“Keep it for Johnny,” she said, “till he gets ashore.” It was the only thing she had been heard to say that night. She pushed the ginger away, and crawled back to her solitary station on the cliff. Some one said: “Let be! Let her be!” And some one else said:-- “Whar’s the use?” At that moment a voice arose:-- “There’s the cap’n! There’s Joe Salt, cap’n of the Clara Em! He’s acrosst the bowsprit signalin’! He’s tryin’ to communicate!” “We haven’t seen another living figure moving across that vessel,” said Bayard, whose inexperience was as much perplexed as his humanity was distressed and thwarted by the situation. “I see one man--on the bows--yes. But where are the rest? You don’t suppose they’re washed overboard already?--Oh, this is horrible!” he cried. He was overwhelmed at the comparative, almost indifferent calmness of his fellow-townsmen. The light-keeper and the old captain had run out upon the reef. They held both hands to their ears. The shouts from the vessel continued. Every man held his breath. The whirling blast, like the cone of a mighty phonograph, bore a faint articulation from the wreck. “Oh!” cried the young minister. “He says they’re all sunk!” He was shocked to hear a laugh issue from the lips of Captain Hap, and to see, in the light of the fire, something like a smile upon the keeper’s face. “You don’t understand, sir,” said one of the fishermen respectfully. “He says they’re all--” “May as well out with it, Bob,” said another. “The parson’s got to get his initiation someways. Cap’n Salt says they’re drunk, sir. The crew of the Clara Em is all drunk.” At this moment a terrible shriek rang above the roar of the storm. It came from the old woman on the top of the cliff. Her eyes had been the first, but they were not the only ones now, to perceive the signs of arousing life upon the wreck. A second man was seen to climb across the bows, to pause for an instant, and then to plunge. He went out of sight in a moment. The inrolling surf glittered in the blaze of the bonfires like a cataract of flame. The swimmer reappeared, struggled, threw up his arms and disappeared. “I have stood this as long as I can,” said Bayard in a low, firm voice. “Give me a rope! Tie it around me, some of you, and hold on! I’m going to try to save that man.” “I’ll go, myself,” said one of the fishermen slowly. “Bob,” replied the minister, “how many children have you?” “Eleven, sir.” “Stay where you are, then,” said Bayard. “Such things are for lonely men.” “Bring the rope!” he commanded. “Tie it yourselves--you know how--in one of your sailor’s knots; something that will hold. I’m a good swimmer. I saved a man once on a yachting trip. Quick, there! Faster!” “There’s another!” cried the light-keeper. “There’s a second feller jumped overboard--swimming for his life! Look, look, look! He’s sunk--no he ain’t, he ain’t! He’s bearing down against the rocks--My God! Look at him, look, look, look!”