The wild and picturesque work of rescue was under way. The line had
been successfully brought to the left of the lighthouse. To it had
been attached the rope, and to that the heavy cable. These the crew
of the schooner had dragged out and made fast to a mast. The shore
end passed over a tall scissors. When the cable was tightened the
breeches buoy was put into commission, and before long the first
member of the crew was hauled ashore, plunging in and out of the
waves as the rope tightened or slackened. He was a flaxen-haired
Norwegian, who stamped his feet, shook his body and grinned
comically at those about him. He accepted with equanimity a dozen
drinks of whisky thrust at him from all sides, swigged a mug of the
coffee a few practical women were making over an open fire, and
opposed to Leopold Lincoln Bunn's frantic efforts a stolid and
baffling density. Of none of these attentions did he seem to stand
in especial need.
The crew and its volunteers worked quickly. When the last man had
come ashore, the captain of the life-saving service entered the
breeches buoy and caused himself to be hauled through the smother to
the wreck. After an interval, a signal jerked back. The buoy was
pulled in empty and the surf car substituted.
Pages:
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394