“God help those on the sea,” said Mrs Boyns, in reply to her husband’s remark; “I’m thankful, Dan, that you are on shore this night.”
Nancy was a good-looking, lady-like woman of thirty-three or thereabouts, without anything particularly noteworthy about her. She was busy with her needle at the time we introduce her, and relapsed into silence, while her stalwart husband pulled on a pair of huge sea-boots.
“Did you hear a gun, Nancy?” cried the captain, as a terrific blast shook every timber in the cottage—“there! ain’t that it again?”
Nancy listened intently, but could hear nothing save the raging of the storm. The captain completed his toilet, and was about to leave the room when the door suddenly burst open, and a lad of about fourteen years of age sprang in.
“Father,” he cried, his eyes flashing with excitement, “there’s a brig on the sands, and they are going to launch the new lifeboat!”
“Whereaway is’t, lad?” asked Boyns, as he buttoned up his coat.
“To lee’ard of the breakwater.”
“Oh Harry, don’t be too venturesome,” cried Mrs Boyns earnestly, as her strapping boy was about to follow his father out into the pelting storm.
Harry, who was tall and strong for his age, and very like his father in many respects, turning round with a hearty smile, cried, “No fear, mother,” and next instant was gone.
The scene on the beach when father and son reached it was very impressive. So furious was the gale that it tore up sand and gravel and hurled it against the faces of the hardy men who dared to brave the storm. At times there were blasts so terrible that a wild shriek, as if of a storm-fiend, rent the air, and flakes of foam were whirled madly about. But the most awful sight of all was the seething of the sea as it advanced in a succession of great breaking “rollers” into the bay, and churned itself white among the rocks.