Springfield Weekly Republican

AN ADVENTURE IN A LIGHT HOUSE
A Woman's Courage and Address.

Miles Gurlock was the keeper of the light house on the Skeve Shoal, as it was called, where, aided by two assistants, he passed most of his time. His wife, Mrs. Gurlock, or Mam Gurlock as the fishermen called her, was a comely young woman of eight and twenty, and lived with little Jamie in a cottage on the mainland, about two miles away. It was a bright autumn evening, the 6th of September, and the birthday of little Jamie; Mam Gurlock took the boy down to the beach, lifted him into their own little boat, the Seamew, and rowed across the smooth water to the light-house to visit his father. Gurlock was glad to see his wife and boy, gladder still to welcome the Seamew, for which he had present occasion. Old Martin, his more experienced assistant, had been taken in a fit, and Miles wished to take him ashore for proper nursing and medical care. So after seeing little Jamie safely deposited in his own neat berth, with its dimity curtains closely drawn, and promising Mam that he would return in three hours at farthest, he helped the infirm old man to the boat and rowed rapidly toward the shore. The night closed in, the lamps in the lantern were trimmed and lighted, little Jamie slept in the white curtained berth, and Mam Gurlock sat near him, thriftily busy in mending her husband's coat. It was nearly time for the good man's return, and Abel Rushton, the assistant keeper left in charge of the light-house, went down the ladder that led to the reef of rocks on which the building was perched, to look for his coming. A minute or two later his voice was heard calling from below, 'I can just make out the boat, but she won't be here for ten minutes yet.'

Mam's grave face relaxed into a smile, and her needle shot more quickly through her work. She wanted to finish the coat before her husband got back, but she had still five minutes' work to do when she heard voices below, too far off for her to recognize the tones. Then she heard the noise of footsteps ascending outside, which came presently into the lower room; and then, after a pause, began to mount the iron staircase that led into the room in which she was now sitting. The footsteps of two men, those of Miles and Abel, she said to herself, without turning her head to look, for she was just putting in the last stitches. Did Miles think she had not heard him come up, that he stood there stock-still at the top of the staircase, thinking, perhaps, to surprise her when she should turn round? Next moment saw the last stitch put in, and with an emphatic 'There!' Mam stooped, and bit her thread in two, and then, with the coat held out at arm's-length, turned smilingly to confront her husband.

The coat dropped from her fingers, and with a low cry of terror, she started to her feet at the sight of two strange faces, bent loweringly on her. Next moment, she recognized one of them, and all the color died out of her face, and with one hand pressed on her heart, she shrank back a step or two, crying as she did so: 'Steve Davidson, what hast thou done with my husband?'

'By the great Fiend himself, it is Janet Gawne, and nobody else!' exclaimed the man thus addressed.

He was a man of immense size and strength with black hair and beard, and eyes to match; with large, well-shaped features, which years of dangerous warfare against whatever was good and lawful had hardened into a set expression of mingled cruelty and suspicion; and with a certain rugged ferocity about him that was not without its attractions for less bold spirits, who were willing to recognize in Black Steve the presence of a master mind in wrong doing.

His companion was a little, shambling, red-haired man, who squinted horribly, and walked with a limp—a villain of a far more intellectual stamp than Black Steve, by whom, as it soon appeared, he was regarded with much respect if not with absolute fear. Both the men were dressed in a rough, half-seafaring costume; but Mam noticed afterwards that the red-haired man's hands were white and slender as those of a woman, and that his accent and style of speaking were altogether those of a person of some education.

Black Steve, when he had in some measure recovered from his surprise at finding Mam Gurlock there, or, as he called her, Janet Gawne, such having been her maiden name, gave vent to a laugh that seemed to shake the very building, so loud and uproarious was it; while poor Mam, white and terrified, crept still farther away, till the wall arrested her further progress.

'Caught in as pretty a little trap as ever I see in the whole course of my life!' exclaimed Black Steve with much gusto. 'Sit down, Mr. Cris; sit down for a moment, while I explain this little affair.'

Mr. Cris took a chair, and nodded to his friend to proceed.

'You'll perhaps hardly believe it, but I was once in love with that white-faced cat,' resumed Steve. 'I've laughed to myself many a time since to think what a fool I was, but I did love her then, and no mistake; and I believe I should have won her, if that smooth-faced Miles Gurlock hadn't come between us; but from that day I was like dirt under my lady's feet, and there was never a kind word for me afterwards. On the night of Warrendale fair, I, thinking no harm, tried to kiss her; but she up with her hand, and slapped me in the face, and told me her mind in a way that opened my eyes completely; and then up came Gurlock, and knives were out, and there would have been blood spilt, if they hadn't separated us by force. I swore to be revenged on both of them, and Black Steve always keeps his promises either for good or bad. If that girl hadn't jilted me, I should never have been what I am now; but that's neither here nor there. Seven years have gone by since that time, but it's all as fresh in my mind as if it had happened only yesterday. I swore to be revenged, and you will see whether I know how to keep my promise!' He brought his huge fist down upon the table with a bang, and emphasized what he had said by half-a-dozen terrible oaths.

The noise awoke Jamie, and next moment one of the dimity curtains was drawn on one side, and the lad's pretty dishevelled head thrust through the opening. The two men were fortunately standing with their backs to the berths and did not see the movement: but Mam saw it, and her heart gave a great bound as the thought of her child's danger flashed for the first time across her mind. A drooping of the eyebrows over the staring wide-open eyes, an almost imperceptible movement of the head, and quick-witted Jamie took the hint intended for him; he drew back in silence, the dimity curtain dropped into its place, and the wild look of terror died in some measure out of the trembling mother's eyes.

With Heaven's help, she thought she could bear whatever they might choose to inflict on her, if only her boy might be permitted to escape unharmed.

This little by-scene had taken but a moment to enact, and Mr. Cris's shrill cachinnation, which had burst out irrepressibly at the conclusion of his friend's story, was still ringing in Mam's ears at the instant that the aspiration for the child's safety was wrung from her fluttered heart.

'As pretty a little romance of unrequited affection as I've heard for a long time,' exclaimed Mr. Cris, as soon as his laughter had subsided; 'and I'm not the one to stand in the way of your revenge, Steve, my boy, although it's a sort of thing in which I never indulge myself; it's a luxury that often turns out rather expensive in the long run. But, first of all, let us attend to business—let us accomplish the purpose for which we came here; there will be time enough to consider this young person's case afterwards—eh?'

Black Steve gave a growl of assent, and proceeded to examine the priming of his pistols.

'Will madame oblige me by taking a seat?' resumed Mr. Cris in the blandest of tones, addressing himself to Mam, and pointing to a chair.

Mam felt that she was obliged to comply, and sat down accordingly. 'Pardon the liberty I am about to take,' went on Mr. Cris; 'but the necessities of the case must be my excuse.' So speaking, he drew from his pocket some pieces of thin cord, with which he proceeded to fasten Mam dexterously and securely in her chair, so that when he had done, she could move neither hand nor foot; and any violent effort to get away must have resulted in her falling bound and helpless to the floor: Black Steve meanwhile looking on in silent admiration at his friend's handiwork. In any ordinary case of violence, Mam would probably have begged for mercy, and not have been without hope that her prayer would be granted; but when she looked from one face to the other of the two villains in whose power she was, she saw how worse than useless any such plea would be, and maintained the stubborn silence of despair.

'I am now going to put one or two interrogatives to you,' resumed Mr. Cris, as soon as he had satisfied himself that it was impossible for her to stir, 'and the more truthfully you answer me, the better it will be for your own welfare.'

'I'll answer none of thy questions, till thou or thy mate tells me what has become of my husband,' said Mam stubbornly.

'Your husband—wretch! What do I know or care about your husband?'

Black Steve whispered a word or two in his friend's ear.

'Oh, that was him, was it?' said Mr. Cris aloud. 'He has been well looked after, you may be sure,' he added, turning to Mam; 'we have not forgotten to attend to his little comforts; only it's not convenient for him to come home this evening. He desired his love to you, and begged you would not fret—no, not even if it should so happen that you were never to see him again.'

Black Steve was tickled by his friend's pleasantry, and vowed with a terrible oath that Mr. Cris was the best company in the world.

A horrible misgiving took possession of Mam's heart: these men had murdered her husband, and seized his boat, and were here for some vile purpose, of which as yet she was in ignorance. And Abel Rushton, too—what had become of him? had he shared a similar fate? As to the shape which the long-hoarded vengeance of Black Steve would take with regard to herself, she could at present form no opinion: but that its end would be death in one form or another, she could hardly doubt. If rumor spoke truly, the stain of blood lay already on the soul of Steve Davidson; and that both he and his companion would hold her life cheaply, she had every reason to believe. Well, if Miles were really gone, it hardly mattered what became of her, she thought. Ah, yes: there was Jamie! for his sake she must strive hard for her life—for his sake she must pray that Heaven's mercy might find for her some loop-hole of escape.

These bitter thoughts occupied Mam Gurlock so deeply, that she scarcely heard the question which Mr. Cris proceeded to put to her, and he was obliged to repeat it before she could fully comprehend its import.

'Where does Martin Gilbert keep his store of money?'

'I don't know,' said Mam wearily, when asked for the second time.

'You lie!' said Mr. Cris fiercely. 'Don't you know that, three months ago, old Gilbert had a legacy of three hundred pounds left him, and that he is such a miser, and puts so little faith in the safety of banks, that he always keeps the money by him, wherever he may be on shore during his holiday times, and in the light house when he is on duty? Don't you know these things, I say?'

'I know that old Martin had a bit of money left him, and that he likes to keep it somewhere near at hand: but where he hides it away, I know no more than the dead.'

'We'll soon teach you to know,' said Mr. Cris with an oath. But at this juncture Black Steve touched his friend on the shoulder, and with a meaning grin drew that personage's attention to a seaman's chest placed against the wall, on which the name of Martin Gilbert was painted in large letters.

'It will be here, if anywhere,' said Steve.

'Try,' said Mr. Cris sententiously, as he drew a long, ugly looking knife from one of his pockets, and felt its point appreciatively with his thumb.

The chest was locked, as a matter of course; but the skilful hand of Black Steve, with the aid of a skeleton-key, soon tickled open the simple wards. The numerous layers of clothes, all methodically arranged, were tossed unceremoniously on the floor; and Steve's itching fingers, diving here and there towards the bottom of the box, brought to light before long the object of which they were in search; with a yell of triumph he drew forth a canvas bag full of sovereigns, and flung it on the table.

Mr. Cris's ugly-looking knife was put back into its sheath without delay, and the two men seated themselves at the table to count over their ill-gotten gains. While they were thus employed, the dimity curtains opened again, and Jamie's frightened face peered through. The men were so intently occupied that Mam could without fear signal Jamie, by sundry frowns and shakings of the head, that he must on no account allow himself to be seen. Jamie understood, and was seen no more.

'A hundred and ninety each—and a very pretty little haul!' exclaimed Black Steve admiringly, when the money had been divided into two heaps.

'The old fellow's legacy and savings all in a lump,' remarked his friend complacently.

'No doubt of it,' said Steve. 'For my part, I think we can't do less than drink Mr. Martin Gilbert's health. What say you? We are not hurried for half an hour, and I daresay we shall find a drop of the right stuff somewhere about.'

'Agreed. Only find something decent to drink, and I'm your man.'

'Oh, I've been here before to-day, and I know where the stores are kept.'

'What about her?' said Mr. Cris, jerking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of his prisoner.

'Time enough to finish her little business, curse her! before we go,' said Black Steve; and with a diabolical laugh, he descended the staircase towards the lower room, taking with him a small lantern. 'A prize!—a prize!' he shouted next minute. 'Come here, old fellow, and give a helping hand.'

Mr. Cris jumped up, and with a last scrutinizing glance at his prisoner, followed his friend into the lower room. Black Steve had, in fact, found a bale of rich stuffs and a keg of hollands, which the light-house keepers had picked out of an abandoned ship a few days before, and which Martin Gilbert had put temporarily away with the other stores.

Mam Gurlock was left alone. Now or never she must make an effort for liberty and life. If they could only creep out unseen—she and Jamie—and get down to the boat before their flight was discovered! But in that little if lay the whole difficulty. It was a dangerous game to play, with the two men in the lower room, through which she would have to pass with Jamie in her arms; but no other plan that she could think of offered even the faintest loop-hole for escape. Both the men were armed with pistols; and even if she got clear of the rock before they discovered her flight, she could hardly hope to get out of range, and would they not attempt to shoot her down as she sat at the oars? Well, she must take her chance of that. Jamie must be laid for safety at the bottom of the boat; and, for her own part, it would be better to die either by a bullet or by drowning than to fall again into the hands of these terrible men. To prevent pursuit the other boat must be cut adrift.

'Hist, hist, Jamie!' called Mam in a loud whisper, and next moment the little face showed itself through the dimity curtain, looking more bewildered than frightened, for Jamie had not understood half the strange expressions he had heard; and the idea of harm happening to his mother was something so foreign to his experience, that he could hardly comprehend it.

'Don't speak, but get softly out of bed, and come hither,' added Mam in a low, smothered voice. Jamie slipped out of bed with the quickness of a lamplighter.

'O Mam, what have the bad men done to thee?' he cried, forgetting his mother's caution, as he ran to her, his bare legs and feet showing out like marble against the dark floor.

'Hush-h-h!' cried Mam with a look of terror. 'Thou mustn't speak just yet; but take that knife that lies on the table, and cut this cord that holds my arms. That's it. Now, give me the knife;' and next minute the severed cords fell one by one to the ground.

Her first act was to snatch up Jamie in her arms. 'God in heaven bless thee, my darling and keep thee from all harm!' she murmured through the yearning, passionate kisses that fell in a shower on his face and neck. The next moment she was herself again, resolute and composed. She put the lad down with a last word of caution, drew off her shoes, and stealing on tip-toe to the staircase, went down on her hands and knees, and looked through the opening.

The trap-door of the store-closet was open, and tilted up on end; and in their eagerness to examine their booty more closely, Black Steve and his companion had leaped into the cavity, which when only half-filled with stores—as was the case at present—was indeed quite large enough to hold three or four men. They had apparently opened the bale of silk, and having satisfied themselves as to its quality, were now, by the obscure light of the lantern, engaged in driving a large gimlet into the keg of hollands, as the readiest mode of getting at the contents.

As Mam Gurlock looked down upon this scene, there flashed through her brain a sudden thought, which sent the blood coursing to her heart, and turned for a moment or two, both the place and the persons before her into a picture as wild, blotted, and incoherent as the dream of any lunatic. She knelt, with her hands pressed to her brow, for a space of seven seconds, till the beating at her heart was somewhat stilled; then, holding up a cautionary finger to Jamie, she stole noiselessly down the staircase into the lower room, and glided forward like an ominous shadow, till her hand rested on the trap-door, and peering with white face round the edge of it, she saw that the two men were still intent on their occupation, and that her presence was unsuspected. One after the other, the two iron hooks that held the door in its upright position were silently removed, and the same instant it fell forward into its place with a terrific crash, and shut in the two men who were below. Mam Gurlock sprang forward as the door fell, and before either Black Steve or his friend could recover from their astonishment, had run home the two large bolts with which the trap, when down, was secured in its place.

Now for the boats! To run nimbly up the staircase into the upper room; to wrap Jamie in the warm pea-jacket she had been mending for his father; to lift him in her arms, and hasten down again, and so past the trap—where the imprisoned men were already making desperate efforts to break out—to the outer door, and then swiftly down the outside ladder; and then skirting the base of the light-house, along the rocks at a rapid pace towards the little cove in which the boats were ordinarily moored, still holding the lad pressed tightly in her arms—was for Mam Gurlock the work of a minute. She knew that she had not a moment to lose; that the old wooden trap, serviceable enough, doubtless, for ordinary purposes, would not long withstand the desperate strength of Black Steve; and she must get away from the Skeve Shoal before the two men broke loose, otherwise she had better have remained as she was before. Down she went swiftly but cautiously, over the slippery juts of rock, looking neither to the right hand nor to the left, but picking her way with care towards the little basin in the rocks—before her, life and liberty—behind her—

But where were the boats?

Once, twice, thrice she looked around; but the boats were nowhere to be seen. The warm flush of hope that had begun to kindle round her heart was rudely quenched; her very life itself seemed frozen out of her as she looked around for the third time, and saw herself cut off from all means of escape, and for one brief instant she felt as though she were, in spirit, a second person looking down upon the bitter strait of a poor woman called Mam Gurlock, and seeing how hopeless her case was, could afford to pity her.

'Heaven help me, or I shall go mad!' murmured Mam to herself.

In agonized despair she stood for a minute or two, utterly puzzled and confounded by her inability to account for the disappearance of the boats. That Abel Rushton was nowhere to be seen, caused her no surprise, believing as she did that he had been murdered and thrown into the sea. Still the boats could not have been taken away except by human hands, and gone they certainly were. She set Jamie down for an instant and then turned and hurried up the rocks, and, standing on the highest ledge, strained her eyes out over the dark waste of water; after a little while, right in a silver track of moonlight, and not more than a quarter of a mile from the Skeve Shoal she plainly saw two boats, evidently lashed to each other, in the larger of which a man was seated. Looking more intently, and, as it were, with all her soul, she clearly distinguished that the smaller boat was her husband's own little Seamew, and the larger one that belonging to the light house, while the man seated so quietly in the latter could be none other than Abel Rushton, whose sprained shoulder would prevent him from using the oars. He had not been killed, then, as Mam had surmised, though how he had contrived to escape out of the clutches of Black Steve and his friend, was more than she could comprehend; but that he had now got clear away was evident, his purpose in taking both boats doubtless being, in the first place, to prevent pursuit, and, in the second, by cutting off their means of escape from the rock, to render the capture of the two men a matter of certainty. In doing this, Abel had thought of nothing except to get ashore as quickly as possible, and gather a number of trusty friends to Mam's rescue. But Abel's accident precluded him from rowing; and although the tide had turned now, and was coming in rapidly, the boats had got into a current which ran direct for the lee of the Giant's Nose, a headland some four miles away; and even supposing he should succeed in landing there—always a matter of some difficulty—three or four hours must necessarily elapse before any help could be looked for from him; and in that time, what might not happen?

Mam had no means of signaling Abel, even supposing that his fears would have allowed him to come back, which she very much doubted; his timorous, self-loving disposition not being altogether unknown to her. No—she was as utterly isolated, and cut off from all human aid, as if Abel and the boats were a thousand miles away; her last chance of life was gone. She turned, and hurried back to the spot where she had left Jamie. If the men had not yet succeeded in breaking out of the trap, she would hide him in the berth again, where happily he might remain undiscovered till help should arrive. But when she reached the light-house, with Jamie in her arms, and had set foot on the lowest rung of the ladder, she heard the crash of breaking wood in the room above, and the loud voices of the two men as they burst out of their confinement, and knew that she was too late. All her mother's soul went forth in a brief agonized cry to Heaven that her child might be saved; and then, hardly knowing whither she was going, she ran back to the landing-place, in the desperate hope that help might already be coming from the shore. Moon and stars were shining brightly, and her practiced eyes swept the space of water between the light house and the land, but no trace of life was anywhere to be seen. She crouched down on the rocks and pressed her boy passionately to her heart. Another minute or two now would decide their fate. The two escaped ruffians, after hunting for her within the lighthouse, would come down and search the rocks, and find her—find both of them. She looked with longing eyes at the great dark waves as they came rolling in, and burst in an angry shiver of spray against the rocks. Would it not be well to court an easy death in their cool liquid depths, and so save herself and her child from that far more terrible fate which now loomed so imminently before them?

But all the instincts of her nature rose up in revolt at the idea of self-destruction, and she dismissed the thought almost as soon as it was conceived. No! she would fight for her life while the faintest hope remained, and when that was gone, would strive to die bravely, as the wife of Miles Gurlock ought to die.

[To be concluded next week.]