"_Why_ didn't you make sure ?" "Why, just look, Lieutenant," says Brown, pointing into the "blank height of the dark;" "and I was on the pier too, and couldn't see; but the look-out man here says--" A shift of wind, a drift of cloud, and the moon flashes out a moment.--"There she is, sir!" Some three hundred yards out at sea lies a long curved black line, beautiful, severe, and still, amid those white wild leaping hills.
A murmur from the crowd, which swells into a roar, as they surge aimlessly up and down.
Another moment, and it is cut in two by a white line--covered--lost--all hold their breaths.

No; the sea passes on, and still the black curve is there; enduring.
"A terrible big ship!" "A Liverpool clipper, by the lines of her." "God help the poor passengers, then!" sobs a woman.

"They're past our help: she's on her beam ends." "And her deck upright toward us." "Silence! Out of the way you loafing long-shores!" shouts the Lieutenant.

"Brown--the rockets!" What though the Lieutenant be somewhat given to strong liquors, and stronger language?
He wears the Queen's uniform; and what is more, he knows his work, and can do it; all make a silent ring while the fork is planted; the Lieutenant, throwing away the end of his cigar, kneels and adjusts the stick; Brown and his mates examine and shake out the coils of line.
Another minute, and the magnificent creature rushes forth with a triumphant roar, and soars aloft over the waves in a long stream of fire, defiant of the gale.
Is it over her?
No! A fierce gust, which all but hurls the spectators to the ground; the fiery stream sweeps away to the left, in a grand curve of sparks, and drops into the sea.
"Try it again!" shouts the Lieutenant, his blood now up.

"We'll see which will beat, wind or powder." Again a rocket is fixed, with more allowance for the wind; but the black curve has disappeared, and he must wait awhile.
"There it is again! Fly swift and sure," cries Elsley, "thou fiery angel of mercy, bearing the saviour-line! It may not be too late yet." Full and true the rocket went across her; and "three cheers for the Lieutenant!" rose above the storm.
"Silence, lads! Not so bad, though;" says he, rubbing his wet hands.
"Hold on by the line, and watch for a bite, Brown." Five minutes pass.