Chapter III: Benny’s Story

When, at a late hour next morning, the boy and the dog came down-stairs, the former appearing bewildered, and the latter hanging his tail as if doubtful of the reception he might meet with, only Keeper Downey and Surfman Sam Hardy were to be seen.

The other members of the crew were engaged outside in the effort to save such wreckage as the yet angry waters rolled in toward the shore.

A bright-looking little fellow was this survivor of the terrible disaster, although not seen at his best while clad only in his undergarments, and shivering in the frosty air despite the volumes of heat sent out by the glowing stove. The mercury in the thermometer had fallen below the zero mark, and the wind found every crevice and crack in the building, situated as it was on the open shore where nothing in the way of a shelter broke the force of the northeast gales.

“Well, lad, you’re looking bright this morning,” the keeper cried in a cheery tone. “Hungry?”

“I can take my share of breakfast when it’s ready, and I guess Fluff won’t turn up his nose at warm coffee.”

“A dog drinking coffee!” Sam Hardy cried, with a laugh that had in it a note of the tempest.

“Yes, sir; Mrs. Clark always gave him a little out of her own cup. Has she come ashore yet?”

“No, lad,” the keeper replied gravely. “None save you and the dog lived through last night.”

“They can’t be dead!” the boy cried in alarm, and as the full meaning of the words dawned upon him, the tears came. “Surely some of the men would have looked out for Mrs. Clark! She was coming ashore the same way I did.”

“Had they lashed her to a spar before you were set adrift?”

“The captain had everything ready: but I was tied on first, ’cause she wanted to be certain Fluff would be tucked inside my coat properly. Surely she’ll come soon?”

“You may as well know the truth at once, lad; I’m not a man who believes in keeping back bad tidings, because they must be told at some time. Even if Mrs. Clark was set adrift on a spar, she couldn’t have lived through the night. You are the only survivor of the wreck.”

“Where is the ship?”

“The waves have knocked her to pieces long before this, and our crew are out looking after the wreckage as it comes ashore.”

While one might have counted ten the lad stood looking at the keeper searchingly, and then, gathering the dog in his arms, he gave vent to the grief that had so suddenly come into his heart.

“We’ll leave him alone for a spell, Sam,” the keeper whispered. “It’ll do him good to have a good cry, and seeing’s we’ve got little chance of sending in a report till after the storm clears up, there’s no sense in bothering him with questions.”

Then the two kind-hearted men tiptoed softly out of the station, lest the sound of their footsteps might add to the grief in the boy’s heart, and the dog, pricking up his ears as if understanding every word spoken, apparently listened to the first outpouring of sorrow and utter desolation.

“It can’t be possible, Fluffy, that every one has been drowned! It couldn’t be, God would take Captain Clark and his wife, with all the crew, leaving only you an’ me here! Why, Fluff! If the man told us the truth, what’ll become of us? We’re alone in the world, do you understand that? Nobody who’ll help us anywhere! What’ll become of you, my poor little man, and she loved you so dearly!”

As if in reply the dog licked the boy’s face, and this evidence of affection appeared but to render more heavy the grief, for, throwing himself upon the floor, holding his dumb companion yet more closely, the poor lad gave way to the sorrow which had come with such cruel suddenness upon him.

He was yet in this position when the keeper and two of the crew entered the building an hour later.

In the boat-house, covered with flags, were the bodies of the captain and his wife, and near by lay three of the crew, all in the awful silence and stillness of death.

Keeper Downey laid his hand on the boy’s shoulder to attract his attention, and the dog, mistaking this friendly touch for an attack, sprang up, barking furiously, until it seemed as if the volume of sound must shatter the tiny body.

Sam Hardy took it upon himself to make friends with the little animal, and since the keeper no longer attempted to touch the sorrowing lad, Fluff ceased his shrill yelps.

“Listen to me, lad,” the keeper said, throwing a coat over the half-clad form. “It’s cruel sorrow that has come upon you; but remember that there are others in this world who have been as cruelly afflicted,--that you are not alone in your grief. Somewhere are wives and children waiting for the return of the poor fellows who went down with the ship, and you must not be selfish in your sorrow.”

The boy looked up with swollen eyes, inquiringly.

“Yes, my boy, you are selfish to give way to all that’s in your heart when it is possible you can be of service to others.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“Sad as the news will be to many, it is necessary they should learn of what happened last night, and you are the only one who can tell the story. I must make a report on the wreck, and am looking to you for the information. There is yet something to be done--the last in this world--by friends and relatives for such of the bodies as come ashore, and if you give way to selfish sorrow, the word cannot be sent out from here.”

The lad was on his feet in an instant, and, choking back the sobs as best he might, while the dog nestled contentedly in his arms, he asked:

“Tell me what you want, sir.”

“First, the name of the ship.”

“She was the _Amazonia_, from Calcutta to Boston, David Clark, master.”

“Do you know how much of a crew she carried?”

“Twenty-five, all told.”

“Any other women except the captain’s wife?”

“No, sir.”

“What is your name?”

“Benjamin H. Foster; but Mrs. Clark always called me ‘Benny,’” the lad replied, and at mention of the woman’s name his grief overwhelmed him once more.

The eyes of the keeper and his comrades were not free from a certain moisture, and more than one furtively passed the sleeve of his rough coat across his face as all waited for the lad to recover his composure in a measure.

“I’ll try not to cry again, sir,” Benny said piteously, after struggling a moment to force back the tears.

“It is well you should grieve, lad; don’t think I blamed you for doing what is only natural. When it is possible you shall tell all you know about the ship and her voyage, giving the names of those members of the crew that come to mind.”

Two hours or more passed before Benny had concluded the sad story, and then Keeper Downey was in possession of such facts as were necessary for the proper making up of his official report.

According to Benny’s tale the _Amazonia_ had sailed from Calcutta, India, on the 15th of February, and, because of previous disasters, the voyage had consumed almost ten months, during which time the ship had covered a distance equal to one half the circuit of the globe.

She was loaded with ten thousand bales of jute; while crossing the Indian Ocean she had run into a cyclone and been dismasted. Under jury-rig the ship was worked to Port Louis, Mauritius, where, after being unloaded, she was thoroughly overhauled and repaired. Not until the middle of September was the voyage resumed, and nothing of note occurred until the vicinity of the Bermudas was reached, when frequent squalls set in, following the vessel until she made the coast of the United States.

Captain Clark had not been able to take an observation for several days, and, therefore, was forced to rely upon what mariners term “dead reckoning.” Two days prior to the wreck he spoke a New York pilot-boat, from which he learned his whereabouts, but after passing George’s Shoal, about one hundred miles to the eastward of Cape Cod, he determined to shape his course straight to the westward until sighting the land.

Notwithstanding the lack of observations to determine his situation, the captain might easily have discovered his danger by sounding, but instead of doing so he held his course steadily without recourse to the lead, until the dark, gloomy outline of the land loomed up, ominous and forbidding.

It was evident from Benny’s story that Captain Clark realized at once the impossibility of working the ship off from that lee shore, because to the best of the lad’s belief it must have been half an hour before the ill-fated craft struck the rocks when he was lashed to the spar, while at the same time preparations were being made to care for the captain’s wife in similar fashion.

“It is only in case anything should happen that this is being done,” Mrs. Clark said to the boy, with the evident purpose of strengthening his courage. “It may be that all will go well with us, and then you and your Fluff will only have had a little disagreeable experience.”

Twice before the final crash came did one of the crew speak words of cheer to the lad, who was unable to see what might be going on around him, and from the nature of such remarks he believed all hands felt certain the _Amazonia_ must strike the coast.

That, in substance, was all the information Benny could give regarding such matters as must be embodied in the keeper’s report; but the men, curious to know how he chanced to be aboard the ship, plied him with questions, and when they had been answered the story of Benny Foster’s life was told.

When quite young, he and his mother had sailed in the ship _West Wind_, of which his father was the captain, on what the lad believed was to be a long voyage; but he failed to remember the port to which the ship was bound. However, so far as concerned him, that was of no particular importance.

At some time--Benny thought he might have been six years of age just then--his father was taken ill in the port of Calcutta, and it was necessary to provide a new master for the ship.

Captain Foster and his family took lodgings ashore, and within a year Benny was both motherless and fatherless. From that time on he had been cared for in haphazard fashion by such acquaintances as his parents had formed, and he believed some efforts were made toward learning if he had any relatives in the United States.

Whether anything was accomplished in that direction he could not say; but simply knew that in January of this same year Captain Clark sought him out for the purpose of carrying him to Boston, having learned of his condition from an American merchant in Calcutta.

On board the _Amazonia_ he performed any light tasks which would have come within a cabin-boy’s line of duty; but was treated by Mrs. Clark as a friend rather than a servant, and so intimate an acquaintance had sprung up between himself and Fluff that he came to consider it his especial duty to care for the little Angora terrier, whose bright pink eyes gleaming out from amid the fluff of silken white hair gave him the appearance of being a remarkably intelligent animal.

“And he’s just as bright as he looks,” Benny said, as he concluded the poor story of his own life, while he hugged the dog yet closer to his bosom. “Fluff knows almost everything I say to him, and what he don’t just understand he guesses at. Why, before we had been out a week, Mrs. Clark let him sleep with me in my berth, and when it was heavy weather this poor little fellow would almost the same as talk to me, scolding because the jumping of the ship made him feel badly. His name was Fluff Clark, of course; but now that he hasn’t got anybody in all this wide world but me, I’m going to adopt him, and he’ll be Fluff C. Foster after this.”

“It strikes me there’s need of some one adopting you, lad,” Keeper Downey said with a grave smile. “I’m not certain but that Fluff is better able to care for himself than you are.”

“He’s too good a dog to need much caring for. Why, all he’d eat in a day wouldn’t amount to a cent’s worth, though he’s mighty particular about having things fixed up just such a way, and his pink nose will wrinkle quick when there’s nothing but salt beef left over for him. We always had lump sugar to give him for a treat; but he’d get along without that if he knew I couldn’t afford to buy it for him. It would surprise you to see how much that dog knows.”

Then Benny, eager that his pet should be duly appreciated, exhibited the dog in his various tricks, and the members of the crew, seeing that by such means the lad’s thoughts were kept from his great loss, applauded the performance until Fluff had shown himself half a dozen times over in his various acrobatic feats.

Keeper Downey rewarded the dumb performer, who certainly sustained the reputation which his young master had given him, and it was almost as if those cold, silent forms in the boat-room had been forgotten.

Benny’s clothing was thoroughly dried, and while Fluff entertained the crew, the lad fully dressed himself, donning an old pea-jacket many sizes too large, which had been wrapped about him when he was lashed to the spar.

Keeper Downey set about making his report to the Department, based on information supplied by the only survivor of the _Amazonia_, and the men resumed their duties of watching for wreckage from the ill-fated ship, leaving the homeless boy and his only friend comparatively alone.

During the remainder of this day every man took good care that Benny should not find his way into the boat-room, and all seemed to believe it their duty to prevent the lad’s thoughts from straying back into the past.

A toy full-rigged ship, which one of the crew had fashioned during his hours of leisure, was brought down from its shelf that Benny might make a critical examination of it, and each in turn had some odd souvenir or curious memento of the sea to attract the lad’s attention, until, from the appearance of the mess-table, one would have said a party of children were being entertained.

Despite all their efforts, however, Benny’s mind would go back to the terrible evening just spent, and many times while the kindly hearted men were doing their best to cause forgetfulness, the big tears overflowed his eyelids, although the boy did his best to repress them.

When evening came, and supper had been served, both Benny and Fluff were ready to retire, and after the lad was tucked snugly in Sam Hardy’s bed with the dog’s pink nose resting over his arm, such of the crew as were not on duty came together to discuss the future of these waifs who had been thrown up by the sea into their keeping.

There was no formality attending this conference. From Keeper Downey to Surfman Sawyer, all appeared to believe that the lad and the dog were under the especial protection of the crew attached to this station, and not one made any effort to shift the responsibility to another’s shoulders.

“It stands to reason that the captain of the _Amazonia_ did not know anything about the lad’s people, otherwise he or his wife must have said something that Benny would have overheard,” Keeper Downey began, by way of opening what all tacitly understood was a meeting of the “board of guardians.” “It may be that when the story of the wreck is told in the newspapers, as will be done by to-morrow, some one comes forward to claim the lad, though I doubt it. Now there is nothing in the Service as provides for such as he, except so far as giving food and shelter to the shipwrecked until they can be removed to other quarters.”

“And I allow it wouldn’t be according to regulations for us to keep him here?” Joe Cushing said interrogatively, and Keeper Downey replied emphatically:

“Not unless we have permission from headquarters. But whether that can be gained or not goes beyond me.”

“Suppose we don’t keep him? Allow that we send him away?” Henry Robbins asked. “Where could a boy like him be put?”

“There’s no other place but the poorhouse, if it so be he hasn’t any relatives.”

“He sha’n’t go there, if I have to pay for his keeping out of my own pocket,” Sam Hardy said decidedly, whereat the other members of the crew applauded, taking care to make but little noise lest the sleeper in the chamber above should be awakened.

Then Keeper Downey continued, much as if some motion had been put, seconded, and carried:

“Since we are all agreed that Benny and Fluff are on our hands until a better home can be found for ’em, the question comes as to how we’ll divide the expense.”

“Let the cost be put equally among the crew,” Joe Cushing suggested. “It can’t take such a terrible amount of money to keep this little shaver and his toy dog.”

“We’ll let every man contribute according to his wages,” Keeper Downey said, in the tone of one who has finally settled the question. “That will be the fairest way, and, as Joe says, we never shall miss it in the long run. It’s where we can keep him that is going to be the hardest thing to settle on.”

“If we pay his bills and he don’t cost the Government a cent, what’s to prevent having him with us all the time?” Dick Sawyer asked. “I’ll guarantee that if we fix up a letter to the General Superintendent of the Life-Saving Service, giving the particulars, and explaining that the boy can help us a good bit in the way of washing dishes, trimming lanterns, and that sort of work, there won’t be a question raised as to his sharing a bed with one of us. I’ll take him in with me, when it comes to that.”

“But would it be right to keep the lad out here?”--and it was as if Tom Downey asked the question of himself. “According to his own story, he hasn’t had over much schooling, and nowadays a boy who ain’t considerable of a scholar cuts a pretty poor figure.”

“It won’t do any harm if that sort of business is held off for another year,”--and Joe Cushing leaned forward eagerly as if fearing lest his companions might disagree with him. “I think on these long winter days it will be mighty pleasant to have a little shaver like him toddling round here with his dog, and now the spring is so near at hand he wouldn’t get much of a whack at schoolin’ before vacation-time comes. Besides, it would be cruel to send him off just now, for he’s beginning to get acquainted with us, and if you put him among strangers suddenly all of last night’s business would come back to him harder than ever.”

It could readily be seen that every member of the crew was as eager to keep Benny and Fluff with them, for a time at least, as was Joe Cushing, but Tom Downey insisted that they had no right to thus deprive the boy of the opportunity to attend school, and a long discussion followed, the result of which was extremely satisfying to Joe Cushing.

“It’s agreed that we keep the lad here until next fall, if it so be permission is given by the Department,” Keeper Downey said at length, summing up the result of the arguments, “and if the rules of the Service won’t allow his staying, we’ll look around for a boarding-place as near to the station as may be; but I reckon there ain’t much need of figgerin’ on that, because the United States Government can’t make any kick about giving shelter to a little shaver like Benny, especially when it don’t cost a cent.”

“Suppose you start the letter now?” Joe Cushing suggested. “If it goes in with your report I allow it’ll have greater weight, seein’ that the whole story will be fresh in the minds of the officials.”

The remainder of the crew believed Joe’s suggestion was timely, and Keeper Downey did not need much urging to set him about the task immediately.

After referring the Superintendent to the official report of the wreck, Downey gave briefly the story Benny had told concerning himself, making the request that the boy be allowed to remain at the station during such time as the crew were willing to provide for his wants, and concluding with the following statement:

“It won’t take a cent out of the government, for we, as a crew, have agreed to pay his bills till he can manage affairs for himself, and the little he costs will be more than balanced by what labor he can perform. He appears to be a willing lad, and there’s many an odd job he can do when we have a long spell of hard work. It will be a good trade for us, whichever way you look at the matter, and surely the people of this big country won’t begrudge the giving of a shelter to a boy who has been in such hard luck, especially when there’ll be absolutely no outlay on his account.”

“If that don’t fix things, then the Life-Saving Service is run under different rules and regulations than I’ve always reckoned on,” Joe Cushing said in a tone of satisfaction. “I allow we can count on having Benny and Fluff with us so long as we pay their bills, and I’m going to make first-class surf men out of them both, or know the reason why.”