“What’s the matter with Fluff C. Foster?” Sam Hardy asked.
“He’ll be all right after a spell,” Benny replied. “He’ll soon know the difference, ’cause I’ll make him understand it.”
“Understand what?”
“Why, you see, he always sat by the side of me on board the ship, and he thinks it’s funny he can’t do it now, I s’pose; but he’s a good, sensible dog, and won’t want to break over any rules after he gets a little used to it.”
“Why don’t you let him sit by your side now?”
“I was afraid it wouldn’t be right. Mrs. Clark said she’d have a good deal of trouble to break him of the habit after they got ashore.”
“Will he behave himself?” Keeper Downey asked.
“Fluff behave himself! Why, sir, he’s just as nice an’ polite at the table as any fellow you ever saw.”
“Give him a show, and let’s see what he’ll do.”
Benny pulled a chair by the side of the one in which he was sitting, and without waiting for further invitation the dog leaped into it, content at being by the side of his young master, and making no effort to get at the food before him.
The crew watched with interest what was to them very much like a performance gotten up for their especial benefit, and during all the time Benny remained at the table Fluff behaved himself with the greatest propriety.
When the boy had satisfied his hunger he poured a saucer one third full of coffee, broke into it a small portion of bread, and Fluff immediately got down from the chair, knowing that his meal was ready.
While the dog was eating Sam Hardy exclaimed, as if the proceedings filled him with surprise:
“Well, he’s got more sense than I ever gave a dumb animal credit for havin’, an’ so far as I’m concerned, he’s welcome to sit at any table where I am.”
“We’ll give him a regular place by Benny’s side,” Tom Downey added, and thus were the two officially and formally received into the family of the life savers.
The new member of the crew did not wait to be told how he might make himself useful, but immediately after the meal was ended he set about clearing the table, washing dishes, and setting to rights the interior of the station.
The men watched him curiously while he moved quickly but noiselessly to and fro, until, having swept the floor, he began dusting the different articles of furniture, when Sam Hardy exclaimed emphatically:
“Mark my word, that lad will be a big addition to this ’ere place! He’s tidy, willing, an’ quiet; what more could we want?”
“I reckon he’ll do,” Keeper Downey replied in a tone of content, and straightway the members of the crew set about their several duties, satisfied that they had made no mistake in assuming the guardianship of Benny and Fluff.
The building was cleanly, when viewed from a man’s standpoint; but Benny, who had profited by the teachings of Mrs. Clark, saw very much which should be done, and from the time breakfast was over until late in the afternoon he did not spend an idle moment. As a matter of fact Fluff was equally busy; when not exhibiting his tricks for the amusement of the men, he was trudging to and fro at the heels of his young master as if superintending the labor, and blissfully ignorant of the fact that old Maje sat outside displaying no slight jealousy and anger because he had not been admitted to the mess-room according to custom.
“It stands to reason that the old dog will be a bit disagreeable at first,” Joe Cushing said, as he called attention to Maje in front of the tool-house. “We must introduce the two before long, and once they are friends it’ll be more lively for Fluff C. Foster.”
A ring at the telephone which connected the station with the neighboring city called Keeper Downey into the adjoining room, and after receiving a certain message he summoned Sam Hardy.
“The bodies are to be taken away this afternoon, Sam. The coroner says the undertaker’s team has already started, so we can count on its being here about sunset. Now there’s no good reason why that little shaver should see all the dismal work, for it would only bring all the sorrow back into his heart.”
“I go on patrol in half an hour; why wouldn’t it be a good idea to take him with me?”
“I’m afraid the tramp would be too long. You see he’s just come off shipboard, an’ isn’t in good trim for much walking.”
“Joe Cushing will come along, I reckon, an’ when the boy begins to tire, can come back with him.”
“That’s a good idea, Sam. See to it that he’s wrapped up well, and give him a lift over the roughest places.”
“Don’t be feered but that I’ll take good care of him. What about the dog? Old Maje will make short work of him if he ain’t watched sharp.”
“I’ll attend to that part of it, if Ben doesn’t want to take Fluff with him. Get ready, and don’t let Joe bring him back until the work here has been finished.”
The new member of the crew was scouring knives when Sam proposed that he go on the patrol, and from the expression on his face it could readily be seen that he was in favor of accepting the invitation; but after a brief time of hesitation Benny replied:
“I’d like to go, Mr. Hardy; but there’s so much to be done here that I can’t get away. It’ll be a good while before I’m through with this job.”
“Hark you, Benjamin: we count on your doing the odd chores about the station; but don’t reckon every minute is to be spent working. You’ve done enough for one day, so get your duds together, an’ we’ll see what may be needed; it’ll be a cold tramp along the coast while the wind is howlin’ at this rate.”
“Never mind that part of it, my son. I’ve spoken with the keeper, an’ he thinks it’ll do you good to take a spin out of doors. What about Fluff?”
“May I take him with me?”
“Sure; but I can’t say the wind won’t blow him away; it’s powerful strong, an’ he don’t carry much ballast.”
“He’ll be glad enough to stay in my arms most of the time,” Benny cried gleefully as he went in search of his reefer, which Joe Cushing, having been given a hint by Tom Downey as to what was proposed, had hung in front of the fire.
Had Benny taken all the clothing his “guardians” offered to loan, it would have been literally impossible for him to walk. He did accept, however, a pair of rubber boots many sizes too large, a woollen muffler, and a pair of mittens, and when these had been adjusted according to the advice of all hands, he looked like an animated bundle of clothing rather than a living boy.
Fluff was disposed of under the large reefer, and the party set out, Joe Cushing leading the way, with Sam Hardy walking by Benny’s side.
The boy observed that each of his companions put into his overcoat pocket a bar of wood, fashioned as if intended to be used as a handle, and three small packages looking not unlike sticks of soap, wrapped in paper. He afterward came to know that these last were Coston signals; that when a surfman finds it necessary to show a light, he inserts one of the packages or sticks into the wooden handle, and, striking it against a rock, or any hard substance, produces a brilliant light, many times more powerful than the ordinary “flare.”
In addition to these signals the men hung over their shoulders round leathern cases which looked much like the covering of a small clock or a large watch, and Sam Hardy said as they left the station:
“I’m allowin’, my son, you don’t understand the meanin’ of all this ’ere rigging; but keep your eyes open, an’ you’ll soon find out that we of the Service have more on hand than sittin’ ’round taking our ease, as a good many people credit us with doing.”
“Are you going out just for a walk?” Benny asked, finding it difficult to make his way against the strong, chilling wind which came in over the ocean.
“Yes, we’re out for a walk,” Joe Cushing replied with a hearty laugh; “but it ain’t for pleasure, my son. No matter what the weather is, we’re bound to be on the move from sunset until sunrise, watching for any craft that may be in distress.”
“A vessel couldn’t get into trouble on the coast to-night,” Benny said, with the air of one who is familiar with the subject.
“Very likely not; but yet it is our business to be on the watch day and night, because there’s never any telling when, or how, we may be needed, an’ saving life in a storm ain’t the only part of our work by a long ways, as you’ll come to know. I reckon we’re far enough from the station now, so there’s no fear of old Maje, an’ you can give Fluff C. Foster a little run.”
Benny brought the dog out from under his coat, and instantly he was on the ground Fluff set off, barking joyously because of being free; but before he had been left to his own devices twenty seconds he began to howl as if in alarm.
The wind was literally blowing the little fellow along, and, despite all his efforts, he was unable to make headway against it.
“Can’t hold his course,” Sam said with a laugh, “and the worst of it is that there’s no taking in sail with him. That long hair gives the wind a good hold, an’ I reckon young Foster will be glad to get under your coat again, Benny.”
Not until the dog had been blown landward over the slope of the bluff which bordered the sea, was his young master able to come up with him, and once more beneath the lad’s coat the little fellow manifested his pleasure at having been rescued from what probably seemed to him a dangerous position, by half growling, half whining, which Benny explained was “the way Fluff talked.”
“I counted on seeing heaps and heaps of snow,” the new member of the crew said in a tone of disappointment as he trudged on between his companions. “Of course the winter in Calcutta isn’t like what it is here, and I don’t remember much about the drifts of which mother often spoke.”
“There’s snow and to spare, just back of the timbered land,” Sam Hardy replied with a laugh, “an’ when you’re needin’ a sight of it mighty bad you can go over the hill beyond the lighthouses. Down here on the point, where the wind has full sweep, it’s mostly blown away. Now, for instance, lookin’ up from the station, I reckon you won’t see so much as would make a snowball of respectable size.”
“But we find it in spots down here,” Joe Cushing interrupted. “Back of the rocks the wind packs it into sheltered places, and although there’s none to be seen from the station door, we often come upon drifts three or four feet deep. It’s precious hard work draggin’ the beach-wagon then.”
Benny soon had an illustration of his companions’ statements. They had been walking over land whereon not a single fleck of white could be seen, when suddenly, coming upon a gully which was sheltered from the wind by the cliffs, they were floundering in a deposit of snow so deep that only with the greatest difficulty could the boy force his way through.
“It’s always a feast or a famine out here, lad,” Sam Hardy said grimly. “No snow whatever, or too much of it.”
Then he led the way across what might have been mistaken, save for the dead grass, for a summer landscape.
The little party were not far from the station when the men halted in front of a post to which was attached a small iron receptacle containing a key, fastened to a chain, and Sam said, as, removing his mittens, he took this out:
“Now you shall see, my son, the meaning of this ’ere bit of furniture we’re obliged to carry. A dishonest surfman might go a short distance from the station, find a snug loafing-place, and spend his time of duty there instead of patrolling the coast, if it wasn’t for the little telltale inside this case. We must be at certain places in order to get at the keys which fit the lock—in this wise.”
As he spoke Sam turned the key in what was seemingly a tiny lock on the leathern case.
“Inside is a sort of clock which makes a record whenever I turn the key. After we are back at the station Tom Downey can tell if I have visited all the points where the key is kept, and exactly what time I was there. It makes a record for him to look up, and is a satisfaction to me, because it proves I have done my whole duty.”
At nearly every point along the rugged coast Sam and Joe had some story to tell of disaster, or of saving life from the raging waters by the crew of which Benny had good reason now to consider himself a member.
Here, a schooner, having been dismasted, was thrown up on the hidden reef which makes out some distance from the land, and, during a furious storm when the sleet and hail cut into the flesh like needles, the life savers were forced to drag their apparatus through the snowdrifts from two to four feet deep, after which, by aid of the gun and the breeches-buoy, every man was saved.
There, three boys, whose yacht had been capsized by a sudden squall, would have drowned but for the vigilance of the patrol and the activity of the men who manned the life-boat, for the crew arrived at the scene only barely in time to save them from being dashed against the rocky cliffs.
It was as if every headland and cove had its own particular story concerning the perils of the sea, and the two surfmen, bent on so occupying the attention of their companion that he should not note the passage of time, gave to each incident such details as could not fail of arresting the lad’s attention, until to his surprise Sam Hardy said:
“I reckon, Joe, it’s time for you to take the lad back. It won’t do to give him too much of a tramp the first night. There’s no need of spinning all our yarns, for he’s like to be with us on many a tour of duty.”
“I’m neither tired nor cold,” Benny said, for this cutting short a most agreeable excursion was not to his liking, although he made no protest.
“It ain’t just the thing to drag you along here when there’s no real need of it, and I reckon you’d best turn back, my son. Joe will take you in behind the pines, where you can give Fluff C. Foster a chance to run, and by that time the frost will have a good firm hold on your nose.”
Then with a cheery “good-night” Sam continued on his lonely, difficult way.
Joe fulfilled the promise made for him by his comrade, and when, at nearly eight o’clock, they arrived within sight of the station, the surfman began shouting, much to the surprise of his companion.
“It’s all right; you can come in,” Keeper Downey replied at length, and Joe Cushing knew that those silent forms which had been lying in the boat-room were no longer at the station.
CHAPTER V.
FROM THE “AMAZONIA.”
Benny was astir very early next morning, eager to show the crew of the station that he appreciated to the utmost their generosity in thus giving him a home, and when the men came down to breakfast the cook declared that the boy had performed considerably more than half the work of preparing the meal.
“He’s a handy lad around a kitchen, an’ I’m thinkin’ we’ll be gettin’ the best of the bargain in adoptin’ him, providin’ he holds out as he’s begun,” the cook said confidentially to Sam Hardy, and the latter replied emphatically:
“You mark my words, cookee; he ain’t the kind of a lad who wears out quickly. I’m countin’ on his growin’ better every day, an’ before next winter we’ll make a surfman of him.”
“Now don’t take too many chances, Sam. That little shaver ain’t of the right build to knock around in rough water with the likes of you, an’ there’s too much danger in it for him.”
“I don’t agree with you there, cookee. He’s spry as a kitten, an’ with grit enough to do anything another can.”
“I’ll admit he’d make a try for it; but I don’t want to see him pushed too far.”
Benny’s entrance put an end to the conversation for the time being, and following him, as a matter of course, was Fluff C. Foster, who had become sufficiently well acquainted with the men to greet each in turn by sitting up and barking shrilly as he held out one paw.
Every man shook hands with the little fellow, after which he leaped up into the chair he had occupied the day previous.
“Knows his place like a little gentleman,” Joe Cushing cried in a tone of admiration as he stroked the dog’s silken hair, and Benny said apprehensively:
“I’m almost afraid Fluff will get so much petting that he’ll forget his good manners. This very morning he acted as if the whole station belonged to him.”
“What did he do, Benny?” Keeper Downey asked with a laugh.
“He was determined to walk straight out of doors, even though the big dog was sitting there waiting to teach him better manners.”
“Hasn’t he been out yet?”
“Oh, yes, sir. I carried him down by the shore where he could run around while I watched the other dog.”
“We must introduce him to Maje after breakfast,” Sam Hardy said, as he slyly gave Fluff a bit of meat, and laughed until the tears came into his eyes as he watched the little fellow trying to eat it without betraying the fact to Benny. “Fluff C. Foster has rights around this station as well as Maje, an’ they must be respected.”
“Don’t let the introduction take too long,” Keeper Downey said warningly. “It is beach-apparatus drill day, and too much time must not be wasted, because I’m counting on getting the boats out to have a look at what is left of the——”
He ceased speaking very suddenly as his gaze rested on Benny; but the crew understood that it was the keeper’s purpose to overhaul such portions of the Amazonia as yet remained upon the rocks, although it was hardly probable anything of value would be found.
After breakfast the cook would have excused Benny from the task of washing dishes, so eager were the men to witness the first meeting of the dogs; but the new member of the crew begged permission to perform his regular duties before indulging in what was very like play.
Not until the kitchen was put in proper order did Benny consider that he was at liberty to go out of doors, even though all the men, save the keeper himself, insisted that there was no good reason why he should not take advantage of the cook’s proposition.
Then, with Fluff under his arm, he went out back of the station buildings, where, in a spot sheltered from the wind, the crew was impatiently awaiting his arrival.
Maje was present, appearing calmly indifferent to the unusual amount of interest suddenly displayed in him, but he pricked up his ears ominously on seeing the white-haired visitor.
“Do you think there’s any danger he’ll hurt Fluff?” Benny asked solicitously.
“Don’t worry about that part of it,” Sam Hardy replied confidently. “Maje knows as well as we do that it’s his duty to be polite to strangers, an’ if he shows signs of forgettin’ it, we’ll give him a lesson that won’t soon be forgot.”
“Please don’t whip him, for then he’d always remember that Fluff got him into trouble, an’ never would be friendly.”
“Let young Foster down, an’ I’ll look after Maje,” Joe Cushing said as he grasped the big dog’s collar.
There was a look of anxiety on Benny’s face as he gave Fluff his freedom, and saw the little fellow walk directly up to Maje in the most reckless fashion.
The big dog condescended to sniff at the impudent visitor, and then he turned his head away, as if to say that such small game was entirely beneath his notice. Nor was it possible to persuade him into paying any further attention to the guest, and after several fruitless efforts Joe Cushing said with just a shade of disappointment in his tone:
“Your introduction hasn’t turned out much of an affair after all, Sam. I allowed we might see some sport.”
“I reckon Maje has seen Fluff too often, for I’ve caught him looking in when the doors were open. Most likely he’s made up his mind that young Foster has come to stay, an’ don’t intend to pay any attention to him. You can let your dog have the run of the station from this out Benny.”
It did really seem that there was no reason to fear Maje might be tempted to do mischief, and Benny turned to go into the building, for the lamps and lanterns were yet to be trimmed.
The men arose to attend to the varied duties of the day, and for an instant the attention of all was diverted from the animals.
It was as if Maje had been waiting for just such an opportunity. In a twinkling, and with an agility that one would hardly have given him credit for, he seized Fluff by the neck, tossing him like a ball several feet in the air.
This done, he walked away quickly, evidently knowing what would be the result if he lingered there many seconds.
Fluff howled dismally while he was yet in the air, and, once on his feet again, ran to Benny for protection, grumbling and whimpering as if making complaint against such uncourteous treatment.
Sam Hardy and Joe Cushing turned instantly to pursue Maje; but Benny, holding Fluff tightly in his arms, begged of them not to punish the big dog.
“Of course he’s jealous, an’ it’ll only make him worse if you whip him. Please let him alone; I’m certain Fluff isn’t hurt any.”
“He howled as if his throat was cut,” Sam said laughingly, as he relinquished the pursuit in accordance with Benny’s request, and Joe Cushing set about examining Fluff.
“He hasn’t got so much as a scratch,” was the report. “I reckon the worst that came to him was a big scare, an’ I don’t wonder at his bein’ a bit afraid after such a rough handling.”
“It’ll teach him to keep out of Maje’s way, and perhaps it’s a good thing, for he always was too inquisitive and impudent,” Benny replied, but he took good care his pet should not receive another lesson that forenoon, for he set his dog in a chair, sternly commanding him to remain there until further orders.
The cook was determined his assistant should have ample opportunity of witnessing the beach-apparatus drill, and as soon as the men had taken their stations he insisted upon Benny’s going into the boat-room, where everything was in readiness.
The beach-wagon is a two-wheeled vehicle not unlike a huge push-cart, and on it are loaded all the implements necessary for sending out to a wreck and hauling the distressed mariners ashore.
Both the boy and the dog appeared to be deeply interested when the wagon was drawn out on the level ground in the rear of the station, where was erected an imitation of a ship’s mast. A short distance from this spar the wagon was brought to a standstill, and out of it taken a small cannon. The crew loaded the weapon with powder and a missile to which was attached a thin line that had been wound on pegs in a wooden case known as a faking-box, in such fashion that it would unwind without resistance or snarling.
The cannon was aimed at the imitation mast, and discharged, the shot carrying the line directly across the top, where was a man standing to represent a mariner in distress.
The supposititious shipwrecked sailor drew in on the thin line as if working for life, and soon brought over the top a stouter rope, sufficient to sustain the weight of a human being.
When this had been made fast both on the spar and near the cart, the man was drawn down exactly as one would be pulled ashore from a wreck.
The work had been performed exactly as if human lives were really in danger, and Benny received his first lesson in life-saving, but not his last, for he soon had ample opportunity of seeing the crew work when it appeared as if both they and those whom they sought to save, would be swept into eternity by the angry waters.
After the apparatus had been repacked in the wagon, the casting-line carefully rewound on the pegs that it might be in perfect order when it should again be needed, and orders were given to make ready with the boat, Benny returned to the kitchen, where the cook was already at work preparing dinner.
“You’ll soon get used to that sort of thing, for it’s pretty much all drill out here, except when the weather is bad.”
“I should think they’d soon know it so well that there wouldn’t be any need of doing so much work,” Benny replied, as he set about paring the potatoes.
“They do,” the cook said with a laugh; “but just read these ’ere rules and regulations on ‘Drill and Exercise,’ an’ you’ll see that men at life-saving stations ain’t allowed to spend very much idle time. All that’s set down there is to be gone through with every day, in addition to patrolling the shore, which, as you have seen already, ain’t child’s play. Not that I’m grumblin’ about the work, for it’s well the boys are kept out of idleness; but this will show how hard they’ve got to work.”
The cook handed Benny a thin, black-covered book bearing the title Revised Regulations, and on the page exposed to view the lad read the lines given below:
“168. The following weekly routine of drill, etc., will be observed during the first month of the active season at all regularly manned stations in the Service:
“Monday.—Practice with beach-apparatus and overhaul and examine all apparatus and gear.
“Tuesday.—Practice with surf and life-boat.
“Wednesday.—Practice with signals.
“Thursday.—Practice with beach-apparatus.
“Friday.—Practice resuscitation.
“Saturday.—Clean house.
“After the first month the practice with beach-apparatus on Monday may be omitted.
“169. Whenever the regular practice is prevented by wreck duty, stormy weather, or high surf, it must take place the first opportunity thereafter. Whenever practice is so prevented, the fact must be entered upon the journal, with full particulars of the cause.
“170. No wilful neglect on the part of the keepers to practice their crews, as directed in the foregoing routine, will be tolerated, and the officers of the district are required to permit none.
“171. By practice with the beach-apparatus is meant the mustering of the crew, the recital by each member of his particular duty, and the rigging of the gear over a distance of seventy-five yards from sand-anchor to wreck-pole, according to the method set forth in the beach-apparatus drill. Powder must be used in every case, and the practice, so far as practicable, be precisely the same as at a wreck, using the apparatus upon the carriage, excepting the long whip. If necessary, to preserve the hawser, a coil of rope may be taken to the practice ground, and placed at the rear of the carriage, and used in its stead. If a practising shot-line is used, it must be removed from pins, and fired from the box precisely as in actual service. The use of powder will be dispensed with when the supply on hand is reduced to three pounds, at which time the district superintendent or resident assistant inspector will be notified.
“172. Boat practice will consist in launching and landing through the surf, and at least one half-hour’s exercise of the men in handling their oars, as directed in the prescribed boat-drill. Going off and landing through the surf will not be sufficient to enter upon the journal as practice.
“173. Practice of resuscitation will consist in each member of the crew repeating the rules, as hereinafter provided, using the words of the book, and afterwards illustrating them by manipulations upon the succeeding member of the crew. Thus, the keeper will work upon Surfman No. 1, No. 1 upon No. 2, etc., and No. 7 upon the keeper. At the close of this exercise the keeper will open the medicine-chest, and question each man upon the uses of the remedies contained therein.
“174. Practice with the International Code Signals will consist in questions by the keeper to each member of the crew upon the colors of the different flags, the definitions of the two-, three-, and four-flag hoists and the distinguishing flag or pennant of each, the part of the code-book necessary to turn to when reading and when making a signal, etc., and in actual conversation or communication by means of the miniature signals provided for each station.
“175. In fine weather signals and books may be borrowed for one day from the adjacent station, and by erecting a temporary pole, the crew practised in the use of flags, which will fix the method of their use in the mind more effectively than any other practice.
“176. No departure from the prescribed drill for the use of the beach-apparatus in any of its details will be made by district superintendents or other officers without the sanction of the General Superintendent, previously obtained.”
Benny read all this carefully, as if trying to fix the whole upon his memory, and then asked:
“What is the ‘active season’?”
“That’s when we begin work in the fall. You must know that all the crew don’t stay here during the summer. The active season is from September 1st to May 1st; but the keeper holds on the year round.”
“Are you a surfman?” Benny asked after a pause.
“No, my son, I’m only the cook, and hired by the men, instead of the Government, so you see I don’t come in for all these long hours. My work is no harder in stormy weather, while then it is that every other man is on duty all the time. I have seen this same crew worked forty hours on a stretch, wet to the skin and half frozen, with never a single word of complaint. They are just putting off in the surf-boat, and I reckon it would be worth your while to watch them, Benny. We’ve got the dinner so far along that there’s nothing to be done for a spell, so you and Fluff C. Foster had best stay out in the open air while you can.”
The lad had a strong desire to see the crew afloat, otherwise he might not have taken advantage of the permission while there was any work to be performed.
Fluff had remained in the chair like an obedient dog that he could be when so disposed; but he came down after the fashion of an exceedingly small and very white whirlwind at the first word from his master.
“Be careful that old Maje ain’t layin’ anywhere outside on the watch,” the cook cried; but Benny believed there was no necessity for him to be over-cautious regarding the safety of his pet. Fluff’s experience with the big dog had been such that he did not intend giving Maje another opportunity of playing ball with him; he marched sedately and very close at Benny’s heels from the station, down to that point on the shore overlooking the reef on which the Amazonia had gone to pieces.
It was the first time the lad had seen the wreck of the ship which served him as a home during so many months, because every member of the crew had taken especial care to prevent his wandering in that direction.
On this morning the men most likely believed Benny would be employed in the kitchen, and, perhaps, expected the cook would prevent him from going out on the shore; but if the latter had thought of the matter at all, it was probably with the idea that the boy must at some time see the small portion of the ship which remained on the rocks, and as well then as at any other.
At all events, he allowed his assistant to go out as has been seen, and instantly Benny came in view of these vestiges of disaster all the sorrow of the past came over him like a flood, drowning for the time being every other thought save of that night, when he alone out of all the ship’s company came safely to land.
Seated upon the rocks he buried his face in Fluff’s silken hair, and gave way once more to his grief. Then, the outburst of tears having in a measure soothed him, he looked out upon the frowning reef whereon the Amazonia ended her cruise.
The forward portion of the dismembered hull, with the foremast still standing, and a few timbers of the after portion, was all that remained to tell of the stately vessel which had plowed her way through so many oceans only to meet with disaster when virtually within sight of the home port.
“It won’t do for us to be crying all the time, Fluff, else the crew will get tired, and think perhaps we’d better find some other job; but we shall keep on feeling sorry just so long as we live because the captain and Mrs. Clark didn’t come ashore with us.”
It was his own words which reminded Benny of the fact that the bodies of those who had been drowned would, in the ordinary course of events, be washed ashore, and at the very moment this came into his mind he saw the life-saving crew taking from the wreckage what was unquestionably a human body.
“Oh, Fluff, Fluff, it may be our captain that they have found! We can’t stay here and see them bring him ashore!”
Hugging the dog so tightly that the little fellow uttered a low cry of protest, Benny ran back to the station, and there it was necessary to explain to the cook why his eyes were red and swollen from weeping.
“No, my son, it’s not the captain’s body they have found, for that was carried into the city last night, together with the remains of his wife and some of the sailors. You were sent out on patrol with Sam Hardy and Joe Cushing so you shouldn’t see what was being done; but it had to be known, and now it is as good a time as any other for you to be told.”
Benny tried unsuccessfully to check his tears, and the cook, observing the struggle, said in a kindly tone:
“Look here, lad; you’ve had in your short life a good bit of sadness, an’ it ain’t to be wondered at that this last blow comes mighty tough. Now take my advice, and have a solid cry. Go back into the thicket, for there’s no need of your seein’ what the crew will bring ashore, if it so be you were not mistaken about what was taken from the wreck. Go back into the thicket with the dog, and stay there till I call you for dinner. It’ll help you out, and prevent some ugly sights.”
Benny hesitated. This running away from work in order to spare himself additional sorrow was not to his mind manly, and he feared lest those who had constituted themselves his guardians might censure him for so doing.
“I can’t help feeling bad; but that ain’t any reason why I shouldn’t stay where I belong, for no matter how much work I do, it won’t be possible to pay Fluff’s board and mine. I think perhaps I ought to hold on right here.”
“Do as I tell you, my boy. I’ll explain to the men when they come in, and you may be certain that the keeper himself would give the same advice in the form of an order, if he was ashore. There’s no reason to take more bitter things in this life than is necessary; so be off with you, and I’ll answer for it that Fluff C. Foster won’t object to a tramp through the woods.”
Benny could do no less than act upon this suggestion, which was at the same time a command, and with Fluff under his arm he set off, not daring to turn his head seaward lest he should see the crew engaged in their gruesome work.
Once within the shelter of the pine trees, where patches of brown moss could be seen here and there, much to the delight of Fluff, Benny gave way to his gloomy thoughts until the antics of the dog, overjoyed at having this opportunity for a scamper after so many months of life on shipboard, aroused him from his mournful revery.
Then, and he blamed himself most severely for finding it possible to do other than mourn at such a time, he yielded to the dog’s mute entreaties, and the two ran here and there under the trees, the low moaning of the murderous surf alone breaking the silence, until the cook’s cries told that the noon-day meal was ready.
When Benny answered the summons the boat-room door was closed, and he believed this had been done to shut out from view those forms which had come ashore from the Amazonia.
CHAPTER VI.
ROUTINE DUTY.
During the three days which elapsed after the crew began work on the wreck Benny found sufficient with which to occupy his time.
From early morning until after dinner he was engaged in the kitchen, or in setting to rights the different apartments of the station, and the result of his work was soon apparent. Never before during the active season had the interior of the building been so cleanly, and the men were delighted with the agreeable change.
“You’re what might be called an A 1 housekeeper, Benjamin,” Tom Downey said one day as he returned to the station unexpectedly and found the lad washing the floor of the sleeping room. “All hands of us turn to and clean up once a week, according to the rules and regulations, but somehow we don’t get it as neat as you do, and it’s littered up in great shape forty-eight hours later. Now, everything is bright and clean as a new pin, and I reckon we’re gettin’ the best of this guardianship business.”
“I’m glad if you think I’m paying our board, sir,” Benny replied, pleased because of the praise bestowed upon him.
“You’re doing more than that, my lad, an’ we must hit upon some plan of squaring matters. A lad who takes it upon himself to see that our outside clothing is properly dried after we come in from a day’s work is worth considerably more than what he and an imitation dog can eat, to say nothing of the other duties you have assumed.”
“If you’ll be as pleased to have me here as I am to stay, it’ll be a big thing for Fluff an’ me, sir.”
“I allow matters are about in that shape already, and we’ll see if something in the way of an allowance can’t be made for the extra work you’re doing.”
“Do you mean that you’ll pay me money, sir?”
“That’s what the boys are talking about. You see we count on your going to school next season, and you must have a nest-egg before then, in order to pay your way.”
“I’d rather it shouldn’t be done, sir,” Benny replied gravely. “It’s mighty good of you to say I’m helpin’ along; but I’m sure this kind of work isn’t worth more than our board. If the men would be willing to teach me the rules of the service, and let me join in the drill sometimes, I’d be glad.”
“What’s your idea in doing that, Benjamin?”
“If I knew how to handle a boat in the surf, and could go through the drill, perhaps I might get a job as a surfman.”
Tom Downey laughed loudly, until noting the red flush which crept over the lad’s face, when he checked his mirth suddenly, as he said seriously:
“You’re not much bigger than a peanut, Benny, and I’m afraid you wouldn’t cut any figger in a boat.”
“But I’m bound to grow, sir. Of course I couldn’t do anything of the kind now, but after a spell perhaps I’ll be big enough.”
“Why do you want to get into the service, lad? Every member of a crew takes his life in his hand when there’s work to be done, and you’ve already had a chance to see that the duties are not only dangerous, but severe.”
“Yes, sir; but whenever you save a man from drowning it must make you feel mighty good, and that squares up for all the hard work. I’d rather be a regular member of the crew than anything else.”
“That comes of your having been thrown among us; but once you go out into the world you’ll have different ideas.”
“I’ve seen quite a bit of it already, sir, and never thought so much of what I might be able to do,” Benny replied meekly.
“I’ll admit, lad, that you’ve knocked around considerable for one of your age—seen more of the world than any of us; but—I’ll tell you what it is, Benny, you shall learn the drill, and when spring comes we’ll show you how to handle a boat, although I’m not certain any of the crew would agree to your entering this branch of the service.”
The conversation came to an end at this point for the time being, so far as Benny was concerned; but when Tom Downey had an opportunity of speaking privately with the crew, he repeated all that had been said, treating the matter as if it gave him no slight degree of pleasure because the lad was inclined to enter the service.
“I’ll answer for it he shall know how to handle a surf-boat ’twixt now and next summer,” Sam Hardy said decidedly. “That boy has got sand, an’ a good deal of it, else he’d never worked in as he has here.”
“If his mind is set on such a life, I’m another as will help the little whifflet along,” Joe Cushing added with a laugh, and although no lengthy discussion was indulged in at the time, all the crew appeared to consider it as settled that Benny should be instructed in the duties of life-saving.
It is not to be supposed that the boy worked every moment of daylight. After the dishes used at dinner had been washed, the cook insisted that he go out of doors with Fluff, and the pine grove was his favorite playground. Here, despite the cold weather, he roamed to and fro while the dog chased imaginary squirrels and his own shadow, until the frosty air drove both inside the station again.
It was while he was enjoying his “outing” that the bodies lately recovered from the Amazonia were removed by the coroner, and Benny asked no questions concerning them. There was in his mind the fear that by speaking of the wreck, when it would be impossible to control his sorrow, he might displease those who were so kind, and all this he kept a secret from every one save Fluff.
When he was alone with the dog, however, and the moaning and roaring of the surf told of what had been done on that forbidding coast, he poured out all his heart to Fluff, and those who had gone into the Unknown from the decks of the Amazonia had at least one sincere mourner.
Each evening Benny accompanied one or the other of the men on patrol duty, and appeared to take the liveliest interest at all times in watching for signs of some craft in distress. At every convenient opportunity during the day he visited the lookout on the bluff, and when not otherwise engaged pored over the regulations of the service until, as Joe Cushing said, he believed the lad “could come near to repeating every word in the book.”
During three days of pleasant weather the crew brought on shore the little which could be saved from what remained of the Amazonia, and the men had settled down to a round of routine duty.
It was Sam Hardy’s turn to begin the patrol work of the night, and, much to Benny’s satisfaction, he called upon the lad to accompany him.
“I’m thinkin’ it will be your last chance for some time, according to the indications, and I’ll set myself down as a Dutchman if we don’t have a blow ’twixt now and mornin’ that will go ahead of anything you ever saw on this coast.”
Now that Fluff C. Foster was well acquainted with the members of the crew, Benny did not consider it necessary to carry his pet whenever he went out, therefore the dog was left behind, and, well wrapped in thick clothing, Benny set off, having received the assurance from Sam that he would be allowed to share in the entire four hours of duty.
The wind had increased in force until it was difficult to make one’s way over the bold headlands through the snow, and more than once did Sam Hardy find it necessary to seek a shelter while he rested from the severe labor.
An unusually vigilant watch was kept over the broad expanse of waters, for this was a time when the life savers along the coast knew their services would most likely be needed. There would probably be some vessels, through carelessness, ignorance, or mishap, in distress, and whatever of peril might await them, the men of the service must be prepared to put off in their boats for a battle with the raging waters.
“This wind is gettin’ into shape for a regular tearer,” Sam said when the two, partially sheltered by the rocks, stood peering out over the heaving waters. “Them as are outside to-morrow morning will do well to see that they have plenty of sea-room.”
Already had the first particles of snow begun to fall, and the air was rapidly growing colder.
“It ain’t often we have two big storms so near together; but it’s coming this time, an’ I’m mistaken if we don’t have plenty of work before the sun sets to-morrow.”
“It doesn’t seem possible you could see very far after it begins to snow.”
“We can’t, lad, an’ that’s a fact; but I allow our eyes do better service than those that haven’t been trained to the work. There’s Dick Sawyer, for instance, he’s by far the best man among us in this kind of work. I’ve been with him when it seemed as if he smelled a vessel, for he’s struck his signal when I couldn’t see six inches before my nose, an’ I never knew him to go wrong. But we can’t loaf here much longer if we count on covering our beat in the regulation time.”
It was as if the storm had begun without warning. The first particles had no more than fallen when the air seemed thick with swirling wreaths that struck the skin like needle-points, and were forced by the increasing wind through every aperture in one’s clothing.
Benny found it necessary to shield his eyes, because of the pain caused by the icy particles, and could give little heed to his footsteps, but followed directly behind his companion.
Sam, on the contrary, appeared to suffer no especial inconvenience; he kept constant watch over the sea, although at times it was necessary to cover his eyes, and breasted his way against the wind as if finding real pleasure in the struggle.
“I’m sorry you came to-night, lad,” he said when they paused for an instant. “My idea was that this flurry would hold off till past midnight, or you wouldn’t have had a chance to show your nose outside the station.”
“I’d been sorry if you hadn’t let me come, ’cause I’ll never make any fist at being a surfman by staying under cover all the time.”
“It ain’t my plan to coddle you up, Benjamin; but at the same time there’s no good reason why you should get it quite so tough at the start. You won’t learn much——”
Sam paused as, sheltering his eyes, he gazed steadily seaward, and Benny tried in vain to discover what had thus attracted his companion’s attention.
During fully a minute the surfman stood immovable as a statue, regardless of the howling wind and stinging snow, and then muttered half to himself, as he drew from his pocket one of the Coston signals:
“The work has begun sooner than I counted on.”
“What do you mean?” Benny asked anxiously.
“There’s a three-masted schooner less than a mile away, I should say, and doing her best to crawl off from the land.”
Benny strained his eyes to pierce the fleecy cloud which enveloped him; but nothing save the swirling wreaths could be distinguished.
“I can’t make out anything,” he exclaimed in a tone of regret.
“And it ain’t to be wondered at, lad. Wait until you’ve been on patrol duty a dozen nights like this, and you’ll find it a different matter. I can see the schooner now an’ then, an’ allow she’s got a fore-staysail, reefed foresail, and spanker set; but don’t seem to be crawling off very fast. We’ll let her know that the crew at this station ain’t asleep.”
While speaking he had inserted the signal in its wooden handle, and as he concluded, struck it sharply against a rock.
There was a crackling and spitting of fire for an instant, after which the light burned out with apparently almost as much brilliancy as that displayed from the lighthouse a short distance away, and the glare literally blinded Benny.
When it died away the night seemed yet darker than before, and the lad peered straight ahead in the direction pointed out by Sam until he fancied he saw a tiny flare appear and disappear at brief intervals.
“They have seen us,” Sam said in a tone of satisfaction. “That wisp of flame was their answer, and I allow by its having been given so quickly that all hands understand they’d better have headed for deep water sooner. Word must be taken to the station, and I’m doubtful about leavin’ here. I wonder could you find your way back, Benny?”
“Of course I could, and I’ll be mighty glad of the chance to try. What shall I tell the keeper?”
“I am not so certain that I’ve got any right to let you take the chances, for in this storm a lad who is green at the business can easily get bewildered.”
“I shan’t,” Benny replied quickly. “Please let me go, Mr. Hardy, for it’ll show that I can be of some little help in the work, and perhaps the men will think I may be a surfman in time, even if I am small.”
“You shall make the venture, my boy. Do you hear that whistle now and then?”
“I have been hearing it for some time, sir. There must be a steamer near by.”
“Why, bless your soul, Benny, haven’t you found out by this time that there’s a steam fog-horn near the lighthouse. I counted on their setting it going when this smother first gave signs of coming.”
Benny remembered now that the cook had pointed out to him a small brick building painted white, which had at one side a curiously shaped funnel, and told him this last was the fog-horn; but other matters were occupying his mind at the time, and he gave little heed to the information.
“Keep straight on after that sound,” Sam said as he saw to it that Benny’s coat was closely buttoned. “Don’t try to travel too fast, for there’s plenty of time. Even if that craft comes to grief, she won’t strike inside of an hour. When you get to the station there’s nothing to be done save tell the keeper what we’ve seen, and that the schooner lays off Skinner’s Point.”
“Shall I come back, sir?”
“Come back through this storm, Benny? Why, you’re crazy! There’s such a thing as learning a surfman’s duties; but attempting to find me out here in this swirl ain’t one of ’em. Even if I was fool enough to say you might try it, the rest of the crew would take good care you didn’t get outside the station again. Now be off, lad, and keep your wits well about you. Remember that you’ll bring up nearabout the building if you follow the sound of the whistle.”