No. IV.

VOL. I.

The collision between the schooner Mary Jane, bound for New York from Liverpool, and the Ariadne, American man-of-war, took place at daybreak on the 13th of March, 1870. I have been. requested by one of my friends to put in writing a statement concerning the events of which I was a witness.

The Mary Jane carried very few passengers. She was not insured. In fact, she was reputed to be so unseaworthy that it was thought probable she would not make another trip; and few people would have cared to entrust their lives or their goods to her had they known all that I learnt about her ¦ during my voyage. The captain was a weak sort of a man, with no authority, but a great capacity for bluster; the crew were as rowdy a lot as ever I saw in my life, and that is saying a good deal. Heavy fogs came on before we were half-way across, and I think the captain lost his bearings. The only thorough good seaman on board was James Crosbie, the first mate; and

Captain Banks manifested a curious jealousy of him. It was owing to this jealousy that proper precautions were not taken concerning signal lights on the morning of the 13th of March. Mr. Crosbie reminded the captain of them, and was abused for his pains. He remonstrated gently. "Do you command this ship, sir, or do I?” roared the captain. Speak another word, and I'll have you put in irons till we land." Crosbie shrugged his shoulders as he turned away. 66 If we go to the bottom, it won't be my fault," he muttered to himself.

66

moment of horrible terror, confusion, and destruction. We heard the crack of the timbers-saw the white waves leap over us-believed that in another second the black bulk of the great ironclad would press us down and shiver us like a child's toy. There was a great noise in our ears; shouting, screaming, the hissing of steam, the rush of waves, the rending asunder of solid wood and iron; and then we knew that all was over, and I think that each of us fancied himself, for one bitter moment, to be the only survivor of the wreck. Several men-I do not know how many-had been swept into the waters, where they were sucked in by the waves beneath the ship and perished. We, who remained, found ourselves still afloat upon a wrecked and ruined mass of timber, hardly to be called a ship; still not utterly engulphed, and therefore still possessing a chance for life. We were, at any rate, able to keep ourselves above water, until the ship which had run us down should lower her boats, and send men to our assistance.

The commander of that vessel certainly deserved all the punishment which he has since received (and I had a hand myself in bringing it home to him) for his conduct on this occasion. Seeing that we were still afloat, he did not pause a moment to offer us any aid. Swiftly, steadily, little harmed by the mischief that had been done, the great ship steamed away from us behind the veil of fog. Then a cry went up from the narrow deck of the disabled schooner; a cry of cursing and indignation from the hearts of some, of fear and anguish from the hearts of others. I am told that the shrill wail of the poor souls thus left to perish was heard on board the Ariadne as it passed. I do not know whether this was possible; but one thing I do know, that, if there is a heaven above us, that cry must have pierced the ears of God!

We were said to be sinking fast. The fog was thick around us and above us; we knew not whether we could hope to reach the land--which was not very distant by means of boats or planks. There was no time in which to construct a raft; and even a good swimmer might well despair of gaining the coast

before his limbs were cramped with cold, or his strength was exhausted by fatigue. In the agony of the moment I heard men round me cursing the ship that had left us to our fate as if it had been a sentient, conscious thing.

Those who were yet living-neither swept away by the rush of water, nor crushed by the falling of masts and rigging-were huddled together on the deck.

The captain was among them.

I have mentioned, I think, that I considered him a fool. He now showed that he was a coward, too.

I noticed that his face was white and his hand shaking, and resolved to keep my eye upon him. One of the sailors turned to him with an oath, "Why the devil didn't you hang out the lamps? said the man, roughly. "You've killed the lot of us, you!"

I made a stride forward, but I knew I was too late. The captain, a ghastly object, with blue lips, and scared, strained eyes, had already backed towards his half-shattered cabin. I entered it after him, saw him standing by the table with a pistol in his hand; was just in time to see him lift it to his head and pull the trigger. He fell forward at my feet, dead; he had blown his brains out.

Well, there was no time to waste in regrets. I returned to the deck and found that the men seemed to have gone mad, one and all. They were fighting for possession of the boat which remained uninjured. So many jumped into it that it sank before it had gone half-a-dozen yards from the ship. We could hear their wild, fruit less cries for help, and see for a moment the white faces and struggling limbs upon the water. But not for long. I believe that not one of these men escaped with life.

"Ten minutes more," said the mate, looking keenly around him, "or, at the most, a quarter of an hour. We may as well say our prayers, doctor, if we have got any to say. It's all over with

us.

A young girl laid her hand on my arm. 'Oh, Doctor Burnett Lynn," she said, "can't you save us?"

I could only beg her not to be frightened, to take courage and trust in Providence. She turned away her head and burst into tears. She was going out to her lover in New England, and he might never hear what had become of her. That was her grief, poor thing.

A little boy-a fine little fellow of five-came up and caught hold of my coat. He wanted to know why his mamma lay on the ground and wouldn't speak to him. I went with him to find out why. When I saw her I knew she had been instantly killed by the falling of some heavy substance upon her head, but I did not say so. I took the boy in my arms, and told him to look at the pretty waves until mamma awoke. I thought we should all be dead before he asked for her again. She was the loveliest woman I ever saw.

There was an old man fastening a lifebelt round his body, when two ruffians sprang upon him from behind, and, before we could interfere, knocked him down and snatched his life-belt from him. He lay senseless and bleeding upon the deck, whilst they fought for the final possession of his treasure.

Three or four had tapped a cask of brandy, and sat round it, drinking, singing, shouting, as if they had lost their wits.

And all the time the ship was slowly, slowly settling down into deep water. It would turn on its side soon, and then all would indeed be

over.

a

As I waited silently for the last moment, my eye was caught by the figures of three persons whom I had not previously noticed-a man, woman, and a little child. They were known amongst us by the names of Mr. and Mrs. Jacobi, with their infant daughter. I will say a word or two about them before proceeding further.

The man-Constantine Jacobi, as he called himself-was generally thought to be a Spaniard. He said that he was Spanish by extraction only, and that he had spent nearly all his life in England and Germany. He spoke German almost as well as Spanish certainly, but

he used English in speaking to his wife, and used it with singular correctness.

He was rather a small man, lean, supple, and muscular. His complexion was singularly pallid; it had a yellowish pallor, like that of a face carved in antique ivory. His hair curled in small, dark rings above his low, broad forehead, down the nape of his long neck, and round his small, delicate ears. His features were thin, but well chiselled, his eyes dark and beautifully shaped. I had heard him called handsome; to me his appearance was singularly repulsive, and never more so than when I saw him upon the wreck, crouching at his wife's side as though he relied upon her for strength and protection. He was cowed into abject terror by the thought of death.

The woman, his wife, was apparently unmoved, either by the danger or by her husband's fright. She was entirely occupied with her baby-girl, who had been ailing for the last few days; screening the little creature from the cold wind and spray by means of her own cloak, hushing it when it cried or moaned, feeding it quietly from time to time, as though she were sitting by her own fireside. She was a handsome woman, with straight, silky, black hair, large, mournful, dark eyes, and pale, finely cut features. She looked about thirty; a little older than her husband, who age did not, I should think, exceed seven-and-twenty years. She was taller than he, with the grace and dignity of a duchess; and my pity had often been excited when I saw her serving him patiently, submissively, while he jeered at her for slowness and chided her for stupidity. It was said that he struck and ill-treated her in private; but he did not exhibit any such brutality in the presence of the other passengers. One day she came on deck with a bruise upon her temple as large as a hen's egg. She said she had fallen down and hurt herself. I looked her in the eye steadily, but she did not flinch. Not a feature moved-no shadow of a blush rose to her pale cheek. Her husband fidgetted in his chair, and dropped his knife and fork as I turned towards him-his yellow face assuming a curiously livid tint. Of course I knew as well as if he had told

me that his hand had dealt the blow. And yet she seemed to love him.

The child was a beautiful little thing with a flaxen skin, soft little curls of golden hair, and mournful eyes, like those of its mother. Madame Jacobi, as we generally called her, had consulted me about its health more than once. I did not think it would survive the perils of infancy, but could not bear to tell her so. The child was

her only comfort in life.

Crosbie and one of the men were engaged in lashing together a few planks with which they hoped to be able to construct and launch a raft, although there was little enough time in which to carry out their intentions. I assisted them to the best of my ability, but I had bruised my right arm and side so severely that I was of very little use.

Suddenly the child, whom I still held by the hand, uttered a cry of delight. The fog was rising, the wind had changed, and the long rays of sunshine began to tremble upon the

waters. The grey waves assumed lovely, changeful tints of opaline blue and green; the white foam upon their tops sparkled in the morning light. Great wreaths of mist were lifted and blown about by the fresh breeze; in a very short time it would curl itself away completely into cloudland. where should we be then?

But

To the west we saw a level line of sandy beach. We had drifted farther westward in the night than we knew. If we had had a boat we could have made land earily. It was almost within swimming distance.

We looked round for help. There were some fishing smacks visible-not near enough to be of use. It seemed doubly terrible to go down into the sea and drown with land in sight. Crosbie turned his back to the coast, and stared at the sunrise with a frown upon his face. We were thinking the same thought.

"Land! land!" cried the little fellow beside me, waving his arms towards the shore. "Look at the land! We shall soon be there, shall we not ?"

Nobody replied. Crosbie uttered a short, stifled groan. Madame Jacobi raised her eyes from her child's face

looked steadily for a moment into mine, then dropped them upon her child again. She was a brave women.

But Constantine Jacobi sprang from his crouching attitude with a yell of triumph, stretching out his arms also towards the shore.

"Land! land! I shall be saved!" he shouted. "I shall not die here like a rat in a hole. I can swim. I can save myself; I shall not die."

As he spoke he adjusted a life-buoy round his waist with eager trembling fingers. He stood with his head bent a little forward, his hungry eyes fixed upon the solid land beyond. His face was full of greedy animal desire of life, which left no room for feelings of love or pity for anybody but himself. He did not even glance towards his wife and child.

"You can't swim that distance," said Crosbie roughly.

"I can, I can," he said, his teeth chattering. "I "I was always a good swimmer at Plymouth-I am very strong; I have this life buoy. Let me pass.

"Why, good heavens! man," I cried, "you don't mean to leave your wife behind ?"

He cast a look of rage upon me, and tried to force me out of his way. But I would not let him pass without

remonstrance.

"Are you going to desert both wife and child?" I said. "Aren't you ashamed of yourself?"

"Let me go!" he said, violently. "Look after them yourself, if you're so anxious about them. They may go to

the devil for me! Good heavens ! the tide is turning! Do you want to kill me?"

Madame Jacobi then raised her head and addressed me in her slightly formal, foreign way.

"Sir, you do not understand my husband. He will tell me what he

means to do. Stay one moment— Constantine."

He was on the point of dashing past, and so cutting short a conversation which threatened to delay his escape from the sinking ship; but her tone of quiet command restrained him. Unwillingly he turned to her and listened, his fingers twitching with impatience.

The man cared for nothing but his own safety.

Meanwhile I began to doubt whether the vessel was likely to sink at all. It was a wreck, half submerged no doubt; but it did not seem to me either to be going to pieces or filling any longer with water. However, I was young, inexperienced, and a trifle more diffident in expressing an opinion than I should be now; so for the moment I held my tongue. Crosbie and I withdrew a few paces and busied ourselves with our former occupation. According to Crosbie's opinion we had about five minutes to spare-perhaps not that. "Had the sea been rough," he said, "we should have gone to pieces long ago. We shall have time to row to shore if that fellow will only wait."

We were still within earshot of Madame Jacobi's conversation with her husband. To my surprise she spoke English. She showed him the little white face upon her bosom before opening her lips.

"Don't think of saving me," she said. "God knows I am not sorry to meet my death. But here is the childyour child and mine-try to save her. As you yourself hope for mercy at the Day of Judgment, have mercy upon her."

It was a strange appeal, but one not without effect. Great beads of perspiration stood upon the man's yellow, clammy brow, as he listened to her words. Then he broke out furiously, as if he hated her for reminding him of mercy or of judgment to come.

"You talk like a fool. How can I swim with a baby in my arms? Women are all fools. Let me go, I tell you; I shall be drowned if I stay here much longer."

"So shall we all," she might have answered, and I saw the light flash from her eyes as though the words occurred to her. But she restrained herself, bit her lips, and spoke pleadingly.

"I could fasten her to your shoulders, so that she should not hinder you in swimming," she persisted, looking up at him with a pathetic expression of entreaty in her mournful eyes which might have moved him to pity had he been a man of ordinary humanity.

"Two or three broad bands of stuff would keep her safe. You will take her, will you not? Leave me; I do not care; but give our little Teresa a chance for life."

She rose from her seat and held the baby towards him. For almost the first time she showed symptoms of agitation. Her bosom rose and fell; her face worked; her eyes sparkled through a mist of tears.

"For God's sake," she said, "take the child-and leave me !"

"With a savage oath, a fierce gesture of the hand, he thrust her away. The ship gave a slight lurch; he rushed to its side and plunged into the water, now lapping over the rent planks of the deck. He did not look back, did not utter a single word that indicated remorse or hesitation, but struck out to the land with the bold, swift motion of limb which at once marked him as a splendid swimmer.

"Brute!" said Crosbie, "the ship's well rid of you."

A faint cry burst from the deserted wife's pale lips. She sank down upon the tangled mass of rigging that had formed her seat, put her hand over her eyes, and turned away her face. some seconds silence, she spoke, as it to herself, in a low and bitter tone.

After

"Yes," she said, "he is right. Women are fools."

But then the baby woke up and cried; and in a passion of maternal fondness she clasped it to her breast, calling it her joy, her treasure, her one and only love. And when she had wept over it a little she grew quiet and calm once more. The solitary girl crept near and nestled at her side.

'Doctor," said Crosbie, in my ear, "do you know that I don't believe we're sinking, after all ?"

"I've thought that for the last ten minutes,” I said.

"Good Lord!" was Crosbie's exclamation, "why didn't you say so?"

"I was not sure. And it is just as well that that scoundrel should relieve

us of his presence. He might have stayed if he had thought we were tolerably safe here. But, if I'd been certain, of course I should have mentioned it."

"Well, you're a cool hind," said