Keeper Anderson nodded.
“Seems so,” he replied gravely. “Get to work, boys!”
All hurried out of the cabin.
Then came that which they feared to hear: another dull report brought on the wings of the wind and fog. All doubt now vanished from the minds of the crew.
“Saints help ’em!” Larry exclaimed fervently, when they entered the boathouse. He began to pace the floor impatiently as he worked like a hound in leash.
“Help who, sir?” asked Chester, following him.
“The poor divils who are firin’ that ’ere gun, knowin’ there’s some one near who can lind ’em a helpin’ hand.”
“Do you mean that there’s a wreck?” Alec queried in a tone so low that none save Captain Anderson heard him.
“Ay, son,” he answered. “The craft, whatever she may be, has run aground on the bar.”
“How can you tell without seeing her, sir?” Billy inquired, wishing that he knew enough to lend a hand with the boat.