News of the disaster had been brought to the village by the lightkeeper's assistant, and Ellery and most of the able-bodied men in town had tramped the three miles to the beach, facing the screaming wind and the cutting blasts of flying sand.
As they came over the dunes there were times when they had to dig their heels into the ground and bend forward to stand against the freezing gale.

And, as they drew nearer, the thunder of the mighty surf grew ever louder, until they saw the white clouds of spray leap high above the crazily tossing, flapping bunches of beach grass that topped the last knoll.
Three masts and a broken bowsprit sticking slantwise up from a whirl of creamy white, that was all they could see of the bark, at first glance.
But occasionally, as the breakers drew back for another cruel blow, they caught glimpses of the tilted deck, smashed bare of houses and rail.
"Those black things on the masts ?" asked Ellery, bending to scream the question into the ear of Gaius Winslow, his companion.

"Are they--it can't be possible that they're--" "Yup," shrieked Gaius in reply, "they're men.

Crew lashed in the riggin'.

Poor fellers! it'll soon be over for 'em.