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ing them down. In this rudderless, and therefore helpless state, we were driven before a gale of wind down the west coast of New Zealand. Fortunately, the weather abating, we were enabled to fix a temporary rudder, and, in about a fortnight from the time of our severe handling by the elements, found ourselves sailing past the Snares. All went well with us until nearing Cape Saunders, when our temporary rudder fell from its bearings, leaving us once again at the mercy of wind and tide, and our escape from shipwreck and destruction on that bold rocky promontory was little short of a miracle. Soundings were taken at once, only twelve fathom of water being discovered beneath us, while a light breeze, dead on shore, was slowly, but surely, drifting us on to the rocks. Consternation prevailed, but despite the confusion, the boats were got ready for lowering, and the anchor was let go with the hope of arresting further ingress. ‘The best laid plans of mice and men gang oft agree,’ and never was the quotation more aptly verified than in our case, for no sooner was the anchor dropped, than it was discovered that it had not been shackled to the chain, the whole of which, however, was paid out, and served in some degree to check our drifting. It was night, and only here and there could a star be seen to cheer us. The looming headland looked down dark and threatening from above. Around us the surging, seething billows rushed madly on, to dash themselves to foam against the rocks beyond; while, through the rigging, the breeze seemed to sigh and moan a funeral dirge to our ill-fated ship.

“Hope had fled, and grim despair had taken possession of us all, for there was no chance of extraneous aid, and the coastal steamers which now ply so frequently between our ports, and run up and down the coast, were not then in existence, when, as is often the case just about midnight, the wind suddenly