--It was the hour
which makes all that man can do seem as nothing in the mournful
darkness, causing his works to vanish and be as if they had not been.
At this hour the heart of man may be powerfully stirred, by an anguish,
a prayer, or perhaps--a fragrance.
The harbor master, uttering a brief cry, dropped to his knees and
remained mute, his arms extended toward the sea in a gesture of
reconcilement.
On that night the _Sally Lunn_, Cap'n Sam Dreed, was wrecked on the
sands of Pull-an'-be-Damned.
Rackby, who had fallen into a deep sleep, lying northeast and southwest,
was awakened by a hand smiting his door in, and a wailing outside of the
Old Roke busy with his agonies. In a second his room was full of
crowding seamen, at their head Peter Loud, bearing in his arms the
dripping form of Caddie Sills. He laid her gently on the couch.
"Where did you break up?" whispered Rackby. He trembled like a leaf.
"Pull-an'-be-Damned," said Deep-water Peter. "The Cap'n's gone. He
didn't come away. Men can say what they like of Sam Dreed; he wouldn't
come into the boat. I'll tell all the world that."
The crew of the wrecked ship stood heaving and glittering in their oils,
plucking their beards with a sense of trespass, hearing the steeple
clock tick, and water drum on the worn floor.
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