Your friend has just come back home from the theater. Ask him about the performance he visited. Dont forget to get to know about his impression and the actors who played in the performance.
VI. Compose a story about the last book you read. Use the following words and expressions:
Genre: love story/fiction/ detective story/etc., plot, the main character, it runs about, can not tear oneself from the book.
VII. Home-reading. Read and translate orally and do all tasks in written form.
The Lighthouse
by Alfred Noyes
The Position of a lighthouse keeper, in a sea infested by submarines, is a peculiar one; but Peter Ramsay, keeper of the Hatchets Light, had reasons for feeling that his lonely tower, six miles from the mainland, was the happiest place in the world.
At five oclock, on a stormy October afternoon of the year 1916, Peter had just finished his tea and sat down with a pipe and the last number of the British Weekly. Precisely at this moment the commander of the U-99, three miles away to the north, after making sure through his periscope that there were no patrol boats in the neighborhood, rose to the surface and began to look for the Hatchets. He had reasons for wishing to get inside the lighthouse, if only for half an hour. It was possible only by trickery done under the cover of darkness, and he was to reconnoiter.
At first he had some difficulty in revealing his goal across the confused sea. But afterwards his eye caught a patch of foam, larger than the ordinary white-caps, and as the sky brightened behind it, he could see the faint shaft of the lighthouse itself.
He stole nearer and the lighthouse greeted him with a deep muffled roar, for it was surrounded by a ring of axe-headed rocks furious with surf.
His head reeled when he looked up at the height of the lighthouse from the tossing conning-tower, as he circled the reef, making his observations. He noticed a narrow door, twenty feet up, in the smooth wall of the shaft. There was no way of approaching it until the rope ladder was let down from within. But, after midnight, when the keeper would be a little sleepy, his plan might succeed. He noticed the pool on the reef and the boulder near the tower. There was only one thing which he did not see, an unimportant thing in war-time, the beauty of the monument. Its silence and endurance in their contrast with the tumult below had touched the imaginations of many wanderers on the sea, but it mode no more impression on Captain Bernstein than on the sea gulls that flew around it.
When his observation was completed, the U-99 sheered off and submerged. She had to lie doggo at the bottom of the sea, for the next few hours; and there were several of her sisters waiting, a mile or so to the north on a fine sandy bottom. Two of them were big submarine layers of a new type. The U-99 settled down near them began exchanging underwater messages.
If you lay your mines properly and lie as near as possible to the harbor mouth, you can leave the rest to me. They will come out in a hurry, and you ought to sink two-thirds of them. This was the final message from Captain Bernstein, and, shortly after eight oclock, all the other submarines moved in the direction of the coast. The U-99 remained in her place till the hour was ripe.
|
|
|
About midnight she came to the surface again. Everything seemed quiet. There were no patrons in sight; and Captain Bernstein knew that they seldom came within a mile of the lighthouse, for ships gave it a wide herth and there was no good hunting in the neighbourhood.
It was a moonless night; and, when the U-99 stole towards the Hatchets for the second time, even Captain Bernstein was impressed by the spectacle before him. The mighty granite shaft was gripped at the base by black rocks in a frame of foam. A hundred feet above the six-foot reflectors of solid crystal flashed like burning jewels.
They could be smashed with a gun, thought Captain Bernstein, and they are very costly. Many thousand pounds of damage could thus be done, and, perhaps, many ships endangered.But he calculated, with some regret, that his other plans were more promising.
It was long past Peters usual bedtime, but he was trimming this oil lamp in the small sitting-room. He had been busy all the evening with the secret of his happiness which was a very queer one. He was trying to write a book, trying and failing. His papers were scattered all over the red cloth which covered his oak table.
He was restless to-night. It was his sixty-sixth birthday and it reminded him that he was behindhand with his great work. He began to wonder whether he was really destined to fail because of his old age. But he was still a fine figure of a man - his white hair and beard framed a face which was still high coloured, his deep eyes of the marine blue shone sometimes with lively fires although he was regarded as a little eccentric by the people on the coast, whom he had often amazed by what they called his innocence.
Nobody knew of Peter Ramsays secret, and even if the kindest of his friends learned of it, they would regard him as a fool, s with his imperfect knowledge and lack of skill he tried to write down certain truths for the want of which the civilized world at that moment was in danger of destruction.
This does not mean that Peter was the only possessor of those truths. He was one among millions of simple people all over the world who possessed those truths dumbly and knew that most of their intellectual leaders lacked them.
It was the tragedy of the twentieth century, and it had culminated in the tragedy of philosophical Germany. Peter Ramsay was one of those obscure millions who were the most important figures in the universe because they and they alone, in our modern world had retained the right to challenge the sophistry of Germany. They had not needed the war to teach them the reality of evil and if they had sinned, they had never tried to prove that they did right in sinning.
Peter knew all this, though he would not have said it in such words. In his book he tried to meet the main attack of all those destructive forces; and he tried to write plainly, for plain men, exactly what he believed in.
He returned over the pages of the big leather-bound diary book in which he had made his notes for the last forty years. It was a queer medley of his memories, beginning with passages written in his youth.
|
|
|
At that time in the darkness of the reef outside, seventy feet below, four shadowy figures landed from a collapsible boat belonging to the U-99. Three of them hauled it out of the reach of the waves. The fourth was Captain Bernstein who stood touching his revolver and looking up at the two lighted windows. Then three of the shadowy figures hid themselves behind the boulder close to the base of the tower and the fourth figure groped about on the reef, collecting a handful of stones.
A little after midnight Peter threw aside his notebook; took a clean shit of paper and headed it Chapter 1. At this time a stone came through the little window behind him. The glass scattered itself in splinters all over his red table cloth. He jumped up to his feet, blew the lamp out and went to the window. He could see nothing in the darkness at first, but as he stood and listened he heard a voice, crying for help. Instantly, he hurried out and down the winding stair to the narrow door. He shot back the great bolt, opened the door, and stood there fifteen feet above the rock, framed in the opening.
Come down and help us, for Gods sake! the voice cried again.
And Peter saw a dark figure crawling over the reef to the foot of the tower, where it fell as if in faint. Peters only thought was that a fishing boat had sunk. He dropped the rope ladder at once and descended. He stooped over the fallen man. At the same moment he recognized that this was an enemy seaman, and three more shadowy figures jumped from the hidden place and seized him.
There is no cause of fear, said the leader, rising to his feet. Our boat has sunk, but we shall die of cold if we stay here. You must take us into the lighthouse.
Peter looked at them curiously, saying nothing. The leader went up the ladder and beckoned the others, who ordered Peter to go next and then followed him.
I regret that it was necessary to smash your window, said Captain Bernstein as they entered Peters living room. But we might die out there on a night like this before you would hear is shouting. We shall not harm you, although there are four of us. We are in danger ourselves. My friends and I are sick of this work, and if we are sure of good treatment, we are prepared to help the British with all the information in our possession.
How did you escape from the submarine? asked Peter.
We were alone on deck, replied Bernstein, and took our chance of swimming for the Hatchets.
Peter looked at the four drenched figures thoughtfully. One of them was not realistic enough to satisfy him. There were several obviously dry spots about his shoulders.
There is a pool on the reef, said Peter at last to this man. Did you find it too cold?
A change came over Bernsteins face at once.
Theres no time to be wasted, he said. If you want to help your country, go to your telephone and give this message to the naval base exactly as I tell it to you. You must say that you have just noticed three submarines two hundred yards due north of the Hatchets. You must say that you have noticed them yourself because they would not believe us, and must not say anything about our being here at present. If you depart from these instructions, you will be shot instantly. Now go to your telephone and speak.
Peter took his beloved leather-bound diary book on the table and put it under his arm. It was his most precious possession, and this protective act was quite unconscious. Then he went to his bedroom followed by the four Germans. He was white and shaking. He could not understand what these men were after, and the message they proposed seemed to be useful to his own side.
He put the precious book on the bed, turned to the telephone and lifted the receiver to his ear. As he did so, the cold muzzle of the revolver was pressed against his right temple. Soon he heard a voice from the coast of England asking what he wanted. Then it seemed as if a new light was thrown upon the character of the words he was about to speak. He knew instinctively that if he spoke them, he would work for the enemy.
|
|
|
In the same instant he saw exactly what he must do.
This is Peter Ramsay speaking, he said, from the Hatchets Light. I have just noticed three submarines due to north of the Hatchets.
There he paused for a moment and said with a rush: Trap! Germans in the lighthouse, forcing me to say this!
The hand of one of his captors struck down the hook of the receiver. In the same instant the shot rang out, and Peter Ramsay dropped sidelong.
Crazy old fool, muttered Bernstein. Then the murderer took Peters old fashioned revolver from the bookshelf beside the bed and put it in his stiffening fingers. He had just succeeded in making it look quite a realistic suicide, when the telephone bell rang sharply forcing him to start upright. He took the receiver and listened.
Cant hear, he said, trying to imitate Peters gruff voice.
No I dropped the telephone on the floor it was a mistake no I said three submarines two hundred yards due north of the Hatchets Light - all right, sir.
He hung the receiver up again and looked at the others.
We may succeed yet, he said. Come quickly.
A minute later they were standing on the lee of the reef. Bernstein blew a whistle thrice. It was answered from the darkness by another one, and in five minutes the four men and the collapsible boat were aboard their submarine. It submerged at once and went due south at twelve knots below the unrevealing seas.
Commander Pickering, the officer on duty at the naval base, was not sure whether it was worth while paying any attention to the message from the old man at the Hatchets. He went to the window and looked at the starry flash of the lighthouse in the distance.
Old Peter probably saw a school of porpoises. They frightened him into a fit, he said.
The two men from the naval reserve were waiting for Pickerings orders, but he could not make up his mind. He left the window and studied the big map on the wall where the movements of a dozen submarines were marked in red ink from the point to point as the daily reports came in, till the final red star announced their destruction. He chewed his lip as he thought. There was a fleet of submarine destroyers in Westport Harbour at this moment, but they had only just come from a long spell, and he was unwilling to send them on a worthless chase.
Old idiot, he muttered. He cant even talk straight. He wanted to say that he had seen submarines, and started muttering about Germans in the lighthouse. Ring him up again, Dawkins, and find out whether he is drunk or talking in his sleep.
Dawkins went to the telephone. For five minutes he shouted into the mouthpiece and moved the hook up and down.
Dont get any answer at all. Sir
Thats queer. He cant be asleep yet after that beautiful conversation.
Commander Pickering approached the window with his night-glass.
There is a light in both his rooms, and its getting on for two oclock in the morning. There is something strange happening. Well take a chance of it, and make a regular sweep of the bay. Ill go out to the Hatchets myself on the Silver King. I think the old boy is mad, and I suppose the Admiral will have my scalp for it to-morrow; but there is just one chance in a hundred thousand that Mr. Peter Ramsay did spot a squadron of U-boats. If so, we may bombard them properly.
He went to the telephone himself this time, and began issuing orders all over the base, his final order being an afterthought elaboration of queer warning he had received from the Hatchets.
|
|
|
Dont go straight out. Make a sweep round by the south. There may be a trap; and you may as well let the dirigibles go ahead of you and do some scouting.
It often happens with these chaps, said Commander Pickering to Dawkins as they stood in Peters bedroom an hour before dawn. Its the lonely life that does it. Look here at all this stuff. The poor chap had a mania for philosophy or something. See what he has written on these scraps of paper twenty or thirty times over.
It was well known all over Westport, said Dawkins, that old Peter had a screw loose about philosophy, but he seemed such a reliable boy. You dont think he could have seen anything to make him do it, sir? It seems strange that the door was left open like that.
Nobody knows what he meant when he did this. We had better go upstairs and have a look at the light.
The two men climbed up the winding stair, poking into every corner on their way up, till they came to the little rail platform under the crystal moons of the lantern. The glare blinded them.
Turn those lights off, said Commander Pickering.
Dawkins went into the tower and obeyed.
Half a dozen patrol boats, each with its tiny black gun at bow and stern were cruising to and fro over a rough sea. Soon another sailor came to the platform and saluted.
A telephone message for you, sir, he said. There has been a lot of mines discovered off the point. We could have run straight into them f we had neglected your warning and steered a straight course.
Commander Pickering looked at Dawkins in silence. Far away eastward the dawn was breaking, red as blood. In a few moments the crystal moons were afire with it.
Well have to apologize to Peter, said Dawkins at last, as he saved us after all.
