Bess of the Woods by Warwick Deeping

The storm that swept the Channel in the summer of 17-, was long remembered by the folk along the Sussex coast. Hail fell in many places, and fierce squalls of wind, like huge beasts galloping with the lesser herd, uprooted trees, sent chimneys crashing through the roofs, and scattered tiles in many a street. At one village the church-spire fell, and all along the coast ran the rumor of ships lost and fishing-vessels caught in the storm.

Off the French coast, and still tangled in the lifting fringes of the night, the _Sussex Queen_ lay rolling heavily with the waves washing her lower decks. A squall had struck her soon after sundown, beaten down her masts, and left her drifting like a wounded gull with wings trailing in the water. Two men had been killed by the falling of the masts, and another washed overboard by a heavy sea. All through the night the pumps had been clanging, and water gushing from the brig's black sides.