eyes that looked tip into the black heavens, and he felt naught save agony at the nape of his neck, where his spine was turned back on the bulwarks.
"Number Seven! any of you! an axe! " roared the wrecker. "By heaven you shall be as Wyvill! and float headless on the waves."
"Coppinger!" cried the young man, by a desperate effort liberating his hand. He threw his arms round the wrecker. A clash and a boil of froth, and both went overboard, fighting as they fell into the surf.
"In the King's name!" shouted a harsh voice.
"Surround—secure them all. Now we have them and they shall not escape."
The wreck was boarded by, and in the hands of, the coast-guard.