Part 9 (1/2)

Teddy was right. The yawl being unable to get out of the Gut, the men in it were obliged to ”lie on their oars” all night, and those on the top of the building, where there was scarcely shelter for a fly, felt both the ”look-out” and the look-in so ”cowld” that they worked all night as the only means of keeping themselves awake and comparatively warm. It was a trying situation; a hard night, as it were ”in the trenches,”--but it was their first and last experience of the kind.

Thus foot by foot--often baffled, but never conquered--Smeaton and his men rose steadily above the waves until they reached a height of thirty-five feet from the foundation, and had got as far as the store-room (the first apartment) of the building. This was on the 2nd of October, on which day all the stones required for that season were put into this store-room; but on the 7th of the same month the enemy made a grand a.s.sault in force, and caused these energetic labourers to beat a retreat. It was then resolved that they should again retire into winter quarters. Everything on the Rock was therefore ”made taut” and secure against the foe, and the workers returned to the sh.o.r.e, whence they beheld the waves beating against their tower with such fury that the sprays rose high above it.

The season could not close, however, without an exhibition of the peculiar apt.i.tude of the _Buss_ for disastrous action! On the 8th that inimitable vessel--styled by Teddy Maroon a ”tub,” and by the other men, variously, a ”b.u.mboat,” a ”puncheon,” and a ”brute” began to tug with tremendous violence at her cable.

”Ah then, darlin',” cried Maroon, apostrophising her, ”av ye go on like that much longer it's snappin' yer cable ye'll be after.”

”It wouldn't be the first time,” growled John Bowden, as he leaned against the gale and watched with gravity of countenance a huge billow whose crest was blown off in sheets of spray as it came rolling towards them.

”Howld on!” cried Teddy Maroon, in anxiety.

If his order was meant for the _Buss_ it was flatly disobeyed, for that charming example of naval architecture, presenting her bluff bows to the billow, snapt the cable and went quietly off to leeward!

”All hands ahoy!” roared William Smart as he rushed to the foresail halyards.

The summons was not needed. All the men were present, and each knew exactly what to do in the circ.u.mstances. But what avails the strength and capacity of man when his weapon is useless?

”She'll _never_ beat into Plymouth Sound wi' the wind in this direction,” observed one of the masons, when sail had been set.

”Beat!” exclaimed another contemptuously, ”she can't beat with the wind in _any_ direction.”

”An' yit, boys,” cried Maroon, ”she may be said to be a first-rate baiter, for she always baits _us_ complaitly.”

”I never, no I never did see such a scow!” said John Bowden, with a deepening growl of indignation, ”she's more like an Irish pig than a--”

”Ah then, don't be hard upon the poor pigs of owld Ireland,” interrupted Maroon, pathetically.

”Bah!” continued Bowden, ”I only wish we had the man that planned her on board, that we might keel-haul him. I've sailed in a'most every kind of craft that floats--from a Chinese junk to a British three-decker, and between the two extremes there's a pretty extensive choice of was.h.i.+n'-tubs, but the equal o' this here _Buss_ I never did see--no never; take another haul on the foretops'l halyards, boys, and shut your potato-traps for fear the wind blows your teeth overboard. Look alive!”

That the _Buss_ deserved the character so emphatically given to her was proved by the fact that, after an unsuccessful attempt to reach the Sound, she was finally run into Dartmouth Roads, and, shortly afterwards, her ungainly tossings, for that season, came to a close.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

THE LAST CAMPAIGN--AND VICTORY!

The campaign of 1759 opened on the 3rd of July with an attack commanded by Smeaton in person in the old _Buss_.

Previous to this, on March 21st, the coast was visited by a gale of such severity that immense mischief was done on sh.o.r.e. s.h.i.+ps in the port, houses, etcetera, at Plymouth, were greatly damaged; nevertheless, the unfinished tower out upon the exposed Eddystone reef stood fast, having defied the utmost fury of winds and waves.

It was found, however, that some loss had been sustained, the buoy of the mooring chain, as usual, was gone; but worse than that, one of the stones left in the store-room, a ma.s.s which weighed four and a half hundredweight, was missing. It had been washed out of the store-room entry by the water!

This was a serious loss, as it obliged the men to retire to the _Buss_, where they were constrained to spin yarns and twirl their thumbs in idleness till the lost stone was replaced by another. Then they went to work according to custom ”with a will,” and, on the 21st of July, completed the second floor; a whole room with a vaulted roof having been built in seven days.

At this point they proceeded to fit in the entry and store-room doors; and here another vexatious check appeared imminent. It was found that the block-tin with which the door-hooks were to be fastened had been forgotten!

Doubtless Mr Smeaton felt inclined to emulate the weather by ”storming”

on this occasion, but that would have been of no use. Neither was it of any avail that Teddy Maroon scratched his head and wrinkled his visage like that of a chimpanzee monkey. The tin _was_ not; the hooks would not hold without it, and to send ash.o.r.e for it would have involved great delay. Mr Smeaton proved equal to the occasion.

”Off with you, lads, to the _Buss_,” he cried, ”and bring hither every pewter plate and dish on board.”