All this took place in the most perfect silence, and the melancholy solemnity of the scene was such that it produced an ineffaceable impression on Mr. Stevenson’s mind.
In the meantime the engineer was meditating various schemes which might be adopted for the general safety of the party. The most feasible seemed to be, that as soon as the waves should reach the highest summit of the rock, all should disembarrass themselves of their upper garments; and while a certain number went on board each boat, the remainder should hang by the gunwales, and the boats should row gently towards the _Smeaton_, as the _Pharos_, or floating-light, lay too much to the windward of the rock. Stevenson wished to propose this plan; but, on attempting to speak, his mouth was so parched that his tongue refused utterance, and he now learned by experience that the saliva is as necessary as the tongue itself for speech. Turning to one of the rock-pools, he lapped a little water, and obtained immediate relief. But great was his joy, when, on rising from this unpleasant beverage, a voice called out, “A boat! a boat!” and, on looking around, at no great distance a large boat loomed through the deep, and was evidently making for the rock. She proved to be a pilot-boat from Arbroath, express with letters; and willingly taking on board Stevenson and his company, rescued them from their critical position. In return for this service, the pilot was pensioned by the Lighthouse Commissioners in his old age.
On the 6th of September, the whole company on board of the light-ship, or _Pharos_, was surprised by a tremendous gale, which prevented them from approaching the rock for ten days, and exposed them to real danger.
About two o’clock P.M., says Stevenson, a very heavy sea struck the ship, flooded the deck, and poured into the berths below. Everybody thought that she had foundered, and that their last moment had come. Below deck total darkness prevailed; several of the artificers were at prayer, repeating hymns, or uttering devout ejaculations; others protested that if they should be fortunately spared to reach land once more, no one would induce them to tempt the treacherous waves again. Through the confusion Stevenson made his way upon deck. An astounding spectacle met his gaze. The billows appeared to be ten or fifteen feet in height of unbroken water, and each threatened the little vessel with immediate destruction; but still, with wonderful buoyancy, she continued to rise upon the waves, and escape their worst violence.