“And can’t the poor creatures out there be helped? Must they drown?” whispered Helen in Ruth’s ear.
Ruth did not believe that these men would give up so easily. They were rough seamen; but the helplessness of the castaways appealed to them.
“Come on, boys!” commanded the captain of the life saving crew. “Let’s git out the wagon. I don’t suppose there’s any use, unless there comes a lull in this etarnal gale. But we’ll try what gunpowder will do.”
“What are they going to attempt now?” Madge Steele asked.
“The beach wagon,” said somebody. “They’ve gone for the gear.”
This was no explanation to the girls until Tom Cameron came running back from the house and announced that the crew were going to try to reach the schooner with a line.
“They’ll try to save them with the breeches buoy,” he said. “They’ve got a life-car here; but they never use that thing nowadays if they can help. Too many castaways have been near smothered in it, they say. If they can get a line over the wreck they’ll haul the crew in, one at a time.”
“And that girl!” cried Ruth. “I hope they will send her ashore first. How frightened she must be.”
There was no more rain falling now, although the spray whipped from the crests of the waves was flung across the beach and wet the sightseers. But with the lightening of the clouds a pale glow seemed to spread itself upon the tumultuous sea.
The wreck could be seen almost as vividly as when the signal lights were burned. The torn clouds were driven across the heavens as rapidly as the huge waves raced shoreward. And behind both cloud and wave was the seething gale. There seemed no prospect of the wind’s falling.