turn ahead the screw engines to meet the exigencies of the strain on the grapnel rope. The evening was darkling and raw. At 6·30 I left the saloon, and walked up and down the deck, under the shelter of the paddle-box, glancing forward now and then to the bow, to look at the busy crowd of engineers, sailors, and cablemen gathered round the rope coming in over the drum, which just rose clear of one of the foremasts, and listening to the warning shouts as the shackles came inboard, and hurtled through the machinery till they floundered on the hurricane deck. About 20 minutes had elapsed when I heard the whistle sound on the bridge, and at the same time saw one of the men running aft anxiously. “There’s a heavy strain on now, sir,” he said. I was going forward, when the whistle blew again, and I heard cries of “Stop it!” or “Stop her!” in the bows, shouts of “Look out!” and agitated exclamations. Then there was silence. I knew at once all was over. The machinery stood still in the bows, and for a moment every man was fixed, as if turned to stone. There, standing blank and mute, were the hardy constant toilers, whose toil was ended at last. Our last bolt was sped. Just at the moment the fracture took place, Staff-Commander Moriarty had come up from his cabin to announce that he was quite certain, from his calculations, that the vessel had dragged over the Cable in a most favourable spot. It was 9·40 p.m., Greenwich time, and 765 fathoms had been got in, leaving little more of the hempen tackle to be recovered, when a shackle came in and passed through the machinery, and at the instant the hawser snapped as it was drawn to the capstan, and, whistling through the air like a round shot, would have carried death in its course through the crowded groups on the bows, but for the determination with which the men at the stoppers held on to them, and kept the murderous end straight in its career, as it sped back to the Atlantic. It was scarcely to be hoped that it had passed harmlessly away. Mr. Canning and others rushed forward, exclaiming, “Is any one hurt?” ere the shout “It is gone!” had subsided. The battle was over! Then the first thought was for the wounded and the dead, and God be thanked for it, there were neither to add to the grief of defeat. Nigh two miles more of iron coils, and wire, and rope were added to the entanglement of the great labyrinth made by the Great Eastern in the bed of the ocean. In a few seconds every man knew the worst. The bow was deserted, and all came aft and set about their duties. Mr. Clifford, with the end of a hempen hawser in his hand, torn in twain as though it were a roll of brown paper--Mr. Canning already recovered from the shock, and giving orders to stow away what had come up from the sea--Captain Anderson directing the chief engineer to get up steam, and prepare for an immediate start.