“She won’t get out o’ that this night,” said John Bowden, alluding to the yawl, as he stood on the top of the “solid” where his comrades were busy working, “the wind’s gettin’ up from the east’ard.”
“If she don’t,” replied one of the men, “we’ll have to sleep where we are.”
“Slape!” exclaimed Maroon, looking up from the great stone whose joints he had been carefully cementing, “it’s little slape you’ll do here, boys. Av we’re not washed off entirely we’ll have to howld on by our teeth and nails. It’s a cowld look-out.”
Teddy was right. The yawl being unable to get out of the Gut, the men in it were obliged to “lie on their oars” all night, and those on the top of the building, where there was scarcely shelter for a fly, felt both the “look-out” and the look-in so “cowld” that they worked all night as the only means of keeping themselves awake and comparatively warm. It was a trying situation; a hard night, as it were “in the trenches,”—but it was their first and last experience of the kind.
Thus foot by foot—often baffled, but never conquered—Smeaton and his men rose steadily above the waves until they reached a height of thirty-five feet from the foundation, and had got as far as the store-room (the first apartment) of the building. This was on the 2nd of October, on which day all the stones required for that season were put into this store-room; but on the 7th of the same month the enemy made a grand assault in force, and caused these energetic labourers to beat a retreat. It was then resolved that they should again retire into winter quarters. Everything on the Rock was therefore “made taut” and secure against the foe, and the workers returned to the shore, whence they beheld the waves beating against their tower with such fury that the sprays rose high above it.
The season could not close, however, without an exhibition of the peculiar aptitude of the Buss for disastrous action! On the 8th that inimitable vessel—styled by Teddy Maroon a “tub,” and by the other men, variously, a “bumboat,” a “puncheon,” and a “brute” began to tug with tremendous violence at her cable.
“Ah then, darlin’,” cried Maroon, apostrophising her, “av ye go on like that much longer it’s snappin’ yer cable ye’ll be after.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” growled John Bowden, as he leaned against the gale and watched with gravity of countenance a huge billow whose crest was blown off in sheets of spray as it came rolling towards them.
“Howld on!” cried Teddy Maroon, in anxiety.
If his order was meant for the Buss it was flatly disobeyed, for that charming example of naval architecture, presenting her bluff bows to the billow, snapt the cable and went quietly off to leeward!