Complete Story. The Loss of the Beacon.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXVIII, Issue II, 11 January 1902, Page 52

Complete Story. The Loss of the Beacon.

By

GEORGE E. WALSH.

It was a dark and stormy night off Race Point Light, fitful gales of an approaching hurricane hurling giant waves in seething foam against the rocks. In the great dismal tower of the lighthouse, three hundred feet above the floor of the sea, Albert Ross watched the turbulent bosom of the Atlantic with eyes that blinked with anxiety. The straight, athletic young figure was clad in oil-skin coat and hat, which shed the water that poured down upon him whenever he stepped outside to inspect the lowering clouds. It was a night when the Race Point Light would shine as a welcome sight to any belated mariner, and the boy knew the importance of keeping the great revolving turret of glass in perfect order. If perchance the flashes of light should cease for a moment there might be trouble, and some unfortunate steamer might trip on the shoals and rocks to certain destruction.

It was a peculiarly critical night to Albert for other reasons. The steamer “Atlantis'* was expected up the coast any hour. She was already two days overdue, and her appearance at the rocky gate of the harbour on such a night meant much to the boy. Returning with her was Albert’s father, William Ross, the old keeper of the Race Ikfint Light, who for a quarter of a century had been known to every captain navigating the waters along the coast. Three months before this the little lighthouse family had been broken up by the death of Mrs Ross. The isolated life on the few acres of rock had not seemed so lonely and unpleasant when Mrs Ross was alive, for her sunny disposition and loving ways had made father and son happy and contented. They- had fished and sailed in the daytime, and returned at night to take turns in watching the great lonely “eye of the sea”; and in this simple life they had found the contentment that comes only with a clean conscience, healthy bodies, and God-fearing trust.

But the death of Albert's mother had come like a blow out of the darkness. It had prostrated the boy more than he had dreamed it possible, but he soon forgot his own grief in witnessing the dumb agony and despair of his father. William Ross felt that his life was broken, and from the strong, stalwart fisherman of the sea he became almost a physical and mental wreck. Day and night he grieved over his loss, and Albert felt that he had no power to rouse him. With true love and affection for his father the boy worked hard to relieve him of all care and responsibility. Gradually he had taken full charge of the lighthouse and of the floating beacon light anchored half a mile away from the lighthouse. This beacon was a necessary adjunct to the Race Point Light, for when a ship rounded the point of rocks it had to pick up the beacon on the left to make the narrow, tortuous channel across the shoals. By means of the two lights a skilled captain could safely pass through the channel on the darkest and stormiest night.

Mr Ross had finally become so helpless in sorrow’ that Albert bad induced him to go away for a change, lie bad a brother in Savannah, and he had gone south for a month to visit him. trusting that the change would return to him some of his mental and physical vigour. It had been a long month to Albert. Alone on the point of rocks he had nursed his sorrow in secret. Many times during the long days and nights he had suffered and grieved at the changed conditions of his life. But Albert was strong, robust, and sensible, and he buried his gloomy’ feelings in hard work. It was only

on stormy nights, when the wild sea seemed ready to cast up its dead, and moaned and wailed around the rocks like wild demons, that he felt the depression of mind and body that would steal over him. But to-night the storm had another message for him. Out of it at any moment might come the "Atlantis,” bringing back to him his father restored to health and strengtht, and anxious once more to greet his son. What if anything should happen to the steamer? Why was she delayed on her trip? These questions sprang to the boy’s lips a thousand times as he trimmed the lights, polished the glass globe, and oiled the machinery. They would obtrude themselves upon his mind in spite of brave efforts to banish them. Then the storm came on in violent fury, sweeping up from the West Indies in tropical luxuriance of wild demonstration and devastation. He knew that it had laid waste whole empires of sandy oeach below Cape Hatteras, and strewn rocks and reefs with wrecks and debris of a world’s shipping. Anxiously Albert scanned the rim of light that still faintly gleamed around the horizon where clouds and sea seemed to melt into each other. Several times he thought he caught indistinct flashes of a steamer’s lignt. Then, as often disappointed, he would turn to see if the reflecto. - over his head was all right, and if the gas-lighted beacon on the shoals was doing its duty. It was well towards the middle of the night, when the storm was at its height, and the sea around the rocks a raging maelstrom, that the first actual glimmer of a light appeared out of the darkness. Albert stared intently at it, fascinated by the sight, and then shutting and opening his eyes to make sure that it was no optical delusion, he tried to read the set of signals already flashing out from the masthead of the approaching steamer. Albert knew the signs and signals of the sea by heart, and long before the steamer was near enough for a landsman to make much out of the lights he knew that it was the “Atlantis,” and that her starboard screw had been injured. She was proceeding up the coast in this crippled condition, battling with a storm that made progress slow and dangerous, and making for the sheltered waters back of Race Point Light. It was a delicate piece of navigation to take the steamer through the narrow channel on such a night with one screw disabled, but the boy knew no better captain sailed the seas than the commander of the "Atlantis.” And, besides, was not his father aboard, who knew every rock and shoal of the coast! Nevertheless, Albert felt nervous and anxious. The responsibility rested heavily on his shoulders. It would take such a little thing to cause trouble and probably great loss of life and ship. As the lights of the ship grew brighter and more ramant, the boy’s heart felt lighter and more thankful. Once behind the lighthouse, the steamer could drop anchor in safety until the dawn of another day. It would take but fifteen minutes to do this after the ship once entered the channel just abreast the light. When the steamer was only a few miles away, Albert studied the waters of the channel once more. The seas were rolling fiercely through it and breaking on the rocks and shoals at either side. The moan and roar of the breakers were deafening, while the wind and sleet whistled

around like a dozen sirens. The gaslighted beacon, which marked the sharp turn in the channel, was bobbing heavily in the waves, almost threatening to tear itself loose from the moorings. Once Albert thought that it had disappeared forever beneath the waves, so fiercely did it dive down in the trough of the sea. The white light of the big reflector over his head was arranged to strike this beacon at every revolution. The boy watched for a moment to see if the beacon was in the path of the light. The sharp line of light slowly drifted across the sea, lighting up the mass of foamy waves, and then it struck the rocks, then the rippling shoals, and then

Albert stopped a moment and held his breath. The ray of light had missed the beacon, and was now sweeping landward. A moment later the light of the beacon shone out clear and distinct on the water.

What had happened? Was it an optical illusion, one of those strange freaks that often bewilder the mind of the navigator and seaman? Albert did not utter a word, but waited impatiently for the revolving path of light to come around again. Slowly and surely it swept around the great circle, and then, when it struck the channel and missed the beacon again. Albert exclaimed: “The beacon has broken loose!” This was only too evident now. The tumbling waves had snapped the huge cable, and the beacon was drifting on the waves, making navigation in the channel more dangerous by its false light than if it had not been at all. It would deceive the “Atlantis’ ” captain, as well as his father, for

they would head straight for the beacon light after crossing the bar. His father might at <-tae last moment see that the path of light from the lighthouse failed to touch the beacon, but it would be too late then. The steamer would be on the rocks and shoals!

Albert turned pale, and a heavy perspiration broke out ou his forehead. A great fear and sense of helplessness seized him. He could neither act nor think.

Then, remembering the great things at stake, he tried to rouse himself. He stumbled down the spiral stairs of the lighthouse, hardly knowing what he was going to do, but dimly conscious of the fact that he must in some way reach the shoals ahead of the steamer. The automatic light of the lighthouse would take care of itself, but the beacon light must be replaced. At the rocky landing the staunch lifeboat, ribbed with sheet iron and encircled with cork, was ready for launching. Albert threw a large reflector lantern in it and a can of oil. intending to use the latter to quiet the seas around him if necessary, and then, lowering the craft into the water, he started to battle with the waves.

On the leeward side of the lighthouse the water was comparatively calm, and the strong lad had little difficulty in rowing against the tide. But when he got beyond its shelter, wind and wave beat him back and nearly upset the boat. Recovering himself he pushed his frail craft once more out into the seas.

This time he gained some headway, and taking advantage of a slight lull he pulled lustily on his oars. The

lifeboat slid down a huge wave, and then seemed to be engulfed for a moment. But the boy was used to this work, and with great skill he rowed and pushed his craft forward. He was now in the channel, and over the stern of his craft he could see the coloureu lights of the steamer. How near they seemed, and how fast they approached! For a moment the uoy doubted if he could reach the shoals in time. Then closing his eyes he pulled with aH his might The revolving light swept a path around him. and by its aid he saw that he was near the anchorage place of the rocks. He rowed harder, and waited for the returning light. When it came, the toy took his bearings and immediately plunged the two heavy anchors into the sea. It was shoal water here and he knew that the anchors would reach bottom. But the fearful strain on the ropes was made manifest the moment the boat rose and fell in the trough of the sea.

“If they will only hold for twenty minutes,” muttered the boy.

Dropping his oars, he sprang to the prow of the life-boat and raised his lantern aloft. How feebly the rays from it seemed to shine out of that intense blackness! The boy’s heart sank within him at the sight. Such a feeble light would never serve the purpose.

Suddenly above the roar of the storm the hoarse whistle of the steamer sounded. To Albert it seemed like the death knell to all his hopes, for it was a distress signal. The captain had swung his craft into the channel, but had been unable to pick up the beacon light. Quick, sharp and fearful came three hoarse

blasts. They made the blood of the boy tingle in his veins. He realised that all his efforts were in vain. Higher and higher he swung the lantern, shouting and screaming to attract attention. But again came the three startled, frightened blasts of the steamer.

It was too late now for the “Atlantis” to retreat. Her prow was in the channel, and no steamer could swing around or retreat. It was a deathtrap if she could not force the channel.

When the second series of alarm whistles rang in his ears Albert's hands fell to his side and he groaned aloud. Then his foot struck the huge can of oil, which he had brought along for any emergency. Without thought of the consequences, he poured the oil in a stream over the prow of the boat, and then, dashing his lantern upon it, he stumbled back before the flash and blaze that leaped up around him. The blaze lighted up the angry waves none too soon. The steamer was now whistling hoarsely, and, to Albert it seemed, fiendishly. But when the flames of the burning oil shot upward, the blasts of the steamer were changed to sounds of triumph. They indicated orders that were not new or strange to the boy’s ears.

He smiled and watched the steamer’s lights as if fascinated. They no longer wobbled, but looked up steadily and evenly. The steamer had found its bearings and was making the channel safely.

Just then the path of light from the liglhthou.se swe.pt around, and Albert’s heart gave another leap of joy when he saw that it brought his burning boat of oil directly in view. He had not made a mistake in his moorings. Then out of the darkness there came the roaring and surging of the mighty leviathan, which, though crippled, could still beat the waters with furious energy. The boy watched it pass him, and then as it changed its course the coloured lights disappeared. The danger was over, and for a moment the boy stood perplexed and helpless. Something seemed to grip his heart. The great steamer had been saved, but he was left to his fate. The burning oil had already eaten through his boat, and no human effort could put out the fierce blaze. The boat rapidly filled, and Albert turned to make his last desperate battle for life. But as he stepped upon the gunwale, ready to plunge into the seething waves, a light broke out of the darkness, and a familiar voice shouted:

“Wait a moment, Albert! Wait, my boy! We are coming!”

It was the call of his father, and from despair the boy’s soul was suddenly raised to hope. The approaching boat from the “Atlantis” swept swiftly through the seas, and, just as the life-boat lurched and then sank beneath the waves, Albert felt himself clutched by a strong arm. Then for the first time, when he saw that he was safe, he wept for

j°y. "Father, have you come back to me?” was all he could utter.

But there was expressed in that all the pent-up loneliness and anxiety that he had suffered, and Mr Hoss seemed to realise it as he answered

in a quavering vo.ee: “Yes, Albert, back for good —never to go again. My brave lad, what can I say!” As the two fell into each others arms, the sailors rowed them back to the “Atlantis” in silence; but when they reached the deck of the steamer there was such a cheer that the poor; lonely lighthouse boy felt that he had been more than rewarded for his bravery.