“Ah, Father John!” he broke off, as an ecclesiastic, muffled up to the throat in wrappings, entered the room.  “Are you going down, too?”

“Assuredly I am, Fergus.  You don’t think a trifle of wind would keep me from doing my duty?”

In another two minutes, the two men and Godfrey sallied out.  They staggered as the wind struck them, and Godfrey clung to his father’s arm.  Not a word was spoken as they made their way down the steep descent to the village, which consisted of about a dozen fishermen’s huts.  Indeed, speaking would have been useless, for no word would have been heard above the howling of the storm.

The vessel was visible to them, as they made their way down the hill.  She was a complete wreck.  The light of the moon was sufficient for them to see that she had, as the boy said, lost her foremast.  Her sails were in ribbons, and she was labouring heavily in the sea, each wave that struck her breaking over her bows and sweeping along her deck.  There was no hope for her.  She could neither tack nor wear, and no anchor would hold for a moment on that rocky bottom, in such a sea.

On reaching the village, they joined a group of fishermen who were standing under the shelter of the end of a cottage.

“Can nothing be done, Considine?” Mr. Davenant shouted, in the ear of one of the fishermen.

“Not a thing, yer honour.  She has just let drop one of her anchors.”

“But they could not hope it would hold there,” Mr. Davenant said.

“Not they, your honour, onless they were mad.  They hoped it would hoult so as to bring her head round; but the cable went, as soon as the strain came.  I saw her head go sharp up to the wind, and then fall off again; not that it would have made much difference in the end, though it would have given them half an hour longer of life.”

“Could we get a boat off with a line, if she strikes?”

“Look at the sea, yer honour.  Mr. Walter has been asking us; but there’s no boat could get through that surf, not if all Ireland dipinded on it.”

“Where is Walter?”

“Sure and I can’t tell ye, yer honour.  He was here a few minutes since; but what’s come of him is more nor I can tell ye.”

“He went off with Larry Doolan,” a boy, who was standing next to the fisherman, shouted.

“Then, as sure as fate, they are up to some mischief,” Mr. Davenant said.  “Walter is bad enough by himself, but with Larry to help him, it would take a regiment to look after them.”

“They can’t be in much mischief tonight, yer honour,” the fisherman said.

“Look, sir, she’s coming in fast.  She draws a power of water, and she will strike in a minute or two.”

“She seems crowded with men.  Can nothing be done to help them?” the priest asked.

“Nothing, your reverence.  Praying for them is the only thing that can help the poor sowls now.”

“You are sure it’s not possible to launch a boat, Considine?”