Perhaps there is no more lonely place on God's earth than this. That night the genius of desolation seemed to reign, while the roaring sea told me of mad spirits playing with the angry waters. In the dim light I could see the long line of foam, while above the dark cliffs loomed; landward nothing was visible, save a suggestion of the outline of the hills.
"'Tes a gashly night and this es a gashly job to be done," said Israel. "By agor, 'ow the waaves do roar," he continued, after a minute.
"Yes, 'tis a wild night," I responded, and as if in confirmation of my words, a great wave broke on Bumble Rock with a mighty roar, while a shower of spray and flecks of foam fell upon us.
"Well, 'tes as lew 'ere as we can git it anywhere," he said; "ther now, you hould the lantern while I strick the light."
"No," I replied.
"Wot do 'ee main?" he queried.
"Simply this," I answered; "no false light shall shine on this cliff to-night." As I spoke I took the lantern and threw it over the cliffs. Then I sprang upon him and caught his hands in mine.
"Look you, Israel Barnicoat," I said, "I know what your plans are. I followed you as you went to the Preventive man to-night; but it is no use. The wreckers' light will not shine to-night, neither will I be off The Stags at twelve o'clock."
He struggled to be free, but I held him tight.
"You'll suffer for this," he screamed; "when Cap'n Jack knaws you'll die."