A GOOD SUNDAY MORNING'S WORK.
BY W. J. HENDERSON.
"It's altogether too absurd!" That was what the schoolmaster said.
"It is a wicked assumption of power!" That was what the minister said.
"It's flying in the face of Providence!" That was what old Mrs. Mehonky said.
"Them two boys is a couple o' fools, an' they'll git drowned!" That was what old Captain Silas Witherbee, formerly commander of the steam oyster-dredge Lotus Lily, said.
And really, when you come to think of it, that was the most sensible remark of the lot. But what people said did not seem to trouble "them two boys."
"We're going to do it," declared Peter Bright.
"That's what," added Randall Frank.
And so they did. What was it? Well, it was this way. Searsbridge was a small sea-coast town situated at the head of a bay some four miles long. There was very little commercial traffic in that bay, for Searsbridge was a tiny place. A schooner occasionally dropped anchor in the bay when head winds and ugly seas were raging outside; and it was said that two or three big ships had run into the shelter of the harbor in days gone by, and there was a legend that a great Russian ironclad had once stopped there for a supply of fresh water. But, as a rule, only the fishermen's boats ran in and out between Porgy Point and Mullet Head. There was no light at the entrance to the harbor, but there were some of the sharpest and most dangerous rocks on the coast scattered about the entrance.
"It'd be a famous place for a wreck," said a visitor one day.
"Why," exclaimed Peter Bright, who was showing him about, "there have been three wrecks there since I was born."
"And is there no life-saving station?"
"Not nearer than Hartwell, and that's three miles away."
"Well, there ought to be a volunteer crew here, then."
"We generally manage to get a crew together when there's a wreck."
"There ought to be a regular crew, well drilled, and prepared for the worst."
And that was what led Peter Bright and Randall Frank to talk it all over and decide to get up a crew. But the other fellows all laughed at them, and said that there would be a crew on hand when there was any need for it.
"Yes," said Randall, who always spoke briefly and to the point, "and before that crew gets afloat lives will be lost."
But the arguments of the two young men did not prevail, and they therefore came to the determination which called forth the protests of the schoolmaster, the minister, Mrs. Mehonky, and Captain Silas Witherbee. But these protests had no influence with the two friends.
"We're going to brace up my boat, and in suspicious weather we're going to cruise in her off the mouth of the bay to lend aid to vessels in distress," said Peter, with all the dignity he could command.
And Randall proudly and emphatically added, "That's what."
Peter's boat was by no means so despicable a craft as might have been supposed from the comments of the neighbors. She had been the dinghy of a large sailing ship, and was stoutly built for work in lumpy water. The ship had been wrecked on the coast, and the dinghy had been given to Peter in payment for his services in helping to save her cargo. The first thing that the boy did was to put a centre-board in the craft, and to rig her with a stout mast and a mainsail, cat-boat fashion. Then he announced that in his opinion he had a boat that would stay out when some more pretentious vessels would have to go home. Of course she was not very speedy, but for that Peter did not care a great deal. In light weather most of the fishermen could put him in their wake, but when they had to reef he could carry all sail, and drop them to leeward as if they were so many corks. Peter and Randall now went to work to "brace up" the Petrel, as she was called. They put some extra ribs in her, and built a small deck before the mast. Then they put an extra row of reef points in the mainsail, and set up a pair of extra heavy shrouds. Peter also put a socket in the taffrail for a rowlock, so that in case of having to run before a heavy sea an oar could be shipped to steer with.
"You know she'll work a good deal better with an oar in running off than with the rudder," he said.
And Randall sagely answered, "That's what."
By the time the September gales were due the Petrel was ready for business, and whenever the weather looked threatening she was seen pounding her way through the choppy seas near the mouth of the bay. No wrecks occurred, however. Indeed, no vessels of any kind approached the harbor, and the two young men were hard put to it to endure the ridicule that greeted them on their return from each profitless cruise. But Peter pluckily declared that their time would come, and Randall repeated his unshaken opinion that that was what.
Men are still talking about the storm that visited that coast in October of that year. It was the worst that had occurred within the memory of the oldest inhabitant. Even old Tommy Ryddam, who had been around the Horn three times, had weathered the Cape of Good Hope, and had been as far north as Upernavik, said, "I 'ain't never seed it blow no harder." And that was the first time that Tommy had ever made such an admission. It began on a Wednesday night. The day had been oppressively warm for that time of year, and as a result a light fog had set in early in the morning. But before sundown the wind began to come in cold sharp puffs out of the southeast, and the fog was soon cut into swirling shreds and sent skimming and twisting away over the yellow land. Its disappearance revealed a hard brassy-looking sky, and a gray sea running from the horizon in great oily folds that broke upon the rocks outside of Porgy Point and Mullet Head with a noise like the booming of distant guns, and a smother of snowy spray.
"I reckon this'll be the gale that'll bring us a job," said Peter, as he hoisted the mainsail on his boat.
"I shouldn't wonder," said Randall; "but it's going to be a corker."
His slangy prediction proved to be true. He and Peter cruised around inside the mouth of the bay for an hour after sunset; but the great breadth and weight of the swell that came brimming in between the two headlands and the fast-increasing power of the wind sent them to shelter for the night. In the morning they beat down under the lee of the easterly shore, and landed on Mullet Head. Hauling up the boat, they walked to the highest point of observation. So fierce was the wind that they were forced to lie down. The sea was an appalling sight. It was running in great serried ridges of gray and white that hurled themselves against the land in mountainous breakers.
"We couldn't get out there if a dozen wrecks came," said Peter.
"So," answered Randall, "but we might pull some poor fellow out of the sea."
"That's about all we could do."
The boys kept a constant watch all day, but not the faintest sign of a sail hove in sight above the wavering horizon. The gale blew all day Thursday and all day Friday. Such a sea had never been seen on the coast, and many people went down to look at it. The boys maintained their watch all day on Mullet Head, with the boat safe under its lee. They knew they were helpless, yet they could not go away. People tried to persuade or to ridicule them into doing so, but they remained. They were pretty resolute boys, and were not easily turned from their purposes.
On Saturday morning the wind shifted, and the gale showed signs of moderating. By Saturday night it had fallen to a brisk wind, and the sea had gone down somewhat. On Sunday morning the two boys sailed down to Mullet Head to have another look around the horizon. The minister saw them start, and reproved them for not staying at home to go to church. But they said that they might go in the afternoon. As soon as they reached their customary landing-place, they hauled up the boat and walked up the hill.
"Look!" exclaimed Peter; "now that the gale is over a sail is in sight."
"That's a fact," said Randall. "A sloop."
"Yes; but doesn't she look queer to you?"
"No—hold on—yes. Her hull looks too big for her rig."
"That's it. There! Did you see that when she rose on that sea? She's a schooner, but her mainmast is gone close to the deck. I saw the stump. Look now!"
"Yes! I see it, I see it!" cried Randall; "and what's more, she's lost her foretop-mast."
"That's so. It's broken off above the masthead cap."
"She must have had a pretty lively time of it with the gale."
"Sure enough. I wonder where she's bound?"
They watched her in silence for half an hour, and then Peter sprang to his feet with an exclamation:
"Guinea-pigs and dogs! She's trying to make this harbor."
"That's what!" cried Randall, slapping his knee.
They watched her now with more interest than ever. She was not more than two miles off the entrance now, and Peter was intensely interested. Suddenly he started down the hill toward the boat.
"What is it!" cried Randall, following him.
"She's flying the flag union down, and she's so heavy in her movements that I believe she's sinking."
With nervous haste the boys got their boat afloat, and hoisted the mainsail. In a few minutes they were standing out of the mouth of the harbor with the long swells underrunning their light craft. Somehow news of the incoming vessel had reached Searsbridge, and several of the residents had ridden down to the Head to see what was going to happen. Some of them caught sight of the little dinghy running out, and waved at her to return. But the boys were in earnest now, and were not to be turned from their course.
"I knew I was right," said Peter. "She's sinking fast, and they're trying to run her into shallow water."
"Do you think we can get to her in time?"
"We must do our best."
The mainsail ought to have had the last reef taken in, for the mast bent like a whip, and the dinghy plunged heavily; but it was a time for driving, if ever there was one.
"Look! look!" screamed Randall.
"Too late!" cried Peter.
The schooner, now half a mile away from them, made a great lurch forward, threw her stern into the air, and settled down head first. The top of her broken foremast protruded some ten feet above the surface.
"No, we're not too late!" shouted Randall.
"Right you are!" ejaculated Peter.
They had just discovered that two men had managed to clamber up on the foretop-mast stump as the schooner went down, and were now clinging there, waving their arms toward the boys.
"Get the heaving line ready, Randall," said Pete.
"Ay, ay," answered the willing boy.
Peter brought the dinghy broad under the lee of the mast, and getting a good full on her let her luff up straight at the spar, knowing that the sea would quickly kill her way.
"Stand by to catch the line!" he shouted to the men. "Heave!"
Randall hove the line with good judgment, and one of the wrecked sailors catching it took a couple of turns around the mast with it. Randall now hauled the dinghy up close enough to the mast for the two seamen to swing themselves into her. They were gaunt, hollow-eyed, and exhausted, and at Randall's bidding they lay down in the bottom of the dinghy. In three-quarters of an hour the two boys had sailed back to their landing-place inside Mullet Head. There they met the people who had come down to see the wreck, and who now received them with cheers. The two seamen were able to state that they were the sole survivors of a crew of six, the other four having been carried overboard when the mainmast went over Thursday night. Old Mr. Peddie volunteered to take the men up to the town in his carriage, and as they climbed out of the boat he exclaimed to one of them,
"Hold on! let me look at you! Aren't you Joseph Spring?"
"Yes," said the man, hanging his head; "I am."
"Well, boys," said Mr. Peddie, "you've done a fine Sunday-morning's work. This is Joe Spring, who quarrelled with his father and ran away to sea four years ago. There will be a happy reunion in one house to-day."
Peter and Randall have a fine Block Island boat now, the gift of their admiring fellow townsmen.