Ned Garth | Page 4

looked round, uttering an exclamation of regret at the non-appearance of the coast-guard, though, had they arrived, it was evident that they would be too late to be of use.
The sea continued to cast up fragments of wreck and cargo on the beach, but the lieutenant and Tom searched in vain for any of their fellow-creatures to whom they might render assistance.
"No use waiting longer, I fear," shouted the lieutenant. "I'll go and look after the man we have saved; the sooner we get him under shelter the better, or he'll be perishing of cold."
"Me stop just a little longer," answered the black.
"Take care though that the sea doesn't carry you off, Tom," cried the lieutenant, even now trusting that someone else might be rescued.
On returning to the spot where Edward was tending the stranger, he bent down by the side of the latter and felt his heart. "He is still evidently in a very exhausted condition," he observed, holding up his lantern so that the light fell on the man's countenance. "Poor fellow, he does not look as if he were accustomed to a seaman's life."
"I have been rubbing his hands and chest, uncle, and trying what I could do to revive him," said Edward. "We should get him home at once, I am sure."
"Just what I was saying; we must not risk his life on the chance of saving that of others," replied the lieutenant. "Come, Tom," he shouted, "it is of no use, we must carry home this poor fellow; and may be before we get far the coast-guard will be down here and take our places."
At that instant a hail was heard. The lieutenant shouted in return. In a few minutes a party of coast-guard men appeared, headed by their lieutenant, who had heard the guns, and had been searching for the spot where the vessel had struck. The man to whom Edward had given the message had, however, not appeared, having, as was afterwards discovered, fallen over the cliff and nearly lost his life. Lieutenant Hanson said that he would remain on the spot, though his rockets would be useless, as not a man could be clinging to the wreck.
"Let me have one of your people to assist in carrying this poor fellow to my cottage then," said Lieutenant Pack; "it is more than Tom and I can accomplish, seeing that my timber toe is apt to stick in the soft sand as I trudge along."
"With all my heart," was the answer. "You shall have two, only send them back without delay."
No further time was lost. The coast-guard men, wrapping the stranger in their dry coats, lifted him on their shoulders, Ned and Tom taking his feet, while the lieutenant led the way, lantern in hand, towards his home.
Although a bright light beaming forth from the sitting-room of the lieutenant's abode could alone be distinguished as the party approached, it may be as well to describe it at once. Triton Cottage, as he called it, from the name of the ship on board which he first went to sea, stood on the side of a broad gap or opening in the cliff, some little distance up from the beach, the ground around it being sufficiently level to allow of a fair-sized garden and shrubbery. It was a building of somewhat curious appearance, having no pretentions to what is considered architectural beauty. The lieutenant, notwithstanding, was proud of it, as the larger portion had been erected by his own hands from time to time as he considered it necessary to increase its size, in order to afford sufficient accommodation to its inmates, and to obtain a spare room in which he could put up an old shipmate, or any other visitor to whom his hospitable feelings might prompt him to give an invitation. The original building had been a fisherman's cottage, to which he had added another story, with a broad verandah in front, while on either side wings had been attached, the upper portions composed of wood obtained from wrecks, the bulkheads serving as wainscoting to the rooms. Both from their size and the fittings they resembled the cabins of a small vessel, being warmed also by ship's stoves, with high flues, curiously topped, rising above the roof, exhibiting a variety of contrivances to prevent the smoke from beating down. The tar-bucket and paint-pot had been brought largely into requisition, the wood-work of the lower story being covered with a shining coat of black, while various colours adorned the walls both inside and out. The old lieutenant might frequently have been seen, brush in hand, adorning his mansion, and stopping up every crevice, so as to defy damp, or rain driven against it by the fiercest of south-westerly gales. It was substantially roofed with thick