By Sidney Daryl.
“Thro’ the black night that sits immense around,
Lash’d into foam the fierce contending brine,
Seems o’er a thousand raging waves to frown.”
Thomson.
Somewhere under the cliffs, on the South Coast, lay the little fishing village of Gunnerstone, at least, if some dozen ricketty huts and a tumble-down jetty deserve the appellation. Isolated and cut off from anything like familiar intercourse with the rest of the world, its inhabitants led a wild, precarious existence, and some ugly stories were told of their predilection for plunder and wrecking. Many vessels had been known to go upon the Gunnerstone reef in comparatively calm weather, when all hands might have been saved with little difficulty, but by some unaccountable mishap or other none were ever known to survive, and by the time the Coastguard men arrived they were astonished to find how quickly the ship herself had gone to pieces. Nature had made Gunnerstone almost inaccessible from the sea, save to the natives of the place, to whom alone a certain narrow passage was known through which they could navigate their boats in safety up to the jetty. From the very edge of the beach to some half mile out to sea stretched a long reef of sunken rocks, which the blue jackets on board the revenue cutter were wont to call the real Gunnerstone fishing nets. Many and fatal had been the wrecks in this particular locality, and Homeward and Outward bound always wished themselves well past it. It became obvious that the establishment of a lighthouse here was absolutely necessary, and after the usual amount of official circumlocution, and the preparation of a great many surveys and plans, things at length took a business-like turn, and the building of a lighthouse was commenced on a large rock at the extremity of the reef, which rose abruptly out of the water as if specially intended by nature to assist in the work of humanity. The construction proceeded but slowly, what with the caprices of the weather and the opposition offered by the inhabitants of Gunnerstone, who regarded the innovation much in the same way as a burglar would the establishment of a huge gas-lamp just in front of a house he contemplates robbing. It was many months before the revolving beacon sent its dazzling rays flashing out over the sea to warn passers by of their propinquity to the ill-omened reef. When thoroughly finished, the lighthouse presented an appearance of strength and solidity that did infinite credit to the architect who had planned, and the contractor who had built it. The interior was arranged so as to be as roomy as possible, in order to accommodate the two keepers and the boy who had charge of it; and the lower part was divided into a sitting and sleeping-room. Outside, a couple of substantial outbuildings had been erected, which in the summertime were used as residences; while all round the upper surface of the rock huge blocks of granite had been raised one on the other, making a wall of tremendous thickness, which shielded the outbuildings, and left a considerable space protected, which, with marvellous ingenuity, had been turned into a garden, though I fear its productive powers were not of a very high order. Down one side of the rock was cut a rough staircase, by means of which the keepers were enabled to get into their boat, whenever they had occasion to take a trip to the shore. Their life was a very uneventful, and yet withal, a very stirring one; for, in winter time, when the storm was at work, the waves came dashing up against their house in wild confusion and noise as of thunder, racing one with the other as if to see which would send its flecks of foam nearest the lighthouse lantern.
On the 24th of December, 18—, about five o’clock in the afternoon, three people were standing in the little yard at Gunnerstone Lighthouse, looking out towards the sea. Above them the bright glare shot forth into the darkness from the lantern, and disclosed the white crests on the waves as they came rolling in grandly from mid ocean.
“It will blow hard afore morning, Bill,” said old Seth Lawrence, wiping from his cheek a great drop of salt spray as cold as an icicle, “the wind’s been a chopping and shifting about the last eight and forty hours, but he seems to have come to anchor in the right quarter at last, and he’s going to give us a taste of his quality, or I’m a lubber. It aint very cheerful for Christmas folks, specially them’s as at sea. Hallo, that’s a damper,” he added, as one wave more daring than its fellows ran up the side of the rock and sent a deluge of salt water hissing over the granite wall into the yard.
“I tell you what it is, Uncle Seth,” interrupted the younger member of the two he had addressed, who had come in for his share of wetting, “I’m not going to stand out here to get soaked to the skin. I have a regard for my constitution, if you haven’t, so allow me to wish you a very good evening.” The speaker at once suited the action to the word, and disappeared through the door into the lighthouse, and his example was speedily followed by his two companions. The exchange from the cold and wet outside to the warmth and comfort within was in every way agreeable, and in a little while tea was ready, and the party sat down fully prepared to enjoy it. While they are so engaged just a word or two about them.