The anchor was scarcely let go when three or four boats dashed alongside, and “Well, Bill, old man, what luck?” was the general question.
“Five-and-twenty, thank God, men, women, and children,” responded old Bill. “Did ye catch sight of our rockets, boys!”
“Ay, ay; never fear. And ‘mother’ ashore there, she’s never turned-in at all this blessed night. Said as she was sure you’d bring somebody in; and a rare rousing fire she’s got roaring up the chimbley, and blankets, no end; all the beds made up and warmed, and everything ready, down to a rattlin’ good hot supper; so let’s have these poor souls up on deck (you’ve got ’em below, I s’pose), and get ’em ashore; they must be pretty nigh froze to death, I should think.”
At Bill’s cheery summons the survivors from the wreck staggered to the smack’s deck—their cramped and frozen limbs scarcely able to sustain them—and the bewildered glances which they cast round them at the scarcely ruffled waters of the creek glancing in the clear frosty moonlight, with the fishing smacks and other small craft riding cosily at anchor on either side, the straggling village of Brightlingsea within a stone’s throw—a tiny light still twinkling here and there in the cottage windows, and a perfect blaze of ruddy light streaming from the windows of the “Anchor,” and flooding the road with its cheerful radiance—the bewildered glances with which they regarded this scene, I say, showed that even now they were scarcely able to realise the fact of their deliverance.
But they were not left very long in doubt about it. As they emerged with slow and painful steps from the smack’s tiny companion, strong arms seized them, all enwrapped in blankets as they were, and quickly but tenderly passed them over the side into the small boats which had come off from the shore for them. Then, as each boat received its complement, “Shove off” was the word; the bending oars churned the water into miniature whirlpools, and with a dozen powerful strokes the boat was sent half her length high and dry upon the shore. Then strong arms once more raised the sufferers, and quickly bore them within the wide-open portal of the hospitable “Anchor,” where “mother” Salmon waited to receive them.
“Eh, goodness sakes alive!” she exclaimed, as the first man appeared within the flood of light which streamed from the “Anchor” windows. “You, Sam; you don’t mean to say as there’s women amongst ’em.”
“Ah! that there is, mother,” panted Sam, “and children—poor little helpless babbies, some on ’em, too.”
The quick warm tears of womanly sympathy instantly flashed into the worthy woman’s eyes; but she was not one prone to much indulgence in sentiment, particularly at a time like the present; so instead of lifting up her hands and giving expression to her pity in words, she faced sharply round upon the maids who were crowding forward, with the curiosity of their sex, to catch a first glimpse of the strangers, and exclaimed—
“Now then, you idle huzzies, what d’ye mean by blocking up the passage so that a body can get neither in nor out? D’ye want these poor souls to be quite froze to death before you lets ’em in? You, Em’ly, be off to Number 4 and run the warmin’ pan through the bed, and give the fire a good stir. Emma, do wake up, child, and take a couple of buckets of hot water up to Number 4, and put ’em in the bath. Run, Mary Jane, for your life, and see if the fire in Number 7 is burning properly; and you, Susan, be off and turn down all the beds.”
The maids rushed off to their several duties like startled deer, while the mistress turned to Sam and directed him to convey his burden to Number 4, herself leading the way.