"Quite," said Ingestrie, "unless they strike close in shore. Then, something may, perhaps, be done."
"Ay, sir," said a weather-beaten boatman who stood close to Ingestrie, "you are right there. If they only drift a little further in, and are still afloat, when the keel touches ground they may get ashore some of them."
"No boat," said the colonel, "could reach her?"
"Boat, sir! My little bit of a craft will do now and then things that one ought not to expect, from anything in the shape of a boat; but that surf would toss it up like a piece of cork, and it would only be making bad worse to draw a few brave fellows from land here, because others are going down at sea."
"You are right," said Ingestrie. "Do you happen to know the craft out yonder?"
"No, sir. She is so swept clear, that it would be hard to know her if she were one's own; but I don't think she belongs to this port at all."
"The gale is going down a bit."
"It is, sir. Don't you see it's coming in puffs like—It won't last much longer."
"Gone!" cried a hundred voices at once.
"No—no!" cried Ingestrie. "Don't say that."