For there, not half a mile away, was a white boat manned by blue sailors, leaping towards the shore as fast as eight lusty oars could drive her, and out beyond her, probably three miles away, was a white-sailed ship of size.
Wulfrey shouted and waved his arms. The children immediately did the same, and the regular rise and fall of the oars stopped suddenly as every eye in the boat turned on them. There were men in the stern with gilt on their hats. Then the oars fell-to again and the boat came bounding on. Wulfrey and Avice picked up each their namesakes, and plunged down the hill and ran round the ridge to the shore.
With a final lunge the boat came up the beach, and a tall man rose in the stern and asked, "Who, in heaven's name, are you, and what are you doing here?"—while nine pairs of eager eyes raked over the little party.
"I am Dr Wulfrey Dale, of Hazelford in Cheshire. This is my wife—and our children. We have been here five years."
"Good God! Five years!"—he was ashore by this time, and the rest tumbled hastily out and stood about them, the burly sailors listening with one ear and trying to make up to the children, who gazed with wondering awe at the only men they had ever seen except their father. "How on earth have you lived? ... Five years! ... Not all of you," he said with a smile.
"Not all of us. The children were born here. We were afraid we would all have to live and die here. I thank God you are come. What brought you?"
"We've been sent to prospect with a view to a lighthouse here. There has been an outcry about the number of wrecks——"
"Ay, there are hundreds over yonder," said Wulfrey, pointing westward. "They have kept us alive, but the cost to others has been heavy."
"And where do you live?"
"Come and I'll show you—or will you take us along in the boat? It's good four miles over that way."