Whose blame is that? Still there seems hope, for the
shore is not far off, and anxious people line it; but no ordinary boat
can live in such a sea. There is no rocket apparatus on this part of
the coast; no mortar apparatus by which a line might be sent on board:
Why not? The nearest lifeboat station is fifteen miles off: Whose fault
is that? Is the storm our enemy here? Is not selfish, calculating,
miserly man his own enemy in this case? So the ship goes to pieces, and
the result is that the loss of this single vessel makes 60 widows and
150 fatherless children in one night! not to speak of thousands of
pounds' worth of property lost to the nation.

If you doubt this, reader, consult the pages of the _Lifeboat Journal_,
in which you will find facts, related in a grave, succinct,
unimpassioned way, that ought to make your hair stand on end!

Thoughts strongly resembling those recorded in the last few pages filled
the mind and the heart of Bax, as he stood on that calm bright morning
on the sea-shore. It was a somewhat lonely spot at the foot of tall
cliffs, not far from which the shattered hull of a small brig lay jammed
between two rocks. Tommy Bogey stood beside him, and both man and boy
gazed long and silently at the wrack which lined the shore. Every nook,
every crevice and creek at the foot of the cliff was filled choke full
of broken planks and spars, all smashed up into pieces so small that,
with the exception of the stump of a main-mast and the heel of a
bowsprit, there was not a morsel that exceeded three feet in length, and
all laid side by side in such regular order by the swashing of the sea
in and out of the narrower creeks, that it seemed as if they had been
piled there by the hand of man.

They gazed silently, because they had just come upon a sight which
filled their hearts with sadness. Close beside a large rock lay the
form of an old white-haired man with his head resting on a mass of
sea-weed, as if he were asleep. Beside him lay a little girl, whose
head rested on the old man's breast, while her long golden hair lay in
wild confusion over his face. The countenances of both were deadly
pale, and their lips blue. It required no doctor's skill to tell that
both were dead.

"Ah's me! Tommy, 'tis a sad sight," said Bax.

Tommy made no reply for a few seconds, but after an ineffectual effort
to command himself, he burst into tears.

"If we had only been here last night," he sobbed at le