“NUMBER EIGHT.”
Although he had remained on duty since the previous afternoon, and,
counting the time spent in the city with Sam Hardy, had been without
rest full forty-four hours, Benny insisted on doing his equal share
of work in the kitchen when the crew and passengers of the stranded
steamer arrived at the station.
It was so late in the day, and the crew yet had so much labor to
perform, that there would not be time in which to make the necessary
arrangements for sending into town until the following day those who
had been rescued from the steamer, therefore the station was a scene of
bustling activity.
The officers and crew of the steamer were to be given a hearty meal
before they joined the life-saving crew in patrolling the shore on the
lookout for such wreckage as might be driven in from their craft, and
after that had been done the passengers must be cared for.
“With the addition to our family of thirty-eight, work here in the
station will be right lively,” the cook said to Benny when the latter,
after providing with dry clothing such of the rescued as were in need,
presented himself in the kitchen; “but for all that I can run the
concern without calling on a boy who hasn’t been in bed since night
before last.”
“I’m no more tired than any other member of the crew, and want to do my
share,” Benny insisted. “I’d be a pretty poor No. 8 if I couldn’t hold
my own with those who have done twice as much work.”
“You’ve kept even pace with all hands, accordin’ to what I’ve heard,
an’ it’ll please me better to see you in the other room taking care of
Fluff C. Foster.”
“He don’t need me while all those ladies are petting him. Of course he
was glad to see me after being alone in the station so long; but while
I was getting out the dry clothing he made friends with some of the
passengers, and now hasn’t time to more than look at me.”
“Has he got his medal on?”
“Do you think I’d let him wear that all the time?” and Benny set about
paring potatoes as if he had but just come on duty. “I took it off the
very minute we got back from the city.”
“You ought to let him have it, for surely the people will be
interested in knowing he has won such an honor. There ain’t many dogs
who can show as much, an’ it isn’t fair to keep it from him just now.
You must go back and tell the whole story.”
Benny hesitated. He was eager that Fluff should have all the credit
due him, but feared lest by displaying the medal his motives might be
misunderstood.
“Do you suppose they’d think I was trying to make out he was something
wonderful?”
“Now don’t be too modest, Benjamin. Fluff really was the means of
saving Mr. Bradford’s life, and it’s only fair to let people know about
it.”
Thus urged, Benny did as the cook desired, and nearly half an hour
elapsed before he returned to the kitchen.
“It seemed as if I’d never get away,” he said apologetically, taking up
the first work which presented itself, and quickening his movements to
atone for lost time. “They made me tell the story over and over again,
and now Fluff’s having a terrible good time.”
“That’s as it should be, and I only wish they’d kept you longer, for I
don’t like to see a tired lad hustling around here.”
“I sha’n’t hurt myself,” Benny replied with a laugh, determined not
to be prevented from attending to his regular duties, except by a
positive command from Keeper Downey.
The members of the crew were too busy to give much heed to No. 8. The
tugs, which had finally come in response to the messages sent, were
lying-to outside, communicating with the keeper by signals; all the
gear used was to be put away in proper order that it might be got at
without loss of time should occasion arise, and three of the men had
been sent back on the bluff to watch for wreckage from the steamer.
In fact, all was bustle and seeming confusion until after the keeper
issued imperative orders that Benny make up a bed for himself in the
kitchen, and go to sleep.
The number of the rescued was so large that all the apartments in the
station, save the kitchen itself, were given up to them, the crew lying
down when their turns to rest came, wherever sufficient space could be
found.
Regardless of the noise consequent upon so many people being crowded
into such small quarters, Benny slept as only a tired boy can, until
the cook aroused him by building the fire next morning in order to cook
breakfast.
“Of course I’m all right,” he said in reply to the question as to his
condition; “but I must have been terrible sleepy last night, for I’ve
let Fluff wear his collar and medal all night.”
“That won’t do any harm, and, besides, he’s bound to keep his ornaments
on till our visitors leave. I reckon we’ll soon have the station to
ourselves, an’ I for one won’t be sorry. This sleepin’ on the kitchen
floor with not so much as a blanket to ease up on the boards, ain’t
particularly pleasant, accordin’ to the way I look at it.”
“I could have slept on a rock last night, I was so tired,” Benny
replied, with a cheerful laugh as he began his toilet, promising Fluff
that he should have his hair combed before the ladies appeared. “How
are they going away?”
“It was settled last night, over the telephone, that if the wind died
down, a tug would be out here about eight o’clock, and it’s so calm now
that there won’t be any trouble in putting them aboard.”
“I wonder if the steamer was stove to pieces?”
“Joe Cushing was the last man in, and he reported that she was then
in fair condition for hauling off. The wrecking crews will soon be at
work, and if the weather holds good it may be possible to save her.”
“Will our crew be called upon?”
“Not a bit of it. All that is done by contract, and those who take the
job have no right to ask for the services of the life-saving men. Why
don’t you take a spin out there, an’ see how she looks?”
“I guess it’ll be more to my credit if I stay here pretty close while
there’s so much work to be done,” Benny replied with a laugh, and
then, his own toilet having been made, he set about combing Fluff, an
operation which was never greatly enjoyed by the dog.
While No. 8 was busily engaged in helping the cook, several of the
lady passengers from the steamer held a private interview with Keeper
Downey, and it seemed as if they had no slight amount of business to
settle, for not until breakfast had been served did the conference come
to an end.
Before the meal was finished a tug hove to off the cove, and Sam Hardy
announced that the passengers from the stranded steamer could be put on
board whenever they were ready to leave.
Before taking their departure every woman and man shook hands most
cordially with Benny, and one of the ladies whispered in his ear:
“You must not refuse to accept what has been left for you and Fluff.
Each of us considered it a favor to be allowed to add something, and
when your school days begin it will be needed.”
Benny was wholly at a loss to understand the meaning of these words,
and when he asked Sam Hardy if he knew to what the lady referred, that
jolly surfman said with a laugh:
“You’ll find out in time, No. 8, and it may be worth your while to
look at Article 151 of the _Revised Regulations_.”
Benny waited until all those who were to be taken to the city had been
put on board the tug, for none but the passengers were to leave the
vicinity, the crew and officers of the steamer remaining to assist in
the labor of floating the steamer, and then he set about finding the
article to which Sam Hardy referred.
Twice over he read the following lines, and even then he was puzzled
to understand what bearing they could have upon the remark made by the
lady.
“The regular crews of stations are not entitled to salvage, it being
part of their duty, as Government employees, to assist, without charge,
in saving property from wrecked vessels, so far as it can be done
without interfering with the duty of saving life, which must always
be the paramount consideration, or injuring the effectiveness of the
appliances for prompt service at any moment. They are not, however,
prohibited from claiming reasonable compensation for the use of boats,
wagons, or other appliances, personally belonging to them, which may be
employed upon such occasions, nor from receiving such rewards for labor
performed, or risk incurred at wrecks, as owners or masters of vessels
or other persons may see fit to _voluntarily_ bestow upon them, but
they are strictly forbidden to solicit such rewards.”
The crew of the station had not been served with breakfast before
the departure of the tug, owing to lack of space for so many in the
mess-room, therefore they were alone once more when the cook summoned
them to the long-delayed meal.
As he took his seat at the table, Benny fancied his comrades looked
unusually sharp at him; but no one made any comment, until the hunger
of all had been satisfied, when Keeper Downey asked:
“Didn’t I see one of the ladies whispering to you just before the
passengers went on board the tug?”
“Yes, sir,” Benny replied, and then he repeated what she had said,
together with the conversation between himself and Sam Hardy.
“Well, did you look up Article 151?”
“Yes, sir; but I couldn’t find out anything by that.”
“I’ll explain it, No. 8, and while I’m doing so remember that I’m the
captain of this crew, and my orders are to be obeyed without question.”
“Yes, sir,” Benny said hesitatingly, almost alarmed by this stern
reminder of authority.
“After the passengers heard what Fluff had done, they were naturally
curious to know why a lad like you was living in such a place, and it
became necessary to tell the story. You can hardly wonder that every
one of them was eager to show due appreciation of our services, and it
was decided among them that it could best be done by making some little
provision for the future of you and Fluff C. Foster, although all knew
you belong to us, if it so chances that no relatives come forward to
claim you.”
“I haven’t got any relatives, except it might be second-hand ones who
never so much as heard of me,” Benny interrupted.
“We can almost hope you haven’t, No. 8, for we couldn’t afford to spare
you from this ’ere crew,” Joe Cushing said emphatically, and Tom Downey
motioned that all remain silent.
“The passengers made up a purse for the lad who, unaided, saved the
lives of two men, and in Article 151 you’ll find that you’re allowed to
receive whatever may be given you voluntarily.”
“Do you mean that they’ve paid me money?” Benny asked sharply.
“Yes, and it was with the full approval of every member of this crew,
except yourself. By making up a purse for you and Fluff, a great
compliment was paid to us, and as such you must receive it without any
back talk. I’ve got here one hundred and thirty dollars, which is to be
put into the bank for your benefit, and as the lady said, it will come
in handy when you begin to go to school.”
Mr. Downey displayed the money, but Benny made no attempt to touch it,
and Sam Hardy took it upon himself to banish the lad’s scruples in
regard to receiving it.
“There ain’t a man among us who would refuse a gift made in the same
spirit that was, No. 8, an’ we take it as a compliment to ourselves. It
would have pleased us better if the passengers themselves could have
put the money in your hands; but we felt afraid you’d be so backward
about acceptin’ it as to give them the idea such a token wasn’t to your
likin’, so the keeper took the matter in charge. We want you to be
glad, for the rest of us are feelin’ mighty fine because it has been
done.”
Benny could make no reply just then, and his comrades understood the
reason; but later he came to look at the matter in a different light,
and asked Tom Downey to write a letter thanking the passengers for
their kindness.
The crew had but little time to spend on private affairs just at this
moment. The wrecking crew went to work on the stranded steamer that
same day, and all hands were interested in watching the operations,
which were not brought to an end for many days, when the vessel was
hauled off the shoal with no more damage than might have been expected.
Some time before the work came to an end the life-saving crew settled
down once more to the regular routine of duty, and Sam Hardy suggested
that No. 8 spend all his spare time studying the printed rules for the
management of open row-boats in a surf.
“It’s what every lad should know, Benjamin, whether he counts on
becoming a surfman or not, and you must have it all well in mind before
spring, when I’m goin’ to give you plenty of practice in such work.”
Under this inducement it is not to be wondered at that Benny at once
became unusually studious, and on the day before his uniform arrived,
it was possible for him to repeat all which is here set down for the
benefit of those lads who may not have such an able teacher as Sam
Hardy.
“As a general rule, speed must be given to a boat rowing against a
heavy surf. Indeed, under some circumstances, her safety will depend
on the utmost possible speed being attained on meeting a sea. For if
the sea be really heavy, and the wind blowing a hard on-shore gale, it
can only be by the utmost exertions of the crew that any headway can be
made. The great danger then is, that an approaching heavy sea may carry
the boat away on its front, and turn it broadside on, or up-end it,
either effect being immediately fatal. A boat’s only chance in such a
case is to obtain such way as shall enable her to pass, end on, through
the crest of the sea, and leave it as soon as possible behind her. Of
course, if there be a rather heavy surf, but no wind, or the wind off
shore, and opposed to the surf, as is often the case, a boat might be
propelled so rapidly through it that her bow would fall more suddenly
and heavily after topping the sea than if her way had been checked;
and it may, therefore, only be when the sea is of such magnitude, and
the boat of such a character, that there may be a chance of the former
carrying her back before it, that full speed should be given her.
“It may also happen that, by careful management under such
circumstances, a boat may be made to avoid the sea, so that each wave
may break ahead of her, which may be the only chance of safety in a
small boat; but if the shore be flat, and the broken water extends to a
great distance from it, this will often be impossible.
“If sufficient command can be kept over a boat by the skill of those on
board her, avoid or ‘dodge’ the sea, if possible, so as not to meet it
at the moment of its breaking or curling over.
“Against a head gale and heavy surf, get all possible speed on a boat
on the approach of every sea which cannot be avoided.
“If more speed can be given to a boat than is sufficient to prevent her
being carried back by the surf, her way may be checked on its approach,
which will give her an easier passage over it.
“The one great danger, when running before a broken sea, is that
of broaching-to. To that peculiar effect of the sea, so frequently
destructive of human life, the utmost attention must be directed.
“The cause of a boat’s broaching-to when running before a broken sea
or surf is, that her own motion being in the same direction as that
of the sea, whether it be given by the force of oars or sails, or by
the force of the sea itself, she opposes no resistance to it, but is
carried before it. Thus, if a boat be running with her bow to the shore
and her stern to the sea, the first effect of the surf or roller, on
its overtaking her, is to throw up the stern, and as a consequence
to depress the bow; if she then has sufficient inertia (which will
be proportional to weight) to allow the sea to pass her, she will
in succession pass through the descending, the horizontal, and the
ascending positions, as the crest of the wave passes successively her
stern, her midships, and her bow, in the reverse order in which the
same positions occur to a boat propelled to seaward against a surf.
This may be defined as the safe mode of running before a broken sea.
“But if a boat, on being overtaken by a heavy surf, has not sufficient
inertia to allow it to pass her, the first of the three positions
above enumerated alone occurs; her stern is raised high in the air,
and the wave carries the boat before it, on its front or unsafe
side, sometimes with frightful velocity, the bow all the time deeply
immersed in the hollow of the sea, where the water, stationary or
comparatively so, offers a resistance, whilst the crest of the sea,
having the actual motion which causes it to break, forces onward the
stern or rear end of the boat. A boat will, in this position sometimes,
aided by careful oar-steerage, run a considerable distance until the
wave has broken and expended itself. But it will often happen that if
the bow be low it will be driven under water, when, the buoyancy being
lost forward, whilst the sea presses on the stern, the boat will be
thrown (as it is termed) end over end; or, if the bow be high, or it be
protected, as in most lifeboats, by a bow air-chamber, so that it does
not become submerged, that the resistance forward, acting on one bow,
will slightly turn the boat’s head, and the force of the surf being
transferred to the opposite quarter, she will in a moment be turned
round broadside by the sea, and be thrown by it on her beam ends or
altogether capsized.
“Hence, it follows, that the management of a boat, when landing through
a heavy surf, must, as far as possible, be assimilated to that when
proceeding to seaward against one, at least so far as to stop her
progress shoreward at the moment of being overtaken by a heavy sea, and
thus enabling it to pass her. There are different ways of effecting
this object:
“1. By turning a boat’s head to the sea before entering the broken
water, and then backing in stern foremost, pulling a few strokes ahead
to meet each heavy sea, and then again backing astern. If the sea be
really heavy and a boat small, this plan will generally be the safest,
as a boat cannot be kept more under command when the full force of the
oars can be used against a heavy surf than by backing them only.
“2. If rowing to shore with the stern to seaward, by backing all the
oars on the approach of a heavy sea, and rowing ahead again as soon as
it has passed to the bow of the boat, thus rowing it on the back of the
wave; or, as is practiced in some life-boats, placing the after-oarsmen
with their faces forward and making them row back at each sea on its
approach.
“3. If rowed in bow foremost, by towing astern a pig of ballast or
large stone, or a large basket, or canvas bag, termed a ‘drogue’ or
drag, made for the purpose, the object of each being to hold the boat’s
stern back, and prevent her being turned broadside to the sea or
broaching-to.
“Heavy weights should be kept out of the extreme ends of a boat; but
when rowing before a heavy sea the best trim is deepest by the stern,
which prevents the stern being readily thrown on one side by the sea.
“The following general rules may therefore be depended on when running
before, or attempting to land, through a heavy surf or broken water.
“1. As far as possible, avoid each sea by placing the boat where the
sea will break ahead or astern of her.
“2. If the sea be very heavy, or if the boat be very small, and
especially if she have a square stern, bring her bow round to seaward
and back her in, rowing ahead against each heavy surf that cannot be
avoided sufficiently to allow it to pass the boat.
“3. If it be considered safe to proceed to the shore bow foremost, back
the oars against each sea on its approach, so as to stop the boat’s way
through the water as far as possible, and if there is a drogue, or any
other instrument in the boat which may be used as one, tow it astern to
aid in keeping the boat end on to the sea, which is the chief object in
view.
“4. Bring the principal weights in the boat towards the end that is to
seaward, but not to the extreme end.”
All of these rules Benny was called upon to repeat aloud before the
entire crew, and in the discussion which followed he learned very
much which would be valuable when the time came that he could put the
teaching into practice; but all his comrades assured him that if he
would keep this one lesson well in mind, he might be depended upon to
manage a boat in broken water without first having had any experience.
“I’ll be glad when I can handle the surf-boat,” he said as he took
Fluff in his arms preparatory to going to bed.
“That will come in good time, lad, never fear,” Keeper Downey said
cheerily; “but you’ll be called upon to wait patiently until warmer
weather is here. In the meantime we’ve something important on hand
to-morrow.”
Benny looked at him questioningly, and the keeper asked:
“Have you forgotten that the uniform should be done by this time, and
to-morrow’s my day for going into the city?”
“I didn’t forget it, sir.”
“Then why hadn’t you spoken about it?” Joe Cushing asked impatiently.
“I was afraid perhaps Mr. Downey had changed his mind about going to
the city, and besides I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t wait.”
“There’s little fear of your being too forward, my lad,” Sam Hardy said
with a hearty laugh. “We must see to it that you’re called regularly to
meals, or you’ll get the idea that perhaps we’d like it better if you
missed one or two. The uniform is to be here to-morrow, an’ if anything
had prevented the keeper from going to town, I’d pulled in and back
myself, for I’m mighty anxious to see you togged out in proper fashion,
even if you do feel so moderate about it.”
“Of course I want the uniform,” Benny added quickly; “but I’d rather
wait a week than have any of the crew put themselves out to get it.”
Then the lad, holding the dog affectionately in his arms, ascended the
stairs to the sleeping quarters, and when he had disappeared from view,
Sam Hardy said emphatically:
“Accordin’ to my way of thinkin’, it’s seldom you run across so good a
lad as No. 8.”
“You’re right there,” Mr. Downey added. “All that troubles me in the
matter is the fear that we may not be doing quite our duty by the boy
in keeping him here with us, when he should be at school.”
“Don’t let that fret you; he’ll learn enough wherever he is, an’ it’s
a heap of satisfaction to the little shaver when he believes he’s
paying his own way,” Joe Cushing said quickly, and Dick Sawyer cried
emphatically:
“If he don’t do all of that, then I’d like to see the boy, or man
either for that matter, who does!”