VI.

_FOG._

"Here are some letters for you," said the light-keeper, returning from

Shipton one noon and handing Dave a package of letters.

"This is a funny-looking one," thought Dave. "It is not written, but

printed. Somebody sent it that did not know how to write. Let me see

what it says:--

"'DEAR DAVIE I THOUGHT I WOULD WRITE YOU A LITTLE AND SAY I AM WELL AND

HOPE YOU ARE GRANSIR IS BETTER BECAUSE I READ TO HIM HE SAYS I LIKE MY

TEACHER SHE IS YOUR SISTER SHE SAYS SHE MAY TAKE ME TO THE LIGHTHOUSE

AND I WOULD LIKE TO COME I SHALL PRAY FOR YOU WHEN THE STORMS COME AND

EVERY DAY YOUR TRUE FRIEND

"'BARTHOLOMEW TRAFTON.'"

Dave was so much pleased with this communication that he read it to the

light-keeper.

"Dave, I wish you would invite your sister and her friends to come down

here. Ask those boys who were with you in the schooner."

"That would be pleasant. Thank you."

"I will try to make it interesting for them."

"Oh, I wish you would do one thing."

"What is that?"

"Tell us what you know about lighthouses."

"Well, let me think. There is one thing I could do. I have in my

drawer an account of lighthouses I have written off at spare moments,

just to keep me busy, you know, and I could read that."

"I think we would all like that very much."

"All right; let us plan for a visit."

"I think you have had some visitors since you have been here that you

did not plan for."

"Yes, indeed; and they may come any time, just as your party surprised

me. Sometimes, though near me, they may not get to me. I was saying

the first day you came here it was the tenth anniversary of a great

storm. It was a foreign vessel, a Norwegian bark. The vessel struck on

the bar--"

"Couldn't they see the light?"

"The fog was very thick, so that they couldn't have got much warning

from the light. The first thing to do now in a fog, of course, is to

start the signal. But we had none then--only an old bell I used to

strike; but when the wind was to south'ard it carried away from the bar

the sound of the bell. This was a southerly storm, and such storms are

not likely to be long, but they may blow very hard while they do last. I

heard the storm roaring through the night; and when I looked out in the

morning, there was this vessel just on the bar! Oh, what a tumult she

was in! Such a raging of the waves all around that vessel! I always go

off to the help of people if I can reach them; but there was no reaching

that vessel with a boat. Yes, I could see them and they could see me in

the morning, when the fog lifted, but there was no getting from one to

the other. I could see them clinging to the rigging, hanging there as

long as the waves would let them. I would watch some immense sea--and

they roll up big in a storm, I tell ye--come rushing at the vessel,

rolling over it, completely burying the deck. After such seas some one

would be missing. I never want to see that sight again. There they were

dying, and I couldn't get anywhere near them! The vessel did not break

up at once. She was there the next day, and I went to her, and others

went, but we found nobody aboard. I think they saved part of her cargo;

but the waves pounded her up fearfully, and carried off many things of

her cargo. One by one they came ashore. It did touch me one day, when

I was down on the rocks fishing, near the lighthouse at low tide, to see

something floating on the water. 'Why, that is a box,' I said. We are

all curious, you know, and I wondered what was in that box. I went to

the lighthouse, got a long pole, and reached the box and brought it

ashore. I'll show it to you if you would like to see it."

"I would, very much."

"I have always kept it here, for it seems to belong to the lighthouse

rather than anywhere else. Here it is."

He went to the closet in the kitchen, and reaching up to the highest

shelf, took down a box of sandalwood. It was an elaborately carved

piece of work, and had served among the articles for a lady's toilet.

When the light-keeper opened it Dave saw two handkerchiefs, a

hair-brush, a comb, and there was also a man's picture. Dave looked

with interest at this relic washed up out of the buried secrets of the

sea, and still keeping its own secret there in the light-keeper's

kitchen.

"Did you ever get any clue to the ownership of this, Mr. Tolman?" asked

Dave.

"Let me tell you of one strange thing that happened about a year ago.

One night I was very sure I heard a cry out on the bar. The waves make

so much noise that it is hard to hear anybody if they do shout; but

sometimes when the sea is still you can hear a call. Said I to Waters,

'Timothy, I hear a hollering.' Said he, 'I think I hear it myself. Let

us go to the door and listen.' We were both in the kitchen, you know.

'Twas the fore part of the evening, though dark. Sure enough, at the

door we could hear somebody shout. 'Timothy,' said I, 'that is a plain

case. Let's launch the boat.' So off we put. The person kept

hollering and we kept rowing. There on the bar we found a man. Crazy

he acted, and he couldn't tell much about himself--how he got there, or

where his boat was. He was not sober. On our way to the light what

should we run into but a boat. 'Here is the rest of him,' whispered

Timothy. We took him and his boat to the light. How we got him up the

ladder I don't know, but we tied a rope round him, and drew him, and

shoved him, and somehow got him into the lighthouse. The next morning

he was entirely sober. Of course he was very much ashamed, but he could

not give any account of himself, only that he had been in a boat and had

trouble. Well, for some reason I had that box down from the shelf that

morning he left, and I had been looking at it. He saw it. He started

as if the box had struck him. He stepped up to it softly, looked into

it, and said, with an amazed look as I ever saw on a person,

'Where--where--did you get it?' 'It floated from a wreck off here.'

'Anybody ever claim it?' 'Never,' I said; 'but I am ready to give it

up to any claimant.' 'Well,' said he, 'if anybody comes and claims it,

you give it up; but if not, don't part with it till you hear from me.'

I asked him what he meant; but he would make no explanation, only

repeating his request. He was very grateful for what we had done, and I

took the liberty to say in a proper way that he must take warning, or he

would be wrecked on a bar where there would be no saving. He burst into

tears, thanked me, said he knew he was a great fool, and left in his

boat. We watched him, and saw him row to a vessel lying at anchor in

the harbour. Then we guessed he had been ashore the day before in the

ship's boat, and got into mischief. I told Timothy we would find out

about the vessel; but a fog came up and kept us here. She slipped out

to sea as much a stranger as ever. Fishermen afterwards told us it was

a vessel that ran in for shelter.

"From that day to this I have never heard about the man. Sometimes I

think it was a foreigner; again I fancy it is somebody at Shipton, but I

could not say. I am there very little to know about people; and Timothy

couldn't tell about it. He don't belong to Shipton. There is the box.

Pretty, isn't it?"

Dave nodded a yes.

"Mr. Tolman, could you tell the man if you should see him again?" asked

Dave.

"Could I? yes, indeed."

"How did he look? What was the colour of his hair, his eyes; and how

was he dressed?"

"Now--you will think it strange--I can't tell any of his features or

what clothes he wore, and yet if I should see him I don't believe I

should miss him. I could tell him by the look of his eyes--a look that

somehow appealed to me--a look without hope. Often when at night I see

the froth on the bar in the moonlight, I seem to hear that man calling

to me, and I take it as a sign that he is still in a worse fix than if

on the bar. It is an awful curse, rum, and I am a sworn foe to it."

Here the light-keeper placed the sandal-wood box again on its shelf, and

Dave turned to look out of the window near the kitchen table.

"See here, Mr. Tolman; what's that?"

"Where?"

"Floating and curling over that point!"

"Can't you guess?"

"Looks like fog! Yes, I can see now plainly. Oh, can we start up the

fog-signal?"

"Wait a while. When the fog is so thick that you can't see Breakers

P'int, then we start the fog-signal. That is the sign in that direction.

On the other side of the lighthouse it is Jones's Neck that must be

hidden. I guess both the P'int and the Neck will be covered this time.

I must start the fire in the engine and have everything ready, at any

rate. Let us go into the fog-signal tower."

Dave was delighted.

"I suppose, Mr. Tolman, people like to hear the signal?"

"Yes, if in a fog. They want to know which way to go. Even fishermen

about here, who are supposed to know the way about the harbour, may be

bothered by the fog; but people just off for pleasure may be bothered a

good deal."

"See here! Isn't the fog lifting round Jones's Neck, Mr. Tolman?"

Dave was looking out of a window in the tower, and Mr. Tolman joined

him.

"You are right; and Breakers P'int is clear too. We will hold on then,

have everything ready, you know, for the fog may shut down suddenly."

Dave continued to look out of the window.

"Coming again!" he cried to the light-keeper, who had kept up his fires

in the engine-room, but had gone for a few minutes to the kitchen. "Fog

is round Breakers Point and Jones's Neck!"

Yes: like an immense gray sponge the mist had once more advanced, wiping

out the vessels slowly sailing into harbour, the far outlying points of

land, and now erased an islet called the Nub, mingling all in one

confusing cloud.

"All right," said the light-keeper; "we will start the signal."

There was the driving of a stout piston; there was the stirring of a big

wheel; there was the movement of other machinery; and there was

finally--"What a noise overhead!" thought the listening Dave. It seemed

as if five thousand bees all buzzing at once, twenty-five thousand

crickets all shrilly piping at once, and fifty thousand wood-sawyers all

sawing at once, had combined their noises and were forcing all through

the flaming fog-trumpet above. For ten seconds Dave held his fingers in

his ears. Then there was a blessed stillness, save as the play of the

machinery interrupted it.

"What do you think of that?" asked Mr. Tolman, grinning broadly. "Some

lung power left in it yet."

"Lung power! They can hear that down to the Cape of Good Hope. One is

enough for both sides of the ocean."

"Want another? Time is 'most up. Here she goes!"

She went.

"Toot--buzz--boom--whiz--fizz-z-z--bim-m-m-m!"

Among the breakers tumbling on the sandy shores, along the face of

weather-beaten island-edges, down amid the waves and up in the clouds

echoed the sharp, strong, fog-piercing, ear-cutting blast. And wherever

it went it said, "Of fog I warn-n-n-n-n!" for ten seconds.

In one of the intervals of rest Dave remarked, "Now that must be kept up

as long as the fog lasts?"

"Of course."

"Doesn't it get tiresome?"

"Well, that's how you take it. I was told of a lighthouse where the

signal was going twenty-one days."

"Day after day! Just think of it!"

"Well, there is this side of it: off on the water there is somebody

bewildered by the mist, perplexed day after day, it may be, and they

catch the sound of the signal. Oh, ain't that good news? That's what

makes me contented at it. I have sometimes wished I was a musician, and

could please others by my playing; but I tell you I have stood by this

old engine dark, rainy, foggy nights, and oh, I have been so happy

starting up and sending out this old whistle. There it is!"

"Toot--buzz--boom--whiz--bim-m-m-m!"

"Somebody heard that, you may believe, and somebody, too, more pleased

than if I had been a whole band of music, and had sent out just the

sweetest tune."

The light-keeper stood by the tugging engine and wiped the perspiration

from his brow, and his big, rosy face was as happy as that of a

school-boy going off on a long vacation.

"Hark! what is that? Sounds like a bell," said Dave.

"It is the bell-buoy at Sunk Rock. We only hear that when the wind is

blowing off the sea."

"Didn't hear it before."

"Wind hasn't been just right to hear it loud. I have caught it since

you came; but then I am used to its sound, and can tell it easily."

"I must see it."

"Oh, we shall have a chance, I guess."

The fog-signal had been shrieking away an hour, and Dave heard another

sound.

"That isn't a bell I hear now," he said.

"Well, no; that's a hollering."

Was it a cry from the lighthouse tower or a cry outside of it? a cry

from what quarter? Dave looked out of a window near him. He could see

only fog above and waves below.

"I will go down to the door and try to see who or what it is," said

Dave, "for there is that cry again."

He descended to the door of the tower and looked down through the hole

in the platform. Then he saw a dory tossing in the water that now

flowed all about the tower, swashing against its iron walls. There was

a boy in the boat. He was not looking up, but clinging to a rope

stretched for purposes of mooring from the tower to a sunken rock forty

feet away. Steadying his boat by this rope, he was waiting for some

response to his repeated calls.

"Hullo, there!" shouted Dave.

The boy looked up, still grasping the rope.

"That you, Dave?"

"Yes. That you, Dick? Where did you come from?"

"Yes, Dick Pray, and nobody else."

"Won't you come up?"

"Well, yes, I should like to, but the water is uneasy. Can't get out of

my boat."

"Hold on; I will come down and help you." He stepped within the tower

and reported, "Mr. Tolman, this fog has brought somebody."

"Don't wonder at it. Give him any help he needs."

"I want a short rope."

"There's one hanging on that nail."

Dave took the rope, went to the door of the tower, and descended the

ladder.

"Here, Dick! Take your painter and tie it to that mooring-rope,

allowing enough slack to bring your boat almost to the tower and yet not

touch it. There! if that length isn't right you can try it again. Now

catch this rope and make fast to the stern there. So! That's it! Now

I'll pull you in."

Dave drew on his end of the rope, and pulled Dick's boat so near the

ladder that Dick could spring to it, and yet the boat itself was left to

swing in the waves while it could not strike the tower.

"I'll just make fast my end of the rope, Dick, and we will go up the

ladder."

"All right. Glad to get out of that old boat and go up with you."

"Why, where under the sun and moon have you been?"

"Me? Been camping out on the Nub."

"You haven't!"

"But I have."

"That your tent over there?"

"Mine and Sam Whittles's."

"Tolman and I noticed it to-day for the first time. How long have you

been there?"

"Long enough to eat you or Toby Tolman--you may draw lots for the

honour--if you don't give me some food."

"Oh, we will soon give you that. Among other things I will give you

some fish. Got some splendid cunners, and I will divide with you."

"Good! I could eat 'em raw. Hungry as a shark. Sam is hungrier. I

don't know as he will wait for me, but throw himself into the water and

go after the fish himself."

"O Dickie, we will make you feel like a new being. Come in and see

Tolman. He is a splendid old fellow. Come in this way."

The boys went up into the engine-room.

"An old acquaintance, Mr. Tolman," said Dave.

"I see, I see," replied the light-keeper, recognizing Dick as one of the

schooner party.

"Whiz--bim--fizz--"

"It sounded splendid out at Shag Rocks," shouted Dick to the

light-keeper.

"You been there?" inquired Mr. Tolman.

"Yes; and this old fog came up and confused me, and I didn't know where

I was, and I heard the signal and I put for it," said Dick.

"Out there fishing?"

"Yes, sir; or--I wanted to fish, but didn't catch a fin."

"Shag Rocks you went to?"

"Yes, sir; two ledges with a strip of sand between them."

"Oh, those are 'Spectacle Rocks,' as the fishermen say. They look like

a pair of spectacles. You wouldn't catch much there. Shag Rocks are to

the nor'ard."

"Well, I'm willing they should stay there."

"Next time, you come here. Splendid chance off this very ledge; Black

Rocks, as we call them."

"That would be wise, I think."

"Well, make yourself at home.--Dave, you give him something to eat."

"I thought I would let him have some of those cunners to take with him."

"So do, but give him something now.--And you don't want to go back in

this fog?"

"Well, I'd rather have clear weather if I have got to find the Nub,"

said Dick.

The fog, though, refused to clear up that day, and Dick remained all

night.

"I pity Sam," he told Dave; "but he has got a teapot, and he must live

on that till morning. I'll give him a surprise to-morrow, I tell you.

I will throw my line into the water off these rocks here, and carry to

camp a string of fish worth having. I'll open Sam's eyes for him."

Dick, though, overslept his intended hour of rising. It was Dave who

came rushing into the assistant-keeper's room, where Dick had been

sleeping, and he cried, "Dick, Dick! there is a furious shouting for

you. Two men and a young fellow are down in a boat at the foot of the

tower, and want you."

"I'll be there directly," said Dick, springing out of his bed. He

dressed quickly, and rushed down to the door of the signal-tower.

Looking below, he exclaimed, "That you, Sam Whittles?"

"Yes. Where have you been? Didn't sleep a wink last night. Thought

you were drowned and everything else. Got these two fishermen who came

along to pull me here in their boat. Come, boy, come home!"

"Fury!" said Dick in his thoughts. "Won't--won't you come up?" he asked

aloud. "I was going to surprise you, take you some fish, and so on."

"Fish!" said Sam contemptuously; "these men will sell it to me by the

acre."

"Squar mile, ef he wants it," said one of these piscatory individuals,

looking up and grinning.

"Won't you all come up?" asked Dave Fletcher.

"Can't, thank you," said Sam. "Just throw that Jonah overboard, and we

will go home."

"Jonah" said it was "too bad," and stole down the ladder, feeling worse

than on the day he returned in the runaway schooner.