While the surf boomed and the wind roared, the captain sighted the gun—­aided by Nos. 1 and 2 of the crew—­aiming for the outstretched arms of the yards of the wrecked vessel.  With the wind blowing at an almost hurricane rate, it was a difficult shot, but long practice under all kinds of difficulties had taught the captain just how to aim.  As he pulled the lanyard, the little bronze cannon spit out fire viciously, and the long projectile, to which had been attached the end of the coiled line, sailed off on its errand of mercy.  With a whir the line spun out of the box coil after coil, while the crew peered out over the breaking seas to see if the keeper’s aim was true.  At last the line stopped uncoiling and the life-savers knew that the shot had landed somewhere.  For a time nothing happened, the slender rope reached out into the boiling waves, but no answering tugs conveyed messages to the waiting surfmen from the wrecked seamen.

At length the line began to slip through the fingers of the keeper who held it and moved seaward, so those on shore knew that the rope had been found and its use understood.  The line carried out by the projectile served merely to drag out a heavy rope on which was run a sort of trolley carrying a breeches-buoy or sling.

The men on the wreck understood the use of the apparatus, or read the instructions printed in several languages with which the heavy rope was tagged.  They made the end of the strong line fast to the mast well above the reach of the hungry seas, and the surfmen secured their end to the deeply buried sand-anchor, an inverted V-shaped crotch placed under the rope holding it above the water on the shore end.  When this had been done, as much of the slack was taken up as possible, and the wreck was connected with the beach with a kind of suspension bridge.

All this occupied much time, for the hands of the sailors were numb with cold, the ropes stiff with ice, while the wild and angry wind snatched at the tackle and tore at the clinging figures.

In a trice the willing arms on shore hauled out the buoy by means of an endless line reaching out to the wreck and back to shore.  Then with a joy that comes only to those who are saving a fellow-creature from death, the life-savers saw a man climb into the stout canvas breeches of the hanging buoy, and felt the tug on the whip-line that told them that the rescue had begun.  With a will they pulled on the line, and the buoy, carrying its precious burden, rolled along the hawser, swinging in the wind, and now and then dipping the half-frozen man in the crests of the waves.  It seemed a perilous journey, but as long as the wreck held together and the mast remained firmly upright the passengers on this improvised aerial railway were safe.

One after the other the crew were taken ashore in this way, the life-savers hauling the breeches-buoy forward and back, working like madmen to complete their work before the wreck should break up.  None too soon the last man was landed, for he had hardly been dragged ashore when the sturdy mast, being able to stand the buffeting of the waves no longer, toppled over and floated ashore.