Dick drew a long breath two or three times over before he could speak, for the scene was awful in its grandeur, and, young as he was, he felt what mere pigmies are men in face of the giants of the elements when Nature is in anger and lets loose her storms upon our shores.
Every minute, from amidst the boiling chaos of waves, one bigger than the rest came slowly from seaward with a strange gliding motion, to raise itself up like some crested serpent and curl over, and then, as it was riven in ten thousand streams and sheets of jagged foam, there was a dull roar as of thunder, the wind shrieked and yelled, and, serpent-like, the broken wave hissed, and seethed, and choked, and gurgled horribly amongst the rocks.
“What do you think of that?” said Will again gravely as he placed his lips close to Dick’s ear.
“How awful the sea is!” panted Dick as he seemed more than ever to realise its force.
“Yes,” said Will quietly, and there was a sad smile on the boy’s lip as he spoke. “But you said a little while ago that our men ought to help the shipwrecked men. Shall we get down that boat and have a row?”
“Row!” cried Dick with a horrified look; “why, it couldn’t be done.”
“Would you like to see your father and some more men get down that boat and put off to sea?”
“It would be impossible,” cried Dick. “She would be tossed over by the waves and everybody drowned.”
“Hah! Yes,” said Will smiling. “You see now the danger. Many people say that fishermen are cowardly for not doing more, when the case is that they know the danger, and those who talk and write about it don’t. It isn’t everybody who has seen the sea-coast in a storm. Shall we go up?”
“Yes,” panted Dick; “it is too awful to stay here. If a wave were to curl round the corner we should be swept away.”