BENNY’S STORY.
When, at a late hour next morning, the boy and the dog came
down-stairs, the former appearing bewildered, and the latter hanging
his tail as if doubtful of the reception he might meet with, only
Keeper Downey and Surfman Sam Hardy were to be seen.
The other members of the crew were engaged outside in the effort to
save such wreckage as the yet angry waters rolled in toward the shore.
A bright-looking little fellow was this survivor of the terrible
disaster, although not seen at his best while clad only in his
undergarments, and shivering in the frosty air despite the volumes of
heat sent out by the glowing stove. The mercury in the thermometer had
fallen below the zero mark, and the wind found every crevice and crack
in the building, situated as it was on the open shore where nothing in
the way of a shelter broke the force of the northeast gales.
“Well, lad, you’re looking bright this morning,” the keeper cried in a
cheery tone. “Hungry?”
“I can take my share of breakfast when it’s ready, and I guess Fluff
won’t turn up his nose at warm coffee.”
“A dog drinking coffee!” Sam Hardy cried, with a laugh that had in it a
note of the tempest.
“Yes, sir; Mrs. Clark always gave him a little out of her own cup. Has
she come ashore yet?”
“No, lad,” the keeper replied gravely. “None save you and the dog lived
through last night.”
“They can’t be dead!” the boy cried in alarm, and as the full meaning
of the words dawned upon him, the tears came. “Surely some of the men
would have looked out for Mrs. Clark! She was coming ashore the same
way I did.”
“Had they lashed her to a spar before you were set adrift?”
“The captain had everything ready: but I was tied on first, ’cause she
wanted to be certain Fluff would be tucked inside my coat properly.
Surely she’ll come soon?”
“You may as well know the truth at once, lad; I’m not a man who
believes in keeping back bad tidings, because they must be told at some
time. Even if Mrs. Clark was set adrift on a spar, she couldn’t have
lived through the night. You are the only survivor of the wreck.”
“Where is the ship?”
“The waves have knocked her to pieces long before this, and our crew
are out looking after the wreckage as it comes ashore.”
While one might have counted ten the lad stood looking at the keeper
searchingly, and then, gathering the dog in his arms, he gave vent to
the grief that had so suddenly come into his heart.
“We’ll leave him alone for a spell, Sam,” the keeper whispered. “It’ll
do him good to have a good cry, and seeing’s we’ve got little chance of
sending in a report till after the storm clears up, there’s no sense in
bothering him with questions.”
Then the two kind-hearted men tiptoed softly out of the station, lest
the sound of their footsteps might add to the grief in the boy’s heart,
and the dog, pricking up his ears as if understanding every word
spoken, apparently listened to the first outpouring of sorrow and utter
desolation.
“It can’t be possible, Fluffy, that every one has been drowned! It
couldn’t be, God would take Captain Clark and his wife, with all the
crew, leaving only you an’ me here! Why, Fluff! If the man told us
the truth, what’ll become of us? We’re alone in the world, do you
understand that? Nobody who’ll help us anywhere! What’ll become of you,
my poor little man, and she loved you so dearly!”
As if in reply the dog licked the boy’s face, and this evidence of
affection appeared but to render more heavy the grief, for, throwing
himself upon the floor, holding his dumb companion yet more closely,
the poor lad gave way to the sorrow which had come with such cruel
suddenness upon him.
He was yet in this position when the keeper and two of the crew entered
the building an hour later.
In the boat-house, covered with flags, were the bodies of the captain
and his wife, and near by lay three of the crew, all in the awful
silence and stillness of death.
Keeper Downey laid his hand on the boy’s shoulder to attract his
attention, and the dog, mistaking this friendly touch for an attack,
sprang up, barking furiously, until it seemed as if the volume of sound
must shatter the tiny body.
Sam Hardy took it upon himself to make friends with the little animal,
and since the keeper no longer attempted to touch the sorrowing lad,
Fluff ceased his shrill yelps.
“Listen to me, lad,” the keeper said, throwing a coat over the
half-clad form. “It’s cruel sorrow that has come upon you; but
remember that there are others in this world who have been as cruelly
afflicted,--that you are not alone in your grief. Somewhere are wives
and children waiting for the return of the poor fellows who went down
with the ship, and you must not be selfish in your sorrow.”
The boy looked up with swollen eyes, inquiringly.
“Yes, my boy, you are selfish to give way to all that’s in your heart
when it is possible you can be of service to others.”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“Sad as the news will be to many, it is necessary they should learn of
what happened last night, and you are the only one who can tell the
story. I must make a report on the wreck, and am looking to you for
the information. There is yet something to be done--the last in this
world--by friends and relatives for such of the bodies as come ashore,
and if you give way to selfish sorrow, the word cannot be sent out from
here.”
The lad was on his feet in an instant, and, choking back the sobs as
best he might, while the dog nestled contentedly in his arms, he asked:
“Tell me what you want, sir.”
“First, the name of the ship.”
“She was the _Amazonia_, from Calcutta to Boston, David Clark, master.”
“Do you know how much of a crew she carried?”
“Twenty-five, all told.”
“Any other women except the captain’s wife?”
“No, sir.”
“What is your name?”
“Benjamin H. Foster; but Mrs. Clark always called me ‘Benny,’” the lad
replied, and at mention of the woman’s name his grief overwhelmed him
once more.
The eyes of the keeper and his comrades were not free from a certain
moisture, and more than one furtively passed the sleeve of his rough
coat across his face as all waited for the lad to recover his composure
in a measure.
“I’ll try not to cry again, sir,” Benny said piteously, after
struggling a moment to force back the tears.
“It is well you should grieve, lad; don’t think I blamed you for doing
what is only natural. When it is possible you shall tell all you know
about the ship and her voyage, giving the names of those members of the
crew that come to mind.”
Two hours or more passed before Benny had concluded the sad story, and
then Keeper Downey was in possession of such facts as were necessary
for the proper making up of his official report.
According to Benny’s tale the _Amazonia_ had sailed from Calcutta,
India, on the 15th of February, and, because of previous disasters, the
voyage had consumed almost ten months, during which time the ship had
covered a distance equal to one half the circuit of the globe.
She was loaded with ten thousand bales of jute; while crossing the
Indian Ocean she had run into a cyclone and been dismasted. Under
jury-rig the ship was worked to Port Louis, Mauritius, where, after
being unloaded, she was thoroughly overhauled and repaired. Not until
the middle of September was the voyage resumed, and nothing of note
occurred until the vicinity of the Bermudas was reached, when frequent
squalls set in, following the vessel until she made the coast of the
United States.
Captain Clark had not been able to take an observation for several
days, and, therefore, was forced to rely upon what mariners term
“dead reckoning.” Two days prior to the wreck he spoke a New York
pilot-boat, from which he learned his whereabouts, but after passing
George’s Shoal, about one hundred miles to the eastward of Cape Cod, he
determined to shape his course straight to the westward until sighting
the land.
Notwithstanding the lack of observations to determine his situation,
the captain might easily have discovered his danger by sounding, but
instead of doing so he held his course steadily without recourse to the
lead, until the dark, gloomy outline of the land loomed up, ominous and
forbidding.
It was evident from Benny’s story that Captain Clark realized at once
the impossibility of working the ship off from that lee shore, because
to the best of the lad’s belief it must have been half an hour before
the ill-fated craft struck the rocks when he was lashed to the spar,
while at the same time preparations were being made to care for the
captain’s wife in similar fashion.
“It is only in case anything should happen that this is being done,”
Mrs. Clark said to the boy, with the evident purpose of strengthening
his courage. “It may be that all will go well with us, and then you and
your Fluff will only have had a little disagreeable experience.”
Twice before the final crash came did one of the crew speak words of
cheer to the lad, who was unable to see what might be going on around
him, and from the nature of such remarks he believed all hands felt
certain the _Amazonia_ must strike the coast.
That, in substance, was all the information Benny could give regarding
such matters as must be embodied in the keeper’s report; but the men,
curious to know how he chanced to be aboard the ship, plied him with
questions, and when they had been answered the story of Benny Foster’s
life was told.
When quite young, he and his mother had sailed in the ship _West Wind_,
of which his father was the captain, on what the lad believed was to
be a long voyage; but he failed to remember the port to which the ship
was bound. However, so far as concerned him, that was of no particular
importance.
At some time--Benny thought he might have been six years of age just
then--his father was taken ill in the port of Calcutta, and it was
necessary to provide a new master for the ship.
Captain Foster and his family took lodgings ashore, and within a year
Benny was both motherless and fatherless. From that time on he had been
cared for in haphazard fashion by such acquaintances as his parents had
formed, and he believed some efforts were made toward learning if he
had any relatives in the United States.
Whether anything was accomplished in that direction he could not say;
but simply knew that in January of this same year Captain Clark sought
him out for the purpose of carrying him to Boston, having learned of
his condition from an American merchant in Calcutta.
On board the _Amazonia_ he performed any light tasks which would have
come within a cabin-boy’s line of duty; but was treated by Mrs. Clark
as a friend rather than a servant, and so intimate an acquaintance had
sprung up between himself and Fluff that he came to consider it his
especial duty to care for the little Angora terrier, whose bright pink
eyes gleaming out from amid the fluff of silken white hair gave him the
appearance of being a remarkably intelligent animal.
“And he’s just as bright as he looks,” Benny said, as he concluded the
poor story of his own life, while he hugged the dog yet closer to his
bosom. “Fluff knows almost everything I say to him, and what he don’t
just understand he guesses at. Why, before we had been out a week, Mrs.
Clark let him sleep with me in my berth, and when it was heavy weather
this poor little fellow would almost the same as talk to me, scolding
because the jumping of the ship made him feel badly. His name was Fluff
Clark, of course; but now that he hasn’t got anybody in all this wide
world but me, I’m going to adopt him, and he’ll be Fluff C. Foster
after this.”
“It strikes me there’s need of some one adopting you, lad,” Keeper
Downey said with a grave smile. “I’m not certain but that Fluff is
better able to care for himself than you are.”
“He’s too good a dog to need much caring for. Why, all he’d eat in a
day wouldn’t amount to a cent’s worth, though he’s mighty particular
about having things fixed up just such a way, and his pink nose will
wrinkle quick when there’s nothing but salt beef left over for him.
We always had lump sugar to give him for a treat; but he’d get along
without that if he knew I couldn’t afford to buy it for him. It would
surprise you to see how much that dog knows.”
Then Benny, eager that his pet should be duly appreciated, exhibited
the dog in his various tricks, and the members of the crew, seeing
that by such means the lad’s thoughts were kept from his great loss,
applauded the performance until Fluff had shown himself half a dozen
times over in his various acrobatic feats.
Keeper Downey rewarded the dumb performer, who certainly sustained the
reputation which his young master had given him, and it was almost as
if those cold, silent forms in the boat-room had been forgotten.
Benny’s clothing was thoroughly dried, and while Fluff entertained the
crew, the lad fully dressed himself, donning an old pea-jacket many
sizes too large, which had been wrapped about him when he was lashed to
the spar.
Keeper Downey set about making his report to the Department, based on
information supplied by the only survivor of the _Amazonia_, and the
men resumed their duties of watching for wreckage from the ill-fated
ship, leaving the homeless boy and his only friend comparatively alone.
During the remainder of this day every man took good care that Benny
should not find his way into the boat-room, and all seemed to believe
it their duty to prevent the lad’s thoughts from straying back into the
past.
A toy full-rigged ship, which one of the crew had fashioned during
his hours of leisure, was brought down from its shelf that Benny
might make a critical examination of it, and each in turn had some odd
souvenir or curious memento of the sea to attract the lad’s attention,
until, from the appearance of the mess-table, one would have said a
party of children were being entertained.
Despite all their efforts, however, Benny’s mind would go back to the
terrible evening just spent, and many times while the kindly hearted
men were doing their best to cause forgetfulness, the big tears
overflowed his eyelids, although the boy did his best to repress them.
When evening came, and supper had been served, both Benny and Fluff
were ready to retire, and after the lad was tucked snugly in Sam
Hardy’s bed with the dog’s pink nose resting over his arm, such of the
crew as were not on duty came together to discuss the future of these
waifs who had been thrown up by the sea into their keeping.
There was no formality attending this conference. From Keeper Downey to
Surfman Sawyer, all appeared to believe that the lad and the dog were
under the especial protection of the crew attached to this station,
and not one made any effort to shift the responsibility to another’s
shoulders.
“It stands to reason that the captain of the _Amazonia_ did not know
anything about the lad’s people, otherwise he or his wife must have
said something that Benny would have overheard,” Keeper Downey began,
by way of opening what all tacitly understood was a meeting of the
“board of guardians.” “It may be that when the story of the wreck is
told in the newspapers, as will be done by to-morrow, some one comes
forward to claim the lad, though I doubt it. Now there is nothing in
the Service as provides for such as he, except so far as giving food
and shelter to the shipwrecked until they can be removed to other
quarters.”
“And I allow it wouldn’t be according to regulations for us to keep
him here?” Joe Cushing said interrogatively, and Keeper Downey replied
emphatically:
“Not unless we have permission from headquarters. But whether that can
be gained or not goes beyond me.”
“Suppose we don’t keep him? Allow that we send him away?” Henry Robbins
asked. “Where could a boy like him be put?”
“There’s no other place but the poorhouse, if it so be he hasn’t any
relatives.”
“He sha’n’t go there, if I have to pay for his keeping out of my own
pocket,” Sam Hardy said decidedly, whereat the other members of the
crew applauded, taking care to make but little noise lest the sleeper
in the chamber above should be awakened.
Then Keeper Downey continued, much as if some motion had been put,
seconded, and carried:
“Since we are all agreed that Benny and Fluff are on our hands until a
better home can be found for ’em, the question comes as to how we’ll
divide the expense.”
“Let the cost be put equally among the crew,” Joe Cushing suggested.
“It can’t take such a terrible amount of money to keep this little
shaver and his toy dog.”
“We’ll let every man contribute according to his wages,” Keeper Downey
said, in the tone of one who has finally settled the question. “That
will be the fairest way, and, as Joe says, we never shall miss it
in the long run. It’s where we can keep him that is going to be the
hardest thing to settle on.”
“If we pay his bills and he don’t cost the Government a cent, what’s
to prevent having him with us all the time?” Dick Sawyer asked. “I’ll
guarantee that if we fix up a letter to the General Superintendent of
the Life-Saving Service, giving the particulars, and explaining that
the boy can help us a good bit in the way of washing dishes, trimming
lanterns, and that sort of work, there won’t be a question raised as
to his sharing a bed with one of us. I’ll take him in with me, when it
comes to that.”
“But would it be right to keep the lad out here?”--and it was as
if Tom Downey asked the question of himself. “According to his own
story, he hasn’t had over much schooling, and nowadays a boy who ain’t
considerable of a scholar cuts a pretty poor figure.”
“It won’t do any harm if that sort of business is held off for another
year,”--and Joe Cushing leaned forward eagerly as if fearing lest his
companions might disagree with him. “I think on these long winter days
it will be mighty pleasant to have a little shaver like him toddling
round here with his dog, and now the spring is so near at hand he
wouldn’t get much of a whack at schoolin’ before vacation-time comes.
Besides, it would be cruel to send him off just now, for he’s beginning
to get acquainted with us, and if you put him among strangers suddenly
all of last night’s business would come back to him harder than ever.”
It could readily be seen that every member of the crew was as eager
to keep Benny and Fluff with them, for a time at least, as was Joe
Cushing, but Tom Downey insisted that they had no right to thus deprive
the boy of the opportunity to attend school, and a long discussion
followed, the result of which was extremely satisfying to Joe Cushing.
“It’s agreed that we keep the lad here until next fall, if it so be
permission is given by the Department,” Keeper Downey said at length,
summing up the result of the arguments, “and if the rules of the
Service won’t allow his staying, we’ll look around for a boarding-place
as near to the station as may be; but I reckon there ain’t much need
of figgerin’ on that, because the United States Government can’t make
any kick about giving shelter to a little shaver like Benny, especially
when it don’t cost a cent.”
“Suppose you start the letter now?” Joe Cushing suggested. “If it goes
in with your report I allow it’ll have greater weight, seein’ that the
whole story will be fresh in the minds of the officials.”
The remainder of the crew believed Joe’s suggestion was timely, and
Keeper Downey did not need much urging to set him about the task
immediately.
After referring the Superintendent to the official report of the wreck,
Downey gave briefly the story Benny had told concerning himself, making
the request that the boy be allowed to remain at the station during
such time as the crew were willing to provide for his wants, and
concluding with the following statement:
“It won’t take a cent out of the government, for we, as a crew, have
agreed to pay his bills till he can manage affairs for himself, and
the little he costs will be more than balanced by what labor he can
perform. He appears to be a willing lad, and there’s many an odd job he
can do when we have a long spell of hard work. It will be a good trade
for us, whichever way you look at the matter, and surely the people of
this big country won’t begrudge the giving of a shelter to a boy who
has been in such hard luck, especially when there’ll be absolutely no
outlay on his account.”
“If that don’t fix things, then the Life-Saving Service is run under
different rules and regulations than I’ve always reckoned on,” Joe
Cushing said in a tone of satisfaction. “I allow we can count on having
Benny and Fluff with us so long as we pay their bills, and I’m going to
make first-class surf men out of them both, or know the reason why.”