CHAPTER IXLESLEY TO THE RESCUE!
Manyseemingly uneventful weeks slipped by after Stumpy’s recovery and return to the storehouse, but you may be sure that they were far from uneventful to the folk of the island. Life is never very dull when, like the gulls, the murres, the gannets, and the rabbits, you have to seek out your daily food and shelter and go without it, if you find nothing suitable. The domestic animals on the island were well provided for; still, there were daily and exciting climbing-parties among the goats and kids, and Jenny Lind amused herself by hiding away from the Lightkeeper whenever there seemed a chance that she might be asked to draw the little car to the shore.
The children had books and lessons, fishing and gathering sea-moss and shells for their occupations, and on days of blinding fog, or unusually fierce wind, they always sought Humpty Dumpty Land, where they played with dolls, arranged their collections, used their tools, cut out and pasted pictures, or dressed up Jim Crow with beads and ribbons, sometimestying a long silken trail to his inky feathers and seeing him walk about the attic, mincing along like an elderly lady on a slippery ballroom floor.
“Ho! ho! ho!Old Jim Crow,You’re the funniest kind of a bird,I ever did know!”
“Ho! ho! ho!Old Jim Crow,You’re the funniest kind of a bird,I ever did know!”
“Ho! ho! ho!
Old Jim Crow,
You’re the funniest kind of a bird,
I ever did know!”
sang Ronald one morning when they had dressed their pet to particular advantage.
“Oh, Ronnie!” cried Lesley, “that’s not a good verse.”
“Why not, then? It sounds good to me.”
“No, it’s too long in the middle. It ought to be,
“Ho! ho! ho!Old Jim Crow,You’re just a funny bird;And that I know!”
“Ho! ho! ho!Old Jim Crow,You’re just a funny bird;And that I know!”
“Ho! ho! ho!
Old Jim Crow,
You’re just a funny bird;
And that I know!”
“Well, maybe thatisbetter,” agreed Ronald, “and I can dance it, any way.” And he began to whirl about the playroom, stamping out the measure with a will.
“Oh, hush, Ronnie!” cried Lesley; “you’ll tear the house down.... I wonder,” she added slowly, holding the crow to her cheek while he caressed her with hisbeak, “if Father will let us take old Jim if we go away.”
“Why, shan’t we takeeverything?” questioned Ronald, with wondering eyes. “Jenny Lind and Jim Crow and the goats and—no, not the rabbits, o’ course.”
“And—not Jenny Lind, nor the goats either,” said Lesley, shaking her head. “They belong to the Gov’ment, you know, like Father says the Light does.”
“And does Stumpy belong to the Gov’ment?” in awe-stricken tones.
“I don’t know,” answered Lesley, cautiously, “but I believe hemustbelong to us, so prob’ly we could take him.”
This question, not of the removal of Jim Crow and Stumpy, but of the entire family, had been one that had prevented Mr. and Mrs. McLean for some time from finding life dull or unexciting. The Lighthouse tender had come in since Stumpy’s illness began and had brought a letter from the “Gov’ment,” a big one with a big seal, to Malcolm McLean.
It looked on the outside just like an ordinary letter, with a check in it for salary, perhaps, or a notice of oilthat had been shipped for the Light, but in fact it held a bomb that exploded when the envelope was opened and filled the whole house with surprise and excitement.
The “Gov’ment” said, and said it very handsomely, that Malcolm McLean’s work as Lightkeeper on Friar’s Island had long been known and appreciated and that, considering his fine record and his length of service, it had been decided to appoint him to the care of the Santa Barbara Light, which was on the mainland, had a good house with plenty of ground for cultivation, was within easy reach of the town, with its churches and schools, and commanded a better salary.
It seemed and it was a wonderful appointment, but it was entirely unexpected and required a great deal of consideration. Ronald declared that he had never heard such a letter since he lived in this country, and his father asked him, with a twinkle in his eye, whether it was the praise of the Lightkeeper, or the thought of leaving the island that so astonished him.
“’Course Iknewyou were the best Lightkeeper, ever,” explained Ronald, carefully; “I knew that when I was a little boy, but I ’spected we’d live on this island forever’n ever!”
“And I thought so, too,” Lesley chimed in eagerly.
“No wonder they thought so, Malcolm,” smiled Mrs. McLean, turning to her husband, “when they were both born here and have hardly ever been away. I don’t know but that I thought so, myself, and it will be hard to leave the old place, if we decide to go. Still,” hesitatingly, “there’s the church and the schools for the children.”
“Well,” said McLean, “we’ve talked it over till we’ve nearly worn it out, but that letter to the Lighthouse Commissioner has got to be written to-night one way or the other”—and here he brought his hand down on the table with a bang—“for it’s got to be sent by the tender to-morrow.”
“Oh, is theVigilantcoming to-morrow? Oh, goody, goody!” cried Lesley, jumping up and down and clapping her hands.
“Let’s-ery go-ery to-ery bed-ery earl-ery!” whispered Ronnie, drawing Lesley into a corner.
“What-ery for-ery?” inquired Lesley, with a look of astonishment.
“To-ery see-ery tug-ery come-ery in-ery first-ery, you-ery goose-ery!” laughed the boy.
The mother laughed, too, seeing the whisperingpair, and inquired, “Who do you think will understand your ‘secret language,’ if you go to Santa Barbara?”
“Oh, we’ll teach it to the natives, like the Missionaries did when they first came to California,” cried Lesley, gayly, jumping out from her corner.
Of course as the Lighthouse tender was sent only once in two months and as no other vessel touched the island regularly, to see her come in was a great event and one always viewed with excitement by the entire population, with the exception, perhaps, of the sea-birds, the rabbits, and the fishes, who did not care much for outside gayety.
The Lightkeeper, with Jenny Lind and the car, was early on the shore, long before theVigilantcould have been hoped for, and Stumpy, waiting in the storehouse door, saluted the Boss in nautical fashion and limped to his side to exchange opinions on wind and weather. Mrs. McLean forsook her usual stroll among the cabbages and, tying herself up in a shawl against the wind, her head as tightly bandaged as a sausage, she took her stand at the top of the flight of steps nearest the Lighthouse where everything could be seen and heard. The children stood by her side, atfirst, but soon clattered down the steps and along the rocky path to the shore, where novelty and gayety seemed more possible.
It was a gray day with a troubled sea and the air was filled with the screams of the sea-birds and the dash of the breakers against the black and jagged rocks. As to that, however, these noises were as familiar to the island-folk and as little noticed by them, as the rumble of street-cars and the honk of automobiles are to people of the city.
The children had hardly reached the shore, where Stumpy and the Lightkeeper were already stationed in their little rowboat, when a trail of white smoke was seen on the horizon, and jumping up and down in wild excitement Ronald cried, “There she is, there she is, Lesley! We were only just in time!”
TheVigilantat last hove in sight, steamed to within a few hundred feet of the shore and then blew a blast that startled the birds into louder screaming and greater flapping of wings.
“Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah for theVigilant!” cried the children, and in a moment out shot their father’s flat-bottomed skiff from the rocks, dipping down behind each breaker and popping up againwhen it had been passed, like a very Jack-in-the-Box.
The “Gov’ment” had never felt it necessary to build a pier at Friar’s Island, so the only way to land the stores and the barrels of oil was to lower a few of them at a time from the tender into the little boat, row them back to the shore, and then haul them up by a derrick to a small platform that jutted out from the rocks. It was Pacific Ocean, you know, straight up to the island, with no friendly bay or shallow water, just wild surf and big breakers to the very base of the unfriendly cliffs.
The children watched the rocking skiff as the first load was lowered from the ship’s side, McLean receiving and placing the boxes while Stumpy balanced the boat with his oars. With eager eyes they watched the return, and Ronald waded far out to catch the package of papers and letters which his father threw into his arms. Then there was a scramble up the rocks and up the steps to Mother, who scurried off at once to the house, her skirts flapping in the wind, to look over her treasures.
The children ran back again to the shore, Ronald pitching headlong down most of the last flight of steps, but picking himself up quickly and calling backto his sister, “No matter, Les’! Nothing but the nose-bleed!”
His handkerchief held to his nose, he stood by Lesley on the rocks and watched the slow unloading of the barrels of oil, which formed, of course, the largest part of the cargo. Then theVigilantcame to life again, immediately found herself in great haste, puff-puff-puffed impatiently, as if saying, “Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!” gave a loud blast of farewell and made off for her next Lighthouse.
The rolling in to the storehouse and the packing away of the barrels of oil was not of much interest to the children, so, as their father had told them that they need not go home until he went up for dinner with Jenny Lind and the car, they sought for fresh amusement.
“I believe I left a book somewhere down here on the rocks,” said Lesley. “Let’s get it out and read till Father’s ready.”
“No, no!” shouted Ronald, “I don’t want to read now. Let’s go up higher and maybe I can fish off the platform.”
“You remind me of that boy in the ‘po’try’ Mother reads us,” grumbled Lesley, following him slowly,“the one that went through the Alpine Village holding the banner.”
“Don’t remember him!” said Ronald, stopping halfway up the steps.
“Oh, yes, he’s in the Fifth Reader.”
“Well, say him, then!”
“The shades of night were falling fastWhen through an Alpine Village passedA youth, who bore ’mid snow and iceA banner with the strange device,Excelsior!”
“The shades of night were falling fastWhen through an Alpine Village passedA youth, who bore ’mid snow and iceA banner with the strange device,Excelsior!”
“The shades of night were falling fast
When through an Alpine Village passed
A youth, who bore ’mid snow and ice
A banner with the strange device,
Excelsior!”
repeated Lesley, obediently.
“Oh, yes, I remember. Excelsior! Excelsior!”—and up the remaining steps the boy scampered like a squirrel.
Arrived at the platform above, Lesley settled herself with her book on a coil of rope and began to read the story of “Perlino,” that enchanting youth made of wax and sugar and rosewater and roseleaves and pearls and rubies and sapphires and yellow sewing-silk by the Princess who was so unsatisfied with the ordinary ready-made lover. Ronald found his rod and line, baited his hook from a supply that Stumpy always had on hand, and, sitting down on the edge ofthe platform, began to fish for the pink rock cod found in abundance around the island. He had been trusted to do this for a year, now, so long as some one was with him to see that he did not attempt any too daring feats, and Lesley felt no particular uneasiness as she glanced up from her story, only called, “Be careful, Ronnie, won’t you?”
“’Fraid Cat! ’Fraid Cat!” shouted Ronald, scornfully, turning his head toward her, but in a moment came a long shrill scream, “Lesley! Lesley! I’m falling!”—and springing to her feet the frightened girl saw her brother slip over the edge of the platform borne down by the weight of his rod. An unusually large fish must have caught suddenly at the bait, given it a tug when Ronald was not watching, and overbalanced the little fisherman.
Beneath the platform was a sheer wall of black rock, and below that, five or six feet of water into which Ronald, screaming for help, was plunged. Lesley realized, even in that moment of terrible fear, that her father and Stumpy were near at hand and, screaming for help, too, she rushed to Ronald’s assistance with a long fish-gaff that stood near by.
Leaning over the platform she caught it in his clothingand held him up for a moment, calling, above the noise of the breakers, “All right, Ronnie, Father’s coming, Father’s coming!”
It was only for a moment, however, for the weight of the struggling and gasping boy was more than she could hold, and before she knew it she, too, was dragged over the edge of the platform and down into the depths below.
The last despairing screams of both children were heard by the men at the storehouse, and McLean, followed by Stumpy, ran like a deer toward the sounds, pulling off his coat as he went. He scrambled up a rock near the platform and seeing, as he expected, the struggling forms in the depths below, leaped to their rescue. He was only just in time, for, as he caught them and pulled them to the shore, they hung from his grasp like mere bundles of clothing, limp and lifeless.
Stumpy had waded deep into the water to meet the stricken father and carried Ronnie to the land. Together the two men worked over the little bodies, chafing their hands and working their arms up and down to expel the water from their lungs, and before long quivering eyelids and struggles for breath showed the watchers that the two dear lives were saved.
Dripping with water like a merman, McLean rushed for Jenny Lind and the car with Lesley in his arms, followed by Stumpy with the boy. There was a tarpaulin on the car which was to have been used to cover the groceries as they were hauled up to the Lighthouse, and, throwing this over the children, Stumpy held them close while McLean urged the unwilling Jenny Lind over the railway.
Mrs. McLean, whose eyes were never far from the windows when her bairns were abroad, suddenly caught a glimpse of Jenny galloping, saw the two men on the car, and the covered heap beside them. What a lifetime of agony she went through until she reached the door and saw that under the canvas cover the children were breathing, she never could tell you! They were gathered in their parents’ arms, carried upstairs, undressed, dried, rubbed, wrapped in warm flannels, and laid side by side in bed before they could do more than sob and cry out, “Mother, Mother, Mother,” over and over again. Ronald did murmur in a low voice, “Not Lesley’s fault, Mummy; Ronnie’s fault,” but even those few words were only half-spoken, as he dropped off to sleep, worn-out with terror and excitement.
Quivering in every limb with the sudden shock and the fright that had followed it, Mrs. McLean watched her darlings as they slept, while the father, who had told her as much of the accident as he knew himself, sat below, waiting for the waking. It is true that the Lightkeeper had been told nothing as yet of what had happened; but he had found the fish-gaff still caught in Ronald’s clothing and guessed how it had come there.
As Margaret McLean sat quietly beside the bed, Lesley opened her eyes. “Where’s Ronnie?” she asked, with a startled look.
“Here, Lesley, mother’s faithful little Lesley!” cried Margaret, bending over her. “It was you who saved Ronnie and here he is beside you!”
“My Ronnie!” crooned Lesley, lovingly, turning her heavy head toward the round cheek on the pillow, “My Ronnie!”—and so, relieved and comforted, sank softly to sleep again.
It was twilight when Mrs. McLean crept down the stair to find her husband and Stumpy anxiously awaiting her. The old sailor had made two trips to the shore during the afternoon to see that no thievish rabbit, goat, or sea-bird had made off with the stores,but he could find no rest until he had heard the last news of the day from the “little children of his heart,” as he called them in his caressing Spanish way.
“They’ll do now, Father,” said Margaret, thankfully, leaning wearily against her husband’s arm. “They’re awake and calling for supper and they’ve told me all about it. Ronnie only did what he has always done since we let him use a rod and line, but he says he never felt such a tug as that fish gave him, ‘since he lived in this country.’”
Here she half-laughed and choked, and so did both her hearers.
Just then a little head appeared at the window above, “Mummy, Daddy, sing ‘Eternal Father,’ won’t you, and you too, Stumpy? It’s most evening now. Les’ and I will sing up here—”
“Eternal Father! strong to save,Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,Who bidst the mighty ocean deepIts own appointed limits keep:O hear us when we cry to TheeFor those in peril on the sea!Amen.”
“Eternal Father! strong to save,Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,Who bidst the mighty ocean deepIts own appointed limits keep:O hear us when we cry to TheeFor those in peril on the sea!Amen.”
“Eternal Father! strong to save,
Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,
Who bidst the mighty ocean deep
Its own appointed limits keep:
O hear us when we cry to Thee
For those in peril on the sea!
Amen.”
The words floated into the air from the open doorway and, perhaps, for the wind was quiet now, the song reached some lonely fishing-boat cruising about the island. The shadows lengthened, and soon the brave Light sent out its cheering rays across the waters, while below, saved from the perils of the sea, the children slept in peace.
THE END