The Lighthouse

by R. M. Ballantyne

  CHAPTER ELEVEN.

  A STORM AND A DISMAL STATE OF THINGS ON BOARD THE PHAROS.

  From what has been said at the close of the last chapter, it will notsurprise the reader to be told that the storm which blew during thatnight had no further effect on Ruby Brand than to toss his hair about,and cause a ruddier glow than usual to deepen the tone of his bronzedcountenance.

  It was otherwise with many of his hapless comrades, a few of whom hadalso received letters that day, but whose pleasure was marred to someextent by the qualms within.

  Being Saturday, a glass of rum was served out in the evening, accordingto custom, and the men proceeded to hold what is known by the name of"Saturday night at sea."

  This being a night that was usually much enjoyed on board, owing to thehome memories that were recalled, and the familiar songs that were sung;owing, also, to the limited supply of grog, which might indeed cheer,but could not by any possibility inebriate, the men endeavoured to shakeoff their fatigue, and to forget, if possible, the rolling of thevessel.

  The first effort was not difficult, but the second was not easy. Atfirst, however, the gale was not severe, so they fought againstcircumstances bravely for a time.

  "Come, lads," cried the smith, in a species of serio-comic desperation,when they had all assembled below, "let's drink to sweethearts andwives."

  "Hear, hear! Bless their hearts! Sweethearts and wives!" responded themen. "Hip, hip!"

  The cheer that followed was a genuine one.

  "Now for a song, boys," cried one of the men, "and I think the lastarrivals are bound to sing first."

  "Hear, hear! Ruby, lad, you're in for it," said the smith, who sat nearhis assistant.

  "What shall I sing?" enquired Ruby.

  "Oh! let me see," said Joe Dumsby, assuming the air of one whoendeavoured to recall something. "Could you come Beet'oven's symphonyon B flat?"

  "Ah! howld yer tongue, Joe," cried O'Connor, "sure the young man canonly sing on the sharp kays; ain't he always sharpin' the tools, not tospeak of his appetite?"

  "You've a blunt way of speaking yourself, friend," said Dumsby, in atone of reproof.

  "Hallo! stop your jokes," cried the smith; "if you treat us to any moreo' that sort o' thing we'll have ye dipped over the side, and hung up todry at the end o' the mainyard. Fire away, Ruby, my tulip!"

  "Ay, that's hit," said John Watt. "Gie us the girl ye left behind ye."

  Ruby flushed suddenly, and turned towards the speaker with a look ofsurprise.

  "What's wrang, freend? Hae ye never heard o' that sang?" enquired Watt.

  "O yes, I forgot," said Ruby, recovering himself in some confusion. "Iknow the song--I--I was thinking of something--of--"

  "The girl ye left behind ye, av coorse," put in O'Connor, with a wink.

  "Come, strike up!" cried the men.

  Ruby at once obeyed, and sang the desired song with a sweet, full voice,that had the effect of moistening some of the eyes present.

  The song was received enthusiastically.

  "Your health and song, lads" said Robert Selkirk, the principal builder,who came down the ladder and joined them at that moment.

  "Thank you, now it's my call," said Ruby. "I call upon Ned O'Connor fora song."

  "Or a speech," cried Forsyth.

  "A spaitch is it?" said O'Connor, with a look of deep modesty. "Sure, Inever made a spaitch in me life, except when I axed Mrs O'Connor tomarry me, an' I never finished that spaitch, for I only got the lengthof `Och! darlint,' when she cut me short in the middle with `Sure, youmay have me, Ned, and welcome!'"

  "Shame, shame!" said Dove, "to say that of your wife."

  "Shame to yersilf," cried O'Connor indignantly. "Ain't I payin' thegood woman a compliment, when I say that she had pity on me bashfulness,and came to me help when I was in difficulty?"

  "Quite right, O'Connor; but let's have a song if you won't speak."

  "Would ye thank a cracked tay-kittle for a song?" said Ned. "Certainlynot," replied Peter Logan, who was apt to take things too literally.

  "Then don't ax _me_ for wan," said the Irishman, "but I'll do this forye, messmates: I'll read ye the last letter I got from the mistress,just to show ye that her price is beyond all calkerlation."

  A round of applause followed this offer, as Ned drew forth a much-soiledletter from the breast pocket of his coat, and carefully unfolding it,spread it on his knee.

  "It begins," said O'Connor, in a slightly hesitating tone, "with someexpressions of a--a--raither endearin' charackter, that perhaps I may aswell pass."

  "No, no," shouted the men, "let's have them all. Out with them, Paddy!"

  "Well, well, av ye _will_ have them, here they be.

  "`GALWAY.

  "`My own purty darlin' as has bin my most luved sin' the day we wosmarrit, you'll be grieved to larn that the pig's gone to its longhome.'"

  Here O'Connor paused to make some parenthetical remarks with which,indeed, he interlarded the whole letter.

  "The pig, you must know, lads, was an old sow as belonged to me wife'sgran'-mother, an' besides bein' a sort o' pet o' the family, was anuncommon profitable crature. But to purceed. She goes on to say,--`Wewaked her' (that's the pig, boys) `yisterday, and buried her thismornin'. Big Rory, the baist, was for aitin' her, but I wouldn't hearof it; so she's at rest, an' so is old Molly Mallone. She wint awayjust two minutes be the clock before the pig, and wos buried the dayafther. There's no more news as I knows of in the parish, except thatyour old flame Mary got married to Teddy O'Rook, an' they've beenfightin' tooth an' nail ever since, as I towld ye they would long ago.No man could live wid that woman. But the schoolmaster, good man, haslet me off the cow. Ye see, darlin', I towld him ye wos buildin' apalace in the say, to put ships in afther they wos wrecked on the coastof Ameriky, so ye couldn't be expected to send home much money atprisint. An' he just said, "Well, well, Kathleen, you may just kaip thecow, and pay me whin ye can." So put that off yer mind, my swait Ned.

  "`I'm sorry to hear the Faries rowls so bad, though what the Fariesmains is more nor I can tell.' (I spelled the word quite krect, lads,but my poor mistress hain't got the best of eyesight.) `Let me know inyer nixt, an' be sure to tell me if Long Forsyth has got the bitter o'say-sickness. I'm koorius about this, bekaise I've got a receipt forthat same that's infallerable, as his Riverence says. Tell him, with myluv, to mix a spoonful o' pepper, an' two o' salt, an' wan o' mustard,an' a glass o' whisky in a taycup, with a sprinklin' o' ginger; fill itup with goat's milk, or ass's, av ye can't git goat's; bait it in a pan,an' drink it as hot as he can--hotter, if possible. I niver tried itmeself, but they say it's a suverin' remidy; and if it don't do no good,it's not likely to do much harm, bein' but a waik mixture. Me ownbelaif is, that the milk's a mistake, but I suppose the doctors knowbest.

  "`Now, swaitest of men, I must stop, for Neddy's just come in howlin'like a born Turk for his tay; so no more at present from, yours tilldeth, Kathleen O'Connor.'"

  "Has she any sisters?" enquired Joe Dumsby eagerly, as Ned folded theletter and replaced it in his pocket.

  "Six of 'em," replied Ned; "every one purtier and better nor another."

  "Is it a long way to Galway?" continued Joe.

  "Not long; but it's a coorious thing that Englishmen never come backfrom them parts whin they wance ventur' into them."

  Joe was about to retort when the men called for another song.

  "Come, Jamie Dove, let's have `Rule, Britannia.'"

  Dove was by this time quite yellow in the face, and felt more inclinedto go to bed than to sing; but he braced himself up, resolved tostruggle manfully against the demon that oppressed him.

  It was in vain! Poor Dove had just reached that point in the choruswhere Britons stoutly affirm that they "never, never, never shall beslaves," when a tremendous roll of the vessel caused him to spring fromthe locker, on which he sat, and rush to his berth.

  There were several of the others whose self-restraint was demolished byth
is example; these likewise fled, amid the laughter of theircompanions, who broke up the meeting and went on deck.

  The prospect of things there proved, beyond all doubt, that Britonsnever did, and never will, rule the waves.

  The storm, which had been brewing for some time past, was gatheringfresh strength every moment, and it became abundantly evident that thefloating light would have her anchors and cables tested pretty severelybefore the gale was over.

  About eight o'clock in the evening the wind shifted to east-south-east;and at ten it became what seamen term a _hard gale_, rendering itnecessary to veer out about fifty additional fathoms of the hempencable. The gale still increasing, the ship rolled and labouredexcessively, and at midnight eighty fathoms more were veered out, whilethe sea continued to strike the vessel with a degree of force that noone had before experienced.

  That night there was little rest on board the _Pharos_. Everyone whohas been "at sea" knows what it is to lie in one's berth on a stormynight, with the planks of the deck only a few inches from one's nose,and the water swashing past the little port that _always_ leaks; theseas striking against the ship; the heavy sprays falling on the decks;and the constant rattle and row of blocks, spars, and cordage overhead.But all this was as nothing compared with the state of things on boardthe floating light, for that vessel could not rise to the seas with thecomparatively free motions of a ship, sailing either with or against thegale. She tugged and strained at her cable, as if with the fixeddetermination of breaking it, and she offered all the opposition of afixed body to the seas.

  Daylight, though ardently longed for, brought no relief. The galecontinued with unabated violence. The sea struck so hard upon thevessel's bows that it rose in great quantities, or, as Ruby expressedit, in "green seas", which completely swept the deck as far aft as thequarterdeck, and not unfrequently went completely over the stern of theship.

  Those "green seas" fell at last so heavily on the skylights that all theglass was driven in, and the water poured down into the cabins,producing dire consternation in the minds of those below, who thoughtthat the vessel was sinking.

  "I'm drowned intirely," roared poor Ned O'Connor, as the first of thoseseas burst in and poured straight down on his hammock, which happened tobe just beneath the skylight.

  Ned sprang out on the deck, missed his footing, and was hurled with thenext roll of the ship into the arms of the steward, who was passingthrough the place at the time.

  Before any comments could be made the dead-lights were put on, and thecabins were involved in almost absolute darkness.

  "Och! let me in beside ye," pleaded Ned with the occupant of the nearestberth.

  "Awa' wi' ye! Na, na," cried John Watt, pushing the unfortunate manaway. "Cheinge yer wat claes first, an' I'll maybe let ye in, if ye canfind me again i' the dark."

  While the Irishman was groping about in search of his chest, one of theofficers of the ship passed him on his way to the companion ladder,intending to go on deck. Ruby Brand, feeling uncomfortable below,leaped out of his hammock and followed him. They had both got abouthalfway up the ladder when a tremendous sea struck the ship, causing itto tremble from stem to stern. At the same moment someone above openedthe hatch, and putting his head down, shouted for the officer, whohappened to be just ascending.

  "Ay, ay," replied the individual in question.

  Just as he spoke, another heavy sea fell on the deck, and, rushing aftlike a river that has burst its banks, hurled the seaman into the armsof the officer, who fell back upon Ruby, and all three came down withtons of water into the cabin.

  The scene that followed would have been ludicrous, had it not beenserious. The still rising sea caused the vessel to roll with excessiveviolence, and the large quantity of water that had burst in swept themen, who had jumped out of their beds, and all movable things, from sideto side in indescribable confusion. As the water dashed up into thelower tier of beds, it was found necessary to lift one of the scuttlesin the floor, and let it flow into the limbers of the ship.

  Fortunately no one was hurt, and Ruby succeeded in gaining the deckbefore the hatch was reclosed and fastened down upon the scene ofdiscomfort and misery below.

  This state of things continued the whole day. The seas followed inrapid succession, and each, as it struck the vessel, caused her to shakeall over. At each blow from a wave the rolling and pitching ceased fora few seconds, giving the impression that the ship had broken adrift,and was running with the wind; or in the act of sinking; but whenanother sea came, she ranged up against it with great force. Thislatter effect at last became the regular intimation to the anxious menbelow that they were still riding safely at anchor.

  No fires could be lighted, therefore nothing could be cooked, so thatthe men were fain to eat hard biscuits--those of them at least who wereable to eat at all--and lie in their wet blankets all day.

  At ten in the morning the wind had shifted to north-east, and blew, ifpossible, harder than before, accompanied by a much heavier swell of thesea; it was therefore judged advisable to pay out more cable, in orderto lessen the danger of its giving way.

  During the course of the gale nearly the whole length of the hempencable, of 120 fathoms, was veered out, besides the chain-moorings, and,for its preservation, the cable was carefully "served", or wattled, withpieces of canvas round the windlass, and with leather well greased inthe hawse-hole, where the chafing was most violent.

  As may readily be imagined, the gentleman on whom rested nearly all theresponsibility connected with the work at the Bell Rock, passed ananxious and sleepless time in his darkened berth. During the morning hehad made an attempt to reach the deck, but had been checked by the samesea that produced the disasters above described.

  About two o'clock in the afternoon great alarm was felt in consequenceof a heavy sea that struck the ship, almost filling the waist, andpouring down into the berths below, through every chink and crevice ofthe hatches and skylights. From the motion being suddenly checked ordeadened, and from the flowing in of the water above, every individualon board thought that the ship was foundering--at least all the landsmenwere fully impressed with that idea.

  Mr Stevenson could not remain below any longer. As soon as the shipagain began to range up to the sea, he made another effort to get ondeck. Before going, however, he went through the various apartments, inorder to ascertain the state of things below.

  Groping his way in darkness from his own cabin he came to that of theofficers of the ship. Here all was quiet, as well as dark. He nextentered the galley and other compartments occupied by the artificers;here also all was dark, but not quiet, for several of the men wereengaged in prayer, or repeating psalms in a full tone of voice, whileothers were protesting that if they should be fortunate enough to getonce more ashore, no one should ever see them afloat again; but so loudwas the creaking of the bulkheads, the dashing of water, and thewhistling noise of the wind, that it was hardly possible to distinguishwords or voices.

  The master of the vessel accompanied Mr Stevenson, and, in one or twoinstances, anxious and repeated enquiries were made by the workmen as tothe state of things on deck, to all of which he returned onecharacteristic answer--"It can't blow long in this way, lads; we _must_have better weather soon."

  The next compartment in succession, moving forward, was that allotted tothe seamen of the ship. Here there was a characteristic difference inthe scene. Having reached the middle of the darksome berth without theinmates being aware of the intrusion, the anxious engineer was somewhatreassured and comforted to find that, although they talked of badweather and cross accidents of the sea, yet the conversation was carriedon in that tone and manner which bespoke ease and composure of mind.

  "Well, lads," said Mr Stevenson, accosting the men, "what think you ofthis state of things? Will the good ship weather it?"

  "Nae fear o' her, sir," replied one confidently, "she's light and new;it'll tak' a heavy sea to sink her."

  "Ay," observed another, "and she's got littl
e hold o' the water, goodground-tackle, and no top-hamper; she'll weather anything, sir."

  Having satisfied himself that all was right below, Mr Stevensonreturned aft and went on deck, where a sublime and awful sight awaitedhim. The waves appeared to be what we hear sometimes termed "mountainshigh." In reality they were perhaps about thirty feet of unbroken waterin height, their foaming crests being swept and torn by the furiousgale. All beyond the immediate neighbourhood of the ship was black andchaotic.

  Upon deck everything movable was out of sight, having either been stowedaway below previous to the gale, or washed overboard. Some parts of thequarter bulwarks were damaged by the breach of the sea, and one of theboats was broken, and half-full of water.

  There was only one solitary individual on deck, placed there to watchand give the alarm if the cable should give way, and this man was RubyBrand, who, having become tired of having nothing to do, had gone ondeck, as we have seen, and volunteered his services as watchman.

  Ruby had no greatcoat on, no overall of any kind, but was simply dressedin his ordinary jacket and trousers. He had thrust his cap into hispocket in order to prevent it being blown away, and his brown locks werestreaming in the wind. He stood just aft the foremast, to which he hadlashed himself with a gasket or small rope round his waist, to preventhis falling on the deck or being washed overboard. He was as thoroughlywet as if he had been drawn through the sea, and this was one reason whyhe was so lightly clad, that he might wet as few clothes as possible,and have a dry change when he went below.

  There appeared to be a smile on his lips as he faced the angry gale andgazed steadily out upon the wild ocean. He seemed to be enjoying thesight of the grand elemental strife that was going on around him.Perchance he was thinking of someone not very far away--with goldenhair!

  Mr Stevenson, coupling this smile on Ruby's face with the remarks ofthe other seamen, felt that things were not so bad as they appeared tounaccustomed eyes, nevertheless he deemed it right to advise with themaster and officers as to the probable result, in the event of the shipdrifting from her moorings.

  "It is my opinion," said the master, on his being questioned as to this,"that we have every chance of riding out the gale, which cannot continuemany hours longer with the same fury; and even if she should part fromher anchor, the storm-sails have been laid ready to hand, and can bebent in a very short time. The direction of the wind being nor'-east,we could sail up the Forth to Leith Roads; but if this should appeardoubtful, after passing the May we can steer for Tyningham Sands, on thewestern side of Dunbar, and there run the ship ashore. From theflatness of her bottom and the strength of her build, I should thinkthere would be no danger in beaching her even in a very heavy sea."

  This was so far satisfactory, and for some time things continued inpretty much the state we have just described, but soon after there was asudden cessation of the straining motion of the ship which surprisedeveryone. In another moment Ruby shouted "All hands a-hoy! ship'sadrift!"

  The consternation that followed may be conceived but not described. Thewindlass was instantly manned, and the men soon gave out that there wasno strain on the cable. The mizzen-sail, which was occasionally bentfor the purpose of making the ship ride easily, was at once set; theother sails were hoisted as quickly as possible, and they bore awayabout a mile to the south-westward, where, at a spot that was deemedsuitable, the best-bower anchor was let go in twenty fathoms water.

  Happily the storm had begun to abate before this accident happened. Hadit occurred during the height of the gale, the result might have beenmost disastrous to the undertaking at the Bell Rock.

  Having made all fast, an attempt was made to kindle the galley fire andcook some food.

  "Wot are we to 'ave, steward?" enquired Joe Dumsby, in a feeble voice.

  "Plumduff, my boy, so cheer up," replied the steward, who was busy withthe charming ingredients of a suet pudding, which was the only dish tobe attempted, owing to the ease with which it could be both cooked andserved up.

  Accordingly, the suet pudding was made; the men began to eat; the galebegan to "take off", as seaman express it; and, although things werestill very far removed from a state of comfort, they began to be moreendurable; health began to return to the sick, and hope to those who hadpreviously given way to despair.