A gale is an important event in a fishing town.  Independent of the interest naturally felt for the various craft belonging to the place which may happen to be afloat, there may be wrecks or other marine casualties to excite the interest or cupidity of the observer.

There was a tremendous tumbling sea rolling into the little bay, when I drew towards the pier.  At the further end was a group of persons in earnest conversation, whom I distinguished as the knowing ones and long-heads of the place; while their younger companions were engaged in parties walking briskly to and fro on the pier.  A tier of boats had been carefully drawn up high and dry beyond the wreck left by the last spring tide.  Four or five, however, were afloat, and lurching heavily alongside the pier, whither the tide had not long reached; the wind rattling amongst the masts, shrouds, and half-bent sails of some craft which had just run in for shelter from the impending storm.  My recent adventure had made me pretty well acquainted with most of the persons around:  and I learned that a ground swell had been observed along shore the preceding night.  This phenomenon is generally occasioned by a storm in the Atlantic, with a westerly wind; and it affords to the old fishermen an almost certain indication of approaching foul weather.

“A stiff bit of a gale, this same, Master Charles,” said an old tar, giving an energetic jerk to his trousers, “Ay, ay, old boy,” he replied, “this wind is not blowing for nothing, you may take my word for it; but if the Jane and the Susan hove in sight I’d not mind a bit for all that; we’ve not a stick afloat but her.”

“What! is Sam Clovelly[5] out this morning, Helston?” I anxiously inquired of the pilot, who was a manly, excellent sort of fellow.  He had grown grey with service, and there was something in the steady eye and calm decision of his look that marked him out as no common character.

    [5] See Mirror, No. 475.  “Dawlish’s Hole.”

“Yes, sir, we have no tidings of him yet, and the sky looking as black, yonder, as the face of a negro; but we’ll hope that he’s run out of harm’s way before now.”

As the morning waxed apace, the interest in the fate of the Jane and Susan became more evident amongst the by-standers.  Every stick that came in sight cut out conversation; but many an eye was cast anxiously to windward in vain for poor Sam Clovelly and his brother Arthur, who had been out since the preceding night.  Presently the two little orphan sisters of the missing men came upon the pier, and Helstone, the pilot, and some of the others anxiously endeavoured to cheer and console them.