With head bent low in deference to the force of the blast, and eyes narrowed to slits, the surfman searched the seething sea for the shadowy outlines of a vessel in trouble.
Perchance as he looked his eye caught the dark bulk of a ship in a sea of foam, or the faint lines of spars and rigging through the spume and frozen haze—the unmistakable signs of a vessel in distress. An instant's concentrated gaze to make sure, then, taking a Coston signal from his pocket and fitting it to the handle, he struck the end on the sole of his boot. Like a parlour match it caught fire and flared out a brilliant red light. This served to warn the crew of the vessel of their danger, or notified them that their distress was observed and that help was soon forthcoming; it also served, if the surfman was near enough to the station, to notify the lookout there of the ship in distress. If the distance was too great or the weather too thick, the patrol raced back with all possible speed to the station and reported what he had seen. The patrol, through his long vigils under all kinds of weather conditions, learns every foot of his beat thoroughly, and is able to tell exactly how and where a stranded vessel lies, and whether she is likely to be forced over on to the beach or whether she will stick on the outer bar far beyond the reach of a line shot from shore.
In a few words spoken quickly and exactly to the point—for upon the accuracy of his report much depends—he tells the situation. For different conditions different apparatus is needed. The vessel reported one stormy winter's night struck on the shoal that runs parallel to the outer Long Island beach, far beyond the reach of a line from shore. Deep water lies on both sides of the bar, and after the shoal is passed the broken water settles down a little and gathers speed for its rush for the beach. These conditions were favourable for surf-boat work, and as the surfman told his tale the keeper or captain of the crew decided what to do.
The crew ran the ever-ready surf-boat through the double doors of its house down the inclined plane to the beach. Resting in a carriage provided with a pair of broad-tired wheels, the light craft was hauled by its sturdy crew through the clinging sand and into the very teeth of the storm to the point nearest the wreck.
The surf rolled in with a roar that shook the ground; fringed with foam that showed even through that dense midnight darkness, the waves were hungry for their prey. Each breaker curved high above the heads of the men, and, receding, the undertow sucked at their feet and tried to drag them under. It did not seem possible that a boat could be launched in such a sea. With scarcely a word of command, however, every man, knowing from long practice his position and specific duties, took his station on either side of the buoyant craft and, rushing into the surf, launched her; climbing aboard, every man took his appointed place, while the keeper, a long steering-oar in his hands, stood at the stern. All pulled steadily, while the steersman, with a sweep of his oar, kept her head to the seas and with consummate skill and judgment avoided the most dangerous crests, until the first watery rampart was passed. Adapting their stroke to the rough water, the six sturdy rowers propelled their twenty-five-foot unsinkable boat at good speed, though it seemed infinitely slow when they thought of the crew of the stranded vessel off in the darkness, helpless and hopeless. Each man wore a cork jacket, but in spite of their encumbrances they were marvellously active.
As is sometimes the case, before the surf-boat reached the distressed vessel she lurched over the bar and went driving for the beach.
The crew in the boat could do nothing, and the men aboard the ship were helpless. Climbing up into the rigging, the sailors waited for the vessel to strike the beach, and the life-savers put for shore again to get the apparatus needed for the new situation. To load the surf-boat with the wrecked, half-frozen crew of the stranded vessel, when there was none too much room for the oarsmen, and then encounter the fearful surf, was a method to be pursued only in case of dire need. To reach the wreck from shore was a much safer and surer method of saving life, not only for those on the vessel, but also for the surfmen.
The beach apparatus has received the greatest attention from inventors, since that part of the life-savers' outfit is depended upon to rescue the greatest number.
With a rush the surf-boat rolled in on a giant wave amid a smother of foam, and no sooner had her keel grated on the sand than her crew were out knee-deep in the swirling water and were dragging her up high and dry.
A minute later the entire crew, some pulling, some steering, dragged out the beach wagon. A light framework supported by two broad-tired wheels carried all the apparatus for rescue work from the beach. Each member of the crew had his appointed place and definite duties, according to printed instructions which each had learned by heart, and when the command was given every man jumped to his place as a well-trained man-of-war's-man takes his position at his gun.