But a few hours before I had been lying in a nook amidst the huge rocks, high above the sands, gazing down at the sea, which curled over with a long ripple upon the yellow sands.  The sun poured down with all his rich mellow autumn glory, and far as eye could reach the bosom of the sea was one shimmering surface of glittering silver ­here tinged with the palest of greens, there passing into a lovely blue, while almost motionless, ship after ship, with every stitch of sail spread in a perfect cloud of canvas, added to the beauty of the scene.

Where I lay, sheltered by a large overhanging rock, a tiny stream slowly trickled out of a cavern whose mouth was beautifully fringed by many varieties of fern, while other growths, nurtured by the cool freshness of the never-failing water, added their velvety beauty to the favoured spot.

But now how different!  I stood in an opening in the rocks where the village was built, and the great jetty ran down into the sea.  The wind tore by me so that I could hardly stand against its fury, while down by the pier and the rocks, the waves came tumbling in ten or twelve feet high, curling over and over, as if to scoop out the shore; and wherever they encountered rock or pier there seemed a momentary halt, as if they gathered strength, when with a mighty leap up flew tons of water in a fountain of foam, which was again swept against the face of the long line of rocks behind the sand, or dashed over them and carried in a storm of spray inland.

The noise was deafening, for the shingle and huge stones were being churned over and over, and, as it were, pounded by the waves, while wherever there was a cavern the water rushed in with a bellowing roar that was at times deepened into thunder, while the concussion and force of the hissing water seemed enough to rend the rocks asunder, and plough up the earth beyond, till the current forced its way through, to tear on as a devastating river, and drown all that came in its path.

“What?” I shouted to a fisherman whose lips I had seen move, while his words were swept away.

“Three ships ashore,” he shouted back, in the sing-song tone peculiar to the men of Cornwall, who draw their harvest from the sea, ­the sturdy, sober, honest fellows, who seem gentlemen in comparison with the general run of fishermen at our ports and fishing stations, ­men whom I had sat upon the rocks to listen to night after night, when a knot would get together and sing in capital tune and time ­and with every part in the harmony carefully preserved ­some melodious air, which, floating out to sea, sounded sweet beyond conception, and made me think what little need there was for people to go abroad to find scenery and national peculiarity.  But it always was a failing among us to be be far-sighted that the beauties of home were overlooked.

“Three ships ashore,” he shouted, pointing in three different directions; but I had already made them out, and now we went down as close to the pier as the waves would permit, for but some fifty yards from the end lay a small schooner with the waves washing over her ­one by one the men who had clung to her rigging and sides being beaten off, washed towards the shore, and then drawn back by the under-tow again and again.

Every minute the pier would be left clear out of the water, which poured off its sides, and in one of these intervals a sailor was seen swimming strongly close alongside, riding up and down the huge billows, but fighting hardly for his life.

All at once I saw a man seize a life-buoy, one of those large yellow cork rings; and as the last wave left the stone pier free from water right to where the lighthouse rose, he dashed along it, running swiftly towards where the swimmer was striving to reach the shore.

In a few moments he was beside him, and threw the buoy so that the poor fellow reached it, when the men around me began to shout to the gallant fellow to return.  But every shout seemed beaten back instantly; and amidst a violent commotion ­men running and seizing ropes, women shrieking and clutching one another ­I saw a large wave come tearing in, rise like a huge beast at a leap, and curl right over the pier, sweeping it from end to end, and deluging it with many feet of water.  This was succeeded by another and another, and then once more the water was streaming off the stones, and one could see the fisherman who ran to his brother man’s rescue struggling for his own life on the other side of the pier, against which he was at length violently dashed.  But there were kinsmen and friends at hand in plenty, and one with a rope round him ran down the pier, plunged in, swam to the poor fellow, clutched him, and then they were drawn ashore together insensible, but locked in a tight embrace.

All this time the sailor who clung to the buoy seemed wild and confused, and ignorant of its purpose, for, all at once a groan rose from the crowd assembled, when loosing his hold, the drowning man threw up his arms and disappeared in the boiling surge.

In rushed the waves again and again, while more than once the yellow life-buoy could be seen; but as the waves receded they dragged it back, and now every eye was directed to the little schooner, which seemed to lift with the waves, and then tremble in every beam as it was dashed down again, till the masts went over the side.

About a hundred yards lower down I could see a crowd of people assembled facing a large brig which had struck amongst the rocks, and whose crew seemed doomed to meet with a watery grave.

But preparations were being made to afford succour here, for as I reached the crowd I found them busy with the rocket apparatus.  There were the rocket and the long line carefully laid in and out, round peg after peg, in its case, so that it might run forth swiftly and easily; and just then the stand was directed right, the rocket aimed, the fire applied, and after a loud rushing sound, off darted the fiery messenger on its errand of mercy, forming an arc in the air and falling upon the other side of the doomed ship, which lay about sixty yards from the shore.

An exultant chorus followed this successful attempt to connect the vessel with the shore by means of a cord, for the rocket line ran easily and perfectly out, and the cable at hand being now attached, the sailors on board began to haul, when, like a snake, the great rope slowly ran down the beach, plunged into the boiling surf, and still kept on uncoiling and running down till those on the cliff signalled down that the end was hauled on board and made it fast to the mast.

And now so far successful, the cable and a line being on board, the cable hauled tight by those on shore, and secured to a capstan used for hauling up fishing-boats, the rest of the arrangements were concluded, and those on board drew the tarpauling and rope seat which run by a ring along the cable, and into which a person coming ashore slipped his legs, and then swung beneath the tightened rope as the apparatus was hauled by those on shore, and the shipwrecked one rode over the boiling waves, and was perhaps only once immersed where the rope bellied down in the middle.

All seemed ready, the men by me began to haul, and it was then seen that a woman was swinging beneath the rope, which rose and fell with the weight upon it, till for a few seconds the poor creature disappeared from sight in the tossing waves.  But the men worked well, and the next minute, with a loud hurrah, she was ashore, and a dozen hands ready to free the drenched sufferer, when the joy was turned into sorrow, for it was seen that in the hurry of passing the poor woman over the ship’s side the rope had become entangled round her neck, and she had been strangled just in those brief minutes when there was life and safety before her.

But there were other lives to save, and as the body of the fair, delicate woman was borne with tender, loving hands up the sands, through the opening, and then to the large inn, the sling was drawn back by the crew of the ship, and another tried the perilous passage.

How the angry waves leaped up, and darted again and again, as if to tear the men being rescued from the rope of safety, and how those ashore cheered again and again as each poor drenched and dripping wretch, half choked with the brine, was hauled ashore, and then stood trembling and tottering, sometimes not even able to stand from being so exhausted!  Some shouted for joy, some burst into fits of crying, others stood stolidly gazing at their saviours, while one or two went down on their knees devoutly to offer thanks for the life saved.

To five-and-twenty souls did that thin line, shot over the wreck by means of a rocket, carry life and hope, and heartily their fellow-men worked to save them from the sea that fought hard to take them for its prey; and when, at last, nearly every man had come ashore upon the frail bridge of hemp, the waves seemed to tear at the wreck with redoubled fury, piling mountains of foaming water upon it, leaping upon the deck, or lifting the hull to dash it again upon the cruel rocks that were gnawing their way through the bottom.

“Only the captain left now,” said the last poor fellow who came ashore, and then he staggered and fell ­quite insensible from the revulsion of feeling.  And on hearing these words the men set the slings free, but they were dragged back only slowly, and as if the poor captain was about exhausted.  Every now and then we could make him out clinging to the rigging where the end of the cable had been secured, but all at once a regular mountain of a wave came coursing in faster and faster, leaped up, seemed hanging in mid-air for a few moments, and then poured down with resistless fury upon the doomed vessel.  There was a wild confused cry from those on shore, which was heard above the howling of the storm; men and women clasped their hands and ran hither and thither, as if agonised at their helplessness to render aid, and then, as I looked out seaward, I could only see the clean-swept deck at intervals, for the rigging was gone, while the cable, that bridge of safety to so many, now hung slack in the water.

“Haul!” shouted the man who managed the rocket apparatus ­one of the old Coast Guardsmen, ­and a score of willing hands crowded down to get a clutch at the cable, when at a given signal they started inshore to run it up, but checked directly, for they found that there was a large tangle of wreck attached, which came up slowly, with the huge waves tearing at it as though to drag it back; but as more and more of the dripping cable appeared from the water more willing hands seized upon it, so that at last it came faster and faster, and part of a mast, with a confusion of blocks, ropes, and shrouds, appeared at the edge of the sands where the water boiled so furiously, and the next minute was high upon the sands.

I hurried down to be one of the knot of people who crowded round, when my heart sank, for it was as I feared:  the captain, a fine, calm, stern-browed man, lay there amongst the cordage, one leg in the slings, as if about to venture, when that cruel wave poured ruin on the deck of the ship, and tore away his last chance for life.

Twisted, tangled, and confused, the ropes lay together, and it was only by means of a free use of their clasp-knives that the beachmen and sailors set the poor fellow free.

Slowly and sadly we stood round, looking down upon the pale features of the brave man who had clung to his ship till the last of his crew was ashore; but there was no weeping and wailing wife to cast herself upon the cold, drenched form, and sweep the hair from his broad forehead; so slowly, and with the crowd following in silence, we bore the corpse to the inn, to lay it side by side with that of the wife he had tried to save.

A young, noble-looking pair, with faces calm and pale, seeming but to sleep as they lay there hushed in death ­in that great mystery, for the sea had conquered.

“Sixty years have I lived down here, man and boy,” said a fisherman, in his pleasant sing-song tone, “and if I were to try and count up the lives of men as the great sea has taken, I could hardly believe it.  I’ve seen the sea-shore strewn with wreck, and I’ve known the waves cast up the dead day after day for weeks after a storm; some calm and pale-faced, some beaten, torn, and not to be looked upon without a shudder.  Seems, sir, as if the sea kept ’em as long as it could, and then cast them up and busily tried to hide ’em, throwing up sand and shells ­sand and shells, so that I’ve found them, sometimes half-hidden, and the water lapping melancholy-like around.  Now it’s some poor fisherman ­now a sailor, or a gentleman been a-yachting, or a foreigner from some fine vessel.  Every year hundreds taken, and every dead body with such a tale of sorrow, and misery, and wretchedness attached as would make your heart ache could you but read it.  Ah, the sea is a great thing, and I as live by it knows it well.  To-day you see it quiet and still ­to-morrow it’s tearing at the shore with fury, and it’s only God who can still its rage.”

But still, year after year, in their calm dependence upon His great arm, our fishers and sailors put forth to tempt the perils of the vast deep for their livelihood.  Right and left of them others are taken; but still the busy toilers thrust forth from the shore and make their voyage easily, or in an agony of fear are overtaken by the storm, and at length, “being exceedingly tossed with the tempest... lighten the ship.”  And, again, when run ashore, cling terror-stricken to the vessel and its rigging, till beaten off before succour arrives when they are cast ashore.