CHAPTER XII.

AT THE LIGHTHOUSE.

On the whole, the boys were enthusiastic about their cruise at the end of the first week. After camping again for a day or two on Palm Island, they sailed idly among innumerable smaller islands, enjoying the fine weather, bathing, fishing, taking photographs, learning how to manage the sloop, and making observations of other ships that passed.

“The Captain says that by running to starboard more we can strike the lee of Elbow Key Light to-morrow,” Norton said, as he and the boys were turning into their bunks at nine o’clock one night. “You know that’s where the sponging fleet work at this time, so, in case of storm, they can shelter under the lighthouse key. How would you like to spend to-morrow night among the spongers, then make camp at Cypress Key afterward?”

All were agreeable save Dave, who grunted his disapproval.

“What for fool ’way time ’mong sponges? No good. We going to try for sponge? No? Well, why fool time that way? Holawanga! Too much time, no good!”

But they gave him not the slightest heed, and discussed the new plan with enthusiasm.

The next day was marred by a heavy thunderstorm, but in spite of it they made good progress down the coast. As the afternoon waned and the line of keys dwindled behind, the _Arrow_ headed toward a group of islets where the United States has erected a lighthouse.

The keepers there were isolated from home and friends most of the time, but a straggly fleet of sponging craft from Nassau, Key West, and elsewhere flocked there in time of bad weather.

As night came on, the breeze freshened considerably. Across the surging water the light flashed like a great star. Once the _Arrow_ sighted a dark bulk, black and impenetrable as the night then closing down, yet with rows of lights and with smoking funnels that now and then seemed to glow with internal fires. On it passed, heading straight for Elbow Key, but it gave no heed to the wallowing little sloop.

“By Jove, that’s a battleship!” exclaimed Norton. “In war paint, too!”

“Je-ru-sa-lem!” Hugh added excitedly. “Wish we were nearer her! Wonder which one she is?”

“We ain’t so interested in that, jest now,” said Captain Vinton gruffly. “What we want to do is to git under a lee shore soon’s possible; there’s a reg-lar young gale comin’ on.”

Through a haze that slowly thickened as the wind increased, they saw several sloops and schooners, most of them larger than the _Arrow_, riding at short cables; while a few others were driving under reefed sails from the sponging grounds farther out, to take similar positions of safety.

“Stand by to shorten sail,” ordered Vinton, and the boys and Norton worked busily. Dave gave his attention to a big coil of rope which he evidently intended to throw—where?

Surely not against the rocky wall toward which they were gliding recklessly!

Alec looked anxiously at the captain, but he did not speak. If Dave did not know what he was about this was no time to question. Like his comrades, the boy resigned himself to obeying orders. These came thick and fast for a few minutes. Hugh and Chester, having lowered and lashed the jib, stood beside Norton—waiting. To Billy it seemed that the _Arrow_ would momentarily strike that reef of rocks.

Suddenly the captain ported the helm three points.

“Haul in the booms! Lower tops’l!” he shouted.

Mechanically, in a sort of daze, they obeyed. The next minute they saw a perpendicular crevice in the face of the rock wall about twenty feet high. This fissure widened until a sheer cleft nearly thirty feet wide yawned directly in the path of the _Arrow_. Then they understood what the captain was driving at. Here was an ideal shelter from the coming storm.

“Lower away all!”

Almost before they realized the fact, the _Arrow_ had glided into the crevice and was floating on a small sheet of smooth water, all sails lowered. Tugging at the anchor, Billy stood ready, waiting only the word.

“Drop anchor!” sang out Vinton, his deep voice echoing weirdly in that strange retreat.

“How much cable, Captain?”

“Fifty feet. Dave, toss the line over to that little dock.”

This was quickly done, the rope being caught by a man who had come on the run as soon as he had seen the _Arrow_ slip into this protected cove. Tying it fast to a pile, he rose and bawled through his cupped hands:

“That you, Lem?”

“Ay, ay, Johnny,” responded Vinton. “I didn’t fergit this stunt, you see.”

“That’s right. The _Arrow’s_ the only sloop small enough to get in. Comin’ ashore?”

“Yep; by an’ by.”

Presently they all climbed down a rope ladder into the _Arrow’s_ dory, which swung alongside, and went up to the lighthouse. All but Dave, who, strange to say, considering his dislike of being on the water, preferred to spend the night in the cuddy.

Outside the cove the wind howled with a fury that nearly swamped some of the anchored craft. Indeed, it flung spray and foam over their rigging, and made them tug desperately at their cables. Now they rose swaying on the crests of the waves, now they sank into the deep troughs as if they were bent on going to the bottom. Yet in the little rock-bound cove the lighthouse boats and the _Arrow_ were secure and safe.

In the house, after supper, the voyagers sat and talked with their host. The lighthouse keeper’s name was John Bowling, and he was a brother-in-law of Captain Anderson of the Red Key Life Saving Station. So, naturally, he was interested in hearing about the rescue of Ruth, the boys’ recent sojourn at Red Key, and the wreck of the _Mary Jane_.

“I used to know the cap’n of that schooner,” he said, “but it’s three years since I saw him last. We don’t see many folks or have many visitors here, except the spongers and now and then the crew of some passing craft. So strangers with news to tell are certainly welcome.”

“Don’t you find it pretty lonely?” inquired Alec.

“Well, there’s always enough to do to keep us busy, and most of us have our families here. Sometimes we take trips over to Key West for supplies, and twice a year the steamer belonging to Uncle Sam’s lighthouse department brings us the regulation stores of oil, coal, etc., that are furnished to all the stations from Maine to Texas. But life here isn’t very——”

“Hello, down there!” called an assistant keeper from the lantern and, running to the foot of the stairs, Chester answered the hail.

“Tell Cap’n Bowling there’s a small craft, probably a sponger, comin’ in from the east’ard. As nigh as I can make out there’s two men on board, waving lanterns. But they don’t seem to have her in hand very well.”

“A sponger from the east’ard,” repeated Bowling, having heard his assistant’s report. “There’s like to have been trouble out there, lad, for the most venturesome sponge-fisher who ever lived wouldn’t be abroad in this blow unless something had gone wrong. Tell Bill to keep his eye on them.”

Chester repeated the instructions, and a grin overspread his face as he heard Bill mutter irritably:

“Keep an eye on ’em! I’d like to know what else he thinks I’d do? Anyone’d have sense enough for that.”

“What’s he saying?” asked Bowling sharply.

“Just talking to himself, I guess,” replied Chester.

“That’s a bad habit Bill has got,” the keeper said, laughing. “He chews over a lot of words that don’t mean anything, though they kind o’ rile a man. Go up and see what’s eating him, sonny.”

Young Brownell obeyed promptly, although he felt quite confident that he would not learn anything more than Bill had already reported.

“There’s trouble o’ some kind out yonder,” the assistant declared and handed Chester a pair of night-glasses. “Thank fortune, we don’t have to sit still and see them poor fellows drift past us while we’re suckin’ our thumbs!”

“Do you think——”

“I’m tryin’ to figger out how we’re going to lend a hand if that there sponger strikes a sunken ledge or a coral reef, as I reckon she will.”

“You couldn’t even stand on the rocks while the sea is running as it is now!” said Chester.

“I ain’t so certain ’bout that, though I’ll admit that a man couldn’t keep his footin’ there and ’tend to much else. ’Sides, the tide’s risin’ now. It’s within an hour o’ high water.”

When Chester descended the stairs in some anxiety and reëntered the keeper’s room, Bowling asked sharply: “What’s Bill doing—besides his duty? Depend on him for that!”

“Trying to decide how we can help those in the sponger, if she strikes a ledge, sir.”

“Oh, so that’s what’s troubling him! Let’s hope his fears won’t be justified! Bill Wayne may be mulish and irritable at times, but whenever any danger or hardship comes up, his heart swells out till it’s too big for his body.”