The next morning presented a dismal scene, for there were more than fifty sail in-shore of us, some of whom succeeded in reaching the bank, and anchored with loss of sails, topmasts, &c.  Many others were dashed upon the rocks, and not a soul was left to tell the tale of their destruction.  I shall not forget that, on the second day, a Dutch galliot was driven in to leeward of us; and although, by carrying on a tremendous press of canvass, she succeeded in keeping off shore until five P.M., yet, at sunset she disappeared, and was seen no more.  After our arrival in London, we learned that this unfortunate vessel was driven on the rocks, and every soul on board perished.

The gale continued four days, at the expiration of which time, it broke.  At midnight, the wind hauled round to the eastward, and the weather became so excessively cold, that, although we commenced heaving in the cable at five A.M., yet we did not get the anchor until nine that night.  Close-reefed topsails were set on the ship and we stood over to the English coast, and anchored to the westward of Dungeness.  During the whole period of this gale, which lasted four days, Captain G. never for one moment left the deck; and although well advanced in years, yet his iron constitution enabled him to overcome the calls of nature for rest; and, notwithstanding the situation of the ship, was, perhaps more critical than many of those less fortunate vessels which stranded upon the rocks, yet his coolness, and the seaman-like manner with which the ship was handled, no doubt were the means of our being saved.

THE HUNTER’S WIFE.

Thomas Cooper was a fine specimen of the North American trapper.  Slightly but powerfully made, with a hardy, weather-beaten, yet handsome face; strong, indefatigable, and a crack shot—­he was admirably adapted for a hunter’s life.  For many years he knew not what it was to have a home, but lived like the beasts he hunted—­wandering from one part of the country to another, in pursuit of game.  All who knew Tom were much surprised when he came, with a pretty young wife, to settle within three miles of a planter’s farm.  Many pitied the poor young creature, who would have to lead such a solitary life; while others said, “If she was fool enough to marry him, it was her own look-out.”  For nearly four months Tom remained at home, and employed his time in making the old hut he had fixed on for their residence more comfortable.  He cleared and tilled a small spot of land around it, and Susan began to hope that, for her sake, he would settle down quietly as a squatter.  But these visions of happiness were soon dispelled, for, as soon as this work was finished, he recommenced his old erratic mode of life, and was often absent for weeks together, leaving his wife alone, yet not unprotected, for, since his marriage, old Nero, a favorite hound, was always left at home as her guardian.  He was a noble dog—­a cross between the old Scottish deerhound and the bloodhound, and would hunt an Indian as well as a deer or bear, which, Tom said, “was a proof they Injins was a sort o’ warmint, or why should the brute beast take to hunt ’em, nat’ral like—­him that took no notice of white men?”