The fishing-smack careened, fluttered in the wind like a baffled pigeon, and bore across to the plunging boat.
“The spray’s a-flyin’ so ye can’t see clear, sir,” said the keeper, his eye still at the glass. “She ain’t actin’ right, somehow; that boom seems to bother ’em. Cap’n Joe’s runnin’ for’ard. Gosh! that one went clean over ’er. Look out! Look out!” in quick crescendo, as if the endangered crew could have heard him. “See ’er take ’em! There’s another went clean across. My God, Mr. Sanford! she’s over,—capsized!”
Sanford made a rush for the staircase, a rash, unreasonable impulse to help taking possession of him. The keeper caught him firmly by the arm.
“Come back, sir! You’re only wastin’ yer breath. That smack’ll get ’em.”
Captain Brandt picked up the glass that the keeper had dropped. His hands shook so he could hardly adjust the lens.
“The boom’s broke,” he said in a trembling voice; “that’s what ails ’em. She’s bottom side up. Lord, if she ain’t a-wallowin’! I never ’spected to see Cap’n Joe in a hole like that. They’re all three in th’ water; ain’t a man livin’ can swim ashore in that sea! Why don’t that blamed smack go about? They’ll sink ’fore she can get to ’em. Where’s the cap’n? He ain’t come up yet. There’s Lonny and Caleb, but I don’t see Cap’n Joe nowhere.”
Sanford leaned against the brass rail of the great lens, his eyes on the fishing-smack swooping down to the rescue. The helplessness of his position, his absolute inability to help the drowning men, overwhelmed him: Captain Joe and Caleb perishing before his eyes, and he powerless to lift a hand.
“Do you see the captain anywhere?” he asked, with an effort at self-control. The words seemed to clog his throat.
“Not yet, sir, but there’s Lonny, and there’s Caleb. You look, Mr. Marvin,” he said, turning to the keeper. He could not trust himself any longer. For the first time his faith in Captain Joe had failed him.
Marvin held the glass to his eye and covered the boat. He hardly dared breathe.