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 well-nigh 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 the 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 cases 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.