CHAPTER XII
THE GRAVEYARD OF THE DEEP
Following on the information given by the captain of the Norwegiansteamer, which had so nearly been looted by wreckers, the _Miami_started on a search for the decoy light that had led that steamer to herfate. The captain was an able navigator, and, until the moment he hadseen the false light and been led astray by it, he had been absolutelyupon his right course. Under such circumstances it was not difficult tofind the latitude and longitude where the captain reported having firstseen the light. He had also given the bearing in the log, so the _Miami_crept slowly forward in the direction indicated, heaving the leadconstantly for treacherous shoals.
From where the captain of the steamer had cited his position there wasnot a single sign of a lighthouse or a light. But, as the _Miami_ crepton, far out of the regular ship's channel, as suddenly as though it hadbeen just placed there, rose a spar, held in place with three wirestays. On the top was a little round platform, not more than a footacross, and spikes had been driven into the mast to act as a ladder bywhich to climb it. The _Miami_ was almost on the tiny outcrop of rockbefore the mast was visible. It was painted a watery blue, which mergedin with the color of both sea and sky, and was exceedingly difficult tosee.
A boat's crew was sent ashore to demolish the mast and also to make asearch for the light. To Eric, who went ashore with the men, it wasquite an exciting hunt, "almost like looking for Captain Kidd'streasure," as he said afterwards to his chum, the young lieutenant ofengineers. The quest was in vain, for though every inch of the islet wassearched, there was no sign that the ground had been disturbed. So faras that went, there was very little ground to disturb, for the islet waslittle more than a coral rock, nearly covered at high tide. It wasevident that the wreckers, when they were ready for their work, broughtthe light with them.
As the light for which the decoy was intended to be a substitute wasquite a powerful light, with a regular occulting flash, the decoy itselfmust be powerful, and the _Miami_ was anxious to trace it. If thenative wreckers had such a lantern in their possession, probably theyhad some kind of clockwork and could alter the occultation of theirdecoy so that it would duplicate any one of several different lights onthe coast.
It was not until some time afterwards that the Lighthouse Servicelearned that there actually had been such a light in the hands of thewreckers at one time. In a quarrel among themselves, however, over thedivision of the spoils of a small schooner which had run ashore, one ofthe disgruntled wreckers had thrown the lantern overboard in deep water.
"I hadn't supposed there was anything of that sort going on now, sir,"said Eric to one of the junior lieutenants, discussing the question ofthe wreckers' lights.
"Nor had I," was the rejoinder. "The business of being a wrecker haschanged a good deal. There's plenty of it, still, but it has become arecognized profession. A wrecker, now, has offices in a big seaport,with a fleet of ocean-going tugs and a big bank-roll. When a ship isreported ashore, either her owners pay him to float her, or he buys thewreck outright and takes his chances of being able to recover thepurchase price. If luck is with him, he may get a good ship and cargocheap, but if fortune frowns and a storm breaks her up before he cansave the cargo, then he suffers a heavy loss. It's a good business, buta big gamble."
"I should think there was a lot of excitement in that business, yet!"
"Yes, there is. But it is organized now and wonderfully handledcommercially. It's only in places like these outlying fringes of theBahamas, that the native wrecker--the one who lives by robbery andloot--can still be found. In the old days, a decoy light was a regularthing. There were organizations that had offices in the cities, who usedto make a business of this wrecking. Barnegat, New Jersey, was a famouspoint in the first part of last century. All the inhabitants were inleague with the wreckers, there. Many and many a good vessel, in theearly days of American shipping, was lured directly on to thetreacherous beach, while the wreckers looted everything they could get,and plundered the passengers and crew. That's all done away with now.The United States coast is too thoroughly patrolled by the Coast Guardfor any such business as that to flourish.
"I think the Wolf Rock story is perhaps the best example of the idea ofdeliberately wrecking vessels. You've heard of Wolf Rock?"
"Yes, sir," said the boy, "it's in the English Channel, off the coast ofDevonshire."
"Did you ever hear why that particular rock was called Wolf Rock?"
"No, sir," answered Eric, "I don't think I ever did. Is it because ofthe shape of it, or because the sea breaking over it is like the fangsof a wolf or something like that? There generally isn't an awful lot ofreason for the names of rocks and reefs."
"There is for this one," said his friend. "It isn't because it lookslike a wolf, but because it howls like a wolf."
"You mean the fog-horn does?"
"No, I mean the rock does, or did," was the reply.
"How?"
"You've heard of blow-holes?"
"Yes, sir," said Eric, "there's one at the Farallones Islands. You meanthose holes that make a noise when the tide comes in and out?"
"That's the idea. The Wolf Rock was a most famous case of that. It had alarge cavern inside and a very small hole through the rock at theceiling of the cavern. Then there was a cleft or fissure through therock right down to this little hole. You can see for yourself that whenthe tide started to come in, it closed the sea entrance to the cavern,imprisoning a lot of air. Then, as the tide rose steadily, the pressureof the water drove the air out of the cavern through this little hole,continually making an intermittent blowing sound. The great cleft in therock acted like the horn of an immense megaphone. This gave rise to aroar, high-pitched--owing to the smallness of the hole--like a wolf'showl. Night and day, but more especially when the tide was coming in,the howl of the Wolf Rock sounded over the sea to warn mariners of theperilous crag."
"Handy," remarked Eric; "it would save the Lighthouse Service a good bitof money if every rock could be fixed like that."
"It didn't do the English Lighthouse Service much good," said hisfriend. "What do you suppose the good people of Devonshire did? They setto work and hunted for weeks to try to find the hole, but it was sosmall that they failed. At last, having made up their minds that theWolf Rock should cease to give its warning, they combined together andcarted boulders from the beach to the top of the rock, with incrediblelabor, and after a month's hard work filled up the entire lower part ofthe chasm and then shoveled small stones on top."
"And thus silenced the wolf's howl?"
"Very nearly. If you stand on Wolf Rock now, you can still hear a lowmoaning sound as the tide comes in, but it's very faint. So far as awarning is concerned, the wolf is chained forever."
"And did the people profit by it, sir?"
"Within three months from the time of the silencing of the wolf, overthirty vessels crashed to pieces on the rocks around, and the people ofthe villages were made rich by the wreckage of the cargoes that camefloating in, or by the plunder they took from the vessels which heldtogether after the storm had passed."
"And those who were drowned?"
"They were drowned, that was all," the other said. "Of course if anysurvivors were washed ashore, the coast folk treated them very kindly."
"I don't suppose," Eric remarked, "that they ever told these survivorsthat they had done their best to make them the victims of the hungrysea?"
"Hardly! You've got to remember that people often have queer local ways.There are superstitions you can't defend on any ground. You know, at onetime, it was considered bad luck to try to save any one who had beenpartly drowned. There are plenty of people, even nowadays, who won't cutdown a would-be suicide who has hanged himself because they think it'sbad luck.
"So far as the sea and sailors are concerned, I believe there's morehumanity than on land. It's very rarely that you ever hear of a vesselthat has refused to go to another's assistance. I think, too, the wholework of the Coast Guard is a standin
g example of the modern idea thatnothing is more important than the saving of life."
"It often takes some big disaster to start it, though," said Eric."After all, this Ice Patrol that the _Miami_ is going on next month, wasonly begun as a result of the sinking of the _Titanic_, wasn't it?"
"That's all. But wasn't that reason enough?"
"It surely was," agreed the boy.
"I think the summer ice patrol is a mighty useful thing. If the _Seneca_keeps the lane of ocean travel free of derelicts and we cover the IcePatrol of that same steamship lane, it ought to make a difference inthe safety of ships at sea. Ever see a big iceberg, Mr. Swift?"
"Heaps of them, sir," answered the lad. "I was on the Bering Sea patrollast year."
"That's right. But you'll find the Atlantic bergs are different. There'sa lot of ice in the North Pacific but it's mostly in small pans. No bigstuff comes through Bering Strait. It would strand. And then theAleutian and Kuril Islands make a sort of breakwater to head off bigbergs. But in the North Atlantic there's nothing to keep the bigGreenland glacier breaks from floating south right into the very path ofthe steamers. In fact that's what they do. You'll see some real onesthis summer."
As the lieutenant had pointed out to him, the whole ice question assumedgreat importance, viewed in the light of the Atlantic Ice Patrol. The_Miami_, on orders from the department, steamed north and relieved the_Seneca_ on duty. She picked up the bergs which the _Seneca_ had foundand plotted their positions on the chart. Every day at eight bells ofthe middle watch (4 A.M.) the wireless operator on the _Miami_ sent tothe Hydrographic office a statement as to the exact position of allbergs that had been sighted and the amount of their probable dailydrift. This information was sent out again as a daily ice warning tomerchant vessels by the Hydrographic Bureau.
ICEBERG WITH _MIAMI_ IN THE BACKGROUND.
Courtesy of U.S. Coast Guard.]
THE GHOSTLY ALLY OF DISASTER.
Berg in the lane of Atlantic travel, continuously watched by Coast GuardCutter, safeguarding thousands of human lives.
Courtesy of U.S. Coast Guard.]
The experiment of trying to demolish the larger bergs by gunnery wastried, and a six-pound shot was fired full at close range at one of thebergs. But it had no other result than to shake down a barrelful ofsnow-like dust. Following up the various bergs kept the _Miami_ busy. Atthe same time she sent and received messages from passing steamers alongthe line of travel.
Only one large berg really got into a dangerous position, and this onewas as carefully plotted and its position as thoroughly made known tovessels navigating the Atlantic as though it were a fixture. The courseof the large Atlantic greyhound _La France_ lay directly in the path ofthe berg and, had it not been for the warnings of the _Miami_, theremight have been another ocean disaster to record. As the summer monthsapproached, the cruising was delightful but not particularlyinteresting, and Eric, who craved excitement, was glad when, at the endof June, the _Miami_ was ordered to resume her old station at Key West.
Two months passed before an emergency arose, but when it did come, itproved to be one to tax the Coast Guard cutter to the full. Toward theend of September a storm warning of a hurricane was issued, and the_Miami_, which was searching for a derelict reported two hundred mileswest of Daytona, Florida, decided to run for Matanzas Inlet. Aboutdaylight the next morning, the first actual warning of the hurricane,aside from the notice sent out by the Weather Bureau, began to showitself in short gusty puffs. The barometer fell low, finally touching28 deg., lower than Eric had ever seen before.
The sky clouded gradually, and by breakfast time, the wind wasfreshening from the southeast. By ten o'clock, the wind had risen tohalf a gale, and before noon it was blowing not less than forty to fiftymiles an hour. The _Miami_ made good weather, but in the afternoon thehurricane reached such a pitch of violence that it was decided to runbefore the storm and try for the lee of Cape Fear, possibly finding asafe anchorage in Masonboro Inlet.
As evening drew on the seas became appalling. The _Miami_ pitched hernose down in the water, shipping it green with almost every dive, whileher propeller raced ten feet clear of water; next instant her sternwould settle as though she would never rise, while the bow climbed upand up as the trough rolled underneath her. Eric, who was absolutelyfree of any fear of the sea, enjoyed the storm extremely. It was tiring,however, for, every second of the time, one had to hang on to somethingfor fear either of being washed overboard, or hurled around like acatapult from a sling. When, therefore, the gaunt figure of Cape Fearlight was passed and the _Miami_ slipped in behind the lee of SmithIsland, every one felt a relief from the mad tossing.
They had not known this relief for more than about four minutes when thespluttering of the wireless began.
"I'll bet that's some one in trouble," said Eric.
"Probably," his friend, the second lieutenant said, overhearing him."Haven't you been expecting it?"
"Hadn't thought of it, sir," said the boy. "We'd plenty to do to get inhere ourselves. Yes, there goes Mr. Keelson down to the captain. Couldwe find out what's up, sir?"
The two young officers sauntered to the wireless operator's cabin.
"Somebody in trouble, I suppose, Wilson," the lieutenant said.
"Yes, sir," the operator answered, "two-masted steamer _Union_ reportedin distress, partly dismasted and with her engines disabled, anchored indeep water off the Lookout Shoal."
"Probably dragging, sir?" queried Eric, knowing that his companion knewthe coast well.
"Most likely," the lieutenant answered. "If she's off Lookout, and thewind veers round to the south'ard--which it's doing--that'll send her toCape Hatteras and Davy Jones' locker in a hurry. We may get there intime, but there's not much we can do while this weather lasts."
"Hatteras is called the 'graveyard of ships,' isn't it?"
"There are a good many places in the world thus honored," said thelieutenant, "and, so far as America is concerned, there are two, CapeCod and Cape Hatteras. There are five times as many wrecks betweenBarnegat Point and Seguin Island as there are in all the other coasts ofthe United States put together, but in proportion to the amount ofshipping that passes, Hatteras is the worst point in the world."
"Worse than the Horn?"
"A great deal," was the reply. "Shipmasters know the dangers of CapeHorn and give it a wide berth--though steamers nowadays generally usethe Straits of Magellan--but Cape Hatteras is different. It juts rightout in the path of vessels running down the coast so that a ship makesalmost a right angle at that point."
"It's a wonder they don't build a lighthouse out on the shoals."
"It can't be done," said the other, shaking his head. "The contract wasawarded once, but the project fell through. The builder found itimpossible to carry it out. There's a New York firm that has been afterthe Lighthouse Department for a long time to get a contract for thebuilding of a lighthouse on the shoals of Hatteras, but it wants fourmillion dollars, and the government thinks that a bit steep. Afirst-class lightship can be kept in commission on the station for afraction of that sum."
"But is a lightship just as good?"
"N-no," the other answered dubiously, "a lightship, as such, is not asgood as a lighthouse, supposing both were at the same point. But alightship can always be placed in a more advantageous position than alighthouse, and in places where a lighthouse is impossible, a lightshipis invaluable. I should be inclined to say that the Diamond ShoalsLightship off Cape Hatteras, the Frying Pan Shoals Lightship off CapeFear and the Nantucket Shoals Lightship off Montauk Point would takerank as three of the most important lightships in the world."
"But I should think they would get blown off their stations every oncein a while," suggested Eric.
"They do," said the other; "not very often, but they do."
"Then what happens?"
"They steam back to their station and lie to as near it as possible. Atone time lightships used to be without any kind of propelling machinery,and sometimes t
hey were driven ashore. That happened to a Germanlightship at the mouth of the Elbe, not so long ago, and all the crewwere lost."
"The Columbia River lightship went adrift, too, I remember," said theboy; "they had to haul her back through the woods in order to get herfloated again and taken to her station."
"Exactly," said his friend, "that was another case of a lightship nothaving her own steam. It's not only to enable a lightship keeping toher station, or running to safety in the event of being blown off hermoorings, but you can see that in a severe storm, if a lightship cansteam ahead into the eye of the wind, she can take a lot of the strainoff her anchors. To tell you the truth, it's my private opinion that theDiamond Shoals Lightship will need to-night every pound of steam she canget. Look for'ard!"
The lieutenant pointed with his finger. The _Miami_, starting off tohelp the disabled steamer in trouble, had turned her stern to the easyanchorage and safe haven not more than two miles away, and was headedfor the open sea. Still under the lee of Cape Fear, the force of thewind was greatly moderated and the sea was not more than ordinarilyrough. But where the lieutenant pointed, it was easy to see that thestorm was raging in its full fury. The waves were running high, theircrests whipped into spray by the gusts.
"You're right, sir," Eric agreed, "we're in for it! And, what's more,here it comes now!"
Almost with the word the _Miami_ got into the full reach of the storm,halted, gave a convulsive stagger, than plunged into the smother. For aminute or two no one on deck could have told what had happened. Theshriek of the hurricane through her cordage, the harsh roaring of thetempest-whipped sea, and the vengeful boom of the waves as they threwtheir tons of water on the deck of the sturdy vessel made the sensesreel.
But the engines of the _Miami_ throbbed on steadily in defiance of thetempest's fury. The Coast Guard cutter, like every member of her crew,was picked for service, for stern and exalted service. Hurricanes mighthurl their monstrous strength upon her, eager billows might snatch ather with their crushing gripe, shoals and reefs might hunger greedilywith foam-flecked fangs, still the _Miami_ plowed on through the storm.From realms unknown where the elements hold council of discord, theforces of destruction launched themselves upon her, but the white shipof rescue steadily steamed on, with her lights quietly burning and herofficers and crew going about their duties in calm and perfectconfidence.
Morning broke with that blue-gray veiling of the world in a covering ofstorm that sailors know so well. It was one of those mornings when thebest of ships looks worn and drazzled. The _Miami_ showed scars from hernight's battle with the tempest. One of the starboard boats had beenstove in, and the davits twisted with the force of a wave that had comeaboard. Even the most rigid discipline and the most perfect order failedto make the little vessel trim. There was an "out all night" appearanceto the cutter which told--more than great actual damage could havedone--the dogged endurance of the vessel against the fury of wind andsea.
But, down in the engine-room, the unceasing metal fingers that are thechildren of men's brains throbbed steadily, and the screw of the littlevessel drove her on to her work of rescue. On deck, the Coast Guard men,clear-eyed and determined, handled their day's routine with a sublimedisregard of the dangers of the sea. Other vessels might scurry to safeharbors, but the _Miami_, flying the colors of Uncle Sam, set out on hermission to save, with never a moment's halting.
On the _Miami_ drove. Presently, the crow's-nest lookout reported asteamer. She was one of the big West Indian liners, and she came reelingtowards the cutter with lurchings that were alarming to behold. Only acertain quick jauntiness of recovery told the tale that she, too, wasconfident of her powers to weather the storm. She called by wirelessthat she had passed the disabled steamer _Union_ two hours before, thatthe vessel was dragging her anchors and was in too shoal water for theliner to attempt a rescue.
"She's going to strike, sure," said Eric to his friend Homer, as thenews of the message was received.
"And going right over the Diamond Shoals. How would you like to havecharge of the _Miami_ now, Eric?"
The boy looked thoughtful.
"A year or two ago," he answered, "when I was in the Academy, I'd havebeen tickled to death at the chance. Right now, when I think I know abit more, I'm quite satisfied to have Keelson on the bridge. I noticethe captain's been around a good bit, too."
"Our chief has been on the job below nearly all night, as well," Homerreplied. "I'm thinking, Eric, that this is about as bad weather as anyvessel can live through!"
On through the storm the _Miami_ sped, her engine driving at its fullestspeed despite the terrific strain put upon it when the vessel heaved herstern out of water and the screw raced madly with nothing to catch. Onshe sped, though her bow was pointed straight for the most treacherousshoals on the Atlantic coast, bars of avid quicksand, on which thousandsof vessels had gone to swift and awful destruction. On toward theDiamond Shoals the cutter pierced her way, though the gray veil ofdriving spray hid everything a score of fathom before the vessel's bow.
A RESCUE ON THE DIAMOND SHOALS.
The Coast Guard Cutter in utmost peril, saving the lives of the crew ofthe wrecked steamer, _Union_.
Courtesy of Scientific American.]
"By the deep four!" called out the leadsman, as the water shallowed.
Eric felt an uncomfortable sensation at the pit of his stomach. Fourfathoms! This was within a few feet of the bottom of the vessel. If sheshould strike!
But the first lieutenant, unperturbed, peered out into the grayness. Theboy felt an overwhelming admiration of a man who could dare to take aship over the worst piece of coast in all the broad Atlantic, in adriving hurricane, with never a landmark or a light to guide him, andhold his nerve cool and self-assured. The captain was on the bridge, butEric noted that he never spoke to the first lieutenant. This, the boythought, told even more the spirit of the Coast Guard. Each man hadfaith in the knowledge and skill of the other.
Into the very jaws of the breakers the little cutter sped, and, evenwhile the boy was looking fearfully on every side of him to see thecurling waves breaking on shoals not a hundred feet away, there appearedbefore them the wrecked and disabled steamer. Over the bars the vesselhad pounded, her foretopmast had gone by the board, and she seemed inhopeless case.
So powerful was the gale that it had plucked the hapless steamer out ofthe jaws of the sucking sand, and flung her, like a plaything, into thebreakers beyond. The _Miami_ slowed down, her first pause in that awfulrace, which was ending in the maze of the Diamond Shoals, with wavesbreaking on every side and a hurricane whistling overhead.
It seemed even the most reckless foolhardiness to go on a fathomfurther, but the first lieutenant seemed to know the bottom as though itwere a peaceful lane in a New England countryside, and after the_Union_, the Coast Guard cutter crept warily. Even the boatswainmuttered under his breath,
"We'll never get out o' this!"
But, foot by foot, almost, the boy thought, step by step, the _Miami_overhauled the wrecked vessel.
Then from the long silence that had reigned on the bridge, suddenlyissued a torrent of orders. The decks of the cutter seemed to bristlewith men, as when Jason sowed the dragon's teeth. Eric, though quick andkeen, had all he could do to fulfil the part of the work that was givenhim and set the crew at the lines of the breeches-buoy. Every man was ondeck and every man was working with frantic haste.
In a fraction of time that seemed but a few seconds, a line was shot tothe _Union_, made fast by her crew on board, the breeches-buoy washauled out and the first of the men from the wreck was on the way to the_Miami_. All this had been done in the few minutes that passed while thecutter held herself within fifteen fathom of the schooner. Then the_Miami_ dropped her anchor, to hold her place for the breeches-buoy.
Amid the scream of the gale in the rigging, and the pounding of thebreakers on the shoals, the men worked like fiends. Never did ropes slipmore quickly through their hands, never did sailors work morefeverishl
y. But, in spite of this wild and furious striving, it wasevident that the _Miami_ dare not hold her place. The _Union_ evidentlyhad lost one of her anchors, and the other was not holding in the sand.Every few seconds she dragged, and, in order to prevent thebreeches-buoy tackle from being suddenly broken, the _Miami_ had to payout cable to keep in bearing. Each fathom of chain slipped brought herthat much nearer to the shoal.
There were thirty men in the _Union's_ crew and every man had beenbrought aboard but the captain, when the Coast Guard cutter reached theedge of the shoal. One minute more would mean success.
At that instant, a savage gust came hurtling in from sea, as though thehurricane was bound to claim at least one victim. The captain of thesteamer had just thrust one leg through the breeches-buoy and the_Miami's_ men, with a cheer, had started to haul him inboard, when thatgust struck the wrecked vessel. It keeled her over, snapping the line ofthe breeches-buoy like a whip, and the captain of the steamer was jerkedout into the sea.
Absolutely without thinking of what he did, reverting for the instantback to the old volunteer life-saving work, when every man went on hisown initiative, Eric tore off coat, trousers, and shoes, snatched alife-belt, and plunged into the boiling breakers.
At the same second, before even his plunge was noted, the _Miami_slipped her cable entirely, leaving chain and anchor as booty to theDiamond Shoals and clawed away from the sandbar, not more than twentyfeet from her bow.
Eric, keyed to a wild and excited perception, saw the captain of thesteamer in the water, a few feet away, and swam to him. He found himconscious but unable to swim, the jerk from the breeches-buoy havingtwisted a sinew in his thigh.
It was a half a mile to land, and the breakers rose all round them. Witha blind intuition the boy struck out for shore. He knew it was no usetrying to reach the ship. How long he struggled he scarcely knew, butthe _Union's_ captain, though in pain and crippled, was able to use hisarms in swimming and, for a few minutes, from time to time, relieved theboy.
It seemed that hours passed. The chill of failure began to creep intoEric's spirits. No longer he swam with energy, but with desperation. Thehand of the steamer's captain on his shoulder grew heavier and heavier.Spots danced before his eyes.
Suddenly his comrade spoke.
"A little further, lad," he said, "a little further. They've seen us!"
And, like a great white angel on the water, the power surf-boat of theCape Hatteras Coast Guard station came flying through the surf uponthem. The two branches of the Coast Guard had combined to snatch fromthe graveyard of the deep its full-expected prey.
THE END