Newcastle at that time, and was expected in Arbroath every day. But
it was fated never more to cast anchor in that port. The great storm,
to which reference has been made in a previous chapter, caused many
wrecks on the shores of Britain. The _Penguin_ was one of the many.

In those days telegraphs, railroads, and penny papers did not exist.
Murders were committed then, as now, but little was said, and less
was known about them. Wrecks occurred then, as now, but few, except
the persons immediately concerned, heard of them. "Destructive
fires", "terrible accidents", and the familiar round of "appalling
catastrophes" occurred then, as now, but their influence was limited,
and their occurrence soon forgotten.

We would not be understood to mean that "now" (as compared with
"then",) all is right and well; that telegraphs and railways and
daily papers are all-potent and perfect. By no means. We have still
much to learn and to do in these improved times; and, especially,
there is wanting to a large extent among us a sympathetic telegraphy,
so to speak, between the interior of our land and the sea-coast,
which, if it existed in full and vigorous play, would go far to
improve our condition, and raise us in the esteem of Christian
nations. Nevertheless, as compared with now, the state of things then
was lamentably imperfect.

The great storm came and went, having swept thousands of souls into
eternity, and hundreds of thousands of pounds into nonentity.
Lifeboats had not been invented. Harbours of refuge were almost
unknown, and although our coasts bristled with dangerous reefs and
headlands, lighthouses were few and far between. The consequence was,
that wrecks were numerous; and so also were wreckers,--a class of