Chapter XV: Lively Work

When Sam Hardy and Benny returned to the life-saving station no mention was made regarding the misadventure on board the wreck, although the former described in detail to his comrades all he had seen on or around the steamer.

Benny’s greatest fear was lest the cook might question him so closely that it would become necessary to remain silent or betray the secret, and then the crew would understand that the two had had some unpleasant experience.

Fortunately, however, all hands applied to Sam for information, and he was able to lead the conversation into some other channel whenever anything was said regarding the hold of the steamer.

Then some sailors from one of the tugs came into the station, and the crew no longer showed any desire to learn what Hardy and No. 8 had seen, much to the relief of the latter.

Benny and Fluff spent several hours during the afternoon with the lookout on the hill, and when Keeper Downey hove in sight the lad walked slowly toward the station, whispering to the dog in his arms:

“It won’t do, Fluffy to rush right up the minute Mr. Downey gets back and ask to see the uniform; but I do hope it won’t be very long before he shows us what he has brought.”

By the time Benny arrived at the boat-house door the keeper was mooring his dory, and a few moments later the lad saw him step ashore with a package in his arms so large that it hid at least half of his body from view.

“He has really brought the clothes, Fluffy, and it oughtn’t to be such a dreadful while before we can look at them, because supper won’t be ready for two hours, and he’ll have nothing else to do except show all hands what the tailor has made.”

Benny was not kept long in suspense. As Tom Downey approached the building he cried to the expectant lad:

“Come into the mess-room, No. 8; I’ve brought home all your finery, and the crew will be wantin’ to see how you look in the uniform.”

Benny answered the summons hastily, and Fluff ran at his heels barking shrilly, as if he had some personal interest in that which the keeper was carrying.

With the exception of Robbins, who was acting as lookout, every member of the crew was awaiting Tom Downey’s arrival when he entered, looking particularly cheerful.

“I’ve got all I went for, and a little besides,” he said, still holding the package in his arms. “What’s more, I haven’t taken advantage of you fellows by looking at the toggery. It was wrapped up when I got to the tailor’s, and beyond the little he told me, I know no more about what’s inside the paper than you do. Now I propose that Benny take this bundle, go up-stairs, put on the uniform, and dazzle us all by suddenly appearing as a full-fledged life-saver.”

“That’s the way to fix it!” Sam Hardy cried enthusiastically. “Get along, No. 8, an’ don’t spend too much time primpin’, for we’re achin’ to get a sight of you in brass buttons.”

Benny did as he was bidden, and a few moments after he had disappeared up the stairway those below heard an exclamation of astonishment, followed an instant later by the question:

“What’s that other thing, Mr. Downey?”

“The tailor said he’d put in something on his own account for Fluff. Try it on and send him down.”

The crew were wholly at a loss to understand the meaning of this brief conversation until the dog came down-stairs at full speed, yelping and barking as if in the highest state of excitement and pleasure.

A roar of laughter burst from the men when the little fellow sat up on his tail in the centre of the room, as if asking that he be admired. Over his silken white hair was strapped a tiny, blue broadcloth blanket, on the two rear corners of which was worked in white silk the letters “L. S. S.,” so disposed as to form a fanciful monogram.

“Three cheers for No. 9!” Joe Cushing cried, and this was responded to with such good-will that Fluff hurriedly ran back to his master, thoroughly frightened by the noisy demonstration.

“Don’t he look great?” Benny cried, and Tom Downey replied with a laugh:

“Indeed he does, lad; but you needn’t stay up there admiring him, for we’re more anxious to see your rig.”

Then, moving slowly and shyly, as if almost ashamed of his fine feathers, Benny made his appearance on the stairs, and it was an exclamation of genuine admiration with which he was greeted. The little fellow looked manly in the neatly fitting suit of blue, bedecked with brass buttons, and very proud withal, for, although he considered himself a member of the crew, the fact had never seemed so real to him as at this moment when he was attired as a life saver.

The deep crimson blood came into his cheeks as he stood before the men, in obedience to orders, turning here and there as one or the other dictated, and listening all the while to words of praise and genuine admiration.

“It’s all right, No. 8,” Sam Hardy said at length. “I was almost afraid that tailor might rig you out like a jumping-jack, with a lot of folderols that had no place on a life saver’s uniform; but he’s gone straight with the orders I gave him, an’ the job couldn’t be improved on.”

“Don’t forget that you’re to go into town with me when next I have leave of absence,” Joe Cushing cried, and then some one called attention to Fluff, who was sitting on the topmost step, still clad in uniform, wagging his tail vigorously as if asking whether it would be safe for him to venture down.

“Call your partner, No. 8, an’ let’s see how the two of you look together.”

During fully five minutes Benny and Fluff were forced to walk here or there in order that the men might have good opportunity for seeing them in all possible lights, and then Mr. Downey suggested that the lad show himself in civilian’s garb.

No. 8 obeyed very readily, almost glad to escape from that atmosphere of praise, and when he next appeared it was in a suit of clothes such as any well-dressed boy ten or twelve years of age would be expected to display.

A blue blouse with a rolling collar, sailor-fashion, knickerbockers, stockings, and a jacket of the same color, the clothing trimmed neatly with white braid, made of him, as Dick Sawyer said, “a perfect little gentleman.”

“You look best in whichever you happen to have on when you heave in sight,” Sam Hardy said admiringly. “Ain’t it goin’ to be quite a come-down to get into your old pea-jacket an’ sou’wester?”

“I’ll feel more like myself then,” Benny said emphatically. “It don’t seem right for me to be dressed up so fine, and most likely it ain’t.”

“There’s nothin’ too good for you, accordin’ to my way of thinkin’, No. 8, so don’t get such queer ideas into your head. How does young Mr. Foster feel about it?”

“Do you know, I believe he’s proud of his blanket? I tried to take it off before we came down, and he growled terribly.”

“It’ll be a good thing for him when the weather is biting cold, an’ you’d better let him wear it a spell.”

Then Benny went up-stairs again in order to change his clothes once more, preparatory to assisting the cook, and a stranger would have found it difficult to decide whether the boy or the crew of men were most pleased because of the new clothes.

During the four days which followed the arrival of the uniform, No. 8 was kept busily employed about the station, except during such times as he went on patrol with Sam Hardy.

Because of the wreckers in the vicinity, and the many visitors who came to see the stranded steamer, it seemed as if the buildings were thronged with strangers during the greater portion of each day, and when the lad was not at work in the kitchen, he found quite as much as he could conveniently do in “cleaning up” after the careless ones, who appeared to think it would make little difference to a “crew of men” if a greater or less amount of mud or snow was brought in on the cleanly scrubbed floors.

“If the steamer ain’t hauled off mighty soon, No. 8 will wear himself down to skin an’ bone, trying to make the place look tidy,” Dick Sawyer said after a party of slovenly visitors had taken their departure. “It makes me tired to see him running around from mornin’ till night with a swab in his hands, an’ ten minutes after he’s scrubbed every board clean, a fresh layer of dirt is brought in.”

“He’ll get a rest by to-morrow, I’m thinking,” Joe Cushing replied, “an’ it wouldn’t surprise me such a terrible sight if all the wreckers’ work was undone before twenty-four hours go by.”

“We may get a little blow from the eastward, but I ain’t countin’ on anything that can be called a storm,” Dick said carelessly as he followed No. 8 into the oil-room.

Before night had come there were many in and around the station who shared Joe Cushing’s opinion as to the weather.

Everything about the wreck was made as snug as possible; extra hawsers were run out, the hatches battened down, and the lighters anchored in deep water.

Instead of lying off the cove when the day’s work was done, the tugs ran over to the city, and all the small boats were hauled up beyond reach of the waves.

Sam Hardy was the first to go on patrol this night, and, as a matter of course, Benny accompanied him, for since the affair in the hold of the steamer the surfman had appeared more than usually eager for the companionship of his young comrade.

“We’re gettin’ the fat of the work this night,” Hardy said as the two left the building.

“What do you mean by that? Ain’t we going to stay out the full four hours?”

“Indeed we are, lad; but the wind won’t get up much before midnight, an’ when it does come I’m thinkin’ it will bring rain.”

“Then you believe as Mr. Cushing does?”

“I’m not lookin’, as Joe is, for anything very heavy, but allow it won’t be pleasant for the patrol who comes after us.”

Save that the wind was blowing freshly, Benny saw no indications of a storm, and whatever might have been the appearance of the sky, it would have had no meaning for him after Sam Hardy delivered his opinion.

Their beat led them past where the stranded steamer lay, now considerably more than half unloaded, and at this point a long halt was made.

As yet the surf had not risen, although the wind had been steadily increasing in force since sunset, and the lighters rose and fell on the gentle swell with but little tugging at their cables. White foam around the wreck told that the rising tide was churning against her sides; but with no more force than while the wreckers had been at work.

To Benny, particularly after hearing Hardy’s opinion, there was no reason for the life savers to feel disturbed in mind, and, when the tour of duty having come to an end, he returned to the station, it was with the belief that the repose of the crew would be undisturbed.

He was exceedingly tired, as he had been every night since the stranded steamer attracted so many visitors, and went to bed immediately after entering the building, failing to observe what at another time might have drawn his attention--that every member of the crew yet remained in the mess-room as if anticipating a sudden call to duty.

It seemed to him that he must have been asleep several hours when Fluff’s shrill barking aroused him, and, sitting bolt upright in bed he observed, much to his surprise, that none of the men, with the exception of the cook, who regularly retired at an early hour, had been in the sleeping-room.

Covering Fluff’s mouth to still his barking, Benny listened.

It was evident Joe Cushing had just come in from patrol, and was making a report of rather an alarming nature.

“In addition to the laboring of the steamer, one of the lighters appears to be dragging anchor, and if she sweeps down upon the stranded craft there’ll be no more work for the wreckers.”

Benny was out of bed in an instant, for he knew that the crew would set about repairing the mischief without delay, and it was not his intention to be left behind.

Dressing hurriedly, he descended the stairs just as the men were putting on their oiled clothing, and without comment he began following their example.

“Hello, No. 8, what are you about?” the keeper asked.

“Ain’t the crew going out, sir?”

“Yes; but not on what you might call life-saving work. It’s only a ’longshore job of caring for lighters, with more hard work than glory in it. We may be knocking around from one of those tubs to the other until daylight, and it’ll be wiser for you to stay under cover.”

Benny immediately removed the coat he had put on; but it could readily be seen that he was sorely disappointed at thus being advised to remain in the station, for advice from the keeper was to him nothing less than a positive command.

“It’ll grieve him mightily to be here while we’re at work,” Sam Hardy whispered to Mr. Downey, and the latter replied:

“It’s easier for him to feel sorry than to be knocking around with us all night, for I’m thinkin’ this is a job that ain’t soon to be ended.”

“It won’t be as hard for him as to stay here with the cook. No. 8 ain’t a lad who’s afraid of work, as he’s shown us every day since he came.”

Tom Downey hesitated a moment, and then said slowly, as does one who is not certain that he speaks wisely:

“If you had rather take the chances with us, when we’re setting out to do nothing more than get a lot of scows into shape, come along, Benny. It was only in order to save you a long spell of hard work that I proposed you should stay behind.”

“If it don’t make any difference to you, sir, I’d much rather go,” Benny replied in a low tone. “It wouldn’t seem that I really was No. 8 if the crew went away without me.”

“Get into your oil-skins, since you’re so greedy for hard work, lad, an’ we’ll start. You’ll see this night the dullest piece of drudgery that life savers were ever put to.”

Benny’s face was actually aglow with pleasure when this permission had been given, and before the foremost of the crew could leave the mess-room he was clad in his oiled clothing, eager to share whatever might be the portion of his comrades.

To the boy’s delight, the life-boat was to be used for the work. He had never been on board of her, and it would indeed have seemed hard had this opportunity been denied him.

Not until the buoyant craft had been pulled out beyond the point did No. 8 realize that in his weather predictions Sam Hardy had made a failure. The wind was blowing freshly from the northeast, the rain was falling, and the waves had risen until the heavy boat was flung about like a cork.

The crew plied their oars in silence; all evidently looked upon the work of securing the lighters in exactly the same light as did Tom Downey--as drudgery,--and there was nothing to animate them. If a vessel with a crew on board had been in distress, each man would have been on the alert and eager, straining every muscle without thought of fatigue, instead of which they were now dispirited.

Not until they were within fifty yards of the lighter which lay nearest the point, could Benny distinguish any object on the rolling waters, and then he began to understand how difficult a task had the crew taken upon themselves.

The huge fabrics, hardly more than scows, were wallowing in the waves, sending up great clouds of spray when the seas broke with a noise like thunder under the square bows or sterns, and the lad, ignorant though he was regarding such work, knew full well that it would be more difficult to board one of the hulks than to clamber over the rail of an ordinary wreck.

The order was given to “cease rowing,” and as the oars were held firmly in the water to prevent the life-boat from being blown at the mercy of the wind, Keeper Downey studied how he might best accomplish the difficult task.

“They are all dragging their anchors,” he said after a brief silence.

“Yes, and would in this shallow water, no matter what weight of metal they had out,” Dick Sawyer grumbled. “If the wreckers are willing to leave their hulks on such a shore as this, without so much as a single man aboard, it would serve them right to lose the whole boiling.”

“We’ve got to board that lighter!” Downey finally exclaimed, giving no heed to Dick’s grumbling. “It won’t be a nice job, boys, but must be done, else those hulks will be driven down upon the steamer. Stand by, 1, 2, 4, and 5,” he added, designating the men by their numbers.

No protest was made, although the life savers knew they were ordered to far more dangerous work than would be theirs if human lives were to be wrested from the waters.

The men referred to hauled in their oars, and the remainder of the crew, Benny doing his best with the heavy implement Sam had been wielding, worked the life-boat around until she was to leeward of the lighter.

“Jump when I give the word, and then slack away on the cables. Look around for spare anchors! If any be found, heave them out; but remember that you must work lively! Are you ready? jump!”

The four men leaped as one, and the life-boat was hurled back by the impetus until a dozen yards of water tumbled between her and the lighter.

A long sigh of relief escaped from Benny’s lips as he saw that his comrades had gained a safe footing on the rolling, pitching hulk, and then it was necessary that he give his undivided attention to working the oar, lest the waves should wrest it from his grasp.

Downey’s purpose was to keep the life-boat under the lee of the lighter to lessen the labor of his men, and even this was an extremely difficult matter, for the sea increased in violence momentarily, while there were but three men and a boy at the oars.

Hardy, Cushing, Sawyer, and Henderson were the men detailed for the work of securing the heavy hulk, and there were none among the crew stronger or more able to perform the task, yet it was soon seen that they were working at a great disadvantage owing to lack of numbers.

“There are no spare anchors here!” Hardy cried out after he had been on board the unwieldy craft ten minutes or more. “There’s only an apology for a windlass, an’ I question if it won’t go by the board before many hours.”

“Give her more scope, for it’s all we can do, and get on board again smartly; the lighter nearest inshore is dragging badly,” Downey shouted in reply.

As was afterward learned, the men had but just loosened the carelessly laid turns from the shaky windlass when a huge sea lifted the stern of the lighter high in the air, and, passing forward, allowed the heavy after part to drop into the trough of the sea with a snap that would have tested the timbers of a strong vessel.

Those on board the life-boat heard a crashing and rending as of wood; saw the huge hulk rise again on a wave, and then came the cry from Joe Cushing:

“The windlass has gone!”

Even as he spoke it seemed as if the heavy fabric, lifting such a height of side against the wind that it acted as a sail, literally leaped forward directly upon the life-boat.

“Stern all! Lively, boys! Lively!”

Benny laid all his strength against the huge oar, and yet he could not push it back so much as an inch; but his efforts might have been of some avail in connection with the quick, muscular work of the others, and the boat was forced out of the way only so much as was absolutely necessary. The failure of an inch in distance, and she must have been crushed by the ponderous weight which overhung her until Benny felt certain they would be swamped.

This necessary manœuvre exposed the life-boat to the full force of the wind, and before she could be brought round again, half-manned as she was, fully fifty yards of water separated her from the lighter whereon were the four life savers now turned mariners in distress.

Because no one of his companions spoke, Benny believed the danger which menaced his comrades on the hulk to be very great, and a sensation of faintness came over him as he thought that perhaps he might never again clasp the hands of those whom he had learned to love.

With a full crew on the life-boat it would have been a comparatively easy task to rescue the men from the lighter; but under the circumstances it was difficult work to even so much as hold her against the wind, and in the meanwhile the huge craft was approaching the breakers at a speed that must soon put her beyond reach of help.

“Put your very life into the oars, boys!” Downey cried appealingly. “We must lay her so near alongside that we can pass our comrades a rope, for we can’t hope to help them from the shore!”

Every one, including Benny, had been working to the full extent of his power, yet it seemed now as if still greater strength was laid on the oars, as Downey shouted to their comrades:

“Stand by for a line, boys! Make it fast, and come in on it. I see no other chance!”

“Let her drift in on the shoal!” Hardy cried.

“There are too big odds against all of us using your line, an’ we’ll hold on a spell after she strikes. You four can manage the surf-boat, an’ I allow there’s time to get it.”

“He’s right!” the keeper exclaimed. “I must have lost my head when I thought they could come in hand-over-hand while there’s such a sea on. Buckle to the oars, boys! We’ll make the station if we can; but if not, beach this craft as near as possible. We’ve a poor crew indeed, if our comrades are allowed to drown while they’ve got so many timbers under them!”

While speaking he had swung the boat around head on to the shore, and every man tugged and strained at his ashen blade, while Downey lent all possible assistance with the steering oar.

“We’ll never make the station!” Benny heard Robbins, who was directly in front of him mutter, and almost at the same instant the keeper cried hoarsely:

“We must take our chances in the cove, boys. No. 8, get hold of a cork jacket and come aft before we strike!”