A large crowd of people had congregated as near to the wreck as it was prudent, for the waves swept far up the beach.  The crew sought refuge in the forerigging, as heavy seas were sweeping right over the hull, and as no succour came to them one brave fellow made a small line fast to his waist, and sprang into the cauldron of boiling breakers.  He reached the shore almost lifeless, and his gallant act was the means of saving several of the crew, who dared to risk being hauled through the surf.  Alas! as often happens, some of them still clung to the rigging that held the oscillating mast.  It was assumed that they must be benumbed, or that they dreaded being dashed to death in the attempt to attach themselves to the rope that had been the means of rescuing their shipmates.  The people gesticulated directions for them to take the plunge, but it seemed as though they were riveted to a tragic destiny.

Darkness had come on, and some one in the crowd shouted at the top of his voice, “Silence!  I hear some one shouting.”  Instantly there was a deathlike hush, and mingling with the hurricane music of the storm, the sweet feminine voice which was said to be that of the cabin-boy was heard singing—­

    “Jesu, lover of my soul
      Let me to Thy bosom fly,
    While the nearer waters roll,
      While the tempest still is high. 
    Hide me, oh my Saviour, hide,
      Till the storm of life be past,
    Safe into the haven guide,
      Oh receive my soul at last.”

These sentences came tossing through the troubled darkness, and when the last strains had faded away the subdued anguish of the people was let loose.  Women became hysterical, and strong men were smitten with grief.  It was a soul-stirring experience to them; and their impotence to save the perishing men was an unbearable agony.  A shriek from some of the crowd told that something dreadful had happened.  All eyes were directed towards the wreck, but nothing could be seen now but a portion of the half-submerged hull.  The masts had gone by the board, and soon the coast was strewn with wreckage; she had broken all to pieces.  When daylight broke, a search-party found the little songster’s cold, clammy body.  They wiped the yellow sand from his eyes and closed them, and in the course of the day his fellow-victims were laid at rest beside him.

CHAPTER XV

MANNING THE SERVICE

At the present time there is much writing and talking as to how the merchant service is to be kept supplied with seamen.  Guilds, Navy Leagues, and other agencies of talk have been set at work to solve what they term a problem.  Theories that are exasperating to read or listen to have been indiscriminately forced upon an enduring public; and after all the balderdash and jeremiads that have flowed copiously over the land we are pretty much where we were.  The modern shipowner and his theoretic friends prefer to waste