ON PATROL.
When Benny and Fluff came down-stairs next morning after the meeting
of the “board of guardians,” all the crew were in the mess-room, and
Keeper Downey greeted the lad right cheerily as he said:
“It stands to reason, Benny, that you have been troubled more or less
about what’s to become of you, seein’ ’s you’ve got no relatives that
you know about, an’ no friends, except it may be them as are before
you, this side of India. You must have something to eat, and enough
clothin’ to keep the frost out, to say nothing of providin’ a home for
the dog.”
Benny looked about him piteously. This broaching the subject which
had been present in his mind almost constantly since he realized his
desolate condition, seemed much like the preface of some disagreeable
communication.
“Have you got to send us away right off, Mr. Downey?” he asked,
pressing Fluff’s pink nose against his cheek as if the contact gave him
courage.
“I don’t reckon that’s got to be done, lad; but you must understand
that something ought to be settled within a reasonably short time, and
chiefly for your own good. It’s not benefiting a boy to allow him to
remain idle----”
“But I’m willing to work, Mr. Downey, and I was thinking when we came
down-stairs that I’d ask you if there wasn’t some town near by where I
might find a job.”
“I allow the town’s there, Benny, but whether a lad of your size and
build could get a job big enough to pay for the little he and the dog
would eat is another question. If it so be you was minded to stay in
the country, say out on the sea-shore, I shouldn’t be surprised if a
piece of work could be scared up that would fix things smooth, so far
as it comes to board and lodging. I ain’t allowin’ there’d be very much
more than that in it, ’cause you see, Benny, my lad, it don’t stand to
reason you’re worth any more.”
“I’d do anything, Mr. Downey, anything that would pay for our living,
and I’m sure Fluff wouldn’t mind it so very much if he didn’t get sugar
when he knew I couldn’t earn any money to buy it with.”
“Well, my son, this ’ere job I’ve got in my eye would likely pay
enough so that you could afford to keep Fluff C. Foster in sugar.
Leastways, I reckon it wouldn’t take much bargaining to bring it around
that way.”
“When shall I go to work?”
“It ain’t well to lose any time, so me and my mates have agreed
that you’d better start right in this morning as soon as you’ve had
breakfast.”
Benny looked around upon the weather-beaten, kindly faces, and a big
lump came up in his throat which caused him no slight effort in the
swallowing of it. He had known these men hardly more than twenty-four
hours, and yet in that time they had shown themselves as well disposed
as if they had been his best friends, and the thought of leaving them
to go among strangers brought the boy genuine sorrow.
He buried his face in Fluff’s silken hair for an instant, and then,
looking up, said with a brave effort to prevent his lip from quivering,
although he could not choke back the tremor in his voice:
“I am ready to go now, sir.”
“According to the looks of things you ain’t mightily pleased at the
prospect of leaving,”--and Thomas Downey glanced meaningly at his
comrades.
“You’ve all been very good to me, sir, and if you’d ever known how
lonesome it is to be alone, same’s Fluff and I are now, you couldn’t
wonder that we was a little mite sorry to go away from such a nice
place; but I’ll----”
Again Benny buried his face in Fluff’s coat that he might have time to
choke back the rebellious sobs, and Sam Hardy whispered in a voice that
was not remarkable for its steadiness:
“It’s too bad to keep the little duffer in suspense, Tom.”
“He’s showing what he’s made of now.”
“And he’s got grit,” Joe Cushing added.
By this time Benny had conquered his emotions once more, and looking up
said with a feeble attempt at a smile:
“You’ve all been awful good to Fluff and me, and we sha’n’t forget it.
Unless we’re going too far away, both of us would like to come back
once in a while to see you.”
“But you don’t want to leave before breakfast?” Tom Downey suggested,
and Benny, manfully struggling with this new grief, replied:
“I ain’t hungry; but if you’ll give Fluff a little something,--’cause
he’s a dog an’ don’t really know all that’s happening----”
“I reckon we needn’t keep this up any longer, lad. You’ve got a job,
an’ we’re hoping there won’t be any call to leave this ’ere station;
but if it can’t be fixed as we’ve reckoned on, you shall live close
by. There’s nothing in the rules to prevent your comin’ here every day,
for regulation number one, nought, seven, regarding the conduct of
keepers, says that they must be ‘courteous and polite to visitors,’ but
it don’t state how often a visitor may come.”
The members of the crew expressed their satisfaction in various
ways at the keeper’s astuteness in thus discovering a means of at
least partially carrying out their desires, in case the head of the
Department disapproved of their taking on an assistant; but Benny
looked about him in perplexity. He failed utterly to understand the
proposition which Tom Downey believed had been made exceedingly plain,
and Sam Hardy took it upon himself to explain what they, as a crew,
proposed doing.
“It’s just like this, Benny,” he began in a paternal tone: “It kind
of seems as if you and Mr. Fluff C. Foster was thrown on your beam
ends, so to speak, with the wind and tide both against you. Now the
government hires us to assist crafts in distress, and, of course, you
comin’ under that head, we’re bound to do all we can, else there’d be
danger of losin’ our job. See?”
A look of perplexity still remained upon the lad’s face, and Joe
Cushing proceeded to perform his part in making plain the situation of
affairs.
“It’s like this, Benny: Tom and Sam mean all they say, but don’t just
give it to you in a way that can be understood. Now a good, willing boy
what will tend out right sharp on such odd jobs as are layin’ round
the station, can earn his way here; an’ when the Superintendent of the
Life-Saving Service hears how we, as a crew, have put this thing, it
don’t stand to reason he’s going to make any kick. ’Cause why? ’Cause
there ain’t anything in the revised regulations of the service as says
a word against it. So while we’ve got to wait a spell for the proper
authority, according to my way of thinking, an’ the rest of us are
pretty much the same mind, it’s as good as fixed already.”
As if thinking it was necessary to make some reply, Benny nodded his
head, but still continued to gaze inquiringly from one to the other,
for as yet he failed to understand the alleged explanations, and Dick
Sawyer took it upon himself to throw additional light on the subject.
“It don’t appear to me as if everything was just plain to you, lad, an’
yet Joe straightened up what Tom an’ Sam didn’t get at. We settled the
whole thing last night after you’d gone to bed, an’ the way I look at
it is, that it’ll be as much of a favor to us as to you an’ the dog, so
there’s no need to feel as if you wasn’t paying your way.”
“Where is it Fluff and I are going to work?” Benny asked, after waiting
an instant to learn if any other member of the crew had an explanation
to make, and Tom Downey replied in a tone of authority:
“Why, right here, of course, lad. Ain’t that what we’ve been telling
you about? We’re counting on keeping you in the station, if it so be
authority is given from headquarters, and it don’t seem as if there
could be any objection. You can knock about pretty much as you please,
though we count that you’ll help the cook, and keep the lamps and
lanterns trimmed.”
“Fluff and I are to live right here?” Benny cried excitedly, in his
excitement allowing the dog to drop to the floor, where the latter set
up a shrill barking as if in approval of the plan.
“It looks as if you’d be glad to stay,” Sam Hardy said in a tone of
satisfaction.
“Glad!” Benny exclaimed. “Why, you men can’t think how happy it will
make Fluff and me! Of course we was ready to leave, and wouldn’t have
said a word against it, because we’ve got our living to earn; but
you’ve been so good to us that it seems as if you was our own folks,
an’ we’d have been awful lonesome to go away where we didn’t know
anybody. And you sha’n’t be sorry, either, if there’s anything we can
do to pay our way, ’cause I know how to take care of the lamps, and
wait on the table, and--and--and I can wash dishes just as well as a
woman. I did it on the _Amazonia_ all the voyage.”
“We’re allowing that this ’ere is a case where you regularly attend
to your share of the duties,” Tom Downey said, speaking now in his
official tone. “We don’t believe in making paupers out of boys, no
matter whatever bad luck they’ve fallen into; but besides the work
you’ll do, I reckon it will be kind of pleasant to have you and the
dog laying round here,--makes it seem more like home. Now, Benny, you
are to take hold from this out. Get up when the cook does; do what you
can to help him; wash dishes and trim the lamps. After that the time
will be pretty much your own, an’ if it so be that you can’t sleep
here, why we’ll make a deal with Eph Hannaford’s folks so they’ll give
you lodgings. But we won’t talk about that part of it. Turn to for
breakfast now, and then there’ll be a chance to show how handy you are.”
The lump which came into Benny’s throat at the thought that he must
leave the station had suddenly taken its departure, and in obedience to
the keeper’s orders the lad took his seat at the breakfast table alone,
for the crew had already broken their fast.
Tom Downey observed that the boy moved the chairs away from his
immediate vicinity before sitting down, and it was apparent to all
that, according to Master Fluff’s ideas, something had gone wrong, for
the dog danced about excitedly, giving vent from time to time to a low
yelp of what seemed to be disapproval.
“What’s the matter with Fluff C. Foster?” Sam Hardy asked.
“He’ll be all right after a spell,” Benny replied. “He’ll soon know the
difference, ’cause I’ll make him understand it.”
“Understand what?”
“Why, you see, he always sat by the side of me on board the ship, and
he thinks it’s funny he can’t do it now, I s’pose; but he’s a good,
sensible dog, and won’t want to break over any rules after he gets a
little used to it.”
“Why don’t you let him sit by your side now?”
“I was afraid it wouldn’t be right. Mrs. Clark said she’d have a good
deal of trouble to break him of the habit after they got ashore.”
“Will he behave himself?” Keeper Downey asked.
“Fluff behave himself! Why, sir, he’s just as nice an’ polite at the
table as any fellow you ever saw.”
“Give him a show, and let’s see what he’ll do.”
Benny pulled a chair by the side of the one in which he was sitting,
and without waiting for further invitation the dog leaped into it,
content at being by the side of his young master, and making no effort
to get at the food before him.
The crew watched with interest what was to them very much like a
performance gotten up for their especial benefit, and during all
the time Benny remained at the table Fluff behaved himself with the
greatest propriety.
When the boy had satisfied his hunger he poured a saucer one third
full of coffee, broke into it a small portion of bread, and Fluff
immediately got down from the chair, knowing that his meal was ready.
While the dog was eating Sam Hardy exclaimed, as if the proceedings
filled him with surprise:
“Well, he’s got more sense than I ever gave a dumb animal credit for
havin’, an’ so far as I’m concerned, he’s welcome to sit at any table
where I am.”
“We’ll give him a regular place by Benny’s side,” Tom Downey added, and
thus were the two officially and formally received into the family of
the life savers.
The new member of the crew did not wait to be told how he might make
himself useful, but immediately after the meal was ended he set about
clearing the table, washing dishes, and setting to rights the interior
of the station.
The men watched him curiously while he moved quickly but noiselessly to
and fro, until, having swept the floor, he began dusting the different
articles of furniture, when Sam Hardy exclaimed emphatically:
“Mark my word, that lad will be a big addition to this ’ere place! He’s
tidy, willing, an’ quiet; what more could we want?”
“I reckon he’ll do,” Keeper Downey replied in a tone of content, and
straightway the members of the crew set about their several duties,
satisfied that they had made no mistake in assuming the guardianship of
Benny and Fluff.
The building was cleanly, when viewed from a man’s standpoint; but
Benny, who had profited by the teachings of Mrs. Clark, saw very much
which should be done, and from the time breakfast was over until late
in the afternoon he did not spend an idle moment. As a matter of
fact Fluff was equally busy; when not exhibiting his tricks for the
amusement of the men, he was trudging to and fro at the heels of his
young master as if superintending the labor, and blissfully ignorant of
the fact that old Maje sat outside displaying no slight jealousy and
anger because he had not been admitted to the mess-room according to
custom.
“It stands to reason that the old dog will be a bit disagreeable at
first,” Joe Cushing said, as he called attention to Maje in front of
the tool-house. “We must introduce the two before long, and once they
are friends it’ll be more lively for Fluff C. Foster.”
A ring at the telephone which connected the station with the
neighboring city called Keeper Downey into the adjoining room, and
after receiving a certain message he summoned Sam Hardy.
[Illustration]
“The bodies are to be taken away this afternoon, Sam. The coroner says
the undertaker’s team has already started, so we can count on its being
here about sunset. Now there’s no good reason why that little shaver
should see all the dismal work, for it would only bring all the sorrow
back into his heart.”
“I go on patrol in half an hour; why wouldn’t it be a good idea to take
him with me?”
“I’m afraid the tramp would be too long. You see he’s just come off
shipboard, an’ isn’t in good trim for much walking.”
“Joe Cushing will come along, I reckon, an’ when the boy begins to
tire, can come back with him.”
“That’s a good idea, Sam. See to it that he’s wrapped up well, and give
him a lift over the roughest places.”
“Don’t be feered but that I’ll take good care of him. What about the
dog? Old Maje will make short work of him if he ain’t watched sharp.”
“I’ll attend to that part of it, if Ben doesn’t want to take Fluff with
him. Get ready, and don’t let Joe bring him back until the work here
has been finished.”
The new member of the crew was scouring knives when Sam proposed that
he go on the patrol, and from the expression on his face it could
readily be seen that he was in favor of accepting the invitation; but
after a brief time of hesitation Benny replied:
“I’d like to go, Mr. Hardy; but there’s so much to be done here that I
can’t get away. It’ll be a good while before I’m through with this job.”
“Hark you, Benjamin: we count on your doing the odd chores about the
station; but don’t reckon every minute is to be spent working. You’ve
done enough for one day, so get your duds together, an’ we’ll see what
may be needed; it’ll be a cold tramp along the coast while the wind is
howlin’ at this rate.”
“I’ll ask Mr. Downey----”
“Never mind that part of it, my son. I’ve spoken with the keeper, an’
he thinks it’ll do you good to take a spin out of doors. What about
Fluff?”
“May I take him with me?”
“Sure; but I can’t say the wind won’t blow him away; it’s powerful
strong, an’ he don’t carry much ballast.”
“He’ll be glad enough to stay in my arms most of the time,” Benny cried
gleefully as he went in search of his reefer, which Joe Cushing, having
been given a hint by Tom Downey as to what was proposed, had hung in
front of the fire.
Had Benny taken all the clothing his “guardians” offered to loan, it
would have been literally impossible for him to walk. He did accept,
however, a pair of rubber boots many sizes too large, a woollen
muffler, and a pair of mittens, and when these had been adjusted
according to the advice of all hands, he looked like an animated bundle
of clothing rather than a living boy.
Fluff was disposed of under the large reefer, and the party set out,
Joe Cushing leading the way, with Sam Hardy walking by Benny’s side.
The boy observed that each of his companions put into his overcoat
pocket a bar of wood, fashioned as if intended to be used as a handle,
and three small packages looking not unlike sticks of soap, wrapped in
paper. He afterward came to know that these last were Coston signals;
that when a surfman finds it necessary to show a light, he inserts one
of the packages or sticks into the wooden handle, and, striking it
against a rock, or any hard substance, produces a brilliant light, many
times more powerful than the ordinary “flare.”
In addition to these signals the men hung over their shoulders round
leathern cases which looked much like the covering of a small clock or
a large watch, and Sam Hardy said as they left the station:
“I’m allowin’, my son, you don’t understand the meanin’ of all this
’ere rigging; but keep your eyes open, an’ you’ll soon find out that we
of the Service have more on hand than sittin’ ’round taking our ease,
as a good many people credit us with doing.”
“Are you going out just for a walk?” Benny asked, finding it difficult
to make his way against the strong, chilling wind which came in over
the ocean.
“Yes, we’re out for a walk,” Joe Cushing replied with a hearty laugh;
“but it ain’t for pleasure, my son. No matter what the weather is,
we’re bound to be on the move from sunset until sunrise, watching for
any craft that may be in distress.”
“A vessel couldn’t get into trouble on the coast to-night,” Benny said,
with the air of one who is familiar with the subject.
“Very likely not; but yet it is our business to be on the watch day
and night, because there’s never any telling when, or how, we may be
needed, an’ saving life in a storm ain’t the only part of our work by a
long ways, as you’ll come to know. I reckon we’re far enough from the
station now, so there’s no fear of old Maje, an’ you can give Fluff C.
Foster a little run.”
Benny brought the dog out from under his coat, and instantly he was on
the ground Fluff set off, barking joyously because of being free; but
before he had been left to his own devices twenty seconds he began to
howl as if in alarm.
The wind was literally blowing the little fellow along, and, despite
all his efforts, he was unable to make headway against it.
“Can’t hold his course,” Sam said with a laugh, “and the worst of it is
that there’s no taking in sail with him. That long hair gives the wind
a good hold, an’ I reckon young Foster will be glad to get under your
coat again, Benny.”
Not until the dog had been blown landward over the slope of the bluff
which bordered the sea, was his young master able to come up with him,
and once more beneath the lad’s coat the little fellow manifested
his pleasure at having been rescued from what probably seemed to him
a dangerous position, by half growling, half whining, which Benny
explained was “the way Fluff talked.”
“I counted on seeing heaps and heaps of snow,” the new member of the
crew said in a tone of disappointment as he trudged on between his
companions. “Of course the winter in Calcutta isn’t like what it is
here, and I don’t remember much about the drifts of which mother often
spoke.”
“There’s snow and to spare, just back of the timbered land,” Sam Hardy
replied with a laugh, “an’ when you’re needin’ a sight of it mighty
bad you can go over the hill beyond the lighthouses. Down here on the
point, where the wind has full sweep, it’s mostly blown away. Now, for
instance, lookin’ up from the station, I reckon you won’t see so much
as would make a snowball of respectable size.”
“But we find it in spots down here,” Joe Cushing interrupted. “Back of
the rocks the wind packs it into sheltered places, and although there’s
none to be seen from the station door, we often come upon drifts three
or four feet deep. It’s precious hard work draggin’ the beach-wagon
then.”
Benny soon had an illustration of his companions’ statements. They had
been walking over land whereon not a single fleck of white could be
seen, when suddenly, coming upon a gully which was sheltered from the
wind by the cliffs, they were floundering in a deposit of snow so deep
that only with the greatest difficulty could the boy force his way
through.
“It’s always a feast or a famine out here, lad,” Sam Hardy said grimly.
“No snow whatever, or too much of it.”
Then he led the way across what might have been mistaken, save for the
dead grass, for a summer landscape.
The little party were not far from the station when the men halted
in front of a post to which was attached a small iron receptacle
containing a key, fastened to a chain, and Sam said, as, removing his
mittens, he took this out:
“Now you shall see, my son, the meaning of this ’ere bit of furniture
we’re obliged to carry. A dishonest surfman might go a short distance
from the station, find a snug loafing-place, and spend his time of duty
there instead of patrolling the coast, if it wasn’t for the little
telltale inside this case. We must be at certain places in order to get
at the keys which fit the lock--in this wise.”
As he spoke Sam turned the key in what was seemingly a tiny lock on the
leathern case.
“Inside is a sort of clock which makes a record whenever I turn the
key. After we are back at the station Tom Downey can tell if I have
visited all the points where the key is kept, and exactly what time I
was there. It makes a record for him to look up, and is a satisfaction
to me, because it proves I have done my whole duty.”
At nearly every point along the rugged coast Sam and Joe had some story
to tell of disaster, or of saving life from the raging waters by the
crew of which Benny had good reason now to consider himself a member.
Here, a schooner, having been dismasted, was thrown up on the hidden
reef which makes out some distance from the land, and, during a furious
storm when the sleet and hail cut into the flesh like needles, the
life savers were forced to drag their apparatus through the snowdrifts
from two to four feet deep, after which, by aid of the gun and the
breeches-buoy, every man was saved.
There, three boys, whose yacht had been capsized by a sudden squall,
would have drowned but for the vigilance of the patrol and the activity
of the men who manned the life-boat, for the crew arrived at the scene
only barely in time to save them from being dashed against the rocky
cliffs.
It was as if every headland and cove had its own particular story
concerning the perils of the sea, and the two surfmen, bent on so
occupying the attention of their companion that he should not note the
passage of time, gave to each incident such details as could not fail
of arresting the lad’s attention, until to his surprise Sam Hardy said:
“I reckon, Joe, it’s time for you to take the lad back. It won’t do
to give him too much of a tramp the first night. There’s no need of
spinning all our yarns, for he’s like to be with us on many a tour of
duty.”
“I’m neither tired nor cold,” Benny said, for this cutting short a most
agreeable excursion was not to his liking, although he made no protest.
“It ain’t just the thing to drag you along here when there’s no real
need of it, and I reckon you’d best turn back, my son. Joe will take
you in behind the pines, where you can give Fluff C. Foster a chance
to run, and by that time the frost will have a good firm hold on your
nose.”
Then with a cheery “good-night” Sam continued on his lonely, difficult
way.
Joe fulfilled the promise made for him by his comrade, and when, at
nearly eight o’clock, they arrived within sight of the station, the
surfman began shouting, much to the surprise of his companion.
“It’s all right; you can come in,” Keeper Downey replied at length, and
Joe Cushing knew that those silent forms which had been lying in the
boat-room were no longer at the station.