The Wireless Operator—With the U. S. Coast Guard/Chapter 11
CHAPTER XI
Lost in the Sea
FOR a moment the crew of the Iroquois stood as though petrified. In the brilliant beam of the searchlight they could see the dark forms of their comrades as they bobbed up above the smother of foam. Down from the bridge and the rigging of the Capitol City, where the members of her crew had taken refuge from the sweeping waves, these men now came leaping fearlessly. To rope and life-buoy they ran, and, seizing them, hurled them far out into the waves toward the struggling men from the Iroquois. But the strong cross-current that had borne the floating keg so far to one side of the stranded ship, now carried the struggling men rapidly away from the steamer and the floating buoys. Desperately the men fought to reach the Capitol City, but the rushing tide beat them back, sucked them farther and farther away from the ship, and dragged them out toward the deeper water. Not long did the men on the Iroquois remain idly watching their comrades, helpless in the surf. One instant alone they stood as though paralyzed. Then, as the captain began to bark his terse commands, they leaped to action. In an instant the anchor-chain was released, and as it paid out the Iroquois began to move. Driven by wind and wave, she bore farther into the breakers. A seaman with the lead sounded and roared out the depths. Rapidly the water shoaled, but the captain let the Iroquois drive on. He meant to save his men if it were humanly possible. Rapidly the tide was sweeping them outward. The wind was pushing the cutter inward. Every second brought the struggling men nearer to their comrades, who waited with ropes and buoys, at the rail of the Iroquois.
Of a sudden the Iroquois was jarred from stem to stern. Again and again, as she rolled in the waves, came that pounding, jarring sensation. She had struck bottom. She was on the shoals. The captain signaled for full speed ahead, and shouted an order to the men at the anchor-chain. The propeller began to revolve slowly, then faster, then at full speed. The engine on the forward deck began to heave in the anchor-chain. The Iroquois seemed to pause and gather herself for a leap. Almost imperceptibly at first, then faster, and then with a rush, she moved through the water. An oncoming comber, towering toward the skies, met her bow on, and again the little cutter plunged headlong under water. A warning cry went up. The men on deck grasped rope and rail and clung with all their might. The great wave went sweeping aft like an avenging fury, but not a man was swept away. Instantly the captain signaled to lessen speed. The Iroquois forged ahead more slowly, the leadsman sounding continually and shouting the depth to the commander on the bridge. Soon the cutter rode at a safe depth. The engines were stopped, the anchor-chain was made fast, and once more the Iroquois rode safe at the edge of the breakers.
All the while the resistless tide was sweeping the struggling men in the breakers out toward the Iroquois. One by one they were now borne past the ship, struggling desperately to reach her side. With trembling hands eager comrades flung ropes and buoys. All fell short. One man alone came close, bravely fighting his way to the starboard side of the cutter. A sailor climbed over the rail and down a ladder, leaned down, and snatched his struggling comrade as the latter shot upward on the crest of a wave. At that instant the ship lurched violently to port, the sailor’s grasp was broken, his comrade was torn from his grip, and the poor fellow was sucked away by a wave, and, struggling desperately, was borne out to sea. All about the Iroquois men were fighting with the waves. In desperation their comrades watched them.
To launch a boat seemed not humanly possible. No little craft could live in such a sea. But the captain called for volunteers, and as one man the crew sprang forward.
“Lower away the leeward lifeboat,” roared the captain.
Eager hands unbent the gripes, the falls were loosened, and the lifeboat dropped level with the rail. Into her leaped the chosen crew, with the executive officer in command. Down went the boat. For a moment it rode the waves in safety, and pulled out toward the struggling men in the sea. It had almost reached the nearest when a swirling comber rose beside it, towered a second above it, and then came crashing down on it, burying men and boat under tons of yeasty water.
For a moment, boat and men were completely lost to sight. Far down beneath the swirling seas the ill-fated crew of the lifeboat had been thrust by the towering comber. The moving searchlight showed no human form among the savage seas. Then suddenly the sea was full of struggling men. Some fought their way to the overturned boats and clung to them. Those whose grips had loosened were seized by their comrades and dragged back to the pitiful security of a hold on a floating boat. Some could not gain even this slender assistance.
At this instant the tide turned. Jar to seaward the men from that first ill-fated boat had now been swept, out into the blackness of the night, past the possibility of assistance. But the struggling crew of the other boat were now borne slowly shoreward. Now wave and wind combined to wash them toward the distant sands. It did not seem possible that they could safely pass through that seething caldron. With incredible fury the waves beat down upon them. Like chips in a mill race they were tossed helplessly this way and that. But every man of them wore a life belt, and despite the buffeting of the seas all remained afloat and alive. Bravely they continued to fight for their lives.
Two boats had been swamped. Two crews were battling for life in the waves, and one was irrevocably lost. But men still pressed forward and begged to be allowed to try again. No boat could live in such an awful sea, yet the men of the Iroquois pleaded for a chance, a last chance, to save their comrades. The captain ordered one more boat lowered. Like its predecessors, it lived but a few minutes in the awful sea.
Three boats had now been capsized, and three crews were struggling in the sea. Many were clinging to the overturned boats, while others had gained some of the buoys thrown to the crew of the first overturned boat. Numbers were swim-ming unaided. The sea was full of boats and floating men. Impotent, heartsick, torn with anguish, the men remaining on the Iroquois stood watching the awful sight. They had done their best. They had done all that human beings could possibly do, but it was not enough. There was nothing else they could do but pray, and many an agonized seaman, rough as a barnacle, stood with tears streaming down his rugged face and prayed for his comrades struggling for their lives in that awful sea.
Perhaps those prayers were heard. With every minute the incoming tide ran stronger, washing the struggling men toward shore, where now were burning the welcome beacons of the crews from landward Coast Guard stations. Again and again they tried to launch their surfboats, and as often were beaten back. Now they stood at the edge of the waves, waiting to assist their comrades from the ship.
Ceaselessly the searchlight of the Iroquois played upon the breakers, and on her bridge officers stood with glasses and watched the awful fight. Miraculously the struggling men drove steadily toward the shore. Soon they were in shallow water. They touched bottom. And now, fighting their way upward on the sand, they struggled through the breakers. Again and again inward-rushing waves beat them down, but always they were flung forward, tossed landward, driven farther toward the sandy beach and safety. The flaming fires before them heartened them, encouraged them. New strength came to them, and singly, in pairs, and even in little groups, they battled their way onward. The strong helped the weak, and one or two were seen dragging comrades who were wholly helpless. Out into the breakers rushed the waiting guards from the shore. Strong arms were thrown around weak and fainting forms, and limp bodies were carried bodily through the waves. Again and again the sturdy guardsmen from the shore rushed back into the waves and aided more men ashore, while others toiled to resuscitate the few who had all but succumbed.
Around the fires now pressed the rescued seamen, increasing in number as man after man gained the sands, until they formed a great ring about the flames. Their numbers brought joy to the watchers on the Iroquois. Now the rescued men were seen to be leaving the fire and trooping off into the darkness.
The commander was talking to the quartermaster, who had been kept at his post during all the struggle. “We must be a little farther along the coast than I thought,” said the captain. “They must be taking our men to a Coast Guard station. Tell Sparks to get in touch with the station and find how many men were saved.”
The quartermaster climbed down the ladder and made his way to the radio shack. Young Belford was on duty. “Where is Mr. Sharp?” demanded the quartermaster.
“Gone,” said the young wireless man, and there were tears in his eyes.
“Gone! You don’t mean he went in a boat?”
The radio man nodded. For a moment he could not speak, then he managed to say, “I saw him leap into the last boat.” And a great sob broke from him.
“He may be safe,” said the quartermaster. “Most of the men got ashore. We could see them with the glasses.”
“Oh, I hope so!” cried the lad.
The quartermaster ran up on the bridge again. “The chief radio man is gone,” he said. “He pulled an oar in the last boat.”
“Find young Harper,” said the captain.
“I saw him on deck helping the sailors.”
“Send him to me.”
When the quartermaster had summoned Henry, the commander said to him, his voice quivering with emotion, “Lad, Mr. Sharp is gone. He was in the last boat. Are you sure you can operate our wireless? We need it now as we never needed it before.”
“I can,” said Henry quietly.
“Then try to get in touch with this land station. I don’t know which one it is. I thought that we were opposite Truro. We're somewhere in that neighborhood. Find which station it 1s, and ask how many men got ashore.”
“But what about Belford?’ asked Henry. “He’s the regular assistant. Oughtn’t he to do it?”
The captain glared angrily at Henry. Then he comprehended what was in the boy’s mind. “Send Belford to me,” he said. “It’s no time for etiquette now. I want action.”
“You shall have it,” said Henry, and he hastened to the radio shack.
“Belford,” he said, as he closed the door to shut out the howl of the wind, “the captain has asked me to send a message. He wants you to report to the bridge.”
Henry sat down at the desk, hastily searched through the list of Coast Guard station calls, and began combing the air with the wireless to carry out the captain’s wishes. Meantime young Belford mounted to the bridge and stood before his commander.
“Young man,” said the captain, “Mr. Harper is going to take charge of the wireless. He’s a former government operator and has had much experience. I am sorry to go over your head, but we must all do our best. It’s a trying time.”
“I will help all I can,” said the assistant operator loyally.
“Very good,” said the commander. “Go back to the wireless house. Tell Mr. Harper to come to me the instant he gets word from shore.”
“Yes, sir,” said the radio man, and he hurried back to his post.
Meantime Henry had been flashing abroad call after call. He had just got his station when young Belford came back. A moment more and his great question was answered. He turned from his key, his face aglow.
“The captain wants to see you the minute you’re done,” said young Belford.
Henry rose and sought the bridge. “Captain Hardwick,” he cried, “every man except the crew of the first boat is accounted for. They are all safe at the station.”
“Thank God!” cried the commander. For a moment he could not speak. Then, in husky tones, he said, “Henry, I’ve told young Belford that you are in charge of the radio. Don’t feel any hesitation about taking charge. There is now a vacancy in our radio staff. You are regularly appointed to the vacancy and detailed to act as chief.”