“Mart Tinman?” cried Van Diemen.
All started; all jumped up; and there was a scampering for hats and cloaks. Maids and men of the house ran in and out confirming the news of inundation. Some in terror for the fate of relatives, others pleasantly excited, glad of catastrophe if it but killed monotony, for at any rate it was a change of demons.
The view from the outer bank of Elba was of water covering the space of the common up to the stones of Marine Parade and Belle Vue. But at a distance it had not the appearance of angry water; the ladies thought it picturesque, and the house on the beach was seen standing firm. A second look showed the house completely isolated; and as the party led by Van Diemen circled hurriedly toward the town, they discerned heavy cataracts of foam pouring down the wrecked mound of shingle on either side of the house.
“Why, the outer wall’s washed away,” said Van Diemen. “Are they in real danger?” asked Annette, her teeth chattering, and the cold and other matters at her heart precluding for the moment such warmth of sympathy as she hoped soon to feel for them. She was glad to hear her father say:
“Oh! they’re high and dry by this time. We shall find them in the town And we’ll take them in and comfort them. Ten to one they have n’t breakfasted. They sha’n’t go to an inn while I’m handy.”
He dashed ahead, followed closely by Herbert. The ladies beheld them talking to townsfolk as they passed along the upper streets, and did not augur well of their increase of speed. At the head of the town water was visible, part of the way up the main street, and crossing it, the ladies went swiftly under the old church, on the tower of which were spectators, through the churchyard to a high meadow that dropped to a stone wall fixed between the meadow and a grass bank above the level of the road, where now salt water beat and cast some spray. Not less than a hundred people were in this field, among them Crickledon and his wife. All were in silent watch of the house on the beach, which was to east of the field, at a distance of perhaps three stonethrows. The scene was wild. Continuously the torrents poured through the shingleclefts, and momently a thunder sounded, and high leapt a billow that topped the house and folded it weltering.
“They tell me Mart Tinman’s in the house,” Van Diemen roared to Herbert. He listened to further information, and bellowed: “There’s no boat!”
Herbert answered: “It must be a mistake, I think; here’s Crickledon says he had a warning before dawn and managed to move most of his things, and the people over there must have been awakened by the row in time to get off.”
“I can’t hear a word you say;” Van Diemen tried to pitch his voice higher than the wind. “Did you say a boat? But where?”
Crickledon the carpenter made signal to Herbert. They stepped rapidly up the field.