A sky darkened by clouds hurrying before driving winds, a sea gray-faced
and wrinkled tossing restlessly beneath a mass of barren rocks upon
which stood a tall light-house, made up the dreary picture Huldah Deane
was gazing upon with such wistful intentness. Her gray eyes presently
followed the swoop of an osprey, and his after-flight upward with his
prey in his talons.
"I would rather be that fish-hawk than Huldah Deane," she said, giving
expression to her gloomy thoughts. "I must stay here day in, year
out--here, where nothing happens, where the sea frets, and I fret with
it. So I light the Captain's pipe, scrub the tower, and do chores for
the dame. Who cares what else I do, or what becomes of me? Yes, old sea,
I'd rather be a fish-hawk, and snatch fish from you, than be Huldah
Deane. Oh dear! If something would only happen! If I could do something
great or wonderful--go out in a life-boat, maybe, to save drowning
folks, or--"
"Huldy! Huldy Deane!" The quick, impatient call reached her, even above
the roaring of the surf. It was Captain Dutton's voice. "Come right on,
quick; mother's taken in a spell, an' I can't make it out."
Huldah obeyed in awed silence. A spell the Captain couldn't make out
must be very bad, she thought. What if neither she nor anybody else
could make it out? And, alas! who could understand the fixed stare of
the dame's kind eyes, or the pinched shrinking of the features so
suddenly grown unfamiliar to the two who dwelt under the same roof with
her?
"She's got to hev the doctor as soon as he can be fetched, Huldy."
"The doctor from shore?" questioned the girl.
"Certain. There's none closer as I know. Do you?"
"No," she gravely answered; "but the mainland's a long ways off, and a
storm's rising."
"It makes no difference," said Captain Dutton, stubbornly. "She's been a
good mother to me, an' she's in a bad fix. The doctor's got to be
fetched, that's all."
In his rough, good-hearted way the Captain loved his mother as he loved
nothing else.
"Ef she should die, I want her to know somehow as I tried to do my duty
by her last of all. And, Huldy"--laying his hand on the girl's
shoulder--"I ain't concerned but what she'll be took care on as fur as
you can do it, child. It's hard lines to leave a young one like you here
with such terrible trouble, but there's no help for it. I'll fetch the
doctor soon as I kin--leastways 'fore the sun drops. No sailor kin say
as ever Kyle Dutton missed lightin' the beacon wi' the last ray o'
sunshine, or turnin' off lamps as the sun stepped 'crost the horizon.
Livin', I'll be here in time for that, Huldy."
He nodded and went away.
Huldah shivered as she glanced down at the motionless figure on the
couch below. Maybe she would be left thus utterly alone for hours--for
days. Her breath came hurriedly. It seemed to her more than she could
bear. Frantically she forced open the window, and, thrusting her head
through, shouted herself hoarse in a vain effort to make Captain Dutton
hear her above the roaring of the sea. The boat, tossed from wave to
wave, plunged further and further away.
And it was but a few hours ago that Huldah had wished she might have an
opportunity to do some great heroic deed. Now she said to herself: "You
were a pitiful coward then, Huldah Deane. You brave enough to go in a
life-boat to save drowning folks! You deserve to be nothing better than
a fish-hawk. Because Dame Dutton lies ill yonder, and the Captain puts
off to fetch a doctor, is that any reason why you should go into spasms
of fright? For shame! Remember what father told you that day he sailed
away never to come back any more: 'Do your duty always, Huldah.' Isn't
it your duty now, foolish girl, to get right down from here and see to
poor Mrs. Dutton?"
Closing the window, she descended from her perch to renew her exertions
for the relief of the poor dame. But toil as she might, nothing she
could do would change the fixed attitude, or calm the quick-drawn breath
that told of bitter suffering.
Presently the day began to wane. The clouds ranged themselves in solid
masses, and darkness and storm besieged the sea-girt tower. Crossing to
the clock in the corner, she scanned its face. "Five o'clock! So late?
Why, the sun is down in less than half an hour, and the Captain will
lose his place if the beacon is not lighted by sundown. But what can I
do? It's the order, he says, that women and children sha'n't have
anything to do with the lights."
One moment she stood with tightly compressed lips. Then a brave,
resolute smile parted her lips.
"Well, I'm hardly a child, I suppose, but neither am I a woman. Ships
may be lost if the beacon is not lit." Then lighting the lantern the
Captain always used, she hung it on her arm, and after one more look at
the sick woman, left the chamber.
Almost at the threshold began the seemingly endless stairway, winding up
into regions of height and loneliness. She did not allow herself to
hesitate now, but began the ascent hurriedly. A fearful journey it
seemed, through the darkness, broken only by fitful glimmerings of her
lantern, and now and then cross rays of light from the slits of windows
in the thick walls. Clasping the iron rail, she toiled on, her limbs
failing, her heart thumping, and her brain in a whirl. Not until she had
reached the top step did she drop down to rest. Exhausted by fatigue and
nervous excitement, she had to recover strength before she could even
open the door into the lantern-room.
Fortunately the great lamps were trimmed and supplied with oil. Every
part of the machinery was also in working order. Captain Dutton was one
of the most careful of the light-house keepers.
"And he shall see that I do not mean him to lose his place for one
night's failure to light the tower," Huldah said, her heart warming for
the first time to the silent man who had, in his way, done his duty by
her as well as by the place of trust he filled. "Who knows, though, this
light may fall upon the very spot where he has gone down to the bottom
of the sea."
Again a shiver crept over the slender figure, and only the blazing forth
of the beacon dispelled her vivid fancy. One by one the lamps flared up,
and were turned into place. The reflectors, polished to their utmost,
caught the cheerful rays, and sent them in a far-reaching circle of
radiance, out through the darkness and the storm, to give warning to
those who were "gone down to the sea in ships."
But this was only the beginning of Huldah's work. It was a chief part of
the keeper's duty, she knew, to see that the lights burned undimmed
throughout the night. Now, however, she must return to attend to the
dame awhile. But as she turned to go there was a sudden crashing of the
glass above her, a whirring swoop of some swift-winged creature
overhead, a gust of wind, a flaring of the circle of lights, and then
darkness, rayless, absolute. The storm moaned and shrieked in her ears,
and Huldah shrieked too, hiding her face in her shawl.
What had happened? Again the winged intruder whirred by, beating the air
with wearied and dripping plumage. Ah! now she understood. Once Captain
Dutton had told her of a storm-bird breaking one of his transparencies.
Attracted by the light, doubtless, this wanderer had dashed against the
glass.
There was but one thing to be done. She could not hope to relight the
lamps until those blasts were shut out. She must find another frame and
transparency.
How the descent was accomplished Huldah could never think without a
shudder. At the very outset, when she had groped her way to the landing,
and had succeeded in relighting her little lantern, the door she had
latched behind her flew open, giving outlet to those terrible winds,
which tore at her clothing savagely, extinguishing her light, and
leaving her again in darkness. Of necessity she stood still until the
currents had strangled each other, and sunk down into the depths of
gloom below her. Then, shutting her eyes tightly, she went on her
perilous journey.
From the basement stores she procured the frame and fixtures, and
returning with them by the same winding route upward, found it not such
a difficult thing to unhinge and replace the shattered transparency, the
tempest having lulled slightly, and the force of the wind being broken.
Yet by the time her task was complete, and the lamps relit, her strength
failed her. Vaguely thinking that maybe she was going to die, she fell
upon the floor, and with a deep-drawn sigh her eyes closed.
* * * * *
Four hours later an Inspector from the mainland passing to the island
light-house was hailed by the Captain of a brig which had weathered the
storm, and come to anchor for repairs.
"What ails the tower light, sir?" he asked of the officer, nodding
toward the beacon, through the transparencies of which a steady stream
of light was still pouring, though the sun was doing his best to dim its
glory.
The Inspector frowned. "I only know that the keeper's neglecting his
duty."
The sailor shook his head. "Something more's amiss, I'm thinking. The
light come near playing us a jack-o'-lantern trick just before day. She
put on her night-cap all of a sudden, and 'twas like the pole-star had
let loose o' the compass needle. A little more'n we'd 'a dashed upon the
reefs, only she waked up and showed us her shiners. And not a wink has
she took since. Somewhat's wrong. Cap'n Dutton's been prompt as the sun
this twenty year."
"Captain Dutton? Is't Captain Kyle Dutton that's keeper of the
light-house yonder?" asked one of the brig's passengers, starting
forward, excitedly.
"Yes, Kyle Dutton. He's a queer chap, but he ain't the fellow to shirk
duty."
In a moment the stranger had asked to be put ashore.
The landing was effected with little risk, but those of the boat's crew
who ascended the cliff and sought entrance to the tower found themselves
baffled. The ladder was gone, the iron door barred, and all their
pounding awoke no response other than muffled echoes from the interior.
"We may get in through a window," said the Inspector. "Hodges, fetch the
boat-hook."
The hook was brought, and at the second throw caught over the iron
balcony under Dame Dutton's window.
The Inspector climbed the rope, followed by the others, and soon
admission was gained to the room beneath.
"Here's one of the Seven Sleepers," said Dick Trail, going up to the
couch. He started back. "Why, it's the Cap'n's mother, and she looks as
if she were dying."
Two of the men gathered closer to see what they could do for the poor
woman, and the others began to search the tower. No clew to the mystery,
if mystery it contained, was found below. Together in silence they
mounted the winding stairway.
A flood of mellow light poured upon the group as the officer opened the
door into the lantern-room. There upon the floor, bathed in the glory,
lay Huldah Deane. To her locked senses, lulled into unconsciousness by
the roar of the storm-lashed ocean, the tumult in the tower had never
reached.
She was only awakened now by feeling herself lifted in a pair of strong
arms, and strained to the breast of the stranger seaman.
"Huldah! Huldah! My little one! my daughter!" she heard a tender voice
murmuring, and in her glimmer of consciousness felt hot tears dropping
on her face.
After the first wild emotion of joy, what a sense of rest the child had,
feeling the protecting arms of her father about her! For the stranger,
who had endured shipwreck and danger, was none other than Huldah's
father.
With only the name of Kyle Dutton, who had taken Huldah from the
orphanage where he had placed her before sailing on his last fated
voyage, to furnish him a clew, Captain Deane, after a vain search of
months, had been guided into the presence of his child by the beacon her
little hands had lighted.
There were honest tears in the eyes looking upon this reunion; neither
did one of those strong hearts fail to respond with a thrill of
admiration as the daughter recounted to her father the trials to which
her fortitude and courage had been subjected during the past night of
tempest and awful solitude.
* * * * *
It was several hours later that Kyle Dutton returned from the mainland.
His boat had been washed ashore, and only after a terrible struggle had
he succeeded in reaching a place where there were kindly hands to succor
him. With him came the physician he had gone to seek. The shadow of
death that had hung over the light-house during that terrible night was
lifted, and before many days the good dame was able to join in the
rejoicing over the happiness that had come to Huldah Deane.