Jeff Benson, or the Young Coastguardsman

“Hallo! Captain Millet!” cried Jeff, with a roar that almost equalled the elements.

“Ay, ay, is that you, Jeff?” came back in a similar roar (but greatly softened by distance) from the swirling spray-clouds that raged above the wreck.

“Cheer up, Captain; we’ll save you all right,” returned our coastguardsman in another enthusiastic roar, which of itself did something to cheer up all who heard it.

About a dozen of the sailors had been got into the lifeboat, when a tremendous rending sound was heard, followed by a loud cry of alarm, as the mast broke off a few feet above the deck, and plunged, with the men still upon it, into the boiling sea. To add to the confusion and terror, some part of the cordage caught the lifeboat, and completely sank as well as overturned it.

To an ignorant observer it might have seemed that all hope was gone—that every man must perish. But this was not so. The buoyant qualities of the magnificent lifeboat brought it to the surface like a cork the instant it was freed. Its self-righting qualities turned it on its keel. The self-acting discharging tubes emptied it in less than two minutes; and the crew, supported by their cork life-belts, caught the life-lines festooned round the boat’s side for this very purpose, and clambered into her.

Of the men of the wreck who had been tumbled into the sea along with them, some clung to their rescuers, whose belts could easily sustain two. Others were able to lay hold of the boat, and a few held on to the floating wreckage till they were saved.

Suddenly the voice of Captain Millet was heard, “Hold on, lads; don’t go without me. My foot’s jammed here, and I can’t—”

He stopped abruptly, for the head of the mast plunged under water at the moment, taking the captain along with it.

Without a word Jeff rose and sprang into the sea at the spot where his friend had disappeared. Almost at the same moment the end of the mast re-appeared, and struck our hero on the side with terrible violence. In spite of the blow, however, he was able to free the captain, who was caught by several strong arms, and hauled inboard at the same moment that his rescuer laid hold of one of the hanging life-lines.

While they were still heaving at the captain, David Bowers heard Jeff’s voice—

“Your hand, Davy!”

The stout coastguardsman was not slow to obey and he received a grip like that of a drowning man; but his mate made no other effort to save himself.

“Help here, two of you,” cried Bowers.

Another moment, and six brawny arms embraced Jeff, and lifted him into the boat.

“Not hurt, I hope, Jeff?”

“Not much, Davy—at least not to speak of; only I’m a bit stunned. Just let me lie here. One o’ the North Star’s men can take my oar.”

There was no time for delicate attentions or inquiries in the circumstances, for the wreck of the mainmast had already given the boat, strong though it was, some damaging lunges as it shot wildly to and fro in the mad sea.

“All there?” demanded the coxswain of the saved men, who had been rapidly counting their numbers.

“All here, thank God!” answered Captain Millet.

“Haul off, lads!”

The men laid hold of the hawser, and hauled with a will—not a moment too soon, for the wreck was breaking up, and the sea around was strewn with heavy timbers. Having hauled the boat up to her anchor, the latter was got in, and the oars were shipped. These last being made fast to the boat with strong lines, had not been lost in all the turmoil, though two of them were broken. They were replaced, however, by spare oars; and then the lifeboat, being pulled out of danger, hoisted her scrap of sail and scudded away gaily before the wind for the shore with her rescued freight.

Of course the news spread like wildfire that the lifeboat had come in with the crew of the wrecked North Star—some said the whole crew, others, part of the crew; for verbal reports of this kind never do coincide after travelling a short way.

“Jeff, I must go straight to my sister, and be first wi’ the news,” said Captain Millet on landing. “You said my Rosebud is with her just now?”

“Yes, I’ll go with ’ee, captain.”

“Come along, then, lad; but I fear you’ve got hurt. You’re sure it isn’t broken ribs?”

“Oh, nothing to speak of,” replied the youth, with a light laugh.

“First however, I must telegraph to the owners,” said the captain.

This duty performed, and his men comfortably housed in a neighbouring inn, Captain Millet and Jeff went off to the cottage. It was about two in the morning when they reached it. No one had yet been there. In his excited state of mind, the captain, who had no nerves, thundered at the door.

If there was one thing that Miss Millet had a horror of, it was housebreakers. She leaped out of bed, and began to dress in terror, having roused Rose, who slept with her.

“Burglars never thunder like that, auntie,” suggested Rose, as she hastily threw on her garments.

Miss Millet admitted the force of the argument and then, somewhat relieved, concluded that it must be tipsy men. Under this impression she raised the window-sash—her bedroom being on the upper floor—and looked timidly out.

“Go away, bad, naughty men!” she said, in a remonstrative tone. “If you don’t I shall send for the police!”

“Why, Molly, don’t you know me?”

“Brother!” shrieked Miss Millet.

“Father!” exclaimed the Rosebud.

Need we say that, after a few more hurried touches to costume, the door was opened, and the untimely visitors were admitted? Need we add that when Rose, with a little cry of joy, leaped into her father’s arms and received a paternal hug, she leaped out of them again with a little shriek of surprise?

“Father, you’re all wet! a perfect sponge!”

“True, darling, I forgot! I’ve just been wrecked, and rescued by the lifeboat through God’s great mercy, ’long with all my crew; and there,” he added, pointing to Jeff, “stands the man that saved my life.”

If Rose loved the young coastguardsman before, she absolutely idolised him now. Something of the feeling must have betrayed itself on her fair face, for Jeff made a step towards her, as if under an irresistible impulse to seize her hand.

But at that moment he experienced an agonising sensation of pain, and, staggering backwards, sat down—almost fell—upon the sofa.

“Nothing—nothing,” he replied, to the anxious inquiries of Miss Millet. “Only a little pain, caused by the rap I got from that mast. Come now, auntie, don’t fuss about me, but sit down and hear what the captain has got to say.”

Chapter Five

Miss Millet Receives a Surprise, Rosebud a Disappointment, and our Hero Another Blow

Miss Millet was one of those cheery, unselfish, active-minded women who are not easily thrown off their balance—deranged, as the French say—by untoward circumstances.

The arrival of any two friends at two in the morning would have failed to disturb the good nature or weaken the hospitality of that amiable creature. Her joy, therefore, at the sudden, though untimely, appearance of her brother and friend was not marred by selfish considerations; and although she was eager to bear what the captain had to say, she would not let him begin until he and Jeff had retired to an attic chamber and put on dry habiliments.

How male attire came to be so handy in a spinster’s house is easily accounted for by the fact that her regard for the memory of her departed father was so great as to have induced her to leave his hat and stick in the passage in their wonted places after his death, and to leave undisturbed the chest of drawers which contained the greater part of his wardrobe. Nothing short of absolute necessity would have induced Miss Millet to disturb these sacred relics; but she knew that death might result from sitting in drenched clothes, and her well-balanced mind at once pointed out that here was a case which demanded a sacrifice. She therefore bowed to the inevitable, and handed her brother the key of the chest of drawers.

As the late Mr Millet had been a large man, the result was that her visitors were admirably fitted out—the only disadvantage being that the captain had to turn up the legs of the trousers and the cuffs of the coat.

Meanwhile Miss Millet lighted a gas-stove, which she had always ready for invalid purposes, and Rose arranged the table, so that when their visitors returned to the parlour, they were greeted with the sight of food and the singing of the tea-kettle.

“I can offer you brandy, brother,” said the little hostess, “as a medicine!”

“Thankee, Molly—not even as a medicine,” said the captain, with a benignant look; “tea is better in the circumstances. I can speak from a vast amount of experience. But of course I speak only for myself. I don’t know what Jeff’s principles—”