They stood on the top of a cliff on the southern coast of England, which, circling round from the north-west to the south-east, formed a broad deep bay, terminated on the further side by a bluff headland, and on the other by a rocky point, a ledge partly under water extending beyond it.
The bay was indeed a dangerous place to enter with so heavy a gale from the south-west as was now blowing.
Lieutenant Pack and his young nephew Edward Garth were returning home from an errand of mercy to an old fisherman who had been severely injured by the upsetting of his boat, in a vain endeavour to go off to a coaster in distress, which foundered in sight of land, when he was washed on shore amid the fragments of his boat, narrowly escaping with his life. Although the fisherman’s cottage was upwards of two miles off, the old lieutenant trudged daily over to see him, and on this occasion had been accompanied by his nephew, carrying a basket containing certain delicacies prepared by the kind hands of Miss Sarah Pack, or sister Sally, as he was wont to call her. He and his nephew had started later than usual, and the gloom of an autumn evening had overtaken them when they were still some distance from home. He had caught sight of the vessel, apparently a large brig, and had at once perceived her dangerous position.
For some time he and his nephew stood watching the stranger from the cliff.
“Here she comes again!” cried Ned.
“She made out the land sooner than I expected she would,” observed the lieutenant; “but she’ll scarcely weather the point even now, unless the wind shifts. She can’t do it—she can’t do it!” he cried, striking the ground in his eagerness with his stick. “Run on, Ned, to the coast-guard station. If you meet one of the men, tell him, in case he hasn’t seen her, that I think the vessel will be on shore before long. But if you fall in with no one, go and let Lieutenant Hanson know what I say, and he’ll get his rockets ready, so as to be prepared to assist the crew whenever the vessel may strike. Take care, Ned, though, not to fall over the cliff—keep well away from it. On a dark night you cannot see the path clearly, and in many spots, remember, it ends abruptly in places where it wouldn’t do to tumble down. I cannot spare you, my boy.”
While the lieutenant was shouting out these latter sentences, Edward, eager to obey his uncle’s directions, had got to a considerable distance; he, however, very soon came back.
“I met one of the men, uncle,” he said, “and he went on to the station faster than I could in the dark, as he knows the short cuts.”
“Come along then, we’ll keep an eye on the brig as we walk homeward,” said the lieutenant. “I pray that after all she may claw off the land, although she will have a hard job to do it.”
The old officer and the boy proceeded on the way they had previously been pursuing. They had gone some distance when they saw a light approaching them.