FAIR'S FAIR.

Evening Post, Volume LXXXII, Issue 49, 26 August 1911, Page 10

FAIR'S FAIR.

. ..-,.. „», ..■■■ — (By Owen Oliver, Harper's Weekly.) Tufpin was not due in the lightroom till nine. He was eleping in his clothes, when his mate, Recce, roused him two hours before time. He had to shout in the sleeper's ear, for the wind howled and rattled the double windows, and icy spray clattered upon them from the waves that crashed at the foot of the lighthouse, thirty feet beneath, and the aged timbers shook and groaned. "The tower won't stand it," Recce shouted, "It's rocking. The foundations are going. I said they would." Turpin stretched his huge limbs and tubbed his eyes. "They ought to have filled them up with concrete," he .muttered. "It 'ud be a bad lookout for ships to-night if it wasn't for this light. I ain't seen such a gale since I was a lad." "The light's no use,", Recce stated. "The revolving gear's gone wrong again." Turpitt sat up shaking his head. The light on Devil's Rjpck revolved in thirty •ecOttds, to distinguish it from the sta» tionary light 6n Saw Ridge. With that distinction removed, it would be a danger rather" than a help to homeward ships. They would think they had missed it in the dafk November gale and had come to the Ridge. So they would turn west; and Riddle jShoals would end them. "We'll have to work il by hand," he pronounced/ "like we did last yea?," "It took two shifts of three men apiece to do it," Reeoe reminded him. "Sfott and me can't. And there won't be no light to work, I tell you. Feel that?" The lofty tower seemed to totter on its base for a moment, Turpin nodded slowly. "She moves more'n I like," he confessed. "'Taln't the rocking 1 mind. It's the sort of side slip. I told the surveyor the foundations were shifting ; but he thought he knew best, I doubt if she'll laet through it. . Well,' when there's no light there Won't be no duty. Meantime—we'd best go upstairs," "I ain't going Up," Recce said. "I'm going down. I've got a wife and family. The old tower won't last half an hour. The boat might make the shore with the little jib to keep her head to wind. It' 8 blowing dead on land. It'« a dog's chtAM ; <3(ft staying here's none. It's going. . . . lUordl that was » shaking!" The lightbotjj* «eeined to stagger. "We might ,n*k& the haroour," Recce reasserted. Tttrpin rose, towering a head above his mate— who was not a small man. • "We might make harbour," he stated, "and we might not; but one thing's certain— there's plenty as won't if we don't work the 1 light to-night." "I tell you she won't stand it," Recce protested ; "not for half an hour, most like. It's death to stay, mate; and that's a fact," "The* Indian mail's due," Ttttpin reminded him. "She'-s- five hundred people, and we're two. Stay till she's by, anyhow, mate." "If there was a dog's chance, I'd stay," Recce said, "half a dog's chance. There ain't. Nor a quarter. I'm not the sort to run from my job ; but I've got ] my family to think of. ... There ■ she goes again. Best come, mate, You ! can't work the light alone, It took ' three men; and two spells of them." "If you won't help," Turpin answered ifl his dullj monotonous way, "I'll have to try. There'll be five hundred lives on the mail—the Seamew it is. What's y6urs and mine- to that " "Mine—mine," Recce rejoined. "And there's my wife and children,, what would beg their bread ; or take in washing. t . . My gal, Alice, with her little hands. . . . You can't i reckon up lives by numbers, like a, sum. They're what count to me. . . . And it'e ho use staying. She'll go. ■ « . Feel, her rock then? She'll be down in five minutes. Come on, mate." Turpin shrugged his great shoulders and walked to the steps that led to the lightroom. " 'Swelp me, Turpin, it's no good. The tower won't see this gale out, and you know 2 I've got my family. . . . "I ain't," Tarpin told him. "Ydu tzti go, mate. I don t blame yon. So long!" "It's suicide to stay," Recce protest* cd. "Don't do it, mate. It's no— no blooming use." He clutched at his com' rade's arm; bub the giatn shook him off. , • "It's no use talking," he stated, "I never was one for argument. I'm here to work th« light; and I'm going to work it— till the mail's past anyway." He went up stairs; and Recce went down to the little, boat that lay in a sheltered cleft on the lee side of tho tower. They had moved it round when tho gale was starting. It was only a» fourteen-foot dinghy, but it waa cased like a lileboati and, though it might upset, it could not sink. The gale would carry it shoreward, and it was possible that it could be" steered into tho harbour mouth. *• When Turpin reached the upper room he examined tho machinery which worked the antiquated light, and found that the crank had snapped. He disconnected it, and fitted one of the capstan, bars with which they had manworked tho light when the steam gear broke down a year previously. Ihey had used three bars and three men then, as Recce had said ; but Titrpin was a very big, strong man, and he believed that he could push the light round for a time ; perhaps as long as there Avafl a •light to push round, he told himself. Fof he agreed with Recce's opinion thab the lighthouse was doomed. ."If the mail gets by," he reflected, "I'll have saved five hundred lives; and, if tho Lord's fair, He'll set that off against one! . . , I'd rather trust Him to do the fair thing by me than the folk ashore anyway; and if He won't I'd sooner drown than hang!" 'There was blood upon Turpin's hands ; I and if the tower Went dowh, he knew of Ho refuge from those who were on his track. He used to wonder that they had never searched the' lighthouse for him; but now that he had lived there for two yearsj he had come to regard it as a Banctuary, where h<> would end his I days. I! tht> lighthouse went> it seemed to, him that he might as well go. He could _n6t face another period of hiding in "thickets a-nd marshes; and though the_ countrymen' ashore,' or even tho police, might not know him, there would bo plenty of tb&' coastguards who would. They came from the headquarters, at SSeaby., where he had shot one of them in a smuggling affray..

He was walking round wilb his breast againat the bar. when Recce came up, hurrying excitedly. "Mate 1 " tie shouted above the clamour of the gale, "I'm risking my life to come back und give you another chance. The foundations a?e sliding. You can sco it down bolow. You can't keep the light moving for a quarter of an hour, not by yourself; and she'll go 'before then. I've rigged up the jib for a stprm-sail. and the boat will fetch the harbour all right. Come on." Turpin merely shook his head, and went on pushing. He had no breath to spare for words. Recce looked - from him to the door and wavered, Then the storm shook the toweP as a man might shake a. stick in his hand A and he started hastily to the stairs. He turned there. "For God's sake, mate, cornel" ne entreated. "No!" said Turpin. Ho went on pushing; and Recce ran down the stairs. Tufpin toiled round and'round 2 like A tat in a wheel for a time. At first he took twenty-four steps to the circuit. He counted them mechanically. , .' , Presently he counted , them again. Twenty-six. .. - He began to hear himself panting above the din of the storm. 'The sweat dropped from his forehead, and he kept stumbling. He was not- sure whether it was the tower that reeled or himself. . . . Ho rolled upon the floor at last, and the floor was swaying like the deck of a ship. He lay motionless for a couple of minutes, covering his eyes with his hands to fend off the glare of the light above. He was in a circular gallery just below the lantern. _ Then he rose, wiped the mist off a window, and peered for the lights of the mail. He did not find them. He oiled the bearings on which the light revolved ; looked at thfc broken crank, and shook his head ; shook his head again at a heavy shudder of the tower, "They ought to have put concrete down," he muttered. "The foundations were good enough with a little' binding. The .surveyor was a fool! '. , . I wish I had him here!" He went back to the capstan bar and set the light revolving again. Twenty-five steps and once round. . . . Twen-ty-five. . . . Twenty-five. . , , He'd count every six rounds, . . . Twen-ty-six. . , . Twenty-six. . . . Twenty-eight. That wouldn't do. ."Pull— yourself— together, mate." He toiled on with the veins standing out on , his face and hands, leaning well forward. . . . Twenty-seven. , . . Twen-ty-nine. . . * Thirty. , . ,- He sank suddenly upon the floor. , Three times more 1 he set the light going and pushed it round until he sank from exhaustion. As he lay panting after the third fall he seemed to feel footsteps on the floor. . . . Unless \m eyes deceived him, the light was beginning slowly— very slowly— to move round. "Roll out of the way, so as I can pass," a sharp voice called. Turpin rolled aside. "They put me off in the lifeboat," th« metallic voice snapped. "But I fouldn't get a volunteer to bb&rd the tower." Two legs in navy blue serge struggled by. Turpin did not raise his eyes to \look above them. They came round again heralded by a sharp voice. "Suppose you'll be able to take another turn," it eaid, "I can't go on long alone. I'm four or five atone lighter than you." "Aye," said Turpin. The legs passed several times without the voice. "1 can do aHoout thTee more rounds," it said presently. It wa« panttngj and the legs-=they were the legs of a small man, Turpm noticed— had become unsteady. "Right!" said he. "i|ll take on." , "Ecak out for the niafl first," the small man gasped, the next time he came. ' Tufpin got up, wiped a window, and looked out. There were no lights. "No sign," he called, and .turned" to the capstan. . . , The man who was pushing it let go and staggered back. Turpin staggered too, and held to a rail. They staring at each other, /wide-eyed, and their lips drawn back a i little and shpwing their teeth— a giant J in a blue sweater with a sailor's cap let , tered D.R.L. (for Devil's Rock Light- , house), and a dapper, ferrety, little man in the uniform of a Customs officer. Turpin had seen him last behind the flash of a revolver, and bore the mark of his bullet on his arm. "It's no use pretending you don't know me>" said Turpin at last. "I know you right enough," said the Customhouse officer. He glanced at the door as if he would run. He was tha ; more active man, and he could have got downstairs to the dinghy— they had brought it back-- and away. But he realised that Turpin could nqt work the light alone. So he shrugged his snoul ders. ' "We'll see the mail by first," he said, "<«id settle things afterwards— if they aren't settled for us.* She rocks pretty much." "Pretty much," Turpin agreed. "I* suppose you've got a pistol in yout pocket, and think you'll shoot me, m 1 go round?* "No," the little man denied. "You can feel' my pockets, if you like. I was never a liar." "You was never a" 'liar," Turpin agreed. "I'll take a turn." (He seized the bar and pushed. The littlenian sat down on a stool and wiped his forehead and watched ' him, Ht> spoke a few words each time Turpin passed. "Fair's fairl" he said. "Sweat to leave it tilt th* wail's by, and I sweai I won't bolt them Fair's fair. . . . •" "Fair's! fair !" Turpitt agreed the next tun* round. "I'll leave it till «nY» past.*' H© went on. "I'll kill you then," he jerked out aft he passed again "So long a*' the mail's saved," the Customhouse officer said, when Turpin returned the next time, "you can kill me' and welcome. My daughter's aboard." U« ros© and looked out of the window. "Might be her lights," he called. Then he waited for Turpin's turn ta finish, and took his place. Turpin sat, on the stool and Watched him struggle. "Fair's fair,'^ Turpin said, as the second round finished. "It's got to be death for you or death for me, now we've met. Fair's fair/ The gasping officer motioned .with his head to the S.E. whence the mail would come. Turpin went and looked out. "Her lights," he pronounced. 'I'll take/ on." , He seized the bar, and the little man sank into the chair so exhausted that he almost fell off it. Turpin made several founds before either spoke again. "Fair's fair," the Custom officer said at last. "I swore to take you, when you shot Askhurst; and you swore to kill md first. . . . Well, you've got the pull, but I'll give you a fight. . « . Five minutes' rest after mail's past. That's all I ask. Fair's fair." "I'll push -last," said Turpin, when i«e returned. "I can afford that. Then we fl rest for five minutes, and settle it. .... Good Lord !" The tower shook to and fro. "Like enough," the Customs officer said-, "it'll be settled* for us on even terms !" "Like enough," Turpin panted. His strength seemed failing quickly this time. He had taken too much out of himself by his earlier efforts. "I can't —•go on— long. "-

j "Best try pushing together," his com-, j panion suggested." We'd, last longer i that way." He joined Turpin at the bar, and they pushed side by side for a few turni.. "Put in another bar," Turpin said j presently. "We'll both get full leverage then." The Customs officer fetched tho second bar. Hfl was behind Turpm and might have struck him over tho head. It did not occur to him to do so, however. The second bar was fixed at last, and they went round and round more smoothly. ■ "See her lights!" the Customs officer called presently, nodding at the ;nisty window. The great liner was not half a mile away now. "Ayel" said, Turpin. "I'm near spent. ''For God's sake keep on !" his companion entreated. "I can't do it alone." j They took two turns more. "I'm done-" Turpin muttered, and stumbled. "A little longer !" the Customs officer gasped. "My daughter. . * • ," He, too, stumbled. They went round again. "She's~near— -past !" Turpin groaned, almost falling as he pushed. "Seen —the light— anyhow— -and— " He fell suddenly. The Customs officer went on for two rounds more, stum* bhng over Turpin. The third time he fell across him. The tower seemed to reel. "It's going," he thought. "We're 1 both done together. . . . Fair's fair!" The tower had not gone when he came to from his faint. Turpin was still unconscious. He remained so, when the Customs officer was able to stand, and fetched water and bathed his forehead. He was sirill in a swoon when the lifeboat came back to fetch them ashore. The gale -was abating rapidly, and, since the tower had stood so long, half a dozen men had volunteered to risk their lives for the rest of the aight, and to work the light. The others carried Turpin to the lifeboat, and towed him and his' companion ashore. He woke on a sofa in his enemy's parlour. The enemy was speaking about him to his wife and the. doctor. "VVo owe him our girl's life," he said, I "and that means that t owe him mine. . . . No, I don't know him from Adam. Sailor chap from the west coast, I fancy, not from around here. Never seen him before. The owners of the Sea-mew ought to do something handsome for him; and the passengers too. Fair's fair." Turpin opened his eyes elowly, and smiled at his old enemy. If Harrison *"=-that was the Customs officer's namedid not mean to identify "him, he was | not afraid that anyone else would. "We'll share," he Said. "Two nundred and fifty lives apiece, or thereabouts. . . . We can give each other a life Apiece; and to spare. . . ." "He is wandering a little," the Customs officer told his wife and the doctor. "Rouse yourself, old pal !" He touched Turpin's rough hand j and closed- on his. "A life for a life," he whispered, too softly for his wife and the doctor to hear. "Fair's fair, mate!"