your own, or will send you away forever. Will not that do?"
"It must, perforce, if I cannot gain better terms," I answered; and I
returned once more to my city life. It was my fixed intention to
remain there resolutely until the Christmas morning itself had come;
but at last, unable to maintain the suspense, I stole back to the
beach once more. It was now only two days from the time. The air was
colder, of course, so that Jessie no longer took her place outside
upon the rock; but we could sit and talk in the shelter of the
lighthouse door, undisturbed by old Barkstead, who usually fretted and
moped out of sight, about half way up the shaft.
"Only two days more, dear Jessie," I said, "and then-- Will it be well
with me, do you think?"
"I think--I begin to think it will be well," she said, looking away.
"Then, if so you think, why should you longer delay your choice?" I
pleaded.
"Nay, George, it is only two days more. Let it, then, remain as first
we said, and we shall be the better satisfied at having held out to
the proper end."
Gaining nothing more from her, but feeling, in my own mind, well
assured of ultimate success, I prepared to depart. Not to return to
the city, indeed, for that would scarcely be worth while for such a
little interval--but to the Penguin Light, where Barry Somers, as
usual, had a place ready for me. But, as I was leaving, a sudden idea
struck me--a wild, foolish fancy, it might be--yet, coming, as it did,
with a certain investiture of originality, it fastened itself firmly
and tenaciously upon me, and with animation I returned upon my steps.
"Listen, dear Jessie!" I said. "Until Christmas morning, therefore, I
will not see you again, for I do not wish thus vainly to renew my
pleadings, and it will be pleasanter to know that when I meet you once
more, it will be with sweet confession on your lips, and the
permission to look upon you thenceforward as my own. But still, while
we are thus separated, can we not commune together?"
"How, George?"
"With the lights, dear Jessie. See here, now! Mark how easily we can
arrange our signalling, so that, across the intervening miles, we can
flash our secret intelligence, and no one but ourselves be the wiser!
Look!--I will now write you out some signs, and with them, at night,
we will hold our intercourse. This very evening I will control the
lamps at Penguin Light, and you shall read what I will therewith tell
you. To-morrow you will answer me from here; and I, in turn, will
decipher your sweet words. Will not that be a rare, as well as
pleasant correspondence?"
At the suggestion, her eyes brightened up with animated excitement,
and at once she prepared to second my plan. How, indeed, could a young
girl help approving of such a novel conception? To talk with
beacon-lights across five miles of foaming, heaving waters, when all
around was dark and dreary!--to flash from one sympathetic heart to
another the glowing signals of intelligence comprehended by no other
persons!--would not that be an achievement which would not only give
pleasure in the actual present performance of it, but also in the
recollection of it throughout future years? So, sitting down again,
she eagerly listened to me, while I, drawing a paper from my pocket,
noted down the requisite tokens, something after the usual signs
employed in ordinary telegraphy--short and simple--and left them in
her possession. I saw at once that she comprehended the principle; so,
feeling no doubt that she would well perform her part, I departed,
reading, in her pleased consciousness of sharing that novel secret
with me, such probable indications of affection, that, for the moment,
I could scarcely resist once more throwing myself upon her pity, and
asking instant assurance of my happiness.
But I forbore. Were I now to win her, in anticipation of that
predetermined Christmas-day, might it not take something from the zest
of the coming midnight correspondence?
So, controlling myself, I returned to Penguin Light. I had been a
little troubled with the idea that, perhaps, I might not be able to
manage the matter, after all; but, almost to my joy, I found old Barry
complaining of his rheumatism, hobbling about, and looking wrathfully
up the winding stairs, in surly deprecation of his approaching ascent.
Upon which I seized the favorable opportunity, and, while relieving
him, forwarded my own views.
"Let it alone for this night, Barry. Do you stay down here and make
yourself comfortable, and I will keep watch in the lantern, and tend
the lights."
"And can you keep awake, Georgy, my boy, do you think?"
"Of course I can, Barry."
Whereupon, for sole answer, Barry stumped away into the closet
below--which he called his room--laid himself carefully away upon
his old blankets, and I mounted to the lantern. There--the hour
of sundown having come--I lighted the lamps, and awaited my time.
That was still some hours off; I was to do nothing until midnight.
Meanwhile, I laid myself down to take a nap. I had promised
watchfulness, but it was hardly necessary in the beginning of the
night. The wicks were then fresh, and it was not likely that any
accident could happen. It was only toward the end of the night, when
the wicks might become incrusted or the reflectors dimmed, that
especial care was needed.
I awoke again about midnight, the hour appointed for the commencement
of my feat. The sky had clouded over, and not a star was to be seen.
All the better, indeed, for the experiment; for now there was no light
to be seen in any direction, except where down the coast glimmered the
Beacon Ledge Beacon--now faintly coming around the side, then glowing
for a second like the mouth of a distant furnace, as its full focus of
reflectors was pointed directly at me, then fading away, and so, for
an instant, entirely disappearing, as it turned slowly toward the
south. With the thick bank of clouds had come a cold wind from the
north, premonitory of an approaching storm, though it might be days
before it reached us--the only change to be now noted being the
somewhat heavier swell of the surf, rolling up with a dull, sullen
roar along the curve of the rock-bound shore.
I prepared for action. As I sat in the lantern, the great brazen
frame of polished reflectors swung around, once in each minute, within
a few inches of the side. Beneath was the projecting handle of a
crank, or lever, by pressing upon which the revolution could be
instantly arrested. Stooping down, I could sit at ease, with my head
clear from any contact with the lamps, and in that position could have
the lever-handle within easy reach.
Waiting for a moment until the reflectors pointed directly toward
Beacon Ledge, I pressed upon the crank, and thereby suspended the
revolution. Thus inert and motionless I held the machinery for a full
minute, and then, lifting the rod, allowed the circuit to recommence,
and gazed anxiously toward the other lighthouse. For a moment, no
response; but then, as its reflectors came slowly around and pointed
toward me, they, too, ceased in their motion for a full minute. With
that my heart exulted. My signal for conversation had been seen and
answered. So far, all went satisfactorily, and there was nothing left
but to commence the main business of the night.
What should I talk to Jessie about? I could not frame any lengthy
sentences, indeed--for that, time and patience would not suffice. Nor
could I tell her any especial piece of news: all such matters had
already been discussed between us. Nor did it seem any thing but
ridiculous to repeat, in such a labored manner, any of the ordinary
commonplaces about health, or the time, or weather. The most I could
do, in fact, would be to telegraph some short and simple idea,
expressive of my affection for her, and of my ardent faith in its
coming realization. This she would comprehend, and, like a proverb, it
would tell, in brief, a whole long story.
Watching until the reflectors again came round, I seized the lever,
held the machinery in suspense for a whole minute, and then set it
free again. Another circuit, and this time I arrested the motion for
only fifteen seconds. A third, and here again a suspension of a whole
minute. In this way, by putting the three circuits together, I had
contrived to spell out the letter C--as in a telegraph office the
operator would write a letter, though probably not the same one, with
a long, a short, and a long scratch upon the paper slip.
Again: and now I let the reflectors remain stationary, first, for a
minute, then twice for fifteen seconds each. This--a long, and two
short arrestations--spelled the letter H. So, little by little, I
wrote out with the lighthouse flash against the dark sky the simple
sentence,
"_Christmas is coming._"
It was plain and expressive. It spoke to Jessie of the approaching
day, when she should make her long-deferred decision, and when I so
ardently anticipated that she would be mine. It reminded her that the
time was now only a few hours distant. It told her that even those few
hours were almost too long for me to wait. It was a short message,
indeed, but the difficulty of thus spelling it out, letter by letter,
made it long enough. Already, ere I had finished, my arm, as well as
my attention, was fatigued; and when, at last, I made the long signal
of conclusion, and gained, in reply, the token that I had been
comprehended, I felt that I had done enough for one night, at least.
Then, remaining awake, with some difficulty, until morning came, I put
out the lights, and went down to see after old Barry. He was better;
his rheumatism had not troubled him as much as he had feared; he would
get up, and himself trim the lights for the coming night, and I had
better lie down and rest. Which I gladly did, for I was tired, indeed,
and began to have a suspicion that, though lighthouse telegraphy might
be a pleasant excitement for once, it was inferior, as a steady means
of communication, to the regularly established mails. So, I slept the
sleep of the weary, if not of the just; and the morning was far
advanced when I awoke.
The new day was not stormy, as I had partly anticipated it would be,
nor yet was it clear and beautiful. The gale seemed slowly coming on,
but had not quite reached us. The sky was thick with scudding clouds,
racing wildly from north to south; the air was cold and cheerless; the
sea rolled in with a more powerful swell than usual, breaking along
the shore with a boom like that of heavy artillery. The gulls flew
to and fro, screaming and unsettled; a few coasting schooners,
apprehensive of mischief, had put into the land-locked bay and there
lay at anchor, awaiting better weather; and in one place, the
fishermen were dragging their boats away back to the foot of the
bluff, so as to avoid the still heavier swell which must erelong come.
Yet, for all that, the storm had not commenced, and I could easily
have walked over to Beacon Ledge and made my daily visit.
But still I forbore. I had already told Jessie that I should not see
her again until I came to hear the decision of my fate, and I resolved
that I would be firm. Would it not, beside, spoil the whole romance of
our midnight correspondence were I to visit her again so soon? I had
signalled a greeting to her. What a lowering of sentiment it would be
if now I were to obtain her response in commonplace manner, by mere
word of mouth, instead of by the bright sheen of the lighthouse
itself! Nay, that would never do. So, killing the heavy hours as best
I could, I loitered up and down the beach, shooting at the gulls as
ineffectually as I had before shot at the sand-pipers; watching the
course of a few frightened vessels, which still continued to make for
that little harbor of refuge; and, like a child, making sand-forts on
the beach, for the pleasure of seeing them washed away again by the
next heavy swell.
Night came at last; and, as before, I volunteered to relieve Barry of
the care of the lamps, and allow him additional opportunity to nurse
his rheumatism. As before, he made some feeble show of hesitation, by
way of reconciling his mind to the proffered rest, and then readily
succumbed.
"Be it so, Georgy, my boy," he said. "That is, if you are not already
too tired. But I don't feel as bad now as last night, and may yet
crawl up and relieve you."
"Take it easy, Barry," I said. "It is not much trouble for me. I could
stand it this fashion for a week."
With that I left him alone in his snuggery, and climbed the stairs
to the top. As upon the previous evening, I lighted the lamps, set
the machine in motion, and then curled myself down in a corner of
the floor to rest till midnight. I did not at once fall asleep,
however. The gale, which had been preparing for the last thirty hours,
now began to come in force, disturbing me with the sound of the
wind--whistling shrilly through every crack and crevice--while the
lighthouse itself constantly trembled with the blast. Even at that
height, I could hear the sullen dash of the breakers against the
shore; and once I could see, by the tremulous movement of lights far
out to the eastward, that a large steamer was passing, and was
laboring toilsomely with a more than usually heavy sea. She was in no
danger, however, and gradually passed away from my line of vision.
Then, at last, I fell asleep, though not into the soft, quiet slumber
which I usually enjoyed. Even in my dreams the tempest followed me,
filling my mind with distorted imaginings. The old stories, which I
had so often heard and of late had forgotten, about pirates, and
wrecks, and wreckers, and cruelties perpetrated upon the beach, now
seemed to take actual life and reality. I could see the dismasted
vessels struggling among the breakers, and the rows of hard, fierce,
expectant faces lining the shore, and awaiting the turning up of the
dead bodies. I was a dead body myself, even, and was being washed up
on the beach, already drowned beyond hope of resuscitation, and yet
strangely conscious of all that went on around me. A hand was placed
roughly upon me, as I lay motionless upon the sand. Then, gaining new
life, I cried aloud, and, waking, found old Barry leaning over me, and
shaking me into consciousness.
"Look over yonder, Georgy, my boy, at the Beacon Point," he said. "See
how strangely the lights are acting. What do you make of it all?"
I looked, and saw that the reflectors were pointing, motionless,
toward me--resting there for a full minute; then they swept around
slowly in their accustomed course, and again paused for a minute.
Thereby I deciphered the letter M, and started into full and instant
animation. I had, of course, overslept myself, and thereby, probably,
lost a portion of Jessie's dear message. How much of it, indeed?
"What is the hour, Barry?"
"Half-past twelve," he said. "But what do you make of yonder
business? Is it some accident to the works, do you think?--or has old
Barkstead gone on a spree again, as they say he once did, and is now
playing fast and loose with the lights?"
While he had been speaking, new revolutions, broken, by longer or
shorter pauses, had succeeded; and I deciphered the additional letters
A and S.
"Whatever it may be, Barry," I then answered--forcing myself to attend
to him, and feeling a little guilty for being obliged to keep the
mysterious secret from him--"don't you see that nothing can be done
about it, now? Go, therefore, to bed again. This cold lantern is no
place for you to remain in. And to-morrow, bright and early, I will go
out myself, and ascertain what may be the matter."
With that, I gently pushed Barry down the first two or three steps,
and heard him go grumbling and puffing the rest of the way to his own
nook. Meanwhile, the bright signalling from Beacon Point went
on--letter after letter--until, at last, I read out the whole
sentence:
"_----mas has come._"
"Christmas has come!" This, of course, was the completion of the
message; for it was not now difficult to supply those letters which,
through my tardy awakening, I had missed. My heart bounded high with
joy and exultation. Sanguinely as I had anticipated a favorable
verdict at Jessie's hands, my utmost hopes had never asked for such a
frank and instant admission of her preference as this. To be reminded,
at the very first stroke of the midnight hour, that the important day
for decision had arrived: what was this but being told that the day
should bring its blessing with it?--that Jessie herself had awaited
its approach as eagerly as I had, feeling as acutely the delay?--that
now there should be no more disguise or misconstruction between us?
Christmas had come! It was, indeed, a frank and noble response to my
message of the night before, telling me that now, at last, she had
surrendered her heart to my safe-keeping. Had it been possible, I
would have run over at once to Beacon Ledge, and pressed her to my
heart. But, of course, not the tempest merely forbade. I must wait
until the more suitable time of morning, still many hours off.
Therefore, composing myself as well as possible for quiet waiting, I
sat, during the remainder of the night, musing over my pleasant
prospects, and watching anxiously for the first ray of morning.
It came at last--later than usual, for the tempest had not yet abated,
and the approach of day was to be noted rather by the gradual
lightening of the atmosphere, than by any gleam of eastern dawn. Then
I extinguished the lights, stopped the machinery, and descended to old
Barry.
"I will now cross over to the Beacon Ledge," I said, "and find out
what was the matter last night."
"Without your breakfast, boy?" growled the old man.
But what did I care for breakfast! My heart was too full of joy to
care for any carnal needs; and, therefore, with some lame excuse for
my hurry, and a guilty sense of continued deception weighing upon my
mind, I set off, promising a speedy return. The task that I had set
myself was no trifle, and I could not wonder at the solemn shake of
the head with which Barry watched my departure. The tempest was at its
height, and a blinding sheet of rain and ocean-spray drove wildly into
my face at each step. The breakers dashed furiously upon the beach--so
furiously, indeed, that the usual route along the hard-pressed sand
had become impassable, and I was obliged to take a higher path
through the loose, yielding pebbles. But I persevered bravely and
determinedly, though so sorely fettered in my steps, and buffeted in
my face, and, after nearly two hours, reached the other lighthouse.
I entered without ceremony, and, in the angle of the first flight of
stairs--our usual trysting-place ever since the lateness of the season
had denied us the rock by the sea-side--I found dear Jessie. But
she was not alone. Beside her, and too near, I thought, sat a
pleasant-faced young man, who, at my approach, arose, and with a
miserably counterfeited affectation of indifference, sauntered away.
Jessie also arose, and with whitened face, came forward.
"Why are you here?" she murmured. "Did I not signal it all to you, so
that you might know the truth, and spare both yourself and me this
meeting?"
"What do you mean?" I gasped.
"Did you not understand me, after all, kind friend? You know, indeed,
that I once told you how I had loved another. I had no expectation of
seeing him again, it is true. He was far away with his vessel when we
departed from our little village, leaving, as you know, not a trace
behind us; and, therefore, there was no way in which the secret of our
present retreat could be learned by any one. Nor could I write to him
and tell him, for he had not yet spoken to me of love, and I did not
know but what he would choose, in the end, to forget me. But Fate,
after all, is sometimes kind. Searching for me, without any trace to
guide him, he had almost despaired, when, the night before this last,
coming in from sea, he saw the Penguin Light; and noticing how, while
you were signalling to me, at times it stopped for a moment, he
thought it was the Upper Roadstead Light, and so ran in and made this
little harbor by mistake. Thereby it was that we have chanced to meet
again."
"But, Jessie, you signalled to me that--"
"I signalled that Thomas had come. Did you not comprehend? Or can it
be that I had never happened to mention his name to you?"
"Ah!" I feebly exclaimed, the light breaking in upon me; "Thomas was
the word, then, was it? I thought--but no matter now for my thoughts.
Well, farewell, Jessie. There can be no good word or wish that any one
may give you that will not always be uttered twofold from my heart.
You know it, kind friend, do you not?"
"I know it, George, indeed," she said.
And, tearing myself from her, I returned to city life. There I gave
myself once more up to business and its cares, in hopes of drowning my
disappointment; and now, after long months of sad regret, I have
nearly succeeded, and have become myself again. But, at times, I lie
awake in the middle of the night and listen to the city's roar, and in
the sound I seem to hear once more the play of breakers on the shore
at Beacon Ledge; and then I think, with sadness, how different might
have been my lot, had I not so foolishly determined to utter, with the
lighthouse lamps, and so many miles across, those words of greeting
which should have been softly whispered instead, by lowly pleading
lips, into closely attentive, willing ears.
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors; otherwise
every effort has been made to remain true to the authors' words and
intent.
End of Project Gutenberg's Stories by American Authors, Volume 9, by Various