There was a flash, a report, and Bill Marston was standing by himself.
“You murdering dogs,” he cried, firing in the direction whence the voice had come, “good luck send this through one of your ugly heads.”
This wish seemed to have been fulfilled, for there was a yell of some one in pain. Meanwhile Charlie had run out at the first sound of fire-arms, and found his uncle lying on the ground. Seth whispered hoarsely to Bill when he fell:—
“Get back into the lighthouse, lad, their game is to douse the lights, and get some ship ashore in this storm; leave me here, they can’t do worse with me. Get thee back, get thee back, or there will be more lives lost before the morning.”
But Bill was not to be thus defeated, he would not go and leave his mate alone, but remained resolutely by him, prepared to fall by his side if necessary.
“Charlie, lad, go you inside,” he said hurriedly to the boy, “take you care of the lights, stick to them to the last, and die rather than give in.”
To hear was to obey; Charlie ran inside the lighthouse, closed the door, and turned the key. Not a minute too soon, for a moment after a strange hand was laid upon the latch, and a rough voice called for admission. He was startled for a moment, and his heart thumped against his side; but then he thought of his Uncle Seth, and how he would have behaved under like circumstances, while Bill Marston’s words rang in his ears: “Stick to them to the last, and die rather than give in.” In an instant fear was forgotten, and he was prepared to fight to the last, come what might. This he knew, that he had to contend with enemies who would show him no mercy. They were bent on extinguishing the lights, and they would not stop at murder if it were necessary to secure the successful prosecution of their nefarious enterprise.
It was for Charlie to defend them as long as life and strength were his! His eyes turned to the clock; it was only eight. What an age till daybreak!
To thoroughly barricade and fasten the door was his first consideration. It was well and strongly built of oak, strengthened here and there with iron ribs, and secured by three bolts and a huge bar that passed immediately across the centre. All these were duly pushed into their places by Charlie, regardless of the hammering and knocking that was going on outside. This done, he hurried up-stairs to see that the lights were burning all right; wick, oil, and reflectors, were all in perfect order, and might in the emergency be left to themselves. They would do their duty till morning if only the wreckers’ fingers could be kept at a respectful distance. Satisfied as to these particulars, Charlie hurried downstairs again to defend the door. How thankful did he now feel to Bill for the lessons he had given him in shooting! There was another revolver lying at the bottom of the locker, he took it up, loaded it carefully, and then prepared himself for the siege.
The wind still howled and whistled, while the thunder of the waves upon the rock was almost deafening, still Charlie was just able to catch the sound of voices outside during the intervals of cessation from knocking on the part of his besiegers. “Blow up,” and “pistol,” he distinctly heard, and then a hoarse cry from some one, evidently intended for him.