he pier, whither the tide had not long reached; the wind rattling
amongst the masts, shrouds, and half-bent sails of some craft which had
just run in for shelter from the impending storm. My recent adventure
had made me pretty well acquainted with most of the persons around: and
I learned that a _ground swell_ had been observed along shore the
preceding night. This phenomenon is generally occasioned by a storm in
the Atlantic, with a westerly wind; and it affords to the old fishermen
an almost certain indication of approaching foul weather.

"A stiff bit of a gale, this same, Master Charles," said an old tar,
giving an energetic jerk to his trousers, "Ay, ay, old boy," he replied,
"this wind is not blowing for nothing, you may take my word for it; but
if the Jane and the Susan hove in sight I'd not mind a bit for all that;
we've not a stick afloat but her."

"What! is Sam Clovelly[5] out this morning, Helston?" I anxiously
inquired of the pilot, who was a manly, excellent sort of fellow. He had
grown grey with service, and there was something in the steady eye and
calm decision of his look that marked him out as no common character.

[5] See _Mirror_, No. 475. "Dawlish's Hole."

"Yes, sir, we have no tidings of him yet, and the sky looking as black,
yonder, as the face of a negro; but we'll hope that he's run out of
harm's way before now."

As the morning waxed apace, the interest in the fate of the Jane and
Susan became more evident amongst the by-standers. Every stick that came
in sight cut out conversation; but many an eye was cast anxiously to
windward in vain for poor Sam Clovelly and his brother Arthur, who had
been out since the preceding night. Presently the two little orphan
sisters of the missing men came upon the pier, and Helstone, the pilot,
and some of the others anxiously endeavoured to cheer and console them.

"I'll be bound they've run for ---- port long ago, darlings, so don't
cry now, Jane; the old craft's stood many a stronger breeze than this;
now, wipe your eyes, there. Poor things," he said, turning to me, as the
children went farther on the pier, "their two brothers are the only
friends they have got in the world, and if they are gone who is to take
care of them? Their father, old Sam Clovelly, was lost--I recollect the
time well--somewhere off Milford; leaving his wife, with two stiff tidy
bits of lads, and likely to increase the family; well, sir, she took to
her bed, with the shock, a