ing bravely in the storm, each beam
and chain painted black and sharp against the illumined sky and the
foaming sea.

"She have stud out many a gale," observed a weather-beaten old seaman;
"p'raps she won't go down yet."

"I do hope she won't," observed another.

"She haven't got a chance," said Cuttance.

Just then another flash came, and there arose a sharp cry of alarm from
the crowd, for a ship was seen driving before the gale close in upon the
land, so close that she seemed to have risen there by magic, and
appeared to tower almost over the heads of the people. The moments of
darkness that succeeded were spent in breathless, intense anxiety. The
flashes, which had been fast enough before, seemed to have ceased
altogether now; but again the lightning gleamed--bright as full
moonlight, and again the ship was seen, nearer than before--close on the
bridge of the mine.

"'Tis the Yankee ship broken from her anchors in Gwavus Lake," exclaimed
a voice.

The thunder-peal that followed was succeeded by a crash of rending
timber and flying bolts that almost emulated the thunder. Certainly it
told with greater power on the nerves of those who heard it.

Once again the lightning flashed, and for a moment the American vessel
was seen driving away before the wind, but no vestige of Wherry Mine
remained. The bridge and all connected with it had been completely
carried away, and its shattered remnants were engulfed in the foaming
sea.

It deserved a better fate; but its course was run, and its hour had
come. It passed away that stormy night, and now nothing remains but a
few indications of its shaft-mouth, visible at low water, to tell of one
of the boldest and most singular of mining enterprises ever undertaken
and carried out by man.

There was one spectator of this imposing scene who was not very deeply
impressed by it. Jim Cuttance cared not a straw for storms or wrecks,
so long as he himself was safe from their influence. Besides, he had
other work in hand that night, so he left the watchers on the beach soon
after the destruction of the bridge. Buttoning his coat up to the neck,
and pulling his sou'-wester tight over his brows, he walked smartly
along the road to Newlyn, while many of the fishermen ran down to the
beach to render help to the vessel.

Between the town of Penzance and the village of Newlyn several old boats
lay on the grass above high-water mark. Here the smuggler stopped and
gave a loud