I AM sitting right, opposite to it. The dark red doors of the stone, chapel-like j little building are wide open. The sun is shining, and the sea is calui. Over the doors in large white letters on a blue background is written " Life-boat." " Royal National Life-boat Institution " in smaller lettering to the left; to the right there is " Supported by voluntary contributions," one of the proudest boasts of England. Somewhat scorn- fully, the nose of the red, white and blue boat is pointing straight past the corner of the little sea wall. On either side of her bow is a golden circle, round j which the boast is written again; these j are the eyes of the boat, given to her by the English nation to watch always for its own and all other folk, who may be in danger around its stormy coasts from here, Clovelly, right round to Clove! ly again; surely a staunch guarantee, if one were wanted, of the hospitality to be had within her great | grey boundaries. Visitors to the quaintest village in England saunter up and down the cobbled steps that go to make the tiny main street. The white cottages make the green woods greener and the blue sky bluer. Artists sit on the sea wall and on the beach painting lackadaisically, with heads that seem to be gravely shaken by slow breezes. A solitary bather dives from an anchored cutter, while his wife sits solicitous in a bright white dinghey with a red stripe round the gunwale, and is rowed about in the neighbour- hood by a fisherman. There is peace between the sea and the land.

A few nights before, at about seven in the evening, there was a feeling in the air of a tense waiting for something ; it was as though the village stood on tiptoe, apprehensive, hand to ear; for j a time it dominated all the forceful intimations of the howling gale—a gale from which events in Clovelly will be dated, inaybe, for years to come. The night had fallen, and the steamer, that had seemed to be helpless and drifting * From T/i« Globe.

before it had finally become shrouded in darkness, had as yet made no sign.

As I felt my way carefully down over the slippery cobble stones, a door opened, and a dark figure came out and stood for a moment on the thresh- hold. The flickering lamplight from behind showed a woman in the doorway, and I heard, " That'll be all right, old girl; give I another for the kid," and the door was shut. Then a hoarse shout broke up from below somewhere through the rain and the buffeting roars of the wind—" She be burning a flare !" It had come. Who's for the cork jackets ? Would there be a scarcity ? In a moment the street was all a-clatter with stamping and slipping feet, and the crowd around the coxswain thickened as he hurried down to the boathouse. The regulation ran that they must wait for a rocket from the coastguard station ; none came. Well, they would do without it this time. A pile of old clothes soaked with kerosene was calling to them urgently for help, and the key was turned in the lock.

But the coveted ten jackets were not donned without a struggle, for a knot of meu had been cJiiiging in antici- pation like flies to the doors and walls of the boathouse, while the sea dashed over them and swirled round their legs in angry endeavour to drag them back to itself, for there was war between land and sea that night—war to the death. The sea broke clean over the little stone quay that was built to stand against these gales six hundred years ago, and has stood them well, but some few stones were loosened in that night.

Launching—no, there was no launching to do, only to unhook her, for as the waves came in everything at the back of the boathouse was awash. She slid into the sea, rose to it, and could be seen dimly like a phantom white horse that would buck himself free of his load. The blue oars went out to star- board, the white oars went out to port, and the journey had begun. Twenty minutes to get past the quay head, a 254 THE LIFE-BOAT.

[1st AUGUST, 1904.

distance of about fifty yards; then the coastguard rocket went up somewhat belated, and the Life-boat had gone out into the night of hurricane. They told us afterwards that the oars on the weather side would now and again, as the spouts of wind came, be blown straight into the air, and stand there like a man-o'-war boat at the salute.

Such wind and weather had not been known. Great limbs of trees, great trees themselves, were crashing to the ground in all the woods of the North Devon coast. Perhaps you know the " Red Lion" Inn, right down " to quay," as they call it. A wave dashed into the first-floor sitting-room, flooded it, and cataracted down the stairs. And the women watched and waited as they had done since the days of Drake—aye, and long before that, too; here and there they wept. Suddenly there was the shout of a name: " Braund, your boat's got a-parted!" One of the luggers in the tiny harbour that a boy can throw a stone across had got adrift, and thereafter, through the night, the storm noises were made doubly fearful by the shouts of the men working to save their boats, their very living.

The grind of timber against timber, and the crash when the little craft were stove in, seemed very cruel, for many were damaged, and some entirely des- troyed. Out there in the storm, a swinging green light sprang into being.

Somebody said, " What does it mean ? " Ask the women, for they can tell you.

It means the crew of the wreck have been taken off all safe, and the Life- boat's head turned for home. It was a steady brain and cool, stocked with knowledge of the great grey water's ways, that took the boat to windward of the steamer, judged the distance, and let go the anchor to drift down to her.

. . . The rescued men were given shelter, and the Life-boat crew joined in the work of saving the fishing-craft in the harbour. Some of them worked all night.

For the rest, the little white houses take them in from the storm that rages on, and some find sleep. But the work is not yet done; for as the stormy dawn grew to a grey daylight a dull boom, followed by a rushing sound, comes to the sleepers, and these sounds are repeated as they turn in their beds and wonder. Two rockets from the coast- guard station. By the powers, it is a time of stress for these fisher-people; but they have done this work, they and their forbears, back far into the centuries, and this time it would seem that the journey of the night had but brought to perfection a long course of training; for the cobbles gave up a hastened clatter, and men fell out of their doors half-dressed, with shouted " So-longs" and " Good-byes" to the women, who straight took up their burden of waiting. The visitors fol- lowed, and saw what for the most part they had never seen before, and verily it was a sight for the sea-gods to smile approval at; for within five minutes of the rocket's call this fire-engine of the sea had plunged once more from her station and was on the road to rescue.

Here was, as she took to the water, an impression that will not fade of the dignity of work and fight conveyed from the thirteen oilskin-clad and sou'- westered men; in the grey of the morning they looked to be mailed and helmeted all in a sombre gold.

This time it was a brigantine twelve miles away off Mort Point. The Life- boat's sail was hoisted almost at once, the oars shipped, and the sea-warriors grew dimmer and dimmer, sitting quietly in their places. They faded into the tossing greyness with the appearance of twelve worshippers listening reverently to the upright figure at the stern. The ship was a helpless wreck, her sails blown clean away, her decks swept of everything, her bulwarks all gone. They had been at the pumps all night, four men and a boy. She was cruelly undermanned.

When the Life-boat came in sight they had given up all hope, and were drifting upon the rocks. There was so much wreckage hanging about her that it was perilous business getting off the almost helpless men; the captain had gone below to get a box of papers, and was almost left behind. Once more the boat's head is turned for home. It was near mid-day, and the tide was out when she was safely and skilfully beached. The helpers rushed for her.

IST AUGUST, 1904.] THE LIFE-BOAT.

255 The rescued were lifted out, and though they walked, it was with uncertain steps, bent heads, and drawn, dazed faces.

The boy, his hands and feet paralysed with cold and exposure, had had to be kept awake by force through the home journey or he would have slept out into another life. He was helped along the quay, a very pitiable object. A last look at the Life-boat; she .was empty, save for the coxswain, who stood in his place, bareheaded, giving directions as the boat moved slowly towards the little chapel-like building. For twenty-five years he has only once missed the going out of the Life-boat, either to save life or for practice. I wondered why he was bareheaded.

Perhaps he was . . . well, perhaps he was..