Chapter XI: 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.