ame over the dunes there were times when they had to dig their
heels into the ground and bend forward to stand against the freezing
gale. And, as they drew nearer, the thunder of the mighty surf grew ever
louder, until they saw the white clouds of spray leap high above the
crazily tossing, flapping bunches of beach grass that topped the last
knoll.

Three masts and a broken bowsprit sticking slantwise up from a whirl of
creamy white, that was all they could see of the bark, at first glance.
But occasionally, as the breakers drew back for another cruel blow, they
caught glimpses of the tilted deck, smashed bare of houses and rail.

"Those black things on the masts?" asked Ellery, bending to scream the
question into the ear of Gaius Winslow, his companion. "Are they--it
can't be possible that they're--"

"Yup," shrieked Gaius in reply, "they're men. Crew lashed in the
riggin'. Poor fellers! it'll soon be over for 'em. And they're most
likely frozen stiff a'ready and won't sense drownin', that's a comfort."

"Men!" repeated the minister in horror. "Men! Great God! and are we
to stand by here and see them die without lifting a hand? Why, it's
barbarous! It's--"

Winslow seized his arm and pointed.

"Look!" he shouted. "Look at them! How much good would our liftin' hands
do against them?"

Ellery looked. The undertow, that second, was sucking the beach dry,
sucking with such force that gravel and small stones pattered down the
slope in showers. And behind it a wave, its ragged top raveled by the
wind into white streamers, was piling up, up, up, sheer and green and
mighty, curling over now and descending with a hammer blow that shook
the land beneath their feet. And back of it reared another, and
another, and another, an eighth of a mile of whirling, surging, terrific
breakers, with a yelling hurricane whipping them on.

It was soon over, as Gaius had said it would be. A mighty leap of spray,
a section of hull broken off and tossed into view for an instant, then
two of the masts went down. The other followed almost at once. Then
the watchers, most of them, went back to the village, saying little or
nothing and dispersing silently to their homes.

During the next fortnight John Ellery conducted six funeral services,
brief prayers beside the graves of unknown men from that wreck. The
bodies, as they were washed ashore, were put into plain coffins paid
for by the board of selectmen, and buried in the corner of the Regu