TO THE LIGHTHOUSEby their compact to fight tyranny to the death).At last they had shoved her off, they had launchedthe lifeboat, and they had got her out past thepoint—Macalister told the story; and thoughthey only caught a word here and there, they wereconscious all the time of their father—how heleant forward, how he brought his voice into tunewith Macalister’s voice; how, puffing at his pipe,and looking there and there where Macalisterpointed, he relished the thought of the storm andthe dark night and the fishermen striving there.He liked that men should labour and sweat on thewindy beach at night, they knew[%]; pitting muscleand brain against the waves and the wind; heliked men to work like that, and women to keephouse, and sit beside sleeping children indoors;, /while men were drowned, out there in a storm.So James could tell, so Cam could tell (they lookedat him, they looked at each other), from his tossand his vigilance and the ring in his voice, and thelittle tinge of Scottish accent which came into hisvoice, making him seem like a peasant himself,ashe questioned Macalister about the eleven shipsthat had been driven into the bay in a storm.Three had sunk.

He looked proudly where Macalister pointed;and Cam thought, feeling proud of him withoutknowing quite why, had he been there he would254
Resize Images  

Select Pane

Berg Materials

View Pane