CHAPTER VI.

THE BEACH PATROLS.

“Wind’s blowing some,” observed Baley, raising his voice so that he could be heard above the angry snarl of the surf.

“Hope nothing hits the bar to-night,” Downs answered.

Then the surfmen trudged off in opposite directions, following the line of the wave-beaten strand, each carrying on his back a recording clock in a leather case, several candle-like Coston lights, and a wooden handle.

With oilskins buttoned tightly and hip-boots drawn up, Jim Downs and his youthful comrades fought the stiff breeze on their watch. Darkness was slow in coming, so they were not yet in imminent peril from shifting sands, driftwood, or tidal waves. Their mission was a serious one, requiring alertness and keen observation. Soon a sense of solemn responsibility subdued even the high spirits of the boys, finally checking the flow of their eager conversation altogether.

“Isn’t that a ship ’way out there?” Hugh asked at length, gazing at something which seemed to be the dark bulk of a vessel in a sea of foam.

“Guess it’s only a cloud,” answered Downs, and Billy agreed with this opinion.

Hugh said nothing in contradiction, but he was by no means convinced that the slowly moving form was not that of a schooner. Indeed, he believed he saw the faint lines of spars and rigging.

After a few minutes Downs, to make sure, looked again at the distant object. Then, taking a Coston signal from his pocket and fitting it to the handle, he struck the end on the sole of his boot. Like a match it caught fire and flared out through the mist, a dull red light. He stood still, holding the torch above his head, waiting for some answering signal from the vessel,—if it were one, after all.

No signal was shown in response. Either the ship was still too far out to catch sight of the warning beacon, or none of her crew was on deck at the moment. The glowing torch sputtered and went out, and with a shrug of his broad shoulders, Downs trudged on down the beach.

“Come on, kids, we’ll set off another light farther on,” he said. “If that’s really a ship, give her a few minutes to watch for signals.”

In awed suspense, Hugh and Billy followed him to the end of Red Key. Chained to a post driven in the sand, they found a stout dory with two pairs of oars.

“Pile in,” said Downs, “and sit tight. Hardin, you take one pair of oars, I’ll take t’other, and we’ll be over on the next key in a jiffy.”

The crossing was soon made. Billy tied the boat to another post, while Downs again lighted a signal. They were still near enough the station to notify the lookout there of a possible ship in distress, and in a few minutes they caught the gleam of the big lamp in the tower, shining out through the vapor blown from the crests of the waves.

Still no sign from the object of their concern.

“Look!” cried Hugh. “It can’t be a cloud; it hasn’t changed its shape, and——”

“And it seems to be comin’ nearer,” added Downs, interrupting him quickly. “You’re right, son; it’s a sailing vessel. She’s being blown landward, but with good luck, she’ll slip past the bar out there, and maybe she’ll make for the lee o’ Turtle Island. Watch and see. Come on,—but we won’t hike over the pontoon to-night. I’ll go alone.”

Through long vigils in all kinds of weather, the patrol learns every foot of his beat thoroughly, and he is able to tell with reasonable accuracy how and where a storm-tossed vessel will be driven, or where a stranded one lies. Downs was no exception to this rule, yet there were times when, experienced surfman as he was, he felt uncertain whether a ship was likely to be forced over on the mainland beach, or whether she would run aground on the outer bar at the end of the keys. The latter situation was the more to be dreaded, for the bar was far beyond the reach of a line shot from shore.

Deciding to continue his beat, Downs left the two scouts seated together on a mound of sand and driftwood, and made his way alone across the swaying, tossing pontoon.

“I’ll be back in about twenty minutes,” he said, and he was as good as his word.

At the end of his beat he stopped to take a watchkey attached to a post, and, inserting it in the clock he carried, to record the time of his visit at that spot. By this means is kept an actual record of the movements of the patrol at all times.

Returning to the place where he had left the boys, he found them sitting in awed silence.

“No signs from the ship yet?” he shouted.

So quietly had he approached, and so thunderous was the booming of the surf, Billy and Hugh were startled at the sound of Downs’s voice. Even had they not been staring out to sea, waiting in suspense for the ship’s signal, they would not have seen him come up, so thick was the mist.

Billy gasped and jumped up. “What—what are we going to do now?” he asked.

“Want to go back to the station?”

“No, no!” exclaimed Hugh, springing to his feet. “We’re out here with you. We’ll stick by you.”

“But I’m out here for four hours’ duty. You don’t want to stick it out that long, son?”

“Yes, we do—if you don’t mind,” replied Billy.

“Is there anything you’d rather have us do?” asked Hugh, beginning to understand a kindly hint in Jim Downs’s words. “We’d like to be of real service, if we can.”

“Sure you can! Seeing as the weather’s so thick, suppose you lads race back to the station and report what we’ve seen. Then, if the cap’n sends Larry out to join me, you can come back with him. See?”

“All right,” they responded.

Again they climbed into the dory and rowed back to Red Key. Jim waited to light another torch, and the boys sped up to the boathouse, where they informed the keeper, who already knew of the ship, of what they had seen.

* * * * * * * *

Meanwhile Baley, with Alec and Chester, had walked the opposite beat. From the first, however, they felt sure that the distant object against the murky horizon was a vessel. With lighted Coston signal in hand, Baley pursued his difficult way along the shore, buffeted by the wind and drenched with flying spray. He explained to the boys how the outer line of sandbars, which in summer breaks the blue ocean into sunny ripples and flashing white caps, has power to churn the spring tides into fury and to grip with a mighty hold the keel of any vessel that is unlucky enough to be driven on it.

As they trudged doggedly on, the wind whipped through the beach grasses on the dunes and spitefully swirled handfuls of cutting sand into their faces. Fortunately, the night was not cold, else they might have fared worse. As it was, the two scouts rather enjoyed the novel experience. They felt that they were, for the time being, a part of Uncle Sam’s coast guard,—members of a crew of brave men whose vigilance and strength and presence of mind save hundreds of lives and valuable property every year.

They told Baley how they had learned to become efficient signalers, and he heartily approved of that branch of their training. Knowing a lot about the Boy Scout organization,—for his son was then a tenderfoot in a Florida troop,—he was not surprised at the amount of general “prepared-ness” which Alec and Chester modestly displayed.

“You never can tell, my lads, just when and where and how you’ll need to use what you’ve learned,” he said pleasantly. “For instance: Suppose we had to signal that ship out there to-morrow morning, or even to-night, if she gets into trouble? Could you do it?”

“Reckon we could, Mr. Baley,” replied Chester quietly.

“If we have a chance, you’ll see,” was Alec’s even more confident answer. The vague possibility implied in Baley’s question gave him an adventurous thrill.

When these three reached the end of their beat and turned back toward the starting point, they were surprised to meet Culver. He had been sent out to keep watch with Baley, for Keeper Anderson thought it best to have four men on patrol that night. Larry Flynn had been sent to reinforce Downs.

When the first watch was over, four other surfmen took the places of those on duty; but the boys were quite ready to seek the “shakedowns” prepared for them. The long night hours passed, and daylight crept slowly and feebly across a cloudy sky and over a turbulent sea.