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THE BOY WITH THE U. S. LIFE-SAVERS




BOOKS BY FRANCIS ROLT-WHEELER

U. S. Service Series

Illustrations from Photographs taken for U. S. Government. Large 12mo.
Cloth. Price $1.50 each.


THE BOY WITH THE U. S. SURVEY
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. FORESTERS
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. CENSUS
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. FISHERIES
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. INDIANS
THE BOY WITH THE U. S. EXPLORERS

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON




[Illustration: THE GLEAM THAT BRINGS HOPE.

Coast Guard patrol burning the Coston Light as signal to wrecked vessel
that help is at hand.

Courtesy of Outing Magazine.]




U. S. SERVICE SERIES.

THE BOY WITH THE U. S. LIFE-SAVERS

BY FRANCIS ROLT-WHEELER

With Forty-eight Illustrations, nearly all from Photographs Loaned by
Bureaus of the U. S. Government

[Illustration]

BOSTON
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.

Published, August, 1915

COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.

_All rights reserved_

THE BOY WITH THE U. S. LIFE-SAVERS

Norwood Press
BERWICK & SMITH CO.
NORWOOD, MASS.
U. S. A.




PREFACE


Upon the hungry rock-bound shores of Maine, and over the treacherous
quicksands of Cape Hatteras, the billows of the Atlantic roll; the
tropical storms of the Gulf of Mexico whip a high surf over the coral
reefs of Florida; upon the Pacific coast, six thousand miles of sea
fling all their fury on the land; yet no one fears. Serene in the
knowledge that the United States Coast Guard and the Lighthouse Bureau
never sleep, vessels from every corner of the world converge to the
great seaports of America.

The towers that stand sentinel all day, or flame their unceasing
vigilance all night, hold out their message of welcome or of warning to
every ship that nears the coast, and not a point of danger is
unprotected. Should an unreckoned-with disaster cast a vessel on the
breakers, there is not a mile of beach that the Coast Guard does not
watch.

Far in the northern Bering Sea, a Coast Guard cutter blazes the hidden
trail through Polar ice for the oncoming fleet of whalers, and carries
American justice to where, as yet, no court has been; out in the
mid-Atlantic, when the Greenland icebergs follow their silent path of
ghostly menace, a Coast Guard cutter watches and warns the great ocean
liners of their peril; and when, in spite of all that skill and
watchfulness can do, the sea claims its toll of wreck, it is the Coast
Guard cutter that is first upon the scene of rescue. To show the stern
work done by the U. S. Coast Guard, to depict the indomitable men who
overcome dangers greater than are known to any others who traffic on the
sea, to point to the manly boyhood of America this arm of our country's
national defense, whose history is one long record of splendid heroism,
is the aim and purpose of

THE AUTHOR.




CONTENTS


CHAPTER I

A RESCUE BY MOONLIGHT                                      1


CHAPTER II

THE LIGHTS THAT NEVER SLEEP                               28


CHAPTER III

HEROES OF THE UNDERGROUND                                 61


CHAPTER IV

SNATCHED FROM A FROZEN DEATH                              96


CHAPTER V

SAVED BY THE BREECHES-BUOY                               120


CHAPTER VI

A BLAZON OF FLAME AT SEA                                 156


CHAPTER VII

REINDEER TO THE RESCUE                                   187


CHAPTER VIII

THE BELCHING DEATH OF A VOLCANO                          222


CHAPTER IX

DEFYING THE TEMPEST'S VIOLENCE                           246


CHAPTER X

ADRIFT ON A DERELICT                                     274


CHAPTER XI

THE WRECKERS OF THE SPANISH MAIN                         294


CHAPTER XII

THE GRAVEYARD OF THE DEEP                                322




ILLUSTRATIONS


                                                 FACING PAGE
The Gleam That Brings Hope                    _Frontispiece_

The Light That Never Sleeps                               10

The Lonely Watcher of the Coast                           20

Where Patrols Meet. The Half-way Point                    20

Breaking a Death-Clutch from Behind                       32

Breaking a Death-Clutch from the Front                    32

The "Eddystone" of America                                42

Lighthouse Tender Approaching Buoy                        54

Refilling Pintsch Gas Buoy                                54

Sliding Down to Work                                      64

The Defier of the Pacific                                 76

A Beacon Masked in Ice                                    86

Wrecked! And the Ice Between!                            100

Laying the Lyle Gun                                      110

Firing the Shot and Line                                 110

Gold Life-Saving Medal                                   118

Life-boat Capsize-Drill                                  138

Rushing the Apparatus-Cart                               146

Breeches-Buoy Drill. Firing                              158

Breeches-Buoy Drill. Rescuing Survivor                   158

The Lightship That Went Ashore                           168

Guarding the Graveyard of the Deep                       168

Coast Guard Cutter, _Miami_, on July Fourth              194

The _Bear_ in the Ice Pack                               202

The _Bear_ Breaking Free from the Ice                    202

Reindeer Messengers of Rescue                            210

Reindeer That Saved Three Hundred Lives                  210

Signals That Guard Our Coast                             224

Going to Pieces Fast                                     234

"We Saved 'Em All"                                       234

Native Refugees from Katmai Eruption                     244

"The Iron Rim Rolling Savagely"                          256

"The Boat Went into Matchwood"                           266

Man's Waterspout. A Derelict's End                       280

Preparing to Blow Up a Derelict                          280

The Greatest Menace of the Seas                          290

Burned to the Water's Edge                               290

Foam--The Derelict's Only Tombstone                      300

Mining a Lurking Peril                                   300

Stranded! After Storm Has Ceased and Tide Has Ebbed      310

The Signal of Distress That Was Never Seen               320

Iceberg with _Miami_ in the Background                   330

The Ghostly Ally of Disaster                             330

A Rescue on the Diamond Shoals                           340




THE BOY WITH THE U. S. LIFE-SAVERS

CHAPTER I

A RESCUE BY MOONLIGHT


"Help! Help!"

The cry rang out despairingly over the almost-deserted beach at Golden
Gate Park.

Jumping up so suddenly that the checker-board went in one direction, the
table in another, while the checkers rolled to every corner of the
little volunteer life-saving station house, Eric Swift made a leap for
the door. Quick as he was to reach the boat, he was none too soon, for
the coxswain and two other men were tumbling over the gunwale at the
same time.

Before the echoes of the cry had ceased, the boat was through the surf
and was heading out to sea like an arrow shot from a Sioux war-bow.

Although this was the second summer that Eric had been with the
Volunteers, it had never chanced to him before to be called out on a
rescue at night. The sensation was eerie in the extreme. The night was
still, with a tang of approaching autumn in the air to set the nerves
a-tingle. Straight in the golden path of moonlight the boat sped. The
snap that comes from exerting every muscle to the full quickened the
boy's eagerness and the tense excitement made everything seem unreal.

The coxswain, with an intuition which was his peculiar gift, steered an
undeviating course. Some of the life-savers used to joke with him and
declare that he could smell a drowning man a mile away, for his instinct
was almost always right.

For once, Eric thought, the coxswain must have been at fault, for
nothing was visible, when, after a burst of speed which seemed to last
minutes--though in reality it was but seconds--the coxswain held up his
hand. The men stopped rowing.

The boy had slipped off his shoes while still at his oar, working off
first one shoe and then the other with his foot. It was so late in the
evening that not a single man in the crew was in the regulation
bathing-suit, all were more or less dressed. Eric's chum, a chap
nicknamed the "Eel" because of his curious way of swimming, with one
motion slipped off all his clothing and passed from his thwart to the
bow of the boat.

A ripple showed on the surface of the water. Eric could not have told it
from the roughness of a breaking wave, but before ever the outlines of a
rising head were seen, the Eel sprang into the sea. Two of those long,
sinuous strokes of his brought him almost within reach of the drowning
man. Blindly the half-strangled sufferer threw up his arms, the action
sending him under water again, a gurgled "Help!" being heard by those in
the boat as he went down.

The Eel dived.

Eric, who had followed his chum headforemost into the water hardly half
a second later, swam around waiting for the other to come up. In three
quarters of a minute the Eel rose to the surface with his living burden.
Suddenly, with a twist, almost entirely unconscious, the drowning man
grappled his rescuer. Eric knew that his chum was an adept at all the
various ways of "breaking away" from these grips, a necessary part of
the training of every life-saver, but he swam close up in case he might
be able to help.

"Got him all right?" he asked.

"He's got me!" grunted the Eel, disgustedly.

"P'raps I'd better give you a hand to break," suggested the boy,
reaching over with the intention of helping his friend, for the
struggling swimmer had secured a tight grip around the Eel's neck. The
life-saver, however, covering the nose and mouth of the half-drowned man
with one hand, pulled him close with the other and punched him
vigorously in the wind with his knee.

"Now he'll be good," said the Eel, grinning as well as he could with a
mouth full of water. He spat out the brine, shook the water out of his
eyes, and putting his hands on either side of the drowning man's head,
started for the shore. Using a powerful "scissors" stroke, the Eel made
quick time, though he seemed to be taking it in leisurely fashion. Eric,
although a good swimmer, had all he could do to keep up.

"How do you think he is?" the lad asked.

"Oh, he'll come around all right," the Eel replied, "I don't believe
he's swallowed such an awful lot of water. I guess he's been able to
swim a bit."

The rescued man was a good weight and not fat, so that he floated deep.
The sea was choppy, too, with a nasty little surf on the beach. But the
Eel brought the sufferer in with the utmost ease.

As soon as they reached shore, Eric grabbed the drowning man's feet
while the Eel took him by the shoulders and lifted him on a stretcher
which two other members of the Volunteer Corps had brought. As soon as
the rescued man was placed on this, the bearers started at a quick pace
for the life-saving station, and artificial respiration was begun.

In spite of the fact that the boy had seen dozens of half-drowned
persons brought back to consciousness, the process never lost to him its
half-terrible fascination. He always felt the lurking danger and he had
been well-trained never to forget how much hung in the balance. Always
it was a human life, flickering like a candle-flame in a gusty wind.
Always the outcome was unknown.

Once Eric had worked for a solid hour over a man who had been brought in
from the beach before he had been rewarded by any sign of life. The
U. S. Volunteer Corps had drilled into him very thoroughly the knowledge
that tireless patience and grim persistence will almost work miracles.
Accordingly, when it came his turn, he joined readily in the work of
restoration. The swim had tired him a little, and he was glad to quit
when another member of the station took his place over the half-drowned
man's body.

"Why do we use the Schaefer method, Doctor?" Eric asked.

"It's the best system for our work," was the reply, "because it can be
done by one person. Quite often, a fellow may make a rescue and bring
some one to shore, so that he will have to work alone. You're not going
to be right at a station always."

"That's true," the boy said meditatively.

"Watch, now," continued the doctor, pointing to the life-saver, who was
at work and who was kneeling astride the prone figure of the unconscious
man. "You see Johnson's hands are pressing right between the short ribs,
aren't they?"

"Yes, that's the base of the lungs, isn't it?" Eric queried.

"It is," the doctor answered. "Now when a man brings down the weight of
the upper part of his body on his hands--the way Johnson is doing
there--it means that about one hundred pounds of pressure is applied to
those lungs, doesn't it?"

"Sure; fifty pounds on each lung," agreed the boy.

"You can see how that forces out nearly every bit of air in the lungs.
Then, as soon as he leans backwards again, and takes off the pressure,
the air rushes in to fill the lungs. That makes artificial breathing,
doesn't it?"

"Of course."

"That's the whole secret of restoration; that, and keeping everlastingly
at it."

"But if the Schaefer method is the best way," protested Eric, "I don't
see why everybody doesn't use it."

"Such as--"

"Well, the Life-Saving end of the Coast Guard doesn't!"

"I don't say the Schaefer is the only good method," answered the doctor;
"nothing of the kind. It's the one that suits us best." He stepped over
to the prostrate man, never relaxing his vigilant watch for the first
sign of life. Then, returning to Eric, he continued, "The Coast Guard
uses the Sylvester method, doesn't it?"

"One of the forms of it, Father told me," the boy answered. "He showed
me how. It's quite different from what we do here."

"How did he show you?" asked the doctor interestedly; "there are so many
different ways."

"Father told me to stand or kneel at the head of the chap who had been
rescued, then, grabbing hold of the arms above the elbows, to draw them
up over the head, keep them there a couple of seconds, then force them
down and press them against the sides of the chest. I suppose the
principle is about the same."

"Exactly the same," the doctor said, "but of course every one has his
preference. I like the Schaefer method best, myself, because in it the
tongue hangs out and the water runs from the mouth naturally, while in
the Sylvester method, the tongue has to be tied."

"But which is the better?" persisted Eric.

"There really doesn't seem to be much difference in the result," was the
reply, "it's the man behind the gun, not the system. The Coast Guard so
far holds the record for the most wonderful cases of recovery and theirs
is the older method. The important thing is to know exactly what you're
doing, and to do it with everlasting perseverance. Never give up! I've
seen some wonderful examples of fellows just snatched back to life long
after we thought they had gone. There was one, I remember--"

"Doctor!" called Johnson, "I think he's coming to!"

The rescued man gave a gasp and his eyelids fluttered. The doctor was
beside him in an instant, but instead of seeming satisfied by his
examination he shook his head doubtfully as he rose from the side of his
patient.

"Going all right?" queried Eric.

"No," was the answer, "he's not. I think he's got smokers' heart. You'd
better watch him a bit closely, boys! One can't ever tell in these
cases."

"You mean he's not out of the woods yet, Doctor?" the lad asked.

"Not by a long shot," was the reply. "You can't play any monkey-shines
with the heart. Judging by the shape that fellow's heart is in, I should
be inclined to say he's been smoking for nearly ten years, smoking
pretty heavily, too. And he can't be a day over twenty-three!"

"Do you suppose that had anything to do with his drowning?"

"Of course it had," the doctor answered. "Swimming is a real athletic
exercise and you've got to keep in shape to swim well. What's more,
you've got to have a decent heart to start with. But if a youngster
piles into cigarettes, it's a safe bet that he's going to <DW36>
himself for athletics in manhood."

"But you smoke, Doctor!"

"Sure I do," the other rejoined. "And I swim, pretty nearly as well as
any of you young fellows. But I didn't start any cigarette business when
I was a kid, the way lots of boys do now. It wasn't until I was in
college that I smoked my first pipe."

"Then you think it's all right for a chap to smoke after he's grown up?"

"I wouldn't go as far as to say that," the doctor said, "but there's no
doubt that the cases which have turned out worst are those in which the
habit began early. Nature's a wise old scout, Eric, and you're apt to
find that a man who's likely to be hurt by smoking won't develop a
craving