Charlie did not remain long where he was, but aroused himself, and found that there was a human body lying on the top of him. It was with difficulty he managed to push it off, and then he crept stealthily out into the yard. Upstairs, the seekers were evidently at their work of spoliation, the sound of crashing glass, mingled with shouts, might be heard amid the rushings of the wind. As he found himself outside, a deep “boom, boom,” from the direction of the sea, startled him. It was clear that there was some vessel in difficulties.
Little hope for her now. The Gunnerstone lights were dead, and in vain might those on board of her look eagerly through the mist and scud for the guiding beacon. Charlie groped his way across the yard, and as he did so stumbled over a prostrate form; he bent down by it, and passed his hand over the face. He knew then that it was his Uncle Seth. He knelt by his side and whispered—
“Are you better, Uncle?”
A feeble voice murmured in reply—
“Good lad, good lad!” and then it ceased, as if from exhaustion.
Still “boom, boom,” went the guns, each report sounding nearer and nearer than the last. Charlie knew, as certainly as if he had seen it with his eyes, that the labouring ship was driving straight on for the reef.
By this time the wreckers had accomplished their work of destruction, and now they came hurrying out of the lighthouse and made for the landing stairs, which were situated on the more sheltered side of the rock. Charlie crouched into a corner of one of the outhouses, was gnashing his teeth at being unable to communicate its danger to the ill-fated ship.
Suddenly he was startled by a ruddy glare from the direction of the shore, shooting up towards the skies, and in a few seconds a bright flame burnt there steadily. Some one had improvised a beacon on the cliffs above Gunnerstone. Charlie was gazing intently on this welcome apparition, when he heard a loud exclamation of rage. The wreckers found that their boat was gone, and that they were caught in a trap. No lock, or bolt, or bar, could hold them in closer imprisonment than did the green waves, rolling ceaselessly round the rock. Retribution had come at last, and not a bit too soon!
It was dangerous work for Charlie to be thus shut up in the midst of his enemies, but I am bound to say that, instead of being in the least put out, he rubbed his hands together with pleasure to think that villainy had thus met its reward. And they, like cravens and cowards as they were, seemed utterly defeated by the blow.
It was a strange beginning for a Christmas Day, thought Charlie, as, cowering under the rocks, worn out and exhausted with the events of the night, he saw the daylight rising out of the sea, and thanked God for his preservation. Likely enough, could the wreckers have seen him, they would have disposed of him, in order to preclude any possibility of his turning up hereafter at some disagreeable moment. But he was hidden from their view, and most of them believed that he was “knocked on the head,” as one of their number elegantly expressed it.