Harper's Young People, May 2, 1882 An Illustrated Weekly

HULDAH DEANE'S HEROISM.

BY MRS. M. S. PETERS.

A sky darkened by clouds hurrying before driving winds, a sea gray-faced and wrinkled tossing restlessly beneath a mass of barren rocks upon which stood a tall light-house, made up the dreary picture Huldah Deane was gazing upon with such wistful intentness. Her gray eyes presently followed the swoop of an osprey, and his after-flight upward with his prey in his talons.

"I would rather be that fish-hawk than Huldah Deane," she said, giving expression to her gloomy thoughts. "I must stay here day in, year out--here, where nothing happens, where the sea frets, and I fret with it. So I light the Captain's pipe, scrub the tower, and do chores for the dame. Who cares what else I do, or what becomes of me? Yes, old sea, I'd rather be a fish-hawk, and snatch fish from you, than be Huldah Deane. Oh dear! If something would only happen! If I could do something great or wonderful--go out in a life-boat, maybe, to save drowning folks, or--"

"Huldy! Huldy Deane!" The quick, impatient call reached her, even above the roaring of the surf. It was Captain Dutton's voice. "Come right on, quick; mother's taken in a spell, an' I can't make it out."

Huldah obeyed in awed silence. A spell the Captain couldn't make out must be very bad, she thought. What if neither she nor anybody else could make it out? And, alas! who could understand the fixed stare of the dame's kind eyes, or the pinched shrinking of the features so suddenly grown unfamiliar to the two who dwelt under the same roof with her?

"She's got to hev the doctor as soon as he can be fetched, Huldy."

"The doctor from shore?" questioned the girl.

"Certain. There's none closer as I know. Do you?"

"No," she gravely answered; "but the mainland's a long ways off, and a storm's rising."

"It makes no difference," said Captain Dutton, stubbornly. "She's been a good mother to me, an' she's in a bad fix. The doctor's got to be fetched, that's all."

In his rough, good-hearted way the Captain loved his mother as he loved nothing else.

"Ef she should die, I want her to know somehow as I tried to do my duty by her last of all. And, Huldy"--laying his hand on the girl's shoulder--"I ain't concerned but what she'll be took care on as fur as you can do it, child. It's hard lines to leave a young one like you here with such terrible trouble, but there's no help for it. I'll fetch the doctor soon as I kin--leastways 'fore the sun drops. No sailor kin say as ever Kyle Dutton missed lightin' the beacon wi' the last ray o' sunshine, or turnin' off lamps as the sun stepped 'crost the horizon. Livin', I'll be here in time for that, Huldy."

He nodded and went away.

Huldah shivered as she glanced down at the motionless figure on the couch below. Maybe she would be left thus utterly alone for hours--for days. Her breath came hurriedly. It seemed to her more than she could bear. Frantically she forced open the window, and, thrusting her head through, shouted herself hoarse in a vain effort to make Captain Dutton hear her above the roaring of the sea. The boat, tossed from wave to wave, plunged further and further away.

And it was but a few hours ago that Huldah had wished she might have an opportunity to do some great heroic deed. Now she said to herself: "You were a pitiful coward then, Huldah Deane. You brave enough to go in a life-boat to save drowning folks! You deserve to be nothing better than a fish-hawk. Because Dame Dutton lies ill yonder, and the Captain puts off to fetch a doctor, is that any reason why you should go into spasms of fright? For shame! Remember what father told you that day he sailed away never to come back any more: 'Do your duty always, Huldah.' Isn't it your duty now, foolish girl, to get right down from here and see to poor Mrs. Dutton?"

Closing the window, she descended from her perch to renew her exertions for the relief of the poor dame. But toil as she might, nothing she could do would change the fixed attitude, or calm the quick-drawn breath that told of bitter suffering.

Presently the day began to wane. The clouds ranged themselves in solid masses, and darkness and storm besieged the sea-girt tower. Crossing to the clock in the corner, she scanned its face. "Five o'clock! So late? Why, the sun is down in less than half an hour, and the Captain will lose his place if the beacon is not lighted by sundown. But what can I do? It's the order, he says, that women and children sha'n't have anything to do with the lights."

One moment she stood with tightly compressed lips. Then a brave, resolute smile parted her lips.

"Well, I'm hardly a child, I suppose, but neither am I a woman. Ships may be lost if the beacon is not lit." Then lighting the lantern the Captain always used, she hung it on her arm, and after one more look at the sick woman, left the chamber.

Almost at the threshold began the seemingly endless stairway, winding up into regions of height and loneliness. She did not allow herself to hesitate now, but began the ascent hurriedly. A fearful journey it seemed, through the darkness, broken only by fitful glimmerings of her lantern, and now and then cross rays of light from the slits of windows in the thick walls. Clasping the iron rail, she toiled on, her limbs failing, her heart thumping, and her brain in a whirl. Not until she had reached the top step did she drop down to rest. Exhausted by fatigue and nervous excitement, she had to recover strength before she could even open the door into the lantern-room.

Fortunately the great lamps were trimmed and supplied with oil. Every part of the machinery was also in working order. Captain Dutton was one of the most careful of the light-house keepers.

"And he shall see that I do not mean him to lose his place for one night's failure to light the tower," Huldah said, her heart warming for the first time to the silent man who had, in his way, done his duty by her as well as by the place of trust he filled. "Who knows, though, this light may fall upon the very spot where he has gone down to the bottom of the sea."

Again a shiver crept over the slender figure, and only the blazing forth of the beacon dispelled her vivid fancy. One by one the lamps flared up, and were turned into place. The reflectors, polished to their utmost, caught the cheerful rays, and sent them in a far-reaching circle of radiance, out through the darkness and the storm, to give warning to those who were "gone down to the sea in ships."

But this was only the beginning of Huldah's work. It was a chief part of the keeper's duty, she knew, to see that the lights burned undimmed throughout the night. Now, however, she must return to attend to the dame awhile. But as she turned to go there was a sudden crashing of the glass above her, a whirring swoop of some swift-winged creature overhead, a gust of wind, a flaring of the circle of lights, and then darkness, rayless, absolute. The storm moaned and shrieked in her ears, and Huldah shrieked too, hiding her face in her shawl.

What had happened? Again the winged intruder whirred by, beating the air with wearied and dripping plumage. Ah! now she understood. Once Captain Dutton had told her of a storm-bird breaking one of his transparencies. Attracted by the light, doubtless, this wanderer had dashed against the glass.

There was but one thing to be done. She could not hope to relight the lamps until those blasts were shut out. She must find another frame and transparency.

How the descent was accomplished Huldah could never think without a shudder. At the very outset, when she had groped her way to the landing, and had succeeded in relighting her little lantern, the door she had latched behind her flew open, giving outlet to those terrible winds, which tore at her clothing savagely, extinguishing her light, and leaving her again in darkness. Of necessity she stood still until the currents had strangled each other, and sunk down into the depths of gloom below her. Then, shutting her eyes tightly, she went on her perilous journey.

From the basement stores she procured the frame and fixtures, and returning with them by the same winding route upward, found it not such a difficult thing to unhinge and replace the shattered transparency, the tempest having lulled slightly, and the force of the wind being broken. Yet by the time her task was complete, and the lamps relit, her strength failed her. Vaguely thinking that maybe she was going to die, she fell upon the floor, and with a deep-drawn sigh her eyes closed.