but the winter and spring were reserved for patrolling the beaches and plucking survivors off wrecks. The Carolina stations were stretched every seven miles up to the Virginia line.
Of course, menfolk on the Banks had always been wreckers or lifesavers or had gone to sea in the square-riggers or had fished the sounds in sharpies or Creef boats; ocean-fished with haul nets. It was in the marrow and the worst thing any man could say of another was, "I'd like not to have him in a boat with me." And in the twenty years of the Lifesaving Service, no Banker, to anyone's knowledge, had ever shown a white feather; had ever given anyone the opportunity to call him a coward. Ben did not intend to be the first.
"When did she hit?" Ben shouted, determined to make Filene talk.
"Dunno."
"I saw her rocket."
"My rocket," Filene corrected sternly, glaring at Ben.
"Then nobody saw her hit?"
Filene nodded, paying more attention to the sea, naturally, than to Ben.
He was a powerful man, a bit over six feet. His age was about fifty. He'd been a surfman for thirty years, a rescuer even before the Lifesaving Service was founded in 1871. Now, he demanded respect and got it. The same was true of all the keepers. But Midgett was the most famous name in the dan of surfmen. There were a dozen or more in the service.
Filene finally spoke, almost in defense of himself, straining his eyes seaward. He did not really want to speak to Ben, especially this night, but felt he had to talk his piece to someone.
"I sent Luther Gaskins on patrol when she quit rainin' enough to see ten feet ahead."
The beach patrols always went one-half the distance to the next station, punched a dock, and turned back Back and forth. About every hour, meeting the patroller from the next station, usually. But when it was blind with rain or snow it didn't do much good to make the walk or edge along on a sand pony. Sometimes the first anyone knew of a wreck was a pitiful cry from a sailor crawling along the beach.
Filene snorted spitefully. "Alriddy there was wood on the beach. Must 'ave been deep in ballast when she hit the bar."
The men called ships, sky, tide, sea, fish, and sun "she." They were all female. Unpredictable, the men said. And mainlanders couldn't understand why the Bankers said some other things.
Mommicked
was "fouled up" and
berlask
was "ruined." The Bankers did not know, either, but were told that people in northern England had talked that way long ago. Some British professor came out and listened and said it was from Devon, wherever that was. The Bankers shrugged.
"Rain hid her from you all day?" Ben asked, careful not to antagonize Filene but still curious.
Filene nodded bleakly and Ben began to feel the keeper's rage; perhaps his guilt for not having sent a patrol out earlier. The sea had insulted him once again; had spit in his eye. That was not a healthy thing to do to Filene Midgett.
Ben knew Filene hadn't lost many lives when a ship got this close. He'd gone out in any weather under oars, six men pulling; him steering, no matter the water, to bring them in. Ben had seen the boats go out, climbing the breakers almost straight up, Filene hunched and braced in the stem over the steering oar; damning the sea without ever once cussing. He was a very religious man.
Ben knew he could lay a Lyle gunshot across a ship for a breeches buoy rig in almost total darkness; do it in less than five minutes once his gun was set. He'd been decorated, as had John O'Neal, for saving lives. Both were gold medal men, winners of the highest Lifesaving Service award.
But this ship, Ben was certain, had come apart like a box of spilled matches when it hit the bar in sheeting rain.
3
A SHOUT CARRIED over the wind and thunder of water.
Then Jabez Tillett, who was as stringy as the wreck pole and had an Adam's apple like a rock in midchannel, no chin at all, staggered toward them with a sodden limp bundle on his back He lowered it to the sand near Filene's boots. The
Of course, menfolk on the Banks had always been wreckers or lifesavers or had gone to sea in the square-riggers or had fished the sounds in sharpies or Creef boats; ocean-fished with haul nets. It was in the marrow and the worst thing any man could say of another was, "I'd like not to have him in a boat with me." And in the twenty years of the Lifesaving Service, no Banker, to anyone's knowledge, had ever shown a white feather; had ever given anyone the opportunity to call him a coward. Ben did not intend to be the first.
"When did she hit?" Ben shouted, determined to make Filene talk.
"Dunno."
"I saw her rocket."
"My rocket," Filene corrected sternly, glaring at Ben.
"Then nobody saw her hit?"
Filene nodded, paying more attention to the sea, naturally, than to Ben.
He was a powerful man, a bit over six feet. His age was about fifty. He'd been a surfman for thirty years, a rescuer even before the Lifesaving Service was founded in 1871. Now, he demanded respect and got it. The same was true of all the keepers. But Midgett was the most famous name in the dan of surfmen. There were a dozen or more in the service.
Filene finally spoke, almost in defense of himself, straining his eyes seaward. He did not really want to speak to Ben, especially this night, but felt he had to talk his piece to someone.
"I sent Luther Gaskins on patrol when she quit rainin' enough to see ten feet ahead."
The beach patrols always went one-half the distance to the next station, punched a dock, and turned back Back and forth. About every hour, meeting the patroller from the next station, usually. But when it was blind with rain or snow it didn't do much good to make the walk or edge along on a sand pony. Sometimes the first anyone knew of a wreck was a pitiful cry from a sailor crawling along the beach.
Filene snorted spitefully. "Alriddy there was wood on the beach. Must 'ave been deep in ballast when she hit the bar."
The men called ships, sky, tide, sea, fish, and sun "she." They were all female. Unpredictable, the men said. And mainlanders couldn't understand why the Bankers said some other things.
Mommicked
was "fouled up" and
berlask
was "ruined." The Bankers did not know, either, but were told that people in northern England had talked that way long ago. Some British professor came out and listened and said it was from Devon, wherever that was. The Bankers shrugged.
"Rain hid her from you all day?" Ben asked, careful not to antagonize Filene but still curious.
Filene nodded bleakly and Ben began to feel the keeper's rage; perhaps his guilt for not having sent a patrol out earlier. The sea had insulted him once again; had spit in his eye. That was not a healthy thing to do to Filene Midgett.
Ben knew Filene hadn't lost many lives when a ship got this close. He'd gone out in any weather under oars, six men pulling; him steering, no matter the water, to bring them in. Ben had seen the boats go out, climbing the breakers almost straight up, Filene hunched and braced in the stem over the steering oar; damning the sea without ever once cussing. He was a very religious man.
Ben knew he could lay a Lyle gunshot across a ship for a breeches buoy rig in almost total darkness; do it in less than five minutes once his gun was set. He'd been decorated, as had John O'Neal, for saving lives. Both were gold medal men, winners of the highest Lifesaving Service award.
But this ship, Ben was certain, had come apart like a box of spilled matches when it hit the bar in sheeting rain.
3
A SHOUT CARRIED over the wind and thunder of water.
Then Jabez Tillett, who was as stringy as the wreck pole and had an Adam's apple like a rock in midchannel, no chin at all, staggered toward them with a sodden limp bundle on his back He lowered it to the sand near Filene's boots. The
Similar Books
Designed for Love
Yvette Hines
Hard Mated
Jennifer Ashley
A Clandestine Corporate Affair
Michelle Celmer
The Sniper's Wife
Archer Mayor
Plan Bee
Hannah Reed
Love For Hire
Anna Marie May
The Mystic Wolves
Belinda Boring
Fatal Judgment
Irene Hannon
Awakened (Vampire Awakenings)
Brenda K. Davies
Forever
Pete Hamill