rocket could fly, near these rocks no lifeboat could live. Even if she
could have lived, there was no crew to man her; all were away with the
fleet.

It was near low water now, and into the bay came driving a big boat that
rushed on the rocks at Fort Point, pounded there a brief second, and was
hurled by the following sea on to the beach, so nearly high and dry that
her crew, by the aid of lines, were readily saved. And then into view
through the welter came staggering a new boat, one whose first trip it
was, sore battered, but battling gallantly for life, and making
wonderful weather of it. Yet, even as hope told the flattering tale of
her certain safety, there came racing up astern a sea, gigantic even in
that giant sea, raced her, caught her, and, as it passed ahead, so
tilted her bows that the ballast slid aft, and down she sank by the
stern, so near to safety that betwixt ship and shore wife might
recognise husband and husband wife.

As at Eyemouth, so it was all down the coast. At Burnmouth, at Berwick
(though no boat belonging to Berwick that day was out), at Goswick Bay,
and elsewhere, boat after boat, driven before the fury of the gale, was
forced over by wind and sea, and sunk with all her crew, or was dashed
to pieces on the shore.

Night fell on Eyemouth; and, God, what a night! "In Rama was there a
voice heard, lamentation, and weeping, and great mourning; Rachel
weeping for her children, and would not be comforted, because they are
not."

By little and little, by ones and twos, boats, battered and with sails
torn to ribbons, with crews exhausted and distraught, kept arriving