RIES
RECALLED.
XXXIII. CONCLUSION.

THE LIGHTHOUSE

CHAPTER I

THE ROCK

Early on a summer morning, about the beginning of the nineteenth
century, two fishermen of Forfarshire wended their way to the shore,
launched their boat, and put off to sea.

One of the men was tall and ill-favoured, the other, short and
well-favoured. Both were square-built, powerful fellows, like most
men of the class to which they belonged.

It was about that calm hour of the morning which precedes sunrise,
when most living creatures are still asleep, and inanimate nature
wears, more than at other times, the semblance of repose. The sea was
like a sheet of undulating glass. A breeze had been expected, but,
in defiance of expectation, it had not come, so the boatmen were
obliged to use their oars. They used them well, however, insomuch
that the land ere long appeared like a blue line on the horizon, then
became tremulous and indistinct, and finally vanished in the mists of
morning.

The men pulled "with a will,"--as seamen pithily express in silence.
Only once during the first hour did the ill-favoured man venture a
remark. Referring to the absence of wind, he said, that "it would be
a' the better for landin' on the rock."

This was said in the broadest vernacular dialect, as, indeed, was
everything that dropped from the fishermen's lips. We take the
liberty of modifying it a little, believing that strict fidelity here
would entail inevitable loss of sense to many of our readers.

The remark, such as it was, called forth a rejoinder from the short
comrade, who stated his belief that "they would be likely to find
somethin' there that day."

They then relapsed into silence.

Under the regular stroke of the oars the boat advanced steadily,
straight out to sea. At first the mirror over which they skimmed was
grey, and the foam at the cutwater leaden-coloured. By degrees they
rowed, as it were, into a brighter region. The sea ahead lightened
up, became pale yellow, then warmed into saffron, and, when the sun
rose, blazed into liquid gold.

The words spoken by the boatmen, though few, were significant. The
"rock" alluded to was the celebrated and much dreaded Inch Cape--more
familiarly known as the Bell Rock--which being at that time unmarked
by lighthouse or beacon of any kind, was the terror of mariners who
were making for the firths of Forth and Tay. The "something" that was
expected to be found there may be