“Keep your ears open for the steamer’s whistle, which will be sounded three times if the captain decides that he needs assistance.”
“And what then, sir? It will be hard making out such a signal as that now the fog-horn has begun to blow.”
It was as if the keeper had only realized this fact by thus being reminded of it, and after a brief consultation with the crew he shouted again:
“We’ll come ashore on that bit of shingle just below, and you may join us there.”
Having said this he gave some order to the men, and the surf-boat was pulled out to sea again, disappearing almost immediately in the fog which had by this time reached the land.
“Why are they coming ashore?” Benny asked as Sam Hardy set out northward.
“He counts on havin’ the surf-boat in case she may be needed, for, if this smother clears away before the moon rises, there’ll be a sea on that will trouble yonder steamer considerably.”
Sam followed the trend on the shore a hundred yards or more, coming to a halt where a narrow strip of pebbly beach lay between two frowning walls of rock, and Benny said to himself that it would not be possible, however familiar the life-saving crew were with the coast, for them to find their way through this dangerous passage while the fog was so dense that objects a dozen feet away could hardly be distinguished.
In this he was mistaken, however. The men had been forced many times, either to save their own lives or in the aid of others, to pursue quite as blind a course, and two or three minutes later the surf-boat came between the frowning walls against which the waves were already beginning to dash with an ominous moan.
Now Benny had an opportunity of observing how much labor might be required of the life-saving crew when it became necessary to take precautions.