towards the Torhead, accompanied in our rear, (for the news had reached the village) by a turn-out of most of its inhabitants, influenced both by the passion of curiosity and that of expected plunder.  Many of the older class looked upon wrecking as legitimate a trade as fishing for herrings or pilchards; while perhaps nearly all from the force of habit and long-practised example, regarded a wreck as a booty sent them by the elements; the scattered contents of which it was no more crime to take than it would be to pick up any other thing cast by accident on the beach.

The sea was breaking over the needles with frightful violence when we reached Torhead—­the spray dashing almost to the summit of the cliffs.  We were now almost opposite the vessel, which appeared to be French built; but the increasing darkness prevented our distinguishing her minutely.  The, flash of a gun from her side, amidst the deepening gloom, redoubled my interest.  A more interesting object than a solitary vessel in danger, I cannot well conceive.  I have always looked upon a ship as a living creature—­the companion of man—­a thing instinct with life, walking the waters—­and our feelings are not only excited for the safety of the crew, but for that of the vessel itself, to which we attach a degree of interest as for a friend.  A gale was now up; the boat put off to their aid was in danger of being swamped by the surf, and found it impracticable to make way against a violent head-wind and tide united.  Nothing short of a miracle could now save the ship; however the wind suddenly shifted a little, and I began to hope that if she was to be wrecked, it might be farther on the shore; as in case of her striking on the Needles, she must almost immediately go to pieces under our eyes, without the most remote chance of the escape of one of the crew.  A sheet of light flashed occasionally from her sides, calling for aid out of the power of man to grant.  There was a sudden lull in the wind, which sometimes happens in the most violent tempests, though often succeeded by increased fury; and a strong shower of sleet and rain drove most of our followers home.  As it had now become quite dark, and it was morally impossible to yield the ship any aid till daylight, I returned to the village with melancholy forebodings, having placed beacons on the heights.

I hastily proceeded again to the shore just before daybreak.  The distant moaning of the sea, the harsh screams of the cormorants with the desolate nature of the spot, chilled my spirits.  I had passed a sleepless night, and the storm rose again, and raged till near daybreak with increased fury, but the wind was now greatly hushed.  The sea, however, showed marks of its violence; the bay was white with foam, and as I proceeded, the tide, which was just beginning to flow, roared loudly, and advanced in short breakers wreathed with spray.  The sky also looked dismally, and gave token that the gale had not entirely passed away, though its violence had