THE BEACH PATROLS.
“Wind’s blowing some,” observed Baley, raising his voice so that he
could be heard above the angry snarl of the surf.
“Hope nothing hits the bar to-night,” Downs answered.
Then the surfmen trudged off in opposite directions, following the line
of the wave-beaten strand, each carrying on his back a recording clock
in a leather case, several candle-like Coston lights, and a wooden
handle.
With oilskins buttoned tightly and hip-boots drawn up, Jim Downs and his
youthful comrades fought the stiff breeze on their watch. Darkness was
slow in coming, so they were not yet in imminent peril from shifting
sands, driftwood, or tidal waves. Their mission was a serious one,
requiring alertness and keen observation. Soon a sense of solemn
responsibility subdued even the high spirits of the boys, finally
checking the flow of their eager conversation altogether.
“Isn’t that a ship ’way out there?” Hugh asked at length, gazing at
something which seemed to be the dark bulk of a vessel in a sea of foam.
“Guess it’s only a cloud,” answered Downs, and Billy agreed with this
opinion.
Hugh said nothing in contradiction, but he was by no means convinced
that the slowly moving form was not that of a schooner. Indeed, he
believed he saw the faint lines of spars and rigging.
After a few minutes Downs, to make sure, looked again at the distant
object. Then, taking a Coston signal from his pocket and fitting it to
the handle, he struck the end on the sole of his boot. Like a match it
caught fire and flared out through the mist, a dull red light. He stood
still, holding the torch above his head, waiting for some answering
signal from the vessel,—if it were one, after all.
No signal was shown in response. Either the ship was still too far out
to catch sight of the warning beacon, or none of her crew was on deck at
the moment. The glowing torch sputtered and went out, and with a shrug
of his broad shoulders, Downs trudged on down the beach.
“Come on, kids, we’ll set off another light farther on,” he said. “If
that’s really a ship, give her a few minutes to watch for signals.”
In awed suspense, Hugh and Billy followed him to the end of Red Key.
Chained to a post driven in the sand, they found a stout dory with two
pairs of oars.
“Pile in,” said Downs, “and sit tight. Hardin, you take one pair of
oars, I’ll take t’other, and we’ll be over on the next key in a jiffy.”
The crossing was soon made. Billy tied the boat to another post, while
Downs again lighted a signal. They were still near enough the station to
notify the lookout there of a possible ship in distress, and in a few
minutes they caught the gleam of the big lamp in the tower, shining out
through the vapor blown from the crests of the waves.
Still no sign from the object of their concern.
“Look!” cried Hugh. “It can’t be a cloud; it hasn’t changed its shape,
and——”
“And it seems to be comin’ nearer,” added Downs, interrupting him
quickly. “You’re right, son; it’s a sailing vessel. She’s being blown
landward, but with good luck, she’ll slip past the bar out there, and
maybe she’ll make for the lee o’ Turtle Island. Watch and see. Come
on,—but we won’t hike over the pontoon to-night. I’ll go alone.”
Through long vigils in all kinds of weather, the patrol learns every
foot of his beat thoroughly, and he is able to tell with reasonable
accuracy how and where a storm-tossed vessel will be driven, or where a
stranded one lies. Downs was no exception to this rule, yet there were
times when, experienced surfman as he was, he felt uncertain whether a
ship was likely to be forced over on the mainland beach, or whether she
would run aground on the outer bar at the end of the keys. The latter
situation was the more to be dreaded, for the bar was far beyond the
reach of a line shot from shore.
Deciding to continue his beat, Downs left the two scouts seated together
on a mound of sand and driftwood, and made his way alone across the
swaying, tossing pontoon.
“I’ll be back in about twenty minutes,” he said, and he was as good as
his word.
At the end of his beat he stopped to take a watchkey attached to a post,
and, inserting it in the clock he carried, to record the time of his
visit at that spot. By this means is kept an actual record of the
movements of the patrol at all times.
Returning to the place where he had left the boys, he found them sitting
in awed silence.
“No signs from the ship yet?” he shouted.
So quietly had he approached, and so thunderous was the booming of the
surf, Billy and Hugh were startled at the sound of Downs’s voice. Even
had they not been staring out to sea, waiting in suspense for the ship’s
signal, they would not have seen him come up, so thick was the mist.
Billy gasped and jumped up. “What—what are we going to do now?” he
asked.
“Want to go back to the station?”
“No, no!” exclaimed Hugh, springing to his feet. “We’re out here with
you. We’ll stick by you.”
“But I’m out here for four hours’ duty. You don’t want to stick it out
that long, son?”
“Yes, we do—if you don’t mind,” replied Billy.
“Is there anything you’d rather have us do?” asked Hugh, beginning to
understand a kindly hint in Jim Downs’s words. “We’d like to be of real
service, if we can.”
“Sure you can! Seeing as the weather’s so thick, suppose you lads race
back to the station and report what we’ve seen. Then, if the cap’n sends
Larry out to join me, you can come back with him. See?”
“All right,” they responded.
Again they climbed into the dory and rowed back to Red Key. Jim waited
to light another torch, and the boys sped up to the boathouse, where
they informed the keeper, who already knew of the ship, of what they had
seen.
* * * * * * * *
Meanwhile Baley, with Alec and Chester, had walked the opposite beat.
From the first, however, they felt sure that the distant object against
the murky horizon was a vessel. With lighted Coston signal in hand,
Baley pursued his difficult way along the shore, buffeted by the wind
and drenched with flying spray. He explained to the boys how the outer
line of sandbars, which in summer breaks the blue ocean into sunny
ripples and flashing white caps, has power to churn the spring tides
into fury and to grip with a mighty hold the keel of any vessel that is
unlucky enough to be driven on it.
As they trudged doggedly on, the wind whipped through the beach grasses
on the dunes and spitefully swirled handfuls of cutting sand into their
faces. Fortunately, the night was not cold, else they might have fared
worse. As it was, the two scouts rather enjoyed the novel experience.
They felt that they were, for the time being, a part of Uncle Sam’s
coast guard,—members of a crew of brave men whose vigilance and strength
and presence of mind save hundreds of lives and valuable property every
year.
They told Baley how they had learned to become efficient signalers, and
he heartily approved of that branch of their training. Knowing a lot
about the Boy Scout organization,—for his son was then a tenderfoot in a
Florida troop,—he was not surprised at the amount of general
“prepared-ness” which Alec and Chester modestly displayed.
“You never can tell, my lads, just when and where and how you’ll need to
use what you’ve learned,” he said pleasantly. “For instance: Suppose we
had to signal that ship out there to-morrow morning, or even to-night,
if she gets into trouble? Could you do it?”
“Reckon we could, Mr. Baley,” replied Chester quietly.
“If we have a chance, you’ll see,” was Alec’s even more confident
answer. The vague possibility implied in Baley’s question gave him an
adventurous thrill.
When these three reached the end of their beat and turned back toward
the starting point, they were surprised to meet Culver. He had been sent
out to keep watch with Baley, for Keeper Anderson thought it best to
have four men on patrol that night. Larry Flynn had been sent to
reinforce Downs.
When the first watch was over, four other surfmen took the places of
those on duty; but the boys were quite ready to seek the “shakedowns”
prepared for them. The long night hours passed, and daylight crept
slowly and feebly across a cloudy sky and over a turbulent sea.