n on the scene. But this soon passed away, as the men's eyes
became accustomed to the change, and then the dark loom of the advancing
billows, the pale light of the flashing foam, and occasional gleams of
phosphorescence, and glimpses of black rocks in the midst of all, took
the place of the warm, busy scene which the spot had presented a few
minutes before.

"Supper, boys!" shouted Bremner.

Peter Bremner, we may remark in passing, was a particularly useful
member of society. Besides being small and corpulent, he was a capital
cook. He had acted during his busy life both as a groom and a
house-servant; he had been a soldier, a sutler, a writer's clerk, and an
apothecary--in which latter profession he had acquired the art of
writing and suggesting recipes, and a taste for making collections in
natural history. He was very partial to the use of the lancet, and
quite a terrible adept at tooth-drawing. In short, Peter was the
_factotum_ of the beacon house, where, in addition to his other offices,
he filled those of barber and steward to the admiration of all.

But Bremner came out in quite a new and valuable light after he went to
reside in the beacon--namely, as a storyteller. During the long periods
of inaction that ensued, when the men were imprisoned there by storms,
he lightened many an hour that would have otherwise hung heavily on
their hands, and he cheered the more timid among them by speaking
lightly of the danger of their position.

On the signal for supper being given, there was a general rush down the
ladders into the kitchen, where as comfortable a meal as one could wish
for was smoking in pot and pan and platter.

As there were twenty-three to partake, it was impossible, of course, for
all to sit down to table. They were obliged to stow themselves away on
such articles of furniture as came most readily to hand, and eat as they
best could. Hungry men find no difficulty in doing this. For some time
the conversation was restricted to a word or two. Soon, however, as
appetite began to be appeased, tongues began to loosen. The silence was
first broken by a groan.

"Ochone!" exclaimed O'Connor, as well as a mouthful of pork and potatoes
would allow him; "was it _you_ that groaned like a dyin' pig?"

The question was put to Forsyth, who was holding his head between his
hands, and swaying his body to and fro in agony.

"Hae ye the colic, freen'?" enquired John Watt, in a tone of sympathy.

"No-