“A pleasant prospect, truly,” said Mr T. Potter, laughing, as he shook the Irishman’s horny hand.
“Good-bye, John. Good-bye, Nora, me darlin’; Good-bye, owld ooman.”
“Hold your noise, lad,” said old Martha, looking gravely into her visitor’s face.
“That’s just what I manes to do, mavoorneen,” replied Teddy Maroon, with a pleasant nod, “for I’ll be off to the Rock to-morrow by day-break, weather permittin’, an’ it’s little help any noise from me would give to the waves that kape gallivantin’ wid the reefs out there like mad things, from Sunday to Saturday, all the year round.”
When the door shut on the noisy Irishman, it seemed as though one of the profound calms so much needed and desired out at the Eddystone Rock had settled down in old John Potter’s home—a calm which was not broken for some minutes thereafter except by old Martha muttering softly once or twice, while she gravely shook her head: “Hold your noise, Teddy, hold your noise, lad; you’re very like your father; hold your noise!”
Chapter Eight.
Experiences, Difficulties, and Dangers of the First Season.
While the building of the new lighthouse was being thus calmly discussed on shore, out at the Eddystone the wild waves were lashing themselves into fierce fury, as if they had got wind of what was being done, and had hurried from all ends of the sea to interdict proceedings. In hurrying to the field of battle these wild waves indulged in a little of their favourite pastime. They caught up two unfortunate vessels—a large West Indiaman and a man-of-war’s tender—and bore them triumphantly towards the fatal Rock. It seemed as though the waves regarded these as representative vessels, and meant thus to cast the royal and the merchant navies on the Eddystone, by way, as it were, of throwing down the gauntlet to presumptuous Man.