Sabine Baring-Gould

“ I don't doubt it that it has reached Hartland by this; and with a thick fog like to-day there are a thousand hearts beating with expectation. Who can say? She may be laden with gold-dust from Africa, or with tin from Barca, or with port from Oporto."
"My boy Oliver is coming home," said Mr. Menaida.
"Then let's hope he is not in this vessel, for, old man, she stands a bad chance in such weather as this. There is Porth-quin, and there is Hayle Bay ready to receive her, or Doom Bar on which she may run, all handy for our people. Are you anything of a sportsman, sir?" ”

“ My dear sir, if you come to live among us, you must seek your sport not on the land but at sea. You'll find the sport worth something when you get a haul of a barrel of first-rate sherry, or a load of silver ingots. Why, that's how Penwarden bought his farm. He got the money after a storm—found it on the shore out of the pocket of a dead man. Do you know why the bells of St. Enodoc are so sweet? Because, so folks say, melted into them are ingots of Peruvian silver from a ship wrecked on Doom Bar. ”

“ Menaida stood up and went to the window.
"I believe the wind has shifted to the north, and we shall have a lightening of the fog after sunset."
"Shall we not have a wreck? I hope there'll be one," said Jamie.
"What is the law about wreckage, Menaicla, old man?" asked Scantlebray, also coming to the window.
"The law is plain enough. No one has a right to goods come to land; he who finds may claim salvage—naught else; and any persons taking goods cast ashore, which are not legal wreck, may be punished." ”