men whose whole life had been passed on the deep, and who had worked and fought their way from the lowest offices of the forecastle to rank and distinction. One of the most eminent of these officers was Sir Christopher Mings, who entered the service as a cabin boy, who fell fighting bravely against the Dutch, and whom his crew, weeping and vowing vengeance, carried to the grave. From him sprang, by a singular kind of descent, a line of valiant and expert sailors. His cabin boy was Sir John Narborough ; and the cabin boy of Sir John Narborough was Sir Cloudesley Shovel.2 To the strong natural sense and dauntless courage of this class of men, England owes a debt never to be forgotten. It was by such resolute hearts that, in spite of much maladministration, and in spite of the blunders of more courtly admirals, our coasts were protected and the reputation of our flag upheld during many gloomy and perilous years. But to landsmen these tarpaulins, as they were called, seemed a strange and half-savage race. All their knowledge was professional; and their professional knowledge was practical rather than scientific. Off their own element they were as simple as children. Their deportment was uncouth. There was roughness in their very good nature; and their talk, where it was not made up of nautical phrases, was too commonly made up of oaths and curses. Such were the chiefs in whose rude school were formed those sturdy warriors from whom Smollett, in the next age, drew Lieutenant Bowling and Commodore Trunnion. But it does not appear that there was in the service of any of the Stuarts a single naval officer such as, according to the notions of our times, a naval officer ought to be, that is to say, a man versed in the theory and practice of his calling, and steeled against all the dangers of battle and tempest, yet of cultivated mind and polished manners. There were gentlemen and there were seamen in the navy of Charles the Second; but the seamen were not gentlemen, and the gentlemen were not seamen.-MACAULAY. 1. It was in the reign of Charles II. that these two terms were first used as designating two great political parties, The term Whig is of Scottish origin, and was first assumed as a party name by that body of politicians who were most active in placing William III. on the throne of England. The term Tory is of Irish origin, and was first applied to the Irish insurgents, who harassed the English at the period of the massacre in 1640. The two terms are now indelibly incorporated in the political vocabulary of England; but as to the distinctive characteristics of the two parties, as they can still be said to exist, this is not the place to inquire. 2. Sir Cloudesley Shovel was an English Admiral, born 1650, of poor parents. He was first noticed by Sir John Narborough, with whom he went to sea as a cabin boy, but from his great merit soon rose to the rank of an officer. Shovel is called by Bishop Burnet ('History of his own Times') one of the greatest seamen of the age; and his whole career was as honourable to himself as it was creditable to the judgment of Sir John Narborough, who first drew him forth from an obscure condition. THOMAS CAMPBELL, the poet, in his 'Pleasures of Hope,' describes the character and adventures of "the hardy Byron," one of the officers of the Wager man-of-war, which was wrecked rather more than a century ago, eighteen leagues from the Straits of Magellan, in South America. Campbell wrote from Byron's 'Narrative of the Loss of the Wager,' which is a very truthful and remarkable story. As you may not have seen Byron's book, I will relate to you the most striking incidents it contains. I think they must often bring to your minds the words of King David,-"Thy way is in the sea, and thy path in the great waters, and thy footsteps are not known." The man-of-war was sailing towards the Spanish American coast. Weeds and birds appearing, told them that they were near the shore. They saw one of the mountains of the Cordilleras. Then the captain and crew were alarmed for the safety of the vessel, for it was driving right on the land, and the weather was exceedingly tempestuous, and a hurricane of wind blew the ship faster forward among the breakers, which you know are waves breaking over rocks and sands. On one of the rocks the ship struck, and for some time every soul on board expected to perish. Some of the crew immediately became mad with horror. One man stalked about the deck flourishing a cutlass about his head, calling himself king of the country, striking every one he came near, until he was knocked down. One of the bravest on board was distracted by the sight of the foaming breakers around, and, saying it was too shocking to bear, he would have thrown himself over the rails of the quarter-deck into the midst of them, had he not been prevented. Some were admirably firm and collected. About a hundred and forty of the crew got safely to land, on an island quite desolate and barren. They called it Wager's Island; and a steep mount upon it, they named Mount Misery. They cut steps to ascend it, and made it their post of observation. Having found an Indian hut in a wood, as many of the men as possible crowded into it for shelter during a tempestuous rainy night. One of the company died in the hut in the night. Two others perished of cold under a tree. During ten days following many others died of hunger. But the sufferings of the crew would have been much more endurable if they had not been aggravated by selfish passions, always the bitterest ingredients of misfortune. Byron, calm, brave, and patient, withdrew from all, and built a little hut just big enough for himself and a poor Indian dog that he found in the woods, and which could feed itself by getting limpets along the shore at low water. The patience, faithfulness and affection of this poor dog might have instructed the men. It guarded its kind master, and would let no one approach his hut. "One day," says Byron, "when I was at home in my hut with my Indian dog, a party came to my door, and told me their necessities were such, that they must eat the creature or starve." We must feel for Byron, entreating in vain for the life of his only friend and protector. They took the dog by force, and killed and ate him. And how great must have been the wants of Byron himself, when he could sit down with them, and partake of his favourite. "Three weeks after that, I was glad to make a meal of his paws and skin, which, upon recollecting the spot where they had killed him, I found thrown aside and rotten." The provisions in the wreck were got at with infinite difficulty, and proved quite inadequate. When the weather permitted, they sought for wild fowl and shellfish. They met with many strange adventures, roving along the wild shores, and in the gloomy woods. One night, reposing in an old Indian wigwam, one of the company was disturbed by the blowing of some animal at his face, and, opening his eyes, the glimmering of the fire discovered a large beast standing over him. He had the presence of mind to snatch a brand from the fire, which was now very low, and thrust it at the nose of the animal, which made off; the man then awakened his companions, and with horror on his countenance told them of his narrow escape from being devoured. Fatigue was, however, stronger than fear, and the party slept on till morning, when they traced on the sand impressions of a large, round foot, well furnished with claws. Another night they were alarmed by a strange cry which resembled that of a man drowning. 66 Many of us," says Byron, 66 ran out of our huts towards the place whence the noise proceeded, which was not far off shore; where we could perceive, but not distinctly (for it was then moonlight), an appearance like that of a man swimming half out of water. The noise that this creature uttered was so unlike that of any animal they had heard before, that it made a great impression upon the men." To these adventures Campbell alludes in the lines "Roused at each dreary cry, unheard before, What the supposed mermaid, or merman, really was, it is difficult to conjecture; but I fancy it was some unknown sea animal, having a distant resemblance to man, for those seas are peopled with many strange creatures. When they endeavoured to leave the island, and sail farther north in their two boats, their sufferings were increased. The seas in those parts are truly terrific; the men were obliged to sit as close as possible, and receive the waves on their backs, to prevent the boats filling and sinking, which was every moment expected! It was a melancholy alternative, that of drowning, or of throwing overboard their small supply of provisions. The first night they escaped almost by a miracle into a harbour as calm and smooth as a mill-pond. But there was no fuel for a fire, and no food, and the rain fell in torrents, and the night was bitter cold. Daylight brought frost, and still hunger! They tried the sea again, and maintained through another day the difficult strife with the raging billows. Night landed them on an island, a mere swamp. Here, in rain and cold, with only sea tangle and one goose that they shot for food, they spent three or four days; enlivened, however, by a fire. They got on a little better, and but a little, some days and nights after. Then their condition became worse, in fact, quite hopeless. Night by night they lay upon their oars exhausted, famished, so that they ate the raw seal-skin shoes from off their feet. But they were most overcome by the dreadful wind and rain, the gloomy thickness of the atmosphere, and the appalling roar and swell of the breakers. After two months of roving, without the least success, they were glad to find themselves back in the island of Mount Misery, whence they had started. Hope revived with the appearance of two canoes of Indians, headed by a chief or cacique, who was prevailed on to conduct them towards some Spanish settlement. Few now remained of the numerous crew of the man-of-war; some had been murdered, some had deserted, others had been deserted. Some were drowned, but the greatest number had died of cold, famine, and fatigue. The rest embarked in the only boat left, a barge, to follow the Indian canoes. Days and nights were spent in the heavy toil of rowing against these fearful seas, almost without sustenance. One man at the oar dropped and died. Another, who had been the stoutest of them all, fell, saying he should die very shortly. As he lay, he would every now and then break out into the most pathetic wishes for some little sustenance, saying two or three mouthfuls might save his life. The captain had a large piece of boiled seal by him, but with a selfishness we must detest, he withheld his aid. Byron had but five or six shellfish in his pocket to sustain his own failing strength, but from time to time he put one in the sufferer's mouth. When the crew landed, they had the sad task of burying the two men in the sands. The coast they were now upon was everywhere a deep swamp, in which the woods may be said to float rather than to grow; and still the clouds poured down a deluge of rain. Such was the time chosen by six of the men to make off with the only boat, while the Indians were about getting seal; so that the captain and his officers were left totally helpless. Almost everything they had was taken away in the boat. Providentially the cacique, with his wife and children, came to their aid. After some interesting adventures among the native wigwams, or homes of the Indians, to which the cacique conducted Byron and the captain, the party set forward once more on their difficult route. The interest of the narrative now entirely rests with Byron. Though wasted by sickness, the result of famine, he toiled three days at the oar without any kind of nourishment except a disagreeable root. What little clothing he had on was tattered, and otherwise in a wretched condition. The party having to go some distance over land, everybody had something to carry except the captain, "and he was obliged to be assisted, or he would never have got over this march; for a worse than this, I believe, was never made. He, with the others, set out some time before me. I waited for two Indians, who belonged to the canoes I came in." Byron had a piece of wet heavy canvass, and some putrid seal of the captain's to carry on his head; "sufficient weight for a strong man in health, through such roads, and a grievous burden to one in my condition." over, "Our way was through a thick wood, the bottom of which was a mere quagmire,2 most part of it up to our knees, and often to our middle; and every now and then we had a large tree to get for they often lay directly in our road. Besides this, we were continually treading upon the stumps of trees, which were not to be avoided, as they were covered with water; and having neither shoe nor stocking, my feet and legs were frequently torn and wounded. Before I had got half a mile, the two Indians had left me; and, making the best of my way, lest they should be all gone before I got to the other side, I fell off a tree that crossed the road into a very deep swamp, where I very narrowly escaped drowning by the weight of the burden on my head. It was a long while before I could extricate myself from this difficulty, and when I did, my strength was quite exhausted. I sat down under a tree, and there gave way to melancholy reflections. However, |