The Light Keepers: A Story of the United States Light-house Service

"One day the dwellers on the coast picked up on the beach a cask inscribed, 'Open this and you will find a letter'; inside was a carefully-sealed bottle, and in the bottle a document as follows:

"'Smalls, February 1, 1777.

"'Sir, – Finding ourselves at this moment in the most critical and dangerous condition, we hope that Providence will guide this letter to you, and that you will immediately come to our succor. Send to seek for us before spring, or we will perish, I fear; our supply of wood and water is almost exhausted, and our house is in the most sad state. We do not doubt that you would come to seek us as promptly as possible. We can be reached at high tide in almost any weather. I have no need to tell you more, you will comprehend our distress, and I remain,

"'Your humble servant, "'H. Whiteside.

"'We were surprised on the 23 January by a tempest; since that time we have not been able to light the temporary light for want of oil and candles. We fear we have been forgotten.

"'Ed. Edwards. G. Adams. J. Price.

"'P.S. We do not doubt that the person in whose hands this will fall will be sufficiently charitable to send it to Th. Williams, Esq., Trelethen, near St. Davids, Wales.'

"The history of Smalls has other and darker pages. It is related that at the beginning of the nineteenth century there was a winter so stormy that for four months the two keepers were entirely cut off from any succor from shore. It was in vain that vessels were sent to the rock, the furious sea always prevented a landing. One of them returned one day with a strange report. Its crew had seen a man, standing motionless, in a corner of the exterior gallery. Near him floated a signal of distress. But was he dead or alive? No one could say. Each evening anxious looks were cast at the light-house to see if its light would be shown, and each evening it shone brightly, proof that some one was still there. But were both keepers alive, and if there were but one who was the survivor? This was learned later.

"One evening a fisher from Milford, who had succeeded in landing at Smalls in an intermission of calm weather, brought to Solway the two keepers, but one of them was a corpse. The survivor had made a coffin for his dead comrade, then, after having carried it to a corner of the gallery, he had stood it on end, attaching it firmly. Left alone he had done good service. When returned on shore he was so changed, so emaciated, that his relatives and friends could scarcely recognize him. He asserted that his comrade had died of disease; he was believed, but after this time there were always three keepers at Smalls in the place of two – a wise precaution which has since been taken for light-houses placed in similar conditions."

"I ain't certain as that is very cheerful readin' for us," Captain Eph said grimly. "It's too near hittin' our own case, seem's how every one of this 'ere crew has come near bein' killed, an' if that had happened, our little Sonny would have been in a worse way than a young girl in a light not far from here, which we'll read about some other time."

"Don't say that I came near dyin', Cap'n Eph," Mr. Peters cried. "I've never been as bad off as you an' Uncle Zenas believed."

Sidney fancied that the first assistant was about to confess his deceit; but if such was the case, Captain Eph prevented him by saying sharply:

"I don't know how a man could be in much harder sleddin' than you, Sammy, when that 'ere raft was drivin' before the wind, with the waves washin' clean over both you an' her. Uncle Zenas an' me felt mightily down at the mouth 'bout that time, for we reckoned sure you was dead."

"An' I called myself all kinds of an old villain for declarin' you shouldn't have any breakfast, Sammy," Uncle Zenas said, his voice tremulous with pain. "I hope you won't lay it up agin me, for we've been in danger too often to let anything come between us, an' when I get so's I can stand on my feet, you may kick me all 'round this ledge at low water."

"Don't, Uncle Zenas, don't!" Mr. Peters cried passionately. "I might'er got out of bed a good deal sooner than I did, but for sulkin', an' if I'd been a decent kind of a man, we wouldn't be havin' all this trouble now!"

"Sammy!" Captain Eph cried sharply. "What do you mean by runnin' yourself down like that? Uncle Zenas an' I have summered an' wintered with you, an' know there ain't a mean bone in your body, so don't let's hear any more 'bout your bein' to blame for what happened this day. If I hadn't yelled so loud, the fat wouldn't have been spilled, an' then I shouldn't have blundered down-stairs like an old fool."

Mr. Peters rose to his feet, and again Sidney felt certain he was on the point of making a confession; but once more Captain Eph checked him.

"You're all wore up, Sammy, an' that's the fact. Now I want you to go straight to bed without openin' your mouth agin. It's got to be done, if you count on standin' a long watch. Don't answer me back, Sammy Peters, but start this minute!"

The first assistant hesitated an instant, half turned toward Uncle Zenas, and then ran up the stairs as rapidly as possible, causing Captain Eph to say in a low tone:

"Poor Sammy! He's so soft-hearted that our gettin' hurt has broke him all up, an' we've got to keep our eye out, Uncle Zenas, or he'll be down sick through worryin' 'bout us."

CHAPTER XV

STORM-BOUND

Sidney made up a bed for himself in the kitchen, that he might be near at hand in case either of the invalids should need attention, and it was nearly three o'clock in the morning when Mr. Peters awakened him.

"Why didn't you call me sooner?" the lad asked in a whisper, when he saw what time it was. "You had no right to do more than your share of the work."

"Yes I had, Sonny. I'm tryin' to make up for my meanness, an' I'd be mighty glad if it was possible for me to get along without sleep till Cap'n Eph an' Uncle Zenas are in shape once more."

Sidney could make no further protest, understanding as he did all that was in the first assistant's mind, and crept softly up-stairs to the watch-room, while Mr. Peters lay down on the bed he had just vacated.

The lad, eager to show his willingness to perform a full share of the work, remained on watch even after sunrise, and was busily engaged cleaning the lens when Mr. Peters came into the lantern, having been awakened by Captain Eph.

"I want you to understand, Sonny, that this 'ere thing won't go down with me," he said sharply. "There's good reason why I ought'er do the biggest part of this work, an' no call for you to strain yourself."

"There's little chance of my doing anything of the kind," Sidney replied laughingly. "I thought it would be a good plan to let you get as much sleep as possible; but so long as you're awake, I'll go down and see what kind of a breakfast I can fix up. How are they feeling this morning?"

"Uncle Zenas has still got a power of pain, an' I don't reckon there's much show of his bein' any easier for quite a spell. Cap'n Eph's leg is surely a sight. It's swelled twice the reg'lar size; but he won't give in that it hurts him so very bad, though I know it must."

When Sidney entered the kitchen he found the old keeper sitting bolt upright in bed, gently rubbing his injured limb, and the lad suggested that he be allowed to aid him.

"There's no need, Sonny, not a little bit; I'm only doin' this because I've got nothin' else on hand. Why didn't you call Sammy on time?"

"Because he didn't waken me until nearly three o'clock, and I wanted him to have something near a night's rest, sir."

"Wa'al, don't slip up in that way agin, for I've got no notion of havin' you sick on our hands. After this, rout him out at sunrise, no matter what time he turned in. I reckon, Sonny, that you'll have to try your hand at cookin' agin."

"That's what I counted on, sir, and if Uncle Zenas can tell me what to do, I'll get along first rate."

The second assistant not only explained to Sidney how he should perform the necessary work; but, despite the pain with which he was suffering, watched his every movement until a really appetizing meal was on the table.

Then Sidney, after calling Mr. Peters, fed the two invalids as if they were babies, although Captain Eph protested against it, and when the first assistant came down-stairs, asked if he couldn't make something in the way of a short-legged table on which food might be placed while they sat up in bed to eat.

"I'll 'tend to that right off, sir," Mr. Peters replied, evidently pleased at the idea of having additional work to perform, and, after breakfast, while Sidney was putting the kitchen-hospital to rights, he set about the task.

The storm appeared to be increasing, and Captain Eph predicted that it would be a long one, giving his reasons for such an opinion, and adding:

"It'll suit me way down to the ground, for I'd be ashamed to have anybody land here while Uncle Zenas an' I are stretched out on the floor."

"Does it often happen that a landing can't be made for some time?" Sidney asked, as, his work having been done, he sat by the side of the keeper.

"At this season of the year we count on bein' storm-bound a good part of the time, Sonny. Least-ways, the heavy seas shut us in, because the weather must be fairly good for a boat to make a landin' on this 'ere ledge; but we ain't any worse off as to that, than the keepers of a light not sich a dreadful ways from here."

"Meanin' Matinicus," Uncle Zenas said, as if he hoped by taking part in the conversation to forget some portion of his pain.

"Ay, that's the light, Sonny, an' by the charts in my room you can see where it stands. Now give me the book you was readin' last night, an' I'll show you somethin' that tells how much of sufferin' is needed sometimes to keep the lights on our coast burnin'."

Captain Eph found the article on Matinicus Rock Light, and Sidney read aloud the entire chapter; but it is not well to set down here more than a few extracts:

"Matinicus Rock is twenty-five miles out in the ocean from the mainland, directly in the pathway of the ocean-steamers plying from Boston and Portland to Eastport, St. John, Yarmouth, and Halifax, and of the immense fleet of coasting and fishing vessels trading between the United States and the British Provinces. This barren and jagged rock, covering an area of thirty-nine acres at low tide, is inaccessible except during favorable weather…

"In the spring of 1853, Samuel Burgess obtained the position of light keeper; his family consisted of an invalid wife, four small daughters, and a son, who, though making his home on the rock, was absent much of the time fishing in Bay Chaleur and else-where. The eldest daughter, Abbie, fourteen years old, was the keeper's only assistant; she aided in caring for the light as well as attending to the principal household duties. In the occasional absence of her father, the whole care of the light devolved upon her…

"On the morning of January 19, 1856, Abbie being then seventeen years of age, the Atlantic was visited by one of those terrible gales to which it is subject. Her father was away."

It was Abbie herself who wrote the following concerning the storm:

"Early in the day, as the tide rose, the sea made a complete breach over the rock, washing every movable thing away, and of the old dwelling not one stone was left upon another. The new dwelling was flooded, and the windows had to be secured to prevent the violence of the spray from breaking them in. As the tide came, the sea rose higher and higher, till the only endurable places were the light-towers. If they stood we were saved, otherwise our fate was only too certain. But for some reason, I know not why, I had no misgivings, and went on with my work as usual. For four weeks, owing to rough weather, no landing could be effected on this rock."