Rilla of the Lighthouse

Rilla had no other intimate friends among the fishermen who would be passing that evening on their homeward way from the Outer Ledge where they went at dawn each day after cod.

Captain Barney she loved next to her grand-dad, for had he not helped bring her up? One of her earliest recollections was of that kindly Irishman holding her on his knee and telling her wonderful tales of fairy folk who lived on that far away and dearly loved Emerald Isle where his boyhood had been spent. Never had the girl wearied of listening to tales of the mermaids who dwelt in caves under the cliffs and of the “Little Folk” who went about among the peat cabins helping the peasants.

“But thar’s nothin’ the loike of thim over here,” old Cap’n Barney would end, with a sigh, “lest be it’s you, Rilly lass.”

When the noon meal was over, Captain Ezra pushed back his chair. “Wall, fust mate, I reckon I’ll cruise down to the shanty for a spell an’ overhaul the kit. Holler if ye need me.” Rilla, with rapidly beating heart, stood in the open door and watched her grand-dad as he slowly descended the steep stairs leading to the little wharf near which bobbed the anchored dory. About twenty feet up the beach was the shanty in which Cap’n Ezra kept his fishing tackle and the supplies for the lighthouse.

It was hard indeed for the girl, who was as honest as old Cap’n Ezra himself, to be doing something of which her grand-dad would disapprove, and yet she couldn’t let a boy starve even if he had come from the city.

Quickly she filled a basket with food and tied it firmly to one end of a long rope. Going to the edge of the cliff, back of the lighthouse, she called “Yo-o!”

The boy appeared and stood on the ledge looking up. He waved his cap in greeting and then, catching the swinging basket, he untied it.

Rilla drew up the rope and let down a pail of tea; then she knelt and leaning over as far as she could with safety she called: “Like’s not you’ll have to bunk thar all night. Cap’n Barney didn’t go fishin’ today.”

Then, before Gene could question her concerning some other manner of reaching the mainland, the girl disappeared.

The boy laughed as he re-entered the cave. “Robinson Crusoe’s island was not half as interesting as this one,” he thought as he ate with a relish the homely fare which the basket contained. He had not realized that he was ravenously hungry. When the feast was over, the lad rose and looked long out at sea, trying to discover the approach of a boat that might be signaled.

He knew that if he did not soon return to Tunkett his host, Doctor Winslow, would become alarmed. Too, he was constantly on the alert for the possible approach of Rilla’s grandfather. “What an old ogre he must be,” the lad thought, “if his grand-daughter is afraid to tell him of the near presence of a shipwrecked mariner.”

As the hours slipped by and no boat came within signaling distance, Gene was tempted to walk boldly out from his hiding place and tell the keeper of the light that he wished to be taken to town, but the “storm maiden” had seemed so truly distressed at the mere thought that her grandfather might learn of the presence of a “city boy” on Windy Island that, out of chivalry, he decided to heed her wishes.

Muriel had just replaced the rope in the toolhouse when she heard her grandfather’s voice booming from the foot of the steep stairway.

“Ye-ah, Grand-dad, I’m comin’,” the girl replied, wondering what was wanted of her. Could he have seen her taking the basket of food to the cave, she questioned. But, since he was still on the lower shore farthest from the cliff, this was not possible. She found the old man busily mending a net which was stretched out on the sand in front of the shanty.

“Rilly gal,” he said, smiling up at her, “thar’s a tarnation lot o’ tears in this ol’ net. Have you time, fust mate, to be helpin’ with the mendin’ of it?”

“Indeed I have, Grand-dad. All the time there is till sundown,” Muriel replied, almost eagerly. The girl’s conscience had been making her very unhappy. It was the first time in the fifteen years they had spent together that Muriel had kept anything from her grandfather. Every little, unimportant thing which had occurred during the almost uneventful days had been talked over with him and the old man would not have believed it possible for his “gal” to have been secretive, and yet, during the three hours that followed while these two sat on low stools mending the many tears in the net, Cap’n Ezra glanced often across at the girl, who, with bent head and flushed cheeks, was working industriously. Never before had he known his “gal” to be so silent. Usually her happy chatter was constant when they were working together. The shaggy grey brows were almost unconsciously contracted and the heart of the old man was troubled. At last, rising, he went around and stood beside his grand-daughter. Placing a hand upon her bent head, he asked kindly, “Fust mate, tell me all about it. Tell your ol’ grand-dad what’s troublin’ yo’. Have yo’ run afoul, Rilly gal, of anything that’s hurt yo’?”

The hazel eyes that were lifted were clear in their gaze. “No, Grand-dad, not that,” she replied. Then, as she said no more, but bent again over her task, the old man, with folded arms, stood, gazing long across the shimmering waters and toward the town. When he spoke there was almost a wistful note in his voice. “Barney’s been tellin’ me that I’m not doin’ right by yo’, Rilly gal,” the old man began. “He was sayin’ that I should be sendin’ yo’ away to school to educate yo’, like other gals. Is that what’s a-troublin’ yo’, fust mate? Are yo’ hankerin’ to leave yer ol’ grand-dad and – ”

He could say no more, for the girl, having leaped to her feet, clasped her hands over his mouth. “Grand-dad,” she lovingly rebuked him, “how can yo’ be askin’ that? Didn’t I promise I’d never be leavin’ yo’? I don’t want to go. I’d be skeered, like’s not, all alone in the big world. I want to allays stay anchored here in the safe harbor of yer love, Grand-dad.”

The girl had slipped around and nestled in the arms of the old man, lifting eyes that were brimmed with unshed tears.

There she was held so close, so sheltered, and when at last Cap’n Ezra spoke he said, “I don’t know what set me to thinkin’ of all this, lest ’twas that Barney said that gals had a natural hankerin’ for young folks, an’ I s’pose maybe they have. It’s like pairin’ off a gay little pleasure yacht with an ol’ weather-stained hulk that’s most ready to sink, an’ – ”

“Oh, Grand-dad, don’t be talkin’ that way,” the girl implored. “Yo’re goin’ to live as long as I do. I couldn’t be livin’ without yo.’”

The old man tried to laugh naturally. “What a pair of loons we be,” he said, “trying to sink a ship afore it strikes a shoal, seems like.” He was rebuking himself for having made his “gal” cry.

They were soon busy again at the mending, but, although Rilla tried to chatter as was her wont, the old man often found his thoughts wandering. At last he said, “Most sundown, fust mate. Time for mess, I’m thinkin’.”

All that evening Rilla’s thoughts were with Gene Beavers. She had not found another opportunity to slip away to take food to him and yet the basket she had taken at noon had contained enough for the day.

That night, when she knelt by her open window, her prayer was not only for her grand-dad, and for the father who never came, but also for her old friend, Cap’n Barney, and for her new friend, Gene Beavers.

Her last waking thought was that in the morning she would go to her grand-dad and tell him all that had happened and that never, just never again, would she deceive him. Then with a happier heart she fell asleep.

CHAPTER V.

A SWIM IN THE NIGHT

Meanwhile Gene Beavers had seated himself upon the ledge of rocks below the cave and had waited, now and then glancing up, hoping that the “storm maiden” might appear with a message for him, but the afternoon hours dragged away and she did not come. Then, at last, to his joy, he saw that the fishing boats were, one by one, leaving the Outer Ledge and sailing toward home. Scrambling down the steep cliff trail, the lad ran along the beach and went far out on the rocky point. There he stood eagerly awaiting the approach of the boats, ready, when he believed that he was observed, to signal to them. But, because of the direction of the wind and the lowness of the tide, the fishing boats gave Windy Island a wide berth. One boat did turn on a tack and for a moment seemed to be bearing directly toward the point. Taking off his white coat, Gene waved it frantically, but the lone fisherman was busy with the ropes just then and did not look up. A second later the boat swung about on another tack and Gene realized, with a sinking heart, that he could depend no longer upon the fishermen to take him to the mainland.

Walking slowly around the island, he stopped suddenly, for he had heard voices not far ahead of him. Quickly he stepped behind a sheltering boulder, and none too soon, for it was at that moment that Cap’n Ezra had risen and had announced that it was nearly sundown and time for the evening meal. From his hiding place Gene observed all that happened. He noted how troubled was the truly beautiful face of his “storm maiden.” Perhaps she was anxious about him. He almost hoped that she was.

The net was put away in the shanty and the old man followed the girl up the steep steps. Some time elapsed before Gene stepped out from his hiding place. Walking out upon the small wharf, the lad stood looking at the dory which was anchored nearby. If only he could borrow that boat, he thought. He could row to town and hire someone to tow it back. But even this he could not do without appealing to Captain Ezra, who, a few moments before, had shouldered the oars and carried them up to the lighthouse.

As the lad stood gazing out over the water of the harbor the afterglow of the sunset faded, the first stars came out and dusk gathered about him. He shivered, for the night air seemed suddenly chill and damp.

Until then Gene had not been greatly concerned about his mishap, considering it rather in the light of an interesting and novel adventure. His host, Doctor Winslow, luckily, had planned being away all of that day. “When he returns his housekeeper, Miss Brazilla Mullet, will inform him that I did not appear for the mid-day meal, as I had assured her that I would,” Gene thought, “and he will probably be greatly alarmed. It will be easy enough to trace me to the dock where I hired the boat at so early an hour this morning, and as I did not return it, he will naturally think that I have met with disaster. If only I could make the mainland within the next hour I might be able to save mine host much unnecessary anxiety.”

Suddenly a daring plan suggested itself.

The summer before, Gene had won the championship of his athletic club in a two-mile handicap swimming race. It was only one mile to Tunkett, and, moreover, the wind, blowing gently in from sea, would aid him greatly. Surely he could make it, for, if he wearied, he could float on his back until he was rested. Then another thought came to remind him of his recent illness. Was it not to regain his strength that he had come to Tunkett, having left college at the beginning of the fall term? When he had won that championship he had been in the best of trim. Shrugging his shoulders, Gene Beavers argued no more with himself. There seemed to be no other alternative, and so, pulling off his shoes and socks and throwing them to the beach with his white flannel coat, he went to the end of the small wharf and plunged in. As Rilla had said, the water was icy cold, and the lad struck out vigorously to keep warm. It never would do for him to have a chill.

On and on he swam, now and then lifting his head to assure himself that he was keeping a straight course toward the town wharf, on the end of which were three lights, two red and one white. How glad he was to see them. The long, glimmering reflections stretched toward him and yet they seemed farther away than they had appeared from Windy Island.

Gene was nearing the silent, shadowy anchored fleet of fishing boats when he suddenly realized that his strength was failing rapidly. If only he could reach an unoccupied buoy which he saw bobbing not far ahead of him.

For a moment he rested upon his back, but when he tried to turn again that he might swim, he felt too weak to make the effort. Then he was terrorized with the sudden realization that the tide had changed and that he was drifting slowly away from the little fleet and out toward the open sea.

Gene made another herculean effort to turn over and swim, and so great was his determination, he did succeed. Luckily the rising night wind aided him and just then a wave, larger than the others lifted him on its rolling crest and hurled him up on the cask-like buoy, and there he clung. He had little hope of being able to long retain his hold, as his fingers were numb with cold and his arms ached. Too, he felt drowsy, or was it faint?

It was at that moment that his “storm maiden” knelt in her open window, and looking toward the starry heavens, asked God to care for her new friend, Gene Beavers.

Meanwhile, as the lad had surmised, Doctor Winslow was searching for his guest.

CHAPTER VI.

A SEARCHING PARTY

It was nearing midnight and the huge lamp in the tower above the cliff was mechanically swinging in its great iron frame, hurling its beacon rays far out to sea, slowly, rythmically turning. For a brief moment the Outer Ledge was revealed, deserted and surf washed, then the almost even roll of waves were illumined, their white crests flashing in the dazzle of light, to be again engulfed in darkness. Slowly the lamp turned toward the town, where the three lanterns, two red and one white, still burned on the end of the wharf to guide a homeward belated fisherman, then the little fleet of fishing boats and the cask-like buoy were for a moment revealed. The summer colony of boarded-up cabins was next illumined; too the low, rambling inn that would not be opened for many months; then again the wide path of light swung out to sea and started once more on its circling sweep that would continue until dawn.

It was the custom of Captain Ezra to waken at midnight to be sure that the mechanism of the lamp was in perfect order. He was just descending the spiral stairway after a visit of inspection when there came an imperative pounding without.

Shags, sleeping outside of Rilla’s door, heard it and leaped to his feet with an ominous growl.

The girl, startled from slumber, sprang from her bed and dressed quickly. She had often done this before when a crashing thunder storm had awakened her, and she wanted to be on watch with her grand-dad. Her first conscious thought had been that the expected equinoctial storms had come, but when the knocking continued and a man’s voice called, “Cap’n Ezra, quick! Open the hatch,” a new fear clutched at the heart of the girl.

Perhaps the summons had something to do with Gene Beavers, the lad from the city. She had not been able the evening before to hail him from the top of the cliff, but surely he could have kept warm if he wrapped well in the sail cloth, and there had been food enough in the basket for two days at least.

Muriel was soon hurrying down the short flight of stairs that led from her small room above the kitchen. Her grand-dad had already flung the door wide open and there Rilla saw several longshoremen in slickers and sou’westers, who were carrying lanterns. Doctor Winslow was in the lead, and his white, drawn face plainly told how great his anxiety had been.

“Lem, ol’ pal, what’s gone wrong?” Captain Ezra inquired. He drew the physician, who had been a friend of his boyhood, into the kitchen, which was still warm, as the fire in the stove had but recently died down and a few embers were burning.