The Light Keepers: A Story of the United States Light-house Service

"I only wish I knew they would come back!" Sidney said as if to himself, and Uncle Zenas cried with more of hopefulness in his tone than he had indulged in since his comrades went out:

"We're bound to think they'll come, Sonny. There's no sense in dwellin' on the dark side of things, an' we've got to keep our spirits up. You shall help me build a roarin' fire, for it ain't any ways certain we won't have half-drownded strangers here before a great while."

It was a positive relief to have something in the nature of work to do, and Sidney obeyed eagerly, bringing coal from the odd cellar, shaking the ashes from the grate, and brushing up the dust which had fallen to the floor.

When he went back to the window again it seemed as if he could see a dark shadow through the snow to the southward of the ledge, and it was only with the greatest difficulty that he could prevent himself from crying aloud.

"I won't make a fool of myself by exciting Uncle Zenas about nothing," he said to himself, and then he was positive the shadow rose and sank, as if on the waves.

"I believe I can see something," he said softly, trying hard to repress any evidence of great joy. "There's a shadow out on the ocean, and – "

"It's our dory, Sonny, it's our dory!" Uncle Zenas cried loudly, suddenly lifting the lad in his big arms and kissing him again and again. "Yonder's a boat, sure enough, an' it must be ours!"

"But if she should be – "

Sidney could not finish the sentence, and the old man cried excitedly as he ran to and fro:

"But she won't be, Sonny. That craft is held straight on a course, else she'd be wabblin' 'round. Get somethin' on – Here, this coat is far enough along in the makin'. Get into it quick, an' we'll go out to bear a hand!"

"But what can we do?" Sidney cried, now showing quite as much excitement as did Uncle Zenas. "How are we to bear a hand?"

"They'll need some one to help 'em make a landin', whether there are passengers aboard or not! Be lively, Sonny, an' thank God that He has let Cap'n Eph an' Sammy come back to us!"

Neither Uncle Zenas nor Sidney were very well protected from the cold when they clambered down the iron ladder to the rocks; but it is safe to say that neither of them could have told whether he was warm or cold, wet or dry, as they stood on the ledge gazing with painful intentness at that dark line behind the snow which both believed to be the boat they were so anxious to see.

Then, slowly, the shadow took on form, until it was possible to trace the outlines of the dory, and an instant later a great cry of triumph went up from both.

There were four men at the oars instead of two, and a heap of something in the stern-sheets that might well be a human being.

"Just think of it!" Uncle Zenas cried, dancing to and fro over the icy rocks more like an insane person than a staid, elderly cook and second assistant of a first-order light. "Them two old idjuts have gone out when a man had no business even to walk the length of this 'ere ledge, an' saved sailors as were drownin'! There ain't another couple on the whole coast, never mind how young they may be, who'd dared to put off in this gale."

It would be well nigh impossible to set down all that Uncle Zenas said or did while he waited, unmindful of the falling snow or flying spray, for the coming of his comrades. Never for an instant was he silent or motionless, and it is extremely doubtful if he was aware of what he said or did; his joy was so intense as to have become a form of delirium.

Sidney, on the contrary, neither moved nor spoke during that time of waiting; but with pallid face, and lips compressed until the blood was driven from them entirely, he watched eagerly and fearfully the approach of the dory.

The little craft was laboring fearfully in the heavy sea, even though the wind helped her along, and the watchers could have some dim idea of what a battle the two keepers must have had when advancing in the very teeth of the gale, by the labor which was required now, when the most difficult portion of the task was virtually at an end.

Then came the moment when, having run across the southerly end of the ledge, the dory was headed for the western shore and the two watchers ran into the water waist-deep in order to lend a hand.

Save for the incoherent cries of Uncle Zenas, no word was spoken until the bow of the little boat had been hauled up on the rocks, and Captain Eph leaped ashore.

His clothing was covered with ice; his hair weighted with snow, and his face so disguised by the mask of frost that even Uncle Zenas might have failed to recognize him under other circumstances; but he lifted Sidney in his arms, as if it was the lad instead of himself who had performed the bravest of brave deeds, and, kissing him again and again, said in a half-whisper:

"Thank God that I've got your face next to mine once more!"

"He has been good to let you come back to me," Sidney said reverentially, and the greetings were at an end.

"Bear a hand, Uncle Zenas, an' help get these poor fellows into the tower. Two of 'em are well nigh dead, an' the others ain't much better, though I reckon the work at the oars has done 'em a world of good."

Then, and only then, did Sidney understand that the keepers had rescued four sailors, two of whom were huddled in the bottom of the dory as if life had already departed.

It was as if Uncle Zenas had the strength of half a dozen men. He lifted one of the unconscious sailors in his big arms, as if handling a baby, and ran across the slippery rocks like a goat, depositing his burden in the kitchen and getting back to the dory before the second sufferer had been taken out.

"Leave him to me," the cook said as he raised the sailor in his arms, literally forcing Captain Eph to release his hold. "I'm feelin' so mighty good 'cause you've come back alive that I've got to do somethin' out of the common run, or take the chances of bustin'."

Sidney could do nothing more than help Captain Eph and Mr. Peters drag the boat across the rocks to the little boat-house, and when she was properly secured the three entered the kitchen.

Two of the survivors of the wreck were in front of the fire drinking hot coffee, while Uncle Zenas was stripping the clothing from the others, and the cook's first words showed that he intended to take entire charge of the rescue from that point.

"Sonny," he cried, "run up-stairs an' strip all the beds; bring the clothes here, an' then help me rub these poor creeters down. Ephraim Downs, you an' Sammy Peters are to get out of them wet duds jest as quick as you know how, an' don't you dare let me see you liftin' a finger till you're in dry clothes. I've had trouble enough about you this day, without your gettin' all drawed up with rheumatiz jest for spite. You're enough to wear a man down to skin an' bones, an' I've come to that pass where I can't stand any more of your capers."

All was bustle and excitement during the next hour. Sidney tried to obey promptly all the cook's orders; but at times he became so confused as to hardly be aware of what he was doing.

The two survivors who had assisted in working the boat were in no need of care after they had been supplied with dry clothing; but it was necessary to rub the others vigorously before they showed signs of returning consciousness.

Within an hour, however, the rescued men were lying in the beds which had been made up on the floor of the kitchen, and Captain Eph sat in the rocking-chair before the stove, with Sidney in his arms.

"You're a brave man, Captain Eph," the lad said as he clasped the keeper's big, brown hand, "and I'm mighty proud of you."

"That's a good deal more pay than I deserve for doin' what little was in my power, Sonny, dear."

"Were all the rest of the crew drowned?"

"Ay Sonny, sixteen of 'em either froze or went under before we got there, an' two of these couldn't have lasted another half hour; but we won't talk about that jest now. From the time Sammy an' me started, I kept sayin' to myself that when we got back I'd take you in my arms, as I've got you near an' hold you jest as long as you could stand it, for you're gettin' to be a good part of my life, laddie."

CHAPTER X

THE RESCUE

Uncle Zenas grumbled because Captain Eph insisted on holding Sidney in his arms, instead of lying down to rest as it seemed he ought to have done; but to all his protests, uttered in whispers lest the rescued men who were sleeping on the floor be disturbed, the old keeper replied:

"I don't need any coddlin', Uncle Zenas, for what I've done this day hasn't tuckered me out a little bit. Besides, I'm restin' with Sonny in my arms, a good deal more'n I would alone in bed."

Sidney had a vague idea that he was much too large a boy to be thus held as if he were a baby; but he made no protest against being thus petted, because it could be plainly seen that it gave the old keeper real pleasure.

After a short time Uncle Zenas proposed that the strangers be left alone, lest their rest be disturbed by the conversation, and the crew of Carys' Ledge light went into the watch-room, where Mr. Peters had already built a fire in the small stove.

The storm raged as severely as at any other time during the day; but to Sidney there was no longer any menace in the howling of the wind, while the beating of the snow against the windows only served to remind him how cosy and comfortable it was inside the tower, for with the return of the two keepers from their perilous voyage he had forgotten his fears.

"It doesn't seem possible that you could have kept the boat right side up in those terrible waves," the lad said at length, and Mr. Peters replied:

"There's a good deal of difference between a dory and a boat with a keel, Sonny. In almost any other kind of a craft I'll allow that it mightn't have been possible; but it was a mighty tough pull at the best."

"All it needed was a clear head an' plenty of grit, Sonny," Captain Eph added. "We were stripped down to it till we had to work or freeze, an' so we kept her goin', but more'n once I made up my mind that we'd have to turn back in spite of the hankerin' to give them poor fellows a lift. Sammy ain't overly fond of laborin', as a general thing; but I must say he pulled away this forenoon as if he was a glutton at it, an' time an' time again it seemed as if he reg'larly lifted the dory out'er the water with his oars."

"That's when I was tryin' to keep myself warm," Mr. Peters said with a laugh. "The hardest part of it for me was keepin' the snow out'er my eyes; twice they got froze up, what with the sleet an' spray, an' I had all I could do to pry 'em open without losin' stroke."

"Was the vessel where you believed, sir?" Sidney asked.