The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1906-11-16
MAT THE WRECK.M NV
Y - +; IF: ':;:;! N
By AGNES LOUISE PROVOST.


broken in health, and was away for
long rest.
In spite of her warm wraps, Jean
began to feel chilled before the first
mile was covered. AS she reached
home, few scurrying snowflakes be-
gan to fall, and she looked anxiously
out at the heaving sea, remembering
what Captain Trail had said.
Jean found it almost impossible to
sleep that night. The noise of the
sea had deepened into heavy roar,
and the wind buffeted the house until
every timber seemed to be squeak
ing protest. Half a dozen times she
awoke, and the last time, about
o'clock in the morning, it was with a
new sound il her ears, a muf1ed
boom, which was neither sea nor
wind AS she flew out of bed she
heard it again, and moment later
her brother Dick pounded on her
door.
"Hey, Jean! Did you hear the sig
nal-guns? There's wreck! We're
going!"
ooh, wait for me! I'll be there in
two minutes! Do wait!"
well, you must hurry! We have
work to do
Dick bounded down the hall to
complete his own hasty toilet, and
jeans fingers flew. Every hook and
button seemed to escape her excited
grasp, but nevertheless she was down
stairs in an incredibly short time,
bundled in her warmest wraps. She
clutched at her fathers arm as they
started out, half-frightened by the
blackness and violence of the storm.
Dick and Will were running ahead,
and they gave a shout as a rocket
suddenly shot up offshore.
"She's right off here!" Dick called
back. Captain Trail has two miles
to come! Let's go meet him and help
drag up the stuff
They turned abruptly down toward
the life-saving station, but they had
not gone far before they met Captain
Trail and the two Prices, dragging
the little mortar as they ran, painting
with haste and looming up like huge
bears in their Oil suits. Captain Trail
shook his head as Mr.. Redfield shout
ed question to him over the tumult
of wind and waves.
cts pretty bad!" he roared back,
hoarsely. There amt a boat made
that could be launched or landed in
that surf. We've got the breeches-
buoy, but don't know how we're go
ing to get line to 'em IN this wind!
Come on. she may go to pieces any
minute"
Jean shuddered, but in spite of her.
self her heart gave a leap of excite
ment. The breeches-buoy! How
many times she had lowered around
it in the life-saving station, getting
Captain Trail to tell her how it was
that people came ashore in that little
thing, with only rope above them
and black and boiling surf beneath!
She would see it! If human hands
could do it this night, she would see
that shipwrecked crew come ashore
in it, one by one, over that bowling
tumult of waves. She was almost
crying with excitement as she looked
over toward the dim figures of her
father and the boys, and thought that
they were lending a generous hand to
this fine work.
Another rocket went up from the
distressed vessel, and Captain Trail
sent up an answering signal from the
shore, volunteering the shouted opin-
ion that she was a three-masted
schooner, and by her location must
be grounded and in momentary dan
ger of being pounded to kindling-
wood, but to Jean there was nothing
but shapeless blot against the dark
ness. Ugh! How cold it was!
With terrible earnestness the men
ON shore bent to their work. In the
gloom their faces were strained and
anxious, and Captain Trails quick
orders showed him an entirely differ
ent man from the bluff, good-natured
sailor of the afternoon before. One
-two-three-f life-rock-
cts scared out one by one toward the
vessel, but each time the wind sent
the rescuing line wide of its mark.
Captain Trail shook his head impa-
tiently, and tossed the sixth life
rocket aside, turning his attention to
the hooked projectile which the life
saving mortar threw out. Perhaps
that would do better.
Jean shivered and drew her wraps
closer. The darkness was slowly be-
ginning to lift, although she could
not yet distinguish the outlines of the
unfortunate vessel.
The snow of the afternoon before
had turned to fine sleety rain,
which froze as it fell; the waves were
mountains of angry foam, and a fly
ing spume cut the face like needles.
Little icicles dripped everywhere. How
terrible it must be for the poor souls
out there!
Suddenly the slender line was shot