Chapter II: A Boy and a Dog

It was on the afternoon of December 23d, in the year 1893, that one of the life-saving crews in the First District was completely prepared for work, although neither vessel nor wreck was to be seen.

The wind was from the northeast and the driving sleet and snow shut out from view all that portion of the rocky coast save in the immediate vicinity of the station. During the afternoon the gale had increased in force until it was what a mariner would call “stiff”; the sea had risen with equal pace, and every indication confirmed the prediction made among the surfmen, that an ugly winter storm was at hand.

At such a time the gallant life-saving crews along the coast are ever ready for, and expecting, the signal which calls them to their perilous work; but not ordinarily do they stand by their apparatus as on this afternoon, for, fortunately, many a winter tempest fails in its harvest of death.

At noon on this day information was sent to the station that the patrol several miles down the coast had sighted a large ship so nearly inshore that, under the adverse condition of wind and sea, she could not tack, and there was not sufficient room to wear. Unless her course was speedily changed, so ran the information received,--and in the teeth of the fierce northeast tempest and the shoreward heaving of the tremendous sea that seemed impossible,--it was certain she must strike somewhere nearabout this particular station.

From the moment such information was received the patrol on the beach had been doubled, and, knowing full well how difficult it would be, under all the circumstances, for any craft to escape the perils to which it was said this ship was exposed, the crew were keenly on the alert for the first token of wreck.

At seven o’clock in the evening no further news of the vessel had been obtained; therefore the men whose mission it is to save life understood that the ship was still fighting against the gale, and knew full well every moment gained by her increased the chances of escape, even though it had seemed impossible she could weather the point.

Half an hour later Surfman Samuel Hardy, breathless and panting, literally burst his way into the station, as he cried:

“Joe Cushing has just lighted his signal!”

All members of life-saving crews carry, while patrolling the shore on the lookout for signs of danger to others, what is known as a “Coston signal,” an ingenious contrivance which can be lighted by concussion, and, therefore, may be displayed regardless of the weather.

No further information was necessary; the crew knew full well that the ship previously reported as being in peril, and which had made such a gallant fight against the elements, had at last been conquered.

Before Sam Hardy could take his station at the beach-wagon, in which is transported all the apparatus necessary for the work of the crew when a wreck is close inshore, Joseph Cushing arrived:

“She has struck just off the west spit!”

“Then it is the ship?” Keeper Thomas Downey asked; and before the question could be answered he gave in rapid succession the orders necessary for beginning the work of rescue.

“Open boat-room doors!”

“Man the beach-wagon!”

“Forward!”

These commands were superfluous, for the crew, after long experience at such work, both during tempests when human life was to be saved, and at drill in fair weather, moved as if by instinct.

The last word had no more than been spoken before the heavy wagon rolled down the platform to the sand, every man fully aware of the fact that now had come the time when the span of many lives might be measured by seconds if they faltered or delayed.

From the official report is taken the following account of the disaster:

“It appears that the ship had been laboring heavily, the
wind constantly heading her off after nightfall, and the
master, although he kept up a stout heart, must have been
well aware that he was constantly losing more and more of the
narrow margin that lay between possible safety and inevitable
destruction. Whatever misgivings the crew may have experienced,
the survivor states that the first intimation they had of
their immediate proximity to the shore was when they saw the
breakers, and the captain, who was below at the moment, rushed
on deck with the ominous outcry, ‘She has struck!’

“The boats were still on the bridge where they had been
originally stowed for the voyage, their covers and lashings
intact and the tackles unhooked, but Captain Clark instantly
gave the order to clear them away, and, together with the men,
set about the work. The ship lay with her starboard side to the
waves, which the next instant lifted her farther shoreward and
then fell crashing on board.

“The most of the sailors fled to the mizzen shrouds, but a few,
more daring or desperate than the rest, still struggled to
clear the boats.

“Another run of towering breakers was now about to leap on
board, and the brave men were compelled to give over and
quickly join their shipmates in the rigging. At this moment
the red glare of the patrolman’s signal gleamed through the
darkness, and a cheer broke forth from the shipwrecked men.

“Up to this time the master had found no difficulty in
controlling the movements of the crew, who appear to have been
able and obedient sailors; but now there was no longer any
occasion for the exercise of authority, and in the dreadful
situation it behooved every man to look out for himself.

“Within ten minutes from the flash of the signal the great iron
hull parted amidships, and the mainmast toppled over, carrying
with it the mizzen-topmast. The entire ship’s company, except
the captain, were at this time in the mizzen-rigging, where
they were able to hold on only a few minutes, when all were
washed overboard together. The captain, when last seen was
standing on the ladder at the quarter-deck, supporting himself
with a hand on each rail.

“The beach-apparatus was on the ground and ready for service;
but the ship was only now and then faintly visible, and there
was little reason to believe the crew’s efforts would be of any
avail.

“However, the gun was aimed as well as possible in the
direction of the wreck, which was discernible only as a black
shadow that seemed a little darker than the surrounding gloom,
and the shot was fired.

“That the line fell across the hulk there is no reason to
doubt. That it lodged with considerable firmness somewhere was
conclusive to the keeper in charge, for it resisted the slight
strain put upon it to determine whether it was fast, but no
pull or manipulation on the offshore end could be detected, and
after waiting in vain some considerable time for that always
welcome sign that the line has been found by the shipwrecked,
the life-savers hauled hard on it until it finally parted under
the heavy strain.

“The keeper was now satisfied that there was no living being on
board the wreck. Nothing could be accomplished by additional
efforts to effect communication by means of the gun, and the
fury of the surf was so overwhelming that none of the men,
familiar as they were with the conditions, of long experience
on the coast, and brave as they had often proved themselves,
even so much as entertained the thought of launching the boat.
It was out of question, absolutely and beyond all possibility
of cavil. The slatting of the distant sails is described as
sounding like peals of thunder, and the crashing of blocks
and chains as they were flung back and forth against the wire
rigging and iron foremast, sent out volumes of blazing sparks
that seemed like signals of distress.

“It is the custom on occasions of this kind to build a fire on
the shore as a beacon of hope to encourage the shipwrecked,
and although there was believed to be nobody on the vessel,
this would nevertheless have been done, if possible. But the
gale blew with such force that a fire could not be maintained,
and, indeed, so terrific was its fury that the polished glass
lantern on the beach-apparatus cart was converted into a good
specimen of ground glass by the incessant beating of the driven
sand upon its surface.

“Now and then a red signal was discharged to attract the
attention of any poor fellow who might be washed ashore alive,
and a faithful search-patrol was maintained along the beach by
the entire crew.”

That portion of the shore upon which the wind and the current would most likely cast up fragments of the wreck was thickly dotted with every available lantern from the station in the hope that these tiny rays of light might serve as beacons for some sailor whose life had not been crushed out of him by the fury of the surf, and with eager eyes the men peered into the foaming swirl of waters.

Five minutes passed, and no sign either of life or death came from the wreck.

“There is little chance the breath will yet remain in any who comes ashore now,” Keeper Downey said to Joe Cushing, and the latter replied only with a mournful shake of the head, for it did not seem possible any living thing could come through that mighty surge.

The words had no more than been spoken, however, when far away in the distance could be heard the cry of Sam Hardy, and without being able to distinguish the words, those who heard knew from the tone that he had sighted life in some form.

All the crew ran that way in hot haste, the keeper leading, and arriving at the spot just as Hardy, all regardless of his own life, had plunged waist-deep into the surf that he might seize upon a short spar to which was lashed a dark mass.

None save those who had been trained to the duty of saving life under such circumstances would have recognized the possibility that a human being might be concealed beneath what appeared to be only valueless wreckage; but the crew knew by long experience that amid this particular flotsam would be found, either alive or dead, some one from the ill-fated ship.

As Hardy had dashed into the surf so did the others, until a living chain had been formed, and by this means the spar was pulled on shore despite the heavy undertow which strove with giant force against the efforts of the life-savers.

Once the wreckage was beyond reach of the towering, roaring waves, few seconds were spent in learning whether the men had, by risking their own lives, saved a human being from death, or if it was but a corpse which had been wrested from the angry waters.

From amid wrappings of what appeared to be the fragment of a sail was seen the head of a child; the face was pallid as if death had already set its seal upon it, and not so much as a tremor of the lips could be distinguished in the faint light cast by the lanterns.

The cold was searching; the garments of the crew were already stiffening with ice, and if life was to be prevented from leaving that small body, all efforts must be made within the shelter of the station.

Acting upon the keeper’s orders, the little form was released from the bonds of rope which held it fast to the spar, and with all speed carried to the building where could be found everything needful for the coming struggle against death.

It was a small boy, apparently ten or twelve years of age, who had been rescued, and as the kindly men with tender care removed the icy clothing, they were startled, almost alarmed for the moment, by seeing a very small dog, his long white hair soaked with water, leap from beneath the lad’s tightly buttoned pea-jacket.

The animal shook itself, looked quickly around with a low whine, and, recognizing the boy, began eagerly licking his face, as if understanding that immediate aid of some kind was necessary.

The members of the crew had lost no time in taking such measures as were needful, and although the small dog growled furiously when they rolled the boy face downward, having previously laid him upon the floor of the station, the efforts at resuscitation were both skilful and vigorous.

Before the work had fairly begun the lad showed signs of life by opening his eyes, and his first glance fell upon the dog, which was standing near by, wagging its tail furiously as if to attract attention.

“I reckon he’s coming around all right,” Keeper Downey said in a tone of satisfaction, and then, noting the troubled look which suddenly came over the little fellow’s face, he asked quickly, “What is it, my son? What are you wanting?”

“Is Mrs. Clark here?”

“Who is she?”

“The captain’s wife.”

“She hasn’t come ashore yet; but you’re not to trouble your head about anything except getting the best of the salt water you’ve taken aboard.”

“You must be careful of Fluff until she gets here.”

“Meaning this little bundle of hair?” the keeper asked with a laugh, laying his hand on the dog’s head.

“Yes, sir; she thinks very much of him, an’ I promised to keep him close in my arms if it so happened that we had to come ashore lashed to the spar.”

“I reckon you couldn’t have done different, tied together as you two were,” Surfman Dick Sawyer said with a laugh, and the keeper added kindly:

“There’s no need to fret about the dog; he shall have the run of the station, and there’s nothing to harm him while old Maje is in the boat-house--Maje is our dog,” Downey added as he read the question in the boy’s eyes. “He’s large enough to swallow two or three like this little one here; but I’ll answer for it your Fluff isn’t in any danger, and to set your mind at rest he shall stay close by you till morning. We’ll put you to bed now, I reckon; there’s other work for us outside.”

“I can take care of myself, sir,” the lad said bravely, as he attempted to struggle to his feet, the dog meanwhile barking furiously as if cautioning his young master against being too venturesome.

“I thought you couldn’t do it,” Keeper Downey said, catching the boy in time to prevent a fall, and without further parley he carried him to the sleeping-room above.

When the rescued lad was tucked snugly between a generous supply of blankets, the dog curled himself up on the outside of the bed with his nose close beside the boy’s cheek, and Keeper Downey muttered to himself as he descended the stairs:

“If all the ship’s crew had been put away as safe and comfortable as those two, we should have done a night’s work of which we might well be proud.”

Then out into the howling, wintry blast went the men who had brought the lad and the dog to the station, and during the remainder of that terrible night every man did patrol duty, pacing to and fro along the rocky shore, or keeping faithful watch over the narrow strip of beach, in the faint hope that there might be other survivors, although there was little chance that such could be the case.

To continue the official report: “Only remnants of spars and cargo, however, were cast at their feet, and when daylight finally dawned all eyes were intently turned toward the wreck with a vague hope that, by some altogether improbable possibility, there might be some signs of living men on board. But there were none.

“The forward and after parts of the dismembered hull were seen to be from thirty to forty yards apart, lying at nearly a right angle with each other, the former head on, and the latter, on which no masts appeared, thrown on its beam ends, inclined toward the shore.

“The foremast and foretopmast, bowsprit and jib-boom, with most of the fore-rigging, were still in place, and the lower yard was crossed amid a confusion of tattered sails and tangled ropes. The waves ran high up the mast, breaking almost into the foretop, and shreds and fragments of the cargo of jute wrapped themselves like ragged garments around the shrouds and stays.

“A dead body was discovered entangled in the rigging on the after part of the wreck; but the keeper did not deem it necessary to make an attempt to go out with a boat while the surf was still extremely dangerous, therefore this mournful duty was postponed until the following day.”

There was nothing to be learned by remaining where they were exposed to the full fury of the gale, which had not abated, and the weary crew, saddened because they had not been permitted to save more lives, returned to the station, each man’s garments so thickly encrusted with ice that only limited movement was possible.

A large ship had foundered hardly more than half a pistol-shot distant from the building, and of all on board only a small boy and a tiny dog had been rescued from the merciless waves.

“We’ll wait till the lad wakens, and then most likely he can give us a smattering of the details, although I don’t allow he knows very much regarding the disaster, for he must have been lashed to that spar either just before, or immediately after, the ship struck,” Keeper Downey said as he sought to refresh himself with the contents of a steaming bowl of coffee.