A score of watchers--in the distance they
looked like emmets--were gathered by the edge of the surf. But the
coast-guard had not arrived yet.
"The tide is ebbing, and the rocket may reach. Can you see anyone
aboard?"
Taffy spied through his hands, but could see no one. His father set
off running, and he followed, half-blinded by the rain, now
floundering in loose sand, now tripping in a rabbit hole. They had
covered three-fourths of the distance when Mr. Raymond pulled up and
waved his hat as the coast-guard carriage swept into view over a
ridge to the right and came plunging across the main valley of the
towans. It passed them close--the horses fetlock-deep in sand, with
heads down and heaving, smoking shoulders; the coast-guardsmen with
keen strong faces like heroes'--and the boy longed to copy his father
and send a cheer after them as they went galloping by. But something
rose in his throat.
He ran after the carriage, and reached the shore just as the first
rocket shot singing out towards the wreck. By this time at least a
hundred miners had gathered, and between their legs he caught a
glimpse of two figures stretched at length on the wet sand. He had
never looked on a dead body before. The faces of these were hidden
by the crowd; and he hung about the fringe of it dreading, and yet
courting, a sight of them.
The first rocket was swept down to leeward of the wreck.
Pages:
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131