THE FLARE AT SEA.
My grandfather and I were sitting at tea one dark November evening. We
had been digging in the garden the whole morning, but in the afternoon
it had become so wet and stormy that we had remained indoors.
We were sitting quietly at our tea, planning what we would do the next
day, when the door suddenly opened and Mr. Millar put his head in.
'Sandy, quick!' he said. 'Look here!' My grandfather and I ran to the
door, and looked out over the sea. There, about three miles to the
north of us, we saw a bright flare of light. It blazed up for a moment
or two, lighting up the wild and stormy sky, and then it went out, and
all was darkness again.
'What is it, grandfather?' I asked. But he did not answer me.
'There's no time to lose, Jem,' he said; "out with the boat, my man!"
'It's an awful sea,' said Millar, looking at the waves beating fiercely
against the rocks.
'Never mind, Jem,' said my grandfather; 'we must do our best.' So the
two men went down to the shore, and I followed them.
'What is it, grandfather?' I asked again.
'There's something wrong out there,' said he, pointing to the place
where we had seen the light. 'That's the flare they always make when
they're in danger and want help at once.'
'Are you going to them, grandfather?' I said.
'Yes, if we can get the boat out,' he said. 'Now, Jem, are you ready?'
'Let me go with you, grandfather,' I said; 'I might be able to help.'
'All right, my lad,' he said; 'we'll try if we can get her off.'
I can see that scene with my mind's eye as though it were but yesterday.
My grandfather and Mr. Millar straining every nerve to row the boat from
land, whilst I clung on to one of the seats, and tried in vain to steer
her. I can see poor Mrs. Millar standing on the pier, with her shawl
over her head, watching us, and two of her little girls clinging to her
dress. I can see the waves, which seemed to be rising higher every
moment, and ready to beat our little boat to pieces. And I can see my
grandfather's disappointed face, as, after many a fruitless attempt, he
was obliged to give it up.
'It's no use, I'm afraid, Jem,' he said at last; 'we haven't hands
enough to manage her.'
So we got to shore as best we could, and paced up and down the little
pier. We could see nothing more. It was a very dark night, and all was
perfect blackness over the sea.
The lighthouse lamps were burning brightly; they had been lighted more
than two hours before. It was Millar's turn to watch, so he went up to
the tower, and my grandfather and I remained on the pier.
'Can nothing be done, grandfather?'
'I'm afraid not, my lad. We can't make any way against such a sea as
this; if it goes down a bit, we'll have another try at it.'
But the sea did not go down. We walked up and down the pier almost in
silence.
Presently a rocket shot up into the sky, evidently from the same place
where we had seen the flare.
'There she is again, Alick! Poor things! I wonder how many of them there
is.'
'Can we do nothing at all?' I asked again.
'No, my lad,' he said; 'the sea's too much for us. It's a terrible
night. It puts me in mind of the day you were born.'
So the night wore away. We never thought of going to bed, but walked up
and down the pier, with our eyes fixed on the place where we had seen
the lights. Every now and then, for some hours, rockets were sent up;
and then they ceased, and we saw nothing.
'They've got no more with them,' said my grandfather. 'Poor things! it's
a terrible bad job.'
'What's wrong with them, grandfather?' I asked. 'Are there rocks over
there?'
'Yes, there's the Ainslie Crag just there; it's a nasty place that--a
very nasty place. Many a fine ship has been lost there!'
At last the day began to dawn; a faint grey light spread over the sea.
We could distinguish now the masts of a ship in the far distance. 'There
she is, poor thing!' said my grandfather, pointing in the direction of
the ship. 'She's close on Ainslie Crag--I thought so!'
'The wind's gone down a bit now, hasn't it?' I asked.
'Yes, and the sea's a bit stiller just now,' he said. 'Give Jem a call,
Alick.'
Jem Millar hastened down to the pier with his arms full of rope.
'All right, Jem, my lad,' said my grandfather. 'Let's be off; I think we
may manage it now.'
So we jumped into the boat, and put off from the pier. It was a fearful
struggle with the wind and waves, and for a long time we seemed to make
no way against them. Both the men were much exhausted, and Jem Millar
seemed ready to give in.
'Cheer up, Jem, my lad,' said my grandfather; 'think of all the poor
fellows out there. Let's have one more try!'
So they made a mighty effort, and the pier was left a little way behind.
Slowly, very slowly, we made that distance greater; slowly, very slowly,
Mrs. Millar, who was standing on the shore, faded from our sight, and
the masts of the ship in distress seemed to grow a little more near. Yet
the waves were still fearfully strong, and appeared ready, every moment,
to swallow up our little boat. Would my grandfather and Millar ever be
able to hold on till they reached the ship, which was still more than
two miles away?
'What's that?' I cried, as I caught sight of a dark object, rising and
falling with the waves.
'It's a boat, surely!' said my grandfather 'Look, Jem!