arnes, the fisherman, said how many; but I
might be quite wrong in repeating it. One thing, at any rate, was within
my compass--it had been blowing to the top of its capacity, direct from
the sea, but now it began to blow quite as hard along the shore. This
rough ingratitude of wind to waves, which had followed each breath of
its orders, produced extraordinary passion, and raked them into pointed
wind-cocks.

"Captain, we can't live this out," cried Barnes; "we must run her ashore
at once; tide has turned; we might be blown out to sea, with one oar,
and then the Lord Himself couldn't save us."

Crippled as we were, we contrived to get into a creek, or backwater,
near the Major's gate. Here the men ran the boat up, and we all climbed
out, stiff, battered, and terrified, but doing our best to be most truly
thankful.

"Go home, Captain, as fast as you can, and take the young lady along of
you," said Mr. Barnes, as we stood and gazed at the weltering breadth of
disaster. "We are born to the drip, but not you, Sir; and you are not so
young as you was, you know."

"I am younger than ever I was," the lord of the manor answered, sternly,
yet glancing back to make sure of no interruption from his better
half--who had not even heard of his danger. "None of that nonsense to
me, Barnes. You know your position, and I know mine. On board of that
boat you took the lead, and that may have misled you. I am very much
obliged to you, I am sure, for all your skill and courage, which have
saved the lives of all of us. But on land you will just obey me."

"Sartinly, Captain. What's your orders?"

"Nothing at all. I give no orders. I only make suggestions. But if your
experience sees a way to recover those two poor bodies, let us try it
at once--at once, Barnes. Erema, run home. This is no scene for you. And
tell Margaret to put on the double-bottomed boiler, with the stock she
made on Friday, and a peck of patent pease. There is nothing to beat pea
soup; and truly one never knows what may happen."

This was only too evident now, and nobody disobeyed him.

Running up his "drive" to deliver that message, at one of the many
bends I saw people from Bruntsea hurrying along a footpath through the
dairy-farm. While the flood continued this was their only way to meet
the boat's crew. On the steps of "Smuggler's Castle" (as Bruntlands
House was still called by the wicked) I turned again, and the new
sea-line was fringed with active searchers