Tom Barcus mourned a brave man and loyal friend. …
So slowly did the current bring the lifeboat toward the beach and so still was the tide that neither appreciated they were near land until the bows grounded with a slight jar and a grating sound.
With a cry of "Land, by all that's lucky!" Barcus jumped up, then stooping, lent the girl a hand, and helped her to her feet. Then sandy beach was revealed to their wondering eyes, backed by a looming wall of rock whose top was lost in vapour.
Hardly had Rose found time to comprehend this good fortune, when Barcus was over the side and dragging the boat up on the shoals. Then lifting Rose down, he set her on dry land, rummaged out anchor and cable and planted the former well up under the foot of the cliff.
As he rose from this last labour, the westering sun broke through the fog. In less than five minutes thereafter the wind had rolled the fog back and sent it spinning far out to sea, while the shore was deluged with sunlight bright and deliciously warm.
"You're about all in?"
She nodded confirmation of what was no more than simple truth.
"Where are we?" she added.
He could only make her party to his own perplexity.
