As he spoke a great wave hurled the boat in upon its broad bosom, and flung it down upon the cruel jagged rocks, which bristled from the base of the cliff.  There was a horrible rending crash, and the stout keel snapped asunder, while a second wave swept over it, tearing out the struggling occupants and bearing them on, only to hurl them upon a second ridge beyond.  The peasants upon the cliff gave piteous cries of grief and pity, which blended with the agonized groans and screams of drowning men and the thunder of the pitiless surge.  Looking down they could see the black dots, which indicated the heads of the poor wretches below, diminishing one by one as they were hurled upon the rocks or dragged down by the under-current.

Ezra was a strong swimmer, but when he had shaken himself free of the boat, and kicked away a seaman who clung to him, he made no attempt to strike out.  He knew that the waves would bear him quickly enough on to the rocks, and he reserved himself for the struggle with them.  A great roller came surging over the outlying reef.  It carried him in like a feather and hurled him up against the face of the cliff.  As he struggled upon its crest, he mechanically put out his hands and seized a projecting portion of the rock.  The shock of the contact was tremendous, but he retained his grasp and found himself, when the wave receded, standing battered and breathless upon a small niche in the front of the rock which just gave him foothold.  It was a marvellous escape, for looking on either side he could not see any break in the sheer declivity.

He was by no means safe as yet.  If a wave had landed him there another might come as high and drag him away.  Looking down he saw one or two smaller ones break into spray far below him, and then a second great green billow came rolling majestically towards him.  He eyed it as it came foaming in, and calculated that it would come at least as high as his knees.  Would it drag him back with it, or could he hold his own?  He braced himself as firmly as he could, placing his feet apart, and digging his nails into the inequalities of the rock until the blood gushed from them.  The water surged up upon him, and he felt it tugging like some murderous demon at his legs, but he held on bravely until the pressure decreased.  Looking below the saw the wave sinking down the face of the cliff.  Another wave overtook it and welled it up again, and then from the depths of the green waters Ezra saw a long white arm shoot up, and grasp the edge of the ledge upon which he stood.

Even before the face appeared the young man knew that the hand was his father’s.  A second followed the first, and then the old merchant’s face was uplifted from the waves.  He was cruelly bruised and battered, and his clothes had been partly torn away.  He recognized his son, however, and looked up at him beseechingly, while he held on with all his strength to the ledge of rock.  So small was the space that his clinging fingers touched Ezra’s toes.