That the surf had been rising all this time the watchers on shore knew full well by the roaring and pounding of the waves upon the rocks, but yet even Sam Hardy, experienced in such matters as he was, betrayed surprise when the lifting of the fog revealed the situation of the stranded steamer. At the time she was first discovered the vessel lay motionless as if at anchor in a quiet haven; now the heavy swell, dashing over the shoal, was so high that at times it seemed as if the steamer’s decks must be flooded, and Sam Hardy cried anxiously and impatiently: “Why don’t that pig-headed captain signal for assistance? I’ve seen a craft more staunch than she knocked to pieces by the surf when there wasn’t half a gale of wind, an’ now we’re likely to have before mornin’ all the breeze that a water-borne craft can stagger under, to say nothin’ of one that’s aground.” “Perhaps he’s waitin’ until daylight,” Benny suggested, and his companion replied with a note of anger in his voice: “If he does it’ll be too late, for in that shallow water we couldn’t get a life-boat to her, an’ the time has already passed when we might be able to use the surf-boat.” Five minutes later the two watchers on shore saw, coming around the point, the heavy boat from the station, and understood that Keeper Downey believed the moment had arrived when assistance should be rendered, even though as yet it had not been asked for. “I reckon the cook is No. 1 in that crew,” Sam muttered half to himself as he watched the buoyant craft toss like an egg-shell on the heavy waters. “Downey might at least have sent him out here, an’ let me take my proper place, for now the life-boat has been launched there’s little need of keepin’ a man on duty at this place.” It was a brave sight to see that staunch boat breasting the waves which at times appeared to raise her literally on end, but yet steadily continuing the course, and the timid ones aboard the stranded steamer must have hailed her as a thing of beauty and of mercy. Benny had never seen the life-boat in service, and so engrossed was he with the spectacle that he could give no attention to anything else. By this time not a vestige of fog could be seen. The stars were twinkling brightly in the sky, and, save for the tremendous wind which seemed gathering force every instant, one would have said that there was no fear of disaster alongshore. The life-boat ran down the coast, heading directly for the steamer until she was within perhaps an eighth of a mile, when, turning, she put straight out to sea in the teeth of the wind as if running away from the stranded vessel, and Benny cried: “Mr. Downey’s afraid to go any nearer; but why doesn’t he come back to the station?”