The fog, which is shy of a gale, especially at that season of the year, had not yet come in, and the vessel could be clearly seen. She lay upon the reef, broadside to the breakers; she did not pitch, but, to a nautical eye, her air of repose was the bad thing about her. She was plainly held fast. Her red port-light, still burning, showed as each wave went down, and the gray outlines of her rigging could be discerned. Her foremast had broken off about five feet from the deck, and the spar, held by the rigging, was ramming the sides of the vessel. The astonishing rumor was literally true. The Clara Em--one of the famous fishermen of which Windover was too proud to be vain; the Clara Em, newly-built and nobly furnished, none of your old-time schooners, clumsy of hulk and rotten of timbers, but the fastest runner on the coast, the stanchest keel that cleft the harbor, fine in her lines as a yacht, and firm in her beams as an ocean steamer--the Clara Em, fearing neither gods nor men nor weather, and bound for Georges’ on a three weeks’ fresh-fishing trip, had deliberately weighed anchor in the teeth of a March southeaster, and had flung all her clean, green-white sails to the gale. As nearly as could be made out from the shore, she had every stitch up, and not a reef to her face, and she lay over against the rock like a great eagle whose wings were broken. Even a landsman could comprehend the nature of this dare-devil act; and Bayard, running to lend a hand to slide the dory from the wagon, uttered an exclamation of indignant horror. “How did this happen? Were they mad?” “Full,” replied the old captain laconically. “Yes, I see she’s under full sail. But why?” he persisted innocently. The old captain, with a curious expression, flashed a lantern in the young minister’s face, but made no reply. Cries could now be heard from the vessel; for the wind, being dead off, bore sounds from sea to shore which could by no means travel from shore to sea. Ragged Rock was a rough spot in the kindest weather; and in that gale, and with the wind in that direction, the roar and power of the surf were great. But it should be remembered that the blow had not been of long duration; hence the sea was not what it would be in a few hours if the gale should hold. In this fact lay the only possible chance of extending rescue in any form to the shipwrecked crew. “Clara Em! Aho--oy--oy!” yelled a dozen voices. But the united throats of all Windover could not have made themselves articulate to the straining ears upon the schooner. “Where’s yer crew? Show up, there! Can’t ye do _nothin’_ for yerselves? Where’s yer dories? Hey? What? Clara Em! Aho--oy--oy!” “They’re deef as the two years’ drownded,” said the old captain. “An’ they ain’t two hundred feet from shore.” “Why, then, surely we can save them!” cried Bayard joyfully. But no man assented to the cheerful words.