MR. BUXTON'S GALLANT DARING.

9

and direct the efforts of others, but to give his personal aid. In the terrible storm of 31st October, 1823, a storm long remembered on the Norfolk coast, Mr. Buxton ran considerable personal risk, such as only a brave man is willing to encounter. About twelve o'clock a collier brig, the Duchess of Cumberland, ran upon the rocks off the Cromer

"Without waiting for a rope, he at once dashed into the surf, caught the man, flung himself upon him, and struggled against the strong drawback of the retiring billows" (p. 10).

Lighthouse. The life-boat was immediately brought out, but so tremendous was the sea that no persuasion could induce the fishermen to put off. Once when a wave ran up the beach and floated her, Mr. Buxton, hoping to spur them on by his example, sprang in, shouting to them to follow him, but without effect. Captain Manby's gun was repeatedly fired, but the line fell short of the vessel, in which nine sailors were seen lashed to the shrouds. At length a huge sea burst over her, and she went to pieces, blackening the

waters with her cargo of coal. For an instant the spectators looked on in silent awe. "Poor dear hearts! they're all gone now!" exclaimed an old fisherman; but at that moment Mr. Buxton thought he saw one of them borne upon the top of a wave. Without waiting for a rope, he at once dashed into the surf, caught the man, flung himself upon him, and struggled against the strong drawback of the retiring billows until others could reach him, and he was dragged to land with his rescued mariner, and carried up the cliff in a state of utter exhaustion. The deed was considered by those on shore to have been one of extreme peril and danger, and Buxton said himself that he felt the waves play with him as he could play with an orange.*

One night in January, 1866, a schooner, the Ocean, of Plymouth, was wrecked during a heavy gale of wind on the Woolsner Shoal, near Hayling Island. The vessel was driven inshore, and embayed by the force of the wind and heavy seas, and in attempting to tack when close in upon the shoals, her keel caught the outer edge of the shoal and caused her to miss stays. The crew let go both anchors immediately, but the vessel bumped heavily on the shoals and filled, the crew being driven to the rigging for safety. The disaster was witnessed by Major F. W. Festing, of the Royal Marine Artillery, who dwelt upon that coast and knew its dangers, and gathering together, without a moment's loss of time, the fishermen on the shore, he superintended the launching of an open boat. Major Festing then took the helm, and after waiting some little time, to allow the ebb-tide to run out at its greatest strength, the boat's head was laid for the schooner, and the men bent lustily to their oars. It was a matter of life and death to all those in the boat, as it was to the expectant men in the unfortunate schooner's rigging; and when the boat at length got fairly in among the breakers and close to the vessel, a minute, or may be longer, passed, during which the watchers on shore thought all had gone together-the boat, vessel, and their crews-all being hid in the blinding grey whirl that sprung up from the broken water. Immediately afterwards, however, the cutter, with her gallant crew, was seen leaving the wreck, and in a few minutes more she was high and dry on Hayling Island beach, with the master, mate, and one man, all the survivors of the schooner's crew, safe on board. For this noble rescue Major Festing received the silver medal of the Life-boat Institution, and the brave fishermen who so nobly assisted him were rewarded by a large sum from a local subscription for their gallant services.

Another "dweller on the coast," with like generous sympathies and dauntless courage, was Major Elyard, of the 2nd Royal Surrey Militia. He was a member of the Local Committee of the Broadstairs Life-boat, and whenever there was a man short to make up a crew, or any special circumstances required it, he would lend a helping hand, and be willing to do anything or be anything to save the lives of the perishing. About five o'clock in the afternoon of the 12th March, 1876, the schooner Lion, of Goole, bound from Hull to the Isle of Wight, was observed driving before a heavy gale, with signals of distress flying. The signal guns of the station having failed to assemble the proper number of men, the life-boat Samuel Morrison Collins was launched with part of the crew only, the place of one being supplied by Major Elyard. Stretching off under sail, the life-boat succeeded in boarding the disabled vessel. She was found to be in a "Memoirs of Sir Thomas Fowell Buxton, Bart." Edited by his son.

deplorable condition, especially aloft; nevertheless, the life-boat's crew succeeded in carrying her safely into Dover Harbour on the following day, at which time they had been twentyfour hours without breaking their fast. Major Elyard's noble services in connection with the Broadstairs life-boat were duly recognised. He had been out eighteen times on service, and had assisted to save forty-nine lives from different wrecks. It was decided, therefore, to present him with the gold medal of the Life-boat Institution, the highest honour the Society can bestow, and by order of Major-General Sir Garnet Wolseley, then the Inspector-General of Auxiliary Forces, the gold medal was presented to Major Elyard at the head of his regiment on a brigade field-day, held on the Queen's birthday.

Many and strange are the stories told of the inhabitants of lighthouses and lightships; there is something weird about the monotonous life spent in the midst of dangers, ever compassed about by the storm-tossed sea, and much of romance has been written concerning it. But truth is stranger than fiction, and a few incidents in the life of a. lighthouse family will illustrate of what stuff such people are made.

The keeper of the lighthouse on Staple Island, Northumbria, was one day attending to some little matters in connection with the exterior of his dwelling, which was attached to the lighthouse, when he saw in the distance a tremendous wave making from the south towards the island. Never before had he seen so strange a phenomenon, and it filled him with a momentary terror. His little boy was playing in the yard, and his wife standing just within the house. Snatching up the child and dragging his wife, he fled as fast as possible in a direction which he thought might prove a safe retreat. Had he hesitated a moment, or fled wildly without knowing whither he should have gone, the result must. have been fatal to them all, for the wave swept over the south corner of the island, carrying away the lighthouse and the dwelling-house, and leaving them homeless and destitute.

Some years later the man was keeper of another lighthouse, and his son, then a boy of fourteen, being light and active, had mounted to the top, about eighty feet from the ground, to make some necessary observations, when his foot slipped and he fell. Happily he was caught by a projecting piece of wood, and after a long delay was rescued by his father, who found him unconscious and apparently dead.

In after-life that boy was himself a lighthouse keeper, and his name became of world-wide interest, associated as it was with that of his heroic daughter, Grace Darling. William Darling was a brave and fearless man, just the man to be in charge of the lighthouse on the Longstone, one of the Farne Islands, lying off the coast of Northumberland-a dangerous spot, where the sea rushes with tremendous force between the smaller islands, and where wrecks were of frequent occurrence.

A dull and desolate place is Longstone Island, and on a bit of rock surrounded by the ocean stood the lighthouse, in which dwelt William Darling, his wife, and his daughter Grace, who was born at Bamborough in November, 1815, and the greater part of whose life was spent in this strange abode. William Howitt says of Longstone Island :"It was like the rest of these desolate isles, all of dark whinstone, cracked in every direction, and wora with the action of winds, waves, and tempests since the world began..

On the greatest part of it there was not a blade of grass or a grain of earth, but bare and iron-like stone, crusted round the coast as far as high-water mark with limpet and still smaller shells. We ascended wrinkled hills of black stone, and descended into worn and dismal dells of the same, into some of which, when the tide got entrance, it

came pouring and roaring in raging whiteness, and churning the loose fragments of the whinstone into round pebbles, and piled them up into deep crevices with sea-weeds, like great round ropes and heaps of fucus. Over our heads screamed hundreds of hovering birds, the gull mingling his laughter most wildly."

Grace Darling was brought up in this island home, receiving her education from her parents, and having but little intercourse with the people on the mainland, although

frequently visited by her brothers and sisters. Her father trimmed the lantern and tended the light and she assisted her mother in the duties of the household. From her earliest days she was accustomed to hear the raging tempest and the thundering surf, and so became familiarised with danger. A terrible storm was raging one night, and the waves were beating with heavy shocks against the lighthouse, when Grace, peering through the half darkness, fancied she saw a yacht speeding towards a ridge of rock on which many a good ship had broken to pieces. She raised a loud cry, and in a moment her

father and one of her brothers, who happened to be at that time on the island, ran towards her and gazed in the direction pointed out. There was no mistake; it was a yacht going towards destruction. Instantly the men rushed down to the shore, launched their boat on the surging sea, attracted the attention of those on board, and saved them from perishing on the fatal rock.

At Christmas-tide Mr. Darling was in the habit of assembling all his family at the lighthouse to spend a few days, and strange were the tales they had to tell as they sat round the blazing fire in the merry season. During one of these family festivals a gale came on to blow during the day, and by night a terrible storm was raging. Two of