ON THE ROCKS.

It was past midnight when, amidst the thick rain and darkness, Captain Norcott saw, or fancied he saw, the lights of some vessel riding at anchor three or four miles away. The sea had grown rougher every hour, and the heavily-laden ship had become unmanageable, and would no longer answer her helm, though much of the deck cargo had been thrown overboard. Now and then flashes of lightning playing across the horizon revealed white lines of surf, breaking along a rocky coast, or some sunken reef, towards which they were helplessly driving. Peter Blake was growing fearfully anxious. Never had life seemed so precious to him. Victor kept near to him, for there was nothing for the boy to do. But Captain Norcott gave orders for lighting up a signal fire on deck, and with almost fierce activity and haste Peter threw his whole strength into the task. A red flame soon blazed up high into the thick gloom of the night; they must keep that flame alight, or no eye could see them in the blackness. The minute-gun boomed across the dark waters. In the lurid light of the burning tar-barrel, the swarthy, weather-worn faces of the crew could be seen, drawn and pinched with fear, as they heaped upon the flame every combustible they could lay their hands upon. Peter Blake did not rest for a moment, or pause to cast a glance at the sea. That flame seemed to be the only link between him and Bessie, with the other helpless ones, dependent on him, at home.

“Is there much danger, Peter?” asked Victor, as he followed him about the ship.

“Ay, my lad,” he answered.

“Peter,” said the boy, “suppose we are cast upon the rocks, and there’s a chance for you, don’t you think of me. Try your best to save yourself, for their sakes at home. Don’t you lose any chance for me. Promise me, Peter.”

“What will mother say?” asked Peter, with a heavy sob.

“It’s for mother, and Bessie,” he answered, “and baby, and little Nan. I’m not afraid. I’m thinking of what some great captain said once, ‘We are as near to heaven by sea as by land.’ I should only get there first, where Jesus Christ is, and you’ll all come some day.”

“Oh, Victor, my lad!” cried Peter, “it would break mother’s heart, and mine.”

“It would break all their hearts,” he said, in a brave, unfaltering voice, “if both of us were lost at sea.”

“God keep us off the rocks!” cried Peter again.

But almost as he spoke the words, the strange ripping sound of timbers crushing against a sunken reef grated through the ship. The “Dolphin” shivered and trembled like some living creature that has received its death wound. A loud, hoarse, simultaneous cry from the crew rang shrilly through the noise of the falling spars and the crashing of the masts. The white waves, which played ceaselessly about the hidden reef, leaped upon the deck, drowning the signal fire, which flickered and burned lower every minute. There was a wild confusion on board, for now each man thought only of saving his own life; and the dense darkness increased tenfold the confusion and the difficulty. Not one amongst them expected the ship to hold together for more than a few minutes. The bows were held fast by the rock which had pierced them; but the hinder part was beaten and broken by the waves. As the last gleam of light was dying out, Peter saw Victor’s pale young face beside him, and felt his arms thrown round his neck.

“Save yourself,” he said, “for their sakes at home. Good-bye.”

“I cannot leave you,” cried Peter. But in an instant Victor had loosed his hold, and was out of the reach of his brother’s hand. He could no longer be seen in the darkness; but Peter heard his voice calling to him out of it.

“Good-bye,” he said. “Tell little Nan that I told her true; the sea is in the hollow of God’s hand. I’m not afraid.”

The next moment a second loud crash was heard, mingling with the despairing cries of drowning men. The “Dolphin” was broken in two; and Peter himself was swept away into the black trough of the sea.