“T’ pay hain’t big an’ t’ hours is long and tedious, but there hain’t a man of us that ’ud shirk his duty in any respect. Just you look over my file of the Lighthouse Service Bulletin which is printed every month. There hain’t an issue what goes by ’thout it has some mention o’ some one doin’ a brave act. Tain’t much of a mention t’ be sure, but we hain’t hankering fer medals er praise. It’s aour business t’ pertect property on t’ high seas an’ save lives when we can.
“Why, there’s some keepers as is so faithful they won’t even take a day off. I read as haow a lighthouse keeper over on t’ other coast in t’ C’lumby River section has only taken two days off duty in twenty-three years. An’ there was the old man who kept the Van Weis Point light down York way. Died when he was ninety-three years old an’ he had been in t’ service fifty-two years. Peers t’ me like a man jest natchelly gits faithful t’ minute he’s set t’ watching out fer some one else’s safety. There’s wimmen in t’ service too, an’ they’re jest t’ same; all Grace Darlings when it comes t’ a p’int o’ nerve. Look at that air woman out Frisco way who stood all night on the platform outside t’ light in a thick fog strikin’ the bell with a tack hammer because the machinery had got out o’ order. An’ there was Ida Lewis, who lived at the Lime Rock Lighthouse near Newport fer fifty-seven years. She was keeper fer thirty-two years after her father died. ’Tis said she saved as many as thirteen people from drownin’ during her life. Hain’t that a record fer ye?”
“You bet it is,” said Ray and Jack, carried away with the old man’s enthusiasm.
“Wall, from that ye can gather what I think o’ t’ Lighthouse Service. No, siree, I hain’t got many kicks agin it. There’s on’y one er two things need regulatin’! There hain’t no pension fer men who git too old fer the service an’ fer men who are injured in the service, but we’re all hopin’ that’ll be changed some day an’ I guess ’twill. An’ in the meantime every one o’ us is workin’ our hardest t’ keep t’ service jest es clean es it can be.”
The two lads were thoroughly impressed by the captain’s recital, and although they did not express it each was of the opinion that if all the men in the Lighthouse Service were as sincere as he, the organization could not help but be free from any taint.
“By George,” said Mr. Warner at the conclusion of the captain’s remarks, “you surely are enthusiastic, but I think you have every reason to be so, for there isn’t a finer lot of men in the world than the five thousand odd who have to do with lighting Uncle Sam’s coast lines. And now, Captain, if you have a couple of amber goggles, which I believe the department is furnishing you men with who have charge of flashing lights, I’ll take the boys aloft and tell them something about the lamp. That will give you time to clean up around before you get ready to go on watch.”
Captain Eli filled his pipe first, then rummaging around in his bedroom produced two sets of goggles which he gave to the boys.
“My goggles are hanging on a peg in the lower light room,” he said to Mr. Warner.
The engineer led the way through the enclosed passage that connected the cottage with the light and presently the boys found themselves in the base of the tower from where a spiral staircase wound its way aloft.
“This is a mighty old light. I think it was built nearly a century ago before lighthouse construction was done as scientifically as it is to-day,” said the engineer. “But, nevertheless, it must have been built well to withstand the elements so long. Although the promontory on which it stands is nearly one hundred feet high and the tower thirty feet tall, Captain Eli has sent in a report on several occasions of waves having broken panels in the lantern, so you can see the old place has stood through some storms.”