and made his way to the place whence the cries proceeded; there he found a boy, a protege of his own, whom he had entered on board the Anson only a few months before, clinging in despair to a part of the wreck, and without either strength or courage to make the least effort for his own preservation.  Captain Lydiard’s resolution was instantly taken,—­he would save the lad, if possible, though he might himself perish in the attempt.  He threw one arm round the boy, whilst he cheered him by words of kind encouragement, with the other arm he clung to the spars and mast to support himself and his burthen.  But the struggle did not last long; nature was exhausted by the mental and physical sufferings he had endured; he lost his hold, not of the boy, but of the mast, the wild waves swept over them, and they perished together.

It must not be supposed that the people on the shore were unconcerned spectators of the fearful tragedy that was enacted before their eyes.  British fishermen are proverbial for their daring and intrepidity.  Inured from childhood to the dangers and hardships attendant on their perilous calling, with very few exceptions our fishermen have always been ready to succour the wrecked and tempest-tossed mariner.  There is not, we believe, a fishing village between the Land’s End and the Orkneys, that cannot produce its true heroes—­men who have risked, and are willing again to risk, their own lives to save others.  Our fisheries are the best nurseries for our navy.  Englishmen may be justly proud of the boatmen, from amongst whom spring those ’hearts of oak’ which have so long rendered our fleets pre-eminent over those of every other country in the world.  But, besides the generous disposition to assist any perishing fellow creature, there were in this instance more powerful motives to exert every effort to save the crew of the Anson.  This ship had been stationed for some time at or near Falmouth, so that acquaintances, friendships, and still dearer ties, had been formed between the inhabitants of the neighbouring towns and villages, and the people of the unfortunate vessel.  But a few days before they had witnessed a far different scene, when she left their shores in all the pride of a well-ordered and well-disciplined man-of-war, amidst the shouts, and cheers, and blessings of the multitude, who now beheld her lying within a few fathoms of them a helpless wreck, her masts gone, her bulwarks broken in, the waves sweeping over her, and breaking up her timbers.

The surf ran so high, it was impossible that any boat could reach the wreck.  The life-boat, in 1807, had not been brought to the state of perfection it has attained in our day; and the many inventions which science and art have since introduced for the preservation of life, were for the most part unknown in the times of which we are now writing.