He was doing one of his violent pacings up and down, and every turn backwards or forwards he had to change his course, for the tide was running in fast. The sea fascinated him; he could not help watching it, especially now when all sorts of bits of wreckage were beginning to float in—lengths of rope, a life-belt or two, and things belonging to the Cora's deck. The men from the station were watching with the sailors and hauling things in to land.
"Any bodies that went down will be carried by the under current into the next bay," Eustace heard the bêche-de-mer owner explaining to the Cora's crew.
"Well, my name's not Swaine," said an old sailor with a telescope, "if that isn't one coming now."
There was a thrill of excitement, an immediate demand for the telescope, as every one pressed forward.
"It will be a broken spar," said the bêche-de-mer captain. "I've been here fifteen years and there's never such a thing happened yet."
"I'm going out in one of the boats, mate," said the old sailor resolutely. "Who is coming with me?"
There were many volunteers at once, and the boat was launched.
Eustace remained as if frozen to the spot. He could just see the log-like thing lying upon the water, gently tossed by the tiny waves that were slowly, slowly bearing it to shore. It certainly looked no bigger than a broken spar, and very much that shape as, the boat drawn up alongside, two sailors leant over and lifted it in.
It was all Eustace could do to make himself stay until the boat's return, and he covered his face as the burden was gently lifted ashore.
"It's all right, youngster," said a kindly voice at his elbow, one of the older sailors; "he is alive—only unconscious. It's a miracle; but there, miracles do happen, say what you will."