The banjo-playing village Brummell saw the signal and came, his face grave.
“Couldn't they get the lifeboats out to them?” asked Carroll as he approached.
“You see that one,” said Bradford, pointing. “Well, the other's in kindling wood farther up the beach.”
“Anybody drowned?” asked Mina quickly.
“No, we got 'em out. Mr. Cam's shoulder is broken.” He glanced down at himself comically, and the girls for the first time noticed that beneath the heavy overcoat his garments were dripping.
“But surely they'll never get a line over with the mortar!” said Carroll. “That last shot fell so far short!”
“They know it. They've shot a dozen times. Might as well do something.”
“I should think,” said Mina, “that they'd shoot from the end of the pier. They'd be ever so much nearer.”
“Tried it,” replied Bradford succinctly. “Nearly lost the whole business.”
Nobody said anything for some time, but all looked helplessly to where the vessels—from this elevation insignificant among the tumbling waters—were pounding to pieces.