THE RIGHT LIGHTS
“What has happened!” cried the keeper. “The light is flashing wrong!
There is a steamer outside the bar! It will be wrecked! Who did it?
Where is my assistant? There’s been foul work here! I was waylaid on my
way back when I found my sister was not ill. I just managed to get away
from the men. Speak, some of you! Quick!”
The keeper was panting from his exertions and from the excitement. His
face was drawn and pale, and his eyes were wild, while his hair, matted
by the rain, for he had lost his hat, straggled about his forehead.
“The scoundrels are in possession of the tower!” cried Jerry. “We must
attack them and set the right light!”
“Come on!” cried the keeper, seizing the poker Jess had used to burn
the door. “Come on! I’ll give ’em battle!”
His eyes glared, in the fierceness of his righteous anger, at those
who would do so dastardly a deed.
“Come on!” cried Ned, seizing a heavy billet of wood.
“I’ll call the police on the telephone!” exclaimed Bob, springing for
the instrument. “We’ll need help!”
“I’ll not wait for the police!” fairly shouted the keeper. “I’ll tackle
’em single handed if need be!”
Bob rang up central, and, not waiting to be connected with the distant
police station, told the operator what the trouble was, imploring that
aid be sent promptly. Then he ran to join his companions. Jess was
crying in one corner of the room.
Mr. Hardack led the way to the stairs which extended up inside the
tower to the lantern. He fairly ran up the stone steps, followed by the
boys. He was shouting challenges to the men as he ran.
“Let me get at you!” he yelled. “I’ll show you how an old man can
fight!”
Suddenly from above them a door slammed shut. There was the clicking of
a lock. Then, as they came to the heavy portal, which gave access to
the room where the lantern was, a voice cried:
“You’re too late this time, old man!”
Too late! The men had shut themselves up in the top of the tower, and
could control the working of the light to suit their evil purposes. The
keeper could not get in.
Mr. Hardack beat upon the door with the poker. Ned hammered it with the
block of wood.
“Let me in!” cried the aged man. “Let me in! Do you want to send the
ship to the bottom?”
“That’s just what we do!” was the mocking response.
“Get an axe and chop the door down!” cried Jerry.
“It would take too long,” replied the keeper, in a strangely calm
voice. “It is bound with iron, and is double thick. There is no help
for it. The steamer will be lost!”
Footsteps were heard coming up the stairs.
“Maybe help is at hand,” said the keeper hopefully.
Then Jess came into view. In her hand she held something which she
extended to Mr. Hardack.
“Here is your old horse pistol, uncle!” she exclaimed. “It is loaded
with a heavy charge. Fire it through the lock and shatter it! I heard
you pounding on the door and knew they had locked it!”
“Hurrah for you, Jess!” called Ned, and the girl blushed through her
tears.
Mr. Hardack placed the muzzle of the ancient weapon against the big
keyhole. He hesitated a moment, listening to the roar of the storm
without, and the steady whirr of the machinery in the tower, as it
revolved the false lenses.
_Bang!_
It sounded as though a cannon had been fired, so loudly did the report
of the pistol echo in the narrow tower. There was a splitting and
rending of wood, a snap as of broken springs and a clatter as pieces of
the lock fell on the stone steps.
“Come on, boys!” cried the old man, as he threw all his weight against
the door. The shattered lock gave, and they rushed through the smoke on
up the steps.
“Go back! Go back!” cried two men standing on the top landing. Behind
them glowed the big light. It almost blinded the boys. They hesitated a
second or two.
“Scoundrels!” cried the keeper.
He raised the poker threateningly and leaped forward.
“Come on! All together!” yelled Ned. “We can handle ’em! Come on, Jerry
and Bob!”
Forward they went, the boys and the aged keeper, straight at the two
men. The fellows held big wrenches in their hands. Jerry saw one aim
a blow at Mr. Hardack. It struck the old man on the side of the head,
but, though he staggered, he did not fall. Then he raised his poker and
brought it down on the arm of the man who had hit him. The wrecker gave
a cry and the wrench fell from his nerveless fingers.
Ned sprang at the assailant of the keeper. The fellow stepped back. He
had lost the use of one arm from the blow of the poker. Ned grabbed his
other hand and bore him to the stone floor. There was a hard struggle,
but Ned held on. Mr. Hardack, recovering from the blow on his head,
came to the boy’s aid.
In the meanwhile Jerry and Bob had attacked the other man. He kept
them at bay for a little while by waving the big wrench back and forth
in front of him. The boys tried to dodge in but could not. Then Jerry
suddenly fell to the floor. Before the man knew what was up the boy had
reached forward, under the swinging tool, and grabbed the man by the
legs. He gave a strong yank, and the wrecker went down in a heap. Bob
threw himself on top of him.
For several seconds there was a hard struggle. Both scoundrels tried
to break away, but the boys and the keeper were too much for them. At
last they were quiet.
“The light! The light!” cried Mr. Hardack. “We must set the right
light!”
“I’ll do it, uncle!” exclaimed Jess, running into the room. She had
been hiding on the stairs, waiting the outcome of the struggle. “I’ll
set the right light!”
She leaped over the prostrate body of the man her uncle and Ned were
holding down. Into the lantern room she went.
It was the work of but an instant to rip from the big white lens, the
black piece of paper the men had pasted over it to conceal the flashes.
She threw it on the floor.
Then out through the storm, over the tempestuous sea, there flashed the
right signal,--a white glow, followed by two red ones.
“Oh, that it may be in time to save the ship!” the girl prayed.
Out on the deep the big steamer pitched and tossed in the grip of the
waves. The lookout was scanning the blackness for the sight of the next
lighthouse. Suddenly there flashed across his eyes a white shaft of
illumination, followed by two red ones. The pilot saw them at the same
time.
“Something’s wrong!” the steersman exclaimed. “There is the South light
now! We have been standing in! We are almost on the rocks! Some one
changed the lights!”
There were frantic signals to the engine room. The pilot spun the steam
steering gear around so fast he almost broke the rudder chains. Slowly
the great steamer changed her course and stood out to sea.
Yet so near had she been to the rocks and sand bars that five minutes
more and she would have been lost. The passengers asleep in their
staterooms never knew how close they were to death.
Back in the lighthouse there were anxious hearts, hearts that beat high
lest soon might be heard the booming guns of a ship in distress, or
soon might be seen the flaring rockets that told a steamer had gone on
the rocks.
Suddenly from below, at the foot of the tower, above the roar of the
storm, a voice called:
“What’s wrong here? Where are you, Hardack? What’s the matter with the
light?”
“It’s Salt Water Sam!” shouted Jerry. “Help Sam! Come up and bring
ropes with you!”
There was the welcome sound of feet ascending the stone stairway. Into
the room came the old sailor and Captain Jenkinson. They took in the
situation at a glance. In a few minutes the two scoundrels had been
securely tied.
“Is the light all right?” was Sam’s first question, for he knew what
that meant on such a night.
“Thanks to Jess, it is,” replied Ned, and the girl ran away to escape
the admiring eyes.
“How did you get here?” asked Jerry of Sam.
“Why some of us happened to be out fishing just before the storm broke,
and we noticed the light wasn’t flashing right. I hurried ashore and
met Captain Jenkinson. He had noticed the same thing, so we decided
to investigate. We came over in his boat, the _Three Bells_. What has
happened here?”