Pat the Lighthouse Boy

by Evelyn Everett-Green

"Thou art a brave fellow, Jim," he said (when Nat was moved in spirit he had a way of resorting to thee and thou which he had heard as a child from his Quaker mother), "but thou must not throw away thy life. It is certain death to try and live in yon sea, and thou hast thy duties here to think of. Thou must think of that, too, my good comrade."

"I have thought of it," said Jim, "but yet I must go. I know what I am doing. Yon spar will not be washed upon the reef; it will be carried just beyond round the point where we stand. I shall spring off yonder into deep water as it is swept by and seize it, and you will pull me in—for with that burden in my arms I cannot swim. I have not lived all the years on Lone Rock not to know what may and may not be done. It will not be certain death——" He stopped suddenly short. He could not say that it might not be death, and already he had spoken more freely than he had been known to do to any one but the child.

Pat rushed up to Jim, and flung his arms round his knees. His face was all in a glow of loving admiration and enthusiasm.

"Jim! Jim! Are you going to save the little boy? Oh, Jim, can you bring him safe home to us? Oh, Jim, how brave and good you are! Oh, how I do love you! If I were a man I would go with you, I would, indeed!"

Then Jim did a very strange thing—strange at least for him—for he lifted the child up in his arms and kissed him; and Jim had never kissed Pat in his life before. When he held Pat thus he could speak in his ear words that nobody could hear except the two themselves.

"Pat," he said, and his voice was rather husky, "it seems just as though the Lord Jesus had told me to trust myself to the waves—to come out to Him, in a manner of speaking, and not to be afraid of the boisterous waves or the wind. I don't expect to be able to walk on the water; but it seems like as though He would be there to help me. I've been wanting to find something to do for Him all these weeks. It seems like as though He said to me just now, 'Go and do that, Jim. It's one of My lambs that is in peril.' So I'm going. And if I don't come back alive, don't you fret, little master. It's all right. You know what you said yourself you would like to do if you had the chance when you were a man—just to lay down your life—as He did."

Pat's tears were running down his cheeks, but he could not try to stay Jim after that, though he realised then that the peril of the rescue would be great. The man put him gently down, and pushed him towards his mother, who took him within her sheltering arms; and then he made his way with Nat cautiously to the very edge of the rocks towards the edge of that great basin—to leeward as it chanced to-night—of the lighthouse, where the water was comparatively calm for a few yards, and where if he sprang in he would find depth to swim without being immediately caught up and hurled backwards by the fury of the sea.

Nat saw that his strong and skilled comrade had just a chance of doing what he meditated, and yet escaping with his own life, and he would not seek to hold him back. Every seaman, at one time, or another, risks his life for his fellow-men, and Nat had not been backward in deeds of bravery in his own time. But as keeper of the lighthouse now, and with a wife and child to think for, he could not have taken his life in his hand to-night as Jim purposed to do. Still, he could aid and assist his comrade by his skill and strength, and judicious management of the rope; and he knew that Jim's life, when once he should have taken the plunge, would depend entirely upon the strength and foresight and management which he should show. He beckoned his wife to his side, for she was a strong woman, and had grown up amongst scenes of this sort. Eileen understood him in a moment, and came and stood beside him with her hand upon the ropes, ready to second his every effort, and do her share in the work of rescue. Pat stood beside his mother, his little face calm and quiet now, his eyes fixed full upon Jim. There was something in the expression upon all those faces that a painter would have loved to transfer to canvas—a look of lofty courage, of self-renunciation and purpose. Not a word more was spoken; the time for action had come, and all were nerving themselves for it.

Although all this takes time to tell, only a few minutes had passed since Pat's first cry before they were all standing here at the edge of the basin, where the boat in the summer months rode at anchor. The sea was sweeping wildly past just outside this small basin, and the great waves were bringing nearer with every heave the floating spar, upon which all eyes were bent. Even Pat now understood exactly what Jim meant to do. It would have been madness for him to try and stem the force of the waves—to attempt to swim out against them. But he might launch himself into the boiling sea, and swim with them just as they were carrying their burden past the lighthouse, and then if he could once grasp it, the united strength of those upon the rocks might be sufficient to haul the double burden back to shore. Nat had already made fast the end of the rope to a great pinnacle of rock, which rose up like a gigantic needle at the edge of the basin. But all knew that ropes had been known to break beneath the strain which would come upon this one, that the strands might be cut where it was tied to the rock; and there was just the possibility that those on shore might be pulled into the boiling gulf before Jim and his burden could be dragged ashore. Nat realised this possibility, and his face was very set and grave; for he had the lighthouse to think for as well as his wife and child; and he knew that many, many lives might depend upon that sleepless light. The keeper of the lamp must not desert his post, come what might. It would be a fearfully hard choice if it had to be made; but Nat did his duty. If it came to be a question between Jim's life and that of his own duty, Jim must go. To let himself be dragged into the vortex would not save the life of his comrade, but it might cost the lives of tens and even hundreds of fellow-men. Nat's face was set and stern as all this flashed through his mind, but his resolution did not waver.