“That there saving service couldn’t ha’ done nothin’ agin’ a wreck on Ragged Rock if they wanted to,” observed the old captain (they called him Captain Hap), peering from the wagon towards the harbor shore. “It’s jest’s I told ye; they’re too fur--five mile across.” “But why is there no station nearer?” demanded Bayard with the warmth of inexperience. “Why is nothing put over here--if this reef is so bad--where it is needed?” “Wall,” said Captain Hap, with deliberation, “that’s a nateral question for a land-lubber. Every seaman knows there ain’t no _need_ of gettin’ wrecked on that there reef. It’s as plain as the beard on your face. Windover Light to the west’ard, Twin Lights to the east’ard,--a fog bell, and a bell-buoy, and a whistlin’-buoy,--Lord! why, _everybody_ knows how to keep off Ragged Rock!” “Then how did this vessel happen to strike?” persisted Bayard. The men interchanged glances, and no one answered him. “Hi there! Look, look! I see her! I see her spars!” yelled a young fellow on the front seat of the wagon. “It’s her! It’s the Clara Em!... Lord A’mighty! what in ---- was they thinkin’ of? She’s got on full canvas! See her! see her! see her! See her lights! It’s _her_, and she’s bumpin’ on the reef!” Cries of horror ran from lip to lip. The driver lashed his horses onward, and the men in the wagons flung their lanterns to and fro in uncontrollable excitement. Some leaped over the wheels and ran shouting against the gale. “Clara Em, ahoy! Clara Em, aho--o--oy!” But the old woman at Bayard’s feet sat still. Her lips only moved. She stared straight ahead. “Is she praying? or freezing? Perhaps she’s out of her mind,” thought Bayard. He gently pulled her blanket-shawl closer over her bare head, and wrapped it around her before he sprang from the wagon. VIII. There was but little depth of snow upon the downs and cliffs, but such as remained served to reflect and to magnify all possible sources of light. These were few enough and sorely needed. The Windover Light, a revolving lantern of the second power, is red and strong. It flashed rapidly, now blood-red and now lamp-black. Bayard thought of the pillar of fire and cloud that led the ancient people. There should have been by rights a moon; and breaks in battalions of clouds, at rare intervals, let through a shimmer paler than darkness, though darker than light. Such a reduction of the black tone of the night had mercifully befallen, when the staggering wagons clattered and stopped upon the large, oval pebbles of the beach.