Happily the storm did not increase in violence, and when morning broke it was found that although many of the vessels had dragged their anchors, and some damage had been done by collisions, none had gone ashore.  The knowledge, however, of how heavy a sea got up in a gale of even moderate force, and how frightfully dangerous was the position of the vessels, would, it might be thought, have served as a lesson, but unhappily it did not do so.  The naval officer who was in charge of the harbor was obstinate, and again refused the request of the masters of many of the transports that the shipping might all be allowed to enter the harbor.  He refused, and upon him is the responsibility of the terrible loss of life which ensued.  On the 14th the wind again began to rise, and the sailors, as night came on, looked over the sea.

“We are going to have a bad night of it again,” the officer in command of the post said, as he gazed seaward.  “It looks as wild a night as ever I saw.  Look how fast the scud is flying overhead.  Last week’s gale was a stiff one, but, unless I’m mistaken, it will be nothing to that which is upon us.”

Louder and louder roared the wind, till men could scarce keep their feet outside shelter.  The tents shook and rocked.  Men could hardly hear each other’s voices above the storm, and even in the darkness of night the sheets of foam could be seen dashing up to the very walls of the castle.

Jack Archer and Dick Hawtry, who with two other midshipmen occupied a tent, sat listening awe-struck to the fury of the gale.  There was a gust fiercer than usual, accompanied by a crack like the sound of a pistol, followed by a stifled shout.

“There’s a tent down!” Hawtry exclaimed, “and I shouldn’t wonder—­”

He did not finish, for at the moment the pole of their own tent broke asunder like a pipe, and in an instant the four were buried beneath the folds of the canvas.  With much shouting and laughter they struggled to the entrance and made their way out.  Half the tents were already levelled to the ground, and ten minutes later not one remained standing.  The midshipmen crowded into the turf huts which some of the officers had had erected.  Scarcely had they entered, when there was the boom of a heavy gun.

“I thought so,” Dick Hawtry said.  “There’s the first of them.  How many more will there be before morning?”

The door opened, and a sailor put in his head.

“Gentlemen, the captain says you are to turn out.  He’s going to take a party down to the castle with ropes.”

In a few minutes a hundred men mustered, and moved down the hill.  So fierce was the gale that, during the squalls, it was impossible to keep themselves on their feet, and all had to lie down till the fury of the gust had passed.  It was pitch dark, and they groped rather than made their way along.  Fast now, one after another, came the sound of the signal guns.

“There must be a dozen of them adrift,” Dick shouted into his friend’s ear during one of the lulls.  “God help them all; what will become of them?  A ship would be dashed to pieces like an eggshell against these cliffs.”