“Captain Epher Murray,
“Moorlow, New Jersey.
“Good for you. Keep a sharp lookout for special signals.
“C. Fairfax.”
“A sharp lookout for special signals!” the words kept ringing in the
children's ears.
“What can he mean to do--my darling old Papa Fairfax?” thought Regie, as
he dropped off into a sound sleep that night.
At eight o'clock the next morning, Sister Julia and Regie and Nan
climbed into the back seat of Cap-. tain Murray's waggon, while Harry
took the place beside his father in front.
[Illustration: 8051]
Faithful old Dobbin broke straightway into a canter, bound for the
“Highland Light,” and fortunately for the party there was no “rain,” but
plenty of “shine” instead.
Down the fine boulevard they went, past the fine houses, through
Sea Bright, with its queer medley of summer cottages, hotels, and
fishermen's huts; then crossing and recrossing the track again and
again, because the drive on that narrow strip of land between the ocean
and the Shewsbury river constantly accommodates itself to the curves of
the railroad; over the rickety Highland Bridge, stopping to pay toll
on the draw; past the bevy of cottages, where a number of actors and
actresses have established a little colony of their own; up the steep
hill, with the great seams washed in the road by the heavy rains, but
wide enough and deep enough to seem more like the work of an earthquake;
finally coming to a halt at the gate which opens on the rear of the
grand old lighthouse.
“Why, how do you do, captain? Want to show the youngsters through the
light?” asked the keeper, appearing in the doorway at the sound of the
waggon wheels.
“Want to do more than that,” answered Captain Murray, lifting his little
party out one by one; “want to see the _Alaska_ off for Europe.”
“Friends on board?”
“This little chap's father and mother.”
“Oh, that's it, is it?” said the keeper. “But what's happened the little
fellow?” glancing at Regie's crutches.
“He fell from a cherry tree a few week ago,” Sister Julia explained, as
they walked towards the house.
“Stealing cherries, eh?” chuckled the man, giving Regie a significant
little nudge.
“Indeed, I wasn't,” answered Regie, with some indignation.
“Why, Reginald, he is only joking,” Sister Julia said, reprovingly.
“Of course I was,” said the keeper. “Such a bright little fellow as you
look to be ought to know when a man's joking.”
“Yes, I know I ought,” Regie answered, blushing. “I spoke before I
thought; you must excuse me, Mr. Keeper.”
“'Mr. Keeper,'” laughed the man, “well! that's a new name for Joe
Canfield; but I like it, and you're a mighty honest little fellow. When
you're ready to go up, you can leave your crutches below here, and I'll
carry you over every one of those blessed stairs myself.”
“You'd better let papa do that,” said Nan, “he's pretty heavy, and we
wouldn't have anything happen to him for the world.”
“Do you think I would drop him, little one? Never you fear; I could
carry you both as well as not;” whereupon Nan started to travel briskly
up the stairs, as if to show him she was quite equal to doing her own
climbing.
“Bide a bit, miss,” called the keeper. “You won't be able to sight the
_Alaska_ for a half hour yet. If you want to understand about the light
you'd better look about down here first.” Then he led the way into a
room on the ground floor, where the oil for the lights was stored,
the little party following him closely, with the exception of Captain
Murray, whom the children were glad to have go “on watch” in the balcony
of the light, for fear, by any chance, the _Alaska_ should be sighted
ahead of time.
“I suppose you have noticed before you came in, ma'am,” said Keeper
Canfield, addressing Sister Julia, “that this lighthouse has two
towers and two lights? The dwellings for the keepers' families are in
between 'em, and there we live as cosy and comfortable as can be. If you
have time when you come down you must take a peep at our baby. Have you
ever seen a lighthouse baby?” he added, turning to Nan.
“Never,” said Nan, seriously.
“Well, a lighthouse baby is worth seeing, for somehow or other they look
brighter than ordinary babies. It seems as though they were born with
a notion that their two eyes must cheer us old codgers on life's great
sea, just as the lights in the tower there cheer the sailors.”
The children looked wonderingly up at their guide, not quite sure
whether he were in earnest or no.
“Now, you see,” he continued, “this is the room where we store the
oil, and how much do you suppose we burn in a year? Forty-five hundred
gallons! We burn mineral oil, that is, oil that comes out from the
ground through the oil wells.”
The room in which they were standing was flanked with wooden boxes, each
containing a full oil-can, and everything was scrupulously neat, for not
a speck of dust was to be seen anywhere.
“Now I guess we had better go up,” said the keeper, when a good many
questions had been asked and answered, “and we'll go easy, so as not to
lose our breath;” then, taking Regie's crutches in one hand, he lifted
him into his arms.
“And, Nan,” said Sister Julia, “you had better take hold of my hand, for
fear your little head should grow dizzy on this winding flight.”
Of course Harry was half-way up before the rest of the party had even
started.
The keeper landed Regie safely right inside the light itself, and indeed
it was large enough to hold them all. What a marvellous place it was! It
seemed as though they were in a beautiful crystal house, for they were
surrounded by tier after tier of glass prisms, so arranged as to project
the light from the lantern against a series of brass reflectors at the
back, and they, in turn, throw the light twenty-five miles out to sea.
The children were too much awed by the wonderful contrivance to even
speak, until Harry slipped out of the light and peered in at them
through the glass. It made him look very funny--eyes, nose, mouth, every
feature appeared to be drawn out lengthwise by the prisms.
“Why, Harry Murray!” cried Nan, “you're a disgrace to the family. I
never saw anything so ugly in all my life!”
“I wish you could come out here and have a look at yourself, then,”
Harry called back. “Your head is about two inches high, and two feet
wide. You could stand in a bandbox, you are so short, but it would take
a dozen of 'em to hold you the other way!”
Nan and Harry were so much amused with these ridiculous distortions
that Reginald was the only one who really paid attention to the keeper's
description of the lantern, but he listened sagely, and plied questions
fast enough to atone for the indifference of the others. Harry might be
partially excused for his inattention, on the ground that he had been
through the light two or three times before. As for Nan, it must be
confessed that she was not of an inquiring turn of mind.
“There's one sad thing about this light,” said the keeper to Reginald,
who sat on a little stool with his crutches laid across his knees.
“There's one very sad thing, and that is, that some sailors do not
understand what it is for at all. They seem to be fascinated by it, and
they steer straight for it, and of course there's no help in the end,
but that they all get wrecked on the bar.”
“Why, that's very queer,” said Reginald. “I should think a man wasn't
fit to be a sailor at all unless he understood about lighthouses and
things.”
“So it would seem,” said the keeper, with a shrug; “but I've thought
sometimes that the trouble is with their steering apparatus, and that
the poor things are more to be pitied than blamed. The moment they come
in sight of the light, their helms seem to get bewitched, and first
thing they know their queer-rigged little crafts are headed straight for
the light, and on they come, sort of in spite of themselves, and with
death staring them right in the face.”
“Have there been many wrecks lately?” asked Reginald, his eyes as large
as saucers.
“Five last night.”
Regie stared at the man with a look that meant plainly, “I don't believe
a word of it,” and the keeper laughed outright. Sister Julia, sitting at
the top of the little flight of stairs just outside the lantern, watched
him with an amused smile on her face; and Nan, who was listening now,
was interested enough to wish that she had heard it all.
“You think that I am telling you a yarn, don't you, youngster?” said the
keeper to Regie, “but 'pon honour it is every word true. If you don't
believe it, I'll show you the five little wrecks lying in a row on a
bench in the yard, just as I picked 'em up this morning.”
“Picked 'em up!” said Regie, scornfully.
“Yes, sir, picked 'em up. The reason you don't understand me is because
you spell sailor with an “o,” but in this case you must spell it with an
“e”--sailers, you see--which is only another name for birds, you know.”
It was Regie's turn to laugh now. “You fooled me pretty well,” he said;
but Nan looked more ready to cry.
“Do you mean,” said she, “that five little birds flew against this
lantern last night, and killed themselves?”
“Five last night, and six the night before,” said the man, as though the
truth must be told, no matter how unpleasant.
“Ship ahoy!” shouted Captain Murray from the tower balcony, where he
had been on watch for the last half hour. All knew what that meant, and
Sister Julia and Nan and Harry hurried down the little flight that led
from the lantern to the balcony, and the keeper quickly caught Regie in
his arms again.
“Where is she?” cried Regie, impatiently, as though he could hardly wait
for an answer.
“You can see her with the naked eye,” replied the captain, “away off
there in a direct line from the Hook. I knew her build and rig the
moment she came in sight; but she's flying a queer sort of flag,”
putting his glass to his eye.
“Perhaps it's the special signal Mr. Fairfax telegraphed us to look out
for,” said sister Julia.
“Please let me have a look,” cried Reginald, almost pulling the glass
from Captain Murray's hands in his eagerness. It took a moment to
adjust it to his eyesight, and then he exclaimed, almost breathless with
excitement. “Yes, there's a big red flag with some large yellow thing on
it. Oh, I know, it's a flag from one of Papa Fairfax's warehouses, and
the yellow thing is a coffee canister; see, Captain Murray, see if it
isn't.”
Captain Murray took the glass back again. “Yes, you're right, Reginald,”
he said; “but there's something on the flag beside the canister,
something that looks like letters.”
“Perhaps it is a message,” cried Rex, fairly wild with excitement. “Oh!
please let me see if I can make them out.” Once again the glass was
quickly re-adjusted to Regie's sight, while Nan and Harry pressed their
faces close to his, as though being as close as possible to the glass
was the next best thing to looking through it. “Yes, they are letters,”
said Regie more calmly, “big white letters, and the first is a G, I
think, and the next an O, but the flag waves so I cannot read the rest.”
“'Perhaps it's 'Good-bye,'” said Nan.
“Of course it is,” cried Regie, “I see the B now, and the E; but there's
another word besides. Try, Nan, if you can make it out,” and Regie with
much self-denial gave up his place at the glass.
Wind and tide seemed always to favour little Nan, for at that very
moment a stiff breeze caught the flag and held it out bravely, so that
she read “Good-bye, Regie,” as easily as from her spelling book at
school.
Oh! how the message thrilled through and through Regie's excited little
frame.
[Illustration: 9057]
To think that Papa Fairfax cared so much for him as to take all that
trouble; and right then and there a prayer went silently up from Regie's
full heart that he might never do anything to grieve him--never.
Quickly the glass was passed from one to another that all might have a
look.
“Oh, if we only could signal back somehow!” said Sister Julia,
earnestly.
“And what is to hinder, dear?” answered the keeper's wife, who had
toiled up to the tower with the baby in her arms.
“Daniel,” she added, turning to her husband, “run to the parlour and
pull down the curtain from the double window. That's big enough for them
to distinguish.”
Big enough for them to distinguish! you would have thought so could you
have seen the great expanse of turkey red that floated from the tower a
few minutes later.
“They see it! they see it!” shouted Harry, whose turn it was now at the
glass. “They're dipping their colours.”
“So they are!” every one cried, for no glass was needed to discern that.
With happy, wistful eyes Regie watched the great _Alaska_ till she was
a mere speck on the horizon; then the little party turned their faces
homeward, and from that moment Regie looked eagerly forward to the day
when they should come sailing back again.
[Illustration: 0058]