Part 29 (2/2)

”Hard work's not easy,” observed James Dove, pausing in the midst of his labours to wipe his brow.

”True for ye; but as we've got to arn our brid be the sweat of our brows, we're in the fair way to fortin,” said Ned O'Connor, blowing away energetically with the big bellows.

Ned had been reappointed to this duty since the erection of the second forge, which was in Ruby's charge. It was our hero's hammer that created such a din up in the beacon, while Dove wrought down on the rock.

”We'll have a gale to-night,” said the smith; ”I know that by the feelin' of the air.”

”Well, I can't boast o' much knowledge o' feelin',” said O'Connor; ”but I believe you're right, for the fish towld me the news this mornin'.”

This remark of Ned had reference to a well-ascertained fact, that, when a storm was coming, the fish invariably left the neighbourhood of the rock; doubtless in order to seek the security of depths which are not affected by winds or waves.

While Dove and his comrade commented on this subject, two of the other men had retired to the south-eastern end of the rock to take a look at the weather. These were Peter Logan, the foreman, whose position required him to have a care for the safety of the men as well as for the progress of the work, and our friend Bremner, who had just descended from the cooking-room, where he had been superintending the preparation of supper.

”It will be a stiff breeze, I fear, to-night,” said Logan.

”D'ye think so I” said Bremner; ”it seems to me so calm that I would think a storm a'most impossible. But the fish never tell lies.”

”True. You got no fish to-day, I believe?” said Logan.

”Not a nibble,” replied the other.

As he spoke, he was obliged to rise from a rock on which he had seated himself, because of a large wave, which, breaking on the outer reefs, sent the foam a little closer to his toes than was agreeable.

”That was a big one, but yonder is a bigger,” cried Logan.

The wave to which he referred was indeed a majestic wall of water. It came on with such an awful appearance of power, that some of the men who perceived it could not repress a cry of astonishment.

In another moment it fell, and, bursting over the rocks with a terrific roar, extinguished the forge fire, and compelled the men to take refuge in the beacon.

Jamie Dove saved his bellows with difficulty. The other men, catching up their things as they best might, crowded up the ladder in a more or less draggled condition.

The beacon house was gained by means of one of the main beams, which had been converted into a stair, by the simple process of nailing small battens thereon, about a foot apart from each other. The men could only go up one at a time, but as they were active and accustomed to the work, were all speedily within their place of refuge. Soon afterwards the sea covered the rock, and the place where they had been at work was a ma.s.s of seething foam.

Still there was no wind; but dark clouds had begun to rise on the seaward horizon.

The sudden change in the appearance of the rock after the last torches were extinguished was very striking. For a few seconds there seemed to be no light at all. The darkness of a coal mine appeared to have settled down on the scene. But this soon pa.s.sed away, as the men's eyes became accustomed to the change, and then the dark loom of the advancing billows, the pale light of the flas.h.i.+ng foam, and occasional gleams of phosph.o.r.escence, and glimpses of black rocks in the midst of all, took the place of the warm, busy scene which the spot had presented a few minutes before.

”Supper, boys!” shouted Bremner.

Peter Bremner, we may remark in pa.s.sing, was a particularly useful member of society. Besides being small and corpulent, he was a capital cook. He had acted during his busy life both as a groom and a house-servant; he had been a soldier, a sutler, a writer's clerk, and an apothecary--in which latter profession he had acquired the art of writing and suggesting recipes, and a taste for making collections in natural history. He was very partial to the use of the lancet, and quite a terrible adept at tooth-drawing. In short, Peter was the _factotum_ of the beacon house, where, in addition to his other offices, he filled those of barber and steward to the admiration of all.

But Bremner came out in quite a new and valuable light after he went to reside in the beacon--namely, as a storyteller. During the long periods of inaction that ensued, when the men were imprisoned there by storms, he lightened many an hour that would have otherwise hung heavily on their hands, and he cheered the more timid among them by speaking lightly of the danger of their position.

On the signal for supper being given, there was a general rush down the ladders into the kitchen, where as comfortable a meal as one could wish for was smoking in pot and pan and platter.

As there were twenty-three to partake, it was impossible, of course, for all to sit down to table. They were obliged to stow themselves away on such articles of furniture as came most readily to hand, and eat as they best could. Hungry men find no difficulty in doing this. For some time the conversation was restricted to a word or two. Soon, however, as appet.i.te began to be appeased, tongues began to loosen. The silence was first broken by a groan.

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