“You don’t understand, sir,” said one of the fishermen respectfully. “He says they’re all—”
“May as well out with it, Bob,” said another. “The parson’s got to get his initiation someways. Cap’n Salt says they’re drunk, sir. The crew of the Clara Em is all drunk.”
At this moment a terrible shriek rang above the roar of the storm. It came from the old woman on the top of the cliff.
Her eyes had been the first, but they were not the only ones now, to perceive the signs of arousing life upon the wreck.
A second man was seen to climb across the bows, to pause for an instant, and then to plunge. He went out of sight in a moment. The inrolling surf glittered in the blaze of the bonfires like a cataract of flame. The swimmer reappeared, struggled, threw up his arms and disappeared.
“I have stood this as long as I can,” said Bayard in a low, firm voice. “Give me a rope! Tie it around me, some of you, and hold on! I’m going to try to save that man.”
“I’ll go, myself,” said one of the fishermen slowly.
“Bob,” replied the minister, “how many children have you?”
“Eleven, sir.”
“Stay where you are, then,” said Bayard. “Such things are for lonely men.”