LESLEY TO THE RESCUE!
Many seemingly uneventful weeks slipped by after Stumpy’s recovery and
return to the storehouse, but you may be sure that they were far from
uneventful to the folk of the island. Life is never very dull when,
like the gulls, the murres, the gannets, and the rabbits, you have to
seek out your daily food and shelter and go without it, if you find
nothing suitable. The domestic animals on the island were well provided
for; still, there were daily and exciting climbing-parties among the
goats and kids, and Jenny Lind amused herself by hiding away from the
Lightkeeper whenever there seemed a chance that she might be asked to
draw the little car to the shore.
The children had books and lessons, fishing and gathering sea-moss and
shells for their occupations, and on days of blinding fog, or unusually
fierce wind, they always sought Humpty Dumpty Land, where they played
with dolls, arranged their collections, used their tools, cut out
and pasted pictures, or dressed up Jim Crow with beads and ribbons,
sometimes tying a long silken trail to his inky feathers and seeing
him walk about the attic, mincing along like an elderly lady on a
slippery ballroom floor.
“Ho! ho! ho!
Old Jim Crow,
You’re the funniest kind of a bird,
I ever did know!”
sang Ronald one morning when they had dressed their pet to particular
advantage.
“Oh, Ronnie!” cried Lesley, “that’s not a good verse.”
“Why not, then? It sounds good to me.”
“No, it’s too long in the middle. It ought to be,
“Ho! ho! ho!
Old Jim Crow,
You’re just a funny bird;
And that I know!”
“Well, maybe that _is_ better,” agreed Ronald, “and I can dance it,
any way.” And he began to whirl about the playroom, stamping out the
measure with a will.
“Oh, hush, Ronnie!” cried Lesley; “you’ll tear the house down.... I
wonder,” she added slowly, holding the crow to her cheek while he
caressed her with his beak, “if Father will let us take old Jim if we
go away.”
“Why, shan’t we take _everything_?” questioned Ronald, with wondering
eyes. “Jenny Lind and Jim Crow and the goats and--no, not the rabbits,
o’ course.”
“And--not Jenny Lind, nor the goats either,” said Lesley, shaking her
head. “They belong to the Gov’ment, you know, like Father says the
Light does.”
“And does Stumpy belong to the Gov’ment?” in awe-stricken tones.
“I don’t know,” answered Lesley, cautiously, “but I believe he _must_
belong to us, so prob’ly we could take him.”
This question, not of the removal of Jim Crow and Stumpy, but of the
entire family, had been one that had prevented Mr. and Mrs. McLean for
some time from finding life dull or unexciting. The Lighthouse tender
had come in since Stumpy’s illness began and had brought a letter from
the “Gov’ment,” a big one with a big seal, to Malcolm McLean.
It looked on the outside just like an ordinary letter, with a check in
it for salary, perhaps, or a notice of oil that had been shipped for
the Light, but in fact it held a bomb that exploded when the envelope
was opened and filled the whole house with surprise and excitement.
The “Gov’ment” said, and said it very handsomely, that Malcolm
McLean’s work as Lightkeeper on Friar’s Island had long been known and
appreciated and that, considering his fine record and his length of
service, it had been decided to appoint him to the care of the Santa
Barbara Light, which was on the mainland, had a good house with plenty
of ground for cultivation, was within easy reach of the town, with its
churches and schools, and commanded a better salary.
It seemed and it was a wonderful appointment, but it was entirely
unexpected and required a great deal of consideration. Ronald declared
that he had never heard such a letter since he lived in this country,
and his father asked him, with a twinkle in his eye, whether it was the
praise of the Lightkeeper, or the thought of leaving the island that so
astonished him.
“’Course I _knew_ you were the best Lightkeeper, ever,” explained
Ronald, carefully; “I knew that when I was a little boy, but I ’spected
we’d live on this island forever’n ever!”
“And I thought so, too,” Lesley chimed in eagerly.
“No wonder they thought so, Malcolm,” smiled Mrs. McLean, turning to
her husband, “when they were both born here and have hardly ever been
away. I don’t know but that I thought so, myself, and it will be hard
to leave the old place, if we decide to go. Still,” hesitatingly,
“there’s the church and the schools for the children.”
“Well,” said McLean, “we’ve talked it over till we’ve nearly worn it
out, but that letter to the Lighthouse Commissioner has got to be
written to-night one way or the other”--and here he brought his hand
down on the table with a bang--“for it’s got to be sent by the tender
to-morrow.”
“Oh, is the _Vigilant_ coming to-morrow? Oh, goody, goody!” cried
Lesley, jumping up and down and clapping her hands.
“Let’s-ery go-ery to-ery bed-ery earl-ery!” whispered Ronnie, drawing
Lesley into a corner.
“What-ery for-ery?” inquired Lesley, with a look of astonishment.
“To-ery see-ery tug-ery come-ery in-ery first-ery, you-ery goose-ery!”
laughed the boy.
The mother laughed, too, seeing the whispering pair, and inquired,
“Who do you think will understand your ‘secret language,’ if you go to
Santa Barbara?”
“Oh, we’ll teach it to the natives, like the Missionaries did when they
first came to California,” cried Lesley, gayly, jumping out from her
corner.
Of course as the Lighthouse tender was sent only once in two months and
as no other vessel touched the island regularly, to see her come in
was a great event and one always viewed with excitement by the entire
population, with the exception, perhaps, of the sea-birds, the rabbits,
and the fishes, who did not care much for outside gayety.
The Lightkeeper, with Jenny Lind and the car, was early on the shore,
long before the _Vigilant_ could have been hoped for, and Stumpy,
waiting in the storehouse door, saluted the Boss in nautical fashion
and limped to his side to exchange opinions on wind and weather. Mrs.
McLean forsook her usual stroll among the cabbages and, tying herself
up in a shawl against the wind, her head as tightly bandaged as a
sausage, she took her stand at the top of the flight of steps nearest
the Lighthouse where everything could be seen and heard. The children
stood by her side, at first, but soon clattered down the steps and
along the rocky path to the shore, where novelty and gayety seemed more
possible.
It was a gray day with a troubled sea and the air was filled with the
screams of the sea-birds and the dash of the breakers against the black
and jagged rocks. As to that, however, these noises were as familiar
to the island-folk and as little noticed by them, as the rumble of
street-cars and the honk of automobiles are to people of the city.
The children had hardly reached the shore, where Stumpy and the
Lightkeeper were already stationed in their little rowboat, when a
trail of white smoke was seen on the horizon, and jumping up and down
in wild excitement Ronald cried, “There she is, there she is, Lesley!
We were only just in time!”
The _Vigilant_ at last hove in sight, steamed to within a few hundred
feet of the shore and then blew a blast that startled the birds into
louder screaming and greater flapping of wings.
“Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah for the _Vigilant_!” cried the children, and in
a moment out shot their father’s flat-bottomed skiff from the rocks,
dipping down behind each breaker and popping up again when it had been
passed, like a very Jack-in-the-Box.
The “Gov’ment” had never felt it necessary to build a pier at Friar’s
Island, so the only way to land the stores and the barrels of oil
was to lower a few of them at a time from the tender into the little
boat, row them back to the shore, and then haul them up by a derrick
to a small platform that jutted out from the rocks. It was Pacific
Ocean, you know, straight up to the island, with no friendly bay or
shallow water, just wild surf and big breakers to the very base of the
unfriendly cliffs.
The children watched the rocking skiff as the first load was lowered
from the ship’s side, McLean receiving and placing the boxes while
Stumpy balanced the boat with his oars. With eager eyes they watched
the return, and Ronald waded far out to catch the package of papers and
letters which his father threw into his arms. Then there was a scramble
up the rocks and up the steps to Mother, who scurried off at once to
the house, her skirts flapping in the wind, to look over her treasures.
The children ran back again to the shore, Ronald pitching headlong
down most of the last flight of steps, but picking himself up quickly
and calling back to his sister, “No matter, Les’! Nothing but the
nose-bleed!”
His handkerchief held to his nose, he stood by Lesley on the rocks
and watched the slow unloading of the barrels of oil, which formed,
of course, the largest part of the cargo. Then the _Vigilant_ came to
life again, immediately found herself in great haste, puff-puff-puffed
impatiently, as if saying, “Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!” gave a loud blast of
farewell and made off for her next Lighthouse.
The rolling in to the storehouse and the packing away of the barrels of
oil was not of much interest to the children, so, as their father had
told them that they need not go home until he went up for dinner with
Jenny Lind and the car, they sought for fresh amusement.
“I believe I left a book somewhere down here on the rocks,” said
Lesley. “Let’s get it out and read till Father’s ready.”
“No, no!” shouted Ronald, “I don’t want to read now. Let’s go up higher
and maybe I can fish off the platform.”
“You remind me of that boy in the ‘po’try’ Mother reads us,” grumbled
Lesley, following him slowly, “the one that went through the Alpine
Village holding the banner.”
“Don’t remember him!” said Ronald, stopping halfway up the steps.
“Oh, yes, he’s in the Fifth Reader.”
“Well, say him, then!”
“The shades of night were falling fast
When through an Alpine Village passed
A youth, who bore ’mid snow and ice
A banner with the strange device,
Excelsior!”
repeated Lesley, obediently.
“Oh, yes, I remember. Excelsior! Excelsior!”--and up the remaining
steps the boy scampered like a squirrel.
Arrived at the platform above, Lesley settled herself with her book
on a coil of rope and began to read the story of “Perlino,” that
enchanting youth made of wax and sugar and rosewater and roseleaves and
pearls and rubies and sapphires and yellow sewing-silk by the Princess
who was so unsatisfied with the ordinary ready-made lover. Ronald found
his rod and line, baited his hook from a supply that Stumpy always had
on hand, and, sitting down on the edge of the platform, began to fish
for the pink rock cod found in abundance around the island. He had been
trusted to do this for a year, now, so long as some one was with him to
see that he did not attempt any too daring feats, and Lesley felt no
particular uneasiness as she glanced up from her story, only called,
“Be careful, Ronnie, won’t you?”
“’Fraid Cat! ’Fraid Cat!” shouted Ronald, scornfully, turning his head
toward her, but in a moment came a long shrill scream, “Lesley! Lesley!
I’m falling!”--and springing to her feet the frightened girl saw her
brother slip over the edge of the platform borne down by the weight
of his rod. An unusually large fish must have caught suddenly at the
bait, given it a tug when Ronald was not watching, and overbalanced the
little fisherman.
Beneath the platform was a sheer wall of black rock, and below that,
five or six feet of water into which Ronald, screaming for help, was
plunged. Lesley realized, even in that moment of terrible fear, that
her father and Stumpy were near at hand and, screaming for help, too,
she rushed to Ronald’s assistance with a long fish-gaff that stood near
by.
Leaning over the platform she caught it in his clothing and held him
up for a moment, calling, above the noise of the breakers, “All right,
Ronnie, Father’s coming, Father’s coming!”
It was only for a moment, however, for the weight of the struggling and
gasping boy was more than she could hold, and before she knew it she,
too, was dragged over the edge of the platform and down into the depths
below.
The last despairing screams of both children were heard by the men at
the storehouse, and McLean, followed by Stumpy, ran like a deer toward
the sounds, pulling off his coat as he went. He scrambled up a rock
near the platform and seeing, as he expected, the struggling forms in
the depths below, leaped to their rescue. He was only just in time,
for, as he caught them and pulled them to the shore, they hung from his
grasp like mere bundles of clothing, limp and lifeless.
Stumpy had waded deep into the water to meet the stricken father and
carried Ronnie to the land. Together the two men worked over the little
bodies, chafing their hands and working their arms up and down to expel
the water from their lungs, and before long quivering eyelids and
struggles for breath showed the watchers that the two dear lives were
saved.
Dripping with water like a merman, McLean rushed for Jenny Lind and
the car with Lesley in his arms, followed by Stumpy with the boy.
There was a tarpaulin on the car which was to have been used to cover
the groceries as they were hauled up to the Lighthouse, and, throwing
this over the children, Stumpy held them close while McLean urged the
unwilling Jenny Lind over the railway.
Mrs. McLean, whose eyes were never far from the windows when her bairns
were abroad, suddenly caught a glimpse of Jenny galloping, saw the two
men on the car, and the covered heap beside them. What a lifetime of
agony she went through until she reached the door and saw that under
the canvas cover the children were breathing, she never could tell you!
They were gathered in their parents’ arms, carried upstairs, undressed,
dried, rubbed, wrapped in warm flannels, and laid side by side in
bed before they could do more than sob and cry out, “Mother, Mother,
Mother,” over and over again. Ronald did murmur in a low voice, “Not
Lesley’s fault, Mummy; Ronnie’s fault,” but even those few words were
only half-spoken, as he dropped off to sleep, worn-out with terror and
excitement.
Quivering in every limb with the sudden shock and the fright that had
followed it, Mrs. McLean watched her darlings as they slept, while the
father, who had told her as much of the accident as he knew himself,
sat below, waiting for the waking. It is true that the Lightkeeper had
been told nothing as yet of what had happened; but he had found the
fish-gaff still caught in Ronald’s clothing and guessed how it had come
there.
As Margaret McLean sat quietly beside the bed, Lesley opened her eyes.
“Where’s Ronnie?” she asked, with a startled look.
“Here, Lesley, mother’s faithful little Lesley!” cried Margaret,
bending over her. “It was you who saved Ronnie and here he is beside
you!”
“My Ronnie!” crooned Lesley, lovingly, turning her heavy head toward
the round cheek on the pillow, “My Ronnie!”--and so, relieved and
comforted, sank softly to sleep again.
It was twilight when Mrs. McLean crept down the stair to find her
husband and Stumpy anxiously awaiting her. The old sailor had made two
trips to the shore during the afternoon to see that no thievish rabbit,
goat, or sea-bird had made off with the stores, but he could find
no rest until he had heard the last news of the day from the “little
children of his heart,” as he called them in his caressing Spanish way.
“They’ll do now, Father,” said Margaret, thankfully, leaning wearily
against her husband’s arm. “They’re awake and calling for supper and
they’ve told me all about it. Ronnie only did what he has always done
since we let him use a rod and line, but he says he never felt such a
tug as that fish gave him, ‘since he lived in this country.’”
Here she half-laughed and choked, and so did both her hearers.
Just then a little head appeared at the window above, “Mummy, Daddy,
sing ‘Eternal Father,’ won’t you, and you too, Stumpy? It’s most
evening now. Les’ and I will sing up here--”
“Eternal Father! strong to save,
Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,
Who bidst the mighty ocean deep
Its own appointed limits keep:
O hear us when we cry to Thee
For those in peril on the sea!
Amen.”
The words floated into the air from the open doorway and, perhaps,
for the wind was quiet now, the song reached some lonely fishing-boat
cruising about the island. The shadows lengthened, and soon the brave
Light sent out its cheering rays across the waters, while below, saved
from the perils of the sea, the children slept in peace.
THE END
FOOTNOTE:
[1] From the Spanish of Enrique Ceballos Quintana.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.