He dashed ahead, followed closely by Herbert.  The ladies beheld them talking to townsfolk as they passed along the upper streets, and did not augur well of their increase of speed.  At the head of the town water was visible, part of the way up the main street, and crossing it, the ladies went swiftly under the old church, on the tower of which were spectators, through the churchyard to a high meadow that dropped to a stone wall fixed between the meadow and a grass bank above the level of the road, where now salt water beat and cast some spray.  Not less than a hundred people were in this field, among them Crickledon and his wife.  All were in silent watch of the house on the beach, which was to east of the field, at a distance of perhaps three stonethrows.  The scene was wild.  Continuously the torrents poured through the shingleclefts, and momently a thunder sounded, and high leapt a billow that topped the house and folded it weltering.

“They tell me Mart Tinman’s in the house,” Van Diemen roared to Herbert.  He listened to further information, and bellowed:  “There’s no boat!”

Herbert answered:  “It must be a mistake, I think; here’s Crickledon says he had a warning before dawn and managed to move most of his things, and the people over there must have been awakened by the row in time to get off”

“I can’t hear a word you say;” Van Diemen tried to pitch his voice higher than the wind.  “Did you say a boat?  But where?”

Crickledon the carpenter made signal to Herbert.  They stepped rapidly up the field.

“Women feels their weakness in times like these, my dear,” Mrs. Crickledon said to Annette.  “What with our clothes and our cowardice it do seem we’re not the equals of men when winds is high.”

Annette expressed the hope to her that she had not lost much property.  Mrs. Crickledon said she was glad to let her know she was insured in an Accident Company.  “But,” said she, “I do grieve for that poor man Tinman, if alive he be, and comes ashore to find his property wrecked by water.  Bless ye! he wouldn’t insure against anything less common than fire; and my house and Crickledon’s shop are floating timbers by this time; and Marine Parade and Belle Vue are safe to go.  And it’ll be a pretty welcome for him, poor man, from his investments.”

A cry at a tremendous blow of a wave on the doomed house rose from the field.  Back and front door were broken down, and the force of water drove a round volume through the channel, shaking the walls.

“I can’t stand this,” Van Diemen cried.

Annette was too late to hold him back.  He ran up the field.  She was preparing to run after when Mrs. Crickledon touched her arm and implored her:  “Interfere not with men, but let them follow their judgements when it’s seasons of mighty peril, my dear.  If any one’s guilty it’s me, for minding my husband of a boat that was launched for a life-boat here, and wouldn’t answer, and is at the shed by the Crouch—­left lying there, I’ve often said, as if it was a-sulking.  My goodness!”