salts, enveloped in
oil-skins, were discussing the situation as they leaned against the
shrieking wind.

"Will she weather it, Grinder, think you?" he asked of an elderly man,
whose rugged features resembled mahogany, the result of having bid
defiance to wind and weather for nigh half a century.

"She may, Mr Brooke, an' she mayn't," answered the matter-of-fact man
of the sea, in the gruff monotone with which he would have summoned all
hands to close reef in a hurricane. "If her tackle holds she'll do it.
If it don't she won't."

"We've sent round for the rocket anyhow," said a smart young fisherman,
who seemed to rejoice in opposing his broad chest to the blast, and in
listening to the thunder of the waves as they rolled into the exposed
bay in great battalions, chasing each other in wild tumultuous fury, as
if each were bent on being first in the mad assault upon the shore.

"Has the lifeboat coxswain been called?" asked Charlie, after a few
minutes' silence, for the voice of contending elements was too great to
render converse easy or agreeable.

"Yes, sir," answered the man nearest to him, "but she's bin called to a
wreck in Mussel Bay, an' that brig will be all right or in Davy Jones's
locker long afore th' lifeboat 'ud fetch round here."

Silence again fell on the group as they gazed out to sea, pushing
eagerly down the beach until they were ankle-deep in the foam of each
expended wave; for the brig was by that time close on the point of
rocks, staggering under more sail than she could carry with safety.

"She'll do it!" exclaimed the smart young fisherman, ready to cheer with
enthusiastic hope.

"Done for! Lost!" cried one, while something like a groan burst from
the others as they saw the brig's topmasts go over the side, and one of
her sails blown to ribbons. She fell away towards the rocks at once.

Like great black teeth these rocks seemed to leap in the midst of the
foam, as if longing to grasp the ill-fated vessel, which had, indeed,
all but weathered the dangerous point, and all might have been well if
her gear had only held; but now, as if paralysed, she drifted into the
bay where certain destruction awaited her.

Just at that moment a great cheer arose, for the rocket-cart, drawn by
the men of the Coast-Guard, was seen rattling over the downs towards
them.

Anxiety for the fate of the doomed brig was now changed into eager hope
for the rescue of her crew. The fishermen crowded round the