Our boat, with strong arms laboring for life, swept round the old gable
of the ruin; but we were compelled to "give it wide berth," as Captain
Barnes shouted; and then a black squall of terrific wind and hail burst
forth. We bowed our heads and drew our bodies to their tightest compass,
and every rib of our boat vibrated as a violin does; and the oars were
beaten flat, and dashed their drip into fringes like a small-toothed
comb.

That great squall was either a whirlwind or the crowning blast of a
hurricane. It beat the high waves hollow, as if it fell from the sky
upon them; and it snapped off one of our oars at the hilt, so that two
of our men rolled backward. And when we were able to look about again
the whole roof of "Desolate Hole" was gone, and little of the walls left
standing. And how we should guide our course, or even save our lives, we
knew not.

We were compelled to bring up--as best we might--with the boat's head
to the sea, and so to keep it by using the steering gear against the
surviving oar. As for the people we were come to save, there was no
chance whatever of approaching them. Even without the mishap to the oar,
we never could have reached them.

And indeed when first we saw them again they seemed better off than
ourselves were. For they were not far from dry land, and the man (a
skillful and powerful swimmer) had a short piece of plank, which he knew
how to use to support his weak companion.

"Brave fellow! fine fellow!" the Major cried, little knowing whom he was
admiring. "See how he keeps up his presence of mind! Such a man as that
is worth any thing. And he cares more for her than he does for himself.
He shall have the Society's medal. One more long and strong stroke, my
noble friend. Oh, great God! what has befallen him?"

In horror and pity we gazed. The man had been dashed against something
headlong. He whirled round and round in white water, his legs were
thrown up, and we saw no more of him. The woman cast off the plank, and
tossed her helpless arms in search of him. A shriek, ringing far on
the billowy shore, declared that she had lost him; and then, without a
struggle, she clasped her hands, and the merciless water swallowed her.

"It is all over," cried Major Hockin, lifting his drenched hat solemnly.
"The Lord knoweth best. He has taken them home."

CHAPTER LV

A DEAD LETTER

With that great tornado, the wind took a leap of more points of the
compass than I can tell. B