nothin' to be done except to keep a weather eye out for signs of trouble.
"Fust thing we knew of the wreck was when the man on patrol up the beach--Philander Vose 'twas--telephoned from the shanty that a ship's long-boat had come ashore at Knowles' Cove, two mile above the station. That was about one o'clock in the mornin'. 'Bout h'af-past two Sim Gould--he was drownded the next summer, fishin' on the Banks--telephoned from the shanty BELOW the station--the one a mile or so 'tother side of the cable house, Mr. Hazeltine--that wreckage was washin' up abreast of where he was; that was six miles from where the longboat come ashore. So there we was. There wa'n't any way of tellin' whereabouts she was layin'; she might have been anywheres along them six miles, and you couldn't hear nothin' nor see nothin'. But anyhow, the wreckage kept comin' in below the cable station, so I jedged she was somewheres in that neighborhood and we got the boat out--on the cart, of course--and hauled it down there.
"'Twas a tremendous job, too, that haulin' was. We had the horse and the whole of us helpin' him, but I swan! I begun to think we'd never git anywheres. 'Tween the wind and the sand and the snow I thought we'd flap to pieces, like a passel of shirts on a clothes line. But we got there after a spell, and then there was nothin' to do but wait for daylight.
"'Bout seven o'clock the snow let up a little bit, and then we see her. There was a bar jest about opposite the cable station--it's been washed away sence--and she'd struck on that, and the sea was makin' a clean breach over her. There was a ha'f a dozen of her crew lashed in the riggin', but I didn't see 'em move, so I presume likely they was froze stiff then, for 'twas perishin' cold. But we wrastled the boat down to the water and was jest goin' to launch her when the whole three masts went by the 'board, men and all. We put off to her, but she was in a reg'lar soapsuds of a sea and awash from stem to stern, so we knew there was nothin' livin' aboard.
"Yes, siree," continued the Captain meditatively, "that was a mean night. I had this ear frost-bit, and it's been tender ever sence. One of the fellers had a rib broke; he was a little light chap, and the wind jest slammed him up against the cart like as if he was a chip. And jest to show you," he added, "how the tide runs around this place, the bodies of that crew was picked up from Wellmouth to Setuckit P'int--twenty-mile stretch that is. The skipper's body never come ashore. He had a son, nice young feller, that was goin' to meet him in Boston, and that boy spent a month down here, waitin' for his father's body to be washed up. He'd walk up and down this beach, and walk up and down. Pitiful sight as ever I see."
"And they were all lost?" asked Elsie with a shiver.
"Every man Jack. But 'twas cu'rus about that hemp. The Bluebell was loaded with it, as I told you, and when she went to pieces the tide took that hemp and strung it from here to glory. They picked it up all 'longshore, and for much as a month afterwards you'd go along the 'main road' over in the village, and see it hung over fences or spread out in the sun to dry. Looked like all the blonde girls in creation had had a hair-cut."
"Captain Davis," said Ralph, "you must have seen some plucky things in your life. What was the bravest thing you ever saw done?"
The life saver took the cigar that Hazeltine had given him from his mouth, and blew the smoke into the air over his head.
"Well," he said slowly, "I don't know exactly. I've seen some pretty gritty things done 'long-shore here, in the service. When there's somebody drowndin', and you know there's a chance to save 'em, you'll take chances, and think nothin' of 'em, that you wouldn't take if you had time to set down and cal'late a little. I see somethin' done once that may not strike you as bein' anything out of the usual run, but that has always seemed to me clear grit and nothin' else. 'Twa'n't savin' life neither; 'twas jest a matter of bus'ness.
"It happened up off the coast of Maine 'long in the seventies. I was actin' as sort of second mate on a lumber schooner. 'Twas a pitch-black night, or mornin' rather, 'bout six o'clock, blowin' like all possessed and colder 'n Greenland. We struck a rock that wa'n't even down on an Eldredge chart and punched a hole in the schooner's side, jest above what ought to have been the water line, only she was heeled over so that 'twas consider'ble below it most of the time. We had a mean crew aboard, Portugees mainly, and poor ones at that. The skipper was below, asleep, and when he come on deck things was in a bad way. We'd got the canvas off her, but she was takin' in water every time she rolled, and there was a sea goin' that was tearin' things loose in great shape. We shipped one old grayback that ripped off a strip of the lee rail jest the same as you'd rip the edge off the cover of a pasteboard box--never made no more fuss about it, either.
"I didn't see nothin' to do but get out the boats, but the skipper he wa'n't that kind. He sized things up in a hurry, I tell you. He drove the crew--ha'f of 'em was prayin' to the Virgin and t'other ha'f swearin' a blue streak--to the pumps, and set me over 'em with a revolver to keep 'em workin'. Then him and the fust mate and one or two of the best hands rousted out a spare sail, weighted one edge of it to keep it down, and got it over the side, made fast, of course.
"Then him and the mate stripped to their underclothes, rigged a sort of bos'n's chair over where the hole in the side was, took hammers and a pocketful of nails apiece, and started in to nail that canvas over the hole.
"'Twas freezin' cold, and the old schooner was rollin' like a washtub. One minute I'd see the skipper and the mate h'isted up in the air, hammerin' for dear life, and then, swash! under they'd go, clear under, and stay there, seemed to me, forever. Every dip I thought would be the end, and I'd shet my eyes, expectin' to see 'em gone when she lifted; but no, up they'd come, fetch a breath, shake the salt water out of their eyes, and go to work again.
"Four hours and a quarter they was at it, four hours, mind you, and under water a good ha'f of the time; but they got that sail nailed fast fin'lly. We got 'em on deck when 'twas done, and we had to carry the fust mate to the cabin. But the skipper jest sent the cook for a pail of bilin' hot coffee, drunk the whole of it, put on dry clothes over his wet flannels, and stayed on deck and worked that schooner into Portland harbor, the men pumpin' clear green water out of the hold every minute of the way.
"Now, that always seemed to me to be the reel thing. 'Twa'n't a question of savin' life--we could have took to the boats and, nine chances out of ten, got ashore all right, for 'twa'n't very fur. But no, the skipper said he'd never lost a vessel for an owner yit and he wa'n't goin' to lose this one. And he didn't either, by Judas! No, sir!"
"That was splendid!" exclaimed Elsie. "I should like to have known that captain. Who was he, Captain Davis?"
"Well, the fust mate was Obed Simmons--he's dead now--but he used to live over on the road towards East Harniss. The skipper--well, he was a feller you know."
"'Twas Cap'n Eri," said Mrs. Snow with conviction.
"That's right, ma'am. Perez told you, I s'pose."
"No, nobody told me. I jest guessed it. I've seen a good many folks in my time, and I cal'late I've got so I can tell what kind a man is after I've known him a little while. I jedged Cap'n Eri was that kind, and, when you said we knew that skipper, I was almost sartin 'twas him."
"Well!" exclaimed Ralph, "I don't believe I should have guessed it. I've always liked the Captain, but he has seemed so full of fun and so easy-going that I never thought of his doing anything quite so strenuous."
Captain Davis laughed. "I've seen fo'mast hands try to take advantage of that easy-goin' way 'fore now," he said, "but they never did it but once. Cap'n Eri is one of the finest fellers that ever stepped, but you can't stomp on his toes much, and he's clear grit inside. And say," he added, "don't you tell anybody I told that story, for he'd skin me alive if he knew it."
As they walked back toward the station Ralph and Elsie lingered a little behind the others, and then stopped to watch a big four-master that, under full sail, was spinning along a mile or two from the beach. They watched it for a moment or two without speaking. Elsie's cheeks were brown from the sun, stray wisps of her hair fluttered in the wind, and her trim, healthy figure stood out against the white sandhill behind them as if cut from cardboard. The electrician looked at her, and again the thought