“Bray-ay-kers! Duke--Tell Hunch!” Buckingham crawled aft. “Hunch! Bray-ay-kers!” “Breakers be----!” “Herm----” It was hard for Buckingham to hold his excitement, hard for him to hold to anything. “Herm, he says---” Badeau's eyes rested on the pitiable object before him, then peered into the dark ahead. A flash came into his drawn face. “Stand by to come about!” Buckingham gazed stupidly. Hunch plunged forward and gave him a kick that sent him stumbling forward. “Ready about!”-Peabody was sliding down a stay-“Ready about!--Hard a lee!”--The men up forward could not hear him, could hardly see him; but Buckingham was fumbling with the lee jib-sheet. She swung a little way, wavered, then, caught in the rush of the surf, missed stays and floundered broadside on a bar. And the waves came pounding in over the rail. When the morning came they were lashed in the forerigging. The mainmast was gone, the after-cabin was razed off flush with the deck, and the seas flowed at will through the hold. “Can you make out where we are, Hunch?” “Off Clinton.” “They'll see us here then?” “The ------ they will. There ain't nobody lives there.” “Not in Clinton?” “Not a soul--. There's the Liddington piers, below.” “But there ain't nobody on watch.” “No--station's closed.” “Hold on though--what's that?” “Over the pier--little sails?” “Yes.” “That's the life-boat.” “No.” “Sure it is.” “Well, I'll be------!” murmured Peabody fervently. “The fools--they'll never make it without a tug.” “Couldn't never get a tug out there.” “Here they come! Is it the surf-boat?” “Not much. It's the big English boat. Surf-boat don't carry any sail.” “They've cleared the piers! Must be a volunteer crew. What's the matter with 'em?” “Too much sea--can't use the rudder. See there--rudder's up in the air.” “Duke--Hi, wake up! They're coming, Duke!” Buckingham groaned. “See' em turning 'round--they can't manage her!” Badeau shook his head. The life-boat, while they watched, was caught up on the foaming crest of a wave, whirled around and jammed against the end of the pier. She fell back with the wave, then, freed in some way from her short masts, she rolled completely over on her high round air-tanks, and righting, pitched about, buoyant as ever. “See that? Did you see, Hunch? She went over!” “Shut up, will you?” “Look there--they're throwing ropes. My nephew--I've got a nephew on that crew, Hunch.” “He'd better look out for his uncle, then.” “See 'em bobbing around. Must be they've got cork jackets on.” By some unseen agency the boat was got back between the piers, and the bobbing figures disappeared. The excitement passed; the beach, strewn with wreckage and driftwood, and backed by sand hills and stunted pines, looked bleaker than ever: the wind penetrated to their bones. “What do you think o' that, Hunch? What do you think 'll become----” “Oh, shut up!” An hour--two hours--and nothing but the roar of the surf, the endless white beach, the low sky.