“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.
CHAPTER XII.
IN THE SURF.
A new day was breaking when the life-saving crew were beat back upon the shore by the waves after their heroic but vain struggle in the surf-boat.
The wind gave evidence of gaining strength as the sun rose, and steadily the waves increased in violence. Now they were dashing against the steamer with the same force as upon the rocky cliffs, and to those ashore it appeared as if every billow of foaming water passed directly over the stranded vessel.
In the minds of the life-saving crew, at least, it was no longer simply a question of the passengers’ discomfort, but whether the steamer could withstand the terrific beating and pounding to which she was subjected.
“She must either go to pieces, or be driven nearer inshore,” Joe Cushing said, when the crew halted for a moment upon the cliff after their terrible struggle with the surf, and his mates fully agreed with that conclusion.
It was more than probable the captain of the steamer had by this time taken quite as gloomy a view of the situation, for he continued to sound his signals of distress, although, as Sam Hardy said impatiently, “he should have had sufficient sense to know that everything in human power would be done to aid him.”
“He may be ignorant of the waters round about here, and have an idea that a tug can get near enough to pass him a hawser,” Dick Sawyer suggested, and Keeper Downey replied:
“It will only be necessary for him to look at his chart, which he had better have done yesterday afternoon, in order to learn that no help can be expected from seaward. I am at a loss to know just what is wisest to do, and ask each of you to give his opinion. The tide is now so low that we cannot hope to get the life-boat over the shoals. Perhaps there’s one chance in twenty, by putting out into deep water, we might drop down so near as to take off a few; but certain it is all could not be brought ashore in that manner. The question to be decided is, whether we shall make such an attempt, or put forth all our efforts toward getting a line aboard.”
The men gave an opinion according to their station numbers, Sam Hardy speaking first, as a matter of course, and his view of the situation appeared to be that of all the others.
“While I’m ready to try what can be done with the life-boat, and will go aboard of her cheerfully, to my mind there are too many chances of failure—which would probably mean death to all concerned—and too few of success to warrant making the attempt. I believe, as Joe Cushing does, that if the steamer isn’t stove by the waves she must be driven nearer ashore, in which case we can get a line out to her. Therefore I vote that we put all our dependence upon what may be done from here.”
Learning that the others were of the same opinion, and understanding that they might not have very much time at their disposal, Keeper Downey at once gave the necessary orders for setting about this last plan of rescue, which necessitated the bringing up of the beach-apparatus.
“No. 1 and No. 8 are to remain here on duty in order to prevent, if possible, by signal, any effort of the captain toward landing with his own boats, as he suggested,” Tom Downey said, speaking hurriedly. “The remainder of the crew will go back to the station with me for the beach-wagon.”
Exercise was what the men most needed, wet to the skin as they were after the battle in the surf, and as soon as the order was given they set off at full speed, while Sam Hardy was left with Benny upon the cliff to bear the discomforts as best they might.
“You ought to have gone with the others,” No. 8 said solicitously. “Your wet clothes will be frozen long before they can get back, and it don’t seem to me as if there was much need of keeping anybody out here in the wind.”
“It is necessary, lad, if for no other reason than that the order has been given. In Tom Downey’s place I should have made much the same arrangement. Some one of the crew must grin an’ bear it in wet clothing, an’ because of havin’ first been stationed here, I’m the one to bear the brunt.”
“But you will freeze to death,” Benny cried sharply.
“Not quite so bad as that, lad, for I’ll keep movin’ about,” and Sam suited the action to the words, Benny following close by his side as the surfman ran swiftly to and fro, beating his arms upon his breast for additional exercise.
“Of course we don’t always get it quite as tough as this,” Sam said when he halted to regain his breath after ten minutes of this most violent exertion, “an’ then again, there are times when it comes harder; so you see, lad, that belonging to a life-saving crew ain’t quite as pleasant as you may have thought.”
“I didn’t count it was an easy life.”
“But you can see now that it’s best you don’t hold to the idea of bein’ one of ’em.”
“If I was going to be discouraged because of hard work on such a job as this, then I’d best not think of ever bein’ a surfman,” Benny replied stoutly. “It wasn’t on my own account that I said anything; my clothes are dry, and I can keep warm; but I was afraid you’d freeze after having been overboard so long.”
“You’re a gritty little chap,” Sam said admiringly, “almost too much so for one of your years an’ build; but don’t worry about me. I’ve been in worse places than this, an’ never come to any great harm. If it wasn’t that all the work might have been done readily an’ without risk, I shouldn’t feel like grumblin’; but when a man realizes that the situation has all come about through a pig-headed captain who wouldn’t allow we knew anything of the coast, then it seems tough. Howsomever, we’re in a box, an’ have not only got to get out of it ourselves, but pull others with us,—an’ we’ll do it, No. 8, we’ll do it.”
Then Sam resumed the exercise, Benny copying his every movement, and thus alternately running and halting to regain breath, the two passed the time until they could see in the distance the crew, dragging the beach-wagon over the rocks.
“Now that the apparatus is here it can’t be used while the steamer lays so far off,” Hardy said half to himself, and at that instant a cry of dismay caused him to gaze seaward.
When the waves began to run high the master of the vessel had gotten out anchors fore and aft to prevent her from being driven shoreward.
The parting of the stern cables had caused the cry of dismay from Benny, and as Sam looked in that direction the ships stern was swung violently around until she lay broadside to the waves, in such position as proved that she would soon be driven inshore virtually a wreck.
“I reckon we’ll be able to put a line aboard of her mighty soon,” Sam said grimly, waving his arms to attract the attention of the crew that they might hasten their movements, and Benny, seeing an opportunity to be of some slight assistance, ran at full speed to meet the wagon.
“What has happened?” Keeper Downey asked, as the lad joined him at the rear of the cart, the cook holding Sam Hardy’s station at the handle-bar.
“The stern cable has parted, sir.”
“Shove her along, boys! Shove her along! We’ll be able to get a line out now,” and as the men strained yet more energetically at the ropes and the handle-bar, Benny put all his little strength into the effort, performing, as Joe Cushing afterward said, “considerably more than half a man’s work.”
Sam Hardy also joined the crew, and the wagon had no more than been hauled down to the strip of pebbly beach, the only point from which the work could be carried on, when the life savers had yet further evidence of the captain’s “pig-headedness.”
When he laid alongside the steamer, while urging that the passengers at least be taken ashore, Tom Downey had said all a man might to prevent the master from holding to the plan of launching his own boats; and yet despite such advice, which should have been considered well worthy of being followed, that very manœuvre was now about to be attempted.
The life-saving crew could see that one of the port boats was being hoisted out, and every man ashore knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that such a craft could not live five minutes in that boiling, yeasty swirl of waters.
With a hope of yet persuading the wilful captain, Tom Downey ignited a Coston signal, and, waving it violently above his head, showed as plainly as man might by such means, that there was danger in the contemplated move.
“It seems to me as if deep-water sailors lose their heads at such a time,” Joe Cushing cried, observing that the work went on aboard the steamer despite the keeper’s warnings. “The captain must have seen that we failed to keep the surf-boat on her bottom, but yet he expects to do with his cockleshell what we couldn’t with a craft built especially for the purpose!”
Joe was not the only member of the crew who criticised harshly the methods of the steamer’s commander; every man gave words to the indignation in his heart, but yet the foolhardy work went on rapidly, as if those on board the stranded craft were eager to meet their doom.
That they were anxious to leave their steamer seemed probable, even to Benny, for the waves were now rolling completely over her, and at every surge she was driven higher and higher up on the shoal until the surfmen began to fear she would be rolled completely over.
The work of making ready to send out a line was begun as soon as the wagon had been placed in position, and the men labored none the less energetically and expeditiously because they glanced from time to time at the tiny boat swinging at the davits, in which the steamer’s crew were taking their stations.
The gun was not yet loaded when the boat, with a crew of eight men, dropped into the water at a moment when the receding waves made such a manœuvre possible, and then, to the surprise of the life savers, all the sailors were seen working at the oars, while no one appeared to be steering.
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“It isn’t enough that they must attempt an impossibility!” Tom Downey cried angrily. “They’re bent on doing all within their power to provoke destruction. What kind of a sailor can he be who believes it possible to put a craft of any kind through the surf without a helmsman?”
No one made reply to this outburst. The surfmen on shore understood that even though the oncoming craft had been a life-boat, it meant certain disaster to handle her in such manner.
And that disaster came even sooner than they expected.
Before the little craft had cleared more than a third of the distance from the steamer to the shore, she was overturned by a heavy breaker which raised the stern higher and higher until the bow was forced into the trough of the sea, and the boat disappeared entirely.
As the waves rose the eight men could be seen struggling amid the foaming waters, and this sight caused the life savers to forget their previous failure—their late struggle amid that same surf, wherein death so nearly overtook them.
“Come on, boys!” Downey shouted, throwing off his outer clothing as he ran swiftly to where the surf-boat, having drifted ashore, was lying beyond reach of the waves. “We can’t stand here and see them drown, however the disaster has been caused!”
Benny ran with the crew, clutching at Sam Hardy’s garments as if begging him not to make the venture which apparently meant positive death; but yet daring to speak no word.
Once more they ran breast-deep into the water, and, clambering over the gunwale as the surf-boat was borne swiftly outward by the receding wave, took up their oars. Again they battled against wind and tide, heading straight onward to where the seven struggling wretches could be seen—one had already disappeared. Two of the steamer’s men were striking out for the shore, and appeared to be making fair headway, while five others were clustered near the capsized boat, apparently making no decided effort to save themselves, except by keeping their heads above water.
It seemed to Benny that the surf-boat must be turned end over end before she was thirty yards from the shore, in the same manner as during the first attempt to put off; but Keeper Downey handled her with consummate skill, and, owing to the fact that the tide was ebbing, he succeeded in keeping her on a comparatively even keel, avoiding the two swimmers in order to direct his first efforts toward those who appeared unable to help themselves.
The lad ashore followed with his eyes every movement made by his comrades, literally ceasing to breathe when the surf-boat was thrown high up by the swell, and then panting heavily, as if sharing in the exercise, when the crew strained every muscle to force her over the next foaming wave.
Inch by inch, combating both wind and current, their lives hanging in the balance when the little craft was poised on the crest of some gigantic roller, the brave life savers advanced until they had come to the group of five who still paddled wildly around the overturned boat.
This was a moment most fraught with peril, and Benny clenched his hands until the nails almost cut the flesh, so great was his suspense and fear, as one after another of the men was hauled over the boat’s rail, saved, if the crew could gain the shore again.
The two who had been swimming were by this time within the line of shore-breakers, moving slowly as if nearly exhausted, and No. 8 saw his opportunity of doing real life-saving work.
Seizing a coil of rope from the beach-wagon, he ran with all speed to the very edge of the water, when, standing motionless for an instant to make certain of his aim, he flung one end out over the waves.
Fortunately the wind forced the rope slightly aside, otherwise it would have gone so far to windward of the struggling men as to be of no avail.
As it was, however, this seeming accident was of the greatest possible advantage, since the coils dropped almost directly upon the heads of the struggling men, as fairly as Tom Downey or Sam Hardy could have sent it.
Both the swimmers clutched it at the same instant, and then it was Benny began to fear he had attempted what it would be impossible to carry out. His strength was not sufficient to enable him to pull both the sailors in—in fact, a single man drawn back by that undertow would have been too heavy a burden for the lad—and while one might have counted five he stood irresolute, trembling with fear, for it seemed that he had begun the work only to meet with failure.
Glancing quickly around as if hoping to see some one who would lend assistance, his eyes rested upon a spare tail-block in the beach-wagon, and now did his experience on shipboard serve him in good stead.
With the least possible delay he made this fast to the wheel of the wagon in such fashion that the drag would come upon the cart sideways, and, as soon as might be, rove the casting-line through the block.
Now he had a purchase which was equivalent to the strength of three men when used on the rope without a block, and he strained every muscle in this his first attempt at life-saving, believing that unless he was successful the sailors would perish in the surf. The strain forced the wheel of the wagon deep into the pebbly beach, and, consequently, the purchase held fast, while he, bracing himself against the wheel, hauled and tugged until the skin on the inner side of his fingers was broken in several places; but he finally succeeded in the effort.
Lest it appear incredible that a lad only twelve years of age should be able to perform such a feat, let it be borne in mind that Benny knew full well the value of such a purchase as was formed by the tail-block, having learned this while on shipboard, and that his excitement and desire to save life lent him a certain fictitious strength, for positive it is on that day Benny Foster, unaided, except by the rope and block, saved two lives.
While the rescued men were so near inshore as to be able to gain a footing, their hold upon the rope prevented them from being carried back by the undertow, giving them a means of standing steadily when otherwise the surf would have swept them out to sea again, and during the momentary lull both succeeded in running beyond reach of the waters.
Then it was they fell on the shore as if dead; but the lad who rescued them knew full well they were only exhausted. Not until he was assured of their safety, did Benny allow himself to look seaward, and then his heart was filled with thankfulness, for the surf-boat laden gunwale deep with her crew and those that had been snatched from the raging waters, was coming like an arrow toward the shore on the crest of a wave that had in it such force as must land her beyond the reach of danger.
Out of eight men who had tempted death in a venture which was the height of foolhardiness, seven were brought safely to land by the life-saving crew, among whom should be numbered Benny Foster.
The lad only waited to assure himself that his comrades were safe, when he turned his attention to the men whom he had dragged ashore; but they stood in little need of his services, for by this time both were fully conscious, and before Benny could so much as speak, Sam Hardy, having leaped out of the boat, had caught the boy in his arms.
“You’ve done that, No. 8, of which any one of us might well be proud, and he who says you’re not a member of this crew, is makin’ the mistake of his life! You were born to the work, my boy, and have got the heart to carry it through!”
So great had been the lad’s excitement that he was hardly aware of the service he had rendered, until each of the men in turn had some word of praise or congratulation to bestow, and not the least was that which came from Tom Downey, who said as he hurried on toward the gun:
“If you don’t get a medal for this morning’s work, No. 8, it’s because we can’t tell the story in the proper way, for you’ve earned one if ever man did!”
No more than two or three minutes in all had been spent by the life savers upon the lad, for each had greeted him while pressing on to take his proper station, and by the time Benny fully understood what the keeper’s words signified, every member of the crew was performing the necessary work toward sending out the breeches-buoy.
While the rescue was being effected the steamer had been driven yet higher up on the shoal, and was now so near the shore as to render it a comparatively simple matter to send the line-carrying shot over her deck.
Once communication was established Benny took his station at the whip in the rear of the shifting-man, hauling with a will, and heeding not the laborious exertion until one after another, first the passengers, then the crew, and lastly the captain were brought ashore.
The master of the steamer made no verbal comment upon the work when he clambered out from the breeches-buoy.
He clasped Keeper Downey’s hand for an instant, looking into the latter’s eyes as if acknowledging his fault, and then turning to Benny, said:
“I saw what you did, lad, and the best man of your crew couldn’t have accomplished the rescue more expeditiously.”
The two men whom the lad had saved now came forward as if to give words to their thankfulness, but Keeper Downey prevented any further conversation by saying sharply:
“Captain, you will get your people together and start them at once for the station. No. 8 will show the way, and see to it that you are provided with dry clothing.”
The captain looked around as if asking who No. 8 might be, when Joe Cushing cried:
“He’s that whifflet in front of you, captain. It may seem strange that a lad of his size is a member of a life-saving crew, an’ it’s true he don’t figure on the list; but all the same he has his place with us, an’ always will till he himself shall want to leave the service.”
Benny’s face was crimsoned when he turned to conduct the rescued party along the coast, and he walked some distance in advance fearing lest further praise might be bestowed upon him.
Before having gone a dozen yards he heard Tom Downey say to the cook:
“Follow on, my man, for the chances are those people will need something warm; but you’ll remember that No. 8 is in charge until I get back.”
This was the height of honor, so Benny believed, and he no longer thought of the medal which might possibly be his, because of the fact that the keeper had shown most conclusively that he was a member of the crew of equal standing with the others.
CHAPTER XIII.
“NUMBER EIGHT.”
Although he had remained on duty since the previous afternoon, and, counting the time spent in the city with Sam Hardy, had been without rest full forty-four hours, Benny insisted on doing his equal share of work in the kitchen when the crew and passengers of the stranded steamer arrived at the station.
It was so late in the day, and the crew yet had so much labor to perform, that there would not be time in which to make the necessary arrangements for sending into town until the following day those who had been rescued from the steamer, therefore the station was a scene of bustling activity.
The officers and crew of the steamer were to be given a hearty meal before they joined the life-saving crew in patrolling the shore on the lookout for such wreckage as might be driven in from their craft, and after that had been done the passengers must be cared for.
“With the addition to our family of thirty-eight, work here in the station will be right lively,” the cook said to Benny when the latter, after providing with dry clothing such of the rescued as were in need, presented himself in the kitchen; “but for all that I can run the concern without calling on a boy who hasn’t been in bed since night before last.”
“I’m no more tired than any other member of the crew, and want to do my share,” Benny insisted. “I’d be a pretty poor No. 8 if I couldn’t hold my own with those who have done twice as much work.”
“You’ve kept even pace with all hands, accordin’ to what I’ve heard, an’ it’ll please me better to see you in the other room taking care of Fluff C. Foster.”
“He don’t need me while all those ladies are petting him. Of course he was glad to see me after being alone in the station so long; but while I was getting out the dry clothing he made friends with some of the passengers, and now hasn’t time to more than look at me.”
“Has he got his medal on?”
“Do you think I’d let him wear that all the time?” and Benny set about paring potatoes as if he had but just come on duty. “I took it off the very minute we got back from the city.”
“You ought to let him have it, for surely the people will be interested in knowing he has won such an honor. There ain’t many dogs who can show as much, an’ it isn’t fair to keep it from him just now. You must go back and tell the whole story.”
Benny hesitated. He was eager that Fluff should have all the credit due him, but feared lest by displaying the medal his motives might be misunderstood.
“Do you suppose they’d think I was trying to make out he was something wonderful?”
“Now don’t be too modest, Benjamin. Fluff really was the means of saving Mr. Bradford’s life, and it’s only fair to let people know about it.”
Thus urged, Benny did as the cook desired, and nearly half an hour elapsed before he returned to the kitchen.
“It seemed as if I’d never get away,” he said apologetically, taking up the first work which presented itself, and quickening his movements to atone for lost time. “They made me tell the story over and over again, and now Fluff’s having a terrible good time.”
“That’s as it should be, and I only wish they’d kept you longer, for I don’t like to see a tired lad hustling around here.”
“I sha’n’t hurt myself,” Benny replied with a laugh, determined not to be prevented from attending to his regular duties, except by a positive command from Keeper Downey.
The members of the crew were too busy to give much heed to No. 8. The tugs, which had finally come in response to the messages sent, were lying-to outside, communicating with the keeper by signals; all the gear used was to be put away in proper order that it might be got at without loss of time should occasion arise, and three of the men had been sent back on the bluff to watch for wreckage from the steamer. In fact, all was bustle and seeming confusion until after the keeper issued imperative orders that Benny make up a bed for himself in the kitchen, and go to sleep.
The number of the rescued was so large that all the apartments in the station, save the kitchen itself, were given up to them, the crew lying down when their turns to rest came, wherever sufficient space could be found.
Regardless of the noise consequent upon so many people being crowded into such small quarters, Benny slept as only a tired boy can, until the cook aroused him by building the fire next morning in order to cook breakfast.
“Of course I’m all right,” he said in reply to the question as to his condition; “but I must have been terrible sleepy last night, for I’ve let Fluff wear his collar and medal all night.”
“That won’t do any harm, and, besides, he’s bound to keep his ornaments on till our visitors leave. I reckon we’ll soon have the station to ourselves, an’ I for one won’t be sorry. This sleepin’ on the kitchen floor with not so much as a blanket to ease up on the boards, ain’t particularly pleasant, accordin’ to the way I look at it.”
“I could have slept on a rock last night, I was so tired,” Benny replied, with a cheerful laugh as he began his toilet, promising Fluff that he should have his hair combed before the ladies appeared. “How are they going away?”
“It was settled last night, over the telephone, that if the wind died down, a tug would be out here about eight o’clock, and it’s so calm now that there won’t be any trouble in putting them aboard.”
“I wonder if the steamer was stove to pieces?”
“Joe Cushing was the last man in, and he reported that she was then in fair condition for hauling off. The wrecking crews will soon be at work, and if the weather holds good it may be possible to save her.”
“Will our crew be called upon?”
“Not a bit of it. All that is done by contract, and those who take the job have no right to ask for the services of the life-saving men. Why don’t you take a spin out there, an’ see how she looks?”
“I guess it’ll be more to my credit if I stay here pretty close while there’s so much work to be done,” Benny replied with a laugh, and then, his own toilet having been made, he set about combing Fluff, an operation which was never greatly enjoyed by the dog.
While No. 8 was busily engaged in helping the cook, several of the lady passengers from the steamer held a private interview with Keeper Downey, and it seemed as if they had no slight amount of business to settle, for not until breakfast had been served did the conference come to an end.
Before the meal was finished a tug hove to off the cove, and Sam Hardy announced that the passengers from the stranded steamer could be put on board whenever they were ready to leave.
Before taking their departure every woman and man shook hands most cordially with Benny, and one of the ladies whispered in his ear:
“You must not refuse to accept what has been left for you and Fluff. Each of us considered it a favor to be allowed to add something, and when your school days begin it will be needed.”
Benny was wholly at a loss to understand the meaning of these words, and when he asked Sam Hardy if he knew to what the lady referred, that jolly surfman said with a laugh:
“You’ll find out in time, No. 8, and it may be worth your while to look at Article 151 of the Revised Regulations.”
Benny waited until all those who were to be taken to the city had been put on board the tug, for none but the passengers were to leave the vicinity, the crew and officers of the steamer remaining to assist in the labor of floating the steamer, and then he set about finding the article to which Sam Hardy referred.
Twice over he read the following lines, and even then he was puzzled to understand what bearing they could have upon the remark made by the lady.
“The regular crews of stations are not entitled to salvage, it being part of their duty, as Government employees, to assist, without charge, in saving property from wrecked vessels, so far as it can be done without interfering with the duty of saving life, which must always be the paramount consideration, or injuring the effectiveness of the appliances for prompt service at any moment. They are not, however, prohibited from claiming reasonable compensation for the use of boats, wagons, or other appliances, personally belonging to them, which may be employed upon such occasions, nor from receiving such rewards for labor performed, or risk incurred at wrecks, as owners or masters of vessels or other persons may see fit to voluntarily bestow upon them, but they are strictly forbidden to solicit such rewards.”
The crew of the station had not been served with breakfast before the departure of the tug, owing to lack of space for so many in the mess-room, therefore they were alone once more when the cook summoned them to the long-delayed meal.
As he took his seat at the table, Benny fancied his comrades looked unusually sharp at him; but no one made any comment, until the hunger of all had been satisfied, when Keeper Downey asked:
“Didn’t I see one of the ladies whispering to you just before the passengers went on board the tug?”
“Yes, sir,” Benny replied, and then he repeated what she had said, together with the conversation between himself and Sam Hardy.
“Well, did you look up Article 151?”
“Yes, sir; but I couldn’t find out anything by that.”
“I’ll explain it, No. 8, and while I’m doing so remember that I’m the captain of this crew, and my orders are to be obeyed without question.”
“Yes, sir,” Benny said hesitatingly, almost alarmed by this stern reminder of authority.
“After the passengers heard what Fluff had done, they were naturally curious to know why a lad like you was living in such a place, and it became necessary to tell the story. You can hardly wonder that every one of them was eager to show due appreciation of our services, and it was decided among them that it could best be done by making some little provision for the future of you and Fluff C. Foster, although all knew you belong to us, if it so chances that no relatives come forward to claim you.”
“I haven’t got any relatives, except it might be second-hand ones who never so much as heard of me,” Benny interrupted.
“We can almost hope you haven’t, No. 8, for we couldn’t afford to spare you from this ’ere crew,” Joe Cushing said emphatically, and Tom Downey motioned that all remain silent.
“The passengers made up a purse for the lad who, unaided, saved the lives of two men, and in Article 151 you’ll find that you’re allowed to receive whatever may be given you voluntarily.”
“Do you mean that they’ve paid me money?” Benny asked sharply.
“Yes, and it was with the full approval of every member of this crew, except yourself. By making up a purse for you and Fluff, a great compliment was paid to us, and as such you must receive it without any back talk. I’ve got here one hundred and thirty dollars, which is to be put into the bank for your benefit, and as the lady said, it will come in handy when you begin to go to school.”
Mr. Downey displayed the money, but Benny made no attempt to touch it, and Sam Hardy took it upon himself to banish the lad’s scruples in regard to receiving it.
“There ain’t a man among us who would refuse a gift made in the same spirit that was, No. 8, an’ we take it as a compliment to ourselves. It would have pleased us better if the passengers themselves could have put the money in your hands; but we felt afraid you’d be so backward about acceptin’ it as to give them the idea such a token wasn’t to your likin’, so the keeper took the matter in charge. We want you to be glad, for the rest of us are feelin’ mighty fine because it has been done.”
Benny could make no reply just then, and his comrades understood the reason; but later he came to look at the matter in a different light, and asked Tom Downey to write a letter thanking the passengers for their kindness.
The crew had but little time to spend on private affairs just at this moment. The wrecking crew went to work on the stranded steamer that same day, and all hands were interested in watching the operations, which were not brought to an end for many days, when the vessel was hauled off the shoal with no more damage than might have been expected.
Some time before the work came to an end the life-saving crew settled down once more to the regular routine of duty, and Sam Hardy suggested that No. 8 spend all his spare time studying the printed rules for the management of open row-boats in a surf.
“It’s what every lad should know, Benjamin, whether he counts on becoming a surfman or not, and you must have it all well in mind before spring, when I’m goin’ to give you plenty of practice in such work.”
Under this inducement it is not to be wondered at that Benny at once became unusually studious, and on the day before his uniform arrived, it was possible for him to repeat all which is here set down for the benefit of those lads who may not have such an able teacher as Sam Hardy.
“As a general rule, speed must be given to a boat rowing against a heavy surf. Indeed, under some circumstances, her safety will depend on the utmost possible speed being attained on meeting a sea. For if the sea be really heavy, and the wind blowing a hard on-shore gale, it can only be by the utmost exertions of the crew that any headway can be made. The great danger then is, that an approaching heavy sea may carry the boat away on its front, and turn it broadside on, or up-end it, either effect being immediately fatal. A boat’s only chance in such a case is to obtain such way as shall enable her to pass, end on, through the crest of the sea, and leave it as soon as possible behind her. Of course, if there be a rather heavy surf, but no wind, or the wind off shore, and opposed to the surf, as is often the case, a boat might be propelled so rapidly through it that her bow would fall more suddenly and heavily after topping the sea than if her way had been checked; and it may, therefore, only be when the sea is of such magnitude, and the boat of such a character, that there may be a chance of the former carrying her back before it, that full speed should be given her.
“It may also happen that, by careful management under such circumstances, a boat may be made to avoid the sea, so that each wave may break ahead of her, which may be the only chance of safety in a small boat; but if the shore be flat, and the broken water extends to a great distance from it, this will often be impossible.
“If sufficient command can be kept over a boat by the skill of those on board her, avoid or ‘dodge’ the sea, if possible, so as not to meet it at the moment of its breaking or curling over.
“Against a head gale and heavy surf, get all possible speed on a boat on the approach of every sea which cannot be avoided.
“If more speed can be given to a boat than is sufficient to prevent her being carried back by the surf, her way may be checked on its approach, which will give her an easier passage over it.
“The one great danger, when running before a broken sea, is that of broaching-to. To that peculiar effect of the sea, so frequently destructive of human life, the utmost attention must be directed.
“The cause of a boat’s broaching-to when running before a broken sea or surf is, that her own motion being in the same direction as that of the sea, whether it be given by the force of oars or sails, or by the force of the sea itself, she opposes no resistance to it, but is carried before it. Thus, if a boat be running with her bow to the shore and her stern to the sea, the first effect of the surf or roller, on its overtaking her, is to throw up the stern, and as a consequence to depress the bow; if she then has sufficient inertia (which will be proportional to weight) to allow the sea to pass her, she will in succession pass through the descending, the horizontal, and the ascending positions, as the crest of the wave passes successively her stern, her midships, and her bow, in the reverse order in which the same positions occur to a boat propelled to seaward against a surf. This may be defined as the safe mode of running before a broken sea.
“But if a boat, on being overtaken by a heavy surf, has not sufficient inertia to allow it to pass her, the first of the three positions above enumerated alone occurs; her stern is raised high in the air, and the wave carries the boat before it, on its front or unsafe side, sometimes with frightful velocity, the bow all the time deeply immersed in the hollow of the sea, where the water, stationary or comparatively so, offers a resistance, whilst the crest of the sea, having the actual motion which causes it to break, forces onward the stern or rear end of the boat. A boat will, in this position sometimes, aided by careful oar-steerage, run a considerable distance until the wave has broken and expended itself. But it will often happen that if the bow be low it will be driven under water, when, the buoyancy being lost forward, whilst the sea presses on the stern, the boat will be thrown (as it is termed) end over end; or, if the bow be high, or it be protected, as in most lifeboats, by a bow air-chamber, so that it does not become submerged, that the resistance forward, acting on one bow, will slightly turn the boat’s head, and the force of the surf being transferred to the opposite quarter, she will in a moment be turned round broadside by the sea, and be thrown by it on her beam ends or altogether capsized.
“Hence, it follows, that the management of a boat, when landing through a heavy surf, must, as far as possible, be assimilated to that when proceeding to seaward against one, at least so far as to stop her progress shoreward at the moment of being overtaken by a heavy sea, and thus enabling it to pass her. There are different ways of effecting this object:
“1. By turning a boat’s head to the sea before entering the broken water, and then backing in stern foremost, pulling a few strokes ahead to meet each heavy sea, and then again backing astern. If the sea be really heavy and a boat small, this plan will generally be the safest, as a boat cannot be kept more under command when the full force of the oars can be used against a heavy surf than by backing them only.
“2. If rowing to shore with the stern to seaward, by backing all the oars on the approach of a heavy sea, and rowing ahead again as soon as it has passed to the bow of the boat, thus rowing it on the back of the wave; or, as is practiced in some life-boats, placing the after-oarsmen with their faces forward and making them row back at each sea on its approach.
“3. If rowed in bow foremost, by towing astern a pig of ballast or large stone, or a large basket, or canvas bag, termed a ‘drogue’ or drag, made for the purpose, the object of each being to hold the boat’s stern back, and prevent her being turned broadside to the sea or broaching-to.
“Heavy weights should be kept out of the extreme ends of a boat; but when rowing before a heavy sea the best trim is deepest by the stern, which prevents the stern being readily thrown on one side by the sea.
“The following general rules may therefore be depended on when running before, or attempting to land, through a heavy surf or broken water.
“1. As far as possible, avoid each sea by placing the boat where the sea will break ahead or astern of her.
“2. If the sea be very heavy, or if the boat be very small, and especially if she have a square stern, bring her bow round to seaward and back her in, rowing ahead against each heavy surf that cannot be avoided sufficiently to allow it to pass the boat.
“3. If it be considered safe to proceed to the shore bow foremost, back the oars against each sea on its approach, so as to stop the boat’s way through the water as far as possible, and if there is a drogue, or any other instrument in the boat which may be used as one, tow it astern to aid in keeping the boat end on to the sea, which is the chief object in view.
“4. Bring the principal weights in the boat towards the end that is to seaward, but not to the extreme end.”
All of these rules Benny was called upon to repeat aloud before the entire crew, and in the discussion which followed he learned very much which would be valuable when the time came that he could put the teaching into practice; but all his comrades assured him that if he would keep this one lesson well in mind, he might be depended upon to manage a boat in broken water without first having had any experience.
“I’ll be glad when I can handle the surf-boat,” he said as he took Fluff in his arms preparatory to going to bed.
“That will come in good time, lad, never fear,” Keeper Downey said cheerily; “but you’ll be called upon to wait patiently until warmer weather is here. In the meantime we’ve something important on hand to-morrow.”
Benny looked at him questioningly, and the keeper asked:
“Have you forgotten that the uniform should be done by this time, and to-morrow’s my day for going into the city?”
“I didn’t forget it, sir.”
“Then why hadn’t you spoken about it?” Joe Cushing asked impatiently.
“I was afraid perhaps Mr. Downey had changed his mind about going to the city, and besides I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t wait.”
“There’s little fear of your being too forward, my lad,” Sam Hardy said with a hearty laugh. “We must see to it that you’re called regularly to meals, or you’ll get the idea that perhaps we’d like it better if you missed one or two. The uniform is to be here to-morrow, an’ if anything had prevented the keeper from going to town, I’d pulled in and back myself, for I’m mighty anxious to see you togged out in proper fashion, even if you do feel so moderate about it.”
“Of course I want the uniform,” Benny added quickly; “but I’d rather wait a week than have any of the crew put themselves out to get it.”
Then the lad, holding the dog affectionately in his arms, ascended the stairs to the sleeping quarters, and when he had disappeared from view, Sam Hardy said emphatically:
“Accordin’ to my way of thinkin’, it’s seldom you run across so good a lad as No. 8.”
“You’re right there,” Mr. Downey added. “All that troubles me in the matter is the fear that we may not be doing quite our duty by the boy in keeping him here with us, when he should be at school.”
“Don’t let that fret you; he’ll learn enough wherever he is, an’ it’s a heap of satisfaction to the little shaver when he believes he’s paying his own way,” Joe Cushing said quickly, and Dick Sawyer cried emphatically:
“If he don’t do all of that, then I’d like to see the boy, or man either for that matter, who does!”
CHAPTER XIV.
THE WRECKERS.
The crew at the station were, even under ordinary circumstances, out of bed early in the morning; but since the wreckers had been at work on the stranded steamer there was little possibility any one, except a very deaf person, could sleep after the first signs of day appeared in the sky.
The wrecking tugs, when they did not return to the city at nightfall, anchored off the cove near the station, and their whistles were sounded vigorously fully half an hour before daybreak, in order that the men might be ready for work as soon as there was sufficient light.
As Sam Hardy said, “it came pretty rough on a fellow who’d been patrolling the coast till midnight, to be wakened at four o’clock,” but grumbling on the part of the life savers effected no change in the situation, and as a rule breakfast had been eaten before the man whose tour of duty ended only at daylight, had returned to the station.
On this morning when Tom Downey was to visit the city, all hands had been awakened even earlier than usual, and the keeper set off a full hour before Joe Cushing, who had the last trick at patrolling, came into the building.
“It’s like to be a long day for us, lad,” Sam Hardy said as he entered the kitchen where Benny was washing the breakfast dishes. “I’m thinkin’ you can’t be so very busy ’twixt now an’ eleven o’clock.”
“There’s nothing to be done around the house, so I counted on studying the Regulations for a while.”
“It won’t do you any harm to drop that kind of work for a spell; you already know more of that precious book than any of us, except it may be Tom Downey, an’ there’s danger you’ll grow too wise in the work of life-saving. What do you say to havin’ a look at the wreckers? They are gettin’ well along with their job, an’ I allow the tugs will make a try at pullin’ the steamer off when this tide rises.”
“I’d like to go if it would be all right to leave,” Benny said thoughtfully, as he looked inquiringly at the cook, and the latter replied to the unspoken question:
“There’s no reason why you shouldn’t have an outin’, lad. It’ll do you solid good, for you’ve been shut up here too long. What about Fluff C. Foster?”
“I wouldn’t like to take him with me, for it’s too cold on the rocks, and where there are so many men at work he might get hurt.”
“Very well, leave him behind, an’ I’ll answer for it that he comes to no harm. Maje has given over all ideas of botherin’ him, and, besides, if you say the word, he sha’n’t be allowed to poke his pink nose out of doors.”
Benny put on the pea-jacket which was large enough to serve him as an overcoat, pulled the flaps of the sou’-wester over his ears, and, just as the sun was coming up from behind the restless expanse of water, the two set out, walking at full speed, for the cold was too intense to admit of any pleasant lingering by the way.
When they arrived at the scene of the wrecking operations it appeared very much to No. 8 as if Joe Cushing had made a mistake when he declared that the steamer might be saved. To the lad she looked like a hopeless wreck.
The sea had thrown her on her beam ends, and then forced her so high up on the shoal that nearly half the bottom was exposed to view. The bridge, a greater portion of both rails, and nearly everything on deck was missing, while the wreckage along shore explained where the top-hammer had gone.
“Been used rather rough, eh?” Hardy said as he and Benny stood on the cliff where a full view of the wreck could be had.
“It doesn’t seem possible that they can get her off, or, even if that might be done, that she would be fit for sea again.”
“In a mishap like this the worst of the mischief is all on the outside, lad. Most likely her hull is as sound as ever, and it only remains to get her afloat, when a little carpenter-work will finish the job. It’s a pity the steamers couldn’t go alongside, for then she might be raised in short order.”
The wrecking tugs were lying some distance off shore, and lighters had been drifted down over the shoal to the steamer’s side. A large number of men were at work making ready to break the cargo; others were running out anchors to prevent her being driven any further ashore, and yet another crew was gathering up the odds and ends which had been driven ashore.
Half a dozen small boats were moving back and forth from the steamer to the shore, and after surveying the scene from the cliff until the chilling wind suggested a retreat, Sam Hardy said:
“It wouldn’t be a bad idea to go on board, lad. What do you say to looking the old hooker over?”
“Do you think they’ll allow us on her, sir?”
“I reckon there won’t be any great row about it, lad. After what our crew, an’ especially you, have done, it would be odd if we should be warned to keep off.”
Benny was eager for a nearer view of the steamer, and Sam led the way down to the narrow beach where so much of heroism had been displayed.
“Hello, mates, will you take us off to the wreck?” Sam cried to four men who were launching a surf-boat bearing the name of a well-known wrecking tug.
“That we will, although I should think you might have seen enough already of yonder steamer,” one of the party replied cheerily.
“We had too big a job on our hands to spend very much time in looking her over; but it’s possible to take things easier this morning, an’ I’d like to see how badly she’s been punished,” Sam replied as he and Benny stood by to take their places in the boat.
“She isn’t in bad shape, an’ if the weather holds good we’ll soon have her afloat,” he who was in charge of the boat said in a matter-of-fact tone, and after they had put off he asked, nodding toward Benny:
“Is that lad a member of the crew?”
“Ay, that he is, an’ one who don’t spend much idle time when we’re pushed, as was the case when this steamer came ashore.”
“Where’s the boy who hauled the two sailors out of the water? The steamer’s captain was tellin’ about it.”
“This is the same identical lad,” Sam replied with a laugh.
“That little shaver couldn’t haul his own weight through such a surf as was runnin’ when yonder craft struck the shoal,” the man replied decidedly, giving no more than a passing glance at Benny, who looked even smaller than ever beneath the huge pea-jacket.
“But he did, matey, an,’ what’s more, set about it in sailor-like fashion, finishin’ the job as quickly as you or I could have done it.”
Then Sam went into the details of the rescue effected by Benny, while the lad kept his face turned seaward lest the men should see and laugh at his blushes.
“Well, that beats me!” the sailor at the helm cried when Sam’s story was come to an end. “A lad who can do such a trick as that while everything is in confusion, as it must have been then, has good stuff in him.”
“That’s what he has,” Sam replied proudly, “an’ we put on a good many airs because he belongs to our crew.”
From this moment Benny received far more attention than was altogether agreeable to him. The crew of the surf-boat told those on board the steamer that he was the lad who had displayed so much bravery and sound common-sense when human lives were in danger, and every man seemed eager to give him some word of praise, until the boy was so uncomfortable in mind that he wished heartily he had never been tempted to visit the wreck.
The workmen had more important matters to occupy their attention, however, and after devoting a few moments to No. 8 they left him alone with Sam Hardy, who said with a hearty laugh:
“You’ve made a big reputation for yourself, lad, and this summer, when visitors come out to the station, as they do nearly every pleasant day, we’ll be obliged to trot you and Fluff C. Foster out on parade as our swell life savers.”
“Then I sha’n’t want to stay there. I wouldn’t have come over here if I’d known the men would say so much.”
“Why, surely, you’re not ashamed of yesterday’s work, lad?”
“Not because I helped the men ashore; but it makes me feel mean to hear people praising me for doing what any other fellow would have done. It must be a pretty poor kind of a boy who couldn’t throw a rope out to a drowning man, and I’d missed both of them if the wind hadn’t sent the coils in a different direction from which I was aiming.”
“Well, Benjamin, allow it all to be as you’ve said, you’ll have to put up with some praise for a spell, an’ then folks will forget it, for in this world a fellow can’t live very long on what he’s done in the past. They’re takin’ off the hatches now, an’ I’m minded to have a look at the hold of this ’ere craft. Come on.”
Benny followed, but there was to him nothing particularly interesting in the cargo, and as it could not be seen from the deck, he left Sam and went aft, where he might watch the movements of the tugs as they pulled the lighters here and there in such position that the wind and current would send them down over the shoal to the wreck.
This last portion of the work soon engrossed the attention of all the wrecking crew, including those who had been making an examination of the steamer’s hold, for considerable difficulty was experienced in moving the heavy lighters to and fro, and after a time Benny realized that he and Sam were the only ones left aboard the steamer.
“We’ll be obliged to stay here till one of the boats is alongside,” he said to himself, and then came the thought that he was spending too much time in pleasuring when he should be attending to his regular duties in the station kitchen.
“Perhaps Mr. Hardy will be ready to go now,” he said, running forward toward the hatch where the surfman had last been seen.
The decks were deserted, and he saw no signs of life on the ship. It was as if he had been abandoned, and but for the many craft near at hand he might have had a very disagreeable sensation of utter loneliness. As a matter of fact, something much like a shudder of fear came over him with the first knowledge that he was alone; but he forced it back with a laugh as he said aloud:
“If people could know that I’m almost afraid of being here, even though there are an hundred men within hail, I wouldn’t need to bother my head about being called a hero when I don’t deserve the name.”
As he ceased speaking an odd, indistinct murmur came from the dark hold, causing him to step back toward the rail quickly; but he advanced again an instant later, angry with himself for being such a coward.
Once more came that strange noise; but, half-expecting it, Benny held his ground, determined to learn the cause, since, until Sam Hardy should return, he had nothing better with which to occupy himself.
Leaning over the hatch he peered down into the darkness.
The space between decks was apparently empty, and he heard the water gurgling far below in the lower hold.
“That must be what I heard,” he said, speaking aloud, and the words had no more than been uttered when it seemed as if amid the gurgling noise he could distinguish his own name.
“Ahoy!” he cried, smiling to think he should be so foolish as to answer the water; but an instant later his face grew pale as he heard plainly the words:
“Benny! Benny Foster!”
There was but one in the vicinity who would thus address him, and although it seemed impossible Sam Hardy could be in that apparently empty hold, he leaned far over as he shouted:
“Is that you, Mr. Hardy?”
“Ay, lad, come quick! I can’t hold out much longer!”
Now Benny was alarmed, and with good cause.
Leading down to the second deck was a single stanchion; the ladder had been torn or carried away. Heeled over as the steamer was, this timber stood at an inclination of forty-five degrees, and at its foot the deck had about the same inclination in the opposite direction.
Benny waited only so long as was necessary in order to throw off his pea-jacket, and then slipped down the stanchion, holding hard on reaching the deck below lest he should slide to port.
Here all was darkness, save for the square of gray light that marked the location of the hatch, and the lad tried in vain to pierce it with his eyes in search for the surfman.
“Where are you, Mr. Hardy?” he cried falteringly. “I can’t make out anything.”
“Hanging by a rope below the second hatchway. It swings so far to port that I can’t pull myself up, and I don’t dare to drop for fear the distance may be too great. Lean over and try to get hold of me, lad; I only need a little aid, for it is possible to help myself a good bit.”
Now it was only necessary Benny should feel along the upper side of the hatchway in order to find the rope by which the surfman was suspended, and the first thought was that he could readily pull his comrade up.
With the deck at such an inclination he could get no secure foothold, and the first attempt was sufficient to show him that the task was beyond his strength.
“Can you wait till I go on the upper deck?” he asked anxiously. “There are plenty of men close by; but all hands have left the steamer.”
“Go ahead, lad, but move quickly. I’ve hung here until it seems as if my arms were pulled out of their sockets.”
Benny sought the stanchion by which he had descended, and, gaining it, soon understood that he could no more work his way unaided to the top than Hardy could swarm up the rope while it swung so far away from the side of the vessel.
It seemed to him as if he had spent many minutes in the vain task, when in reality no more than a dozen seconds had been sufficient in which to prove that it was useless, and then he allowed himself to fall back again toward where the rope was made fast.
“I can’t get up,” he cried in a tearful voice. “Suppose I lean way over the hatch till you can get hold of my arms? The two of us should be able to work it in that fashion.”
“I’d pull you down, lad; there’s no use in trying anything like that. If it’s certain you can’t get on deck, I’ll take the chances of what may be below, an’ drop.”
“Don’t do it! Don’t do it! Let me try just once!” and without waiting for a reply Benny bent far over the combing of the hatch, twining his legs around the stanchion.
By letting himself down nearly at full length he found to his great joy that he could touch the surfman’s shoulders.
“Now I’ll get hold, and you shall put your arms around my neck,” he cried as if asking some great favor.
“Don’t try it, lad, for I’ll surely drag you down. It may be that I can drop without much hurt, and even a broken bone to one, is better than for us to fall together.”
“Try it!” Benny screamed, seizing Sam by the neck. “Get hold of me!”
The surfman had no alternative, unless the boy should loosen his hold, and, letting go of the rope with one hand, he clasped the other around Benny’s arms.
“Now get hold with the other, and then shin up! I can hold on here quite a spell!”
Even now the heavy strain was beginning to tell upon the lad, and Sam understood that if anything was to be accomplished it must be done in the shortest possible space of time.
Wearied though he was by his previous vain exertions, he put forth all his strength for the last effort, and in so doing knew full well he inflicted grievous pain upon the little fellow who was ready to take any chances in order to aid him.
With a firm hold of Benny’s body the surfman was enabled to climb upward, and in a few seconds, which must have seemed to the boy like ten times that number of minutes, he succeeded in clutching the combing of the hatch.
Dragging himself over he seized No. 8’s legs, and none too soon, for the boy’s strength was exhausted, and at the very instant Sam grasped him he was forced to let go his hold.
A moment later the two were lying along the side of the hatch panting for breath, but in no further danger of a fall, and some time elapsed before the silence was broken.
Then Sam said, groping about in the darkness for Benny’s hands, and holding them firmly as he spoke:
“It may be, lad, that I made all that trouble for nothing. It is possible the cargo was within a few inches of my feet as I hung on the rope; but that I couldn’t know, and it was the fear of shattering a bone which caused me to hold on and yell for help. A surfman with a broken leg might lose a whole season’s work, seein’ ’s the damage wouldn’t have been done in line of duty.”
“It’s lucky I heard you. If all hands hadn’t left the steamer, perhaps I shouldn’t have tried to find out where you had gone.”