a man looked over the gunnel, just as she was flying past us, and told us in Dutch to go to the devil.  ’I think you’ll go there if you don’t look sharp,’ replied Bill.  ’Come, my lads, we may as well follow her, and see if we cannot prevent mischief.’  So we bore up after her, and hailed her several times, for we sailed very fast, and there was a scuffling on deck.  I think that the captain was drunk.  All this passed in less than five minutes; and then, as I knew would be the case, she struck on the sands, and with such force that all her masts went over the side immediately.  Now, the sea rolls awfully over the shallow water of those sands, Tom.  We had kept with her as far as we dared, and then hove-to about two cables’ lengths to windward of her, when she struck, for the ebb was still running strong under our lee, which only made the sea more cross and heavy.  The waves made a clean breach over her, and we knew that she would go to pieces in less than half-an-hour; but we did not like to leave so many to perish without a trial to save them.  So we kept away, so as to get abreast of them, and then lowered our sails and got out our oars.  We pulled close to them, but it was impossible to board.  We should have been stove to pieces and swamped immediately.  The moon still shone bright, and we saw them as plain as we could wish, and we made every attempt to save them, for they were all crowded together forward.  Once the sea drove the boat so close that we touched her sides, and then a woman pressed before the men, and reached over the gunnel, extending her arms which held the child, while several others attempted to get in; but the return of the wave carried us back so quick from the vessel that, as they attempted to jump in, they all went to the water, and never appeared again; but I had caught hold of the child, and laid it down in the sternsheets.  We made a second and third attempt, but in vain.  At last the vessel broke up, as it were, all at once—­there was one loud cry, and all was still, except the roaring and breaking waves which buried them.  It wasn’t a scene to make us very lively, Tom; we hoisted the sail, and ran on to the beach in silence.  I took the child in my arms—­it had been snatched out of its warm bed, poor thing, and had nothing on but a calico nightgown.  I took it up to the cottage, which was then Maddox’s (I bought it afterward of the widow with the money I made a-privateering), and I gave it in charge to Mrs. Maddox.  I did intend to have sent it to the workhouse, or something of that sort; but Mrs. Maddox took a fancy to it, and so did I, and so I thought I would take care of it, and I christened it by the name of Betsy Godwin.”

[Illustration:  BRAMBLE SAVING BESSY.—­Marryat, Vol.  X., p. 237.]

“You have no idea who she may be?”

“Not a half one.  Her cotton gown and cap told nothing; the vessel was Dutch, that’s all I know.  She may be the child of the Stadtholder or the child of the ship’s cook.  What’s the matter?”