“If, in speculating upon the abstract wants of man in such a state of exclusion, one were reduced to a single book, the Sacred Volume, whether considered for the striking diversity of its story, the morality of its doctrine, or the important truths of its gospel, would have proved by far the greatest treasure.”
It may be easily imagined that in a place where the accommodation of the principal engineer was so limited, that of the men was not extensive. Accordingly, we find that the barrack-room contained beds for twenty-one men.
But the completion of the beacon house, as we have described it, was not accomplished in one season. At first it was only used as a smith’s workshop, and then as a temporary residence in fine weather.
One of the first men who remained all night upon it was our friend Bremner. He became so tired of the floating light that he earnestly solicited, and obtained, permission to remain on the beacon.
At the time it was only in a partially sheltered state. The joiners had just completed the covering of the roof with a quantity of tarpaulin, which the seamen had laid over with successive coats of hot tar, and the sides of the erection had been painted with three coats of white lead. Between the timber framing of the habitable part, the interstices were stuffed with moss, but the green baize cloth with which it was afterwards lined had not been put on when Bremner took possession.
It was a splendid summer evening when the bold man made his request, and obtained permission to remain. None of the others would join him. When the boats pushed off and left him the solitary occupant of the rock, he felt a sensation of uneasiness, but, having formed his resolution, he stuck by it, and bade his comrades good night cheerfully.
“Good night, and goodbye,” cried Forsyth, as he took his seat at the oar.
“Farewell, dear,” cried O’Connor, wiping his eyes with a very ragged pocket handkerchief.
“You won’t forget me?” retorted Bremner.
“Never,” replied Dumsby, with fervour.
“Av the beacon should be carried away, darlin’,” cried O’Connor, “howld tight to the provision-chest, p’raps ye’ll be washed ashore.”
“I’ll drink your health in water, Paddy,” replied Bremner.
“Faix, I hope it won’t be salt wather,” retorted Ned.
They continued to shout good wishes, warnings, and advice to their comrade until out of hearing, and then waved adieu to him until he was lost to view.
We have said that Bremner was alone, yet he was not entirely so; he had a comrade with him, in the shape of his little black dog, to which reference has already been made. This creature was of that very thin and tight-skinned description of dog, that trembles at all times as if afflicted with chronic cold, summer and winter. Its thin tail was always between its extremely thin legs, as though it lived in a perpetual