But the resistance of
the wind and the line early made itself felt. Slower and slower
hummed the reel. There came a time when the missile seemed to
hesitate, then fairly to stand in equilibrium. Finally, in an
increasingly abrupt curve, it descended into the sea. By a good
three hundred yards the shot had failed to carry the line over the
vessels.
"There's Mr. Bradford," said Carroll, waving her hand. "I wish he'd
come and tell us something about it."
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.
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