And back of it reared another, and another, and another, an eighth of a mile of whirling, surging, terrific breakers, with a yelling hurricane whipping them on.
It was soon over, as Gaius had said it would be.

A mighty leap of spray, a section of hull broken off and tossed into view for an instant, then two of the masts went down.

The other followed almost at once.

Then the watchers, most of them, went back to the village, saying little or nothing and dispersing silently to their homes.
During the next fortnight John Ellery conducted six funeral services, brief prayers beside the graves of unknown men from that wreck.

The bodies, as they were washed ashore, were put into plain coffins paid for by the board of selectmen, and buried in the corner of the Regular cemetery beside other waifs thrown up by the sea in other years.