The shock of her striking the sand was terrific, though the tinkle of the
bell borne in on the gale showed that the engines had been slowed down. The funnels were shaken down, and the masts broke off, falling forward. A
wild shriek from a hundred throats cleft the roaring of wind and wave. The mast fell, the foremast, with all its cumbering top-hamper on the
bridge, which was in an instant blotted out of existence, together with
the little band of gallant men who stood on it, true to their last duty. As the wind took the smoke south a man was seen to climb on the wreck of
the mast aft and make fast the end of a great coil of rope which he
carried. He was a huge man with a full dark beard. Two sailors working
with furious haste helped him with the rope. The waves kept raising the
ship a little, each time bumping her on the sand with a shock. The
people on deck held frantically to the wreckage around them. Then the bearded man, stripping to his waist and cutting off his trousers
above the knee, fastened an end of the rope round his waist. The sailors
stood ready one behind the other to pay it out. As a great wave rolled
under the ship, he threw himself into the sea. In the meantime the coastguard had fixed Board of Trade rocket-apparatus,
and in a few seconds the prolonged roar of a rocket was heard. It flew
straight towards the ship, rising at a high angle so as to fall beyond
it. But the force of the wind took it up as it rose, and the gale
increased so that it rose nearly vertically; and in this position the
wind threw it south of its objective, and short of it. Another rocket
was got ready at once, and blue lights were burned so that the course of
the venturous swimmer might be noted. He swam strongly; but the great
weight of the rope behind kept pulling him back, and the southern trend
of the tide current and the force of the wind kept dragging him from the
pier. Within the bar the waves were much less than without; but they
were still so unruly that no boat in the harbour--which was not a
lifeboat station--could venture out. Indeed, in the teeth of the storm
it would have been a physical impossibility to have driven one seaward. As the gathered crowd saw Stephen approach they made way for her. She
had left her horse with the groom, and despite the drenching spray fought
a way against the wind out on the pier. As in the glare of the blue
light, which brought many things into harsh unnatural perspective, she
caught sight of the set face of the swimmer rising and falling with the
waves, her heart leaped. This was indeed a man! a brave man; and all the
woman in her went out to him. For him, and to aid him and his work, she
would have given everything, done anything; and in her heart, which beat
in an ecstasy of anxiety, she prayed with that desperate conviction of
hope which comes in such moments of exaltation. But it soon became apparent that no landing could be effected. The force
of the current and the wind were taking the man too far southward for him
ever to win a way back. Then one of coastguards took the lead-topped
cane which they use for throwing practice, and, after carefully coiling
the line attached it so that it would run free, managed with a desperate
effort to fling it far out. The swimmer, to whom it fell close, fought
towards it frantically; and as the cord began to run through the water,
managed to grasp it. A wild cheer rose from the shore and the ship. A
stout line was fastened to the shore end of the cord, and the swimmer
drew it out to him. He bent it on the rope which trailed behind him;
then, seeing that he was himself a drag on it, with the knife which he
drew from the sheath at the back of his waist, he cut himself free. One
of the coastguards on the pier, helped by a host of willing hands, began
drawing the end of the rope on shore. The swimmer still held the line
thrown to him, and several men on the pier began to draw on it. Unhappily
the thin cord broke under the strain, and within a few seconds the
swimmer had drifted out of possible help. Seeing that only wild rocks
lay south of the sea-wall, and that on them seas beat furiously, he
turned and made out for sea. In the light beyond the glare he could see
vaguely the shore bending away to the west in a deep curve of unbroken
white leaping foam. There was no hope of landing there. To the south
was the headland, perhaps two miles away as the crow flies. Here was the
only chance for him. If he could round the headland, he might find
shelter beyond; or somewhere along the farther shore some opening might
present itself. Whilst the light from the blue fires still reached him
he turned and made for the headland. In the meantime on ship and on shore men worked desperately. Before long
the end of the hawser was carried round on the high cliff, and pulled as
taut as the force at hand could manage, and made fast. Soon endless
ropes were bringing in passengers and crew as fast as place could be
found for them. It became simply a race for time. If the fire, working
against the wind, did not reach the hawser, and if the ship lasted the
furious bumping on the sandbank, which threatened to shake her to pieces
each moment, all on board might yet be saved. Stephen's concern was now for the swimmer alone. Such a gallant soul
should not perish without help, if help could be on this side of heaven. She asked the harbour-master, an old fisherman who knew every inch of the
coast for miles, if anything could be done. He shook his head sadly as
he answered:

'I fear no, my lady. The lifeboat from Granport is up north, no boat
from here could get outside the harbour. There's never a spot in the bay
where he could land, even in a less troubled sea than this. Wi' the wind
ashore, there's no hope for ship or man here that cannot round the point. And a stranger is no like to do that.' 'Why not?' she asked breathlessly. 'Because, my lady, there's a wheen o' sunken rocks beyond the Head. No
one that didn't know would ever think to keep out beyond them, for the
cliff itself goes down sheer. He's a gallant soul yon; an' it's a sore
pity he's goin' to his death. But it must be! God can save him if He
wishes; but I fear none other!' Even as he spoke rose to Stephen's mind a memory of an old churchyard
with great trees and the scent of many flowers, and a child's voice that
sounded harsh through the monotonous hum of bees:

'To be God, and able to do things!' Oh; to be God, if but an hour; and able to do things! To do anything to
help a brave man! A wild prayer surged up in the girl's heart:

'Oh! God, give me this man's life! Give it to me to atone for the other
I destroyed! Let me but help him, and do with me as Thou wilt!' The passion of her prayer seemed to help her, and her brain cleared. Surely something could be done! She would do what she could; but first
she must understand the situation. She turned again to the old harbour-
master:

'How long would it take him to reach the headland, if he can swim so
far?'