termaster whose business it was to tell the hours saluted
the captain.

"Eight bells, sir," he said, "midnight. Christmas day," he added.

"Strike them," said the captain.

And, as clear as ever, the four couplets rang out over the chaos and the
disaster.

"Christmas day," the boy murmured.

"She's going, men," said the captain, as the cadences died away. "Save
yourselves. Abandon the ship."

"Christmas morning," said the boy. "I wonder what they're doing at
home."

"Overboard with you, youngster," said the signal lieutenant; "I wish I
had a life-preserver for you, but--"

"Merry Christmas, sir," said the lad suddenly.

"Good God!" said the man. "Merry Christmas! They will think of us at
home."

What was left of the ship gave a mighty reel.

"Quick or she'll suck you down," the officer roared, as he fairly flung
the boy into the water,--and how he hurt that broken arm! "You can swim.
Strike out. Good-by."

The boy had caught a glimpse of the captain standing on the bridge as
the wreck went down and then the wild waters closed over his head. It
was frightfully cold. A hard gale was blowing. The waves ran terribly
high. His left arm was helpless. His head ached fiercely. What was the
use? Still the boy struck out bravely with his free hand. The instinct
of life! It was too dark to see. The sky was covered with drifting
clouds. Only here and there a little rift of moonlight came through.

"Christmas morning," he sobbed out as the waves rolled him over. "Oh, my
God!"

He felt himself going down. All at once the waters seemed to grow still.
It was suddenly calm. He was no longer cold. He threw his head up for
one last look at the sky and life and then he hung, as it were,
suspended in some strange way. He saw a figure walking across the smooth
of the seas as it had been solid ground. The figure drew nearer, the
wind seemed to have died away, but the draperies that shrouded it swung
gently as they would while a man walked along. The face he saw dimly,
vaguely, but there

William Babington Maxwell (18661938) was a British novelist. He was a son of novelist Mary Elizabeth Braddon. Though nearly 50 years old at the outbreak of the First World War, he was accepted as a lieutenant in the Royal Fusiliers and served in France until 1917.

Cyrus Townsend Brady (December 20, 1861 January 24, 1920) was a journalist, historian and adventure writer. His most well-known work is Indian Fights and Fighters. He was born in Allegheny, Pennsylvania, and graduated from the U.S. Naval Academy in 1883. He was also a deacon in the Episcopal church. His first wife was Clarissa Guthrie, who died in 1890. His second wife was Mary Barrett.

Rebecca Sophia Clarke (1833-1906), also known as Sophie May, was an American author of childrens fiction. Using her nieces and nephews as inspiration, she wrote realistic stories about children. She wrote 45 books between 1860 and 1903. The most popular being the Little Prudy books. She lived most of her life in her native town of Norridgewock, Maine, where she lived out her life with her sister, who was also a successful author.