The Boy With the U. S. Life-Savers Part 14

[Ill.u.s.tration: WRECKS! AND THE ICE BETWEEN!

Steamer ash.o.r.e near St. Joseph, Mich., under conditions all but impossible for life-saving, yet not a soul was lost.

Courtesy of U.S. Bureau of Lighthouses.]

"What's mush-ice?" interrupted Eric.

"Mush-ice," said the old keeper, "is a mixture of frozen spray, an' ice, an' bits o' drift, an' everythin' that kin freeze or be friz over, pilin' up on the beach. It's floatin', ye understan', an', as a rule, 'bout two or three foot thick. Owin' to the movin' o' the water, it don't never freeze right solid, but the surf on the beach breaks it into bits anywheres from the size of 'n apple to a keg. An' it joggles up 'n'

down, 'n' the pieces grin' agin each other. It's jest a seesawin' edge o' misery on a frozen beach."

"That's as bad as Alaska!" exclaimed the boy.

"It's a plumb sight worse," the other answered. "I ain't never been no further north 'n Thunder Cape, jest by Nipigon. An' what's more, I ain't goin'! But even up there, the ice freezes solid 'n' you kin do somethin'

with it. Mush-ice never gits solid, but like some sort o' savage critter born o' the winter, champs its jaws of ice, waitin' for its prey."

"How do you like that, Eric?" asked his father. "That's some of the 'fun' you're always talking about."

"Can't scare me, Dad," replied Eric with a laugh. "I'm game."

"Ye'll need all yer gameness," put in the old life-saver. "Wait till ye hear the end o' the yarn! As I was sayin', it was in November. The fust big storm o' the winter broke sudden. I never see nothin' come on so quick. It bust right out of a snow-squall, 'n' the gla.s.s hadn' given no warnin'. We wa'n't expectin' trouble an' it was all we c'd do to save the boats. Ye couldn't stand up agin it, an' what wasn't snow an' sleet, was spray.

"All mornin' the gale blew, an' in the middle o' the afternoon the breakwater went to bits. The keepers o' the light at the end o' the breakwater lighted the lantern, 'n' you take my word for it, they were takin' their lives in their hands in doin' it. Jest half 'n hour later, the whole shebang, light, lighthouse, 'n' the end o' the breakwater, went flyin' down to leeward in a heap o' metal 'n splinters.

"Jest about that time, some folks down Chocolay way, lookin' out to sea, took a notion they saw what looked like white ghosts o' ships 'way out on the bar. She was jest blowin' tiger cats with the claws out!

'Twa'n't a day for no Atlantic greyhound to be out, much less a small boat. But I tell ye, boy, when there's lives to be saved, there's allers some Americans 'round that's goin' to have a try at it. Over the ice 'n'

through the gale, eight men helpin', the fishermen o' Chocolay carried a yawl an' life-lines to the point o' the beach nearest the wreck. Four men clumb into her."

"Without cork-jackets or anything?" asked Eric.

"Without nothin' but a Michigan man's s.p.u.n.k. Well, siree, those four men clumb into that yawl, an' a bunch of others jumped into the mush-ice an'

toted her 'way out to clear water. With a yell, the fisherman put her nose inter the gale an' pulled. But it wa'n't no use. No yawl what was ever made could have faced that sea. The spray friz in the air as it come, an' the men were pelted with pieces of jagged ice, mighty near as big 's a bob-cherry. Afore they was ten feet away from the mush, a sea come over 'n' half filled the boat. It wa'n't no use much ter bail, for it friz as soon's it struck. They hadn't shipped more'n four seas when the weight of ice on the boat begun to sink her."

"Fresh water, of course," said Eric. "It would freeze quickly. I hadn't thought of that."

"In spite o' the ice," continued the veteran of seventy Lake winters, "two o' the men were for goin' on, but the oldest man o' the crowd made 'em turn back. He was only jest in time, for as the yawl got back to the edge o' the mush she went down."

"Sank?"

"Jest like as if she was made o' lead."

"And the men?" asked the boy eagerly.

"They was all right. I told you it was nigh the beach. The crowd got to the yawl 'n' pulled her up on sh.o.r.e. They burned a flare to let 'em know aboard the wrecks that they was bein' helped an' to hold out a hope o'

rescue, but there wasn't no answer. Only once in a great while could any one on sh.o.r.e see those ghosts o' ships 'way out on the bar. An' every time the snow settled down, it was guessin' if they'd be there next time it cleared away, or not.

"Seein' that there was nothin' doin' with the yawl, the crowd reckoned on callin' us in to the deal. We was the nearest life-savin' station to Chocolay bar, an' we was over a hundred miles away."

"A hundred miles!"

"All o' that an' more. We was on Ship Island, six miles from Houghton.

As I was sayin', seein' that nothin' could be done from their end, Cap'n John Frink, master of a tug, hiked off to the telegraph office at Marquette, 'n' called up Houghton. That's a hundred 'n' ten miles off, by rail. He told 'em o' the wrecks 'n' said he thought as we could get 'em off if we could come right down. The wires were down between Houghton 'n' Ship Islan' and there wa'n't no way o' lettin' us know. The operators sent word all over, to try an' get a message to us, an' mighty soon nigh everybody on the peninsula knowed that we'd been sent for.

"The skipper of a big tug in Houghton heard about it, jest as he was goin' to bed. He come racin' down to the wharf an' rousted out the crew.

His engineer was still on board an' they got steam up like winkin'. The gale was blowin' even worse up our way, but the old tug snorted into it jest the same. Out into the dark an' the snow an' the storm she snubbed along, tootin' her whistle like as if it were the Day of Jedgment. An'

if it had been," continued the old man in parenthesis, "no one would've known it in that storm!"

"When did you see the tug?" queried the boy.

"Couldn't see nothin'," was the answer, "we jest heard that ol' whistle toot. One o' the men guessed it was the big tug all right an' wondered if she was ash.o.r.e somewheres with a tow. But, fust thing we know, she come up out o' the muck o' snow an' sleet an' the ol' skipper bellered to us through a speakin'-trumpet that he was come to take us to a wreck.

We snaked the gear on to that tug in about half no time, takin' the big surf-boat an' all the apparatus. The tug was a blowin' off steam, like as if she was connected to a volcaner. I tell you there must have been some fire under them boilers. An' when we started--I'm an old hand, boy, but I'm tellin' ye that I never thought to see Houghton. The ol' skipper sent that tug through at racin' speed like as if it was a moonlight summer night an' he had all the sea-room in a couple of oceans.

"'Air ye goin' to stop at Houghton?' I asks him, sort o' sarcastic, 'or are ye gittin' up speed enough to run on a mile or two after ye hit the sh.o.r.e?'

"'Don't ye worry,' he said, with a short laugh, 'ye c'n tie my ears an'

eyes up doorin' a hurricane, 'n' I can smell my way to port!'

"An' I'm tellin' ye he did. Without nary a light nor nothin' to guide him--for the snow was worse 'n any fog--he went full speed ahead. An'

when he tinkled that little telegraph bell to the engine room, I was wonderin' if he was within ten miles o' the place. But as that craft slowed down, ye can b'lieve me or not 's you like, she glided up to her own pier like as if it was a ferry-boat in a dead calm.

"'I've got to hand it to you, Cap'n,' I says to him, 'I wouldn't ha'

believed it unless I seen it.'

"'That's my end,' say the cap'n, 'I know my work, same's you know yours.

I'm bettin' my pile on you fellers makin' good 'most any ol' time.' Made me feel good, all right."

"It sure does make a difference," put in Eric, "when you know that people have confidence in you."

"Right you are, boy," said the old keeper, and continued his story.

"That pier was jest a ma.s.s o' folks, thick as they c'd stand. An' when they saw the tug with us on board, they cheered, 'n' cheered, 'n'

cheered. There was a dozen to grab the lines 'n' make 'em fast, 'n'

before she was even tied up, a mob grabbed our boat an' apparatus an'

rushed it to the railroad.

"While we was a-comin' over the strait, the superintendent o' the railroad division was got up, 'n' told all about the wreck. He was a spry man, too, 'n' by the time the tug was in, he had orders out to clear the track 'n' a special train was waitin' in the station. She was ready fitted up with a couple of open cars for the boat an' apparatus, an' one coach for us.

"They didn't let us touch nothin'.

"'Keep your strength, men,' the superintendent said to the crew, 'my boys will put your stuff aboard.'

"They did. That boat an' the apparatus an' everything else was aboard that special, jest about as quick as we could climb into the cars. We had a special train all right! She jest whizzed along that track, not worryin' about nothin'. Signals didn't matter, for the track had been cleared in advance. The superintendent had come on the train with us.

He'd wired ahead to Marquette, an' when we slowed up there was another bunch in the station to welcome us. The train was covered in ice an'

snow, an' the front of the locomotive looked like a dummy engine made out o' plaster o' Paris.

"The station was alive with men, all just on edge with waitin'. They had sleighs but no horses, the footin' was too bad. An' so the boat an' the apparatus-car was put on the sleighs, an' the men dragged it along themselves at a whole of a clip! They wouldn't even let us walk, but toted us along in a sleigh, too."

"Why?" asked Eric.