ROGUES AND VAGABONDS

The ship was going down!
The sky was cloudless, the sun rode high in the heavens, and the waves glistened in the clear, bright light. It was a glorious summer day—a time when life pulsed joyously, and everything invited a man to forget his troubles, close his eyes, and lie basking in the warmth.
A soft, invigorating breeze fanned the pallid cheeks of the eager watchers; the eyes worn with long vigils glistened in the silver light that fell on them; the glowing orb above sent its rays upon haggard faces and seemed to make them smile.
The ship was going down—going down in a calm sea. Here, shut off from all human aid—here, with no one to know the secret of that last hour of anguish and despair—Death had come to the fifty souls left on board the Bon Espoir. They were alone upon the trackless ocean. Around them lay leagues of lonely water. Their fate would be a mystery. As the weeks went on, and no tidings came of the ship, her name would be upon every tongue, and strange conjectures as to her fate would drop from thousands of lips.