Chapter XVII: A Letter

When the beach-wagon had been hauled into position, the work of rescuing the life savers from the lighter was trifling, and the three were no more than ashore before Keeper Downey cried sharply:

“Now then, let’s get the apparatus home, and the patrol out as soon as may be. There’s some show of excuse for our not being able to save the property here; but in case a vessel came ashore while we were foolin’ around with a lot of lighters, and life should be lost, we’d find ourselves in a bad pickle.”

The keeper was not the only member of the crew who feared that the night’s misadventure might have some fatal ending. The same thought was in the mind of every man, and it was not necessary to urge them forward.

Benny welcomed the opportunity to restore the circulation of blood to his chilled limbs, and pushed with the utmost of his strength at the tail of the cart by the keeper’s side.

The heavy wagon was dragged over the rocks and through the sand at a rate of speed which, under other circumstances, might have been impossible, and when they had nearly arrived at the station Tom Downey was less apprehensive regarding the possibility of a wreck, for at that moment they were passing over the highest point of the cliffs, from which a good view of the ocean could be had.

Save for a few fleecy clouds, the sky was clear, and the twinkling stars gave out sufficient light to show that not a sail was within their range of vision.

“I reckon we can count the worst of our work as bein’ over for this night; but there won’t be a very pretty picture alongshore to-morrow morning,” the keeper said to Benny, and the latter replied with a tone of thankfulness in his voice:

“Things will look better than you believed at one time, Mr. Downey, for then it seemed as if you’d be called upon to hunt for the bodies of the crew among the wreckage.”

“Right you are, my lad, and it’s little less than a sin to grumble because two or three lighters and a stranded steamer may have been broken up, when the crew came safely through as tough a place as they were ever in. It’s a great pity I allowed you to go with us.”

“But I’ve come out of it without any more harm than any of the others, sir, and it will help me along in learning to be a surfman.”

“You might have got the lesson in an easier fashion, lad. It’s hard enough for tough men like us to have the clothing frozen to our bodies, but a boy like you can’t well stand such hardships.”

“But I’m all right, sir,” Benny replied, striving in vain to prevent his teeth from chattering with the cold. “Leastways, I will be as soon as we get to the station, and this work with the cart warms a fellow up wonderfully.”

Downey did not reply until after a long pause, and then he said emphatically:

“If pluck is necessary in the making of a good surfman, you should be a rare hand at the business, No. 8, before another year has passed.”

What a welcome it was which Benny received from Fluff when they finally arrived at the station and the beach-wagon had been hauled into the boat-house!

The tiny dog capered, and barked, and yelped until it seemed as if he realized how great had been the danger to which his master was exposed, and so violently loving were his demonstrations that Benny could not make any headway at changing his clothing until after having devoted a certain time to his pet.

Then the dog greeted each of the men in turn, and Joe Cushing said as he took him almost affectionately in his arms:

“You an’ No. 8 make up such a team, small though you are, as I never had the good fortune to see before.”

A pot of steaming coffee was on the stove, and the cook spread on the table such provisions as were most conveniently at hand, in order that those who were forced to go out on the coast again to do patrol duty might refresh themselves without waste of time.

Once the men had put on dry clothing it was as if all previous dangers were forgotten, and Sam Hardy suggested that they man the surf-boat in order to go in search of the life-boat.

“She’ll pound herself to pieces on the rocks ’twixt now an’ mornin’, whereas by a bit of hard work at this time we may save her, an’ in so doin’ prevent it from bein’ said along the shore that we allowed such a craft to be wrecked.”

Tom Downey hesitated; he questioned whether he was warranted in risking human lives to save what might be replaced by an expenditure of dollars and cents, and perhaps would have turned a deaf ear to Sam’s suggestion, but that every other member of the crew evinced a strong desire to make the attempt.

Their record for saving life and property was exceptionally good at the Department, as every man knew full well, and to get such a black mark as must be set down against them in case the life-boat should be lost, was anything rather than pleasing to contemplate.

“I claim that we are not warranted in taking the chances,” Downey said slowly and thoughtfully; “but if you fellows are so set on it, we’ll make the try.”

As he spoke Benny began to overhaul the spare oil-skins--the suit he wore when they set out before having been thrown off when he with Hardy leaped into the water--, and Downey asked sharply:

“What are you about, lad?”

“There’s another small coat here somewhere,” and Benny hurriedly tossed over the assortment of waterproof garments.

“Well, and what if there is?”

“Didn’t you say we were to go for the life-boat, sir?”

The crew laughed heartily, as if there was something exceedingly ludicrous in this question, and Benny looked around in astonishment.

“Do you count on going with us?” Downey asked, as soon as he could control his mirth sufficiently to speak.

“I thought you would let me, sir, seeing as how I went the first time.”

“Because we were so foolish as to take you then, there is no reason for committing the same fault again. You are to stay here with the cook and Fluff C. Foster. Once in a night is enough for you to risk your life when there’s no especial call for so doing.”

Benny appeared positively pained, and Sam Hardy whispered to him while the others were making their preparations:

“It wouldn’t be right, lad, for us to take you, even though it might be convenient, which it isn’t. We’re goin’ in the surf-boat, and there will be snug stowin’ when the full crew is aboard. If it was a case of fair weather an’ smooth water you’d have to stay behind, because we couldn’t pack you in; so look cheerful, an’ see to it that we have plenty of hot coffee on our return.”

This explanation comforted the boy greatly, and he at once set about doing what he could to assist in the preparations for departure.

Then, after the boat had been launched and the men pulled off on their perilous work, with Fluff in his arms he stood at the entrance of the boat-house, watching until the tiny craft was swallowed up in the darkness, and when it was no longer possible to distinguish any object upon the heaving waters the lad returned to the mess-room, there to make ready an appetizing meal for his comrades.

The cook had taken advantage of the opportunity to go to bed immediately the crew returned with the beach-wagon, and Benny was in sole command of the kitchen with, as he said, “Fluff acting as mate.”

Not until two hours had elapsed did the life savers return, and then they brought the life-boat with them, none the worse, so Dick Sawyer declared, for the pounding she had received upon the rocks.

Benny met them at the door of the boat-house, and, as might have been expected, was eager to learn whether any serious injury had been wrought.

As soon as the two boats were housed, and before they entered the mess-room, Sam Hardy gave an account of the work by saying:

“We found her just inside the broken water near where you an’ I went overboard. It’s likely she’s been flung against the cliff a good many times; but, so far as we can make out, scratched paint is the only damage done. It wasn’t a wonderfully easy job to get hold of her, but once we were there for that purpose you can make certain, No. 8, that none of us were minded to let any ordinary difficulties put an end to the work. That’s all there is to the story, and it can be seen that you didn’t lose anything, except a disagreeable time, by not going with us.”

While Sam was speaking the remainder of the crew had entered the mess-room, and an exclamation of pleasurable surprise burst from the lips of all as they saw the meal which Benny had made ready.

“I’ve said before, an’ this proves it, that the time ain’t so far off when No. 8 will be able to pass examination as our cook,” Joe Gushing exclaimed, and Tom Downey added gravely:

“I hope we can make something better of the lad than that. There’s too much in Benny for us to tie him down to such work, and, unless I’m greatly mistaken, he is entitled to look many pegs higher than a job as surfman.”

Then the wearied crew sat themselves down for a pleasant half-hour, which would not have been enjoyed had they been forced to depend wholly upon the man who was paid for preparing their food.

Not until an hour past midnight did Benny go to bed, and next morning he was down-stairs with the earliest riser of the crew.

The wind had not spent its fury. On the contrary, it was blowing a full gale, bringing with it a downpour of sleet and snow which would prevent the wrecking tugs from returning to the scene of the disaster.

As soon as breakfast had been eaten all the men, with the exception of him whose duty it was to remain on watch, set out to ascertain the amount of damage done, and, as a matter of course, Benny accompanied them.

Fluff was given the choice of going with his master or remaining behind in the warm station, and after poking his pink nose out of doors for a single moment, he quickly retreated to the kitchen, giving evidence, as Sam Hardy declared, of “havin’ a deal of sound common-sense.”

The situation of affairs in the immediate vicinity of the steamer was even worse than had been anticipated. All the lighters but one had crashed into the stranded craft, making havoc of the timbers as they forced their heavy bows into the hull, and completely destroying what the waves had previously spared.

Along the shore in every direction were scattered fragments of lighters and steamer, until every cove which made in between the rocks was piled high with these evidences of devastation.

“We shan’t be troubled much longer with wrecking crews,” Joe Cushing said, when they had surveyed the entire shore in the vicinity. “There’s nothin’ to be done to the steamer except freight away such parts of her as are worth the savin’, and as for the lighters, they will do no more service unless it be as kindlin’ wood.”

“And yet all this might, perhaps, have been avoided if the wreckers had done their work properly; but since they didn’t, we shall be asked to explain how it happens we allowed so much property to be destroyed,” Tom Downey said with a sigh, and Sam Hardy added cheerily:

“If all hands tell the truth, I’m not afraid of an investigation concernin’ last night’s work, for the crew never lived that, unaided, could have prevented the heavy craft, fitted with rotten windlasses and apologies for cables, from goin’ adrift while the wind was as strong as when we came out.”

There was nothing the men could do even toward saving the wreckage nearest the shore while the storm continued so violent, and after an hour or more had been spent viewing the scene all hands returned to the station.

It was an idle day, save as concerned the men on watch, and after dinner, when Benny would have pored over the rules regarding drill, Tom Downey suggested that he make himself thoroughly familiar with the official instructions for saving drowning persons, printed for the benefit of the life-saving men.

During two hours or more No. 8 read and re-read the following lines, after which Sam Hardy questioned him on the different points until it was proven to the satisfaction of all that the lad had learned his lesson thoroughly.

Since it is to the advantage of every boy who ventures into the water for pleasure to know exactly what should be done when another is in danger of drowning, Benny’s afternoon lesson is here set down exactly as he studied it:

“1. When you approach a person drowning in the water, assure him, with a loud and firm voice, that he is safe.

“2. Before jumping in to save him, divest yourself as far and as quickly as possible, of all clothes; tear them off if necessary, but if there is not time, loose at all events the foot of your drawers, if they are tied, as, if you do not do so, they fill with water and drag you.

“3. On swimming to a person in the sea, if he be struggling, do not seize him then, but keep off a few seconds till he gets quiet, for it is sheer madness to take hold of a man when he is struggling in the water, and if you do you run a great risk.

“4. Then get close to him and take fast hold of the hair of his head, turn him as quickly as possible onto his back, give him a sudden pull, and this will cause him to float, then throw yourself on your back also and swim for the shore, both hands having hold of his hair, you on your back and he also on his, and of course his back to your stomach. In this way you will get sooner and safer ashore than by any other means, and you can easily thus swim with two or three persons; the writer has even, as an experiment, done it with four, and gone with them forty or fifty yards in the sea. One great advantage of this method is that it enables you to keep your head up, and also to hold the person’s head up you are trying to save. It is of primary importance that you take fast hold of the hair and throw both the person and yourself on your backs. After many experiments, it is usually found preferable to all other methods. You can in this manner float nearly as long as you please, or until a boat or other help can be obtained.

“5. It is believed there is no such thing as a death grasp; at least it is very unusual to witness it. As soon as a drowning man begins to get feeble and to lose his recollection, he gradually slackens his hold until he quits it altogether. No apprehension need, therefore, be felt on that head when attempting to rescue a drowning person.

“6. After a person has sunk to the bottom, if the water be smooth, the exact position where the body lies may be known by the air-bubbles, which will occasionally rise to the surface, allowance being of course made for the motion of the water, if in a tide-way or stream, which will have carried the bubbles out of a perpendicular course in rising to the surface. A body may be often regained from the bottom, before too late for recovery, by diving for it in the direction indicated by these bubbles.

“7. On rescuing a person by diving to the bottom, the hair of the head should be seized by one hand only, and the other used in conjunction with the feet, in raising yourself and the drowning person to the surface.

“8. If in the sea, it may sometimes be a great error to try to get to land. If there be a strong ’outsetting’ tide, and you are swimming either by yourself, or have hold of a person who cannot swim, then get on your back and float till help comes. Many a man exhausts himself by stemming the billows for the shore on a back-going tide, and sinks in the effort, when, if he had floated, a boat or other aid might have been obtained.

“9. These instructions apply alike to all circumstances, whether as regards the roughest sea or smooth water.”

When night came it was what sailors call a “dirty” one, and Sam Hardy announced that Benny would not be allowed to go on patrol.

“You know we made the agreement, lad, that you might share my watch with me except when the weather was too bad, and that’s what I allow it to be now. There’s no good reason why a boy of your years an’ size should tramp up an’ down this coast for four hours when nothin’ more is to come of it than the toughenin’ of him. Stay under cover with Fluff, an’ if it be so we’re called on for work, you shall take your proper station as No. 8 of this ’ere crew.”

Benny did his best, and succeeded fairly well, in keeping from his face the disappointment which came over him at thus being, for the first time, deprived of the opportunity to share in his comrade’s tasks.

He went to bed while Sam was yet on patrol, and nothing disturbed his slumbers until next morning when the cook set about preparing breakfast.

The report from those who had been on duty was to the effect that no vessels had been sighted during the night, and that the stranded steamer had been breaking up rapidly during the past twelve hours.

The sky was yet cloudy, but the snow and sleet had ceased to fall, and the wind showed signs of abating.

Before breakfast was ready the wrecking tugs appeared off shore, and two hours later some of their crews visited the station.

Keeper Downey wrote out his report, and when that was done the work of the life savers, so far as the steamer and lighters were concerned, had come to an end, except as it might be possible later to pick up such wreckage as should drift ashore.

Then the crew settled down to the dull routine of pleasant-weather work, occupying the greater portion of the time in drilling and patrolling the coast.

Benny could give a very good synopsis of, and in many cases repeat verbatim, every chapter in the _Revised Regulations_. Each of the crew in turn had taught Fluff C. Foster a new trick, until his head was so stored with knowledge of this kind that a full hour was required in which to display all his accomplishments, and Joe Cushing had begun to lay his plans for the day when he and No. 8 were to visit the city clad in full uniform.

Then came a letter which disturbed all this serenity, and plunged the inmates of the station into a most painful state of perplexity and apprehension.

An ordinary-looking envelope covered the missive, such an one as might have brought an account of the simplest business transaction, and yet it threatened to change the whole course of affairs for this particular life-saving crew.

It was addressed simply to the keeper of the station, and bore the post-mark of a town in the interior of New York State.

Tom Downey opened it carelessly, read the lines hurriedly at first, and then more slowly, as if he found it difficult to understand the meaning.

He sat with his gaze fixed upon the page so long that Sam Hardy, who had been questioning Benny regarding the proper method of landing in a small boat through the surf, asked curiously:

“What’s gone wrong? You look as if there was bad news in that letter.”

“And at first glance it strikes me it _is_ bad news,” the keeper replied. “I was tryin’ to make up my mind whether it would be well to let all hands know what may come to us, or if anything would be gained by keepin’ it a secret for a spell.”

“If it’s bad news, the sooner we know it the better, accordin’ to my way of thinkin’,” Joe Cushing said promptly; and this remark decided Tom Downey, for without further hesitation he read the following aloud:

“‘MY DEAR SIR:

“‘I see by the newspapers that the ship _Amazonia_ was wrecked near your station, and the sole survivor was a boy ten or twelve years of age, who gave his name as Benjamin H. Foster, stating that his father and mother had died in Calcutta.

“‘I have every reason to believe that boy to be my brother’s son, in which case it shall be my duty to care for him.

“‘Will you kindly ask him his father’s name? If it should have been “Stephen G.,” then you may draw on me for sufficient money to pay young Benny’s passage to this place, and for so much additional as he may be indebted to you for board and other necessaries of life.

“‘Very respectfully yours,
“‘ANDREW FOSTER.’”

For fully a moment after Mr. Downey ceased reading no one spoke, and the silence was so profound that Fluff looked anxiously from one to the other as if fearing some disaster had befallen the crew.

Then it was Sam Hardy who spoke, and he found it necessary to clear his throat several times before it was possible to control his voice.

“What was your father’s name, Benny?”

“It was Stephen G., but I don’t believe the man who wrote that letter is my uncle, because if he is, why didn’t I know something about him? Or, when father and mother were so sick, why didn’t he write to them?”

“Of course that’s a question we can’t answer, lad. It may be your folks didn’t send him word, or, perhaps the letters went astray. There are a dozen good reasons which might be found, and it ain’t likely he’d be claimin’ a boy he never saw if there wasn’t any relationship between ’em.”

“I hung ’round Calcutta long enough for him to claim me if he’d wanted to, an’ surely he must have known father was dead, ’cause I’ve heard mother say it was reported among the shippin’ news in all the American papers.”

“You don’t seem to be very much pleased at the idea of havin’ an uncle up in ’York State?” Sam Hardy said, speaking a trifle more cheerfully than before, and Benny cried excitedly:

“Pleased! Of course I ain’t! He can’t be much of an uncle, else he would have helped father an’ mother along when they needed it. He can write a dozen letters before I’ll go anywhere to live off of people that ain’t wantin’ me very bad, else I’d have heard from ’em long ago.”

“This ain’t a matter to be settled off-hand, Benny,” Keeper Downey said gravely. “If the man who wrote this letter is your uncle, and it seems he is, I’m not certain but that he could force you by law to go with him. At all events, it’s his duty to give you some help in the world, and we must look at the matter from all sides before deciding.”

“If you’d rather I wouldn’t stay here, Mr. Downey, Fluff an’ me will go off somewhere else; but we won’t take up with his offer.”

“Now look here, Benny,” and Sam Hardy, reaching over, took the boy by the hand. “There’s no question about our wantin’ you to stay here, for we’ve come to look on you as belongin’ to us, an’ I’ll venture to say I’m speakin’ now what’s in the heart of every man here. We like you because you’re a sensible mate, an industrious lad, an’ one’s who’s doin’ his level best to get into a hard callin’. If we thought only of ourselves that letter would go into the fire before you could say ‘Jack Robinson.’ It’s your future that must be considered. By stayin’ here you’ll never be more ’n a surfman, an’ a lad of your age should aim higher than that, whether he reaches the mark set or not. I ain’t lookin’ down upon the business I’ve followed all my life, an’ I’ll always uphold that it’s an honor to any man to be a member of a life-saving crew; but at the same time I know, an’ you know, that it’s possible for a lad to go a good bit higher. What’s decided on now affects your whole life, an’ settles whether you’re to stay in the life-saving service, or, perhaps, be a shinin’ light in the world. I vote that all hands of us study over this thing till to-morrow after breakfast, and then let each one, includin’ Benny, give the result of his figgerin.’”

“That’s the proper way,” Tom Downey said quickly, catching eagerly at the suggestion. “You’ll remember all Sam Hardy has said, Benny, for it’s true, so far as regards yourself an’ us. We want you with us; but I hope there’s nobody in this crew who would be willing to keep you at the expense of your future. Think it all over calmly and quietly, lad, as Sam proposes, an’ you can count on this crew doin’ their level best for whatever may be to your future good.”