“Well, we’re mighty glad to see you,” said Chester.
“Come on, Hugh! We’ve got a lot of news to tell you on the way home!” exclaimed Alec.
“I’m all ears,” replied Hugh, laughing.
CHAPTER V.
A VISIT OF INSPECTION.
Red Key, on which the Life Saving Station stood, was virtually an island, half sand, half coral reef. It was about one-quarter of a mile in length, very irregular in its general formation, and commanded an extensive sweep of shore,—being one of a group of Keys which are so small that they rarely appear on ordinary maps. Yet it was a fairly important post, one which required the presence of a regular crew on duty at certain seasons of the year.
In addition to the building which housed two surfboats, a big chest full of signal flags, another of rockets, a Lyle gun,—used for shooting coils of rope out to a floundering ship,—and a heavy cart on which the gun could be mounted like a piece of artillery when it was necessary to drag it to another part of the shore,—in addition to this building, there was a small cabin occupied by Peter Anderson, his wife, their son Mark, and their young daughter Ruth, who, however, spent most of the time with her aunt at Santario. The men of the crew were quartered in the loft of the main building, above the beach apparatus, and they took their meals at Anderson’s cabin.
From this loft a steep and narrow staircase led up into a little tower which served as a lookout, and, in case of emergency, as a lighthouse. A big lamp, seldom lighted, hung on chains fastened to the roof of the tower.
All these details the boys learned on their first visit at the station, two days after Hugh’s arrival. Anderson himself took them over the boathouse and explained everything to them, much to their satisfaction. Hugh was impressed with the practical efficiency of such equipment, as well as with the orderly readiness for instant service which marked both the apparatus and the men in charge. Chester admired the boats which were built for contending with the roughest surf, yet capable of being easily managed by the brawny men who wielded the heavy oars. Alec and Billy, glancing at the surf guns or carronades and then at the rows of life-preservers hung upon the walls, expressed a wish that they might some time have a chance to go out in those boats to the rescue of a ship in distress, or, at least, to see the crew in action, even if they should not be permitted to join in the work.
“So you’d like to, eh?” said Anderson, chuckling grimly. “Well, I’ll remember you said so. You may have a chance one of these days,—if there’s not too much danger. Anyway, since you know all about signaling, you might be able to work the flags and communicate with a vessel in distress. Here’s a chart showing the complete flag signal code. Just run your eye over that.”
They did so, and their interest in his explanations made them indifferent to the passing of time. All the while the tide was rising steadily and, before they realized it, they found themselves cut off from the mainland by several feet of rough water which covered the connecting sandbar.
“Here’s a nice fix we’re in!” exclaimed Alec. “What can we do now? Swim ashore?”
“It’s not much of a distance,” observed Chester, measuring it with level gaze. “But the water’s pretty rough, and there’s a strong set toward the ocean. Better not risk it, I say.”
It was quite unusual for Chester to be so cautious. His companions looked at him in surprise.
“I second Chester’s motion,” remarked Billy, who had had quite enough strenuous swimming for the present.
“You certainly are not going to try any fool stunt like that, boys!” declared Anderson. “I know what a current there is through that inlet, and you couldn’t hire me to let you try to swim it! Why, out there,”—he pointed to the nearest extremity of the island,—“is what is called a sea puss, a place where cross currents meet and form a whirlpool at mid-tide. It would swallow you up before you could guess what had happened to you! No, sirree! Here you’ll stay until low tide again. Do your folks know you came over here to-day?”
“Oh, yes; I told them,” Alec answered.
“All right, then; they won’t be worried. If you hadn’t told them, I’d get out a boat and take you over, but——”
“We’d hate to give you that trouble,” said Hugh. “Besides, we’re not a bit sorry to stay here in this interesting place; that is, if you don’t mind. We’re not in the way?”
“Not a bit of it! The boys’ll be glad of your company. Sorry that Mark and Ruth are away, though. You’ll be marooned here twelve hours. That means all night, as it’s four o’clock now. Well, never mind. I guess we can put you up for the night, if you’re not too particular, and the missus can rustle enough grub for us all.”
“Thanks, ever so much,” said Alec and Billy, almost in one breath, and Hugh added: “It’s mighty good of you, Captain Anderson.” He was much pleased with the hospitable captain’s “us all.” It seemed to include all four boys in a fellowship with the crew of life-savers, for whom the young scouts had begun to feel a genuine liking and respect.
“I guess you boys can find enough to do to amuse yourselves till supper time,” the keeper continued. “If you want to, you can go out with the beach patrols.”
“Are they going over to the mainland?”
“No, not this afternoon. I guess it won’t be necessary,” said Anderson, gazing up into the leaden sky. “It’s pretty windy, to be sure; but unless this wind shifts to the northeast, all they’ll need to do, until dark, will be to cross from one key to another, and so on down for quite a long way.”
“How will they cross?”
“We keep a dory at each end of Red Key, and there’s a small pontoon bridge connecting that point out yonder with the Key just beyond it. Beyond this end of Red Key”—he turned around and pointed in a new direction—“the Keys are so near together you can wade from one to another, if you wear oilskins and if the tide isn’t full. Run along now, and tell Downs and Baley that you’d like to make the beat with them.”
With a joyous whoop, showing that the captain’s suggestion had met with instant favor, the four scouts dashed away to find the men.
Jim Downs and Fred Baley—Surfman Four and Six, respectively—were more than willing to “tote the youngsters” with them, as Jim said. They would not start out until sunset, so there was an interval of impatient waiting. To while away the time, Surfman Three, a genial young Irishman named Larry Flynn, proposed a series of track games between the crew and their visitors. Larry prided himself on his speed in the quarter-mile, and his mates—all but Baley and Downs, who had to hold themselves fresh for their coming duties—were prompt to respond to the call of play.
In the good-natured competition that followed, Alec captured the hundred-yard dash; Hugh and Larry actually tied in the quarter-mile; while Surfman Five, a tall, lanky, muscular fellow named Culver, won the broad-jump, in which all took part. Billy easily carried off a hurdle race,—the improvised hurdles were chairs with boards laid upon their backs,—and Chester distinguished himself in the high-jump, his chief rivals being Culver and Hugh. When it came to the weights, the boys had very little chance against the larger and brawnier men, and Frank Bowers, Surfman One, threw the hammer several feet farther than anyone. He was as skilful with his left hand as with his right.
“Frank is our best all-round athlete,” said Surfman Two, addressing the captain.
“You’re a fairly husky one, yourself, Ed,” returned Anderson, slapping him on the back. “It isn’t everyone can pull stroke oar in a lifeboat as steady and strong as you.”
The games over, all repaired to the loft, where Mrs. Anderson helped them arrange “a couple o’ shake-downs” for the visitors. Bowers then took his station in the lookout, Hugh and Chester remaining with him to hear his interesting accounts of bygone wrecks and rescues, while Alec and Billy studied maps and charts downstairs. They were full of enthusiasm for the proposed sailing trip down the coast, and they wanted to become familiar with the shore line, the bays, inlets, keys, etc.
About six o’clock the jangling of a metal gong, which hung outside Mrs. Anderson’s kitchen, summoned the crew to supper. True to the scout principle of being helpful and useful whenever they could, the four boys insisted on helping Mrs. Anderson and her aged colored cook serve the wholesome meal, though she would fain have treated them as guests.
“It’s great fun!” they declared. “We’re having the time of our lives!”
After supper they returned to the boathouse.
With the setting of the sun there was a lull in the wind, but when Baley and Downs started out, at seven o’clock, on their four hours’ tour of duty, it had risen again and was blowing with renewed force—but still not from the northeast. Alec and Chester, the two Otters, accompanied Baley; while the Wolves, Hugh and Billy, went with Downs. Thus they set forth in the long twilight, laughing and talking, thrilled with this new adventure, unaware of the danger and disaster that loomed large in the immediate future.
CHAPTER VI.
THE BEACH PATROLS.
“Wind’s blowing some,” observed Baley, raising his voice so that he could be heard above the angry snarl of the surf.
“Hope nothing hits the bar to-night,” Downs answered.
Then the surfmen trudged off in opposite directions, following the line of the wave-beaten strand, each carrying on his back a recording clock in a leather case, several candle-like Coston lights, and a wooden handle.
With oilskins buttoned tightly and hip-boots drawn up, Jim Downs and his youthful comrades fought the stiff breeze on their watch. Darkness was slow in coming, so they were not yet in imminent peril from shifting sands, driftwood, or tidal waves. Their mission was a serious one, requiring alertness and keen observation. Soon a sense of solemn responsibility subdued even the high spirits of the boys, finally checking the flow of their eager conversation altogether.
“Isn’t that a ship ’way out there?” Hugh asked at length, gazing at something which seemed to be the dark bulk of a vessel in a sea of foam.
“Guess it’s only a cloud,” answered Downs, and Billy agreed with this opinion.
Hugh said nothing in contradiction, but he was by no means convinced that the slowly moving form was not that of a schooner. Indeed, he believed he saw the faint lines of spars and rigging.
After a few minutes Downs, to make sure, looked again at the distant object. Then, taking a Coston signal from his pocket and fitting it to the handle, he struck the end on the sole of his boot. Like a match it caught fire and flared out through the mist, a dull red light. He stood still, holding the torch above his head, waiting for some answering signal from the vessel,—if it were one, after all.
No signal was shown in response. Either the ship was still too far out to catch sight of the warning beacon, or none of her crew was on deck at the moment. The glowing torch sputtered and went out, and with a shrug of his broad shoulders, Downs trudged on down the beach.
“Come on, kids, we’ll set off another light farther on,” he said. “If that’s really a ship, give her a few minutes to watch for signals.”
In awed suspense, Hugh and Billy followed him to the end of Red Key. Chained to a post driven in the sand, they found a stout dory with two pairs of oars.
“Pile in,” said Downs, “and sit tight. Hardin, you take one pair of oars, I’ll take t’other, and we’ll be over on the next key in a jiffy.”
The crossing was soon made. Billy tied the boat to another post, while Downs again lighted a signal. They were still near enough the station to notify the lookout there of a possible ship in distress, and in a few minutes they caught the gleam of the big lamp in the tower, shining out through the vapor blown from the crests of the waves.
Still no sign from the object of their concern.
“Look!” cried Hugh. “It can’t be a cloud; it hasn’t changed its shape, and——”
“And it seems to be comin’ nearer,” added Downs, interrupting him quickly. “You’re right, son; it’s a sailing vessel. She’s being blown landward, but with good luck, she’ll slip past the bar out there, and maybe she’ll make for the lee o’ Turtle Island. Watch and see. Come on,—but we won’t hike over the pontoon to-night. I’ll go alone.”
Through long vigils in all kinds of weather, the patrol learns every foot of his beat thoroughly, and he is able to tell with reasonable accuracy how and where a storm-tossed vessel will be driven, or where a stranded one lies. Downs was no exception to this rule, yet there were times when, experienced surfman as he was, he felt uncertain whether a ship was likely to be forced over on the mainland beach, or whether she would run aground on the outer bar at the end of the keys. The latter situation was the more to be dreaded, for the bar was far beyond the reach of a line shot from shore.
Deciding to continue his beat, Downs left the two scouts seated together on a mound of sand and driftwood, and made his way alone across the swaying, tossing pontoon.
“I’ll be back in about twenty minutes,” he said, and he was as good as his word.
At the end of his beat he stopped to take a watchkey attached to a post, and, inserting it in the clock he carried, to record the time of his visit at that spot. By this means is kept an actual record of the movements of the patrol at all times.
Returning to the place where he had left the boys, he found them sitting in awed silence.
“No signs from the ship yet?” he shouted.
So quietly had he approached, and so thunderous was the booming of the surf, Billy and Hugh were startled at the sound of Downs’s voice. Even had they not been staring out to sea, waiting in suspense for the ship’s signal, they would not have seen him come up, so thick was the mist.
Billy gasped and jumped up. “What—what are we going to do now?” he asked.
“Want to go back to the station?”
“No, no!” exclaimed Hugh, springing to his feet. “We’re out here with you. We’ll stick by you.”
“But I’m out here for four hours’ duty. You don’t want to stick it out that long, son?”
“Yes, we do—if you don’t mind,” replied Billy.
“Is there anything you’d rather have us do?” asked Hugh, beginning to understand a kindly hint in Jim Downs’s words. “We’d like to be of real service, if we can.”
“Sure you can! Seeing as the weather’s so thick, suppose you lads race back to the station and report what we’ve seen. Then, if the cap’n sends Larry out to join me, you can come back with him. See?”
“All right,” they responded.
Again they climbed into the dory and rowed back to Red Key. Jim waited to light another torch, and the boys sped up to the boathouse, where they informed the keeper, who already knew of the ship, of what they had seen.
* * * * * * * *
Meanwhile Baley, with Alec and Chester, had walked the opposite beat. From the first, however, they felt sure that the distant object against the murky horizon was a vessel. With lighted Coston signal in hand, Baley pursued his difficult way along the shore, buffeted by the wind and drenched with flying spray. He explained to the boys how the outer line of sandbars, which in summer breaks the blue ocean into sunny ripples and flashing white caps, has power to churn the spring tides into fury and to grip with a mighty hold the keel of any vessel that is unlucky enough to be driven on it.
As they trudged doggedly on, the wind whipped through the beach grasses on the dunes and spitefully swirled handfuls of cutting sand into their faces. Fortunately, the night was not cold, else they might have fared worse. As it was, the two scouts rather enjoyed the novel experience. They felt that they were, for the time being, a part of Uncle Sam’s coast guard,—members of a crew of brave men whose vigilance and strength and presence of mind save hundreds of lives and valuable property every year.
They told Baley how they had learned to become efficient signalers, and he heartily approved of that branch of their training. Knowing a lot about the Boy Scout organization,—for his son was then a tenderfoot in a Florida troop,—he was not surprised at the amount of general “prepared-ness” which Alec and Chester modestly displayed.
“You never can tell, my lads, just when and where and how you’ll need to use what you’ve learned,” he said pleasantly. “For instance: Suppose we had to signal that ship out there to-morrow morning, or even to-night, if she gets into trouble? Could you do it?”
“Reckon we could, Mr. Baley,” replied Chester quietly.
“If we have a chance, you’ll see,” was Alec’s even more confident answer. The vague possibility implied in Baley’s question gave him an adventurous thrill.
When these three reached the end of their beat and turned back toward the starting point, they were surprised to meet Culver. He had been sent out to keep watch with Baley, for Keeper Anderson thought it best to have four men on patrol that night. Larry Flynn had been sent to reinforce Downs.
When the first watch was over, four other surfmen took the places of those on duty; but the boys were quite ready to seek the “shakedowns” prepared for them. The long night hours passed, and daylight crept slowly and feebly across a cloudy sky and over a turbulent sea.
CHAPTER VII.
THE STRANDED SCHOONER.
“It’s lucky we went across to the mainland last week for a fresh supply o’ provisions,” remarked Larry Flynn at breakfast that morning. “I’m as hungry as a tinker’s goat, and them lads can stow away enough fodder for a whole regiment of——”
His jocularity was interrupted by a laugh from the men, and then by a strange and sinister sound. Beneath the howl of the wind could be heard a dull booming, so foreign to anything the gale brought to their ears that even Captain Anderson sprang from his seat at table and ran to the window in alarm.
It was useless. The fog was so thick he could not see further than twenty feet. The gray light of day had dispelled the darkness, but the vapor rolling in from the ocean obscured even the crests of the surf. Culver and Ed Strong joined him at the window, and all three remained silent and motionless.
“Never dreamed she’d run aground this morning,” Bowers muttered, rising from his chair. “Everybody thought she’d slip past the bar.”
“There was only a slim chance, after all,” said Downs.
“Has the ship struck?” asked Hugh, tense with excitement.
Keeper Anderson nodded.
“Seems so,” he replied gravely. “Get to work, boys!”
All hurried out of the cabin.
Then came that which they feared to hear: another dull report brought on the wings of the wind and fog. All doubt now vanished from the minds of the crew.
“Saints help ’em!” Larry exclaimed fervently, when they entered the boathouse. He began to pace the floor impatiently as he worked like a hound in leash.
“Help who, sir?” asked Chester, following him.
“The poor divils who are firin’ that ’ere gun, knowin’ there’s some one near who can lind ’em a helpin’ hand.”
“Do you mean that there’s a wreck?” Alec queried in a tone so low that none save Captain Anderson heard him.
“Ay, son,” he answered. “The craft, whatever she may be, has run aground on the bar.”
“How can you tell without seeing her, sir?” Billy inquired, wishing that he knew enough to lend a hand with the boat.
“In the first place, she must be there because the wind brings us the sound of her signal gun; she might be only half as far away on the other side, and we couldn’t hear it so loud.”
“It seems to me that any half-sober skipper would have been more careful!” declared Culver reproachfully, pulling on his oilskins. “He would have clawed off shore at sunset last night, if he knew his way.”
“What do you count on doing now?” asked Hugh, always ready for action.
“We’re going to launch the boats!” roared Anderson, and even before the words were uttered every man, equipped for the venture, sprang to his appointed task.
The crew ran the ever-ready surf boat through the double doors of its house and down an inclined plane to the beach. Resting in a carriage provided with a pair of broad-tired wheels, the staunch craft was hauled by Powers and Flynn and the four boys through the clinging sand and into the very teeth of the wind to the point nearest the vessel.
“Can we go out with you?” yelled Hugh excitedly.
The surf rolled in with a deafening roar that seemed to shake the ground, drowning the sound of his voice. No one paid the slightest attention to the eager lads; the men were too busy and too deeply concerned with the grave task ahead of them to heed, even had they heard Hugh’s request. It was but natural and right; and Hugh was surprised only at his daring to ask such permission. Nevertheless, he was keen to share the danger; he longed to be one of the rescuers.
Each breaker curved high above the heads of the men, and, receding, the undertow sucked at their feet and tried to drag them down. In such surf it seemed impossible to launch a boat; yet with scarcely a word of command, every man, knowing from long practice his position and duties, took his station beside the boat and, shoving it directly into the surf, launched it, after a severe tussle. Climbing aboard, each man took his place. The captain, grasping a long steering oar in his hands, stood at the stern.
It was then that Anderson, glancing at the crew who were pulling steadily, saw that Alec and Hugh, carried away by their eager excitement, had leaped into the boat with the others and were adding their strength to that of two oarsmen.
A dark frown furrowed his brow, for he could not approve of this intrusion; the next moment, however, he gave a short, grim laugh.
“They’ll have to take their chance with the rest of us,” he said to himself. “And, unless the worst happens, nobody’ll ever know about their doing this. Confound the plucky young chumps, they ought to have stayed on shore; but they’re as venturesome as my Mark!”
With a sweep of his oar, he kept the boat’s head to the seas, skilfully avoiding the most dangerous crests. To do this required strength, coolness, and judgment; but Anderson possessed all three qualities to a remarkable degree. Instinctively, the two boys had placed themselves so that the weight in the boat was evenly balanced, and this fact the steersman was quick to notice.
At last the first watery rampart was crossed. Then, adapting their stroke to heavier swells, the six stalwart rowers propelled their twenty-five-foot, unsinkable boat at good speed, although it seemed dreadfully slow to them, no doubt. Hugh thought of the crew of the stranded vessel, which was now plainly visible, now hidden behind a veil of fog with every gust of wind. Were they helpless and hopeless, he wondered, or were they taking heart at the assurance that help was coming?
All of a sudden, Anderson noticed that the two boys had not donned cork jackets, such as the men had buckled on.
“Here, you crazy scamps!” he shouted. “Put on those lifebelts!” And he pointed to some that were fastened to the inside of the boat.
They obeyed him at once, awed by his furious tone. Perhaps they had done wrong, after all, in coming out in the lifeboat! They began to repent of their rashness; though they felt no fear; it was an opportunity, an adventure such as might never again come into their lives. At any rate, it was too late for repentance! There they were, rowing like mad with all their strength and enthusiasm! If only Captain Anderson would not be too angry with them afterward when it was over!
Over! The adventure had only begun! How would it end?
Once, indeed, a thought of his parents flashed into Alec’s mind. He could imagine his father’s wrath if this perilous escapade should become known! But Hugh would never tell, and as for himself—here a wave dashed up over the thwart, drenching him in a fountain of foam.
And now, when they were actually nearing the vessel, an unforeseen mischance occurred. Before the surfboat could reach her, she lurched over the bar on a mightier wave, veered halfway around, and drove directly toward Turtle Island. The crew in the boat could do nothing, and the few men aboard the schooner were helpless. With straining eyes, the lifesavers saw the vessel drift rapidly past them; they even heard shouts and frantic yells from the deck, and, in return, they shouted encouragement.
Climbing up into the rigging, the sailors, eight in number, waited for their craft to strike the beach. The surfmen, turning their boat, put for shore again to get the apparatus needed for the new situation.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE RESCUE.
To load the surfboat with the crew of the luckless vessel, when there was none too much room for the oarsmen, and then to encounter the heavy surf, would have shown great lack of judgment on the part of the rescuers. It was a method to be pursued only in case of dire need. To reach the ship after it had become stranded on the key shore or near it was a much safer and surer method of saving life for all concerned.
Rowing hard against the now outflowing tide, yet helped by the wind, the lifesavers approached the beach. With a rush their boat rolled in on a giant wave and, no sooner had the keel grated on the sand, than the crew, including the two scouts, were out knee-deep in the undertow dragging the boat up high and dry. No one could deny that the boys showed remarkable quickness in action and an alert understanding of what had to be done.
“Get the beach wagon!” commanded Anderson.
Billy and Chester, who had hurried to the spot where the surfboat landed, greeted their scout comrades with a whoop of joy, envy and relief. No time was lost. A minute later the entire crew, some pulling, some steering, dragged out the beach wagon: a light framework supported by two broad-tired wheels, and carrying a sand-anchor, which was like a huge cross, in addition to other apparatus.
Over hummocks of sand, across pools of water, in the face of wind and waves, they ran, dragging the beach wagon along the key to the place where the driven schooner had run aground. It lay some distance out, and was now lurching groggily from side to side. Then, bringing the wagon to the nearest point opposite the stranded hulk, the crew unloaded their appliances.
“Hey there, lads!” shouted Anderson, “dig a hole in the sand!”
Flynn tossed some shovels to the boys, and at once they set to work with a will.
While this was being done, two men placed a small bronze cannon in position and another got out boxes containing small rope criss-crossed on wooden pins set upright in the bottom. These pins merely held the rope wound in coils until it was ready to be used, when board and pegs were removed.
Captain Anderson carried the free end of this line, which was attached to a ring in the end of a cylindrical projectile, over one shoulder; over the other was slung a box of ammunition. In a few minutes, aided by Baley and Culver, he sighted the gun, aiming for the outstretched yardarms of the schooner. Long practice under various difficulties and in all sorts of weather had taught him just how to aim. As he pulled the lanyard, the gun spat fire into the mist, and the long projectile sailed off on its mission, its attached line whirring out of the box, coil after coil. Baley and Culver peered out over the breakers to see if the keeper’s aim had been true.
At last the line stopped uncoiling, and Anderson knew that the shot had landed somewhere. Minutes of suspense passed. Nothing happened. The rope spanned the tossing waves, but no answering tugs conveyed messages from the sailors to the waiting surfmen.
“What ails ’em?” muttered Larry Flynn impatiently “Are they all dead or drunk or have we——?”
“Shut up, Larry!” came the command. “Ah, there she goes now!”
Hugh and Chester sprang forward.
“The line’s moving!” cried Chester.
“Quit hoppin’ around like a sand-flea!” Larry admonished him severely. “Don’t make so much noise! They can’t hear ye, boy.”
Indeed, as Chester had declared, the line began to slip through Anderson’s fingers and move seaward. Those on shore knew that it had been found and that its use was understood; that is, that this line carried out by the projectile served merely to drag out a heavier rope, on which was run a sort of trolley carrying a breeches-buoy.
And now the eight mariners, securing the line, made the end of the strong rope fast to the mast well above the reach of the waves, and the surfmen wound their end firmly around the deeply buried sand-anchor. Wading out a little way, Bowers placed an inverted V-shaped crotch under the rope, holding it above water on that end. When this had been done, as much of the slack was taken up as possible, and the vessel was connected with the beach by a kind of suspension bridge.
Willing arms then hauled out the buoy along that suspended line.
Presently they saw a sailor climb into the stout canvas breeches of the buoy, and felt the tug on the whip-line that told them the rescue had begun. All together, with a will, they pulled on the line. Carrying its human burden, the buoy rolled along the hawser, swinging in the wind, now and then dipping the man in the crests of the waves.
“As long as the old tub holds together and the masts stay upright, they’re safe,” muttered Anderson, watching the first passenger on this aerial railway.
“Do you think the waves will pound her to pieces?” asked Alec, who stood beside the keeper.
“Don’t know. Depends on how solid she’s built. By the slab-sided! I can make out her name now for the first time. Sun’s getting stronger. It’s the Mary Jane,—I know her cap’n. Look out there, Frank! He’s coming! Catch him—easy now—that’s the way!”
The sailor, brought up with a thud against the V-shaped support of the rope bridge, scrambled out of the buoy and slid down on the sand. Without stopping to gasp out his thanks, he helped the surfmen send the buoy swiftly back to the vessel, where another man climbed into it.
Forward, then, and back again they hauled the buoy, working like madmen to complete their work.
“She’ll bust to pieces in ten minutes, ’pon my word!” declared the fourth sailor to come ashore. “The sea’s running high, and the infernal old hulk’ll never weather the poundin’ she’s getting!”
“Make haste, then!” roared Anderson, and his crew redoubled their efforts.
Two more sailors swung to safety ashore. None too soon, for the sixth man had hardly been dragged to the beach when the schooner’s mast, unable to stand the buffeting of the waves any longer, snapped at the middle and toppled over into the sea, dragging with it a tangled mass of rigging. Two sailors were left on the deck of the Mary Jane.
But not for long. A mighty wave struck the vessel’s side. They were washed off the sloping deck, and soon were floundering in deep water, clinging to the broken mast that was being hauled toward shore. At last they gained the land, and their rescuers were overwhelmed with thanks.
Such breathless exclamations of gratitude, such handshakes and hearty greetings! The four boys stood aside, listening to the story of the shipwreck, listening in a daze of wonderment, in a silent thrill of pride because they had shared in this memorable morning’s work. Captain Anderson, even, was kind enough to praise them for their work; and, in turn, they thanked him for having allowed them to do whatever they could to assist the regular crew.
In the midst of this rejoicing there was a loud crash, and the abandoned Mary Jane’s timbers yielded to the force of the waves. Broken and bruised and buffeted, she keeled over on the sandy reef, and the sullen ocean surged over her again and again, pounding her mercilessly.
CHAPTER IX.
HOME AGAIN—AND AWAY.
Though the crew of the vessel was saved, the surfmen’s work was not yet over. The breeches-buoy had to be disentangled from the broken mast, spars and ropes, and the other apparatus had to be packed on the beach wagon and returned to the station. All this occupied some time. The hands of both sailors and lifesavers were sore and slippery with brine, the ropes were badly snarled, and the wind and waves tore viciously at the tackle. The task was completed at last, however, and then all made their way to a small shanty or refuge adjoining the boathouse. Here the shipwrecked men were provided with dry clothing and with food which they devoured ravenously.
“My stars! that grub looks good to little Willie!” declared one of the sailors, hastily climbing into dry flannels and a suit of overalls. “Thank’ee, cap’n; I’ll take corned beef an’ brown bread an’—an’ a swig o’ the hot coffee that ye have handy. Here’s to ye all, sir, with many thanks and a blessin’ on ye!”
All joined in the toast, and then made an onslaught on the plain but bountiful repast set before them.
One man, the captain of the ill-fated schooner, dejectedly explained between huge mouthfuls that they had been making for Santario, to get provisions for a voyage to Key West. The schooner’s rudder had broken on a reef, and they had drifted for thirty-four hours without food, each man filling “the aching void” with nothing more substantial than water.
While the process of refreshment was going on, two patrols outside were continuing their beat, watching for portions of the ship’s cargo of bales of cotton to be washed ashore. Without regard to the hardships already undergone, these men, taking turns, remained on duty all that stormy day.
Late in the afternoon the wind died down, and at ebb tide the crew of the Mary Jane and the four scouts took leave of their brave friends.
“We’ll never forget this experience as long as we live,” Hugh said as he grasped Keeper Anderson’s hand. “It’s meant a lot to us and has taught us more than we could ever learn from books.”
“Well, well, guess that’s true, son,” replied Anderson. “Perhaps I ought not to have let you boys—but we won’t say anything more about that, since there’s no harm done.”
“Hope we weren’t too much in the way, sir,” said Billy and Chester, and Alec added his word to the general chorus. Then, with a parting invitation from the surfmen to come again, they departed.
It was a long time before the boys were to pay another visit to the Red Key Life Saving Station, and when they did so, it was to be under very different conditions, They saw it next at midsummer when the great ocean was calm, when gentle breezes filled the sails of vessels passing along the horizon, and when the sun shone benignly over land and sea.
Meanwhile, soon after their arrival at Palmdune, and in the midst of preparations for their cruise on the Arrow, they wrote a joint letter to Keeper Anderson and his crew thanking him again for his kindness to them. To this letter Mr. Sands added a pair of field-glasses for each of the crew,—even better than those they already possessed,—and a huge packing-case full of books and magazines.
Roy Norton arrived on the day following the boys’ return. He had read newspaper accounts of the unusual storm along the coast, and he was much interested in hearing all about the adventures of the youthful lifesavers.
From the first, the boys liked Norton; in many ways he reminded them of George Rawson, their assistant scout master at Pioneer Camp. Unlike Rawson, however, who was tall and lean and sinewy, Norton was a young man of medium height, rather thick-set and muscular, yet agile and quick in action. He, too, possessed an apparently inexhaustible fund of energy and good humor.
Captain Lemuel Vinton, who met them one morning on the main fishing dock at Santario, proved to be a stout, grizzled, salt water veteran of fifty years or more. He greeted them with gruff cordiality and escorted them aboard the Arrow, where he assigned them their sleeping quarters.
With him, as their future guide through the Everglades, was Wastanugee, a Seminole Indian who answered to the more convenient nick-name of Dave. He was much given to living among the whites, and, while it was clear that he liked civilized ways and also hard dollars, or “chalks,” as the Indians term them, it soon became evident,—toward the end of the first day’s cruise,—that he disliked and dreaded “the big salt,” as he called the ocean.
“Uh! Bad medicine!” he grunted. “Bad weather. Dave better stay home. Go home, anyhow, when get Big Cypress Harbor. Incah!”
Having baited the boys’ hooks, he settled himself resignedly within the folds of his blanket, stretched out his trousered legs and moccasined feet, and yawned loudly.
“Best kind of fishing weather, this,” said Alec. “Tarpon are bound to bite now, aren’t they, Captain?”
Captain Vinton shook his head slowly.
“You can’t never tell ’bout tarpon,” he answered. “Sometimes they will, then ag’in they won’t. Mostly they’ll do as they durn please, which is likely to be jest w’at you don’t want ’em to do. One thing, though: we’re goin’ to have wuss weather afore we have better, mark my words.”
Hearing this, Dave grunted dolefully.
Vinton’s remarks about the tarpon seemed to be verified, for the boys had such poor luck in getting bites that presently they made their lines fast by wedging the poles under the thwarts and turned their attention to a faint blur of smoke rising far out against the brilliant blue horizon.
“Wonder if Cap’n Bego really did git out?” said Vinton, as if communing with himself.
But Norton overhead the query. “Who’s Captain Bego?” he inquired casually.
“Oh, he’s a greaser who’s been havin’ some trouble with a United States revenue cutter from Havana. Cutter’s the Eagle. If Uncle Sam gits after Bego ag’in, there’ll be one set o’ rascils turned back, I reckon.”
“You mean——”
“Filibusters,” was the startling answer.