Soon after midnight, the rattling of the anchor chains, and the sudden change of motion from pitching and jumping to the old monotonous roll, told us that we were once more outside a bar, with a heavy sea on, and that there we must remain until the tug came to fetch us. But, alas, the tug had to make short work of it next morning, on account of the unaccommodating state of the tide; and all our hopes of breakfasting on shore were dashed by the hasty announcement at 5 A.M. that the tug was alongside, the mails were rapidly being put on board of her, and that she could not wait for passengers or anything else, because ten minutes later there would not be water enough to float her over the bar.

“When shall we be able to get over the bar?” I asked dolefully. “Not until the afternoon,” was the prompt and uncompromising reply, delivered through my keyhole by the authority in charge of us: and he proved to be quite right. But I am bound to say the time passed more quickly than we dared to hope or expect, for an hour later a bold little fishing-boat made her way through the breakers and across the bar, in the teeth of wind and rain, bringing F— on board.