It was late afternoon when the _Blueflower_ came abreast of the
southern end of the long heavily wooded island which was to be Jack’s
home for several months and on which the lighthouse crew was to remain
until its work was done. Jack scanned the place intently through his
glasses as the tender plowed its way northward. The island was exactly
like a hundred others on the Maine coast, with ugly granite boulders
strewing its shores, against which the breakers dashed madly, sending
plumes of spray high into the air. Jack judged that it was at least
three miles long.
Ahead, and about a quarter of a mile offshore, he could see where the
combers piled upon a jagged line of rocks. This line traveled due
north, parallel with the island for about two miles, until it ended in
a peculiarly shaped mass of rocks that reared above the waves, and
looked exactly like the hood and head of the famous India snake. This
was Cobra Reef.
Midway in the line of rocks was an opening about one hundred yards
across. When the _Blueflower_ reached this point she slowed down
until she hardly more than drifted along. Then began some strange
maneuvering, for Captain Wilmoth intended to run through this channel
and get the tender inside so that she could land her cargo on the only
strip of flat beach in sight.
First the craft would go ahead a little, then a jangle of bells in
the engine room would call for a quick reversal of the screw and she
would back away from a hidden rock. For five minutes this kept up.
Then suddenly the signal bells called for full speed ahead and the
vessel shot through into the comparatively calm water beyond the line
of rocks, and plunged away northward again until it was opposite the
little beach. Then with a rattle of chains the anchors let go and the
trip to Hood Island was ended.
The high promontory with its black and white lighthouse tower was less
than a mile away. In the cleared space around the tower Jack could see
several new sheds under construction and a huge pile of granite blocks
stacked in an orderly array not far distant. This, Mr. Warner informed
him, was the construction camp which the lighthouse crew was to occupy.
All during the past two weeks vessels had been stopping at Hood Island,
depositing tools and machinery and huge blocks of granite which were to
be used to build the new tower. The last of the crew of builders had
arrived the day before and were already hard at work constructing their
quarters.
These signs of activity stirred in Jack a desire to be ashore and up
there on the heights where he could see all that was going on, but
unfortunately there was work to be done aboard the vessel which Mr.
Warner had to oversee, and since Jack was in a way his assistant, he
had to remain with the engineer and do a share of the work.
The _Blueflower’s_ cargo consisted of surveying instruments and
numerous small barrels and boxes of provisions, kegs of bolts, and
various other necessities which had been left behind by the other
vessels that had visited Hood Island during the week. These supplies
Captain Wilmoth was eager to have landed while the daylight hours
lasted, for he did not care to keep the tender inside the reef
overnight.
“There would be trouble if a storm came up while we were inside here.
It would be too dark to see our way out and with a high tide the
breakers would come clean over the reef, and before we knew it we would
be fast on those granite boulders over there,” explained the captain
to Jack as they stood on the forward deck and watched the men load the
supplies into the _Blueflower’s_ launch.
Again and again this little vessel made trips between the beach and the
tender while Jack checked off the contents of each load on a long list
that Mr. Warner had given him. The marine engineer went ashore on the
first trip and talked with the foreman in charge of the camp, who had
been summoned to the beach by the _Blueflower’s_ whistle, and after he
had given instructions as to the care of the goods brought ashore he
returned and superintended the unloading.
The cargo that the tender carried was far larger than Jack had thought
it to be, and the launch was kept busy for nearly two hours plying
between the beach and the mother vessel. The men in charge of the
unloading worked very hard to get everything ashore before darkness set
in, but in spite of their efforts the sun had gone down and twilight
was fast coming on when the launch was finally hoisted upon its davits
and the _Blueflower_ was ready to maneuver toward the open sea again.
In the half light of evening this was no easy task, and Jack and Mr.
Warner watched with interest the careful methods adopted by Captain
Wilmoth. But even with all his caution the _Blueflower’s_ steel sides
scraped against the hidden granite of Cobra Reef on two occasions and
it was only by the quickest kind of action that the vessel was saved
from having her hull ripped open.
“Say, but that was as tough a job as I ever want to undertake,” said
the captain as he came down from the pilot house after the _Blueflower_
had come to anchor outside the reef. “Did you hear her scrape? That
granite would have ripped off a couple of our plates if we had gone
ahead six inches further. I surely feel as if I had earned my supper
to-night. And I’m going to get it right now. I trust you gentlemen are
ready to eat.”
“We are,” was the unanimous reply, and Jack and Mr. Warner accompanied
the chief officer down to the saloon, for, you see, it had been decided
that they stay aboard the tender overnight and run ashore in the launch
next morning.
Day had disappeared entirely and night had settled down by the time
they finished supper and came on deck again. Stars were winking
overhead and a great round yellow moon was just appearing above the
eastern horizon. Over the island the white light from the tower on the
promontory flashed periodically, and just below and to the left burned
a great bonfire, marking the location of the construction camp. The
_Blueflower_ swayed softly at its anchorage, and from the direction
of the shore came the deep-toned lullaby of the breakers, softened by
distance to a soothing night song. It was a wonderfully calm and clear
evening, and it made a lasting impression on Jack. It seemed to him as
if the world had not a trouble or a care on all its broad breast, and
he too felt singularly contented.
At half-past ten the watch fire on shore had gone out completely,
telling plainly that the construction camp was asleep. This suggested
retiring to the three individuals on the deck of the tender, which
suggestion they were not long in following, for they were all tired,
and besides they intended to be astir early the following morning.
By three bells of the first dog watch all on board the _Blueflower_
were awake, and by six o’clock Jack and Mr. Warner had breakfasted
and were on deck. Then since all their effects had been moved ashore
the night before, there remained nothing for Jack and the engineer to
do but shake hands with Captain Wilmoth and their friends among the
_Blueflower’s_ crew and start in the launch for Hood Island.
Though the little boat was a sturdy craft, the tide racing through
the opening in the reef threw her off her course several times during
the trip, and Jack gained a good idea of how treacherous the water of
Hood Island was and he could also see, by glancing along the jagged
edge of rocks, how the eddies formed and swirled about the Cobra Head.
Indeed, though there was practically no sea running, the currents and
cross-currents of the tide created waves about the base of the big rock
that assumed the proportions of breakers, and dashed spray high in the
air as they crashed against the immovable granite.
Mr. Warner saw what Jack was looking at and remarked, “Cobra Head looks
like a mighty ugly place, eh, lad? We are not going to have the easiest
time in the world building a lighthouse out there. Just think of
surveying the site for the tower! Why, in a storm a man wouldn’t stand
any more chance on the top of that rock than a straw. The currents are
so nasty out there that the seals don’t even attempt to land. They come
inside the reef and climb on shore to sun themselves.”
“Seals? Do they have ’em here?” queried Jack, forgetting for a moment
about the dangers of Cobra Head.
“Yes, they have seals here. Not fur seals, however. They are hair seals
and quite useless. You’ll see any number of them later in the day. Just
keep your eye out for a shiny black head in the water or listen for
them to bark.”
A few moments later the launch grated on the coarse sand of the tiny
beach and the voyage from Portland was finally ended. As the engineer
and Jack stepped out of the boat a gang of men headed by a burly,
good-natured Irishman, whom Jack learned later was Shamas, otherwise
known as Big O’Brien, the foreman of the camp, came down toward the
beach.
“Mornin’, chief,” he said to Mr. Warner. “T’ camp’ll be ready for ye
be t’ end o’ t’ forenoon. In t’ meantime, these fellers are goin’ t’
move the rest o’ t’ dunnage up, which wuz left here last night count o’
darkness. Git busy, byes.”
“Fine work, O’Brien. Now come on back with us and introduce us to our
new home,” said the engineer.
“Home, is it?” said O’Brien with a grin. “Sure an’ I’m a-thinkin’ it’s
another name we’ll all be callin’ of it be t’ time our wor-r-k is
finished here.”
“Tut--tut--don’t be such a pessimist,” said Jack’s companion
good-naturedly.
The rap-rap-rap of many hammers and the noise of falling lumber was
Jack’s first impression of the Hood Island camp. This was gained even
while he was at the foot of the promontory.
When he finally arrived at the top he found the camp a veritable
beehive for busyness. But before he could take in the details of the
very interesting place, Mr. Warner called his attention to a prolonged
whistle blast from the tender. The _Blueflower_ was saying good-by;
and of course both of its recent passengers must needs signal back a
farewell.
Jack watched the vessel until it grew quite indistinct in the distance.
Then he turned his attention to the construction camp again. One small
building and one long one had been completed, and the men were working
on two other structures of the larger type. Mr. Warner explained that
the tiny building was to be the general office in which he would have
his desk, drawing-tables and the like. The completed long building
was to be the bunk-house for the workmen, while the other two were
mess-hall and work-shed in the making.
“We will stay with Eli Whittaker, the lighthouse keeper, for the
present at least,” said the engineer. “The Government allows the light
keepers to take men employed in the service as boarders. How will you
like sleeping in a lighthouse?”
“Great!” exclaimed Jack, but he reserved the details of that pleasure
for future consideration while he made himself acquainted with the camp.
Over near the edge of the promontory was a great pile of trimmed
granite blocks, a huge stack of cement bags covered over with
tarpaulins, two donkey engines, a cement mixer, a steel tower, and
myriads of tools, tool chests, etc. Jack contemplated all this with
sparkling eyes.
“Jiminy, but this is going to be an interesting place in a day or two,”
exclaimed Jack. Then--“Say, Mr. Warner, why are those granite blocks
all cut so peculiarly? They look like sections of a great big jig-saw
puzzle.”
“Why, that is a detail of lighthouse building that is very
interesting,” said Mr. Warner, “and I will tell you about it just
as soon as I can. In the meantime you--Say, Jack, there’s our
swordfisherman again. It’s the same yawl. See the patch in her sail and
there’s her name--_Fish Hawk_.”
Sure enough, there was the yawl Jack had watched so intently from the
deck of the _Blueflower_. The little vessel was running across the wind
and had evidently just come out from behind the southern end of Hood
Island. She was plowing along at fine speed about one hundred yards off
the reef.
Jack paused to admire her trim lines and he felt that with a coat of
white paint and a new set of sails she would be a creditable yacht. The
way she covered the mile and a quarter from the southern end of the
jagged rocks to the opening through which the tender had sailed, was
nothing less than remarkable.
“Jiminy, but she’s a swift sailing vessel,” exclaimed Mr. Warner. “I
wonder who--Look! Jack! Quick! Some one has jumped overboard! Look,
he’s swimming ashore! Look at him plow through the water! By George,
what strokes! He’s heading for the inlet! He’ll be drowned! The
currents there will suck him under! He’ll get caught in the undertow!
The idiot!”
Jack had seen it all. When the swordfisherman reached the inlet,
there was a scramble on deck and an instant later the figure of a boy
appeared on the gunwale. A moment he paused there, balanced for a dive.
Then with a pretty spring he shot out and down and entered the water
without a splash. The next instant his head appeared in view, and he
struck out with a powerful overhand stroke straight for the inlet,
while the yawl went racing on ahead.
A great shout went up from the crew of the fisherman when they saw the
boy in the water, and several men bawled orders and shifted sails.
Then, with loud creaking and squeaking of blocks and tackle, the vessel
started to come about. But her headway was enough to carry her several
hundred feet past the inlet and by the time she had turned completely
and headed back toward the swimmer, the lad in the water was almost in
the opening between the rocks.
The fishermen saw in a moment that they were baffled and being
unfamiliar with the channel through the opening they dared not try to
run through it with the yawl. Once again the sailing vessel turned;
this time to stand away from the reef and out of the suction of the
dangerous eddies.
But the swimmer was undaunted. Indeed, he seemed to welcome the current
as an assistant, for he redoubled his efforts, and with his strong
strokes and the speed of the water he fairly shot along.
Could he stay afloat in that terrible mill-race? Was it possible to
battle the undertow? How soon would he be sucked under or caught in
a cross-current and hurled violently against the jagged rocks of the
reef? Jack and Mr. Warner stood there thoroughly awed at the swimmer’s
daring, while O’Brien and several other men in the camp watched in
open-mouthed amazement.
In the meantime, the yawl had come up into the wind and at a dead stop.
Then an attempt was made to launch the big dory from the stern davits.
It dropped to the water like a plummet and almost before it touched the
surface three men leapt into it. But no sooner were they in than they
started to scramble out again, for the little craft was sinking fast.
Evidently the swimmer had removed the plug before he attempted his
escape, thus cutting off one possibility of being overtaken.
But in spite of the dangers of the current, the lad in the water
progressed famously. In no time he had battled his way safely through
the opening. Then swimming madly he sped on toward the rock lined
shore! On he came! The water fairly boiled about him and each powerful
stroke brought him nearer to the island.
“Bully!” shouted Mr. Warner excitedly, as he watched the boy’s progress.
“Great! Oh, if he’ll only keep it up a little longer. They are
scurrying around looking for a dory plug on board the yawl. I hope he
wins, though I don’t know what he’s running away from,” cried Jack
eagerly.
But the tremendous pace soon began to tell on the swimmer. His strokes
grew less powerful and it was evident that he was getting arm weary.
Once he stopped and looked back toward the yawl, and seeing no one in
pursuit he turned on his side and swam with a still slower stroke.
The last few yards of the race were made with evident effort, for the
swimmer was completely fagged. Indeed, when he finally pulled himself
out of the water, he sank down behind a rock and rested for several
minutes before attempting to climb between the boulders toward the
beach.
On reaching the sand he paused as if undecided where to go. Then after
a moment he selected the path that led up to the promontory, and slowly
made his way toward the construction camp.
“Jiminy, but that was thrilling. Prettiest bit of swimming _I_ ever
saw!” exclaimed Mr. Warner when the suspense was over.
“Pretty!” cried Jack. “By jiminy, it was _wonderful_, and--say, but
that fellow is no little boy either. Look at the size of him! Oh, but
what a full-back he would make! Why, he’s bigger than Jim Hanson ever
thought of being. Guess I’ll go and meet him,” and Jack started down
the path to greet the dripping figure, who came stumbling toward him.