THE STRANDED STEAMER.
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.