So near the shore did the wreck lay that it seemed impossible Downey could miss his aim.
Benny heard Joe Cushing say:
“With five ounces of powder and a No. 9 shot-line bent on, there should be no trouble in opening communication with those poor fellows.”
Then the keeper had adjusted the piece and pulled the lanyard.
Benny saw a tongue of flame leap out from the mouth of the gun, and as the shot sped through the air, the line, so carefully laid in the faking-box, uncoiled length by length, until suddenly and without apparent cause it parted.
The shot sped on; but fully two thirds of the line remained in the box.
In the shortest possible space of time, and without unnecessary words, the cannon was reloaded with the same amount of powder and the same-sized line as before.
Once more appeared the tongue of flame. In the midst of it the lad, who hardly breathed because of his excitement, saw the missile as it sped onward true to its aim, dragging after it length upon length of thin line which unloosed from the box in the most perfect fashion, and then a loud cry of triumph went up from the brave fellows who had expended so much labor to aid the unfortunate mariners.
Even in the gloom and amid the falling snow one could see that narrow, black thread as it lay fairly across the wreck just forward of the mizzen-rigging, and within easy reach of the sailors in the vicinity; but yet no one of that imperiled crew left his place of refuge to seize upon it.
Just for an instant the life savers on the shore stood in amazement. They had laid to hand a means of escape, and yet those who were so near death had not moved a finger toward availing themselves of the opportunity.