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For some time, poor Mary sat in her chair before the fires and gave way to her grief. Her poor father, what could have happened to him? Why had he not returned? These questions occupied her mind even more than her own lonely situation, for if she could only feel sure that no evil had befallen him, she thought she might endure a night alone in the lighthouse, dreadful as it would be.
Rousing herself, she perceived how dark it had become. She heard, too, how the tempest was rising and what a fearful night was in store for her. The sun had set, it was getting dark, and already past the time when Owen was accustomed to light the lamps. She had heard him remark that morning how much shipping there was about, and that if squally weather came on in the evening, the warning light might save many vessels from destruction. And now a gale was blowing, and her father was not at his post.
Then the thought struck her, could she light the lamps? She had often seen her father do it, but she knew the lamps were fixed very high up on the lantern. Her father was a tall man and could easily reach them, but she was afraid she would not. She ran up to the lantern, rain and spray were both beating violently against the glass, the wind howling dismally, and the sea roaring louder than ever.
She stood on tiptoe, and reached up her hand as high as possible, but the lamps were far, far above her. If she stood on a chair, she thought she might just reach them. She ran downstairs and quickly returned with one, upon which she mounted, but still she must be several inches higher before her object could be attained.
She now fetched a large tin basin, this turned bottom upwards she placed upon the chair. It would be all right now she thought – she must be high enough to reach the lamps. But she had forgotten that she must be able to reach to the top of the wick – and for this, even the basin added to the chair did not sufficiently raise her.
So now she fetched a pillow which she placed between the basin and the chair, but, alas! Still the lamps were out of her reach, only a couple of inches more and she would succeed in her attempt.
She was a resolute little girl. The thought that on her exertions the lives of many depended had made her for the time almost forget her own troubles, and nerved her to an energy beyond her years. She was determined that the lamps should be lighted.
Nothing daunted by her want of success hitherto, she would persevere. How pleased her father would be when he knew that she had lighted the lamps, to find that she was able to perform his duty for him. How it would gladden his heart to see the light shedding its clear friendly rays over the wild rough sea, for by that he would know that she was safe and well, and that vessels were still being warned of the perils which awaited them on that dangerous coast.
Again, she descended to the room below to look for some other articles to pile on the chair. She searched everywhere, but she could find nothing that would do. She began to despair. Because she could not raise herself a couple of inches higher, it seemed as it the lamps would not be lit, and many brave men be doomed to a watery grave.
Then her eye fell on the large family Bible which still lay open on the table. She closed it. Ah! That, she said to herself, would make her just high enough. With it she could dispense with the pillow. But to stand upon the Bible! She could never do that. Her mother had always taught her to treat the sacred volume with extreme reverence. It was scrupulously dusted twice a day. No article, not even another book, was ever allowed to be placed upon it. To stand on it, therefore, seemed to her like sacrilege.
For several minutes, she reflected what course to pursue. Her standing on the Book could do no harm; she knew she did not mean to treat it with disrespect; she was sure God would forgive her, for by using it in this way she might save the lives of many poor sailors, as well as give a sign to her father and friends ashore that she was not only alive and well, but able, too, though alone and unassisted, to perform the most important of a lighthouse keeper’s duties.
The Bible was heavier to carry than either the chair or the basin had been, and the little maiden was quite out of breath when she reached the top of the staircase. Now she set bravely to work; confidence in her success gave her fresh energy. The Bible was placed on the chair and over it the basin, upon which Mary climbed, not without some difficulty, and now she found to her great delight that she could easily light the lamps. They were already trimmed, as her father had done that early in the morning. She went down again and fetched the small lantern and matches kept to light the lamps, and then mounting again on the Bible she began her work.
This took a long time to accomplish, for over and over again she had to get down from the chair and move it round, as one after the other she put her match to the different lamps. But she had the satisfaction of seeing how they all burned up brightly, and sent their cheerful beams over the mass of raging waves which beat against the lighthouse on every side. And then her work being finished, she carefully took down the big Bible from the chair, and bore it to its accustomed placed on the shelf below.
The storm was increasing in violence every hour. The strong building shook and trembled as wave after wave broke over it. Mary went up again to the cupola; the lights were burning brightly, but the spray had so dimmed the glass which surrounded the lanterns that she could scarcely see through them.
Every now and then a huge wave would roll sheer over the lighthouse, completely covering it for several seconds. The wind, as it rose and fell in fitful gusts, howled and moaned fearfully, while rain and hail descended in pelting showers. What a night it was to be exposed to the pitiless raging of the elements! Her heart ached for the poor sailors in their ships; hard as her lot was, she was safer and better off than they were.
She tried not to be afraid, but she could not help shuddering now and then when a wave, with a roar like thunder, came rolling up, and the whole weight of the Atlantic seemed to crash against the granite walls of the building. Then this terrible deafening noise from below; it was indeed enough to drive anyone mad who did not know what caused it. Even the cat, now her only companion, generally so placid, had become restless, ran to and fro, and mewed as if frightened by the terrific noise.
There had not been such a storm as this since she and her father had come out to the lighthouse. She knelt down and said her prayers, committing herself to God’s care, and praying Him to bless and watch over her dear father, wherever he might be, and “to guard the tossing on the deep blue sea,” and, with the wild waves lifting up their giant crests, and dashing in a thunder-like roar against the lighthouse walls, she sunk into quiet slumber, “pure and light,” God’s precious gift to the young and innocent.
Author’s Preface Note to the 1876 Edition:
It may be of some interest to the readers of the following tale to know that many of the incidents related in it, highly improbable as they may seem, are strictly founded upon fact. . . All the circumstances relating to the little girl who was left alone in the lighthouse – her father, the keeper, having been purposely kidnapped and confined by wreckers – and who was reluctantly obliged to stand on the family Bible to light the lamps, are perfectly authentic.
– James F. Cobb, excerpted from The Watchers on the Longships, Wells, Gardner, Darton & Co, London 1876, 1899.
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