shoulder as likely as not&mdash;officer of the watch! The helmsman, on giving his evidence afterwards, said that he shouted several times that the binnacle lamp had gone out. It didn&rsquo;t matter to him, because his orders were to &lsquo;sail her close.&rsquo; &lsquo;I thought it funny,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;that the ship should keep on falling off in squalls, but I luffed her up every time as close as I was able. It was so dark I couldn&rsquo;t see my hand before my face, and the rain came in bucketfuls on my head.&rsquo; </p> <p> &ldquo;The truth was that at every squall the wind hauled aft a little, till gradually the ship came to be heading straight for the coast, without a single soul in her being aware of it. Wilmot himself confessed that he had not been near the standard compass for an hour. He might well have confessed! The first thing he knew was the man on the look-out shouting blue murder forward there. </p> <p> &ldquo;He tore his neck free, he says, and yelled back at him: &lsquo;What do you say?&rsquo; </p> <p> &ldquo;&lsquo;I think I hear breakers ahead, sir,&rsquo; howled the man, and came rushing aft with the rest of the watch, in the &lsquo;awfullest blinding deluge that ever fell from the sky,&rsquo; Wilmot says. For a second or so he was so scared and bewildered that he could not remember on which side of the gulf the ship was. He wasn&rsquo;t a good officer, but he was a seaman all the same. He pulled himself together in a second, and the right orders sprang to his lips without thinking. They were to hard up with the helm and shiver the main and mizzen-topsails. </p> <p> &ldquo;It seems that the sails actually fluttered. He couldn&rsquo;t see them, but he heard them rattling and banging above his head. &lsquo;No use! She was too slow in going off,&rsquo; he went on, his dirty face twitching, and the damn&rsquo;d carter&rsquo;s whip shaking in his hand. &lsquo;She seemed to stick fast.&rsquo; And then the flutter of the canvas above his head ceased. At this critical moment the wind hauled aft again with a gust, filling the sails and sending the ship with a great way upon the rocks on her lee bow. She had overreached herself in her last little game. Her time had come&mdash;the hour, the man, the black night, the treacherous gust of wind&mdash;the right woman to put an end to her. The brute deserved nothing better. Strange are the instruments of Providence. There&rsquo;s a sort of poetical justice&mdash;&rdquo; </p> <p> The man in tweeds looked hard at me. </p> <p> &ldquo;The first ledge she went over stripped the false keel off her. Rip! The skipper, rushing out of his berth, found a crazy woman, in a red flannel