Rensselaer Union, Volume 9, Number 43, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 12 July 1877 — NELLIE IN THE LIGHT-HOUSE. [ARTICLE]

NELLIE IN THE LIGHT-HOUSE.

On the lonely Carolina coast are many small islands, interspersed with sandy shoals and rocky reefs, which render it dangerous for vessels that approach too near. On this account light-houses are established at proper intervals, and it is about the dwellers in one of these that I have a little story to tell. The name of the keeper of this lighthouse was John Lattie. His wife was dead, and he lived there with his two children, and a iaithful and attached negro couple, whom the children called Mammy Sylvie and Uncle Brister. Sylvie had been their nurse, and both she and her husband loved them as though they had been their own. Tou may think a light-house on a small island—where no one else lived except two fishermen’s families—a lonely place for two children. Perhaps it was; but Jack and Nellie did not think so. In good weather they had splendid times on the beaeh, running up and down the firm white sand, hiding amid the rough rocks that at low tide stood above the water, or picking up pretty shells, and bils|of many -colored sea-weed, thrown up by the waves. Sometimes they played with the. waves themselves, as merrily as though they had been living playmates. They would go low down to the water’s edge, and watch some swelling billow as it came rolling onward to the shore, and cry defiantly: “Come on! you can’t catch us!” and then, as the white foam-crest curled threateningly over toward them, they would run up the beach, with the billbw in full chase, until the fbamy crest broke about their bare little feet, and went gently sliding back into the sea, to give place to another. Sometimes the billow would overtake them and give them a thorough drenching; but mis only excited their mirth. For sea-water does not give chills and colds, and it soon dries; and as their dress was coarse and simple, there was no danger of that being hurt. One day, by some accident, the glass of the lighthouse was broken, and Mr, Lattie fauna it necessary to go in his boat to the main-land, in order to procure materials for repairing it. The little town at which he made these purchases was some five or six miles inland, »ad he might not return until quite late. “ If I.am not lack before sunset, Brister,” said he to his sable assistant, “be sure to light the lamp in time. You know it will be as necessary to me as to others.” He said this because between the lighthouse and the Bhore were many dangerous rocks, some lying beneath the surface of the water and others above it, to run upon which in the dark would break a boat to pieces. But Mr. Lattie was familiar with the channel and he knew that, with the light for a guide, he could steer so as to avoid the rocks. Now, Mr. Lattie had not been longgone when there came to the light-house, in hot haste, a little, ragged boy, begging that Aunt Sylvie would come to his mother, who had been taken suddenly and dangerously ill. There was no doctor on the islasd, and Sylvie was very clever as a nurse. -So she hastened awqy with all speed to the fisherman’s wife, who lived quite a mile distant, at the opposite extremity of the island—first, however, telling the children to be good and not stray away from the light house, and warning her “ole man” to take good care of them, well knowing, at the same time, that such warning was not necessary, for Uncle Brister would have sacrificed his own life for the little ones, whom he had helped to carry in his arms almost from the day of their birth. They were gentle and obedient children, though it had always been observed that Nellie, who was only seven years old, possessed much more firmness and decision of character than Jack, nearly two years his senior. She was also more generous; and I am afraid that, with all her decision, she gave up too much to her brother, and helped to make him selfish. For instance, if they were sent to Jem Long’s for fish, generally it was Nellie who carried the basket, while Jack amused himself with playing by the way: or, if Sylvie made ginger-cakes or “ puffs,” and gave the two first baked to the children, it was Jack who claimed the biggest or the nicest-looking, and not unfrequently got a taste of Nellie’s also. Tne children played all this morning very happily together, building a fort of loose rocks, like the great stone fort which they could see in the distance, many miles away. In the afternoon they went indoors, where they found Brister standing at one of the windows, shading his eyes with his hand and looking anxiously toward the west. , ■ , “ Do you see the boat, Uncle Brister T” inquired Jack, standing on tip-toe to look out. “Please deLord, I wish 1 could dat,” answered the old man, more as if speakng to' himself than to them. “ I don’t 7

like de look* o’ dat ’ere akv, and dere ain’t never no good In demswitchy mare’a tails,” pointing to some long, scattered clouds which were moving rapidly up from the west. “Es I knows anythlng’t all, I knows we’se gwiue to have asqneelin’, equatin' storm. Please de Lord Masaa and Bylvie was safe home.” The old man’s prediction was correct. In less than an hour tbe wind burst upon them, the waves were lashed into foam, and the storm roared hround the lighthouse in all its fury. The children, sitting by the fire, listened to the roaring of the wind and the waves without, and felt the walls tremble with the force of the tempest. Old Brister had gone about and made all secure; and now, as it began to grow dusk, he started up the winding staircase that led to the top of the tower, in order to light the lamp. As he crossed the room the children noticed that he staggered a little, and caught hold of the door-post to steady himself. Then he put his hand to his forehead, and so stood still a moment; then began feebly to ascend the stairs. An instant after then was a heavy fall and, to their horror, the children saw the old man lying at the foot of the stairs, motionless and, apparently, dead. They started up with a cry and rushed toward him. He was not bleeding anywhere, but his breathing was thick and heavy, and though his eyes were open he did not appear to see them, or to know anything. The truth was, the old man had had a stroke of apoplexy. “ What shall we do? oh, what shall we do?” cried Nellie, bursting into an agony of tears. “ We can’t do anything,” sobbed Jack, hopelessly. “I wish, oh! I wish father and Mammy Sylvie were here.” Nellie, kneeling by the side of Brister, seemed to make an effort at composure. “Jack,” she said, more calmly, “ don’t you think we might warm him, and rub him, and give him a little hot brandy to drink ? That is the way they brought the drowned men to life again.” “26 ain’t drowned,” answered Jack, with a little expression of contempt for his sister’s suggestion. “ Yes; but it might do him good. Feel how cold his hands are, and rubbing might do him some good. Oh, Jack, let us try to pull him to the fire!” With great difficulty they succeeded in drawing the old man in front of the great hearth, where Nellie placed pillows under his head, and covered him with a blanket. Then she heated a little brandy, and put a spoonful between Brister’s lips, and the two children then commenced rubbing him with all their little strength, though Nellie trembled and the tears rolled down Jack’s face. But, in truth, itwas a trying situation for them, alone and helpless as they were. Suddenly Nellie started up with a ciy. “ The lamp, Jack! Oh, Jack, the lamp isn’t lighted!” It was dark now, and the storm, though subsiding, still raged. How many fish-ing-vessels out at sea, and caught in that sudden storm, were now vainly looking out for the warning beacon that was to save them from danger and guide them into safety; and her father! Did she not remember his parting words to Brister: “Be sure and light the lamp in good time. It is as necessary to me as to them.” a And the lamp was not lighted! In storm and darkness her father might be even now struggling amid those foaming waves and treacherous rocks; for the child felt instinctively that no danger could keep him back from the post of nis duty and the loved ones dependent upon him. Eagerly, tremblingly, Nellie rose to her feet* “ Oh, Jack, father! We mutt light the lamp!" “We can’t,” answered poor, frightened Jack, helplessly. “ We don’t know how.” She felt that it would be of no use toappeal farther to him—not that Jack was heartless, but irresolute and vacillating when thrown upon his own resources. So Nellie—brave little heart —resolved to do the best she could. “ You can stay and take care of Uncle Brister, Jack,” she said; “and rub him all you can. 1 will try to light the lamp.” “ But you don’t know anything about it, and I don’t want to stay by myself,” said Jack, blubbering; “ I wish father was here.” Nellie went carefully up the narrow winding stair to the top of the light-house. She had seldom been here, and had never seen the lamp lighted, and, as Jack had said, knew nothing about it; and she now found to her dismay that she could not reach the lamp. The wind and the rain beat against the thick glass by which this little room in the top of the tower was surrounded, and swept in strong fitful gusts through the broken panes; and Nellie thougnt that even were she able to light the lamp, it must inevitably be put out again. What was to be done ? If she could only keep a light of any kind burning, it might be of some use. There was a large lantern down-stairs, she knew; and hurrying down she got this, and lighting it, carried it up again, and hung it where she trusted it might be seen. But it shone so feebly, that sbe feared It woald not be noticed, or might even be taken for the light of a fisherman’s cottage, in which case it would serve only to lead astray instead of guiding safely. Poor little Nellie wrung her hands in despair. Oh, if she only had somebody to help her! How futile, and forlorn, and miserable she felt! And just then—she never knew how it was—just then she seemed to hear, amid ail the roar of the storm, the sweet words of the hvmn her dead mother had been so fond of singing, “ Jesus, lover of my soul.” She knew It by heart, and now she stood involuntarily repeating fragments of it to herself, until she came to the words: “ Other refuge have 1 none; Hang* my helpless soul on Thee. Leave, oh leave me not a10ne—- ....... still rapport and comfort me. All my trn*t on Thee la stayed; All my help from Thee I bring.” A strange feeling of peace and comfort stole into the heart of the child. “ God is here: He can help me,” was her thought; and instantly after, she recollected that in the wdod-shed connected with the kitchen was a great pile of pine-knots. The wind could not blow out the! flame of a pineknot, but would rather serve to fan it. So down the steep, wearisome stairs the poor child again went, and presently returned to the top of the tower with her arms fall of the pineknots. These she lighted and carefully disposed all around the little glass-cov-ered room—wherever she could find a place in which to stick her torches—so that the brilliant, ruddy glare might be visible in all directions. And there, alone in the dreary summit of the tall lighthouse, shivering in the cold wind and rain that beat upon her slight figure, stood poor little Nellie, listening to the storm, Btraining her eyes through the darkness, and trembling with anxiety and excitement as ahe thought of her father in the storm, and of poor Blister, dying in the room below, perhaps. But still through it All seemed to sound the sweet words of the hymn, “Jesus, lover of my soul.”

An hour passed, and poor Nellie, intently listening, thought that she heard sounds below, and then a faint echo of some one calling her name. Then came a strong hurried step on the stair, and in the red smoky glare of the pine torches she saw her falner standing. Oh, with sharp cry of relief and joy she sprang forward to meet him, though at ine very moment in which his arms were outstretched to receive her—overcome with cold, fatigue and anxiety—she tottered and fell almost insensible at his feet. Very tenderly, with tears in his eyes, the rough light-house keeper bore his little daughter below, and placed her in bed; and there, with a delicious consciousness of safety and rest, poor Nellie fell asleep. She never awoke until the bright sunlight of the next morning fell across her bed, when, opening her eyes, she saw Mammy Sylvie s kina, motherly face bending over ner, with tears streaming down her sable cheeks. “ Bress de Lord, dar aint anoder child in all de Car’llnas fit to hold a pine-knot to her,” said the affectionate creature, proudly. “ An’ I heerd Jem Long say, when his boat come in las’ night, aat es it hadn’t been for de light-house lamp, he an’ t’others would sartinly been lost.” “ And so should I,” said Mr. Lattie, fondly smoothing his little daughter’s hair, and then he told her how he had watched in vain for the light, and not seeing it had attempted to cross in the storm and darkness, when suddenly a red glare had shone out, and revealed to him that he was drifting fast upon one of the most dangerous of the reefs. From this ho had with difficulty extricated himself, and guided by the strange light had succeeded in reaching home in safety, and there had found old Brister as we have described, while Jack, worn out with rubbing and crying, lay asleep by the fire. Where was Nellie? and what could be the meaning of the red fitful glare in the light-house tower ? Almost sinking with fear and apprehension, the father had mounted the stairs, and there, at the first glimpse of his little daughter—pale and trembling, yet standing firmly at her post —he had read the whole story. And how proud he afterward was of his brave little girl, we can very well imagine. Aunt Bylvie had been prevented returning home by both the storm and the illness of the fisherman’s wife. Bhe had felt no anxiety about the children, believing that their father must have returned. The little family at the light-house live there still happy and contented. Nellie is a big girl now. Uncle Brister, who entirely recovered, is to this day very fond of telling this story to the people who sometimes in summer cross over to visit the light-house. “ Guess it’s de fust lighthouse was eber lighted up wid pineknots,” he says —Susan Archer Weiss, in St. Nicholas for July.