As the lad saw the buoy appearing and disappearing amid the waves, but continuing rapidly on toward the wreck, a great joy came into his heart, and he realized then, if never before, the wondrous pleasure which must come to those who succeed in saving lives after a desperate battle.
When the buoy reached the wreck those ashore saw a man step into it, and then came the command:
“Man the lee whip! Haul ashore!”
Now the life savers were working to economize time. Every second must be utilized if that crew of seven was to be brought ashore before the schooner should have been torn to pieces.
Anxious though Benny was, and fearful lest they should not succeed in getting even one ashore, the breeches-buoy appeared to be moving swiftly, as indeed was the case, for every man of the crew, tailing on the whip, was working as only men can under similar circumstances.
The first of the rescued was well-nigh helpless after gaining the shore, and now had come the time when Benny might be of some assistance.
“Let me take care of him, sir, and it will save a man’s labor when you need all hands at the whip,” the lad said as Keeper Downey approached, and the latter replied with a ring of cheeriness in his tones which had not been heard since the work began:
“Here’s where you’ll come in handy, lad. Roust that fellow about; don’t let him remain quiet, for he must keep the blood circulating.”
Then the weather whip was manned, and the buoy forced out toward the wreck to receive another passenger. In again was it hauled, and two lives had been saved.
“Man the weather whip! Haul out!”
The third had taken his place in the breeches-buoy.
“Man the lee whip! Haul ashore!”
The third had been saved.
And so went on the work while the tempest howled and raged; the snow wreathed and whirled as if to blind the life savers, and the sea roared and bellowed at losing its prey; but in time—in a comparatively short time—six were ashore, and only one remained upon the quivering vessel which was now hardly more than a hulk, so sadly had the sea battered and torn it.
For the last time the buoy was being run out, and more than half the distance had been traversed when suddenly, and without warning, the mizzen-mast went by the board, carrying with it the mainmast.
As the second spar fell, communication between the life savers and this poor fellow for whom they were battling, was broken; but almost while the disaster was taking place Tom Downey had sprung to the gun for the purpose of sending out another shot-line, when a cry of horror went up—a crash was heard even above the howling of the tempest, and the foremast had fallen.
Now it was that Benny witnessed a scene of heroism such as is seldom heard about, although often performed—heroism that is displayed during the winter’s tempests on our rock-bound coasts, in the presence of those who themselves are heroes.
When the last spar fell he who remained upon the wreck was seen to leap from the port-rail beyond the raffle of spars and cordage which dashed to and fro alongside, and Sam Hardy cried with a tone of admiration in his sturdy voice:
“That fellow has got grit, and will fight well for his life! See him strike out!”
The man was swimming bravely in the icy waters, and every member of the crew, who an instant before despaired of being able to save him, now began to hope that through his own exertions the task might be accomplished.
The surf was dashing a hundred feet up the side of the cliff, and the water ’twixt the schooner and the shore so filled with wreckage that it seemed as if the swimmer must be torn to pieces ere he could take a dozen strokes, but yet now and then, as the billows raised him on high, it could be seen that he was holding his own—that he was making headway toward the shore.
It needed no word of command from Tom Downey to send every member of his crew into the foaming waters, and there, with a line stretched from one to the other, the entire seven formed a chain; with Sam Hardy at the outermost end, all buried under each succeeding wave, but yet pressing outward in the hope of being able to clutch the gallant swimmer before he should become exhausted.
Finally it seemed as if the man had gained a foothold on the rocks, for he apparently stood in the water knee-deep one single instant, and then a receding sea, lifting him from his footing, hurled him backward toward the hulk from which he had escaped.
“Give me more rope!” Sam Hardy shouted, and Benny stifled the cry of fear which came to his lips as he saw the gallant surfman swimming out to meet the half-drowned sailor.
Then an incoming sea caught up the man who had made such a desperate struggle for life, bore him shoreward again until he was within twenty feet of Hardy, when one of the schooner’s spars, rearing up in the water as if raised by some giant hand, descended upon the struggling wretch, crushing out his life as it forced him down to the bottom of the sea.
During the work of rescue Benny was fully employed, according to instructions received from Keeper Downey, in ministering to those who had been brought on shore.
The clothing of the men was water-soaked, as a matter of course, and very shortly after gaining the shore these saturated garments were frozen stiff. Therefore it was necessary that the rescued be kept moving to and fro as rapidly as possible, and when one or another, exhausted by previous exposure, would have succumbed to the drowsiness which precedes death by freezing, Benny urged him to walk about, employing threats when entreaties were of no avail.
Immediately after the brave sailor had met his death Keeper Downey called sharply for Benny, and when the lad stood before him, asked:
“Are you willing to make another try at finding the station, lad?”
“Yes, indeed, sir?”
“The rescued men should be able to get there under your guidance more quickly than by remaining with us. If you can keep your wits in this smother of snow, set out, and see to it that every man moves at his best pace. The fog-horn will give you the direction. Once you have arrived oblige the men to strip off their frozen garments, and supply them with dry clothing. I am trusting you to take all six of them in, Benny, and it isn’t impossible one or more, half-dazed as they are, may refuse to move as rapidly as is necessary, therefore you must keep a sharp lookout.”
“Shall I go now, sir?”
“Be off as quickly as you can,” Tom Downey replied, and Benny noted with pride that the keeper turned immediately away to attend to the reloading of the beach-wagon, a fact which, to the lad’s mind, proved that he was trusted implicitly.
“You are to come with me,” Benny said, going to where the rescued men were tramping round-about in a circle, threshing their arms together to keep up the circulation of blood. “Mr. Downey says you must be kept moving at full speed, and since I’m not big enough to carry out the orders if there’s any kick made, your captain ought to see that there is no loitering.”
“Our captain was the last to leave the schooner, and you know he did not gain the shore,” one of the men replied, his voice choking with emotion. “I’m the mate, however, and you’ll find we can obey orders. A man would be a poor stick who didn’t carry out any instructions given by those who have met death more than half-way to save him.”
“I’m not very certain of the road, but if we follow the sound of the fog-horn we’ll come out near the station, and we’d best get off now, else Mr. Downey will think we’re loafing.”
“Strike out, an’ we’ll keep at your heels,” the mate replied, and, trusting to this promise, Benny set off, bending low to protect his face from the pitiless lashing of the snow.
Very proud was the boy at having been given this share in the labor of rescue, and when the way was difficult, or the elements beat him back, he repeated to himself again and again that if this duty should be performed worthily he would most likely be entrusted with others as occasion might arise.
The journey to the station was simply a repetition of the one made after the schooner was first sighted, except that on this occasion he had companionship, and his mind was taken from the difficulties of the way in a great measure by the responsibility which had been put upon him.
The mate urged the crew to keep pace with Benny, but every man among them found it more difficult to press on than did the lad; yet the hinder-most was no more than a dozen yards in the rear when the guide gained the door of the station and was welcomed by the shrill barking of Fluff, who had distinguished his master’s footsteps even above the howling of the gale.
Since the Amazonia sailed from Calcutta this was the first time the tiny dog had been left alone, and the welcome he gave Benny was so vigorous that it seemed as if the noise would shake his tiny body into fragments.
“Be a good dog, Fluff, and wait just a little bit till I get dry clothes for the men. I’m just as glad to see you as you are to see me, but while there’s work to be done we mustn’t spend time telling each other about it.”
The dog danced and capered and barked at Benny’s heels as he went back and forth from the store-room to where the sailors were gathered around the glowing fire, and it was much as if he fancied himself assisting in the labor—as if Fluff also counted on being a surfman.
The cook, who had retired before the crew set out, now came down to perform his regular share of the work in such cases, which was to make a fresh supply of coffee and prepare a meal for the exhausted men.
Benny had faithfully carried out the instructions given him by the keeper, and there was nothing more he could do until the crew should return, when he knew full well his services would be welcomed gladly by the weary, half-frozen life savers.
The mate was disposed to indulge in conversation, and after having drank a bowl of hot coffee, he told the lad that the schooner which was being torn to pieces on Skinner’s Point was the Three Brothers, coal-laden, from Philadelphia to Portland. At noon on that day, so low did the temperature fall that ice had formed about the craft until she was unmanageable, and during five hours had been driven at the mercy of wind and waves.
“Knowing the schooner was bound to go ashore, we hoped it might be in the vicinity of where she did strike.”
“But why did you want her wrecked there? It seems to me a worse place couldn’t be found.”
“We knew there was a life-saving station near, and when the red glare of the Coston signal flashed out through the snow, all hands understood that a crew of good men and true stood ready to do whatsoever lay in their power to give us aid. I answered that signal, and then ran over in my mind the instructions which the service sends out to every ship-master and mate.”
“What kind of instructions?” Benny asked, showing by the expression on his face that this information was something entirely new to him.
“If you care to find out, you will find a small, black, water-proofed book, something like a note-case, in the pocket of the coat I took off, and there everything is set down so plainly any sailor can understand what should be done when the life-saving crew appears. But you here in the station should know all about it.”
“I haven’t been here but a day or two,” Benny replied gravely. “I was on the ship Amazonia when she went ashore only a short distance from this building.”
“Then you know what it is to see these men come to your assistance. How many were saved from the ship, lad?”
“No one but me,” Benny replied, turning away quickly lest the mate should see the tears in his eyes, and in order to avoid further questioning he went in search of the book mentioned.
“It’s the only thing in my pocket, lad,” the mate cried, understanding, perhaps, why Benny professed such eagerness to see the instructions. “I took it from my berth when it seemed certain the Three Brothers was doomed. Give me the book, and I’ll read that part of the printed matter which most interests us sailors.”
After searching over the sodden clothing, which he had carefully hung on pegs behind the stove, Benny found a tiny book and brought it to the mate, who read as one does who wishes to refresh his memory:
“‘The patrolman, after discovering your vessel ashore and burning a Coston signal, hastens to his station for assistance. If the use of a boat is practicable, either the large life-boat is launched from its ways in the station and proceeds to the wreck by water, or the lighter surf-boat is hauled overland to a point opposite the wreck and launched, as circumstances may require.
“‘Upon the boat reaching your vessel, the directions and orders of the keeper (who always commands and steers the boat) should be implicitly obeyed. Any headlong rushing and crowding should be prevented, and the captain of the vessel should remain on board, to preserve order, until every other person has left.
“‘Women, children, helpless persons, and passengers should be passed into the boat first.
“‘Goods or baggage will positively not be taken into the boat until all are landed. If any be passed in against the keeper’s remonstrance he is fully authorized to throw the same overboard.
“‘Should it be inexpedient to use either the life-boat or surf-boat, recourse will be had to the wreck-gun and beach-apparatus for the rescue by the breeches-buoy or the life-car.
“‘A shot with a small line attached will be fired across your vessel.
“‘Get hold of the line as soon as possible and haul on board until you get a tail-block with a whip or endless line rove through it. This tail-block should be hauled on board as quickly as possible to prevent the whip drifting off with the set, or fouling with wreckage, etc. Therefore, if you have been driven into the rigging, where but one or two men can work to advantage, cut the shot-line and run it through some available block, such as the throat or peak-halliards block, or any block which will afford a clear lead, or even between the ratlines, that as many as possible may assist in the hauling.
“‘Attached to the tail-block will be a tally-board with the following directions in English on one side and French on the other:
“‘Make the tail of the block fast to the lower mast, well up. If the masts are gone, then to the best place you can find. Cast off the shot-line, see that the rope in the block runs free, and show a signal to the shore.
“‘As soon as your signal is seen a three-inch hawser will be bent on to the whip and hauled off to your ship by the life-saving crew.
“‘If the circumstances will admit, you can assist the life-saving crew by manning that part of the whip to which the hawser is bent, and hauling with them.
“‘When the end of the hawser is got on board a tally-board will be found attached, bearing the following directions in English on one side and French on the other:
“‘Make this hawser fast about two feet above the tail-block, see all clear and that the rope in the block runs free, and show a signal to the shore.
“‘Take particular care that there are no turns of the whip-line around the hawser. To prevent this take the end of the hawser up between the parts of the whip before making it fast.
“‘When the hawser is made fast, the whip cast off from the hawser, and your signal seen by the life-saving crew, they will haul the hawser taut and by means of the whip will haul off to your ship a breeches-buoy suspended from a traveller-block, or a life-car from rings, running on the hawser.
“‘If the breeches-buoy be sent, let one man immediately get into it, thrusting his legs through the breeches. If the life-car, remove the hatch, place as many persons into it as it will hold, and secure the hatch on the outside by the hatch-bar and hook, signal as before, and the buoy or car will be hauled ashore.
“‘In many instances two men can be landed in the breeches-buoy at the same time by each putting a leg through a leg of the breeches and holding on to the lifts of the buoy.
“‘Children, when brought ashore by the buoy, should be in the arms of older persons, or securely lashed to the buoy. Women and children should be landed first.
“‘Circumstances may arise, owing to the strength of the current or set, or the danger of the wreck breaking up immediately, when it would be impossible to send off the hawser. In such case a breeches-buoy or life-car will be hauled off instead by the whip, or sent off to you by the shot-line, and you will be hauled ashore through the surf.
“‘If your vessel is stranded during the night and discovered by the patrolman, which you will know by his burning a brilliant red light, keep a bright lookout for signs of the arrival of the life-saving crew abreast your vessel.
“‘From one to four hours may intervene between the burning of the light and their arrival, as the patrolman will have to return to his station, perhaps three or four miles distant, and the life-saving crew draw the apparatus or surf-boat through the sand or over bad roads to where your vessel is stranded.
“‘Lights on the beach will indicate their arrival, and the sound of cannon-firing from the shore may be taken as evidence that a line has been fired across your vessel. Therefore, upon hearing the cannon, make strict search aloft, fore, and aft, for the shot-line, for it is almost certain to be there. Though the movements of the life-saving crew may not be perceptible to you, owing to the darkness, your ship will be a good mark for the men experienced in the use of the wreck-gun, and the first shot seldom fails.’”
The mate had read thus far, Benny listening intently to every word, when the sound of voices outside, and the opening of the boat-room door, told that the crew had returned.
Fluff greeted the men with his shrill barking, and Benny laid out dry clothing for each one, an attention which was fully appreciated, as could be told by the exclamations of satisfaction and of pleasure uttered by the weary crew as they entered the mess-room.
The shipwrecked men greeted their rescuers with the liveliest protestations of gratitude, and Tom Downey replied, even while Benny was pounding his coat with a broomstick in order to so break the ice that the keeper could take it off:
“We’ve only done what the Government hires us for, mates, an’ our extra pay comes in when we’re able to save lives, as in this case. I’d feel that the night was more of a success if we hadn’t lost a life; but we ashore couldn’t say how weak the spars had grown under the pounding of the waves.”
“When the first line came aboard I thought we were doomed because it would be impossible to help ourselves,” the mate replied. “For a time it seemed as if my arms were frozen stiff, and but for the knowledge that death would come in a very few moments unless something could be done to second your efforts, I believe of a verity I should have died where I stood.”
Then the sailors began relating their personal experiences, and soon the rescuers were before the glowing fire while the cook and Benny passed around coffee or food, with Fluff sitting bolt upright apparently listening intently to every word.
The two whose duty it was to go on patrol could not be excused, however excessive the labor just performed. The storm was still raging furiously, and the Three Brothers might not be the only craft in peril on the coast that night.
Robbins and Sawyer remained in the cheery mess-room no longer than was absolutely necessary, and then they went out into the howling storm to walk the long beats on which might be found more work for the crew which had already done such brave duty.
Keeper Downey ordered Benny to bed, accompanying the command with words that gave the lad most sincere pleasure:
“You’ve done as good work, accordin’ to your experience, as any man among us, Benjamin, an’ we’re proud of you.”
Sam Hardy nodded his approval of this praise, and Benny, with Fluff C. Foster in his arms, went up-stairs to bed feeling that he would be willing to brave almost any danger in order to earn another compliment equal to that.
When the amateur surfman awakened next morning the sun was shining brightly, and, save for the roaring of the surf, nothing told of the furious tempest which had so lately raged.
The cook had already gone down-stairs, and Benny dressed himself hurriedly, for he was not pleased at the prospect of being late at his post of duty.
“I counted on your waking Fluff and me,” he said reproachfully as he entered the kitchen. “We were up so late——”
“That’s exactly the reason why I sneaked down-stairs on the quiet. After last night’s work you should have had a long nap, instead of being down here before the fire is fairly going.”
“We didn’t do enough to hurt us,” Benny replied with a laugh, “and surely we must be needed this morning, when there are so many mouths to feed.”
“I’ve had a bigger family than this many a time, an’ got through with the work alone, but since you’ve been so foolish as to turn out, I’ll be glad of your help, for a handy lad like you makes the job a light one.”
“It seems as if I was getting praised all around,” Benny said with a laugh as he made his toilet. “Pretty soon you’ll be finding out that I don’t deserve it.”
“I hope not, lad, for all hands of us are getting a good bit of satisfaction out of you and the dog.”
Benny was kept busy in the kitchen a greater portion of the succeeding forty-eight hours, and then the shipwrecked sailors were sent to the neighboring city, after which the crew at the station settled down to the old routine of drill and patrol, every man looking forward eagerly to the reply from headquarters regarding their request in the boy’s behalf.
Sam Hardy and Joe Cushing had taken it upon themselves to teach Maje that Fluff was entitled to the liberty of the station grounds, and, at the expense of considerable time, and much loss of temper on the part of Maje, the lesson was so nearly learned that the big dog allowed the little one to go here and there without interference, but Benny did not trust wholly to appearances.
“It won’t do any harm if I keep my eye on Fluff when he goes out,” the lad said gravely after Sam Hardy had suggested that there was no longer any good reason for being suspicious of Maje. “Of course your dog is bound to be jealous for a spell, and till he gets over it I wouldn’t want to trust Fluff alone with him very long at a time.”
Both Sam and Joe were positive Maje could be depended upon to behave himself, and appeared eager Benny should allow matters to take their natural course, so far as the two animals were concerned, therefore the boy permitted Fluff to go out of doors whenever he was so disposed; but he was careful to first make certain that Maje was not in the immediate vicinity.
It was nearly sunset on the day the shipwrecked mariners had been conveyed to the city. There was not a cloud in the sky, and the sea was so calm that it was almost difficult to believe it could ever be aroused to a roaring fury.
The lookout on day-duty had come down to the station for supper, and the two whose time for patrol began at sunset were already eating the evening meal that they might be ready to set out at the exact moment.
Benny had been assisting the cook as usual, but was now waiting upon the men who were about to go on patrol.
Fluff, ten minutes previous, had whined for permission to go out of doors for a stroll, and, after learning that Maje was in the oil-room, where he usually found a shelter during exceedingly cold or stormy weather, Benny opened the door for his pet.
So white was Fluff, thanks to his master’s custom of giving him a bath every other day, that it was almost impossible to distinguish him in the gloom of early twilight while he remained on the snow, and Benny lost sight of him before he had gone a hundred feet from the building.
Then he was called by one of the men, and while attending to whatever trifling duty had been set him, it was observed that the boy appeared anxious.
“What’s the matter, Benjamin?” Sam Hardy asked. “Anything wrong with Mr. Fluff C. Foster?”
“I hope not, sir; but he disappeared so soon after leaving the house that I’m wondering if he didn’t get into the oil-room.”
“I reckon not, else we’d heard something from Maje before this. I’m goin’ out, though, an’ will look after him.”
Sam opened the door as he spoke, and at that instant Fluff could be heard in the distance, barking shrilly.
Benny leaped to his feet and ran toward the door, calling the dog by name.
From the noise it could be told that Fluff came nearer the building in obedience to the summons, and then stopped, yelping and barking as if in dire distress.
“Come here, sir! Come this minute!” Benny cried peremptorily, and to the surprise of all, for the dog usually obeyed readily, the yelping increased as Fluff retreated from the house.
Benny ran after him, and Sam Hardy followed quickly, as if he believed something serious was the cause of the animal’s disobedience.
The remainder of the crew stood near the open door curiously, and after a brief interval they heard Benny calling yet more peremptorily to the dog, when for reply the yelping was changed to most dismal howls.
“Maje shall have a sound flogging if he has dared to touch that little fellow!” Keeper Downey said threateningly as he took up his cap to leave the building, and just at that instant the crew were startled by hearing Sam Hardy shout:
“Man overboard! Out with the surf-boat!”
Members of a life-saving crew never stop to question a statement of such a nature as that made by their comrade.
Every man sprang to the boat-room door, and the surf-boat was outside the building ready for launching by the time Sam came up, breathless with rapid running, but not excited.
“Beyond the Horseshoe!” he cried, taking his proper station with the others, and in what to a stranger would have seemed an incredibly short space of time the light craft was in the water, leaping from wave to wave under the impetus given by three pairs of oars.
The “Horseshoe” was a circular reef which made out from the main shore five or six hundred yards from the station, and the cook ran with all speed across the bluff, with the idea that he might arrive there in advance of the boat.
His legs were no match for the life savers’ arms, however, and when he gained the cliff which overlooked the reef the crew were dragging the body of a man over the surf-boat’s rail, while a light gunning-skiff, overturned, a short distance away, was sufficient evidence as to the cause of the disaster.
“Some greenhorn out here alone, sneaking along the shore hoping to bag a few ducks just at sunset, has come near paying dearly for the sport,” the cook muttered in an angry tone. “After two or three more accidents of the same kind, sportsmen from the city will begin to understand, I hope, that such fun is dangerous.”
It was the third mishap of a similar nature that season, and in one case the venturesome hunter had lost his life, therefore the cook might well be excused for losing his temper over such carelessness.
When he returned to the station the half-drowned man had been carried into the building, but he still retained sufficient consciousness to understand how his rescue had been brought about, and the cook heard him say to Tom Downey:
“If it hadn’t been for your toy dog I should have drowned, for I’d swallowed so much salt water that it was impossible to make a very loud noise.”
“Yes, I reckon you can set it down as a fact that Fluff C. Foster saved your life, mister, and from this out he, as well as his master, is a member of this ’ere crew if I can bring it about!” Joe Cushing said emphatically, as he emptied fully half the contents of the sugar-bowl into a saucer and gave it to Fluff, who was dancing to and fro, wagging his white tail furiously, as if calling attention to the fact that even a “toy” dog might be of some service in the world.
The story told by the stranger did not differ materially from that which the cook had imagined after seeing the overturned gunning-skiff.
The young gentleman, Francis P. Bradford by name, had been paddling around the shore, keeping well within the shadow of the rocks in the hope of getting a good bag of wild ducks when they settled upon the water at sunset. He had begun the voyage from a point two miles or more distant, and approached in such manner that the men who were on watch could not have seen him.
The shallow skiff, which Sam Hardy declared very emphatically “was little better than an egg-shell,” had run upon a submerged rock, and, the swell arising at that instant, overset her, throwing the sportsman into the water.
Encumbered as he was by heavy clothing, and being by no means a skilful swimmer, the sportsman could do no more than keep himself afloat, while the boat was driven by the wind farther and farther from the shore.
Knowing that a life-saving station was near at hand, he shouted for help; but, as has been said, it was impossible to make any very loud outcry, and, rapidly becoming exhausted, he believed death was inevitable until there suddenly appeared on the bluff, to use his own words, “what looked to be a ball of white cotton blown along by the wind.”
“I had no idea it was a dog,” he said continuing the story, “until the fluffy object straightened itself out and began barking shrilly. I am certain the little fellow understood my plight, for when some person called him he ran back a few paces, and then returned yelping and howling until one would have said there was danger the volume of sound would cause him to explode like an overcharged boiler.”
Benny’s eyes sparkled with delight as young Bradford continued to praise Fluff; but an expression of dissatisfaction came over his face when the sportsman declared his intention of leaving with Keeper Downey a sum of money to be expended in purchasing food and dainties for the animal that had been the means of saving his life.
“What’s the matter, Benny?” Sam asked, noting the look on the boy’s face.
“It won’t do at all, sir,” and Benny spoke very decidedly. “Fluff wouldn’t like to be paid for such a thing as that, I’m certain, and besides, if, as Mr. Cushing says, he is a member of the crew, then it’s his business to save life if he can, without thinking of taking money for it.”
“I’ll guarantee that the idea of money never came into Fluff C. Foster’s head!” Sam Hardy cried, laughing heartily. “You see, lad, what Mr. Bradford proposes is to give the dog a reward, and that any life-saver is entitled to if it be offered voluntarily.”
“It would please me if the gentleman wouldn’t leave money for Fluff,” Benny insisted. “It don’t seem right to take it for doing anything of the kind.”
From that moment Mr. Bradford ceased to press the matter; but later in the evening he had a long conversation with Tom Downey, and those who accidentally overheard scraps of the conversation understood that the keeper was telling Benny’s pitiful story.
Fluff was not interested in anything which was taking place around him. The feast of sugar which Joe Cushing had set out was so tempting and so delicious that he gave heed to nothing else.
When the sweet repast had come to an end, however, the dog was petted by first one and then another of the crew as he had never been before, and Benny said laughingly, as he took the little fellow in his arms fully half an hour before the usual time for retiring.
“Fluff will grow so proud that he’ll be spoiled if all hands praise him in this fashion. He’d better go to bed, and I’ll make him understand that it was no more than his duty to bark when he saw Mr. Bradford in the water.”
Then the boy and the dog disappeared for the night, and after he had left the room the life savers and their guest held a long consultation of a business nature, which was to be kept a profound secret from Benny and Fluff until all the details had been carried into effect.
On the following morning immediately after breakfast, Mr. Bradford left the station for the purpose of hiring some one of the farmers nearby to carry him into the city.
Very gravely he thanked Benny for the great service which had been rendered him by Fluff, urging the boy to promise that he would apply to him if at any time in the future he should need assistance.
To this the lad agreed, and when the gentleman had taken his departure said confidentially to Sam Hardy:
“If Fluff and I are to be surfmen we shan’t be obliged to beg from anyone, and I’d a good deal rather earn what we need than have it given us.”
“Well, lad, it shall go your way, and I like the idea you’ve got in mind. Whether you and Fluff will be able to cut much of a figure as surfmen is a matter which needn’t trouble us just now, for I’ll guarantee you don’t come to want while this crew holds together.”
Benny went about his regular duties as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, and Fluff, believing himself safe from any attack by Maje, ran to and fro over the snow-covered rocks until his pink feet were chilled by the frost, when he returned and, standing before his master, held up first one and then the other with a low whine which told of his discomfort.
The cook placed a chair near the stove, and, despite Benny’s protestations, insisted that Fluff should occupy it whenever he had been so foolish as to stay out of doors until thoroughly chilled.
“You have no business to play on the rocks while it is so cold,” Benny said reprovingly, addressing himself to the dog.
“It’s the nature of dogs and boys to be foolish at times, Benny, and since they can’t be expected to have better sense we must do whatever we can to repair the mischief. Therefore Fluff C. Foster sits right there until he’s comfortable once more. There’s nothing to be done around the kitchen for the next two or three hours, and seein’ how you and the dog are bent on being surfmen, now is the chance to learn the duties of a crew when there’s a wreck off shore, as in the case of the Three Brothers. Every man needs have in his head the manœuvres to be performed at such a time, and it’s all set down here in the regulations under the head of ‘Station Bill.’”
“What do you mean by that, sir?” Benny asked as he took the book from the cook’s outstretched hand.
“It shows the station of each man after the beach-wagon is on the shore ready for business. You know that every member of the crew has a number. Sam Hardy is 1; Joe Cushing, 2; Robbins, 3; Sawyer, 4, and so on. Here, under the same numbers that the men answer to, is set down exactly what must be done, with a few remarks to follow. Now, since all that must be repeated at drill, it would be a good idea if you stowed it away in your head.”
Benny began to read eagerly, understanding that if he had been familiar with all this information when the Three Brothers went ashore he possibly might have been of more assistance, and until the cook called him to assist in the work of preparing dinner he read and re-read the following lines:
“No. 1. Place gun in position; provide and load with shot; train the gun; bend the shot-line around the whip inside block; tend the left part of the whip; hold the hawser for No. 2 to bend on the whip; overhaul back of the whip, and, if to leeward, unbend ends and bend outer end into traveller-block; if to windward, snap traveller-block onto hawser, and bend outer end of whip into traveller-block; man fall and left leg of crotch.
“No. 2. Place shot-line box in position; bend shot-line into shot; train the gun; take a half-hitch with shot-line over tail of whip-block; tend right part of whip; bend the lee part of whip onto hawser; overhaul back whip, and, if to leeward, unbend ends and bend inner end into traveller-block; if to windward, snap traveller-block onto hawser and bend inner end of whip into travelling-block; man fall and right leg of crotch.
“No. 3. Place shot-line box in position; stretch tackle (outer block); haul left part of whip from reel; if to windward, reeve end of whip through sand-anchor block; otherwise, bend ends of whip together; man weather part of whip when sending off the hawser; haul in slack of hawser; put on strap for outer block of tackle; man fall, left leg of crotch, and am shifting man on the whip.
“No. 4. Unload buoy from cart; place crotch, hawser, and buoy in position; stretch tackle (inner block); haul right part of whip from reel; if to windward, reeve end of whip through sand-anchor block; otherwise, bend ends of whip together; man weather part of whip when sending off the hawser; haul in slack of hawser; hook on outer block of tackle; man fall, right leg of crotch, and am shifting man on the whip.
“No. 5. Unload and bury sand-anchor; man the weather part of whip when overhauling off the reel and sending off the hawser; haul in the slack of the hawser and make a cat’s-paw in the end; man fall; belay fall, and am shifting man on the whip.
“No. 6. Unload and bury sand-anchor; man the weather part of the whip when overhauling off the reel; lighten the hawser to captain; snatch bight of hawser into sand-anchor block; haul in slack of hawser; hook inner block of tackle into cat’s-paw; man fall, centre of crotch, and am shifting man on the whip.
“No. 7. Unload shovel and pick; assist to bury sand-anchor; man the weather part of whip when overhauling off the reel and sending off the hawser; haul in slack of hawser; man fall, centre of crotch, and am shifting man on the whip.
“The exercise must be considered as a whole, and when a man has performed one duty he will proceed to execute the next assigned him. All must work together. While the captain, 1, and 2 are opening communication with the gun and shot-line, 3, 4, 5, and 6 will have the hawser and its connections ready for sending off and hauling taut.
“When practising, as soon as the gun is discharged, 6 will go to the pole representing the wreck and haul off and make fast the whip and hawser; unless some other person willing to perform that duty is present, 4 throws the buoy off the cart that it may not interfere with removing the gun from the cart.
“If through carelessness the shot-line has been faked too tightly upon the pins, instead of forcing it off the pins by the bottom board, which is liable to split, raise the frame and remove a few of the bottom fakes with the hand, when the remainder will fall off into its place in the box.
“The sand-anchor must be opened, its sides at right angles to each other, and buried upon its flat in a narrow trench of sufficient depth, say two feet, and the trench filled in solidly about the anchor.
“In many instances, after communication is made with the wreck, as many as two or three hundred yards of shot-line will be left in the box. The captain must be governed by circumstances as to the best method of handling the surplus line. If there is no danger of the wreck going to pieces, spare line may be hauled on board the wreck, the shore end being bent around the whip; but where great haste is necessary it must be cut.
“Bending the bight of the shot-line around the whip is not recommended, as the portion inshore is liable to foul the whip.
“Cases may occur when, instead of unreeling the whole whip from the reel, both parts of the whip must be cut as soon as the whip-block is fast on board the wreck. Keepers must act with promptness in such cases, remembering that everything must be sacrificed to save life.
“The point where the hawser is bent into the ship must be as far as possible outside of where the ends of the whip are bent together, in order that when the hawser reaches the wreck the whip bend will be well inshore, out of the reach of the shipwrecked people, for should they, through excitement or ignorance, cast that off instead of the hawser, communication would be broken and much delay result.
“The whip should be worked moderately slack, unless extreme cold or drifting ice makes it necessary that it should be kept out of the water.
“Instances may occur when the wreck is breaking up rapidly, and there is not sufficient time to send off the whip and hawser, or the crew are too much exhausted to haul the gear off. In such cases, after communication is made by means of the shot-line, cut the shot-line, and bend the shore end onto a single part of the whip; when the end of the whip has reached the wreck, bend the bight of the whip into the slings of the buoy (block removed), and let the buoy be pulled off through the surf to the wreck.”
Benny was an apt pupil, and before nightfall could repeat word for word more than one-half of the Station Bill. It was his purpose to commit it all to memory, but he was interrupted in the task late in the afternoon by the return of Joe Cushing from the post-office, and it was such a noisy home-coming that every member of the crew knew what he brought.
All save the lookout were in the building engaged upon various trifling duties, when a series of yells from the outside brought the men to their feet, and Sam Hardy cried:
“That’s Joe Cushing! He’s brought the mail, and you can count for a certainty that in it is the answer from headquarters in regard to Benny.”
Even Keeper Downey found it difficult to remain calm, for that Sam had guessed correctly could be told by the Indian yells to which Joe was giving vent, and it is little wonder that the crew, instead of waiting for his entrance, went to the door to meet him, realizing as they did that in a few moments would be known the views of the Superintendent regarding the taking on of this new member.
Joe was coming at full speed, holding high above his head the official-looking envelope, and, as if believing his comrades had not been warned regarding the importance of what he brought, he shouted:
“Here’s the answer from the Department! It has been about as much as I could do to keep myself from opening it.”
Tom Downey stretched out his hand, and there was just a shadow of anxiety to be seen on his face as he took the missive.
The crew gathered around him; but Benny, trembling with apprehension, stood a short distance away holding Fluff in his arms.
“If it should be that we’ve got to go away now when things are fixed so nice, we’d be awful sorry, Fluffy; but we’ll try not to let the crew know we’re feeling bad,” he whispered to the dog while keeping his eyes fixed upon Sam Hardy.
Tom Downey was too impatient to permit of his reading carefully the communication from the Chief of the Service. He first glanced quickly over the letter, catching a word here and there, until understanding the proposition, when he cried joyously:
“It’s all right, boys! Benny’s entitled to stay here so long as we pay his bills!”
“I knew the Superintendent wasn’t the kind of a man that would turn a cold shoulder on a lad like him,” Sam Hardy said approvingly; and patting Benny on the head, he added, “Now, lad, you’re regularly one of us, seein’ how you’re here by authority, an’ I’ll venture to say that before spring comes you’ll have the drill at your tongue and fingers’ ends with the best of us.”
Benny, burying his face in Fluff’s silken hair, whispered to the dog:
“We’re awful lucky, Fluff, and we’ll make sure the crew won’t feel sorry because of helping us.”
“Ain’t crying when good news has come, are you, lad?” Sam asked, raising the boy’s chin until he could look into his face.
“Indeed, I’m not, Mr. Hardy. I just wanted to remind Fluff so he’d never forget it, that we was bound to work mighty hard to pay all hands of you for being so good.”
“I reckon that part of it will be all right, my son. We’re gettin’ full value for all we give.”
That which added to Benny’s pleasure was the fact that from the keeper to the cook, every member of the crew exhibited the liveliest joy because he was allowed to remain at the station, and an evening never to be forgotten by the lad was this which followed the receipt of the letter from headquarters.
Half a dozen times over was Tom Downey called upon to read the communication from their Chief, and if it be true that a person’s right ear tingles when good is spoken of them, the Superintendent of the Life-Saving Service must have been surprised because of the warmth of that organ.
Even amid the general rejoicing Benny found opportunity to study the Regulations and observing him at this work Sam Hardy proposed that Keeper Downey write an additional paragraph to the Station Bill.
“Benny must have a regular duty, and we’ll call him No. 8. Set down exactly what part he is to play, an’ let him learn it with the rest.”
That night when Benny, with Fluff in his arms, stood on the threshold to bid his kindly guardians a “good-night,” all hands replied in concert:
“Good-night, No. 8.”
“That means Fluff as well as me,” Benny cried with a laugh, and as he laid down to sleep that night “No. 8” was an exceedingly happy boy.
On the following morning Benny had a serious proposition to make Sam Hardy, and after his portion of the morning’s work had been done he called the surfman aside.
“I want to ask a favor of you, Mr. Hardy.”
“Well, lad, what is it?”
“All hands call me No. 8, so that proves I’m regularly one of the crew, don’t it?”
“Of course it does, Benny.”
“Then I should have some regular work.”
“So you have, my lad. You’re doin’ as much now as the cook, an’ some of the boys are beginnin’ to think you can take his place next season.”
“My work in the kitchen don’t count. It’s only enough to take up the spare time. What I mean is, I ought to have a share in all that the crew does.”
“What are you drivin’ at, Benny? Suppose you talk it right out plain, an’ then I’ll understand the quicker.”
“It’s this, Mr. Hardy: I want to go on patrol duty with you every night, no matter what time you start out.”
“Now look here, Benny, there are some nights when that’s precious hard work, and almost any time in the winter it’s no joke to turn out, say about midnight, an’ walk this blooming shore four hours.”
“I know that, sir; but yet it will toughen me to do it, and after a spell I won’t mind it any more’n you do.”
“But what’s your idea in doin’ such work?”
“I want to grow into so much of a surfman that I can see at night the same as you do. When the Three Brothers was sighted I couldn’t make her out at all.”
“It’s trainin’ your eyes you’re after, eh?”
“Yes, sir, perhaps that’s what you could call it.”
“Well, I’ll talk with Downey, and see what he thinks of the scheme, although I’m willing to say right up an’ down now that I don’t just like it. The job is too rough for a little chap like you.”
“I must get hardened to bad weather, and the cold, and all that sort of thing if I’m goin’ to stay in the life-saving service.”
Sam turned away with a laugh, and not until evening did he make any reply to the request.
Then, when the hour was near at hand for him to go on patrol, he said, speaking to all hands, including Fluff’s master:
“Benny claims the right to do patrol duty, if he’s No. 8 in this ’ere crew, an’ the keeper has given permission for him to act as my apprentice, exceptin’ when the weather is too rough. Therefore, Mr. Benjamin H. Foster, you’ll make ready for a four hours’ turn, and the thermometer is standin’ well down to zero. If this night’s work don’t give you a different idea of what it’s fitting a lad should do; then I’ll say there’ll be no use in our tryin’ to keep you out of the Service.”
If Benny suffered from the cold during this four hours’ tramp, Sam Hardy was none the wiser regarding it, for he held the pace regardless of rough ways or banks of snow, plodding sturdily by the surfman’s side throughout the entire time. But it was observed by Sam Hardy that on their return to the station he went immediately to bed, and next morning, in relating the experiences of the previous night to the keeper privately, Sam added:
“He’s all grit, that lad is, an’ when he’s older grown I allow he’ll be an ornament to this ’ere station.”
The cook declared, after dinner had been eaten and the apartments set to rights, that it was necessary for Keeper Downey to issue a positive order preventing No. 8 from doing more than his share of the work, and Benny, his face crimsoning with pleasure, would have turned the conversation into some other channel.
“I mean what I say,” the cook added emphatically. “There’s to be a regular Kitchen Station Bill made out for you, else before many days I’ll find myself idle. So let it be understood, No. 8, that you’re only to do so much of the work as belongs to your part, and in the future you and Fluff C. Foster will have longer loafin’ spells. If you study the Regulations after dark, I reckon it will be enough.”
Tom Downey had begun questioning the cook as to what share of the work Benny really did, when the noise of bells was heard outside, and a moment later came a knock at the door followed almost immediately by the entrance of Mr. Bradford—he whom, as the crew claimed, Fluff had rescued from drowning.
He greeted the men cheerily; had a kindly word for Benny; but took Fluff in his arms petting him affectionately.
“I wasn’t satisfied with leaving matters as they were day before yesterday, so far as this little fellow was concerned,” he said, addressing himself to Keeper Downey. “But for the dog I should have been drowned, and as Benny refused me the satisfaction of repaying Fluff, I claim the right to bestow upon him what the government would award either of you for a timely rescue of life.”
While speaking he had drawn from his pocket a daintily fashioned silver collar to which was attached a small gold token.
“It is a medal of honor made from a coin, and inscribed: ‘To Fluff C. Foster for having saved the life of Francis P. Bradford, January 2, 1894.’ That much I am entitled to give, regardless of what the dog’s master may think, and I only hope it may be in my power at some future time to bestow upon Benny a more substantial token of regard.”
Mr. Bradford handed the collar and medal to the boy as he ceased speaking, and the latter gazed alternately at the gift and the dog, who was sitting bolt upright on his hind legs as if begging to be told the cause of this sudden commotion.
“Well?” Sam Hardy said interrogatively as Benny remained silent. “Well, No. 8, ain’t there anything more to it? The dog is coaxin’ you to thank the gentleman.”
“I know he is, Mr. Hardy; but how can I do it?” Benny replied with a long-drawn sigh of delight. “It’s splendid, though it ain’t none too good for a dog like Fluff, an’ I’d rather he’d have this than all the money in the world. Just to think!” and the lad turned to address the entire crew. “Fluff has got a regular life-saving medal.”
“It’s a big thing,” Keeper Downey replied with a nod of satisfaction, “an’, what’s more, Fluff is the only one of this crew that has won such a distinction.”
“If anything was needed, after the letter from the Superintendent, to show that he an’ I were members of the crew, this would be enough, wouldn’t it?”
“It’s as good as a commission from the Treasury Department,” Joe Cushing replied gravely.
“If you would like to make the change, I can buy you something, instead of spending so much money for the dog,” Mr. Bradford said, with a meaning glance at the men. “It will be an easy matter to exchange the collar and medal for cheaper metal, and give you the difference.”
“Take this away from Fluff?” Benny cried in alarm. “Why, I wouldn’t have it done for the world! Now I’m a regular member of this crew I don’t need anything, an’ even if I did, he should have the best, because he’s the one who saved your life, an’ I’ll get a heap of pleasure out of looking at it.”
“I have also sent out here ten pounds of sugar in lumps, so that you may remind him of me at least once every day,” Mr. Bradford said, apparently getting as much pleasure out of the presentation as did Benny, “and because of thus rewarding Fluff, I want you to do me a favor.”
“What is it, sir?” Benny asked in surprise.
“I want the privilege of giving you a full suit of clothes. Here is an order on a tailor, who will make whatever you may decide upon.”
While speaking the gentleman had pressed into Benny’s hand a slip of paper, and before the lad could reply Sam Hardy cried in delight:
“Of course No. 8 will do you the favor of takin’ it, an’, what’s more, it’s a mighty lucky thing for him. Here he has just been made a member of the crew, but hasn’t got a uniform to wear when he goes into the city. That order, Mr. Bradford, is just the ticket, and with Fluff C. Foster rigged out in a solid silver collar with a gold medal of honor, and Benjamin H. Foster in a regulation suit, brass buttons an’ all, this ’ere station will blossom out in regular shape.”
Benny was won by the idea of wearing a uniform like his comrades; but he looked toward Mr. Downey as if asking his permission to accept the gift.
“Take it, my lad, and thank the gentleman by so doing,” the keeper said with a smile. “What’s more, you shall go into the city with Sam Hardy to-morrow morning and be measured for the uniform.”
There was a wondrously bright gleam in Benny’s eyes as, taking the dog suddenly in his arms, he said to the generous visitor:
“We thank you awfully much, Mr. Bradford, an’ you may be sure Fluff will never do anything to make you ashamed of having given him such a beautiful collar and medal.”