The muffled roaring sound that is heard, is that of the waves breaking at the foot of the cliff. From the windows can be seen, gleaming out in the darkness, the bright lights of the Goodwin light-ships, which guard those fatal sands--sands so fatal, that when the graves give up their dead, few churchyards will render such an account as theirs, not only as to the number of the dead, but also that the Sands are a battle-field which entombs the brave and strong, who go down quick to their grave, quick from the full tide of life and strength, from the eager stern deadly contest in which, to the last, all their strong energies were fully engaged. Men who, a few hours before, were reckless and merry, anticipating no danger and ready to laugh at the thought of death; who, if homeward bound, were full of joy as they seemed almost to stand upon the threshold of their homes; or by whom, if outward bound, the kisses of their wives, which seemed still to linger on their cheeks, and the soft clasping arms of their little ones, which seemed still to hang about their necks, were only to be forgotten in the few hours of terrible life struggle with the storm, and then again to be keenly remembered in the last gasping moment, ere the Goodwin Sands should find them a grave almost within the shadow of their homes. There is a sudden report; surely the firing of a gun, a wreck, a vessel on the Sands--watch, yes, there! A rocket streams up from one of the light-vessels, and the gun and the rocket five minutes after, form the signal that calls to the life-boat for assistance. The breakers on the Sands could be clearly seen from the shore during the day, as they rose and fell like fitful volumes of white eddying smoke, breaking up the clear line of the horizon, and tracing the Sands in broken broad leaping outlines of foam. Yes! and now, amid those terrible breakers, somewhere out in the darkness, within five or six miles, near that bright light, there are twenty, thirty, fifty, you know not how many, of your fellow-creatures, struggling for their lives. Ah! listen to the storm blast, with what dread force it rushes by, what a dirge it seems to moan; and well it may, for if the gale lasts only a few hours, and there is no rescue, the morning may be bright and fair and calm, and the sea as smooth as a lake, but nothing of either ship or crew shall any more be seen. But, thank God! there will be a rescue! You know that already brave hearts have determined to attempt it; that strong ready hands are already at work in cool, quick, preparation; that, almost before you could urge your way against the tempest down to the head of the pier, the steamer and life-boat will have fought their way out against the storm and darkness upon their errand of mercy.