“Well, she would be wrecked, I suppose,” said Dick.
“Yes, the waves would come leaping and thundering over her the same as they do over that piece of rock, and sweeping her decks. Then every great wave that came in would lift her up, and then leave her to come down crash upon the rocks, shaking out her masts and loosening her timbers and planks, and keeping this on till she tumbled all to pieces and the sea was strewed with the bits which kept tossing in and out among the rocks.”
“Have you ever seen the sea do this?” said Dick eagerly.
“Yes,” replied Will solemnly, “often. It’s very awful sometimes to live at the sea-side on a rocky coast.”
The two lads stood for a few minutes silently gazing down into the wild waste of tossing foam, and then Dick said slowly:
“I think I should like to see a wreck. I shouldn’t like for there to be a wreck; but if there was a wreck I should like to see it.”
“I don’t think you would again,” said Will sadly. “I used to think so when I was quite a little fellow; but when I did see one it all seemed so pitiful to know that there were people on board the ship asking you to come and save them.”
“Then why didn’t you go and save them?” cried Dick excitedly. “You are all good sailors about here, and have boats. You ought to do something to save the poor things.”
“We do,” said Will sadly. “I mean our men do when they can.”
“Haven’t you got a life-boat?”