Low and wild the clouds continued to drift past; but the rain had now slackened. On the other hand, the waves ran higher than ever, so that the captain's fear that the ship would break up before morning, increased momentarily. Already the wreck was badly logged, as even Kate could see; and at any instant the hull might be expected to part into two pieces, under the blow of some new roller, as powerful as the one which had so nearly carried her off. "She holds together bravely," said the captain, when several hours had passed. "The good craft is as tough as old junk. I begin to feel now that she'll not go to pieces till next tide, at any rate. Have you noticed, Miss Aylesford, that the water is falling?"

"I had not," answered Kate. darkness and storm ?"

"How can you tell in the

Leave an old salt alone for that," was the reply, with something of that professional pride which even peril cannot entirely subdue. "You see, Miss, the gale's as high as ever, and the waves run as wild, yet the decks are not swept as often, or as deep, as they were. We haven't had a surge

to reach us since we changed our

places. The ship heels

over also more, which she would naturally do as the tide went out."

"I understand," said Kate. denly, "isn't that morning? taken this time."

"But look," she cried, sudSurely, we cannot be mis

She pointed to the east as she spoke, where indeed no streak of light was to be seen, as on ordinary dawns, but where a thinning away of the heavy vapors was quite perceptible. Overhead all was yet blank, and the forms of the clouds were undistinguishable; but in the eastern seaboard, the sky had a fleecy look, as when mists begin to break away on a mountain side.

"You are right," answered Captain Powell; "it is morning, God be praised."

"Didn't I tell you so, aunt?" said Kate, cheerfully, turning to her relative. "You hear what the captain says. It is really daybreak. We shall soon be able to see the shore, and no doubt be succored."

Oh! the blessed dawn! It comes to the weary invalid, and gives new life to his veins. It comes to the watchers by the bed of death, and inspires them with momentary hope. But never comes it more welcome than to those, who, like our shipwrecked group, expect it as their only reliance. It made even Mrs. Warren feel strong, almost gay again.

Gradually the darkness vanished. It was not by any sudden influx of light, but by an imperceptible growth, which could only be noticed by the changes which long intervals produced. The black curtains of gloom, which had hung like a pall close around, slowly receded, the light diffusing itself, as it were, reluctantly and warily.

All eyes were turned in the direction of the land, long before it was possible to distinguish objects, at a distance, with certainty. At first, nothing but a waste of white waters, of billows racing after each other into a boundless space ahead, could be discerned. But finally, what seemed a long, low sand-bank, was made out, a short cable's length. off. It was a mere bar, elevated a few feet above the ocean, which, in many places, appeared to be actually making breaches over it. Not a house, nor even tree was distinguishable, on this barren and inhospitable shore; but here and there a few bushes, around which the drifting sand had collected, offered some slight opposition to the advancing

waters.

For some time no one spoke. Kate's heart swelled within her, and she could not frame words; once or twice she attempted it, and choked. She saw that the ship had struck on one of those uninhabited beaches, which the captain had described in the night; and that there was no longer any

hope, for probably not a farm-house, or human being existed within miles. As for Mrs. Warren, she gazed from the captain to her niece in speechless horror, wringing her hands, for she read in the face of each the despair that had succeeded to the momentary exhilaration produced by the dawn. At last the master spoke. He had waited until the prospect brightened sufficiently landward to observe objects at some distance. But when he found that nothing was discernible, for miles on miles in that direction, through the drizzling mist-except salt marshes, against which even the partially protected waters inside the beach dashed fiercely, and over which the leaden-colored clouds swiftly drove,―he turned to Kate, and said, in a hoarse whisper.

፡፡

"God help us, for there is none in man!"

Then, his thoughts reverting to his family, he ejaculated, 'my poor wife!" and, completely unmanned, covered his face with his hands.

WE must now go back a few hours in our story, and introduce the reader to a different scene and personages.

The southern half of New Jersey is almost a dead level, covered with pine and oak forests, growing on a sandy soil. A slightly elevated ridge, however, runs in a southwesterly direction between Delaware Bay and the Atlantic, though

much nearer the former than the latter, and divides the waters that flow westward from those that run toward the east.

One of the most considerable of the rivers, descending from this water-shed toward the Atlantic, empties into a wide, deep bay, almost shut in from the ocean by low beaches in its front. Notoriously the best anchoring ground between Sandy Hook and Cape May, it is a place of constant resort for coasters. At the time of which we write, it was, for similar reasons, a rendezvous for American privateers; and, in fact, their prizes usually discharged their cargoes on the neck of land where the river first swelled into the bay. Others, ascending higher up the stream, unloaded at the head of navigation, from which point the goods were carried across the country to Philadelphia by teams, the blockade of the Delaware, by the British fleet, preventing access often in a more direct way. It was not uncommon to find a dozen or two armed vessels lying in this river, waiting for a chance to sail.

Five and seventy years ago, when our story commences, this bay was even more shut out from the Atlantic than it is at present; for while now there is an inlet directly in its front, at that period the entrance was further to the south. Where, at present, vessels of considerable draught pass under full sail, was then a beach, elevated some distance above the water.

On an arm of this bay, or to speak more accurately, on an inconsiderable stream jutting into an arm of the bay, there stood, at the time of which we write, a small settlement, which, though its first beginnings dated back scarcely more than ten or fifteen years, already gave promise of becoming a thriving place. In the rude tavern of this incipient village, on the evening preceding the events detailed in the last chapter, quite a number of persons were gathered.

Most of the company appeared to belong to the various

privateers then lying in the bay, and were merely boisterous tars; but there was one individual, whose bearing, not less than his dress, bespoke him of a higher rank. He was a man apparently about eight-and-twenty years of age, handsome in person, and with a face which, though by no means homely, was principally remarkable for the indications it gave of frankness, decision, a good heart, and a superior intellect. It was impossible, indeed, to look on that countenance, without feeling that, while its possessor was born to rule in public affairs, his destiny was to be equally fortunate in winning esteem and affection in private life. He wore the buff and blue of the American army. Sitting in one corner, where he was busily engaged in writing, he seemed to be entirely unconscious of what was going on around him, except when he occasionally intermitted the busy motion of his pen, and leaning his head on one hand, gazed with an abstracted smile on the sports of the crowd.

For, night having closed in, and the seamen being ashore on leave till morning, a black fiddler had been procured, and a dance begun. It is true there were none of the fairer sex present to participate in the amusement, but this, so far from checking the merriment, only gave it more freedom and boisterousness. Several countrymen, from small farms in the interior, who had come down with produce in the afternoon, and whom the exhilarating sounds of the violin had tempted to linger behind, when their sturdy dames were expecting them at home, joined heartily in the fun. Utterly heedless of the black looks awaiting them, when, repentent on the morrow, they should slink into the chimney corner, they laughed, and joked, and danced, and drank whiskey with Jack Tar, as if there had been, and never would be, a “gudewife" angry at neglect, and "nursing her wrath to keep it

warm."

As the hours wore on, and the wind outside began to rise, the mirth waxed louder and more contagious. Perhaps the