Coast-Guard
men as they ran the cart close down to the water's edge, and some of
them--specially the smart young fellow already mentioned--made eager
offer of their services. Charlie Brooke stood aloof, looking on with
profound interest, for it was the first time he had ever seen the Manby
rocket apparatus brought into action. He made no hasty offer to assist,
for he was a cool youth--even while burning with impatient enthusiasm--
and saw at a glance that the men of the Coast-Guard were well able to
manage their own affairs and required no aid from him.

As the brig was coming straight in they could easily calculate where she
would strike, so that the rocket men could set up their triangle and
arrange their tackle without delay. This was fortunate, for the wreck
was carried shoreward with great rapidity. She struck at last when
within a short distance of the beach, and the faces of those on board
could be distinctly seen, and their cries heard, as both masts snapped
off and were swept over the side, where they tore at the shrouds like
wild creatures, or charged the hulk like battering-rams. Instantly the
billows that had borne the vessel on their crests burst upon her sides,
and spurted high in air over her, falling back on her deck, and sweeping
off everything that was moveable. It could be seen that only three or
four men were on deck, and these kept well under the lee of the bulwarks
near the stern where they were strongest.

"No passengers, I think," said one of the fishermen; "no women, anyhow."

"Not likely they'd be 'lowed on deck even if there was," growled
Grinder, in his monotone.

"Now, then, out o' the way," cried the leader of the Coast-Guard men, as
he laid a rocket in its place. "Line all clear, Fred?"

"All clear."

Next moment there was a burst of flame, a crash, and a vicious whizz as
the powerful projectile leaped from its stand and sped out to sea, in
grand defiance of the opposing gale, with its light line behind it.

A cheer marked its flight, but a groan told of its descent into the
boiling sea, considerably to the left of the wreck.

"_What_ a pity!" cried Shank Leather, who had come close to his friend
when the rocket-cart arrived.

"No matter," said Brooke, whose compressed lips and flashing eyes told
of deep but suppressed feelings. "There are more rockets."

He was right. While he was speaking, another rocket was placed and
fired. It was well directed, but fell short. A