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

CHAPTER XIV
NURSES AND LIGHT KEEPERS

At that moment Sidney was thinking of what had just taken place, rather than of what they might or might not be able to do in the future, and the most perplexing part of it was the sudden and complete recovery of Mr. Peters.

He could understand that the first assistant might have been so excited by the disasters in the kitchen as to be able to do what, under almost any other circumstances, would have been absolutely impossible; but in such case a reaction should have set in after the danger had passed, when the patient would be in a far worse bodily condition than before.

If Mr. Peters had collapsed immediately Captain Eph's needs were supplied, Sidney would not have been surprised; in fact, he would have looked upon it as the most natural thing possible. But the first assistant showed no signs of weakening even now when they were absent from the scene of the accident; he appeared to be in as good bodily condition as ever, and the lad was so very curious regarding the situation that he asked abruptly:

"How did it happen, Mr. Peters, that you got well so quickly? We all thought there was danger you might die."

"It does seem kind'er queer, don't it?" and the first assistant rubbed the tip of his nose reflectively with the buff-skin. "Wa'al now, Sonny, I'd like mighty well to tell you jest how it happened; but I don't rightly know all the pertic'lars myself, although I can let in a little light if you'll promise never to tell a livin' soul."

"Of course I wouldn't tell anything which you wanted kept secret," Sidney replied.

"That's a promise, is it?" Mr. Peters asked sharply.

"Of course it is; but if it's so very much of a secret, there's no reason why you should tell me. I was only wondering how you got well so quickly, and it won't do any harm if I don't know."

"But I'd rather tell you, Sonny, though I'd feel mortally bad if Cap'n Eph or Uncle Zenas heard about it, because I'm ashamed of a part," Mr. Peters said seriously, and Sidney looked at him in surprise, failing to understand why so much of an introduction was necessary to the answering of a simple question.

"It isn't any of my business, you know, and perhaps you'd better not say any more," Sidney began, but Mr. Peters interrupted him as he softly closed the door in the floor of the lantern.

"I'm goin' to tell you the whole story, Sonny, an' it shall be a secret 'twixt you an' me. In the first place I was chafin' under the collar a good bit when I left here to go to the wreck, after Uncle Zenas had declared I shouldn't have a bite to eat till breakfast was ready. It didn't seem jest the thing for him to make me go hungry because he was set against my savin' what I could from the Nautilus, an' I'll leave it to you if I wasn't right?"

"He might have let you have some of the food that was already cooked," Sidney replied guardedly, not disposed to find serious fault with the cook while he was in such distress.

"Wa'al, he declared I shouldn't have the least little crumb, an' off I started on work that was as much for his benefit as my own. When I got aboard the wreck I found it was goin' to be possible to get away with a good deal more'n could be loaded into the dory, so I built a raft, an' Sonny dear, I had timber an' ropes there that would have done your heart good to see! Of course it wasn't a great while before I found out that we was likely to have a storm, an' I jest threw the stuff together in the hope of gettin' back to the ledge before the wind got too high."

"Then you did start with the raft just as Captain Eph believed?"

"Yes, I started, Sonny, but hadn't got very far before I saw that I was likely to lose some of my load unless it was looked after, so I ran the bow of the dory up on the lumber, an' got out to make the heaviest timbers fast. I reckon that in movin' 'round I tilted the side of the raft down so the boat slipped off; but she was twenty yards away before I knew what had happened. Of course I didn't suppose that the man would come after the motor so soon, an' allowed that my only chance of ever seein' Carys' Ledge agin was to catch the dory.

"Over I went without stoppin' to think that the wind would shove her along faster'n I could swim; but it wasn't a great while before I found that much out. Then I started back for the raft, an' mighty hard work I had to reach her. When, after bein' a good half-hour in the cold water, I climbed up on the timbers, you'd better believe I was in bad shape, an' jest about as near crazy as I ever shall be till they lug me off to some asylum."

"I wonder that you wasn't frozen," Sidney said sympathetically, as Mr. Peters ceased speaking for a moment.

"Frozen? I was so cold, Sonny, that I couldn't tell you what my name was, an' layin' there on the timbers with the wind blowin' half a gale didn't tend to make me any warmer. After a while, though, I got to understand that I'd die for sure if somethin' wasn't done, because I counted help couldn't come till I'd drifted ashore, an' that mightn't be much before mornin'. Wa'al, as I figgered it, thinkin' you folks on the ledge couldn't come out to help me owin' to your not havin' a boat, my only chance was to work the raft in toward the shore faster'n the wind was carryin' her."

"But how could you do that without oars, sir?" and Sidney was literally trembling with suppressed excitement, as he imagined himself in Mr. Peters' position.

"I had lumber enough to make a hundred oars, but no tools with which to put 'em in shape. I got out a piece of plankin', usin' my foot as a thole-pin, an' in that way got the raft workin' more favorably in the wind; but I couldn't raise the plank high enough out of the water. A big wave caught the outer end, an' then I got sich a clip on the stomach as knocked me silly. It looked as if I was pretty nigh my last gasp, an' jest then a sea swept me clean off the timbers. It's a solemn fact, Sonny, that I don't have any idee how I got back to the raft. The next thing I realized, was when Cap'n Eph an' Uncle Zenas brought me inter the tower. But now comes the mean part of it."

Mr. Peters paused, and Sidney would have spoken, but that the first assistant checked him with a gesture, as he said sharply:

"Don't say a word, Sonny, or my courage won't hold out to tell the whole of the story. Until about midnight I wasn't more'n half sensible of what was goin' on; but after then I could have got up an' gone to work jest as well as I can now, though I felt a bit lazy, an' considerable tired. I was jest mean enough to lay there in bed an' let you three stay on watch all night, when there was nothin' to prevent my doin' a full share of the duty."

"But why didn't you get up?" Sidney asked in surprise.

"Because I was so all-fired mean, Sonny, that is the reason. I saw that Uncle Zenas was worryin' a good deal about me, an' made up my mind to give him a good dose, so the next time I wanted to start away early he wouldn't dare to say I shouldn't have breakfast till it was ready for all hands. I fixed it with myself that I'd get up sometime this mornin', an' had jest begun to come 'round gradual-like, when the trouble happened, an' 'twixt you an' me, Sonny, I'm to blame for the whole thing. All I ask now is, that I may live long enough to kind'er square up with Cap'n Eph an' Uncle Zenas for my meanness."

Sidney was at a loss for words when the first assistant paused as if expecting him to make some comment, and during five minutes or more the two worked in silence. Then Mr. Peters said, as he gave the finishing touches to the lens:

"I reckon it would take a mighty smart man to say that there'd been any smoke in this 'ere lantern, an' now we'd better go down to see what the poor fellows are needin'. I don't expect, Sonny, that you'll ever think of me as anything except the meanest critter that ever walked the face of the earth; but I'm askin' that you won't show it before the others. Life wouldn't be worth the livin', if they should know what I'd done."

"Of course you couldn't have an idea that any accident would happen because of your staying in bed as you did, and so I don't think you're as much to blame as you make out," Sidney said earnestly. "You needn't worry that I'll ever tell Captain Eph or Uncle Zenas what you've said; but if they knew the whole story, I'm certain neither of them would look at it as you do."

"Is that the truth, Sonny, or are you sayin' it to make me feel a little better?" Mr. Peters asked eagerly, and Sidney assured him again and again that he had said no more than he really believed.

"I'll hope you're right, Sonny; but at the same time I shall never be able to see my face in a lookin' glass agin without callin' myself hard names," Mr. Peters said with a sigh, and then he led the way down-stairs.

When they reached the kitchen it was to find Uncle Zenas in greater pain than when they went into the lantern, and Captain Eph explained that it was to be expected he would suffer more each hour until the heat had been drawn from the burns by the potato poultice.

"He'll have a mighty hard time of it for two or three days, an' then, unless he's been burned worse'n we think, there'll be a change for the better," Captain Eph said in conclusion, and Sidney asked how he was feeling.

The keeper drew aside the bandages to show the swollen and rapidly-discoloring flesh, after which he said:

"Knowin' that it's nothin' worse'n a bad sprain, an' will come 'round all right after a spell, I wouldn't allow that I'd got it so awful hard if we hadn't the light to look after, an' how's that to be done?"

"Now don't fret over that a little bit, Cap'n Eph," Mr. Peters cried imploringly. "It wouldn't hurt me any if I stood watch every night till you an' Uncle Zenas got 'round agin; but Sonny has shown that he can look after the light as well as either of us, an' he an' I will run things slick as grease. He can go on watch till midnight, an' I'll take the rest of the time, doin' all the cleanin' alone."

"I shall do my full share of the work," Sidney cried decidedly, "and be right glad of the chance to pay you off for having been so good to me!"

"But what about the cookin'?" Uncle Zenas groaned. "Somebody must get the meals an' keep the kitchen cleared up."

"I can make coffee, and boil potatoes," Sidney replied promptly. "Perhaps, if you'd tell me how, I could do a good deal more. Any way, it would be a pretty poor kind of a boy who couldn't wash dishes and sweep the floor, and it seems as if we ought to get along in great shape."

"You're countin' on doin' too much, Sonny; but perhaps, if Sammy takes all the care of the light, with you to stand watch the first part of the night, you might make quite a fist at runnin' things down here, 'specially since Uncle Zenas an' me will have to stay right where we can show you how to do this or that," Captain Eph replied, and Sidney cried in surprise:

"Are you thinking of staying here in the kitchen all the time, sir?"

"What else can we do, Sonny?" the keeper asked grimly. "Even if Uncle Zenas was in condition to be moved, which he ain't, do you think you an' Sammy could get him up-stairs? You might as well try to lug an elephant, as him. An' the same holds good in my case. I wouldn't put my foot down on the floor, to step any part of my weight on it, for the best hundred dollars I ever heard tell about, an' you two couldn't carry me half-way to my room. I've been thinkin' it all out, an' can't see any other course than for Uncle Zenas an' me to stay where we are."

"If you've got to turn the kitchen inter a hospital, why wouldn't it be a good idee for me to bring the beds down here?" Mr. Peters asked eagerly. "It won't be any hard job, an' I'll get at it right away."

"You sha'n't do anything of the kind, Sammy," and Captain Eph spoke in a decisive tone. "You ought'er be in bed yourself this very minute, an' you'd never been able to leave it if you hadn't got all worked up over our gettin' hurt. You've got a kind heart, Sammy, an' mustn't be allowed to trifle with your poor, weak body."

A deep flush of shame overspread Mr. Peters' face, and Sidney really pitied him. Such was the punishment to which he must submit in silence because of the deception he had practiced.

"I'll look after my body, Cap'n Eph," the first assistant said after a pause. "I wasn't hurt half so much as it seemed, an' bringin' the bedsteads down wouldn't hurt a flea."

"We can't have 'em here, Sammy. There isn't room enough in the kitchen, an' we shall be comfortable the way you've rigged things."

"The mattresses won't take up any more room than those piles of blankets, an' I'll bring them anyhow," Mr. Peters cried, hurrying up the stairs as if afraid the keeper might try to stop him, and Sidney could understand very well why the first assistant was eager to do even more that might not be absolutely necessary, hoping thus to atone for his deceit.

It was no slight task to move Uncle Zenas from the place where he was lying to the mattress which Mr. Peters brought, and not accomplished without causing the sufferer very much additional pain; but there could be no question as to the future benefit, and the keeper said in a tone of satisfaction:

"That's first rate, Sammy, an' now I reckon you may bring down another bed for me. When that's done we'll be in fairly good condition, an' your hospital will look a deal more ship-shape."

By the time Captain Eph had been attended to, it was necessary Sidney should set about getting supper, for even the invalids needed something in the way of food, and, with Mr. Peters to assist him, the lad succeeded far beyond his own anticipations.

"Before Uncle Zenas gets around agin you'll be a first-class cook," Captain Eph said when the supper was on the table, and Sidney was heating some of the canned soup with the hope that the second assistant would swallow it. "Beats all how handy you are. Haven't been on Carys' Ledge hardly long enough to get acquainted, an' know how to look after the light! It won't be a great while before you can run the whole business."

"It would be funny if I couldn't do a little bit, when all of you have shown me how," Sidney replied with a laugh, but secretly he was well pleased at being thus praised.

That evening, after the lamp in the lantern had been lighted, and the invalids were cared for as well as possible under the circumstances, Sidney spoke of the possibility that the tower might have been burned, and asked Captain Eph if light-houses had ever been entirely destroyed by fire.

"If you'll go into my room an' get a book called Ancient an' Modern Light-Houses, which was written by Major Heap of the Army, I'll show you a story about the burnin' of the second Eddystone light – you remember that the first was carried away by the sea," the keeper replied, and believing it might cause the invalids to forget in some slight degree their sad condition, Sidney went hurriedly for the book in question, reading aloud, after Captain Eph had found the story, that which is set down here:

"The fire which destroyed this light-house [the second Eddystone], which had withstood the fiercest storms for nearly half a century, took place in December, 1755. The keeper going to snuff the candles at 2 A.M., found the lantern full of smoke, and when he opened the door was driven back by a burst of flame.

"The candles were twenty-four in number, and weighed two and one-half pounds each; their long continued use must have thoroughly dried the wood-*work of the lantern, which, besides, was probably covered with soot, so that a spark would easily ignite it.

"The poor keeper did what he could to put out the fire; he after a while succeeded in awakening the other two keepers, and they all tried to throw water on the flames, but as it had to be brought seventy feet high, they soon found their efforts unavailing, and, in addition, one of the keepers, the one who discovered the fire, was disabled by a curious accident.

"While he was looking upwards, endeavoring to see the effect of the water he had thrown, a shower of molten lead fell on his head, neck, and shoulders – part of it ran inside his shirt-collar and burned him badly; he also felt an intense burning inside, and supposed that part of the lead had passed down his throat.

"The three men gave up the unequal struggle and descended from room to room, as they were driven by the heat and melting metal.

"Early in the morning the fire was seen on shore, and a philanthropic gentleman fitted out a fishing boat which arrived at the light-house at 10 a.m. The fire had then been burning eight hours; the light keepers had been driven from the tower, and, to avoid the falling timbers and red-hot bolts, had taken refuge in the hole or cave on the east side of the rocks under the iron ladder, near the landing.

"The men were stupefied, and the wind being from the east made a landing extremely hazardous, if not impracticable. They, however, were saved by the crew first anchoring the large boat, then a small boat was rowed toward the rock, paying out a rope which was attached to the large boat; when near enough to the rock a heaving-line was thrown to the men. Each light keeper in turn fastened the rope around his waist, and, jumping into the sea, was hauled into the boat.

"As the fishing-boat could do nothing to quell the flames, it returned to Plymouth to land the keepers; one, as soon as he got on shore, ran away, it is supposed in a panic; the one burned by the melted lead was sent to his own home for medical attendance; he was ninety-four years old, but remarkably active considering his age. He told the doctor that he had swallowed the molten lead, and that he could not be cured unless it was removed. He lived until the twelfth day, when he suddenly expired – the doctor opened his stomach, and found therein a solid oval piece of lead weighing more than seven ounces."

"I don't understand how a tower could be burned," Sidney said thoughtfully as he ceased reading, and Captain Eph replied:

"If you look back a page or two, Sonny, you'll find that the one burned was built wholly of timber on the outside, and so was the top part of the inside. This tower couldn't burn flat, bein' all stone, but the rooms would have been pretty well cleaned out if you an' Sammy hadn't worked mighty lively. We came off a good deal better than those poor fellows did, an' Uncle Zenas can thank his lucky stars that it was melted fat instead of lead which fell on him."

"Suppose the inside of the tower had burned," Sidney continued, seemingly finding a certain fascination in speculating upon the possibilities. "We might have been forced to stay here a long while before any one came to take us off."

"Ay, Sonny, that is true, but even then we wouldn't have been as badly off as other light-house keepers and builders have been. There's a story in that same book about the Smalls light-house, off the west coast of Wales. Find that an' read it, so's we can see how much we've got to be thankful for, even if we are disabled an' in a kitchen-hospital."

Sidney did as the keeper requested, and read the following, to which even Uncle Zenas listened with apparent interest:

"In the summer of 1772 Whiteside first made the acquaintance of the place on which he was to indelibly engrave his name. He disembarked on the rocks with a gang of Cornish miners, and the obstacles which they met at the commencement of the work nearly disgusted him with the enterprise. He and his companions had started the work when a storm suddenly broke upon them. The wind blew with great force, and the cutter which had brought them had to fly before the fury of the gale. The workmen left on the rock hung on the best they could for two days and nights. Whiteside was not discouraged, and finally brought the work to a successful end, but not without being exposed to many dangers.

"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."