become a groat. The needy speculator, the reckless money-hunter, the ruined merchant, may spend weary hours on 'change, in vain endeavour, and go thence with an aching and sinking heart, cursing in his inmost soul the base passion for gain, and the cautious and close investigation which locks up from him the coffers of the capitalist, and vent his spleen on the system which so hardens men's hearts to the needs of the unfortunates, forgetting, or choosing to forget, that they, in times past, have exercised equal caution, and then thought it right and just; and that the desire by its legitimate means to extend their

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