It was useless for Sam to scold and fret.
The circumstances could not be altered, and all he might do was to stand on the shore watching the increasing violence of the waters, knowing full well that each moment lessened the chances of rendering assistance to the stranded steamer.
Then came Joe Cushing, who was doing patrol duty on that portion of the shore, and Sam asked for the particulars of the life-boat’s voyage.
“When we came alongside Downey explained to the skipper what was like to be the condition of affairs an hour later; but couldn’t beat any sense into his head. He refused to allow a single passenger to leave, although many of them were anxious to do so; but asked again that we send another message into the city for tugs,” Joe Cushing replied. “It seems that the craft hasn’t taken ground so badly but that she could be pulled off with her own engines, by the aid of a couple of tugs, an’ the master declares she’ll stand more poundin’ than she’s likely to receive this night, all of which may be true. Just as we were leavin’ he asked the keeper to have the crew on hand in case he decided later to land with his own boats.”
“With his own boats in this surf!” Sam Hardy exclaimed.
“Ay, that’s what he allowed. Of course Tom Downey told him it couldn’t be done, an’ said all a man might to dissuade him from makin’ such an attempt. Then we came away, an’ Sam, you know as well as I, that now there’s no crew in this or any other country that can put out across the shoal an’ get back with their boat.”
“Know it, of course I do!” Sam Hardy cried, and then for ten minutes or more the two surfmen discussed the situation angrily, but without making matters any better, save perhaps it might be that their own minds were relieved by much talking, after which Joe Cushing went on patrol again.
When he was gone Benny asked:
“Are we to stay here, sir?”
“Ay, lad, until we starve, unless Tom Downey orders us in.”