Mr Temple and his sons looked about the bay at the tremendous breakers that were forming, as it were, a frame of foam. Even the entrance to the harbour was marked by the waves that leaped against the pier.
“I can’t see the ship, father,” whispered Dick in an awe-stricken voice, as he handed back the glass, whose bottom was dimmed with spray the moment he put it to his eyes.
“There—there,” said Will hoarsely, as he pointed out to sea.
“No, I can’t see it,” said Dick again.
“Can you see the Bird Rock—the Mew Rock, where we caught the conger?” said Will hastily, and with his lips close to Dick’s face.
“Yes.”
“Then fix your eyes there, and then look straight from there to the old mine-shaft on the hill.”
“Yes—yes,” cried Dick. “I can see a mast all amongst the spray; and it’s coming on this way.”
“To destruction,” said Mr Temple to himself, as he too now caught sight of the unfortunate vessel driving towards the rocks slowly and surely, and once more the crew drew attention to their peril by firing a signal-gun.
It is one of the most terribly painful positions in which a man can be placed, to see his fellow-creatures slowly drifting into what is almost certain death without being able to stretch out a hand to save.