Killykinick by Mary T. Waggaman (ebook reader 8 inch .txt) 📕

old sailor over the roar of the wind. And doors and portholes shut, the heavy bolts of iron and timber fell into place, and everything was made tight and fast against the storm that now burst in all its fury on Killykinick,--a storm that sent Brother Bart down on his knees in prayer, and held the boys speechless and almost breathless with terror. In the awful blackness that fell upon them they could scarcely see one another. The "Lady Jane" shook from stem to stern as if she were being torn from her fifty years' mooring. The stout awnings were ripped from the upper deck; their posts snapped like reeds in the gale; the great hollows of the Devil's Jaw thundered back the roar of the breakers that filled their cavernous depths with mad turmoil. On land, on sea, in sky, all was battle,--such battle as even Captain Jeb agreed he had never seen on Killykinick before.

"I've faced many a hurricane, but never nothing as bad as this. If it wasn't for them cliffs behind us and the stretch of reef before, durned if we wouldn't be washed clean off the face of the earth!"

"Laddie, laddie!" was the cry that blended with Brother Bart's prayers for mercy. "God in heaven, take care of my poor laddie through this! I ought not to have let him out of my sight."

"But he's safe, Brother Bart," said Dan, striving to comfort himself with the thought. "He is on land, you know, just as we are; and the old lighthouse is as strong as the 'Lady Jane'; and God can take care of him anywhere."

"Sure He can, lad,--He can. I'm the weak old sinner to doubt and fear," was the broken answer. "But he's only a bit of a boy, my own little laddie,--only a wee bit of a boy, that never saw trouble or danger in his life. To be facing this beside a dying man,--ah, God have mercy on him, poor laddie!"

So, amid fears and doubts and prayers, the wild hours of the storm and darkness passed; the fierce hurricane, somewhat shorn of its first tropic strength, swept on its northward way; the shriek of the wind sank into moan and murmur; the sea fell back, like a passion-weary giant; the clouds broke and scattered, and a glorious rainbow arched the clearing sky.

The bolts and bars that had done such good duty were lifted, and the crew of the "Lady Jane" went out to reconnoitre a very damaged domain. Cow-house and chicken-house were roofless. Brown Betty lay crouching fearful in the ruins while her feathered neighbors fluttered homeless in the hollows of the rocks. The beans and peas and corn,--all things that had lifted their green growth too proudly, were crushed to the earth. But far worse than this was the havoc wrought on the beach. One half of the wharf was down. The small boats, torn from their moorings, had disappeared entirely. The motor boat Jim and Dud had hired for the season was stove in upon the rocks. The "Sary Ann," stranded upon the shoals of Numskull Nob, to which she had been swept by the gale, lay without mast or rudder, leaking at every joint.

The two old salts surveyed the scene for a moment in stoic silence, realizing all it meant to them. But Brother Bart, with the sunlight dancing on the waves, the rainbow arching the sky, broke into eager, hopeful speech.

"God be thanked it's over and we're all alive to tell it; for Noah's deluge itself couldn't have been worse. And now, Jeroboam, we'll be going over after laddie; and the Lord grant that we may find him safe as the rest!"

"We'll be going after him!" repeated Captain Jeb, grimly. "How and whar!"

"Sure--can't we right one of the boats?" asked the old man, anxiously.

"Which boat," was the gruff question. "That thar play toy" (surveying the motor boat) "is smashed in like an eggshell. Whar the other has been swept to nobody knows. And the 'Sary Ann' has done her best, as we all can see; but no boat could hold her own agin that storm. Do you think she will stand till morning, Neb?"

Neb rolled his dull eyes over reef and shoal.

"She moight," he replied briefly. "Struck pretty bad thar in the bow; but the wind is down now and the tide is low."

"And she is oak-keeled and copper-braced from stem to stern," continued Captain Jeb. "She may stick it out until we can get thar and tow her in. As for the boy, Padre, we can't reach him no more'n we can reach the 'Sary Ann' without a boat; and thar's nothing left that will float around this Killykinick."

"Ah, the Lord have mercy! And are we to leave laddie in that wild place beyond all night?" cried Brother Bart. "Scatter, boys,--scatter all over the place, and maybe you can find a boat caught in the rocks and sands; for we must get to the laddie afore the night comes on, cost what it may. Scatter and strive to find a boat!"

While the boys scattered eagerly enough Captain Jeb, making a spyglass of his hands, was scanning the horizon with a sailor's practised eye.

"What is it you see?" asked Brother Bart, anxiously. "Don't tell me it's another storm!"

"No," answered Captain Jeb, slowly, "it ain't another storm. Neb" (his tone grew suddenly sharper and quicker), "step up to the ship and get the old man's glass,--the glass we keep shut up in the case."

Neb, who never shirked an order, obeyed. In a moment he returned with one of the greatest treasures of the "Lady Jane"--Great-uncle Joe's ship-glass that was always kept safe from profaning touch; its clear lenses, that had looked out on sea and sky through many a long voyage, polished to a shine. Captain Jeb adjusted them to his own failing eyes, and gazed seaward for a few moments in silence. Then he said:

"'Pears as if I couldn't see clarly after that tarnation blow. You look out, Neb. And, Padre, you'd better step back thar and keep a weather eye on them younkers. It doesn't do to turn them out too free, with things all broke up."

"You're right, man,--you're right, Jeroboam," said the good Brother tremulously. "I'll keep an eye on them, as you say."

"Thar,--I've got him out of the way!" said Captain Neb, as Brother Bart hurried back to watch over his scattered flock. "Now look, Neb,--look steady and straight! Three points to the south of Numskull Nob,--what d'ye see?"

"Nothing at all," answered Neb.

"Look again!" His brother adjusted the old shipmaster's glass with a hand that trembled strangely. "Another point to the south. Look steady as ye can, Neb. Yer weather eye was always clarer than mine. What d'ye see now?"

"Nothing," came the answer again; and then the dull tone quickened: "Aye I do,--I do! Thar's suthing sticking out of the waves like a broken mast."

"The Old Light," said Captain Jeb, hoarsely,--"all that's left of it. Last Island has gone under, as you said it would, Neb,--clean swallowed up. And the boy--" (the speaker gulped down something like a sob). "Looks as if the Padre will never see his little lad agin."


XXII.--THE LOST AND FOUND.


There had been an extra Mass at the little church at Beach Cliff on the morning of the storm. Father Tom Rayburn, an old classmate of the pastor's, had arrived, and been welcomed most cordially.

"I'm off to an old camping ground of mine--Killykinick," he had explained to his host as they sat together at breakfast. "One of our Brothers is there with some of St. Andrew's boys, and my own little nephew is among them."

"Ah, yes, I know!" was the reply. "They come every Sunday to the late Mass. And, by the way, if you are going out into those ocean 'wilds,' you could save a busy man some trouble by stopping at the Life-Saving Station (it's not far out of the way, as I suppose you'll take a sail or a motor boat); and I promised two of those sturdy fellows who are groping for the Truth some reading matter. I thought a friendly talk at the same time would not be amiss. They have little chance for such things in their lonely lives. But my duties are quadrupled at this season, as you know."

"And the 'wilderness' is in my line," said Father Tom. "Of course I'll be glad to stop. I used to haunt the Life-Saving Station when I was a boy; and I should like to see it again, especially when I can do a little missionary work on the side," he laughed cheerily.

And so it had happened that while Dan and Freddy were hauling in their lines and delivering breakfasts along the shore, one of the trig motors from the Boat Club was bearing a tall, broad-shouldered passenger, bronzed by sun and storm, to the Life-Saving Station, whose long, low buildings stood on a desolate spit of sand that jutted out into the sea beyond Shelter Cove. It was Uncle Sam's farthest outpost. The Stars and Stripes floating from its flagstaff told of his watchful care of this perilous stretch of shore that his sturdy sons paced by day and night, alert to any cry for help, any sign of danger.

Father Tom, whose own life work lay in some such lines, met the Life-Savers with a warm, cordial sympathy that made his visit a most pleasant one. He was ready to listen as well as talk. But Blake and Ford, whom he had come especially to see, were on duty up the shore, and would not be back for more than two hours.

"I'll wait for them," said Father Tom, who never let a wandering sheep, that hook or crook could hold, escape his shepherd's care; and he settled down for a longer chat of his own wild and woolly West, which his hearers watching with trained eyes the black line in the horizon, were too polite in their own simple way to interrupt. Their guest was in the midst of a description of the Mohave Desert, where he had nearly left his bones to bleach two years ago, when his boatman came hurriedly up with a request of speedy shelter for his little craft.

"There's a storm coming up I daren't face, sir," he said. "We can't make Killykinick until it blows over. You'll have to stay another hour or two here."

"All right, if our good friends will keep us," was the cheery response. "We are not travelling on schedule time."

And then Father Tom looked on with keen interest as the sturdy life-savers made ready for the swift-coming tempest that was very soon upon them, bringing Blake and Ford back, breathless and drenched, to report their observations along the beach,--that there was nothing in sight: everything had scudded to shelter. So all gathered in the lookout, whose heavy leaded glass, set in a stone frame, defied the fury of the elements. And, thus sheltered, the group in Uncle Sam's outpost watched the sweep of the storm.

"It's a ripper!" said Blake, translating the more professional opinion of his mates to Father Tom. "But we ain't getting the worst of it here. These West Indianers travel narrow gauge tracks, and we're out of line. Killykinick is catching it bad. Shouldn't wonder if that stranded tub of the old Captain's would keel over altogether."

"You think they are in danger there?" asked Father Tom, anxiously.

"Oh, no! Thar's plenty of other shelter. Killykinick is rock-ribbed to stand till the day of