"Won't that be jolly ?" On Nell now coming downstairs, they proceeded on their respective ways; the Captain into Portsmouth, and Mrs Gilmour, with Bob and Nellie, accompanied by Dick carrying a basket, to Mrs Craddock's old-fashioned cottage, at Fratton--almost in the opposite direction.
Here Mrs Gilmour, after one or two inquiries, discovered, much to her satisfaction, that the widow and her daughter were the wife and child of her husband's boatswain, whence ensued much talk between herself and the old lady, who declared the invalid to be "the very image of poor dear Craddock!" While their elders were conversing, Nellie was also having a chat with the bedridden girl, who, she was glad to see, looked decidedly better than at the time of her last visit; an improvement doubtless due to the Captain's old port; and other nourishing things Mrs Gilmour had taken her.
Bob meanwhile had been overhauling the various curios in the little parlour, where the invalid was lying, this being the first time he had been there.
"Oh, auntie," he called out presently, "do look at this Chinese idol here! It's just like one I saw at the South Kensington Museum, only it has such funny wooden shoes on." Mrs Gilmour came across the room to look at the monster figure squatting down in the corner; but, on Bob's showing her the shoes, she laughed.
"Those are not Chinese, my boy," she exclaimed, "they are a pair of wooden sabots from France, such as are worn by the peasants of Brittany and Normandy." "You're quite right, my lady," said the widow Craddock, approaching them.

"My son, who was a sailor like his father, found them on board a French vessel he helped that was in distress in the Channel; so, he brought them home and stuck them on that there h'image in fun.

Lawk, mum, if them wooden shoes could talk, it's a queer tale they'd tell ye, fur they was the means, or leastways it wer' through his boarding the vessel where he found 'em, that my son Jim, which was his name, my lady, come to give up the sea; although, mind you, he's summat to do with it still, being a fisherman fur that matter.

However, the end of it was that he marries the French gal as took his fancy when he comed across them shoes, and went to live at Saint Mailer, as they calls it." "Saint Malo, I suppose," corrected Mrs Gilmour.

"Eh ?" "Yes, my lady, I sed Saint Mailer, didn't I ?" replied the old dame, not perceiving where the delicate distinction lay; and then she went on to relate in a very roundabout fashion all the incidents connected with her son's marriage--as well as talking of everything else under the sun, so it seemed to Bob, who thought it an interminably long story, and was heartily glad when old Mrs Craddock got to the end of it.
But, little did he think in how short a space of time he would be brought in contact with that son of hers, Jim Craddock, in the very strangest manner, and under circumstances that would never have entered his wildest dreams! However, he did not know this; and, while the old dame was spinning her yarn, Bob employed the time by looking at the model of a ship over the mantelpiece, which brought back to his mind all about the _Bembridge Belle_, making him feel on tenter-hooks lest they should be late for dinner, and so be unable to go down afterwards and see the wreck, as the Captain had arranged.
He need not have been so fidgety, though.
Everything comes to an end in time, as did the old lady's talk; and then, they were able to start home again, Rover coming in for much praise from his waiting so patiently for such a lengthy period outside Mrs Craddock's cottage, without bark or whine betraying his presence there.
The dinner was not late, much to Bob's joy; and, the Captain being also punctuality itself, they set out for the beach, just when the dim shadows of the fading twilight were mingling with those of night.
There was a stiff breeze blowing from the southward and eastward, almost half a gale, as a sailor would express it, the wind causing the incoming tide to break on the shore with a low, dull roar, as if the spirit of the deep felt half inclined to be angry, and yet had not quite made up his mind! It was almost dark by the time the little party from "the Moorings" reached the wreck, and things were beginning to get indistinct a little distance off; but, soon after their arrival on the spot, the silvery moon rising at the full, passing through occasional strata of dark cloud that veiled her light at intervals, illumined the sky with her weird beams, making it bright as day, but with a ghostly radiance that lent a mystic spectral effect to all the surroundings.
What a difference the vessel presented to her appearance of the morning! Then she was high and dry on the shingle, with the retreating tide going out to sea to flood coasts elsewhere, only indicating that it had not quite gone yet by a faint splash and ripple on the shore; and, deserted by the element that should have supported her and did when she moved and had her being, gliding through the waters "like a thing of life," the wretched steamer stood up so gaunt and grim that she seemed more than twice her natural size.
That was in the morning, barely twelve hours ago! But, now, where was she?
The tell-tale light of the moon explained all, without a word being wanted.
At first no doubt, the breakers!--how aptly named!--had begun their attack against the poor crippled thing's hull by degrees, little billows leading the assault that could only leap half-way up the side of the stranded steamer, falling back with impotent mutterings in a passion of spray; then, as the tide rose, these were succeeded by bigger waves rolling in from the eastwards, which, swollen with pride and brimming with destruction, beat and blustered all about the vessel from cutwater to sternpost, seeking ingress through the timbers that they might fall upon her and devour her.
Through it all the poor _Bembridge Belle_ battled bravely, holding her own as long as she could keep her head above the boisterous billows; but, when the tide rose yet higher, and the waters flowed through her fore and aft, her upper deck became submerged, the sea made a clean breach over her, the waves took her in their rough hands and shook her so that she trembled, her hull working to and fro in the shingle, the blustering billows dashed against her, and she began to break up.