There has been a terrible interference with bird-nesting and other things.All over the world the great Something that bridges rivers, and tunnels mountains, and fells forests, and populates deserts, and opens up the hidden corners of the earth, has been pushing steadily on; and the people who like things to remain as they are have had to give up a great deal.There was no exception made in favour of Dead Men's Point.The Isle of Birds lay in the line of progress.The lighthouse arrived.
It was a very good house for that day.The keeper's dwelling had three rooms and was solidly built.The tower was thirty feet high.
The lantern held a revolving light, with a four-wick Fresnel lamp, burning sperm oil.There was one of Stevenson's new cages of dioptric prisms around the flame, and once every minute it was turned by clockwork, flashing a broad belt of radiance fifteen miles across the sea.All night long that big bright eye was opening and shutting."BAGUETTE!" said Thibault, "it winks like a one-eyed Windigo."The Department of Marine and Fisheries sent down an expert from Quebec to keep the light in order and run it for the first summer.
He took Fortin as his assistant.By the end of August he reported to headquarters that the light was all right, and that Fortin was qualified to be appointed keeper.Before October was out the certificate of appointment came back, and the expert packed his bag to go up the river.
"Now look here, Fortin," said he, "this is no fishing trip.Do you think you are up to this job?""I suppose," said Fortin.
"Well now, do you remember all this business about the machinery that turns the lenses? That 's the main thing.The bearings must be kept well oiled, and the weight must never get out of order.The clock-face will tell you when it is running right.If anything gets hitched up here's the crank to keep it going until you can straighten the machine again.It's easy enough to turn it.But you must never let it stop between dark and daylight.The regular turn once a minute--that's the mark of this light.If it shines steady it might as well be out.Yes, better! Any vessel coming along here in a dirty night and seeing a fixed light would take it for the Cap Loup-Marin and run ashore.This particular light has got to revolve once a minute every night from April first to December tenth, certain.Can you do it?""Certain," said Fortin.
"That's the way I like to hear a man talk! Now, you've got oil enough to last you through till the tenth of December, when you close the light, and to run on for a month in the spring after you open again.The ice may be late in going out and perhaps the supply-boat can't get down before the middle of April, or thereabouts.But she'll bring plenty of oil when she comes, so you'll be all right.""All right," said Fortin.
"Well, I've said it all, I guess.You understand what you've got to do? Good-by and good luck.You're the keeper of the light now.""Good luck," said Fortin, "I am going to keep it." The same day he shut up the red house on the beach and moved to the white house on the island with Marie-Anne, his wife, and the three girls, Alma, aged seventeen, Azilda, aged fifteen, and Nataline, aged thirteen.
He was the captain, and Marie-Anne was the mate, and the three girls were the crew.They were all as full of happy pride as if they had come into possession of a great fortune.
It was the thirty-first day of October.A snow-shower had silvered the island.The afternoon was clear and beautiful.As the sun sloped toward the rose-coloured hills of the mainland the whole family stood out in front of the lighthouse looking up at the tower.
"Regard him well, my children," said Baptiste; "God has given him to us to keep, and to keep us.Thibault says he is a Windigo.B'EN!
We shall see that he is a friendly Windigo.Every minute all the night he shall wink, just for kindness and good luck to all the world, till the daylight."II
On the ninth of November, at three o'clock in the afternoon, Baptiste went into the tower to see that the clockwork was in order for the night.He set the dial on the machine, put a few drops of oil on the bearings of the cylinder, and started to wind up the weight.
It rose a few inches, gave a dull click, and then stopped dead.He tugged a little harder, but it would not move.Then he tried to let it down.He pushed at the lever that set the clockwork in motion.
He might as well have tried to make the island turn around by pushing at one of the little spruce trees that clung to the rock.
Then it dawned fearfully upon him that something must be wrong.
Trembling with anxiety, he climbed up and peered in among the wheels.
The escapement wheel was cracked clean through, as if some one had struck it with the head of an axe, and one of the pallets of the spindle was stuck fast in the crack.He could knock it out easily enough, but when the crack came around again, the pallet would catch and the clock would stop once more.It was a fatal injury.
Baptiste turned white, then red, gripped his head in his hands, and ran down the steps, out of the door, straight toward his canoe, which was pulled up on the western side of the island.
"DAME!" he cried, "who has done this? Let me catch him! If that old Thibault--"As he leaped down the rocky slope the setting sun gleamed straight in his eyes.It was poised like a ball of fire on the very edge of the mountains.Five minutes more and it would be gone.Fifteen minutes more and darkness would close in.Then the giant's eye must begin to glow, and to wink precisely once a minute all night long.
If not, what became of the keeper's word, his faith, his honour?
No matter how the injury to the clockwork was done.No matter who was to be blamed or punished for it.That could wait.The question now was whether the light would fail or not.And it must be answered within a quarter of an hour.
That red ray of the vanishing sun was like a blow in the face to Baptiste.It stopped him short, dazed and bewildered.Then he came to himself, wheeled, and ran up the rocks faster than he had come down.
