The Storm.  
“’Tis a fearful night,” said Logan, pausing with his foot on the first step of the ladder. “Perhaps we had better sit up.”
 
“What’s the use?” said O’Connor, who was by nature reckless. “Av the beacon howlds on, we may as well slape as not; an’ if it don’t howld on, why, we’ll be none the worse o’ slapin’ anyhow.”
 
“I mean to sit up,” said Forsyth, whose alarm was aggravated by another fit of violent toothache.
 
“So do I,” exclaimed several of the men, as another wave dashed against the beacon, and a quantity of spray came pouring down from the rooms above.
 
This latter incident put an end to further conversation. While some sprang up the ladder to see where the leak had occurred, Ruby opened the door, which was on the lee-side of the building, and descended to the mortar-gallery to look after his tools, which lay there.
 
Here he was exposed to the full violence of the gale, for, as we have said, this first floor of the beacon was not protected by sides. There was sufficient light to enable him to see all round for a considerable distance. The sight was not calculated to comfort him.
 
The wind was whistling with what may be termed a vicious sound among the beams, to one of which Ruby was obliged to cling to prevent his being carried away. The sea was bursting, leaping, and curling wildly over the rocks, which were now quite covered, and as he looked down through the chinks in the boards of the floor, he could see the foam whirling round the beams of his trembling abode, and leaping up as if to seize him. As the tide rose higher and higher, the waves roared straight through below the floor, their curling backs rising terribly near to where he stood, and the sprays drenching him and the whole edifice completely.
 
As he gazed into the dark distance, where the turmoil of waters seemed to glimmer with ghostly light against a sky of the deepest black, he missed the light of the Smeaton, which, up to that time, had been moored as near to the lee of the rock as was consistent with safety. He fancied she must have gone down, and it was not till next day that the people on the beacon knew that she had parted her cables, and had been obliged to make for the Firth of Forth for shelter from the storm.
 
While he stood looking anxiously in the direction of the tender, a wave came so near to the platform that he almost involuntarily leaped up the ladder for safety. It broke before reaching the beacon, and the spray dashed right over it, carrying away several of the smith’s tools.
 
“Ho, boys! lend a hand here, some of you,” shouted Ruby, as he leaped down on the mortar-gallery again.
 
Jamie Dove, Bremner, O’Connor, and several others were at his side in a moment, and, in the midst of tremendous sprays, they toiled to secure the movable articles that lay there. These were passed up to the sheltered parts of the house; but not without great danger to all who stood on the exposed gallery below.
 
Presently two of the planks were torn up by a sea, and several bags of coal, a barrel of small-beer, and a few casks containing lime and sand, were all swept away. The men would certainly have shared the fate of these, had they not clung to the beams until the sea had passed.
 
As nothing remained after that which could be removed to the room above, they left the mortar-gallery to its fate, and returned to the kitchen, where they were met by the anxious glances and questions of their comrades.
 
The fire, meanwhile, could scarcely be got to burn, and the whole place was full of smoke, besides being wet with the sprays that burst over the roof, and found out all the crevices that had not been sufficiently stopped up. Attending to these leaks occupied most of the men at intervals during the night. Ruby and his friend the smith spent much of the time in the doorway, contemplating the gradual destruction of their workshop.
 
For some time the gale remained steady, and the anxiety of the men began to subside a little, as they became accustomed to the ugly twisting of the great beams, and found that no evil consequences followed.
 
In the midst of this confusion, poor Forsyth’s anxiety of mind became as nothing compared with the agony of his toothache!
 
Bremner had already made several attempts to persuade the miserable man to have it drawn, but without success.
 
“I could do it quite easy,” said he, “only let me get a hold of it, an’ before you could wink I’d have it out.”
 
“Well, you may try,” cried Forsyth in desperation, with a face of ashy paleness.
 
It was an awful situation truly. In danger of his life; suffering the agonies of toothache, and with the prospect of torments unbearable from an inexpert hand; for Forsyth did not believe in Bremner’s boasted powers.
 
“What’ll you do it with?” he enquired meekly.
 
“Jamie Dove’s ............