Charlie to the Rescue. Robert Michael Ballantyne

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СКАЧАТЬ its fastenings, and flew straight out behind her.

      “Look! look there!” shouted her brother with a wild expression, as he pointed to a part of the rocky shore where a vessel was dimly seen through the drift.

      “She’s trying to weather the point,” exclaimed Brooke, clearing the moisture from his eyes, and endeavouring to look steadily.

      “She’ll never weather it. See! the fishermen are following her along-shore,” cried young Leather, dropping his sister’s arm, and bounding away.

      “Oh! don’t leave me behind, Shank,” pleaded May.

      Shank was beyond recall, but our hero, who had also sprung forward, heard the pleading voice and turned back.

      “Here, hook on to me,” he cried quickly, for he was in no humour to delay.

      The girl grasped his arm at once, and, to say truth, she was not much of a hindrance, for, although somewhat inelegant, as we have said, she was lithe as a lizard and fleet as a young colt.

      A few minutes brought them to the level shore where Brooke left May to shelter herself with some fisher-women behind a low wall, while he ran along to a spot where a crowd of fishermen and old 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 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. Another, and yet another, rose and fell, but failed to reach its mark, and the remainder of the rockets refused to go off from some unknown cause—either because they had been too long in stock or had become damp.

      Meantime the brig was tossed farther and farther in, until she stuck quite fast. Then it became evident that she must soon break up, and her crew perish. Hasty plans and eager advice were proposed and given. Then the smart young fisherman suddenly sprang forward, and threw off his oil-coat and sou’-wester.

      “Here! hold on!” he cried, catching up the end of the rocket line, and fastening it round his waist, while he kicked off his heavy boots.

      “You can’t do it, Bill,” cried some.

      “Too far to swim,” cried others.

      “The seas ’ll knock the life out o’ ye,” said Grinder, “afore you’re clear o’ the sand.”

      Despite these warnings the brave young fellow dashed into the foam, and plunged straight into the first mighty breaker that towered over his head. But he was too much excited to act effectively. He failed to time his plunge well. The wave fell upon him with a roar and crushed him down. In a few seconds he was dragged ashore almost insensible.

      Example, whether good or bad, is infectious. Another strapping young fellow, stirred to emulation, ran forward, СКАЧАТЬ