THE RISING OF THE TIDE--A NARROW ESCAPE
The portion of the work that Mr. Stevenson was now most anxious to
get advanced was the beacon.
The necessity of having an erection of this kind was very obvious,
for, in the event of anything happening to the boats, there would be
no refuge for the men to fly to; and the tide would probably sweep
them all away before their danger could be known, or assistance sent
from the attendant vessels. Every man felt that his personal safety
might depend on the beacon during some period of the work. The
energies of all, therefore, were turned to the preliminary
arrangements for its erection.
As the beacon would require to withstand the utmost fury of the
elements during all seasons of the year, it was necessary that it
should be possessed of immense strength.
In order to do this, six cuttings were made in the rock for the
reception of the ends of the six great beams of the beacon. Each beam
was to be fixed to the solid rock by two strong and massive bats, or
stanchions, of iron. These bats, for the fixing of the principal and
diagonal beams and bracing chains, required fifty-four holes, each
measuring a foot and a half deep, and two inches wide. The operation
of boring such holes into the solid rock, was not an easy or a quick
one, but by admirable arrangements on the part of the engineer, and
steady perseverance on the part of the men, they progressed faster
than had been anticipated.
Three men were attached to each jumper, or boring chisel; one placed
himself in a sitting posture, to guide the instrument, and give it a
turn at each blow of the hammer; he also sponged and cleaned out the
hole, and supplied it occasionally with a little water, while the
other two, with hammers of sixteen pounds weight, struck the jumper
alternately, generally bringing the hammer with a swing round the
shoulder, after the manner of blacksmith work.
Ruby, we may remark in passing, occupied himself at this work as
often as he could get away from his duties at the forge, being
particularly fond of it, as it enabled him to get rid of some of his
superabundant energy, and afforded him a suitable exercise for his
gigantic strength. It also tended to relieve his feelings when he
happened to think of Minnie being so near, and he so utterly and
hopelessly cut off from all communication with her.
But to return to the bat-holes. The three men relieved each other in
the operations of wielding the hammers and guiding the jumpers, so
that the work never flagged for a moment, and it was found that when
the tools were of a very good temper, these holes could be sunk at
the rate of one inch per minute, including stoppages. But the tools
were not always of good temper; and severely was poor Dove's temper
tried by the frequency of the scolds which he received from the men,
some of whom were clumsy enough, Dove said, to spoil the best
tempered tool in the world.
But the most tedious part of the operation did not lie in the boring
of these holes. In order that they should be of the required shape,
two holes had to be bored a few inches apart from each other, and the
rock cut away from between them. It was this latter part of the work
that took up most time.
Those of the men who were not employed about the beacon were working
at the foundation-pit.
While the party were thus busily occupied on the Bell Rock, an event
occurred which rendered the importance of the beacon, if possible,
more obvious than ever, and which wellnigh put an end to the career
of all those who were engaged on the rock at that time.
The _Pharos_ floating light lay at a distance of above two miles from
the Bell Rock; but one of the smaller vessels, the sloop _Smeaton_,
lay much closer to it, and some of the artificers were berthed aboard
of her, instead of the floating light.
Some time after the landing of the two boats from the _Pharos_, the
_Smeaton's_ boat put off and landed eight men on the rock; soon after
which the crew of the boat pushed off and returned to the _Smeaton_
to examine her riding-ropes, and see that they were in good order,
for the wind was beginning to increase, and the sea to rise.
The boat had no sooner reached the vessel than the latter began to
drift, carrying the boat along with her. Instantly those on board
endeavoured to hoist the mainsail of the Smeaton, with the view of
working her up to the buoy from which she had parted; but it blew so
hard, that by the time she was got round to make a tack towards the
rock, she had drifted at least three miles to leeward.
The circumstance of the _Smeaton_ and her boat having drifted was
observed first by Mr. Stevenson, who prudently refrained from drawing
attention to the fact, and walked slowly to the farther point of the
rock to watch her. He was quickly followed by the landing-master, who
touched him on the shoulder, and in perfect silence, but with a look
of intense anxiety, pointed to the vessel.
"I see it, Wilson. God help us if she fails to make the rock within a
very short time," said Mr. Stevenson.
"She will _never_ reach us in time," said Wilson, in a tone that
convinced his companion he entertained no hope.
"Perhaps she may," he said hurriedly; "she is a good sailer."
"Good sailing," replied the other, "cannot avail against wind and
tide together. No human power can bring that vessel to our aid until
long after the tide has covered the Bell Rock."
Both remained silent for some time, watching with intense anxiety the
ineffectual efforts of the little vessel to beat up to windward.
In a few minutes the engineer turned to his companion and said, "They
cannot save us, Wilson. The two boats that are left--can they hold us
all?"
The landing-master shook his head. "The two boats," said he, "will be
completely filled by their own crews. For ordinary rough weather they
would be quite full enough. In a sea like that," he said, pointing to
the angry waves that were being gradually lashed into foam by the
increasing wind, "they will be overloaded."
"Come, I don't know that, Wilson; we may devise something," said Mr.
Stevenson, with a forced air of confidence, as he moved slowly
towards the place where the men were still working, busy as bees and
all unconscious of the perilous circumstances in which they were
placed.
As the engineer pondered the prospect of deliverance, his thoughts
led him rather to despair than to hope. There were thirty-two persons
in all upon the rock that day, with only two boats, which, even in
good weather, could not unitedly accommodate more than twenty-four
sitters. But to row to the floating light with so much wind and in so
heavy a sea, a complement of eight men for each boat was as much as
could with propriety be attempted, so that about half of their number
was thus unprovided for. Under these circumstances he felt that to
despatch one of the boats in expectation of either working the
Smeaton sooner up to the rock, or in hopes of getting her boat
brought to their assistance would, besides being useless, at once
alarm the workmen, each of whom would probably insist upon taking to
his own boat, and leaving the eight men of the Smeaton to their
chance. A scuffle might ensue, and he knew well that when men are
contending for life the results may be very disastrous.
For a considerable time the men remained in ignorance of terrible
conflict that was going on in their commander's breast. As they
wrought chiefly in sitting or kneeling postures, excavating the rock
or boring with jumpers, their attention was naturally diverted from
everything else around them. The dense volumes of smoke, too, that
rose from the forge fire, so enveloped them as to render distant
objects dim or altogether invisible.
While this lasted,--while the numerous hammers were going and the
anvil continued to sound, the situation of things did not appear so
awful to the only two who were aware of what had occurred. But ere
long the tide began to rise upon those who were at work on the lower
parts of the beacon and lighthouse. From the run of the sea upon the
rock, the forge fire was extinguished sooner than usual; the volumes
of smoke cleared away, and objects became visible in every direction.
After having had about three hours' work, the men began pretty
generally to make towards their respective boats for their jackets
and socks.
Then it was that they made the discovery that one boat was absent.
Only a few exclamations were uttered. A glance at the two boats and a
hurried gaze to seaward were sufficient to acquaint them with their
awful position. Not a word was spoken by anyone. All appeared to be
silently calculating their numbers, and looking at each other with
evident marks of perplexity depicted in their countenances. The
landing-master, conceiving that blame might attach to him for having
allowed the boat to leave the rock, kept a little apart from the men.
All eyes were turned, as if by instinct, to Mr. Stevenson. The men
seemed to feel that the issue lay with him.
The engineer was standing on an elevated part of the rock named
Smith's Ledge, gazing in deep anxiety at the distant _Smeaton_, in
the hope that he might observe some effort being made, at least, to
pull the boat to their rescue.
Slowly but surely the tide rose, overwhelming the lower parts of the
rock; sending each successive wave nearer and nearer to the feet of
those who were now crowded on the last ledge that could afford them
standing-room.
The deep silence that prevailed was awful! It proved that each mind
saw clearly the impossibility of anything being devised, and that a
deadly struggle for precedence was inevitable.
Mr. Stevenson had all along been rapidly turning over in his mind
various schemes which might be put in practice for the general
safety, provided the men could be kept under command. He accordingly
turned to address them on the perilous nature of their circumstances;
intending to propose that all hands should strip off their upper
clothing when the higher parts of the rock should be laid under
water; that the seamen should remove every unnecessary weight and
encumbrance from the boats; that a specified number of men should go
into each boat; and that the remainder should hang by the gunwales,
while the boats were to be rowed gently towards the _Smeaton_, as the
course to the floating light lay rather to windward of the rock.
But when he attempted to give utterance to his thoughts the words
refused to come. So powerful an effect had the awful nature of their
position upon him, that his parched tongue could not articulate. He
learned, from terrible experience, that saliva is as necessary to
speech as the tongue itself. Stooping hastily, he dipped his hand
into a pool of salt water and moistened his mouth. This produced
immediate relief and he was about to speak, when Ruby Brand, who had
stood at his elbow all the time with compressed lips and a stern
frown on his brow, suddenly took off his cap, and waving it above his
head, shouted "A boat! a boat!" with all the power of his lungs.
All eyes were at once turned in the direction to which he pointed,
and there, sure enough, a large boat was seen through the haze,
making towards the rock.
Doubtless many a heart there swelled with gratitude to God, who had
thus opportunely and most unexpectedly sent them relief at the
eleventh hour; but the only sound that escaped them was a cheer, such
as men seldom give or hear save in eases of deliverance in times of
dire extremity.
The boat belonged to James Spink, the Bell Rock pilot, who chanced to
have come off express from Arbroath that day with letters.
We have said that Spink came off _by chance_; but, when we consider
all the circumstances of the case, and the fact that boats seldom
visited the Bell Rock at any time, and never during bad weather, we
are constrained to feel that God does in His mercy interfere
sometimes in a peculiar and special manner in human affairs, and that
there was something more and higher than mere chance in the
deliverance of Stevenson and his men upon this occasion.
The pilot-boat, having taken on board as many as it could hold, set
sail for the floating light; the other boats then put off from the
rock with the rest of the men, but they did not reach the _Pharos_
until after a long and weary pull of three hours, during which the
waves broke over the boats so frequently as to necessitate constant
baling.
When the floating light was at last reached, a new difficulty met
them, for the vessel rolled so much, and the men were so exhausted,
that it proved to be a work of no little toil and danger to get them
all on board.
Long Forsyth, in particular, cost them all an infinite amount of
labour, for he was so sick, poor fellow, that he could scarcely move.
Indeed, he did at one time beg them earnestly to drop him into the
sea and be done with him altogether, a request with which they of
course refused to comply. However, he was got up somehow, and the
whole of them were comforted by a glass of rum and thereafter a cup
of hot coffee.
Ruby had the good fortune to obtain the additional comfort of a
letter from Minnie, which, although it did not throw much light on
the proceedings of Captain Ogilvy (for that sapient seaman's
proceedings were usually involved in a species of obscurity which
light could not penetrate), nevertheless assured him that something
was being done in his behalf, and that, if he only kept quiet for a
time, all would be well.
The letter also assured him of the unalterable affection of the
writer, an assurance which caused him to rejoice to such an extent
that he became for a time perfectly regardless of all other sublunary
things, and even came to look upon the Bell Rock as a species of
paradise, watched over by the eye of an angel with golden hair, in
which he could indulge his pleasant dreams to the utmost.
That he had to indulge those dreams in the midst of storm and rain
and smoke, surrounded by sea and seaweed, workmen and hammers, and
forges and picks, and jumpers and seals, while his strong muscles and
endurance were frequently tried to the uttermost, was a matter of no
moment to Ruby Brand.
All experience goes to prove that great joy will utterly overbear the
adverse influence of physical troubles, especially if those troubles
are without, and do not touch the seats of life within. Minnie's
love, expressed as it was in her own innocent, truthful, and
straightforward way, rendered his body, big though it was, almost
incapable of containing his soul. He pulled the oar, hammered the
jumper, battered the anvil, tore at the bellows, and hewed the solid
Bell Rock with a vehemence that aroused the admiration of his
comrades, and induced Jamie Dove to pronounce him to be the best
fellow the world ever produced.