The fire burnt up fiercely in the cove, in defiance of the rain and wind, which, after in vain attempting to destroy it in its birth, now seemed to assist it with their violence.

“She may yet be saved,” thought Forster, “if she will only carry on.  Two cables’ length more, and she will be clear of the point.”

Again and again was the vessel momentarily presented to his view, as the forked lightning darted in every quarter of the firmament, while the astounding claps of thunder bursting upon his ears before the lightning had ceased to gleam, announced to him that he was kneeling in the very centre of the war of the elements.  The vessel neared the cliff in about the same proportion that she forged ahead.  Forster was breathless with anxiety, for the last flash of electricity revealed to him that two moments more would decide her fate.

The gale now redoubled its fury, and Forster was obliged to cling for his existence as he sank, from his kneeling posture, flat upon the wet herbage.  Still he had approached so near to the edge of the cliff that his view below was not interrupted by his change of posture.  Another flash of lightning.  It was enough!  “God have mercy on their souls!” cried he, dropping his face upon the ground as if to shut out the horrid vision from his sight.

He had beheld the vessel within the surf, but a few yards distant from the outer rocks, thrown on her beam-ends, with both foresail and mainsail blown clear out of their bolt-ropes.  The cry for succour was raised in vain; the wail of despair was not heard; the struggles for life were not beheld, as the elements in their wrath roared and howled over their victim.

As if satiated with its devastation, from that moment the storm gradually abated, and Forster, taking advantage of a lull, slowly descended to the cove, where he found Robertson still heaping fuel on the fire.

“Save your wood, my good fellow; it’s all over with her; and those who were on board are in eternity at this moment,” said Forster, in a melancholy tone.

“Is she gone then, sir?”

“Right on the outer ledge; there’s not a living soul to see your beacon.”

“God’s will be done!” replied the fisherman; “then their time was come—­but He who destroys, can save if He pleases; I’ll not put out the fire while there’s a fagot left, for you know, Mr Forster, that if anyone should by a miracle be thrown into the smooth water on this side of the point, he might be saved; that is, if he swam well:”—­and Robertson threw on more fagots, which soon flared up with a brilliant light.  The fisherman returned to the cottage, to procure for Forster a red woollen cap in lieu of the hat which he had lost; and they both sat down close to the fire to warm themselves and to dry their streaming clothes.

Robertson had once more replenished the fuel, and the vivid blaze glared along the water in the cove, when the eye of Forster was attracted by the appearance of something floating on the wave, and evidently nearing to the shore.  He pointed it out to the fisherman, and they descended to the water’s edge, awaiting its approach with intense anxiety.