There had been a recent storm and that usually meant driftwood on the beach and the shale under the East Cliff, which for the poorest people of Whitby meant free fuel. Maggie was out on the beach with a wicker basket, a little girl tied on her back, and a little boy walking beside her. Both of them were stooping down occasionally when they found a piece of wood and put it in the basket. They would dry it near the fire, and then her husband James would chop it up and they'd store it away. It didn't give a pleasant type of fire and it was harder to manage than coal, but it would keep them warm on cold and wet days and heated water and that was all they asked for. 

Maggie stopped and rose up straight when she saw something in the water. Other fish lasses had ceased their work as well and were watching. She put her hand over her brow trying to get a better view. Was that a person on a board? Had someone survived a ship wreck, drifting all the way to shore. She had to warn the life brigade!