they
cruised about the scene, setting off rockets, firing guns, sounding the
whistle, listening intently with lowered boats, but never heard a sound
from the wreck, never until two days after knew the fate of the vessel
they had cut down. At last the first officer, fearful for his precious
freight, bade his four oarsmen to pull for shore, his little pocket
compass pointing the way. At dawn they heard the signals of a steamer
through the dripping mist, and raised their voices in prolonged shout.
An hour more and they were lifted, numb and wearied, but, oh, so
thankful, to the deck of a coaster creeping up from Wilmington and Santa
Barbara, and were comforted with chocolate and coffee, while for long,
long hours the steamer cruised up and down, to and fro, seeking for
their companions and never desisting until again the pall of night
spread over the leaden sea. Late the following morning the fog rolled
back before the waking breeze and the Broderick steamed hopefully on for
the Golden Gate, and by nightfall was moored at her accustomed dock,
there to be met by the tidings that, while the second officer managed to
beach his boat in safety, the captain's overloaded craft was swamped in
the breakers off Point Pinos, and that brave old Turnbull had lost his
life, dragged under by drowning men. At Monterey the people thought the
longboat too must have overturned, and that all the women had perished.
The Santiago, nearly sinking, had only just reached port. The beach
above Point Pinos was thronged with people searching in the surf for the
bodies of the victims, and the captain of the Idaho was broken hearted,
if not well-nigh crazed. The news of the safety of the women flew from
street to street, fast as the papers could speed their extras. Loving
friends came pouring down to meet and care for the survivors on the
Broderick. The owners of the Idaho hastened to congratulate and commend
their first officer and praise his seamanship and wisdom. The women were
conveyed in carriages to the homes of friends or cared for by the
company, and after a brief handclasp and parting word with Pancha, whose
pathetic eyes haunted him for days, Mr. Loring took a cab and drove
alone to headquarters. Evidently the story of the panic and its prompt
suppression had not yet been told.

And then for at least five days the papers teemed with details of that
marine disaster, and public-spirited citizens started a subscription for
a presentation to the