The Boy With the U. S. Life-Savers

by Francis Rolt-Wheeler

Then from the long silence that had reigned on the bridge, suddenly issued a torrent of orders. The decks of the cutter seemed to bristle with men, as when Jason sowed the dragon's teeth. Eric, though quick and keen, had all he could do to fulfil the part of the work that was given him and set the crew at the lines of the breeches-buoy. Every man was on deck and every man was working with frantic haste.

In a fraction of time that seemed but a few seconds, a line was shot to the Union, made fast by her crew on board, the breeches-buoy was hauled out and the first of the men from the wreck was on the way to the Miami. All this had been done in the few minutes that passed while the cutter held herself within fifteen fathom of the schooner. Then the Miami dropped her anchor, to hold her place for the breeches-buoy.

Amid the scream of the gale in the rigging, and the pounding of the breakers on the shoals, the men worked like fiends. Never did ropes slip more quickly through their hands, never did sailors work more feverishly. But, in spite of this wild and furious striving, it was evident that the Miami dare not hold her place. The Union evidently had lost one of her anchors, and the other was not holding in the sand. Every few seconds she dragged, and, in order to prevent the breeches-buoy tackle from being suddenly broken, the Miami had to pay out cable to keep in bearing. Each fathom of chain slipped brought her that much nearer to the shoal.

There were thirty men in the Union's crew and every man had been brought aboard but the captain, when the Coast Guard cutter reached the edge of the shoal. One minute more would mean success.

At that instant, a savage gust came hurtling in from sea, as though the hurricane was bound to claim at least one victim. The captain of the steamer had just thrust one leg through the breeches-buoy and the Miami's men, with a cheer, had started to haul him inboard, when that gust struck the wrecked vessel. It keeled her over, snapping the line of the breeches-buoy like a whip, and the captain of the steamer was jerked out into the sea.

Absolutely without thinking of what he did, reverting for the instant back to the old volunteer life-saving work, when every man went on his own initiative, Eric tore off coat, trousers, and shoes, snatched a life-belt, and plunged into the boiling breakers.

At the same second, before even his plunge was noted, the Miami slipped her cable entirely, leaving chain and anchor as booty to the Diamond Shoals and clawed away from the sandbar, not more than twenty feet from her bow.

Eric, keyed to a wild and excited perception, saw the captain of the steamer in the water, a few feet away, and swam to him. He found him conscious but unable to swim, the jerk from the breeches-buoy having twisted a sinew in his thigh.

It was a half a mile to land, and the breakers rose all round them. With a blind intuition the boy struck out for shore. He knew it was no use trying to reach the ship. How long he struggled he scarcely knew, but the Union's captain, though in pain and crippled, was able to use his arms in swimming and, for a few minutes, from time to time, relieved the boy.

It seemed that hours passed. The chill of failure began to creep into Eric's spirits. No longer he swam with energy, but with desperation. The hand of the steamer's captain on his shoulder grew heavier and heavier. Spots danced before his eyes.