Mr. Bradford was in no haste to return home on this evening when he had decorated Fluff and provided Benny with the means of getting a uniform.
He had come to assure the crew that he fully appreciated the discipline and prompt attention to duty which made possible his rescue, for had thirty seconds been wasted after Sam Hardy’s summons, the boat would have arrived too late.
“I never before fully realized the value of life-saving stations or the heroism of life-saving crews,” he said, addressing Keeper Downey. “Perhaps it was because I never knew what perfection of discipline and drill was to be found among the men. I have often wondered why this service should be under the supervision of the Treasury Department, when one would naturally expect it to be a branch of the navy.”
“The reason is, Mr. Bradford, that a deep-water sailor, as a rule, knows very little about surf work,” Tom Downey replied quickly, and with considerable warmth. “You will find that among all the mariners we aid, no more than one out of every hundred has had any experience in making a landing on a shore like this when the water is rough, and it’s not to be expected of them. The life-saving service is recruited from shore fishermen—men who are accustomed to going back and forth through the surf in all kinds of weather. Put the best sailor that ever jockeyed a spar into our surf-boat, and he’d be out of his element, as you can well understand. Therefore the life-saving service is really the duty of landsmen, and has nothing to do with such as the navy would be forced to employ.”
Before the visitor could reply Sam Hardy began making preparations to go on patrol, and Benny felt it his duty to accompany him, particularly after having begged permission to share the labor, although he was eager to hear the remainder of the conversation.
“There’s no need for you to go out this night, Benjamin, and I think you are called on to stay here till Mr. Bradford leaves,” Sam said, observing the expression on the boy’s face.
No. 8 had no idea of allowing inclination to interfere with the duties he had assumed, especially now that he had considered himself a regularly enrolled member of the crew.
“Mr. Bradford knows that somebody must go on patrol, and I’ll never be trusted alone if I don’t hurry up with the learning,” Benny replied promptly, putting on the pea-jacket and sou’wester Joe Cushing had given him.
“You will come and see me to-morrow?” the visitor asked, and Sam replied for the lad:
“You can count on his givin’ you a call, Mr. Bradford, although we won’t have overly much time to spend in neighboring.”
Then the two shook hands with the gentleman, and went out into the night on their errand of mercy.
Benny was unusually quiet as they walked along the bluffs, glancing from time to time over the placid waters illumined by the moon, and after ten minutes or more had passed in silence Sam asked:
“What has gone wrong with you, No. 8? Ain’t a solid silver collar rich enough for Fluff C. Foster, or did you think the medal might have been bigger?”
“I’d be terribly ashamed of myself to think anything like that, Mr. Hardy. Of course the collar and medal ain’t any better than Fluff deserves; but they’re a good deal nicer than I ever thought he’d get, and it makes me feel fine to think of his having them.”
“Then what is keepin’ you so glum? You haven’t opened your mouth since we left the station.”
“That is ’cause I’ve been thinking.”
“About what, No. 8?”
“I’m afraid I shan’t do enough, and that the crew will find out I ain’t coming up to the praise I’m getting. Everybody has been so good to me since the ship was wrecked, that I can’t even begin to pay it back.”
“There isn’t any danger so long as you have such thoughts in your head, Benjamin. I don’t believe in praisin’ boys, as a general thing, because it’s apt to spoil ’em; but you don’t seem to be one of that kind. Keep on as you’ve started, No. 8, and I guarantee all hands of us will be satisfied.”
Then Sam Hardy told Benny of a boy who had been saved from a wreck two years previous, and who was anything rather than an agreeable companion, following this story with another, until the four hours passed so quickly that it seemed to No. 8 as if they had not been on duty one quarter of the required time.
Mr. Bradford had started for home nearly two hours before Benny and Sam came in, their night’s work finished, and no one except Fluff was awake.
He greeted them with his shrill barking, which Benny checked quickly lest the others should be awakened, and when the two whose time for duty had come were aroused, Sam whispered:
“Now we’ll turn in, No. 8, and see to it that you’re up bright and early to-morrow. You’re not to do any work in the kitchen, but will eat breakfast with the crew, so that we shan’t be delayed in setting out.”
Benny did not obey this command strictly. Next morning when the cook slipped out of bed softly to avoid disturbing the others, the lad heard and followed him without delay.
“You could have had a good half-hour’s sleep before breakfast will be ready, No. 8.”
“Yes, sir; but I wouldn’t have done my share of the work here,” Benny replied hesitatingly, for the cook had spoken sharply.
“Members of the crew who have a day’s liberty are not expected to do anything around the station, and you’re down for leave of absence from midnight.”
“That’s no reason why I shouldn’t do what I can before we leave,” Benny replied stoutly as he set about the usual morning duties, and until breakfast was on the table he insisted upon aiding the cook.
Then Sam sternly ordered him to “knock-off” and make ready for the journey.
“We’ve got a five-mile pull before us, an’ I’m not of the mind to spend our entire day at the oars.”
Until this moment Benny had supposed they would walk from the station to the city, and on learning that Sam intended to make the journey in the dory which the crew used for fishing, a certain wistful expression came into his eyes.
“Now what have you got on your mind, No. 8?” Sam asked, quick to note the change on the boy’s face.
“I was wondering—I thought—I don’t suppose you’d want to take Fluff, Mr. Hardy. He’s been in a boat very often, and knows how to behave himself.”
“Afraid Maje will make trouble if you leave him behind?”
“No, sir, it wasn’t that; but you see he won’t have many chances to go away from the station, and I want him to show his collar and medal whenever it’s possible. He had a bath yesterday, and is as clean as a whistle.”
“There’s no reason why he shouldn’t go, an’ I’m not certain but Mr. Bradford would like to see him rigged out in his finery.”
Benny no longer gave any heed to his breakfast, but spent all the remaining time in combing Fluff’s silken hair, and when Sam Hardy announced that he was ready to start, the dog was looking his best, with the medal hanging in the most conspicuous position.
“He’s looking a good deal finer than you are, No. 8,” Joe Cushing said with a laugh. “That gorgeous collar don’t correspond with your old pea-jacket and sou’-wester.”
“It don’t make any difference about me, so long as he’s the way Mrs. Clark always wanted to see him,” Benny replied, choking back a sob as his mind thus involuntarily went into the past. “Folks wouldn’t notice a boy like me, but they always stare when Fluff walks along looking like everything belonged to him.”
“Wait till you’re togged out in a uniform, No. 8, and then I’ll answer for it you get as much attention from the people as does Fluff. I’m going into town with you then, and what a dash we’ll cut!”
Joe Cushing laughed in anticipation of that moment, and while he was thus amused Sam beckoned Benny to follow him.
The dory was lying near the water’s edge, and it only required that she should be launched in order to begin the journey.
Fluff took his place in the stern-sheets as if accustomed to this method of travelling; Sam took up the oars, refusing most decidedly Benny’s proposal that he be allowed to do his share of the rowing, and as the boat glided out of the little cove the crew at the station cheered right heartily.
“It sounds as if they were glad to be rid of us,” Benny suggested, and Sam replied:
“That’s their way of showin’ that they’ll be pleased to see you back. I might leave a dozen times, an’ nobody would so much as poke his nose out of the door to see if I got away all right.”
“But they count on your coming home just the same,” Benny replied earnestly, as if thinking his comrade might be jealous because more attention was bestowed upon a newcomer than on himself.
“I reckon they do, No. 8; but an old fellow like me don’t cut any such figger as does a boy, an’ a dog what’s wearin’ a medal of honor,” and Sam Hardy laughed heartily, whereat Benny began to understand that no jealousy lurked in his heart.
A most enjoyable voyage did this prove to be for No. 8 and Fluff, even though the temperature was many degrees below freezing and the wind piercing cold. Sam Hardy did not appear to be in any very great hurry to reach the city, once he had put off from the station, but told stories of heroism displayed by his comrades, at the same time that he fed the dog liberally with lumps of sugar.
“We’re out for a holiday,” he said when Benny suggested that it was not well for Fluff to have such a feast, “an’ I’m countin’ on his enjoyin’ it as well as us.”
“But it may make him sick.”
“Then it will teach him not to be so greedy another time.”
“I’m afraid he won’t remember it.”
“Most likely not, No. 8, most likely not. Boys an’ dogs are much alike in that particular—they won’t learn by experience. Did you ever think what a wise lad he would be who was eager to learn by the experience of others?”
Benny was considerably puzzled by this remark, and the surfman continued gravely:
“Look at it in this light, lad: you’ve been thrown with them as were older than yourself a good portion of the time you’ve lived in this world. You’ve heard of this one’s havin’ what people call ’bad luck,’ or of that one’s doin’ some foolish thing. Now suppose you’d stored all that up in your memory. Wouldn’t you be able to steer clear of the first man’s bad luck, an’ keep yourself from committin’ the same folly you condemned in the other?”
Benny nodded gravely. This proposition was something entirely new to him, and he believed it to be a most valuable suggestion.
“A boy who was willing to learn from the experience of others would soon be wiser than the average run of lads, and, what’s more, he’d save himself many a sore time; but it ain’t done by young people any more than Fluff will remember, in case he’s sick to-morrow, that the next time sugar’s offered him he should be less greedy.”
Benny was so interested in this method of acquiring knowledge that he continued to discuss the matter until the dory was made fast alongside one of the city piers, and Sam said laughingly:
“I reckon we’d best not spend any more of our time discussin’ the matter; it’ll serve us out on patrol bright nights, when there’s little call to keep a very sharp lookout. Now we’re bound for Mr. Bradford’s office, and then to the tailor’s. You’ll be a terrible swell before many days, No. 8.”
“I’m not going to wear the uniform except when I go into the city, so there’s no danger of my doing very much swelling,” Benny replied with a laugh, and then Sam Hardy was ready to lead the way to the sportsman’s office.
No. 8 did not dare allow Fluff to walk through the streets lest some evil-disposed dog should pick a quarrel with him; but he took good care both the collar and medal could be seen while the little fellow was in his arms.
Their reception by Mr. Bradford was exceedingly friendly—almost too much so, Benny thought, when the gentleman insisted on introducing them to his acquaintances, and telling the story of the rescue.
The dog was petted as perhaps he never had been before, which was pleasing to his master; but, as Benny afterward told Sam Hardy confidentially, there was no reason why he should be praised for what Fluff C. Foster had done.
Then the little party went to the tailor, who was ordered to make a uniform exactly like the one worn by Sam Hardy, and, in addition, a second suit of clothes was decided upon, so that the boy might have a proper outfit when the time came for him to go to school.
The surfman, No. 8, and Fluff dined with Mr. Bradford on this day, after which they were treated to a carriage ride, and so eager was the gentleman to give them pleasure that but for Sam Hardy’s persistency in setting out on the return voyage at an early hour, they might not have succeeded in regaining the station until late in the night.
“It has been what you might call a great day, No. 8,” the surfman said when they had bidden their entertainer adieu on the pier and the dory was out of the harbor. “I’m not certain but that two such outings as this would spoil you an’ Fluff C. Foster for work at the station.”
“We’ve had a good time, and Mr. Bradford has been very kind,” Benny said thoughtfully; “but I’m not so sure as I’d like to try it over again very soon.”
“Why not?”
“Because, in the first place, I don’t deserve it, even if Fluff does; and then again, it ain’t very nice to have folks praising you up when there’s no reason for it.”
“Then you don’t think Mr. Bradford had any right to lay it on quite so thick about what you’d done?”
“No, because it wasn’t altogether true. Any fellow who was all alone in this world with a dog like Fluff, would work mighty hard if folks gave him a home, same’s the crew have given me, so what I do don’t count. Now if Mr. Bradford had told the people we met how good you all were to take us, I’d had a much better time.”
“You’re too modest, Benjamin, an’ that’s a fault every boy don’t have, I’m sorry to say. Now about that uniform of yours. You didn’t so much as ask me when it was to be sent out to the station.”
“It wouldn’t have looked very well to be in a hurry when some one makes me such a splendid present.”
“Oh, it wouldn’t, eh? Well, the toggery wasn’t for me, therefore I had no call to be so bashful. The uniform is to be ready in four days, and about that time Tom Downey will be goin’ into town. The other clothes are to be finished in a week. When they come we’ll—Hello, what’s that steamer layin’ off there for?”
The dory was almost within sight of the station when Sam Hardy ceased rowing very suddenly to gaze at a steamer which appeared to be at anchor a mile or more off the shore, and Benny was wholly at a loss to understand why his companion had become so thoroughly excited.
“She don’t seem to be in any trouble,” he ventured to say, and Sam settling down to the oars as if believing he had a severe task before him, replied:
“Her captain is huntin’ for it, if he comes to anchor in that place without precious good reasons. A shoal makes out just there, an’ I’ve seen two good vessels go to pieces on it. That steamer is aground, Benny!”
There was nothing startling to the lad in this announcement. The craft lay as if afloat; the wind was not strong enough to raise a very heavy sea, and nothing indicated any sudden change in the weather.
“I’ll admit that it don’t mean very much now, lad,” the surfman continued as if reading his companion’s thoughts; “but on this coast at this time of the year, no one can say when everything may be changed. There! The captain is beginning to understand that matters ain’t altogether lovely.”
The steamer’s whistle had begun to sound a whistle that help of some kind was required, and Benny believed the captain was calling upon the life-saving crew for assistance, until Sam said:
“She’s whistlin’ for a tug; but with the wind in this quarter it ain’t likely to do much good, unless she is sighted by one.”
“Our crew will see her.”
“Not before sunset, when the patrol goes out; but they’ll hear the whistle, an’ find her by that means.”
Sam was rowing at his best speed, and Benny watched eagerly for the appearance of the life-saving crew, but no one had appeared in sight when the dory was brought within hailing distance of the stranded steamer.
The rail was lined with heads, showing that she had passengers aboard, and on the bridge was a group of officers.
“Boat ahoy!” some one shouted, and Sam replied, standing up as he did, so that his uniform might be seen.
“Are you a member of a life-saving crew?”
“Ay, sir; the station is a mile and a half away around the point. Are you in need of assistance?”
“We want tugs. Can you telephone from your quarters?”
“Ay, sir.”
“Ask that two steamers be sent at once. We’re not heavily aground; but to such an extent that our engines are of no avail.”
“Shall we take off your passengers?”
“There’s no need of it. We can lie here easily enough, if it isn’t possible to haul us off before morning.”
“I’m not so certain of that, sir. The tide will fall twelve inches or more before the ebb, and the water hereabouts is rough.”
“Send a message for me to the city, and that will be enough,” the master replied curtly, and Sam took up the oars again, pulling vigorously toward the station.
“There’s what you call a pig-headed captain,” he said when the dory was some distance away. “It stands to reason he doesn’t know anything about this coast, else he’d never gone on that shoal, an’ he had too good an opinion of his own abilities to so much as look at the chart. There are no tugs around here that can pull him off before high tide, and in the meanwhile he’s likely to find that the steamer won’t lay as easy as he’s countin’ on.”
“There comes our surf-boat!” Benny cried, pointing toward a projecting cliff which hid the station from view, and around which the life-saving crew were just appearing. “I knew they’d answer the steamer’s signal as soon as it could be done.”
“Of course they would, lad, there are no sleepy heads among us, if I do say it. Tom Downey will read that captain a lecture, I reckon.”
The dory and the surf-boat were soon side by side, and the keeper asked for information concerning the steamer.
Sam repeated the conversation he had had with the captain, and Mr. Downey replied:
“Send the message as soon as you get back, and then go on duty at once, taking up a station directly opposite where the steamer lies. Flash the Coston twice if she’s likely to need us between now and midnight. Joe Cushing shall cover the remainder of your beat.”
Then word was given for the crew to “pull away,” and Sam bent to his oars as if time was very precious.
“Does Mr. Downey think it is possible the steamer can come to any harm in such pleasant weather?” Benny asked in surprise.
“There’s no telling what may happen, lad, and Downey don’t intend to get himself into trouble if it can be prevented.”
“What trouble can come to him if the captain of the steamer won’t allow the crew to do anything?”
“In case there should be loss of life, even after what’s been said and done, all hands of us would be called for an explanation as to why we didn’t do our duty. Let any trouble come to that steamer, an’ we’re bound to stand an investigation, for the Superintendent of the Service is mighty sharp in such affairs.”
Benny could not understand how it might be possible to blame a crew who had not been allowed to give their services, and Sam was too deeply intent on the business in hand to go into any lengthy explanation.
“I’ll figger it all out for you some time when we’re on patrol,” he said, and No. 8 understood from the tone of his voice that the surfman was not inclined to indulge further in conversation.
When, ten minutes later, the dory was pulled into the little cove near the station, Sam Hardy landed hurriedly, calling out to Benny as he did so:
“Make her fast, lad, and follow me. I’ll set the cook to work on our supper, for we’re not likely to have another chance for anything to eat till midnight.”
No. 8 did as he was bidden, and when he entered the station Sam was just coming from the telephone.
“There’s little show of getting two tugs out to the steamer much before high water, and I’m thinkin’ the captain may be obliged to call on us after all, unless he’s shipped a different set of passengers than usually travel. Turn to an’ fill yourself up with coffee and hearty food, Benjamin, for we’ve got a long stretch of patrol duty ahead, if nothing worse comes of this night’s business.”
Benny delayed in carrying out the instructions given by Sam Hardy only sufficiently long to remove Fluff’s collar and medal, and after that but little time was spent in “filling himself up,” because the excitement had driven away what small remnant of appetite was left after the feast which Mr. Bradford had set before them.
Fluff, wearied perhaps by the attentions bestowed upon him in the city, was perfectly willing to occupy the bed which the cook made up for him near the kitchen stove, and failed to exhibit any sign of displeasure when his young master left him.
“I guess he’s had all the excursion he wants in one day,” Benny said as he followed Sam out into the fast gathering gloom, and the latter replied sagely:
“Dogs are much like boys, No. 8, as I’ve said before. They think of nothin’ but pleasure while the fun is goin’ on, an’ when it’s over are disposed to pay more attention to their own weariness than duty.”
“But Fluff couldn’t help staying in the city just as long as we were there,” Benny said, as if thinking some apology was needed for the dog. “He would have been willing enough to come home if we’d shown him the way.”
“I dare say he would, Benny, I dare say he would; and now we’ll turn our attention to the work before us instead of givin’ any heed to boys or dogs. I’m thinkin’ the captain of that steamer will change his mind about landing the passengers when he learns that the tugs can’t get to him for quite a spell, an’ after he takes note of that fog-bank to seaward.”
Benny gazed in the direction indicated by the surfman’s outstretched hand, but failed to distinguish anything which betokened fog, until Sam called his attention to a dark line along the horizon, and also to the fact that there was a decided change in the temperature.
“There’ll be a smother upon us in less than half an hour, an’ it’s fortunate I brought an extra supply of Coston signals. That’s another case, No. 8, where people would talk of luck, an’ yet it was only reasonable foresight, such as any man ought to exercise.”
Sam was making his way along the coast at his best pace, which was so rapid that at times Benny was forced to run, and when ten minutes had passed the boy asked, panting for breath:
“Why are you hurrying? All the crew are out to the steamer, and a watch ashore won’t be needed until quite a while after they have come back.”
“True, lad; but it’s necessary to get the location of the ship well fixed in mind before the fog shuts down. Once that has been done we can go out to her without any great trouble, providin’ we’re needed.”
The two arrived none too soon at the post they were to occupy.
On gaining the bluff opposite the steamer, the mist, which had been rapidly creeping over the ocean, had already begun to envelop her, and no more than the spars could be distinguished.
“Ten minutes’ delay, and we’d have been too late, not only to make her out, but to hear what orders Tom Downey may have to give,” the surfman said, and Benny could faintly distinguish amid the vapor a dark spot which he understood, because of Sam Hardy’s words, to be the surf-boat coming shoreward.
Five minutes later the crew rested on their oars within an hundred feet of the bluff, as the keeper shouted:
“Did you send a message to the city?”
“Ay, sir, and there will be no tugs here much before high water.”
“Keep your ears open for the steamer’s whistle, which will be sounded three times if the captain decides that he needs assistance.”
“And what then, sir? It will be hard making out such a signal as that now the fog-horn has begun to blow.”
It was as if the keeper had only realized this fact by thus being reminded of it, and after a brief consultation with the crew he shouted again:
“We’ll come ashore on that bit of shingle just below, and you may join us there.”
Having said this he gave some order to the men, and the surf-boat was pulled out to sea again, disappearing almost immediately in the fog which had by this time reached the land.
“Why are they coming ashore?” Benny asked as Sam Hardy set out northward.
“He counts on havin’ the surf-boat in case she may be needed, for, if this smother clears away before the moon rises, there’ll be a sea on that will trouble yonder steamer considerably.”
Sam followed the trend on the shore a hundred yards or more, coming to a halt where a narrow strip of pebbly beach lay between two frowning walls of rock, and Benny said to himself that it would not be possible, however familiar the life-saving crew were with the coast, for them to find their way through this dangerous passage while the fog was so dense that objects a dozen feet away could hardly be distinguished.
In this he was mistaken, however. The men had been forced many times, either to save their own lives or in the aid of others, to pursue quite as blind a course, and two or three minutes later the surf-boat came between the frowning walls against which the waves were already beginning to dash with an ominous moan.
Now Benny had an opportunity of observing how much labor might be required of the life-saving crew when it became necessary to take precautions.
The captain of the stranded steamer had refused to allow his passengers to be taken off when it might have been done without difficulty, and now, aground as she was, much danger was to be apprehended. This could be guarded against only by leaving the surf-boat where she might readily be launched. At the same time the remainder of the coast must be patrolled lest other ships needed assistance, and the crew were forced to perform all their regular duties while remaining on the alert to answer a call from this point.
“Suppose the steamer should whistle for assistance, and at the same time a vessel went ashore the other side of the station?” Benny asked. “How could one crew attend to both?”
“It would be the keeper’s duty to decide which craft was in the greatest danger, or, if both were in much the same position, where the largest number of lives might be saved, and then one or the other would be left to her fate. There’s where the responsibility of the keeper comes in, my son, and a heavy one it is like to be under certain circumstances.”
The surf-boat had been hauled up beyond reach of the tide when it should rise, and all the men ordered out on patrol.
There was no time to be spent in eating supper, for the most dreaded of all dangers upon the Eastern coast had suddenly presented itself, and the life-saving crew must labor to the utmost extent of their powers without thought or heed of self until, perchance, exhaustion should overcome them.
Sam and Benny were left alone, and a long, dreary vigil did they keep, although the surfman tried to enliven it for the lad by telling stories, or explaining again and again the duties of each member of the crew under supposititious circumstances.
The fog hung low and dense until nearly midnight, when the wind had so increased in force that it was “blown away,” to use Sam Hardy’s expression, and the steamer revealed to view.
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?”
“Bless your heart, lad, he’s countin’ on boardin’ that craft as soon as may be; but with such a sea runnin’, an’ over that shallow water which is like to let the life-boat down on the shoal when she gets into the trough of the sea, he’s bound to take every precaution. Now! He’s cast the grapnel, an’ you’ll see them drop back as close aboard the steamer as can be done with safety.”
This manœuvre was performed rapidly, and with the least possible delay.
Almost before Sam had ceased speaking the life-boat was lost to view on the starboard side of the steamer, and there she remained so long that the surfman cried impatiently:
“What can they be doin’? Surely there has been time enough to take off a full load, an’ Tom Downey knows as well as any other man, that in an hour from now no craft ever put together by human hands can lay over that shoal without being dashed to pieces on the bottom.”
It was soon seen, however, that Tom Downey was not delaying, for presently the life-boat was pulled up to her grapnel, and then headed for the station, with none save the regular crew on board.
Now it was that Sam Hardy lost his temper entirely; he stormed and scolded, shaking his fist toward the stranded craft until, almost in alarm, Benny asked the reason of his excitement:
“Can’t you see that again the commander of the steamer has refused assistance? Tom Downey went off believin’ the pig-headed master would realize the danger by this time, an’ counted on bringin’ the passengers ashore; but he’s been sent away empty-handed, and when that captain comes to his senses it’ll be too late for us to give him any assistance.”
“Surely, Mr. Downey has done all a man can, and if anything happens now it’s the master of the steamer who is responsible,” Benny said soothingly.
“That doesn’t relieve us from some shadow of blame in case anything happens. We shall be raked over the coals if that craft goes to pieces, an’ Downey will be forced to explain why he didn’t insist on saving the passengers, if not the crew!”
“But he couldn’t if the captain refused.”
“True for you, lad; but it’ll hurt us all the same, for the crew of a life-saving station feels a certain degree of responsibility for every life lost in their district, and thus far our record has been exceptionally good.”
It was useless for Sam to scold and fret.
The circumstances could not be altered, and all he might do was to stand on the shore watching the increasing violence of the waters, knowing full well that each moment lessened the chances of rendering assistance to the stranded steamer.
Then came Joe Cushing, who was doing patrol duty on that portion of the shore, and Sam asked for the particulars of the life-boat’s voyage.
“When we came alongside Downey explained to the skipper what was like to be the condition of affairs an hour later; but couldn’t beat any sense into his head. He refused to allow a single passenger to leave, although many of them were anxious to do so; but asked again that we send another message into the city for tugs,” Joe Cushing replied. “It seems that the craft hasn’t taken ground so badly but that she could be pulled off with her own engines, by the aid of a couple of tugs, an’ the master declares she’ll stand more poundin’ than she’s likely to receive this night, all of which may be true. Just as we were leavin’ he asked the keeper to have the crew on hand in case he decided later to land with his own boats.”
“With his own boats in this surf!” Sam Hardy exclaimed.
“Ay, that’s what he allowed. Of course Tom Downey told him it couldn’t be done, an’ said all a man might to dissuade him from makin’ such an attempt. Then we came away, an’ Sam, you know as well as I, that now there’s no crew in this or any other country that can put out across the shoal an’ get back with their boat.”
“Know it, of course I do!” Sam Hardy cried, and then for ten minutes or more the two surfmen discussed the situation angrily, but without making matters any better, save perhaps it might be that their own minds were relieved by much talking, after which Joe Cushing went on patrol again.
When he was gone Benny asked:
“Are we to stay here, sir?”
“Ay, lad, until we starve, unless Tom Downey orders us in.”
The wind was piercing cold, and the two on the shore were exposed to its full force while they remained where it was possible to keep the steamer in view.
Sam urged Benny to find a sheltered spot where he might be partially screened from the wind; but the lad refused, saying decidedly:
“I have been ordered here, sir, the same as you were, and I’ll do what any other member of the crew would in my place.”
“All right, No. 8; but I hold to it that there’s such a thing as havin’ too much grit. You want to toughen up; but you’re goin’ too strong at the start. If you’re bound to hold on, keep pace with me while I trot around here a spell.”
Then the two paced back and forth along the rocky coast nearly an hour when, although constantly expecting it, they were startled by the steamer’s shrill whistle.
Three blasts blown, and Sam Hardy exclaimed:
“He’s come to his senses at last; but when it’s too late! Now, whatever happens, he’ll say he was ‘unlucky,’ although we know it was nothin’ but sheer willfulness.”
“What are we to do?” Benny asked, as if thinking they must immediately set to work in an attempt to answer this call for assistance.
“That’s for the keeper to say. If I was in his place I’d get the beach-wagon over here, for the boats are of no use.”
“Sha’n’t I run back toward the station so’s to help them in case they’re comin’ with the cart?”
“No, Benny. Our orders were to stay here, an’ here we’ll wait.”
To show that the call for assistance was heard and understood, Sam Hardy flashed his Coston signal, and less than half an hour later the crew from the station came up at full speed, but without the beach-wagon.
“We’ll make one fight with the surf-boat,” Tom Downey said hurriedly to Sam, “and if that proves useless, as I reckon it will, we’ll try to send a line aboard, although there’s little show it can be done while she lays so far from shore.”
Hardy joined the crew as they ran toward the surf-boat, which was hauled up on shore a short distance away, and Benny wondered that he should be so willing to make the attempt when but a short time previous he had declared it an absolute impossibility they could gain the steamer’s side in either boat.
Now the lad saw for the second time what an heroic struggle his crew could make against almost insurmountable difficulties.
Across the shoal the sea was running wildly, while inshore the spray dashed so high as to completely hide the steamer from view at times.
It seemed little short of madness to put out even in the staunch life-boat, yet Tom Downey and his brave fellows made the venture without hesitation.
With three on either side and the keeper at the stern, they waited with the surf-boat close at the water-line until the heavy swell had broken upon the shore and was receding, when, following it, they ran into the waves breast-deep, leaping aboard their craft instantly she was water-borne.
Benny literally held his breath in suspense as, under the impulse of six oars, the surf-boat was forced out into that tumult of waters, and ere she had sailed a hundred yards the heavy waves, striking her bow, lifted her up, up, up, until she was literally pitch-poled backwards, throwing every member of the crew into the sea.
A cry of horror burst from the lad’s lips as he ran down to the pebbly beach, fancying his puny strength might avail in that terrific struggle which must ensue, for he had good reason to fear that not one of his comrades would reach the shore alive.
The men had prepared themselves for this battle by throwing off all superfluous clothing, despite the chilling wind, and now was shown the advantage which they had over deep-water sailors, for, knowing every trend of the current along the coast, and accustomed to avail themselves of it under all conditions of weather, it was possible for them to do what one who had not been bred to such dangers would have lost his life in doing.
The lad who stood trembling with apprehension on the shore was literally amazed at seeing one after another of the sturdy fellows emerge from the foaming waters, and make his way ashore either by creeping on his hands and knees, or, throwing himself backward upon the crest of a wave, and allow the volume of water to sweep him upon the beach even at the risk of dashing him against the rocks.
No more than ten minutes had elapsed from the time the surf-boat put out before the last member of the crew was on the cliff, all bruised and beaten more or less, but alive and ready for further duty, even at a time when such a duty seemed impossible.
A new day was breaking when the life-saving crew were beat back upon the shore by the waves after their heroic but vain struggle in the surf-boat.
The wind gave evidence of gaining strength as the sun rose, and steadily the waves increased in violence. Now they were dashing against the steamer with the same force as upon the rocky cliffs, and to those ashore it appeared as if every billow of foaming water passed directly over the stranded vessel.
In the minds of the life-saving crew, at least, it was no longer simply a question of the passengers’ discomfort, but whether the steamer could withstand the terrific beating and pounding to which she was subjected.
“She must either go to pieces, or be driven nearer inshore,” Joe Cushing said, when the crew halted for a moment upon the cliff after their terrible struggle with the surf, and his mates fully agreed with that conclusion.
It was more than probable the captain of the steamer had by this time taken quite as gloomy a view of the situation, for he continued to sound his signals of distress, although, as Sam Hardy said impatiently, “he should have had sufficient sense to know that everything in human power would be done to aid him.”
“He may be ignorant of the waters round about here, and have an idea that a tug can get near enough to pass him a hawser,” Dick Sawyer suggested, and Keeper Downey replied:
“It will only be necessary for him to look at his chart, which he had better have done yesterday afternoon, in order to learn that no help can be expected from seaward. I am at a loss to know just what is wisest to do, and ask each of you to give his opinion. The tide is now so low that we cannot hope to get the life-boat over the shoals. Perhaps there’s one chance in twenty, by putting out into deep water, we might drop down so near as to take off a few; but certain it is all could not be brought ashore in that manner. The question to be decided is, whether we shall make such an attempt, or put forth all our efforts toward getting a line aboard.”
The men gave an opinion according to their station numbers, Sam Hardy speaking first, as a matter of course, and his view of the situation appeared to be that of all the others.
“While I’m ready to try what can be done with the life-boat, and will go aboard of her cheerfully, to my mind there are too many chances of failure—which would probably mean death to all concerned—and too few of success to warrant making the attempt. I believe, as Joe Cushing does, that if the steamer isn’t stove by the waves she must be driven nearer ashore, in which case we can get a line out to her. Therefore I vote that we put all our dependence upon what may be done from here.”
Learning that the others were of the same opinion, and understanding that they might not have very much time at their disposal, Keeper Downey at once gave the necessary orders for setting about this last plan of rescue, which necessitated the bringing up of the beach-apparatus.
“No. 1 and No. 8 are to remain here on duty in order to prevent, if possible, by signal, any effort of the captain toward landing with his own boats, as he suggested,” Tom Downey said, speaking hurriedly. “The remainder of the crew will go back to the station with me for the beach-wagon.”
Exercise was what the men most needed, wet to the skin as they were after the battle in the surf, and as soon as the order was given they set off at full speed, while Sam Hardy was left with Benny upon the cliff to bear the discomforts as best they might.
“You ought to have gone with the others,” No. 8 said solicitously. “Your wet clothes will be frozen long before they can get back, and it don’t seem to me as if there was much need of keeping anybody out here in the wind.”
“It is necessary, lad, if for no other reason than that the order has been given. In Tom Downey’s place I should have made much the same arrangement. Some one of the crew must grin an’ bear it in wet clothing, an’ because of havin’ first been stationed here, I’m the one to bear the brunt.”
“But you will freeze to death,” Benny cried sharply.
“Not quite so bad as that, lad, for I’ll keep movin’ about,” and Sam suited the action to the words, Benny following close by his side as the surfman ran swiftly to and fro, beating his arms upon his breast for additional exercise.
“Of course we don’t always get it quite as tough as this,” Sam said when he halted to regain his breath after ten minutes of this most violent exertion, “an’ then again, there are times when it comes harder; so you see, lad, that belonging to a life-saving crew ain’t quite as pleasant as you may have thought.”
“I didn’t count it was an easy life.”
“But you can see now that it’s best you don’t hold to the idea of bein’ one of ’em.”
“If I was going to be discouraged because of hard work on such a job as this, then I’d best not think of ever bein’ a surfman,” Benny replied stoutly. “It wasn’t on my own account that I said anything; my clothes are dry, and I can keep warm; but I was afraid you’d freeze after having been overboard so long.”
“You’re a gritty little chap,” Sam said admiringly, “almost too much so for one of your years an’ build; but don’t worry about me. I’ve been in worse places than this, an’ never come to any great harm. If it wasn’t that all the work might have been done readily an’ without risk, I shouldn’t feel like grumblin’; but when a man realizes that the situation has all come about through a pig-headed captain who wouldn’t allow we knew anything of the coast, then it seems tough. Howsomever, we’re in a box, an’ have not only got to get out of it ourselves, but pull others with us,—an’ we’ll do it, No. 8, we’ll do it.”
Then Sam resumed the exercise, Benny copying his every movement, and thus alternately running and halting to regain breath, the two passed the time until they could see in the distance the crew, dragging the beach-wagon over the rocks.
“Now that the apparatus is here it can’t be used while the steamer lays so far off,” Hardy said half to himself, and at that instant a cry of dismay caused him to gaze seaward.
When the waves began to run high the master of the vessel had gotten out anchors fore and aft to prevent her from being driven shoreward.
The parting of the stern cables had caused the cry of dismay from Benny, and as Sam looked in that direction the ships stern was swung violently around until she lay broadside to the waves, in such position as proved that she would soon be driven inshore virtually a wreck.
“I reckon we’ll be able to put a line aboard of her mighty soon,” Sam said grimly, waving his arms to attract the attention of the crew that they might hasten their movements, and Benny, seeing an opportunity to be of some slight assistance, ran at full speed to meet the wagon.
“What has happened?” Keeper Downey asked, as the lad joined him at the rear of the cart, the cook holding Sam Hardy’s station at the handle-bar.
“The stern cable has parted, sir.”
“Shove her along, boys! Shove her along! We’ll be able to get a line out now,” and as the men strained yet more energetically at the ropes and the handle-bar, Benny put all his little strength into the effort, performing, as Joe Cushing afterward said, “considerably more than half a man’s work.”
Sam Hardy also joined the crew, and the wagon had no more than been hauled down to the strip of pebbly beach, the only point from which the work could be carried on, when the life savers had yet further evidence of the captain’s “pig-headedness.”
When he laid alongside the steamer, while urging that the passengers at least be taken ashore, Tom Downey had said all a man might to prevent the master from holding to the plan of launching his own boats; and yet despite such advice, which should have been considered well worthy of being followed, that very manœuvre was now about to be attempted.
The life-saving crew could see that one of the port boats was being hoisted out, and every man ashore knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that such a craft could not live five minutes in that boiling, yeasty swirl of waters.
With a hope of yet persuading the wilful captain, Tom Downey ignited a Coston signal, and, waving it violently above his head, showed as plainly as man might by such means, that there was danger in the contemplated move.
“It seems to me as if deep-water sailors lose their heads at such a time,” Joe Cushing cried, observing that the work went on aboard the steamer despite the keeper’s warnings. “The captain must have seen that we failed to keep the surf-boat on her bottom, but yet he expects to do with his cockleshell what we couldn’t with a craft built especially for the purpose!”
Joe was not the only member of the crew who criticised harshly the methods of the steamer’s commander; every man gave words to the indignation in his heart, but yet the foolhardy work went on rapidly, as if those on board the stranded craft were eager to meet their doom.
That they were anxious to leave their steamer seemed probable, even to Benny, for the waves were now rolling completely over her, and at every surge she was driven higher and higher up on the shoal until the surfmen began to fear she would be rolled completely over.
The work of making ready to send out a line was begun as soon as the wagon had been placed in position, and the men labored none the less energetically and expeditiously because they glanced from time to time at the tiny boat swinging at the davits, in which the steamer’s crew were taking their stations.
The gun was not yet loaded when the boat, with a crew of eight men, dropped into the water at a moment when the receding waves made such a manœuvre possible, and then, to the surprise of the life savers, all the sailors were seen working at the oars, while no one appeared to be steering.