“We’ll find out when we bring the others in, but we’ve seen no bodies yet.”
It was a macabre conversation, but Emma understood the dark realities of life on Sable Island. Since childhood, she’d witnessed more than her share of old bones rising out of the dunes. And there was a disturbing collection of skulls on display in the boat shed. When she was young, she’d had nightmares about such things, but she was over that now.
“Can I look again?” she asked.
Her father offered the binoculars, and she zoned in on the wreck. “It’s British. Probably three thousand tons.”
“That was about my estimate,” he said. “Two hundred and fifty feet. Steam engine.”
Philip McKenna, the weather station chief, came running to join them. He panted heavily as he spoke. “Frank finally got through to the coast guard. He’s waiting for more information, but I doubt they can send help anytime soon. They’ll have to wait for the storm to let up.”
“I expected as much,” Emma’s father replied. “For now, we’ll just have to rely on ourselves.”
Philip looked through his own set of binoculars. “They’re almost there.”
Abigail finally arrived with the blankets and supplies. Emma hoped they’d be able to put them to good use.
“They’ve made it!” her father shouted, still watching. “There’s a crewman on the deck, and he’s thrown a rope down. I see others climbing out of the bridge. They’re clinging to the rails.”
“Thank goodness.” Emma laid a hand over her heart and said a silent prayer that every soul on board would make it safely to shore.
Watching the ordeal from the beach became a nightmare with no end. The two lifeboats had been lashed to the steamship, but with every powerful swell, they were thrust mercilessly against the steel hull. The men attempting to abandon ship held on to the ropes and rails for dear life as they were knocked about by the waves. One man, about to leap into a lifeboat, slipped from the deck and plunged into the sea, but by God’s grace, he was pulled to safety by a crewman in the second lifeboat.
At last, the two boats began the treacherous journey back to shore. The trip seemed to take forever, while the thunder of the foaming waves on the beach made it difficult to think, talk, or breathe.
When the lifeboats finally approached, Philip waded into the surf and helped drag the first vessel onto the beach. The second followed close behind, and all the men spilled out. Those who had come from the wreck fell to their knees in gratitude, some digging their fingers into the wet sand. A few wept, others laughed, but all were thankful to have been rescued from the frigid water of the North Atlantic.
Emma and Abigail moved quickly and covered each man with a dry woolen blanket. One stood up and grabbed hold of Emma. He hugged her and sobbed. “Thank you, miss! Thank you!”
Her father approached and spoke in her ear. “You should fetch that bottle of whiskey.”
“Right away.” She hurried to Abigail’s wagon.
Her father helped one man to his feet. “What’s your name, son?”
“Billy Perkins.” He was tall and lanky with a space between his two front teeth and spoke with a cockney accent. “I’m just a cook.”
“That’s fine, Billy. My name is John Clarkson, and I’m superintendent of this island. Can you tell me ... Is this all of you?”
Billy pulled the gray blanket more snugly about his shoulders and regarded John warily. “I’m not sure, sir.”
By now Abigail was beginning to serve hot tea to the survivors. Emma returned from the wagon and followed behind her, adding a splash of whiskey to each cup.
Her father addressed the whole group. “Who else is out there?”
No one spoke.
Emma turned toward the wrecked ship. Surely, it couldn’t withstand the punishing forces of those waves much longer. If there was anyone else on board, they’d be done for.
Billy’s teeth were chattering, and panic filled his eyes, as if he were about to face harsh discipline.
“Someone speak!” her father shouted.
One man finally volunteered. “Captain Harris refused to abandon his ship, sir.”
Her father stared at the man incredulously. “And you left him behind?”
“Those were his orders.”
