CHAPTER XVI 

 THE STORM'S TRIUMPH 



IT was early one mid-December Sunday that the 

 French clipper-built barque Franqais appeared off 

 Hartlepool. 



Wild weather had prevailed during the night. It 

 had been a night filled with the hoarse clamour of the 

 gale sweeping over the quaking peninsula ; a night, 

 too, of black darkness and streaming rain and flying 

 tattered clouds ; a night of driving sea-spray and 

 foam. And the foam had eddied wildly down into the 

 streets of the little port, leaving yellow quivering 

 tracks on their deserted pavements and rattling 

 windows. The lifeboats had been ready all night, 

 riding on the troubled waters of the harbour in readi- 

 ness for the signal. They had lain side by side with a 

 snorting tug, which was prepared at a moment's 

 notice to drag them through the bay on their errand 

 of mercy, or to dart out alone to succour any craft in 

 evident distress. 



When the Fran^ais was revealed by the dawn she 

 was only a mile from the Moor cliff, hove to under 

 close-reefed topsails. Those who first descried her 

 wondered how she managed to carry even that amount 

 of canvas in such a wind and sea. It was clear that 



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