Part 6 (1/2)

”Strict! Carelessness means dishonorable dismissal, right off the bat!

Not that there's ever much chance of such a thing ever being needed. The Commissioner has built up such a sense of pride in the service that a chap would do anything rather than neglect his duty. I'll tell you a story of a woman light-keeper, a woman, mind you, Eel, that'll show you.

You know Angel Island?”

”Right here in San Francis...o...b..y?”

”That's the one. You know that there's a light and a fog signal there?”

”I hadn't ever thought of it,” the other replied. ”Yes, I guess there is.”

”There's a new fog-horn on that point now, Eel, but when I was quite a small shaver, in 1906, the fog signal was a bell, rung with a clapper.

In July of that year the clapper broke and couldn't be used. A heavy fog came down and blanketed the island so that you couldn't see anything a foot away. That woman light-keeper stood there with a watch in one hand and a nail-hammer in the other and struck that bell once every twenty seconds for twenty hours and thirty-five minutes until the fog lifted.

She didn't stop for meals or sleep. Two days later, the bell not having yet been fixed, another fog came down at night and she did the same thing the whole night long. That's what I call being on the job!”

”Yes,” the Eel agreed with admiration, ”you can't beat that, anywhere.”

”And you spoke of light-keepers being idle!” continued Eric, warming to his subject. ”Keeping a lighthouse in the shape that the Commissioner insists on isn't any easy ch.o.r.e. I tell you, the operating room of a hospital isn't any cleaner than the inside of a lighthouse. They tell a story in the service of a hot one that was handed to a light-keeper by one of the inspectors. The keeper hadn't shaved that morning. The instant the inspector saw him, he said:

”'If the lamp doesn't look better kept than you do, you're fired!'”

”That's swift enough!” the older boy answered, with a whistle.

”Nothing saved that light-keeper but the fact that everything else about the place was in apple-pie order. I've heard Father tell how some of the inspectors go around with a white handkerchief, and if they find any dust--there's trouble for somebody!”

”Don't you think that's carrying it a bit too far?” queried his chum.

”I used to think so,” Eric said, ”but I don't now. I've got the idea that's behind the rule. Everybody isn't cut out to be a light-keeper.

The work calls for just one thing, a tremendous conscientiousness.

There's no one to keep constant tab on men in isolated stations. Men who haven't got the right point of view won't stay in the service, and those who have got it, get it developed a lot more. The way it looks to me, the Commissioner has built up an organization of men who do their work because they believe in it, and who naturally have a liking for regularity and order.”

”You're sure stuck on the Lighthouse Service, Eric,” said his chum with a laugh.

”Why wouldn't I be?” the lad replied. ”If all my folks are in it, I've probably got some of that same sort of feeling in my blood. But I'm different, too. The same thing to do over and over again, day after day, month after month, would get my goat. I want to do something that's got more variety and more opportunity. That's why I'm going to join the Coast Guard--if I can get in.”

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE ”EDDYSTONE” OF AMERICA.

Minot's Ledge Light, off Boston, one of the most important lighthouses on the American coast, a triumph of engineering.

Courtesy of U.S. Bureau of Lighthouses.]

”Well,” the Eel said, sighing, ”I envy you. So far as I can see, I'm like your lighthouse-keeper. I'm stuck at a desk for the rest of my life. You go ahead, Eric, and do the big stuff in rescue work, with uniform and epaulets and all the rest of it. I'll stay right on my job in the city and--on Sat.u.r.days, Sundays, and vacations--I'll do my little best in the volunteer job on this beach.”

”It's bully work here, all right,” agreed Eric, ”and I'm only sorry I can't be in two places at once. Good luck, old man,” he continued, shaking hands with his chum heartily, ”I'll drop you a line written right on Tillamook Rock, and maybe it'll have the real sea flavor to it!”

Eric was quite excited in joining his father at Astoria, where they were to take the lighthouse-tender _Manzanita_ to Tillamook Rock. During all the years his father had been connected with the light, both as light-keeper and as inspector, he had never taken his wife or son there.

Of course, under no circ.u.mstances would they have been allowed to stay over night, but Eric had never even visited the rock. The boy had begged for a chance to stay over one night, just to stand one watch in the lighthouse, but--rules were rules. The utmost privilege he could get was permission to go to the lighthouse with his father, when the latter was making his final inspection before transfer to another district.