Haslit did not feel any anxiety at leaving Jack in sole charge. He had often done so before. Jack was a tall, strong lad of fourteen and understood the lighting-up thoroughly. He did not mind being left alone, and was proud of the responsibility.
But to-day he was in a very different mood. He had set his heart on going to the cycle races over at Southport, and he thought his father very unreasonable.
“It’s going to be a splendid day,” he muttered, kicking a pebble angrily into the water as he watched his father’s boat skimming over the bay. “Just a fine breeze for sailing! The races would be over by four, and I’d be back by five–three hours before dark. It’s too bad.”
The longer Jack thought about it the worse he was convinced it was. His chum, Oscar Norton, would be expecting him at Southport, and they had planned to have such a splendid time. The races would be the last of the season, and it was unjust and unkind of his father to forbid him to go.
The morning wore away slowly. Jack hadn’t enough to do to keep him out of mischief. He got his dinner and then went down to the little point where his own pretty boat, The Pearl, with her glistening white sides and new sail, was anchored.
It was a glorious day: a splendid breeze was blowing up the bay from just the right quarter, the sky was blue and clear, there was no sign of a storm. Jack came to a sudden conclusion. He would go to the races. His father need never know, and he would be back long before dark. In a few minutes The Pearl’s white sails were filling merrily away before the breeze, and Chivers Island, with its huge white tower, was growing dim and misty behind her.
Jack reached Southport in an hour. Oscar Norton and several other boys whom Jack knew were at the wharf and greeted him hilariously. In a few minutes they were hurrying through the streets to the park, and Jack had forgotten all about Chivers Island and the lighthouse.
They were soon absorbed in the races. The bay could not be seen from the park, and so excited were they all that they did not notice how strongly the wind was blowing up. Jack, as his father had foretold, forgot everything he ought to have remembered, and thought of nothing but the track and the whirling figures on it.
At four o’clock the races were over and Oscar proposed a trip to a restaurant by way of a wind-up to the day. Jack had awakened to the fact that a stiff wind was blowing and that it might be wiser for him to hurry home. But the track was sheltered and he did not realise how much the gale had increased. The other boys assured him that there was plenty of time, and in the end he went with them, so that it was fully five o’clock before he and Oscar found themselves again at the wharf.
“Great Scott! Jack, you can’t get home to-night,” exclaimed Oscar, as they came in sight of the bay. “Why, I had no idea it was such a gale. It’s a regular young hurricane. Whew! Look at those waves!”
Jack looked about him in dismay. Far and wide the bay was an expanse of rough waves, and far out Chivers Island lighthouse loomed dimly through a haze of spray. Too late he wished that he had obeyed his father.
“I must get home!” he exclaimed desperately. “Why, Oscar, Father and Mother are away and there’s nobody to light up.” Oscar looked grave.
“I don’t see how you can get there, Jack. You can’t do it in your own boat, that is sure. She would swamp in a jiffy. What is to be done?”
“I’ll have to get some of the men here to take me over in a big boat,” said Jack. “There is no time to lose, either. Well, this scrape serves me right. If I get out of it I’ll mind what Father says next time, you can be sure of that.”
But “getting out of it” was no easy matter. Not a man could Jack find willing to risk an attempt to reach Chivers in that storm. One and all shook their heads; and though they looked grave enough when Jack explained the state of affairs, they persisted in assuring him that the thing was impossible.
“There ain’t a boat in Southport that would take you to Chivers to-night,” said old Sam Buxton, who knew the bay if any one did; “nor a man rash enough to try it. You’ll have to make up your mind to stay here.”
“But the light!” gasped Jack. “There is no one there to light up. Father’ll lose his place—and maybe there’ll be vessels wrecked!”
“You should have thought of that before you came away,” said old Sam, grimly. “It’s a bad piece of business, but you can’t better it by drowning yourself. You can’t get home to-night, no matter what happens, and that is the long and short of it.”
Poor Jack was in a terrible state of mind. Oscar wanted him to go home with him, but Jack refused to leave the wharf, although he knew quite well that there was no likelihood of the storm abating that night. He was very miserable. If he had only obeyed his father! What if a vessel should be coming in, amid all that tempest and darkness, with no beacon to guide her! If lives were lost, he, Jack Haslit, would be a murderer!
The boys were cold and drenched with spray, but Jack was determined to stay at the shore; Oscar stayed too, for he felt himself a little responsible for the state of affairs, since he had helped to delay Jack.
The night came down early. They knew when the sun set by the faint glow of light among the wind-rent clouds far out to sea.
Suddenly Oscar gave a start of surprise and exclaimed: “Jack, Jack, look! There’s Chivers’ light. It is all right, old fellow!”
Jack, who had been sitting with his face buried in his hands, sprang up; then he gave a gasp of joy and almost reeled against his friend, so great was his relief. For there, clear and bright across the harbour, through the stormy night, shone the beacon of Chivers Island lighthouse.
“Thank God!” Jack muttered huskily. “Father must have got home after all.”
The appearance of the light was a great relief to many others along the shore, for the men had been very anxious. Jack consented to go home with Oscar, but he did not sleep much that night, and when he did it was to live over in dreams the horror of the last few hours. He was sure that never, as long as he lived, could he forget it.
It was the afternoon of the next day before the wind calmed enough to permit Jack to go home. Even then he had an exciting passage. As he drew near to Chivers a boy came running down from the lighthouse, and when Jack sprang ashore he saw that it was his cousin Alec, who lived at St. Eleanor’s.
“Where’s Father? Isn’t he here?” he asked, as they shook hands.
“No. Where on earth have you been? Uncle John and Aunt May called at our place yesterday morning and said they were going to be away all night and you’d be here all alone, and wouldn’t I come over? So I sailed merrily over yesterday afternoon, and this is the first I see of you.”
“I went over to the races at Southport,” said Jack, shamefacedly. “I oughtn’t to have gone—Father told me not to—but I was sure I’d get back in time. Then the storm came up and I couldn’t. I nearly went crazy. You don’t know how thankful I felt when I saw the light flash out! Did you light it?”
“Yes, I hung around waiting for you until it got too late to go home—and, anyway, I knew somebody ought to be here. When it got dark I managed to light up. I had seen Uncle John do it lots of times. Then I stayed up all night for fear something would go wrong. A nice, cheerful time I had, you may be sure, with the waves crashing out there and not a creature to speak to but the cat! Besides, I was afraid that you had tried to come home and had got drowned.”
“I’ve got off better than I deserved,” said Jack humbly. “I’ll never do the like again, and I’m grateful to you beyond words, Alec.”
Jack’s father came home the next day. Jack did not try to hide the story from him, but confessed all frankly. Haslit did not scold him very much, for he knew the lad’s punishment had already been severe enough. All he said was: “You see, my son, what your disobedience might have cost you and us. Let this be a lesson to you.”
“It will indeed, Father, I’m sure,” said Jack earnestly.
And it was.
Editors’ note: “The Chivers Light” was published in Children’s Companion Annual (London) in 1924. It was not listed by this title in the 1986 bibliography. This was a repeat, with the change of the name of the light, of L. M. Montgomery’s story “The Glenn’s Light,” published in Good Cheer in October 1900. “The Chivers Light” was found by Joanne Lebold and is available to view online in the Ryrie-Campbell Collection.
It is possible that Montgomery had Summerside in mind for “Southport” in this story and the Indian Head lighthouse at the entrance to Summerside Harbour may have been her model for the Chivers Island light. It had been built in 1881 on a “circular pier” and originally had a two-storey dwelling beneath the light tower. It still stands guard at the mouth of the harbour.
Montgomery had spent part of 1898 teaching in the one-room school in Lower Bedeque, across the harbour from Summerside and a short distance by road from Indian Head Lighthouse. It is likely that she saw the lighthouse from that vantage point as well as passing by it when taking the ferry from Summerside to and from the mainland.
Lighthouses (and range lights) dot Prince Edward Island’s north and south coasts from “up west” at North Cape to East Point. They were vital to the safety of sailors in fishing boats, merchant crafts, and those who sailed for pleasure in the Gulf of St. Lawrence and the Northumberland Strait. In the middle of the twentieth century, electric lamps began to replace the oil-powered lamps that demanded the presence of a lighthouse keeper. In recent years, lighthouses have become almost obsolete due to electronic navigation systems.
Readers of Anne’s House of Dreams will recall the colourful “Captain Jim” who kept the lighthouse near Anne and Gilbert’s cottage at “Four Winds Harbour.” “Captain Jim’s” lighthouse is widely believed to have been the one located at Cape Tryon on the north shore of Prince Edward Island until the 1960s when it was moved; an electric light replaced it [see the article on “A Visit to Captain Jim’s Lighthouse” in The Shining Scroll (2010, Part 3)].
Elvie’s Necklace
(1906)
Elvie Floyd was dressing to go to Nellie Howard’s birthday party, and Mrs. Floyd had permitted her, as it was a special occasion, to wear her gold chain necklace.
Elvie was not often allowed to wear it because she was only a little girl and the necklace was very beautiful. It was a finely chased gold chain of exquisite workmanship. Elvie’s globe-trotting Uncle Raymond had brought it home for his little niece from his last trip to Europe.
Elvie stood before the glass, looking very dainty and pretty in her white dress, with her long brown curls tied back from her face in the very latest fashion for twelve-year-old misses. The chain was lying in its silk-lined box on her dressing table, and Elvie picked it up and ran it admiringly through her fingers. It was a lovely afternoon for a party. So thought Elvie, as she moved over to the window and looked out into the garden where Dannie Haven was just finishing weeding the onion bed.
Dannie was a boy of twelve. His mother was a widow, and she and Dannie lived in a little house down the village street. There were always little jobs to be done that people were glad to have Dannie do and just now it looked as if Mr. Floyd had a good deal of work for him in his garden. Dannie straightened up and bowed as Elvie came to the window.
Just then Aunt Anna called “Elvie” from upstairs. Elvie knew Aunt Anna did not like to be kept waiting. She hastily laid her chain on the broad window-sill and ran upstairs to her aunt’s room. Aunt Anna was an invalid and needed a good deal of waiting on. This time she wanted Elvie to hold a skein of yarn for her while she wound it. When that was done it was time to go to the party, and Elvie suddenly remembered the chain which she had left lying on the window-sill. She ran down to her own room. The chain was gone!
Elvie stared at the bare sill in dismay. It had not fallen on the floor; it could not have fallen out of the window, for the sill was fenced in by her mignonette box. Yet gone it was, and all Elvie’s searching failed to discover it.
Elvie burst into tears, forgetting all about the party. Her lovely chain was gone; somebody must have taken it, but who could it be? Mrs. Floyd was out; there was nobody in the house but Aunt Anna and Elvie.
Suddenly Elvie remembered Dannie Haven. He had been there when she was at the window—he must have seen her lay her chain down—and when she came back he was gone. Elvie’s eyes sparkled and her cheeks flushed with indignation.
It was one of Elvie’s faults that she was too quick at jumping to a conclusion and acting upon it. She did not pause to consider that Dannie had always been looked upon as an honest and reliable boy, and that she ought to be very careful about casting suspicion on him. She felt too worried and troubled to go to the party, and when Mrs. Floyd came home she was met by a very woe-begone little maid and a sobbing tale of the lost necklace.
“And I’m sure Dannie Haven must have taken it, Mamma,” said Elvie. “It couldn’t have fallen off the sill. There was nobody else near, and he saw me put it there.”
Mrs. Floyd was troubled, but warned Elvie that they must not be too ready to accuse Dannie. In her heart she thought it very strange, and so did her husband when he heard the story. He was a quick, impulsive man, and, like Elvie, he at once believed in Dannie Haven’s guilt.
“I’ll go right down and see Dan and his mother about this,” he declared. “I never thought it of the boy—he always seemed so honest and obliging.”
Mr. Floyd’s visit to the Havens’ did not result very satisfactorily. Dannie listened to the accusation like a boy turned to stone. Then he grew crimson and straightened up his shoulders indignantly.
“Mr. Floyd, I never touched Elvie’s chain,” he cried. “I never even saw it. I’m poor, sir, but I’m honest, and always have been.”
Mrs. Haven cried bitterly, and assured Mr. Floyd that Dannie would never do such a thing. Mr. Floyd was distressed but not convinced. He believed that Dannie was guilty, but he would not be too hard on him.
“Look here, Dan,” he said kindly. “As you say, you have always been an honest boy, and I am sure this was a great temptation. Elvie had no business to leave such a valuable trinket lying carelessly about. I believe you simply yielded to a sudden wrong impulse, and if you will confess and give back the chain I’ll say no more about it.”
“I can’t give back what I haven’t got, Mr. Floyd,” said Dannie firmly—stubbornly, Mr. Floyd thought—“I never saw Elvie’s chain, and would not have touched it if I had.”
And in this statement he persisted. Mr. Floyd grew angry and left the cottage with threatening words. When he had gone, Dannie threw himself into a chair and cried. The accusation had stung him to the heart; and he also foresaw the harm it would do him.
It all came about as Dannie feared. Mr. Floyd was firmly convinced of his guilt, and the story soon spread through the village. Dannie found himself coldly received everywhere. Nobody had any work for him, and on all sides he was treated as a “suspect.” His Sunday School teacher looked at him with grieved eyes; his few friends refused to have anything further to do with him.
Elvie, after crying her pretty eyes half out, had resigned herself to the loss of her chain. The cherry blossoms that had bloomed when the necklace disappeared had now changed to tempting fruit. The big tree outside of Elvie’s window was loaded and haunted by piratical robins, who feasted royally on cherries all day, and grew so saucy and bold that they hopped into Elvie’s room and twittered about the window-sill as if they were old friends of hers.
One day her cousin Will came to see her, and they went out to the garden to eat cherries.
“What a splendid old tree!” exclaimed Will, when he caught sight of the one at the window. “And I say, Elvie, look at all those beauties up on the top boughs. Aren’t they big and red though! I’m going to climb up and get them.”
Will was soon high up among the topmost boughs.
“I tell you, Elvie, it�
��s a great place up here,” he shouted. “I can see clear over the whole village.”
Will in the tree, and Elvie on the grass below, ate cherries until they both declared they couldn’t eat another one.
“Guess I’ll come down,” said Will, with a sigh over his limited capacity. “What a time those robins must have! There’s a nest of them up here, away over on the other side of the tree. I’m going to scramble over and have a look at it, though I guess there is nothing in it.”
Will swung himself over to a big bough which hung out over the roof. The robin’s nest proved empty, and he was about to descend when something caught his eye. He peered closer, then, with a long whistle of astonishment, he tore the nest from its place and quickly scrambled down.
“Elvie, look here,” he said excitedly.
Elvie stood up with a cry of wonder. There, wound in and out among the twigs and grasses on the outside of the nest was her long-lost gold chain necklace!
“O, Will,” she cried, “the robins must have taken it from the window-sill that day. And O, Will, we blamed Dannie Haven for it. O, we have been dreadfully unjust to him.”
Mr. and Mrs. Floyd realized this, too, when Will and Elvie ran breathlessly into the house with the necklace and the story.
“We must go at once and apologize to Dannie,” said the former. “It is too bad, the way we have treated that boy. Elvie, you must come with me, and we will go straight to Mrs. Haven’s now.”
Dannie’s feelings can be better imagined than described when Mr. Floyd told him the story, and Elvie, with tears in her pretty blue eyes, begged him to forgive her for suspecting him.
“We will do our best to atone to you, my boy,” said Mr. Floyd. Mr. Dille was asking me only yesterday if I knew of a boy about your age whom I could recommend for a vacant place in his factory. If you will take it, I will see that you get it.”
After Many Years Page 2