238 THE SEA. 



punishment for hanging out false lights to lure vessels to their destruction ; death for 

 those who killed shipwrecked persons ; and death for stealing cargo or wreckage, whether 

 any one on board remained alive or not. 



Every now and again some fearful tragedy, reported in our ever-vigilant press, opens 

 our eyes to the possibilities of human degradation and depravity ; but, in spite of all, thank 

 God ! these examples are few and far between. Does this not tend, at least, to show that 

 the world now-a-days is better and kinder, and, in a word, more Christian-like, than in former 

 days ? Let the reader think aye, and ponder, and think again over the preceding para- 

 graph. Could men aye, and women too assist not merely in robbery and plunder, but in 

 first causing the wreck, and then, to cover up all, in mui'dering the few poor survivors? 

 A writer from, whom we have already quoted says : 



" Imagine a homeward-bound vessel, some two hundred and fifty years ago, clumsy in 

 build, awkward in rig, little fitted for battling with the gales of our stormy coast, but 

 yet manned with strong, stout-hearted men, who made their sturdy courage compensate 

 for deficiency of other means ; think of many perils overcome, a long weary voyage nearly 

 ended, the crew rejoicing in thoughts of home, of home-love and home-rest, the head- 

 lands of dear Old England loved by her sons no less then than now lying a dark line 

 upon the horizon, the night growing apace, the breeze freshening, ever freshening, adding 

 each moment a hoarser swell to the deep murmurs of its swift-following blasts, the ship 

 scudding on, breasting the seas with her bluff bows, rising and pitching with the running 

 waves, which cover her with foam ! 



"Look on land! Keen eyes have watched the signs of the coming storm; men, 

 more greedy than the foulest vulture, f more inhuman than mad dogs/ have cast most cruel 

 and wistful glances seaward ! Yes, their eyes light up with the very light of hell as they 

 see in the dim distance the white sail of a struggling ship making towards the land ! 



li And now try to imagine the scene as the night falls and the storm gathers. Two 

 or three ill-looking fellows drop in, say, to a low tavern standing in a bye-lane that leads 

 from the cliff to the beach in some village on our south-western coast. Soon muttered 

 hints take form, and in low whispers the men talk over the chances of a wreck this wild 

 night. They remember former gains; they talk over disappointments, when, on similar 

 nights of darkness, wildness, and storm, vessels discovered their danger too soon for them, 

 and managed to weather the headlands of the bay. 



" The plot takes form ; with many a deep and muttered curse the murderous decision 

 is taken that if a vessel can be trapped to destruction it shall be. 



"There is an old man of the party whose brow is furrowed with dread lines; he 

 does not say much, but every now and then his eyes glare, and his features work as if 

 convulsed. His comrades look at him twice and, as a terrific squall shakes the house, a 

 third time. Silently he rises, and leaves the inn. . . . Now in the pitch darkness of 

 the night, with bowed head, and faltering steps battling against the storm, the old man 

 leads a white horse along the edge of the cliff. To the top of the horse's tail a lantern 

 is tied, and the light sways with the movement of the horse, and in its movements seems 

 not unlike the masthead light of a vessel rocked by the motion of the sea. A whisper 

 has gone through the village of a chance of something happening during the night, and 



