The men smoke cigars drink their water and wait to be spotted by the lighthouse rescue crew, unwilling to run their boat ashore in the rough waves. The men discuss rowing toward land swimming through the surf once the boat finally capsizes in the rougher water that is closer to shore.
I can tell that they’re still in a bubble, having just returned to a draughty and fairly dismal England, like so many adventurers in so many distinctively English narratives that have filtered down across decades.
Lows included being capsized three times in a boat that won’t sink or lose its positively strapped-in occupants, the shock of which was nonetheless immense.
A while later, a crowd gathers, disembarking from a bus.
Despite their efforts to let the people know on shore they were in distress, they realize that the people on shore are tourists and that they think they are just simple fisherman.