There is smooth water inshore; but half a mile or so out eastward there
runs a low range of rocks. One night a terrible storm broke on the
coast. The sea rose, and beat so furiously on the shore that the spray
flew over the Fisher Row, and yellow sea foam was blown in patches over
the fields. The waters beyond the shore were all in a white turmoil,
save where, far off, the grey clouds laid their shoulders to the sea
and threw down leaden shadows. Most of the ships had gone south about;
but one little brig got stuck hard-and-fast on the ledge of rocks that
runs below the village. She had eight men aboard of her, and these had
to take to the rigging; where the people on shore heard them shouting.
It is a fearful kind of noise, the crying of men in a wrecked ship.
Morning broke, and the weather was wilder than ever. There was no
lifeboat in the place, and it was plain that the vessel could not stand
the rage of the breakers much longer. It was hard to see the ship at
all, the spray came in so thickly. The women were crying and wringing
their hands on the bank; but that was of small avail. However, one
little trouting-boat lay handy, and her owner determined to go off in
her to the brig. He was a fine fellow to look at--quite a remarkable
specimen of a man, indeed. Without any flurry, without a sign of emotion
on his face, he said, "Who's coming?" His two sons stepped out, and the
boat was moved towards the water's edge.

Just then a carter came down to look at the wreck. The carter's mare was
terror-stricken by the wrath of the sea, and galloped down the beach. In
passing the coble the mare plunged, and the axle-tree of the cart staved
in the head of the boat below the water-line. This was very bad; but the
leader of the forlorn hope did not give himself time to waver. Taking
off his coat, he stuffed it into the hole; and then, calling in another
volunteer, he said, "Sit against that." The men took their places very
coolly, and the little boat was thrust out amid the broken water. Amidst