The cart was forced up the slope—­two men at the wheels, the others straining ahead—­the gun lifted out and set, Polhemus ramming the charge home, Captain Holt sighting the piece; there came a belching sound, a flash of dull light, and a solid shot carrying a line rose in the air, made a curve like a flying rocket, and fell athwart the wreck between her forestay and jib.  A cheer went up from the men about the gun.  When this line was hauled in and the hawser attached to it made fast high up on the mainmast and above the raging sea, and the car run off to the wreck, the crew could be landed clear of the surf and the slam of the cord-wood.

At the fall of the line the man in the slouch hat was seen to edge himself forward in an attempt to catch it.  The two men in the rigging kept their hold.  The men around the cart sprang for the hawser and tally-blocks to rig the buoy, when a dull cry rose from the wreck.  To their horror they saw the mainmast waver, flutter for a moment, and sag over the schooner’s side.  The last hope of using the life-car was gone!  Without the elevation of the mast and with nothing but the smashed hull to make fast to, the shipwrecked men would be pounded into pulp in the attempt to drag them through the boil of wreckage.

“Haul in, men!” cried the captain.  “No use of another shot; we can’t drag ’em through that surf!”

“I’ll take my chances,” said Green, stepping forward.  “Let me, cap’n.  I can handle ’em if they haul in the slack and make fast.”

“No, you can’t,” said the captain calmly.  “You couldn’t get twenty feet from shore.  We got to wait till the tide cleans this wood out.  It’s workin’ right now.  They kin stand it for a while.  Certain death to bring ’em through that smother—­that stuff’d knock the brains out of ’em fast as they dropped into it.  Signal to ’em to hang on, Parks.”

An hour went by—­an hour of agony to the men clinging to the grounded schooner, and of impatience to the shore crew, who were powerless.  The only danger was of exhaustion to the shipwrecked men and the breaking up of the schooner.  If this occurred there was nothing left but a plunge of rescuing men through the surf, the life of every man in his hand.

The beach began filling up.  The news of a shipwreck had spread with the rapidity of a thunder-shower.  One crowd, denser in spots where the stronger men were breasting the wind, which was now happily on the wane, were moving from the village along the beach, others were stumbling on through the marshes.  From the back country, along the road leading from the hospital, rattled a gig, the horse doing his utmost.  In this were Doctor John and Jane.  She had, contrary to his advice, remained at the hospital.  The doctor had been awakened by the shouts of a fisherman, and had driven with all speed to the hospital to get his remedies and instruments.  Jane had insisted upon accompanying him, although she had been up half the night with one of the sailors rescued the week before by the crew of No. 14.  The early morning air—­it was now seven o’clock—­would do her good, she pleaded, and she might be of use if any one of the poor fellows needed a woman’s care.