Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1905-12-16

S<SS2A4C
And something on the bar Of Quogue must
be Il ship.
Out flare the fierce Coston lights, burn
Ing blood-red holes into the fog. Nothing
answers from the sea.
Through the fog. pounding through sand
and surf, race two surfmen, one east, one
west.
One a m. and fighting toward each other
from east and west, are men hauling great
lifehoats men hauling wagons filed with
ropes and gear, men hauling a gun car
riage, miles of heartbreaking sand to COW
err, never a pause IN the hurry to get to
the wreck.
The Crews Arrive.
Two a. m, and the crews of the two life
saving stations meet. They have done
such work that ordinary men would lie
down and pant. But these men spin along
the beach as if there were no such thing
as WEAKNESS in the world Quickly the gun
IS pointed to sea, though none can make
out the wreck in the weather that has be-
come thicker than ever. The long projec-
tile, with its smooth, snakey lifeline at
tached to it. is run home. Other surfmen
have been peering seward TO ascertain
some sort of range for the shot Still 9TH
ers have been sinking a sand anchor in the
frozen ground, that blocks and tackle may
be adjusted to it If the life-shot carries a
line across the wreck.
Bangi Into the darkness fees the pro-
iectie and the line whirrs out behind 1t.
Then the slack falls into the sea and prac-
ticed hands feel of it to learn il there is
any stir at the unseen end far away to
betoken that IL has gone true.
1t looks as If these swathed figures were
fishing in the mad sea-a desperate fishing
with human life for the prize. But the
fishermen have to give UP. There is no
tug on the line. They feel 1t sagging off
heavily to leeward and know that it has
missed the hidden mark.
y heavier charge is driven In. This time
the emergency cartridge is used with the
highest line in the service. Again the fish
ing, and again the line says off leeward
with the set of the current.
Shot after shot booms out. Line after line
whzzes into the darkness. Never a line
holds-srnaI wonder when men are firing at
something that they cannot even glimpse.
Yet out there In the grim pit OF the sea,
whirling around the breaking ship, dying
men have seen three projectiles, with the.
saving lines, fall within sixty feet of them
over the wreck; and, unable to stir to reach
them, have seen their chance drift away in
the waters again.
A rising sea, mining and counter-minins
the very beach, weather dropping to zero.
3 am, and more men running to the spot,
dragging more apparatus-the men of Tiana
station, five miles away coming TO help.
Seventeen Life Savers.
Now there are seventeen. Can seventeen
get boat into that sluicing?"
''It IS sure DEATH" say the baymen and
fishermen who have come 10 see and help.
'It must be DONE" says Keeper Hermann
of the Quogue station. The long boat is
hauled and carried to the farthest edge of
the surf, almost under the arches OF the
breakers. The keeper takes the steering
oar. the six strongest men take the thwarts
and hold their oars ready, and the rest of
the nte-savers walk boldly into the water
till 1t is up TO their waists and hold the boat
with the bow pointing out waiting for even
the tinieSt gap In that steady rambling of
waves.
Again and again they try to force her
through. and again and again she says
back, or, caught by a great surf, drives her
rolls back on the beach, scattering life
savers like so many matches.
Zero weather, spray that cuts face and
hands and stings like a whip where il falls
Half-past In. and seventeen men stin in
the water, waist deep, with the lifeboat that
is hurled back every time 1t Is forced for
ward Seventeen men lighting to get into
that sea that promises them sure death
seventeen men who are paid $l6.25 "A week
by their country.
But now wreckage drives up and down
the beach, hurtling blackly in the white
foam as IL IL were being swung back and
forth by g. gigantic hand Here drives
spar twenty feet long with spiintered
and, broken TO point that siashes along
q
quarter ton of spiked planking. ploughing
like a locomotive in the hurrying swell.
Even the stout lifeboat would be split like
a scantling II the least of this wreckage
struck her.
More and more of it drives in. Black
coal comes in with ii. This sea is SO
furious, terrible In it's strength that 1t
carries the heavy coal along as If II were
cork and spits tons Of 1t along the sands.
Calling From the Sea.
But we on the beaten beach know that these
cries are voices of dying men, sounding
even above the grinding of the wreckage
and the trumpet OF the storm.
Iire-sayers rush into the water with
heaving sticks and prepare to throw them
should any sailor drift near. Others try
TO launch the boat, despite that turmoil of
wreckage, but fall back helpless
There is ice over ALL It sheathes their
faces and their shoulders till they look as
If they wore glass masks. Ice shines on
their boots and ice tinkles from them with
every motion.
They have been working now for more
than six hours; and still they work desper-
ately snatehing again and again at some
chance of sea that promises an opening for
boat or man. A stranger coming on these
seventeen might think that the men out
there In the black sea are their dearest
friends. instead of being unknown sailors
OF whom they had not caught single
glimpse.
Six am. and a tightening IN the gloom
that reveals a scene set for an old old
and ever new sea play. Six hundred yards
off the beach, with waves running at her
jaws of an angry wolf are fiecked with
saliva, sits the ship-fast on the bottom