THE storm that culminated1 on that November morning was the worst that had been known on the Moorlow coast for years. The wind, which was north-east, blew a hurricane averaging eighty-four miles an hour. The beach was flooded by a furious surf, and, strangely enough for that time of the year, the weather was freezing cold. In less than ten minutes after the second vessel2 stranded3 Captain Murray's crew was abreast4 of her, but in the meantime she had worked to within a hundred yards of the beach, and Joe Burton, running down behind a receding5 wave, cast a line on board with a vigorous throw of the heaving-stick.
“Hurrah for Burton!” cried Harry6. “He's a fine fellow, I tell you.”
As soon as the line reached the ship, the sailors on board of her tugged7 away at it until they had pulled up the larger line, on which Captain Murray purposed to send out the breeches-buoy8. But before the buoy could be rigged up, the sailors, ignorant of his purpose, showed that they were going to endeavour to reach the land by coming hand-over-hand along the rope. Captain Murray and his men shouted from the shore, and wildly gesticulated, for it seemed impossible that any of them could reach the shore alive in that way. The surf was very violent, but the greatest danger lay in the fact that the position of the brig in the set of the strong current caused an enormous swirl9 of water between her and the beach, which retained eddying10 masses of wreckage11, mainly cord-wood from the wreck12 of the Starlings and which masses were continually swept out by the undertow, and hurled13 in by the breakers.
“Oh, those foolish men! those foolish men! why don't they understand and see their danger?” cried Sister Julia, attempting to draw the children away from a sight so distressing14; but the boys were immovable. Mrs. Murray, Sister Julia, and Nan went down to the little kitchen to wait, since they no longer had the heart to watch.
“There, one of the fellows has started!” cried Harry, with long pauses between his sentences, “and he's all right so far. No; my goodness, there he goes! a wave has flung him over the rope, and his head is caught between the cords of the whip-line. He will choke to death. No! there goes Burton again right into the surf holding on to the line. There! he's got him, he's got the sailor; but how can he ever bring him to land? See, Rex, he's clinging to a piece of driftwood with one hand, and holding on to the sailor with the other.”
“Oh! but another man is trying it now!” exclaimed Rex. “Oh! why don't they wait? Look there—and another one of the crew has plunged16 in after him; but, goodness! the driftwood has knocked him completely under. Ah! there go two more of the men in to his rescue, and Burton is in the breakers again, too. Who's that with him, Harry?”
“I can't make out, but—hurrah! they've reached the sailor; they'll save him, I know.”
And Harry was right; they did save him, and five others besides, all of whom attempted the same foolhardy method of reaching the land, and all of whom were rescued by the same hand-to-hand struggle in the surf on the part of Captain Murray's gallant17 crew.
“I never saw such bravery, never!” called Mr. Vale, and it could plainly be seen that his enthusiasm cheered the men wonderfully in their perilous18 work. He longed to plunge15 in with them, but he knew that he would be powerless to render any aid. It was their long experience that was standing19 the crew in such good stead. By this time a crowd had gathered on the beach, that is, every able-bodied resident of Moorlow was there, and as the last sailor was brought safely to shore a hearty20 cheer went up that, for the moment, even rose above the pounding of the breakers on the shore. Stretched on the sand, in such shelter from the wind and rain as the side of the surf-boat afforded, the disabled seamen21 were laid. They were all Spaniards, and only two of them were able to stand upon their feet.
“Which of you is captain of the brig?” asked Captain Murray, looking kindly22 down upon this second group of shipwrecked mariners23.
“He no here,” answered one of them who had been the least hurt, in broken English; “when he think his ship go to pieces, he go below and make hisself dead;” but the man's gestures told more plainly than his words that the captain had shot himself in the head.
Captain Murray turned to his men with a look that meant, “Our work is not over yet.”
“What shall be done with these poor fellows?” ventured Mr. Vale, when he saw that the thought of how he should reach the man still on the brig had driven all other thoughts from the captain's mind.
“Lord knows!” answered Captain Murray, sorely puzzled. “It'll be more'n a week before some of them will get out of bed, when they once get into it. There's some ugly bruises24 among 'em.”
“Do you think we could make them comfortable in the chapel25 on the beach yonder? It would serve splendidly for a hospital.”
“The very thing! I'll leave the arrangements to you, sir,” said Captain Murray, confident now that this really was Nan's new friend, the minister, about whom she had talked so much.
The first thing to be done was to get the exhausted26 Spaniards up to the Station, where Rex and Harry and Nan, with excited, earnest faces, waited to receive them. Over and over again the children had begged and entreated27 to be allowed to run down to the scene of the wreck, but Mrs. Murray had thought best to refuse them.
Captain Murray could not have left the preparation of the hospital in better hands than Mr. Vale's. Won by his handsome face and simple manner, the villagers crowded about him, eager to do his bidding. The sexton of the little church hurried home for the keys as fast as his rheumatic old limbs could carry him, and with the aid of Joe and Jim Croxson, he soon had a roaring fire blazing in the big chapel stove. Two men, harnessing up Captain Murray's Dobbin with all possible haste, drove to the Branch for doctor and surgeon, for both were needed. Two others, borrowing the largest waggon28 the town afforded, went off for a load of cots. There was something for every one to do............