disaster everywhere. The sailors and fishermen of Pencastle all turned
out on the rocks and cliffs and watched eagerly. Presently, by a flash
of lightning, a 'ketch' was seen drifting under only a jib about
half-a-mile outside the port. All eyes and all glasses were concentrated
on her, waiting for the next flash, and when it came a chorus went up
that it was the _Lovely Alice_, trading between Bristol and Penzance,
and touching at all the little ports between. 'God help them!' said the
harbour-master, 'for nothing in this world can save them when they are
between Bude and Tintagel and the wind on shore!' The coastguards
exerted themselves, and, aided by brave hearts and willing hands, they
brought the rocket apparatus up on the summit of the Flagstaff Rock.
Then they burned blue lights so that those on board might see the
harbour opening in case they could make any effort to reach it. They
worked gallantly enough on board; but no skill or strength of man could
avail. Before many minutes were over the _Lovely Alice_ rushed to her
doom on the great island rock that guarded the mouth of the port. The
screams of those on board were faintly borne on the tempest as they
flung themselves into the sea in a last chance for life. The blue lights
were kept burning, and eager eyes peered into the depths of the waters
in case any face could be seen; and ropes were held ready to fling out
in aid. But never a face was seen, and the willing arms rested idle.
Eric was there amongst his fellows. His old Icelandic origin was never
more apparent than in that wild hour. He took a rope, and shouted in the
ear of the harbour-master:

'I shall go down on the rock over the seal cave. The tide is running up,
and someone may drift in there!'

'Keep back, man!' came the answer. 'Are you mad? One slip on that rock
and you are lost: and no man could keep his feet in the dark on such a