THE LIGHTHOUSE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXXIX, Issue 11952, 29 April 1902, Page 3

THE LIGHTHOUSE.

[PUBIISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.]

BY RALPH HAROLD BBETHEKTON, ' t [COPYRIGHT.] Mabsham stepped in from .the little iron balcony .that ran round the lantern of the lighthouse, and shut up the telescope with a vicious click. f "Not a sign of them," ho said. The man who crouched, half-lying and halfsiting, in a corner of . the lantern-room opened his eyes and raked his head wearily. ■;■'> :

"Curse them," he said, weakly. "Why don't they come? It's fine enough; there's not been a, storm for a whole quarter. Why don't they come, the scurvy hounds?"

Marsham leaned against the frame of the lantern.

"They've forgotten us," he said, bitterly, " that's about it." " When it's too late to help us—just a day or perhaps only an hour too late." The sick man closed his eyes and lapsed into silence. It cost him much effort and pain to talk. Marsham went out again on the balcony, and . stood there looking listlessjy out over the hazy tropic sea. Immediately below the sea broke green and white on the small scattering of black rocks, but away from the rocks to every quarter of the horizon the water stretched, desolate and unmarked by land. It was a lonely position, and Marsham cursed himself for ever having become- a lighthouse keeper. It was probable that ho would never seo good, firm land again. He did not know what bud happened, but the relief which should have been sent from Zanzibar was two months overdue, and matters had become desperate in the lighthouse. Starvation was .imminent, but the eagerly awaited little steamer that should come to take him and his comrade back to the mainland for three months' rest in less desolate regions did not put in an appearance in the dark green circle of sea, which he had scanned twenty or even a hundred times a day. Why tho steamer did not come ho could not conjecture. The weather had been fine for weeks, and on any day of tho past three months landing at the lighthouse would have been possible. He thought that some awful blunder had been committed, that some careless official hail neglected to send out the steamer or had sent the relief which should

have come to this lighthouse to some other lighthouse. He remembered having read of a ease in which some such blunder had been made. Ho remembered, too, with bitterness, that the blunder had cost tho lives of tluej men.

it was not with any hope of seeing help approaching that lie looked out now.' , Ho gazed over the sea, partly because he had nothing else to do, and partly because the play, of ihe warm wind on his bare arms and neck were* soothing. There was food anil drink in the hot, drowsy air; it was better, ho thought, to starve in the tropics than in the Polar regions, with all the miseries of cold; but he soon found that the sun was merciless. ft beat down so fiercely on his head that lie became dizzy. The dizziness frightened him., for he dreaded a breakdown, and knew how easily a breakdown might come to him in his half-starved condition; no ho stepped back into the lanternroom, but the room with its glass sides and thin roof wis stifling. "You had better get downstairs," he said, rousing the dozing man. "It's too hot for you up here " The other looked up at him with reproachful eyes.

"Oh, leave me alone," he grumbled. " But you'll never get better up here in this stifling *ir."

"1 don't care: I just want to lie here. Leave me alone if you want to do mo a good tit'll."

Rut. Marshall was persistent. "You must go down into the living-room,' Clarke," he Sid. "You'll only die if you stay up here.' " So much Hie better." muttered Clarke. Ho lay back vith his closed eyes as though he did not wish to discuss the matter further. The few binning in hi« bones made the very thouglt of moving horrible to him: bo only wanted to bo allowed to remain where ho was. ' But Marsham was a. strongwilled mill, anl he was confident that what he suggested wis right. Determined to have his own way hi endeavoured to raise Clarke to his feet, .-; U : ' " Come along," he said, "I know what is beht. for you." ; ' ClarkeVilfiifUs had not been of sufficient length as yet o rob him of his muscular strength, and In struggled fiercely. _ " I won't go down," he cried, in terror. ; " J won't, I won't." ' " Don't be a fool," said Marsham. Clarke still straggled. '* I can't," be tried, "1 want to be as far away from Fqltot us possible. I won't go any nearer to' hire than .1 am now." "Nonsense; you won't see him, I've locked him tip in the lowest vault of all: besides, I expect he's rotted right away by now." ,■,'•.'

" Why don't you throw him in'.:- the sen?" "Yes, and' risk a charge of murder. If they come hero ami do not find his body some officious foal will try to make out that

we did away with him, that we ate him to wive ourselves from starvation. 1 know them—the men who 'would forgot all about lis when our lives depend on their remembering us would do anything. That Felton is dead is to then- discredit; he died because of their negligence; they will do all they can to prove that His .death was not the very natural death of starvation: but with God's help we'll keep enough of i*f*Tl to show that it was."

Fclton, the third occupant of the lighthouse, had not hail the. strength of the two other men, and he had early succumbed to the privations which resulted from the failure of the relief boat to visit the lonely rock. Marsham had deemed it wise to keep the body of tliu (load man in case any questions were asked OS to the causa of death; the body, ho supposed, would be evidence against any suspicious of foul play, if such suspicions arose, and he had locked the corpse in a vault at the base of tho lighthouse. But Felton had ben dead three weeks, and the two men knew how hideous bis remains had become by now. Neither Marsham nor Clarke had dared to look nt the body after the first day, but Clarke's delirious mind pictured the decomposition in all its hatefulness. ,•'•■■'.« "You need only go down to,the room below this," said Marsham. "That will be cool enough, and 'very , little nearer the corpse.' ','. "All right," assented Clarke, and Marshum helped him down the iron stairs to the room below. Here, between the thick stone walls of the building, the air was deliriously cool. Clarke stretched himself out on the bed that stood on the one side of the room. Marsham went to a little cupboard and opened it. ~ "There's one dose of brandy left, (> lie said, "will you have it? It's the last! Clarke stretched out. an eager hand. _ "Yes, let's have it," ho tried. .What s the use of keeping it. I may not be alive to-morrow." ■■" , _. . After hi: had taken tho brandy Clarke seemed inclined to talk. • "How many days' provisions left.' he

»'ked. „ ,- i -.r i "About a week rcpued Marsham. '* How much oil?" " Enough for « fortnight. ' ( " God, when will tiny tome! "Heaven only knows. Some day a steamer will report at Zanzibar that M - Quttlbn Reef' light has failed, and then perhaps they'll remember US.' 'But when will that be?' "Three weeks hence, and wo II ho dead

then." * , Clarke started up from the bed. lie slipped hi* feet to the floor and tottered forward towards Marsbam, at whom lie clutched with both hauls to support himself. .',... " Why shouldn't the light fail to-night, lie cried, " The German boat is due to pass to-night. She'll report the failure of the light within two days, and the relief boat will be iiore before the week is out—and will he hen: in time, perhaps." ..... "Bui the light mustn't fail while wove Hot oil." ' D it. all, why not?" "ft woul'nt be right. Whatever happens we must keep the light burning as long as we can. Think of the danger to the ships." "There's no danger; they never come within eight miles, never near enough for us to signal them." . , . ~ "No, but they steer by u« f at night; they take thoir iwinga from us." " What of that? We have to think 01 ourselvos; our case is desperate. Mclf-pre-servation excuses many things which would otherwise be wrong." , . ~ . "Hush," said Marsham. "you re delirious. The brandy's turned your head. It we're going to die let us dto bravely, with ola nit consciences.'* , , ~ , , He pushed Clarke gently back to the bod, where he lay weak and gasping. "If I had your constitution,' grumbled Clarke, "I might have your, conscience. Tim day''dragged slowly through, the two men dozing iiway the heavy hours. Towards five o'clock Marsham roused himself. Less than two hours of daylight remained, and the lamps', had to be rilled with oil. Ho clanked down the iron stairs tc tho* stores. Une

barrel of oil was left. Ho had brought down a large can, intending to fill the can from the barrel. He had' noticed, however, m he tamo down what a long way it was from the top to the bottom of the lighthouse, and how his logs were failing him. He felt that in * a few days' time the descent and ascent with the ran would be well-nigh intolerable torture. Why not take the whole of the barrel of oil up now, while the greater part of his strength still remained? "With some rope he made a convenient sling which enabled him to carry the barrel as a soldier carries his knapsack. He then mounted the ladder-like stairs, slowly and laboriously to the room where Clarke was. There he set down the barrel, and having recovered Ins breath, went up into the lamn-roora to trim the Micks. He had been at" work for about five minutes when he lies rd above the monotonous murmur of the sen a sharp •sound as though something had fallen from a great height upon the rocks at the base of the lighthouse. Ho had grown too apathetic to be startled by anything now, but with unconscious curiosity he stepped out on tile balcony. (lazing down on the rocks he saw what looked like small chips or shavings of wood. Tt was some seconds before he comprehended what these chips were, but, when he saw the motley sheen of oil spreading over the rocks, the truth dawned upon him. These seeming chips were the staves of a broken barrel. He hurried down to Clarke. "flood God!" he cried. "What have you done? Clarke was standing by the window. He turned, round with a wild laugh. i "There'll be no light to-night," he chuckled I have thrown the barrel out of the window. _ Clarke went to the bed and rolled on it 'in a paroxysm of mirth. Marsham said nothing. He saw that the man wan mad, Juki ho was not altogether sorry that Clarke had done what ho Intel done. Marram's conscience would not have allowed him to throW away the oil in this way, but ho knew that the absence of any light to-night would probably save their lives. The German mailboat was due to pass before dawn, and the Captain would be sure to report when he ar- }- 1V at Zanzibar that be had missed the light. .t V J " as he did, Marsham could not deny that he- was secretly relieved, to find that the light could not burn again, but he did not envy Clarke's feelings if any boat were wrecked or any lives were lost through his wilful waste of the oil 'God forgive you," he said to Clarke who lay pale and exhausted, "if there be a disaster! •

Marsham stretched himself out on the floor of the room He would have no duties tonight, and ho might, make up for many hours of sleep he had lost during the past few wholes when all the work of the lighthouse had fallen upon him, Clarke being-' ill and Falton dead. There was a bed in the room below the one m which Clarke's bod was, but Marsham was too weary to go down to it, and it was better that he should be near the sick man, whose fever might take an unfavourable turn during tho night No Marsham lay down on the floor, and in a few minutes was fast asleep. He slept sweetly, for he was dead tired, but in the deepest blackness of the night he was awakened by a crash. A slight shock shivered through the lighthouse and he started with a. cry of alarm. "What's that?" yelled Clarke, who also had been aroused. Heaven knows," answered Marsham, who stumbled through the darkness to the stairs and fumbled his way up to tUH lantern-room! JJrom the balcony he looked out into the 'Yi : l A]most immediately below he saw the lights of a steamer, and the cries and curses of the men and the roar of the escaping steam came up to him. Clarke's sin had soon home fruit; a vessel had been wrecked on the reef. Presently the lights went out and the noises ceased, all was dark and silent again, except for the occasional white streak of a breaker, and the low growl of the sea.

" What was it?" asked Clarke, when Marsham came down.

"-V wreck. The German boat, won't report our plight at Zanzibar." Marsham answered shortly. ■» "That's a pity." said Clarke. Neither ho nor Marsham had sufficient strength to care very much what happened outside in the night They only knew that they were a little angry at having been disturbed. Fbey lay down again and slept till morning >

When Marsham awoke if, was broad daylight, h was some time before he remembered what had occurred during the night, and even when he did remember it he was inclined to think that it had been all a dream, for his senses returned only slowly to his famished body. At length, however, he was fully awake, and the horror of the night flashed upon him. He. got up from the floor to find that he ached in e very limb; he, in his turn, was taken wit!) the fever! But the misery of his body was as nothing when compared with the misery of his mind. Cod knows how many lives had been lost m the wreck which had been caused by the absence of the light. He knew that be was in part to blame for the wasting, of the oil. ft was against the regulations to bring a whole barrel of oil up to the top of the lighthouse, and. in breaking the regulations, he had tempted the half-delirious Clarke to his mad act. Glancing with pity at Clarke, who still slept. Marsham made his way to the lamp-room, and out on tho balcony. "The wreck had slipped off the reef to deep water, and only the top of the masts were showing. lie counted the number of masts, and mear.ned the space between them. Two masts, ■:id but a short space between them. Ho started. It was not the German boat. She had three masts, and the distance between any two of them '.vat; rrreat. The steamer that had been wrecked was a, comparatively small boat. The truth dr.v/ned slowly upon him. It was --he relief boat, bringing provisions and the men who were to .take the place's of him and Clarke and poor Felton in the lighthouse, that had gone down with all hands in the night. " Clarke's sin lias found him out." he muttered, " though lie was mad when he did it." lie went down ant! shook Clarke roughly. "You've cooked our hash nicely!" he cried. "You've wrecked the relief boat, you idiot'"

But Clarke would not, wake. » Marsham seized one of the man's hands. The hand vvss cold :.s ice, and .Marsham dropped it quickly. Gierke was dead. "So much the better," thought Marsham, " after what has happened. He'd never have been happy with, this wrec.c o:i his soul, i»i«d now I mar as well (He :,s quisklj* as f can. There'll he no help for a fortnight there'll he no boat to send out, and then it'll he too late." He lay down beside the body on the bed and waited for death. [TUB BSD.]