Transcriber Note
Text emphasis denoted as _Italics_.
PAT
THE LIGHTHOUSE BOY
[Illustration: "Where will you go, Jim, when they do take you
ashore?"--_Page 199._]
_Pat_
_The Lighthouse Boy._
BY
E. EVERETT-GREEN,
AUTHOR OF
"EUSTACE MARCHMONT;" "WINNING THE VICTORY;"
"TEMPLE'S TRIAL;" ETC. ETC.
_NEW YORK_:
WARD & DRUMMOND.
[Illustration]
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. LONE ROCK LIGHTHOUSE 9
II. "SURLY JIM" 25
III. AN ODD PAIR 45
IV. LONE ROCK IN FOG AND STORM 62
V. A TERRIBLE NIGHT 85
VI. JIM'S EXPLOIT 102
VII. THE LITTLE PRINCE 122
VIII. "POOR JIM" 139
IX. HELP FROM SHORE 157
X. A WONDERFUL DAY 173
XI. THE PROMISED VISIT 195
XII. HAPPY DAYS 213
[Illustration]
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"Where will you go, Jim, when they do take you
ashore?" _Frontispiece_
PAGE
Jim opened a door close by 33
At last, on the third day, it began to feed from
his hand 81
He seemed to have received no injury at all, and
began to swallow the warm milk 117
"That's our boat, I do believe!" cried Rupert 181
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
PAT
THE LIGHTHOUSE BOY
CHAPTER I
_LONE ROCK LIGHTHOUSE_
"O mother, mother, mother!" cried Pat, drawing a long breath of awe and
wonder, "it seems like as if we had gone straight to heaven!"
"Nay, my son, not quite to heaven, for sure the blessed book tells us
that there will be no more sea there;" and the woman looked out over the
heaving expanse of grey-blue water with a strange soft wistfulness in her
big grey eyes. One would have said to look at her then that she had known
what it meant to lose those near and dear to her through the hungry cruel
sea, as indeed in her young life she had done; for she was an Irish woman,
and had lived all her young life beside the wild coast of Galway, and many
of those who bore her name had found a last resting-place beneath the
heaving tossing waves. Therefore it was small wonder if she had come to
look forward to that bright land beyond the moaning waves, of which it has
been expressly said that "there shall be no more sea."
But Patrick could scarcely enter at this moment into his mother's
feelings on this score. He was wild with excitement and delight, as indeed
he well might be, seeing that he had only just come from a close crowded
alley in a smelling fishing and trading town to this lighthouse home,
which seemed to lie alone in the very heart of the sea, with nothing
above or around but sea and sky, the wild sea-birds for visitors, and the
plash of the waves for one long "hush-a-by." No wonder if in these first
moments of returning consciousness to outward things, little Pat felt as
though some strange thing, almost like death, had befallen him, and that
he had awakened to find himself either in heaven itself, or else in some
beautiful and wonderful place very like to it indeed.
For Pat had been very ill. He had been a frail little fellow all his short
life, and had never been able to run about and shout and play as the other
children did who lived in his court. He had spent most of his time indoors
with his mother, growing more and more wan and white with each succeeding
summer as it came and went. Although the sea lay only a mile away from
his home, he had scarcely ever walked as far as its margin, for there was
nothing to attract him when he did so. It was not beautiful open sea such
as what he was now looking upon, but a piece of ugly tidal water, with
quays and wharfs lining the brink, and evil smells everywhere.
His father had a boat, and would have taken his boy out with him in it
sometimes; but Pat was afraid of the rough looks of the other men, and his
mother knew that the frail child would be weary to death long before he
could be put ashore. So that Pat had grown up seeing little more than the
sights of his own court, hearing little besides the shouts and cries and
foul words so freely bandied about there. He had not been much better off
in that respect than if he had come from a London slum, and this sudden
awakening in the Lone Rock Lighthouse was like an awakening in a new world.
It was on Pat's account that his parents had come to this strange new
home. When the hot May sunshine had come streaming into the alley in which
the child had been reared, he had suddenly failed and fallen ill of a low
fever, which had almost sapped his little life away; and so near had he
come to the gates of death, that the doctor had shaken his head and said,
"There is only one thing that can save him, and that is lots of fresh
air and sunshine and pure salt breezes--not the breezes you get in here,
reeking with all that is foul and impure. If you keep him here, he will
die. The only chance for him is to take him right away; and I am afraid
that, situated as you are, you will find it impossible to do so."
Perhaps it would have been impossible at another time; but just at this
very juncture it chanced that Lone Rock Lighthouse was vacant, and indeed
the post of caretaker had actually been offered to Nathaniel Carey,
because he was known to be a steady respectable man, who could be relied
upon to do his duty there. Lone Rock Lighthouse was always changing its
keeper, for the life there was so solitary that men could not long stand
the strain of it; and by the end of a year, or a couple of years, almost
always resigned the post, in spite of the regular pay and comfortable home.
It was not a post that Nat would have cared to accept under ordinary
circumstances, for he was a sociable man, and liked to have other men
about him; but when the life of his only child was at stake, and his wife,
with wan drawn face and piteous eyes, pointed to the little figure on
the bed and told him what the doctor had said, the only thing to be done
was to go and accept the post without any more hesitation; and the next
business was to get the sick child removed there upon the first calm and
suitable day.
For Lone Rock was not to be approached at all times and seasons, even in
summer weather, and often was cut off from communication with the shore
in winter for many weeks together. It was built upon a very dangerous
sunken reef, round which the sea boiled and surged and raged from year's
end to year's end. And herein lay the chief peril and the chief drawback
of the keeper's life. If anything were to go wrong with him or with his
home--if he were to be ill, or in want of some necessary of life, or if
the structure of the lighthouse needed attention, it might be long weary
days, or even weeks, before he could receive the help he had signalled
for. It is true that every precaution was taken to ensure his safety. The
structure was carefully examined by competent persons at short intervals.
A large store of dried and salted provisions was always kept under the
roof of the building, so that the keeper and his assistant might never be
put to actual shifts for food, and stores of oil, for the great lamp, were
likewise kept--stores which could scarcely run out, however long a spell
of bad weather might last. Every care and precaution was taken; but for
all that the life there was one of singular isolation, and men had been
known to go mad during the long dreary winter months; and once a terrible
crime had been committed there through this very cause--a crime of which
men whispered still sometimes with 'bated breath, though Pat's mother
always resolved that the child should never hear the gruesome tale.
Eileen Carey was the first woman who had had the courage to make a home
upon the Lone Rock. Other keepers had either been unmarried men, or had
left their wives behind for the time that they lived there. But Nat Carey
came with his wife and his child; and those in authority were glad that it
was so, for they argued that a man who had a real home about him would not
suffer from the loneliness of the life as others had done; and they had
done several things to brighten up the little home before the new-comers
arrived there. Eileen's clever hands had done more so soon as they were
fairly landed, for little Pat required very little nursing, as he lay
day after day in a trance of weakness and exhaustion. But his mother was
satisfied that each day he grew slightly stronger, and was quite content
to wait until he should awaken to a knowledge of his new surroundings,
which she meantime strove to make as bright and as homelike as possible;
for she meant that her husband and her little boy should not lack any of
the comforts which her hands could provide during their whole stay on the
Lone Rock.
And now the mother was to have her reward. For several days Pat had begun
to look about him, to follow her movements with his eyes, to answer when
she spoke to him, and to smile when she looked his way. He was a long time
in taking notice of anything except his mother and father. It seemed to
them as though he had no eyes for any of the other strange things about
him. He must have known that this new room, with its whitewashed walls,
so spotless and clean, its queer shape, its fresh furniture and bright
curtains to the sunny window, was not the room in which he had lived for
all the previous years of his small life. Yet he did not take any open
notice of these things for many days, and his mother would not let him
be spoken to about them, for, as she truly said, if he hadn't strength
to take them in with his eyes, he had far better be let alone till the
strength began to come back to him of itself.
And now that time had come. Pat had for some days been noticing
everything--noticing with an ever-increasing curiosity and pleasure. He
had begun by asking what was "that funny noise that never stopped;" and
when his mother had told him it was the sound of the waves, he had asked
"how they got there, for they didn't use to be so near." And so little by
little Eileen had told him all the tale--how father had been offered the
care of Lone Rock Lighthouse, and how the doctor had said that little Pat
might thrive and grow strong if he were to be taken right away from the
court in which he had always lived. And Pat lay and smiled at the tale,
and got his mother to tell it him again and again, and grew so fond of the
song of the sea before ever he had been able to get up and look at it,
that he often told her "it was making him well as fast as it could;" and
she would smile with tears in her eyes and believe him.
Every day had seen some improvement in little Pat's condition; but it
seemed long to the mother before he had expressed the wish to get up and
look out at the window. She knew that would be the first thing he was
likely to ask for, because he lay and watched the sunny square hour after
hour, with a smile of contentment on his face. But it was only to-day
that he had said he wanted to get up and look; and now she was sitting
with him wrapped in a blanket, he standing with his little bare feet upon
the window-seat, and gazing with wide-open wondering eyes over the vast
expanse of sparkling water that was as little like "the sea," as he had
been accustomed to think of it, as was the noise of the waves like the
ceaseless bawling and brawling that his ears had grown used to in the
court whence he had come.
Pat was greatly moved and excited by all he saw, and from that day forward
was most eager and anxious to regain his strength, that he might be able
to explore the wonders of the lighthouse, and see what manner of place his
new home was. So he ate everything that his mother brought to him "to make
him strong;" he slept from sunset till morning like a young bird. He began
to chatter and laugh to his father whenever he appeared; and long before
he could attempt to mount the giddy spiral staircase, which led to the big
circular room where the great lamp lived, he got his father to tell him
all about it, and at night he would get out of bed if he chanced to wake
up to see the circle of flashing light which it cast around upon the dark
heaving mass of waters. The child was fascinated by the thought of the
great lamp's lonely vigil over the wide empty sea long before he was able
to understand what it was that it was doing.
The first step in the child's convalescence which seemed to mark the
era of "getting better," was when he was able to be dressed and to go
into the other room for his meals. The base of the lighthouse was divided
into several queer-shaped rooms. There was the sleeping-room, in which
the child had hitherto spent all his time; and opening from that was the
kitchen or living room, in which he was used to hear his mother bustling
about as he lay in bed. There were also, as he presently found out, other
smaller and darker chambers. One of these was appropriated to the use of
the keeper's assistant, whilst others contained the stores for the lamp
and its caretakers, of which mention has been made before. It was quite
a surprise to Pat to learn that he and his parents were not the only
occupants of the lighthouse. He had never heard any strange voice from
the inner room all the time he had been lying in bed, and so he was very
much astonished the first day he sat up to supper, to see a heavy-looking
dark-browed man come slouching in, and taking his seat without a word of
explanation or apology. The child looked wonderingly at his mother.
"That is Jim," she said; "Jim helps daddy with the lamp. They take it in
turns to watch. Jim, this is our little boy, Pat--him as has been so ill,
you know. I have told you about him often."
Pat looked across the table and nodded, but Jim said nothing, and scarcely
appeared to hear himself addressed. He took his food in perfect silence,
and as soon as he had finished he got up and went out, and they heard him
going heavily up the winding staircase towards the lantern house.
"Can't he talk?" asked Pat wonderingly. "Is he dumb, do you think?" Eileen
smiled, and shook her head at the question.
"Nay, he can speak. He has a tongue, but he is wonderful loth to use it.
I suppose it is the life here as has made him so quiet. Surly Jim is what
folks call him. He has been with several keepers, but none has had a good
word for him, save that he does his work well and can be trusted with the
lamp. He won't be keeper, though they did offer him the place. But he
stays on year after year when nobody else will. He does all his work well,
and is very clean and neat; but he scarce opens his lips, save in the way
of business, from one year's end to the other."
This seemed so very strange to Pat that he sat for some time turning it
over in his mind. He thought when he had time he would try and get Surly
Jim to talk to him; but at present there were many other things to think
of, and the child's head was crowded with new ideas and questions.
What a fascinating place the lighthouse was! As he grew stronger, he began
to explore it from end to end, and found new wonders every hour of the day.
There was the little door leading out to the rocks on which the place
was built, and the flight of slippery steps which led down to the tiny
creek where the boat lay moored. There were chains for hauling up the boat
in rough weather on to a ledge, where it would not be likely to be swept
away, save perhaps in the very worst weather; and at low tide there was a
wonderful mass of rock uncovered by the sea, where he could wander about
and pick up untold treasures, such as he had never seen or dreamed of
before. And his mother was not afraid to let him wander about here. She
had grown up herself on the wild coast, and had no fear of the slippery
rocks and the plashing waves. Pat was only instructed to take off shoes
and stockings before trying to scramble about them, and very soon he
grew so sure-footed and fearless that neither parent was afraid for him.
Moreover, he was growing brown and healthy-looking, and stronger than he
had ever been in his life before; and though he might not be very robust
for some time to come, he was gaining every day, and they were glad and
thankful to see it.
Oh, that wide, wild, beautiful sea! How Pat came to love it! It was at
once a friend and playmate and a deep unspeakable mystery. He was never
tired of watching its wild play over the rocks, or of sitting listening
to its deep strange voice, as it laughed or shouted in its wild wonderful
strength. He would sit with his face towards the west as the sun was going
down, and watch whilst the great blazing ball dipped lower and lower, till
it sank, sank, sank, right into the sea itself. And then as the sea opened
its mouth and swallowed it up, it seemed all dyed crimson and gold, as
though it had caught some of the colour from the prisoner it had taken.
The child would watch with awe this daily mystery, and when he found
that every morning the sun came up again out of the sea, but in quite a
different place, he was awed and perplexed past the power of speech. It
never occurred to him to ask questions even of his mother about this daily
wonder; but he watched it with unfailing interest, and seemed to drink
in new thoughts every time it happened. He was more and more sure that
his new home was very like heaven--not so beautiful as the real heaven,
because Jesus would be there to make the light of it: but like it in some
things--in its peace and beauty and wonderful calm. Pat had been so near
to the gates of death that his mind naturally turned to thoughts like
this. He was still not strong enough to play more than a few hours every
day, and the rest of his time would be spent sitting on the rocks or at
the window watching the sea, and thinking about it, until his face took a
new expression, as though some of the sunshine and the clearness of the
blue sea had got into them and had taken up an abode there.
Very often he would carry out his little Testament to his favourite
nooks in the rocks, and find some of the places where he loved to read. He
was particularly fond of the chapter about the "sea of glass mingled with
fire," because he was so sure it must be just like his own sea at sunset
time; and there were other places he was fond of too, because they always
set him thinking and dreaming, and chimed in with all his new ideas. He
did not talk much about his thoughts; when he went in to his mother he
would chatter to her of his play and of the live things he had seen in
the pools. To his father he would ask questions about the lamp, and how
it kept awake all the night through--whether it never went to sleep by
accident; for to him that lamp was like a living creature. He had only
seen it once, because the climb up the spiral stairs turned him queer and
giddy, and his parents had bidden him wait till he was stronger before he
tried again. But that one visit had been enough to excite him strangely,
and he always thought with awe of the great revolving light going round
and round the whole night through. He was never tired of hearing about it
and asking questions; but of his own strange thoughts, when he was all
alone with the sea and the sunshine, he said nothing. That was his own
secret--perhaps because he lacked words in which to express himself. And
the new, strange, beautiful life began for little Pat upon the isolated
reef which supported Lone Rock Lighthouse.
[Illustration]