a marvellous change. Our Morning Service at St. Mary's was nearly over, when we were startled by signal guns of distress, and an ominous gathering roar of surf. Everyone made for the beach, where a furious sea was running, with immense waves, probably the result of a tidal wave caused by some submarine explosion in the Pacific, for there was not a breath of wind. Presently, three of the vessels broke away from their anchors, drifting towards the rocks which form a headland to the north. Their crews took to the boats, with little chance of making the shore in such a sea. Then came a call for volunteers to man the harbour lifeboat, and other whaleboats; there was no lack of response; five boats went to the rescue, for it was seen that two of the ship's boats had capsized. As the last boat was leaving the wharf, a man I knew well came running down and, noticing a friend who had taken his seat at the bow oar, sung out, "Come out of that, Jack, you're a married man, I'm not," and he took his place; a steady, hard-working fellow, a Swede, a fine specimen of manhood, seldom absent from St. Mary's evening service. The boats met a terrible experience; for three hours they battled with the sea, which still increased; swamped, righting again, picking up drowning men, until at last they reached the shelter of the breakwater, but with the loss of twelve lives, the Harbour Master, Captain Mills, so exhausted, that he died soon after he was lifted out of his boat, and amongst the missing was the gallant fellow who had given his life for his friend. It was a strangely tragic afternoon; brilliant sunshine over all that surging waste of waters; on land the calm peace of an Autumn day; nearly the whole population of the town on the beach, watching the
