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Falkner, John Meade, 1858-1932

"Moonfleet"


We were on the lee side underneath the shelter of the deckhouse clinging
to the shrouds, now up to our knees in water as the wave came on, now
left high and dry when it went back. The blue light was still burning,
but the ship was beached a little to the right of it, and the dim group
of fishermen had moved up along the beach till they were opposite us.
Thus we were but a hundred feet distant from them, but 'twas the interval
of death and life, for between us and the shore was a maddened race of
seething water, white foaming waves that leapt up from all sides against
our broken bulwarks, or sucked back the pebbles with a grinding roar till
they left the beach nearly dry.
We stood there for a minute hanging on, and waiting for resolution to
come back to us after the shock of grounding. On the weather side the
seas struck and curled over the brig with a noise like thunder, and the
force of countless tons. They came over the top of the deck-house in a
cataract of solid water, and there was a crash, crash, crash of rending
wood, as plank after plank gave way before that stern assault. We could
feel the deck-house itself quiver, and shake again as we stood with our
backs against it, and at last it moved so much that we knew it must soon
be washed over on us.
The moment had come. 'We must go after the next big wave runs back,'
Elzevir shouted.


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