“It’s good it doesn’t rain,” went on the theatrical man; “though I think it’s going to, soon. We’ll have to get up on some elevation to avoid the spray.”
Down the beach they made their way, to be joined presently by the band of sturdy fishermen.
“There she is!” cried old Abe, as he pointed out to sea. “There she is, blowing and drifting in fast. And right toward the Dolphin Rocks, too—the worst place on the beach!” They all gazed toward the doomed vessel, that was now much nearer shore. Blake even thought he could descry figures on deck, clinging to the stumps of masts.
CHAPTER XXIV
OUT OF THE WRECK
“Here come the life savers!” cried Blake a little later, as through the spray that flew over the beach a party of men, in yellow oilskins, could be seen dragging something over the sand.
“Yes, and few enough of ’em there are to do the work,” said old Abe Haskill. “The government ought to put more men at the station.”
“Some were hurt, trying to launch the boat this morning,” said Joe.