The Storyteller.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXVII, Issue 48, 30 November 1899, Page 23

The Storyteller.

THE HERO OF THE LIGHTHOUSE.

EasliT in the eighties, of all the lights along the Florida Reef that at Rebecca Shoals was held as least attractive. A shoal beacon, it stood up from the water ; under it and on each side was ocean. The keepers were estranged from their families. No woman is allowed to Btay overnight in a lighthouse such as this ; and at its base was no point, however small, where shelter could be erected. Nineteen miles away was the Dry Tortugas, with Garden Key, old Fort Jefferson and the quarantine station. The surgeon, assistant and a few pilots with their wives and children were the nearest neighbours of Rebecca Shoals. At this time the keepers in the lighthouse were Matthew Welsh. John Fordyce and Andrew Buckley. In storm and calm, as soon as the sun dropped from sight behind a glorious west, the cyclops eye of the light opened, showing red over the shoals and white over the channels. Through the night the three men watched, through the day they tidied the room, cleaned the lamp mechanism , and in other ways lived up to the government regulations. Monotony reigned, for a programme of recreation in the shape of fishing, the perusal of old periodicals and an occasional trip to Key West, eventually pall. To John Fordyce the one bright spot in his existence was Helen Welsh. When duty would permit he sailed in the lighthouse dingey to Garden Key, where was the girl of his heart. On the Key, grateful for even the infrequent visits of their husbands, lived the wives of the two married keepers. At intervals Helen, alone or with her mother, spent the day at the light, speeding across the miles of ocean to see her father. To her the ocean was a foster parent, for her father and her grandfathers had been sailors, and the waves treated her as one akin. No pilot, no fisherman, on all the Keys could manage a boat better than she. She was as fearless as a gull and could swim like a dolphin. The courtship of Fordyce, pursued openly, yet diffidently, as is apt to be the case with a man little accustomed to women, met with favour from all concerned. Helen bridled and blushed at goodnatured quips and jests aimed at her romance. Mrs. Welsh, hearty and wholesome, ruddy with rich red blood purified by the oxygen of the sea breeze, saw in John Fordyce ' a right proper lad for auy lass, even my own.' Mr. Welsh broke through the reserve engendered by years of lonely communion with the storm and billow, and admitted that ' Jack's an hones' lad ez lads go.' The remainder of the Key population smiled on the growing intimacy of the young couple, and on the broad sea-wall encircling the moat of the ruined fcrt were silhoutted, time and again, the strolling figures of Helen and Jack. One night a gale swept the Florida Reef. The wind whistled and swirled arcund Rebecca Shoals light, hurling the spray against the windows many ieet above the water. The stout framework trembled, but the men felt no uneasiness, tiusting- in the staunchness of the structure, and having parsed through scores of si mil iar attacks. Matthew and Jack were on watch t<gither, peeing that the lamp was in* perfect condition. Se.ibiid-!, bewildered by the tempest and blinded by the bt-aius irorn Ihe powerful reflector, dashed against the thick glass, to die. 1 I allus psty ihe pore things,' remarked the elder man. ' I bey set out hundreds o' sturms, an' I never kin git ust to the sight o' them birds b'eakin' their ne.cks against the glass.' I 'Pears like ir can't be helped, though,' returned the other. An.' I reckon they never know what ails 'em.' A violent gust, and ritjht agaiu-t the northern glas3 of the room wa« fiuntf a gull. The wind pr« ssed it fl.it on the pane, and fluttering helplessly it hutig there, w.th one wing" useless, and the siDgfle pinion beating m vain endeavours. Tne red-rim aied tyes teimed to appeal to the men, who were just belo.v. Association with the s j a softens the heart. ' Look at that, will you ?' exclaimed old Matthew. 'By George, I can't stan' it, to see a dumb critter suffer so ' ' Yea, but 1 dunno c-z we kin do anything,' responded Jack. ' When the storm lulls a little I'll go out pick it up. Guess it hez a busted wing.' 'Wait fer the st-rm to lull, and let that bird heng ther all that time ? I'd be shamed ! I'm goin' ter fetch it in now.' 'Matt, you're crazy. The wind'll blow you over the railin'. Hold a little, an' I'll go out. Thar's no use riakin' life fer a bird.' Matthew, rising gave him a look of contempt, and str jde to the narrow door. I 1 never thought it o' you, John Fordyce. Ef you're a coward, I'm not.' With an effort he pulled open the door* The roar of the pale . sounded lou«lly. Thi* door slain mcd abut, and he was gone. Jack ' sprane hastily from his seat and gazei at the window where was pressed the bird. Suddenly 'he gull vanished. Fordyce opened the door, and Matthew, wet and brei.tbleas, his -white hair and btard dripping, pluuged in, the bird in his hand. He did not notice the younger keeper, but seating himself examined carefully hia fe ktbered charge. Whittling some Fplinta and procuring some cord he gently bound the fractured wing and placed the patient in a coruer of a basket, where it crouched fearfully. ' Ued a hard time, didn't you ?' queriel Jack. Matthew did not answer. • 'Spec the wind ia bio win' forty or fifty knots, 'bout V Still no reply. • What's the matter of you, Matt V

Welsh turned and gazed sorrowfully at the speaker ' Jack,' he said earnestly, ' I allus thought you wuz a man not afeared o' anything, sea or lan'. But when you let an ol' man like me go whar you wouldn't go, even ef fer sake o' only a bird, why, I know I've been mistook in my opinion o' you. Jack, you her been a-courtin' my lass, an' a right likely pair you hay' 'peared to me. Marthy is proud o' you, and so was I. You might hey married the girl, fer I guess she's willin'. She thinks you the bes' man on the Keys. But we've all misjudged you. You're a coward !' Fordyce flushed through his coat of tan and started with surprise. 'Why, Matt!' he exclaimed. 'You don't mean what you're sayin', do you ? I'd jest ez lief hey went out after the bird. I didn't heng 1 back 'cause I was afeared. I thought to wait till a lull come. An' I didn't count on you goin'. You know that. You went out afore I could stop you.' 'No ust wastin' words, Jack. You showed the white feather — an' I dunno where you got it, either. Your blood's good. What'll Helen say V ' Looky here, Matt Welsh. You've called me a coward, an' the only man in the worl' I'd 'low to do it an' not eat his words. You're older 'n I be, an' you're the father o' the girl I love, an' I wouldn't lay han's on you. But some day you'll take back what you've said. I'm no coward. It is ridic'lous to stir up all this fuss 'bout a gull, anyway.' • That's jtst it, Jack. A man oughter be tender to bird an' beast. An' ef you wouldn't risk a little for a pore, crippled thing ez couldn't help its elf I hoi' it's a purty good test. I reckon you might not be a man to suit my lass.' ' God knows, Mathew Welsh, Helen would never come to harm ef my arm could pretect her. Why, don't you 'member the time I hauled her out o' the sea off East Key, in the capsize 1 Why, I swum a mile with her.' ' Yes, I 'member that, o' course. But it's the little things that a woman counts on. Piles o' meu show up well on big trials, but when it comes to savin' a bird, or givin' a woman a tender, lovin' pat, they forgit. No, Jack, you don't understan' what I mean.' ' Reckon there's no gain in arguin'. But you've hurt me, Matt, an' until I hear you say, "Jack, 1 was wrong." I can't get over it. You ain't no objection to my seem' Helen, I s'pose ?' ' Certainly not.' ' I've nothin' agin you, aside from what I've spoke of, an' I'm not sayin' you're not a good lad. But I want you to think before you ask me for Helen. That's all.' ' I tell you right hear, Matt, I'll never ask you for Helen until you take back what you've called me to night. You can depen' on that.' ' Well, enough, lad. We'll not talk of it any more. It's time to rouse Andy.' Confined together in a lighthouse, men grow uncommunicative. Feelings are stifled. After the events of this night, and the unusual outburst by Matthew, affairs at Rebecca Shoals moved on in the monotonous routine. Apparently Welsh and Fordyce were on the same footing as before. But the distrust expressed so bluntly by the rugged keeper had cut deep into the heart of the younger man. He venerated Matthew for his sterling worth, his many kindnesses and for the daughter's sake. He did not entertain resentment. ' 'Pears to me I ain't mad, only jes' hurt,' said Jack to himself. But he burned to clear his character of the imputations directed against it by Matthew. ' Durn you,' Jack addressed the gull, now rapidly recovering. •You've got me into a heap o' trouble. I've a notion to throw you out the winder. Me a coward ! I'll show 'im.' He continued to meet Helen at Garden Key or at the light and at the first opportunity told her of his conversation with her father. Not that he was afraid Matthew would influence the girl against him — eld Matthew was not one to work under-handed — but he wanted Helen's opinion. ' Jack,' she said, ' I know you aren't a coward. ' You'd 'a' got the bird willin'ly, I doubt not, if you'd 'a' thought father was so bent on it. An' I know you aren't afraid to go any place. But father was ahead of you that time. He's so queer about animals sufferin.' An' gulls — I guess he's been with 'em so much he holds 'em for humans. But you wait, an' it'll come out right.' They were sailing back to Garden Key, Helen in the stern and Jack farther forward. 'Ma thinks you're a fine fellow, anyhow,' continued the girl, hesitatingly, in an attempt to soothe the smart in her lover's heart. ! An' what do you think, Helen,' said Jack boldly. ' Oh' I don't go with a man I don't respect,' she returned, tossing her head. ' Respec' — is that all, Helen ?' inquired Jack eagerly. Helen coloured like a rose, and with face gazing off over the end of the beam replied softly : ' You ought to know, Jack.' The dingey yawed sharply and the sail flapped in a most slovenly fasfeion. When the course was again laid the boat was trimmed differently. Two figures, instead of one sat in the stern. A month after this, on a February evening, black clouds rolled from the northeast up towards the zenith, pursuing the setting sun, and shadowing the ocean. The edges of the masses were torn and tattered, '.through and between the advancing vapors flashed the lightning. After a day at the ligfht Helen was on the point of leaving for Garden Key. Matthew had been ill a week, and either Mrs. Welsh or the daughter had hovered at his bedside contiuually during the daytime. Now the erirl aud Jack stood on the platform of the tower, surveying the approaching storm. ' We're goin' to hey a blow, sure 'nough, Helen,' said the man. 'It looks like a bad un, too. You can't start. It'd ketch you afore you'd went a mile.' ' But, Jack, I mus' go. It's against rules for me to stay here, and then moth* r'll get crazy when I don't appear on time.' ' She'll know you're here. An' it's better to hey her scared an' you turn up s.*fe an' soun' than to hey you drowned. No mortal

kin ride out a storm like this will be, in a dingey. Ef I don't miss it, it'll worry some other vessels, too. I never seen a worse sky.' Even as he spoke a dash of rain pattered on them, and a'flerce gust caueea them to dutch the railing. In an instant more, with a howl and crash, flare of lightning and bellow of thunder, the tempest enfolded Rebecca Shoals. 'Andy'll never get here to-night, I reckon,' observed Jack, when he and Helen were safely within the protecting walls. 'He went to the Key at noon, you know.' ' That's so,' assented Helen. ' He's in the same fix I am.' 'With Matt sick that'll leave me to ten' light alone. I've set up many the time, though, an' this spell won't hurt me. How d'ye feel, Matt V stepping to the bunk of the old keeper. ' Not very spry, Jaok. Wher's Helen ?' ' Here I am, father.' 1 You mustn't try to go in sech a gale, lass. Hez Andy come yet ?' ' No, sir,' answered the girl. 'Then you'll hey to ten' light, Jack, fer I'm not able to be about. 1 ' All right, Matt. Reckon I'd better set 'er goin' now ; it's gettin' so dark,' responded Fordyce, awkwardly adjusting a pillow. ' You're in good han's, an' I'm mighty glad Helen's here. I'll climb up now. Ef I'm wanted you know how to git me. Helen.' In an hour the rain had slackened, but the wind continued to blow, lashing the tower with great waves. All chances of Helen returning to Garden Key that night had passed, and with it any latent hope that Andy, the other keeper, would appear. Jack was forced to stick to his post in reach of the lamp, and below Helen nursed her father. A little after midnight Jack was startled by Helen opening the door. ' Oh, Jack,' she said, 'can't you come down, just for a moment. Father's in a kind of stupor, an' I can't rouse him. An' the medicine's all gone, too.' Fordyce leaped to the stairway, and in a second was bending anxiously over the bunk. ' Matt !' he called. Welsh moved uneasily. The voice seemed to bring to him glimmering consciousness. Helen stroked his forehead. "' What !' he answered, drowsily, and lapsed again into his lethargy. ' Is the med'eine used up, sure V inquired Jack of the girl. 'Every drop. The bottle was knocked over an' a lot spilt. What can we do, Jack 1 We must stimulate him some way.' ' We'll rub him,' said the man. ' Mebbe that'll help.' Their efforts were in vain. Matthew refused to respond. ' He needs something to brace him up, that's what he needs ' observed Jack. ' The medicine waß for that,' explained Helen. ' Oh, dear 1' Matthew's breathing was growing laboured. Outside moaned and shrieked the gale. Suddenly it sank to a ghostly whisper. The wheezing of the sick man was now painfully apparent. ' By George, I'm not goin' to let ol' Matt Welsh die like a dog while I kin help it I ' spoke Fordyce. ' Kin ' you ten' light, sweetheart ? ' 'Me ten' light ? Of course I can ! But what do you mean ? You arn't ' ' Yes, I be, I'm going to take your father to Garden Key, wher' Doc Morgan kin git at 'im. It's a shame to hey 'im die this way, when he hez a chance o' livin'.' ' Jack, you mustn't. You'd both be drowned. It's suicide.' ' Looky here, Helen. Don't you stop me. I've been bidin' my time to prove I'm not a coward. He called me that, an' I've jes' been waitin' an' waitin 1 ever since. Whether or no he knows what I do, I'll take im to Garden Key this very night. I'll do it because he called me a coward, and 'cause he's your father, and hez been a good frien' to me.' The girl clung to his neck. ' Jack, Jack,' she sobbed. ' I can't let you. I can't let you.' 1 Lass,' hesaid gently, holding her tightly, 'you wouldn't hey me a coward would you ? An' the wind's fell like everything, an' I kin make the trip, [ know. You'll see me comiu' back inside o' six hours to tell you Matt's safe an' 'b)ut well. See here,' and he threw wide the door. The moon was shining fitfully between scudding clouds. The wind was still blowing briskly, and the huge waves rose from the base of the tower seemingly nearly to the platform. A wild night, and one not disposed to quiet the fears of the girl. ' It's 19 miles. ' Oh, Jack I ' waa all she said. ' Remember, he called me a coward, Helen.' They closed the door and Welsh's low breathing drew Helen to the bunk Something must be done to cause his blood to circulate or he would die before morning. Jack ran up the stairs and in a moment returned. He lifted his coat from the hook and put on his hat, palling it snugly down. ' I've seen to the lamp,' he said. ' It's all right, an' I think it won't need touohin'. You understan' it, anyway. Now, I'm goin' to lower the boat, ef you'll bear a han' on the tackle. Git it into the water onct, to lu'ard here, an' the rest's fun, you see.' ' Are you really goin', Jack 1 ' asked the girl, standing in front of him, her eye 3 brimming with unshei tears, but steadfast. ' That I be, lass,' was the resolute response. She leaned forward and kissed him on the brow, tenderly, reverently, as though consecrating him for some noble work. ' You're a brave man,' she said, simply. 'My lover, how proud lam of you. I'll expect you back to-morrow, sure, dear. I'll look for you. So hold in mind, an' God willin' I'll see you again — my Jack.' ' I'll come, never fear,' he answered, gathering her into his arms. ' Ther's never a gale I couldn't beat fer the sake o' sech a welcome waitin' fer me. Now let's hurry. He,' indicating Matthew, ' can't las' much longer. B'lieve the bes' thing to do is to put 'im in the boat firs', afore we lower away. I duuno ez I kin carry him down, with the wind blowin' an' the footin' slip'ry.'

The unconscious Matthew was wrapped in a blanket, and borne out on to the platform. The boat was swung as nearly as possible, under him, and while Helen held it steady, Fordyce, exercising all his strength, placed in the craft the body of the keeper. Fortunately, the wind was dying to a moderate velocity. The storm was over. The waves, however, were running high. The man and the girl lowered the boat, until on the inky water it tossed hither and thither, straining at the tackle. Now it was a question of but a few moments ere it would fill. Time was of the utmost value. Not wasting an instant Jack clambered down the ladder, shouting a good-bye as he descended. He caught the dingey, as it hung poised beneath him. on the crest of the wave, and tumbled in. For a brief glimpse Helen saw him Then the tackle dangled idly in the wind, and boat, lover, and father had disappeared. Jack found the dingey had about a foot of water in the bottom. He did not attempt to attend to this, or to the poor old keeper, who was doubled between two seats, knocked into a heap by the waves. His sole endeavours were directed to riding the seas that threatened to engulf the craft, until, in the space of twenty minutes, he had become accustomed to the onslaught of the billows. Before casting off the tackle he had stepped the mast and shaken loose the sail, thankful that it was double-reefed as when last used. The wind blew quartering, flinging the mist and spray against the man's cheek, as he sat peering ahead. The boat rushed into the hollows, and rising on the white-capped summits plunged furiously into phosphorescent depths. More sail would bury the boat ; less leeway would swamp her. All Jack could do was to take a turn with the sheet around a cleat, and staring into the darkness trust to his strong arms and his skill to avert, by steering, the tremendous force of the waves. Welsh's cramped attitude pained Fordyce. Taking advantage of successive favourable moments he tore out one of the seats so that the patient could lie full lensrth. He shoved him toward the bows, the better to trim the boat, and bolstered him against another seat, thus elevating his head out of danger of suffocation by incoming water. These movements were hazardous, but necessary. a <Jin^ ey drove on and on through the night, ever toward Garden Key. Despite the efforts of Fordyce masses of water would slap into the boat. Incessant bailing was essential to safety. His arms were tired. His wrists ached. The tension on his nerves was terrible. The dingey seemed to be darting along with prodigious speed, but he knew better. He knew progress was slow, and that the peril never lessened. An error in judgment and his life would be grimly snuffed out. He was alone, with Death close watching him. Demons swooped past him, blinding him, twitching at his hair and garments. But, when about to yield to weariness and let the worst come, he thought of Helen awaiting his return, and across the waste the eye of the light at Rebecca Slioala blazed encouragement Helen was there. His blood warmed at the token, and he shut his teeth with determination. Suddenly, to his surprise, Matthew spoke : ' Helen ! Jack ! Here ! What's the matter V ' Hello, Matt. Don't be scarb, It'j me, Jack, an' I'm takin' you to Garden Key.' The sick man half rai-fd himself. ' Garden Key ! Great God, what d'ye mean ? In this storm ?' 'Storm's past now, Matt. You've been tleepin', and we was afoared you were gittin' worse, so I'm a-takin' you to Doc Morgan. The med'eine's run out, you see. Guess the water's woke yo 1 up. It comes in an' I can't help if.' 'Why, Jack, lad,' said Matthew, hoarsely, 'we'll never git ther. This is the foolhardie^t thing ever I heerd of. You'd a better letnnie die, ruther'n kill us both. Wher's Helen ?' 'She's tendin' light. Don't you worry. We'll git ther. We've got to go on now. We're mos' ther, you know. You res' easy. I km handle the boat like a top.' A.i if to mock hi.-* assertion an angry flood swirlad over the gunwale, pouring in triumphantly. ' Few more like that,' muttered Fordyce, ' an' our goose ia cooked ' For a short time silence ensued. Fordycj thought Matthew had sunk into his stupor. But no. ' Jack I ' feebly. 1 Yes, sir.' 1 You mus' put me over, Jack. I can't las' much longer, I feel it— l'm goin' fas'. 'Twouldn't be drowndin', you see, and 'twould lighten the boat. Don't wait, Jack.' ' Put you over, you say. No, siree, when you go, I go. You jes' sleep, an' I'll hey you at Garden Key mighty quick now.' Again a wave swept over. Fordyce bailed desperately. On his left ear fell these words, dropped one by one from lifeless lips : • ' Jack 1 1 was wrong lad.' ' God bless you fer sayin' that, Matt,' said Jack. There was no reply, and he devoted his energies to clearing the dingey of as much water as he could while keeping his course. The Bea was rougher, indicating Bhoals, and his danger increased. Afar, oh, so far, he beheld the Fort Jefferson light on Garden Key. Would they live to reach the haven ? Was his companion already dead? Would he follow in a moment? The exertions were telling on him. His arms were numb. He was chilled to the bone, stiff from his constrained position and his wrenched muscles. The water in the boat was gaining on him. But he must not, could not, fail of his purpose. Yet he felt he would die happy, if he die he should — Matthew acknowledged he was not a coward. An hour passed. The walls of the fort were visible, for the sky was becoming gray. Five more miles. God ! Could he hold out ? For — three — a long, weary bailing, bailing all the time. Two miles. He could see the wall where he and He'en had so often strolled. And Helen was waiting for him, like a brave, true lass, and he in ust not disappoint her. If he could but make a turn in

the channel just ahead he would be comparatively safe. Now ! Twist the tiller to port, hard ! Over with the boom ! Water towering 1 above, foaming in up to the seats I Matthew awash ! Nose of the diogey under ! Will she rise ? Will she ? Will— yes. The Lord be praised. Only a half-mile to go, and the force of the waves broken by the coral reefs. It seemed to him that he could not survive those 20 minutes. He had not the strength to lift old Matthew from his perilous bed in the bottom of the boat, where the water covered his face to his lips. Nearer they sped, and nearer. At last the boat grated on the sand of the beach. Like a drunken man Jack staggered up the incline, over the moat, through the ever-open sallyport, and along the conch-bordered walk to the surgeon's quarters. • Who's there ? ' 'It's me. Jack For dyce. From Rebecca Shoals.' The surgeon swung the door. • How in the world did you get here, Jack ? What's wrong ? ' 'Matthew — he's sick — down in the dingey — see him — ' and Jack sank to the floor of the verandah. Lying in the water in the bottom of the boat, washed from side to side as the waves rocked the craft, the surgeon found Matthew Welsh dead. And, according to the opinion of the officials, he had been dead two hours or more. Fordyoe did not return that day to Helen, for in a delirium he fought over again the struggles of the night, and did not regain reason for a week and a day. Helen came to him. Matthew was buried on desolate Bird Key, and there his headboard can be seen. Jack married Helen. Thus on the annals of Dry Tortugas is emblazoned the tale of how, through the darkness and over the raging seas, across 19 miles of stormy water, Jack Fordyce bore from Rebecca Shoals to Garden Key the body of the old lighthouse-keeper.