THE RESCUE.
To load the surfboat with the crew of the luckless vessel, when there
was none too much room for the oarsmen, and then to encounter the heavy
surf, would have shown great lack of judgment on the part of the
rescuers. It was a method to be pursued only in case of dire need. To
reach the ship after it had become stranded on the key shore or near it
was a much safer and surer method of saving life for all concerned.
Rowing hard against the now outflowing tide, yet helped by the wind, the
lifesavers approached the beach. With a rush their boat rolled in on a
giant wave and, no sooner had the keel grated on the sand, than the
crew, including the two scouts, were out knee-deep in the undertow
dragging the boat up high and dry. No one could deny that the boys
showed remarkable quickness in action and an alert understanding of what
had to be done.
“Get the beach wagon!” commanded Anderson.
Billy and Chester, who had hurried to the spot where the surfboat
landed, greeted their scout comrades with a whoop of joy, envy and
relief. No time was lost. A minute later the entire crew, some pulling,
some steering, dragged out the beach wagon: a light framework supported
by two broad-tired wheels, and carrying a sand-anchor, which was like a
huge cross, in addition to other apparatus.
Over hummocks of sand, across pools of water, in the face of wind and
waves, they ran, dragging the beach wagon along the key to the place
where the driven schooner had run aground. It lay some distance out, and
was now lurching groggily from side to side. Then, bringing the wagon to
the nearest point opposite the stranded hulk, the crew unloaded their
appliances.
“Hey there, lads!” shouted Anderson, “dig a hole in the sand!”
Flynn tossed some shovels to the boys, and at once they set to work with
a will.
While this was being done, two men placed a small bronze cannon in
position and another got out boxes containing small rope criss-crossed
on wooden pins set upright in the bottom. These pins merely held the
rope wound in coils until it was ready to be used, when board and pegs
were removed.
Captain Anderson carried the free end of this line, which was attached
to a ring in the end of a cylindrical projectile, over one shoulder;
over the other was slung a box of ammunition. In a few minutes, aided by
Baley and Culver, he sighted the gun, aiming for the outstretched
yardarms of the schooner. Long practice under various difficulties and
in all sorts of weather had taught him just how to aim. As he pulled the
lanyard, the gun spat fire into the mist, and the long projectile sailed
off on its mission, its attached line whirring out of the box, coil
after coil. Baley and Culver peered out over the breakers to see if the
keeper’s aim had been true.
At last the line stopped uncoiling, and Anderson knew that the shot had
landed somewhere. Minutes of suspense passed. Nothing happened. The rope
spanned the tossing waves, but no answering tugs conveyed messages from
the sailors to the waiting surfmen.
“What ails ’em?” muttered Larry Flynn impatiently “Are they all dead or
drunk or have we——?”
“Shut up, Larry!” came the command. “Ah, there she goes now!”
Hugh and Chester sprang forward.
“The line’s moving!” cried Chester.
“Quit hoppin’ around like a sand-flea!” Larry admonished him severely.
“Don’t make so much noise! They can’t hear ye, boy.”
Indeed, as Chester had declared, the line began to slip through
Anderson’s fingers and move seaward. Those on shore knew that it had
been found and that its use was understood; that is, that this line
carried out by the projectile served merely to drag out a heavier rope,
on which was run a sort of trolley carrying a breeches-buoy.
And now the eight mariners, securing the line, made the end of the
strong rope fast to the mast well above the reach of the waves, and the
surfmen wound their end firmly around the deeply buried sand-anchor.
Wading out a little way, Bowers placed an inverted V-shaped crotch under
the rope, holding it above water on that end. When this had been done,
as much of the slack was taken up as possible, and the vessel was
connected with the beach by a kind of suspension bridge.
Willing arms then hauled out the buoy along that suspended line.
Presently they saw a sailor climb into the stout canvas breeches of the
buoy, and felt the tug on the whip-line that told them the rescue had
begun. All together, with a will, they pulled on the line. Carrying its
human burden, the buoy rolled along the hawser, swinging in the wind,
now and then dipping the man in the crests of the waves.
“As long as the old tub holds together and the masts stay upright,
they’re safe,” muttered Anderson, watching the first passenger on this
aerial railway.
“Do you think the waves will pound her to pieces?” asked Alec, who stood
beside the keeper.
“Don’t know. Depends on how solid she’s built. By the slab-sided! I can
make out her name now for the first time. Sun’s getting stronger. It’s
the _Mary Jane_,—I know her cap’n. Look out there, Frank! He’s coming!
Catch him—easy now—that’s the way!”
The sailor, brought up with a thud against the V-shaped support of the
rope bridge, scrambled out of the buoy and slid down on the sand.
Without stopping to gasp out his thanks, he helped the surfmen send the
buoy swiftly back to the vessel, where another man climbed into it.
Forward, then, and back again they hauled the buoy, working like madmen
to complete their work.
“She’ll bust to pieces in ten minutes, ’pon my word!” declared the
fourth sailor to come ashore. “The sea’s running high, and the infernal
old hulk’ll never weather the poundin’ she’s getting!”
“Make haste, then!” roared Anderson, and his crew redoubled their
efforts.
Two more sailors swung to safety ashore. None too soon, for the sixth
man had hardly been dragged to the beach when the schooner’s mast,
unable to stand the buffeting of the waves any longer, snapped at the
middle and toppled over into the sea, dragging with it a tangled mass of
rigging. Two sailors were left on the deck of the _Mary Jane_.
But not for long. A mighty wave struck the vessel’s side. They were
washed off the sloping deck, and soon were floundering in deep water,
clinging to the broken mast that was being hauled toward shore. At last
they gained the land, and their rescuers were overwhelmed with thanks.
Such breathless exclamations of gratitude, such handshakes and hearty
greetings! The four boys stood aside, listening to the story of the
shipwreck, listening in a daze of wonderment, in a silent thrill of
pride because they had shared in this memorable morning’s work. Captain
Anderson, even, was kind enough to praise them for their work; and, in
turn, they thanked him for having allowed them to do whatever they could
to assist the regular crew.
In the midst of this rejoicing there was a loud crash, and the abandoned
_Mary Jane’s_ timbers yielded to the force of the waves. Broken and
bruised and buffeted, she keeled over on the sandy reef, and the sullen
ocean surged over her again and again, pounding her mercilessly.