“If it was only daylight we might witness some rescues,” said Cora. “But at least let us hope it is nothing serious.”
It was Rosalie who brought the news next morning. Through the driving rain she came to the girls’ bungalow, her face peering out from beneath a sou’wester that was tied under her chin, her feet barely visible beneath the yellow oilskin coat.
“There’s a wreck ashore!” she cried. “I thought maybe you might like to see it! It’s out in front of our light, and they’re bringing the crew ashore!”
“Can they save them?” asked Cora, clasping her hands.
“Most of ’em, I guess. Want to come?”
“Of course we’ll go!” cried Eline. “The boys won’t want to miss this!”
CHAPTER XXII
THE RESCUE
Green masses of foam-capped water hurling themselves on the sand–thundering and pounding. A spray that whipped into your face with the sting of a lash. The wind howling overhead and picking up handfuls of wet sand, scattering them about to add to the bite of the salt water. The rain pelting down in torrents. A dull boom, repeated again and again. The hissing of the breakers. And, out in the midst, out in a smother of water, gripped on the sharp rocks that now and then could be seen raising their black teeth through the white foam was the ship–a wreck.
It was this scene that Cora, the other girls, and the boys saw as they hurried out to the lighthouse point. And it was one they never forgot.