Sam Hardy stopped only sufficiently long to assure himself they were not in the vicinity, and then replied in a tone of conviction: “Gone back to the station for the beach-wagon.” “Perhaps they never got ashore,” Benny added in a whisper of awe. “Don’t get such an idea as that in your head, lad. I’d answer for it every one didn’t go under, an’ the fact that there are none here is proof each man answered to his name.” “What do you suppose they thought had become of us?” “We didn’t cut any figger in their thoughts, lad. Most likely Downey knew I jumped aboard the life-boat, an’ after that he counted us out when reckonin’ how many was in need of help. We’ll push on, for it’ll be a hard tug gettin’ that cart over these rocks with only half a crew.” “Are the other lighters adrift?” Benny asked as he followed his comrade at a smart pace. “Ay, lad, an’ as near as I can make out, two of them are afoul of the steamer. There’ll be a pretty mess there when the sun rises, an’ we’ll be hauled over the coals for it; but I’ll thank anybody to tell me how we could have done more than we did.” At that moment Benny gave little heed to the fate of the stranded steamer; if the three men could be safely taken from the lighter he believed there would be cause for rejoicing, even though all hulks alongshore were dashed to pieces. Before the two had traversed more than a third of the distance from the scene of the disaster to the station they came upon the remnant of the crew dragging the beach-apparatus. Benny may have thought that the keeper would at least congratulate them upon their escape, but he did nothing of the kind. Danger was too frequent a visitor to cause much comment, save at the very moment of its appearance, and the keeper said quietly, as if they had been engaged in some ordinary duty: “Got ashore, eh? Where’s the life-boat?” “The other side of Jefford’s reef. While the wind holds in this quarter there’s no fear she’ll drift far, an’ we can pick her up in the mornin’.” “Take hold here, and let us finish this job as soon as may be, for I don’t like the idea of leaving the remainder of the coast without a patrol”; and he added after the wagon was in motion once more, with Sam and Benny in the rope harness, “Did the other lighters come in?” “They’re grindin’ the steamer into toothpicks. Even if we had all hands out there in the big boat, it would be impossible to do anything.” “I know that,” Downey replied impatiently, “an’ yet it will seem to others as if we might have done more. A pretty story we’ve got to tell about this night’s work! A crew of life savers wrecked in a life-boat! If we’re not the sport of every man in the Service from this out, I’ll eat my hat!” “And yet there’s no man livin’ who could have foreseen what happened. It was the proper thing to send us on board the lighter, an’ if her gear gave way, we’re not to be blamed for it,” Sam replied earnestly, and Tom Downey remained silent. CHAPTER XVII. A LETTER.