The Lighthouse by Robert Michael Ballantyne (e ink epub reader .TXT) 📕

of the pool on which the man kneeled, as if it actually desired more intimate acquaintance. Forsyth lay flat down and reached out his hand toward it; but it appeared to think this rather too familiar, for it swam slowly beyond his reach, and the man drew back. Again it came to the side, much nearer. Once more Forsyth lay down, reaching over the pool as far as he could, and insinuating his hand into the water. But the fish moved off a little.

Thus they coquetted with each other for some time, until the man's comrades began to observe that he was "after something."

"Wot's he a-doin' of?" said one.

"Reachin' over the pool, I think," replied another.

"Ye don't mean he's sick?" cried a third.

The smile with which this was received was changed into a roar of laughter as poor Forsyth's long legs were seen to tip up into the air, and the whole man to disappear beneath the water. He had overbalanced himself in his frantic efforts to reach the fish, and was now making its acquaintance in its native element!

The pool, although small in extent, was so deep that Forsyth, long though he was, did not find bottom. Moreover, he could not swim, so that when he reached the surface he came up with his hands first and his ten fingers spread out helplessly; next appeared his shaggy head, with the eyes wide open, and the mouth tight shut. The moment the latter was uncovered, however, he uttered a tremendous yell, which was choked in the bud with a gurgle as he sank again.

The men rushed to the rescue at once, and the next time Forsyth rose he was seized by the hair of the head and dragged out of the pool.

It has not been recorded what became of the fish that caused such an alarming accident, but we may reasonably conclude that it sought refuge in the ocean cavelets at the bottom of that miniature sea, for Long Forsyth was so very large, and created such a terrible disturbance therein, that no fish exposed to the full violence of the storm could have survived it!

"Wot a hobject!" exclaimed Joe Dumsby, a short, thickset, little Englishman, who, having been born and partly bred in London, was rather addicted to what is styled chaffing. "Was you arter a mermaid, shipmate?"

"Av coorse he was," observed Ned O'Connor, an Irishman, who was afflicted with the belief that he was rather a witty fellow, "av coorse he was, an' a merry-maid she must have bin to see a human spider like him kickin' up such a dust in the say."

"He's like a drooned rotten," observed John Watt; "tak' aff yer claes, man, an' wring them dry."

"Let the poor fellow be, and get along with you," cried Peter Logan, the foreman of the works, who came up at that moment.

With a few parting remarks and cautions, such as,--"You'd better bring a dry suit to the rock next time, lad," "Take care the crabs don't make off with you, boy," "and don't be gettin' too fond o' the girls in the sea," etcetera, the men scattered themselves over the rock and began their work in earnest, while Forsyth, who took the chaffing in good part, stripped himself and wrung the water out of his garments.

Episodes of this kind were not unfrequent, and they usually furnished food for conversation at the time, and for frequent allusion afterwards.

But it was not all sunshine and play, by any means.

Not long after Ruby joined, the fine weather broke up, and a succession of stiff breezes, with occasional storms, more or lees violent, set in. Landing on the rock became a matter of extreme difficulty, and the short period of work was often curtailed to little more than an hour each tide.

The rolling of the _Pharos_ lightship, too, became so great that sea-sickness prevailed to a large extent among the landsmen. One good arose out of this evil, however. Landing on the Bell Rock invariably cured the sickness for a time, and the sea-sick men had such an intense longing to eat of the dulse that grew there, that they were always ready and anxious to get into the boats when there was the slightest possibility of landing.

Getting into the boats, by the way, in a heavy sea, when the lightship was rolling violently, was no easy matter. When the fine weather first broke up, it happened about midnight, and the change commenced with a stiff breeze from the eastward. The sea rose at once, and, long before daybreak, the _Pharos_ was rolling heavily in the swell, and straining violently at the strong cable which held her to her moorings.

About dawn Mr Stevenson came on deck. He could not sleep, because he felt that on his shoulders rested not only the responsibility of carrying this gigantic work to a satisfactory conclusion, but also, to a large extent, the responsibility of watching over and guarding the lives of the people employed in the service.

"Shall we be able to land to-day, Mr Wilson?" he said, accosting the master of the _Pharos_, who has been already introduced as the landing-master.

"I think so; the barometer has not fallen much; and even although the wind should increase a little, we can effect a landing by the Fair Way, at Hope's Wharf."

"Very well, I leave it entirely in your hands; you understand the weather better than I do, but remember that I do not wish my men to run unnecessary or foolish risk."

It may be as well to mention here that a small but exceedingly strong tramway of iron-grating had been fixed to the Bell Rock at an elevation varying from two to four feet above it, and encircling the site of the building. This tramway or railroad was narrow, not quite three feet in width; and small trucks were fitted to it, so that the heavy stones of the building might be easily run to the exact spot they were to occupy. From this circular rail several branch lines extended to the different creeks where the boats deposited the stones. These lines, although only a few yards in length, were dignified with names--as, _Kennedy's Reach, Logan's Reach, Watt's Reach_, and _Slight's Reach_. The ends of them, where they dipped into the sea, were named _Hope's Wharf, Duff's Wharf, Rae's Wharf_, etcetera; and these wharves had been fixed on different sides of the rock, so that, whatever wind should blow, there would always be one of them on the lee-side available for the carrying on of the work.

_Hope's Wharf_ was connected with _Port Erskine_, a pool about twenty yards long by three or four wide, and communicated with the side of the lighthouse by _Watt's Reach_, a distance of about thirty yards.

About eight o'clock that morning the bell rang for breakfast. Such of the men as were not already up began to get out of their berths and hammocks.

To Ruby the scene that followed was very amusing. Hitherto all had been calm and sunshine. The work, although severe while they were engaged, had been of short duration, and the greater part of each day had been afterwards spent in light work, or in amusement. The summons to meals had always been a joyful one, and the appetites of the men were keenly set.

Now, all this was changed. The ruddy faces of the men were become green, blue, yellow, and purple, according to temperament, but few were flesh-coloured or red. When the bell rang there was a universal groan below, and half a dozen ghostlike individuals raised themselves on their elbows and looked up with expressions of the deepest woe at the dim skylight. Most of them speedily fell back again, however, partly owing to a heavy lurch of the vessel, and partly owing to indescribable sensations within.

"Blowin'!" groaned one, as if that single word comprehended the essence of all the miseries that seafaring man is heir to.

"O dear!" sighed another, "why did I ever come here?"

"Och! murder, I'm dyin', send for the praist an' me mother!" cried O'Connor, as he fell flat down on his back and pressed both hands tightly over his mouth.

The poor blacksmith lost control over himself at this point and--found partial relief!

The act tended to relieve others. Most of the men were much too miserable to make any remark at all, a few of them had not heart even to groan; but five or six sat up on the edge of their beds, with a weak intention of turning out. They sat there swaying about with the motions of the ship in helpless indecision, until a tremendous roll sent them flying, with unexpected violence, against the starboard bulkheads.

"Come, lads," cried Ruby, leaping out of his hammock, "there's nothing like a vigorous jump to put sea-sickness to flight."

"Humbug!" ejaculated Bremner, who owned a little black dog, which lay at that time on the pillow gazing into his master's green face, with wondering sympathy.

"Ah, Ruby," groaned the smith, "it's all very well for a sea-dog like you that's used to it, but--"

James Dove stopped short abruptly. It is not necessary to explain the cause of his abrupt silence. Suffice it to say that he did not thereafter attempt to finish that sentence.

"Steward!" roared Joe Dumsby.

"Ay, ay, shipmate, what's up?" cried the steward, who chanced to pass the door of the men's sleeping-place, with a large dish of boiled salt pork, at the moment.

"Wot's up?" echoed Dumsby. "Everythink that ever went into me since I was a hinfant must be `up' by this time. I say, is there any chance of gettin' on the rock to-day?"

"O yes. I heard the cap'n say it would be quite easy, and they seem to be makin' ready now, so if any of 'ee want breakfast you'd better turn out."

This speech acted like a shock of electricity on the wretched men. In a moment every bed was empty, and the place was in a bustle of confusion as they hurriedly threw on their clothes.

Some of them even began to think of the possibility of venturing on a hard biscuit and a cup of tea, but a gust of wind sent the fumes of the salt pork into the cabin at the moment, and the mere idea of food filled them with unutterable loathing.

Presently the bell rang again. This was the signal for the men to muster, the boats being ready alongside. The whole crew at once rushed on deck, some of them thrusting biscuits into their pockets as they passed the steward's quarters. Not a man was absent on the roll being called. Even the smith crawled on deck, and had spirit enough left to advise Ruby not to forget the bellows; to which Ruby replied by recommending his comrade not to forget the matches.

Then the operation of embarking began.

The sea at the time was running pretty high, with little white flecks of foam tipping the crests of the deep blue waves. The eastern sky was dark and threatening. The black ridges of the Bell Rock were visible only at times in the midst of the sea of foam that surrounded them. Anyone ignorant of their nature would have deemed a landing absolutely impossible.

The _Pharos_, as we have said, was rolling