Boy With the U. S. Life-Savers

by William Henry Giles Kingston

  CHAPTER II

  THE LIGHTS THAT NEVER SLEEP

  It was a happy awakening in the life-saving station the next morning,for both the rescued men were well on the road to recovery. Eric hadintended to be the first to tell Willett the entire story, but theevents of the night had been a heavy strain on him and he had sleptlate. Indeed, he did not waken until the gang of boys came round fortheir morning drill. Drill was scheduled at nine o'clock, but it wasseldom that there failed to be at least half a dozen urchins around thestation by eight, or even earlier.

  "What's all this drill the kids are talking about?" Willett asked Eric,as the boy came back from breakfast. "To hear the way they go on, you'dthink it was the only important thing that had been scheduled since theworld began!"

  "That's the Commodore's doing," replied Eric, with a laugh. "He's got usall going that way. You know Hailer is one of those chaps who believesso much in what he's doing that everybody else has to believe in it,too."

  "But I thought Hailer was commodore in New York, not out here in'Frisco."

  "So he is," agreed the boy. "But a mere trifle like a few thousand milesdoesn't seem to weaken his influence much. Of course the biggest part ofhis time is given to superintending the New York end, but the work'sspreading in every direction and all our reports go to headquarters.After all, organization does make a heap of difference, don't you think?How about it? Are you fit enough to come and see the youngsters at theirwork?"

  "I'm a bit wobbly," the rescued man answered. "I suppose I ought toexpect that. But I feel all right. I can get as far as that bench,anyway, and I'd like to see the drill. You teach them all to swim?"

  "We try to teach everybody we can get hold of," replied Eric. "Hailerhas an idea that every man, woman, and child in the United States oughtto be able to swim, even when asleep. I've heard him say that it was asmuch a part of our job to prevent accidents as to do the best we canafter accidents have happened. I think he's about right. Everybody oughtto swim, just the same way as they know how to walk. Then we wouldn'thave to fetch out of the water a lot of people who are alreadyhalf-drowned."

  "You do that in great shape, too," said Willett gratefully, "I cantestify to that! I was a goner last night, sure, if you fellows hadn'tbeen there. And the way you brought Jake around--I wouldn't have thoughtit possible."

  "We were mighty lucky," agreed the boy.

  "You were!" exclaimed Willett. "I think we're the lucky ones."

  "I suppose you are," said Eric. "But, after all, if both your chum andyou had been A No. 1 swimmers, just see how easy it would have been! Youcould have got ashore in a few minutes. That's what we want to do withthe kids. We want to teach them to swim so that if they tumble off adock with their duds on they can strike out for shore like so manyfrogs. We manage to break in nearly every youngster who comes down tothis beach. Most of them want to get the hang of it, anyway, and whenthere's a bunch of youngsters to start with, it's a cinch to get therest to join in."

  "But still I don't see how you can teach them on land," Willettobjected.

  "Why not?"

  "You're supposed to swim with your legs as well as your hands, aren'tyou?"

  "Of course. It's the legs that you really do the swimming with."

  "That's what I thought. But how can you kick out with both legs whenyou're standing on them?"

  "Oh, that's what's troubling you," said Eric laughing. "But there'snothing difficult in that. The idea in the leg motions of swimming is tobring the legs to the body, isn't it?"

  "That's what I always thought."

  "It doesn't make any difference if you bring the body to the legs, doesit?"

  "I--suppose not," the other said, dubiously.

  "Of course it doesn't. That's just the idea. You watch the kids goingthrough the drill and you'll get on to it. Why, I can put a bunch wiseto swimming, though they're a thousand miles away from any water deepenough to drown in."

  Eric had hardly got outside the station when the boys flocked to him ina body. He answered their fusillade of greetings with equal heartinessand then called them to attention.

  "Get to business, now!" he called, and the group lined up in fours, eachboy about six feet from his neighbor. "Ready!" he called. "One! Handstogether, palms to each other. Swing 'em around a little behind thelevel of the shoulders turning 'em palm outward as you go. This way!" Heshowed the motion. "At the word 'Two'--bring the hands in to the breast.At 'Three' put the hands forward. All together, now: One! Two! Three!"

  The boys followed the motions, some doing it well, but others lookingvery clumsy and awkward. A dozen times or more the boys went through thedrill until a certain amount of regularity began to appear.

  "Leg motions next," Eric called briskly. "At the word 'One!' bring thebody down to the heels in a sitting position. At the word 'Two'straighten up and jump with both legs wide apart. At the word 'Three,'jump and bring the legs close together. That's the one that shoots youahead."

  This was repeated a dozen or more times and then Eric started theyoungsters doing both the arm and leg motions together. It was reallyhard work, but when he let the urchins go at the end of about half anhour, some of them could do it like clockwork.

  BREAKING A DEATH-CLUTCH FROM BEHIND.

  Courtesy of U.S. Volunteer Life-Saving Corps.]

  BREAKING A DEATH-CLUTCH FROM THE FRONT.

  Teaching life-saving at its best, the Commodore [the tallest man inuniform] watching.

  Courtesy of U.S. Volunteer Life-Saving Corps.]

  "How much real swimming do you suppose the kids learn from that stuff?"Willett asked.

  "About one-third of them can swim right away," Eric answered. "It'smostly in getting used to it. After all, if a kid gets hold of the rightstroke and practises enough so that he can do it automatically, he can'tdo anything else but that when he gets into the water. The more scaredhe is, the surer he is to do the thing he's got used to doing. Whatsends people down in the water, is that they've got a wrong idea. Theywave their arms about, and as soon as your arms are out of the water, itjust alters the balance enough to put your mouth under."

  "Seems to me I might learn something from that myself--" Willett wasbeginning, when a long-continued whistle blast sounded from the station.Eric was off like a shot. Quick as he was, however, he was only just intime to scramble into the first boat.

  "What is it?" the boy asked.

  "Motor-boat on fire," answered the coxswain, "an explosion, most likely.I guess the boat's done for, but the Eel saw the trouble the minute ithappened, so we oughtn't to have any trouble picking the people up. Hesaid there were girls, though, and probably they can't swim."

  As the life-saving boat cut through the water, it passed three or fourswimmers who had started out from the beach on seeing the accident.There was a great deal of excitement on shore, as, being a fine Sundaymorning, the beach was crowded.

  "We'll be with you in a minute," shouted one of the intending rescuersas the boat swept by.

  As usual, the Eel was the first man overboard, and his queer snake-likestroke showed to full effect. There had been five people in the boat,three men and two girls, one of them just a child. One of the men andone of the women couldn't swim a stroke. The woman had already given upand the Eel took care of her. Another of the life-savers tackled thestruggling man.

  It was evident that there was no need for more help there, so Eric swamto where the little girl was striking out bravely for the shore.

  "Can I give you a hand?" he asked.

  The child, though swimming pluckily, evidently was hampered by beingfully dressed.

  "Can't swim a bit with my boots on," she gurgled. The boy smiled withgenuine appreciation of her grit.

  "You're the real thing," he said. "But it is hard swimming with bootson. Suppose you let me take you to shore. It's just as easy!"

  He swam in front of the child.

  "Put your hands on my shoulders," he said, "and keep your feet well up.Are you all right now?"

  "Quite all rig
ht," she answered, dashing the water out of her eyes.

  "I see they've put the fire out," said Eric, swimming quietly andeasily, for the girl's touch was like a feather on his shoulder. "Idon't believe the boat's much hurt."

  "I'd be awfully glad if it wasn't," she answered, "because Jack justborrowed it for the day and I'm sure he's feeling terribly. We were justgoing to buy one this week."

  "Perhaps this will scare him off."

  In spite of her fatigue and fright the girl laughed brightly as Eric'sfeet touched bottom and he stood up.

  "It might him, but it won't me," she said, with a joyous disregard ofgrammar. "And Jack's buying the boat mainly for me. I really can swimquite well, but I suppose the explosion scared me. I don't believe I'dhave been frightened a bit if I had jumped in of my own accord. But itwas all so sudden!"

  "Well," said Eric, "it's a good thing for you it didn't happen a longway from shore. And I'm glad I was able to help a bit, too, because thisis my last day on duty and having helped you is about the best way ofcelebrating it that could have happened."

  "Your last day?" she said, with a note of regret in her voice. "You'regoing away?"

  "Yes," Eric replied, as they came to the water's edge and the crowdbegan to congregate to meet them, "I'm just getting ready to join theCoast Guard!"

  "Great!" she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling, as she shook back her wethair. "But how can I thank you?"

  "You have thanked me," the boy answered, as he took her to the beachwhere the lifeboat had landed and where her friends were anxiouslyawaiting her, "you've given me a chance to quit in a sort of 'blaze ofglory.' Don't you think that's something?"

  "But won't you tell me who you are?" she pleaded.

  "United States Volunteer Life-Saving Corps," he answered with a smile,as he turned to go back to the station, "that's where the credit oughtto go."

  "So this is your last day, Eric," said the Eel, an hour or so later, asthe boy stood on the platform of the life-saving station, lookingregretfully at the strip of beach.

  "Yes, Eel," Eric rejoined thoughtfully. "I hate to leave here, too."

  "I always hate to go, of course," his chum agreed, "but then it'sdifferent with me. This is my vacation. When I quit here, it means thatI've got to get back to work. You're only going back to school."

  "Not my fault," was the half-rueful answer; "I'd a heap sooner be goinginto the Coast Guard right away. But I'm not ready yet."

  "You will be, next year," said his friend, sympathetically.

  "I know. But next year's a long way off and I wanted to stay here untilI was sure of my appointment. If Father were only going to stay anotheryear on the coast, I could finish my work here and then get ready forthe exams in June."

  "Is he leaving?"

  "Of course. Don't you remember I told you before!"

  "Yes, so you did. I'd forgotten."

  "We're hiking off at the end of this month. Father's been put in chargeof one of the districts on the Great Lakes."

  "But I thought he was inspector here?"

  "He's been acting-inspector for quite a while. But that was a temporaryappointment, while the inspector was ill."

  "And you're going home a couple of weeks ahead to help pack, eh?"

  "Ye-es," Eric answered, "of course that's a part of it. But I'm goingnow because I want to see Uncle Eli before I go East. He's on TillamookRock, you know."

  "I knew he used to be," the Eel said, "but I thought when he made thatbig real estate haul, he quit."

  "He tried to," the boy agreed, "but he found he couldn't. Uncle Eli's anold-timer, Eel. I used to be jealous of the Tillamook Light. He's justas fond of it as he is of me, more, I think. I can quite see how hewould feel that way. It's always been just like his child. He was therewhen the light was born."

  "You mean its designing?"

  "I mean its being born," Eric insisted. "Nearly all my people have beenin the Lighthouse Service, you know. They all have that way of thinkingof the lights as if they were real folks. It's something like acaptain's idea about his ship. She's always alive. And lights are justas responsive. Some way, I've a bit of that same feeling myself."

  "Yes," the Eel said thoughtfully, "I can see that, in a way. They doseem a bit human, don't they? And it must be deadly lonely for thekeepers, out of reach of everybody, with nothing to do."

  "What?" shouted Eric, so loudly that the Eel jumped. "With nothing todo?"

  "Except just attend to the light," his chum said apologetically. "Whatelse is there?"

  "I suppose you think they just light the lantern when they have a mindto and then snore all night long?"

  "N-no, of course they can't," the Eel replied, humbly, "I hadn't thoughtof that. I suppose they have to keep watch."

  "You bet they do," Eric said emphatically, "and a mighty close watch atthat. And when it comes to discipline--the Lighthouse Service has everycivilian organization in America beaten to a frazzle."

  "I didn't know it was so strict."

  "Strict! Carelessness means dishonorable dismissal, right off the bat!Not that there's ever much chance of such a thing ever being needed. TheCommissioner has built up such a sense of pride in the service that achap would do anything rather than neglect his duty. I'll tell you astory of a woman light-keeper, a woman, mind you, Eel, that'll show you.You know Angel Island?"

  "Right here in San Francisco Bay?"

  "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 thereis."

  "There's a new fog-horn on that point now, Eel, but when I was quite asmall 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 fogcame down and blanketed the island so that you couldn't see anything afoot away. That woman light-keeper stood there with a watch in one handand a nail-hammer in the other and struck that bell once every twentyseconds 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 havingyet been fixed, another fog came down at night and she did the samething 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 tohis subject. "Keeping a lighthouse in the shape that the Commissionerinsists on isn't any easy chore. I tell you, the operating room of ahospital isn't any cleaner than the inside of a lighthouse. They tell astory in the service of a hot one that was handed to a light-keeper byone of the inspectors. The keeper hadn't shaved that morning. Theinstant 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 aboutthe place was in apple-pie order. I've heard Father tell how some of theinspectors go around with a white handkerchief, and if they find anydust--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 ideathat'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 whohaven't got the right point of view won't stay in the service, and thosewho 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 workbecause they believe in it, and who naturally have a liking forregularity and order."

  "You're sure stuck on the Lighthouse Service, Eric," said his chum witha laugh.

  "Why wouldn't I be?" the lad replied. "If all my folks are in it, I'veprobably got some of that same sort of feeling in my blood. But I'mdifferent, 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 gotmore variety and more opportunity. That's why I'm going to join theCoast Guard--if I can get in."

  THE "EDDYSTONE" OF AMERICA.

  Minot's Ledge Light, off Boston, one of the most important lighthouseson 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'mlike your lighthouse-keeper. I'm stuck at a desk for the rest of mylife. You go ahead, Eric, and do the big stuff in rescue work, withuniform and epaulets and all the rest of it. I'll stay right on my jobin the city and--on Saturdays, Sundays, and vacations--I'll do my littlebest in the volunteer job on this beach."

  "It's bully work here, all right," agreed Eric, "and I'm only sorry Ican'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 writtenright on Tillamook Rock, and maybe it'll have the real sea flavor toit!"

  Eric was quite excited in joining his father at Astoria, where they wereto take the lighthouse-tender _Manzanita_ to Tillamook Rock. During allthe years his father had been connected with the light, both aslight-keeper and as inspector, he had never taken his wife or son there.Of course, under no circumstances would they have been allowed to stayover night, but Eric had never even visited the rock. The boy had beggedfor a chance to stay over one night, just to stand one watch in thelighthouse, but--rules were rules. The utmost privilege he could get waspermission to go to the lighthouse with his father, when the latter wasmaking his final inspection before transfer to another district.

  "I hear you've been distinguishing yourself, Eric," the veteran said,when the _Manzanita_ had cast off from the wharf.

  "How do you mean, Father?"

  "Rescues, and that sort of thing. It made me feel quite proud of myson."

  "There were a few," the lad answered, with a quick flush of pride at hisfather's praise, "but at that I don't think I got my full share. We hada fellow there we called the 'Eel.' Nobody else had a chance to getanything when he was around."

  "Good swimmer, eh?"

  "He was a wonder! Why, Father, he used to swim under water nearly allthe time, just putting his nose out to breathe once in a while, and atthe end of his side stroke he had a little wiggle that shot him aheadlike greased lightning. Funniest stroke you ever saw!"

  "Couldn't you pick it up?"

  "Oh, I got the stroke all right," Eric answered confidently, "but Ican't do it the way he did. And you should have seen him dive!"

  "I always was glad you took kindly to that work," said the inspectorthoughtfully, "because I believe it is pretty well handled, now thatit's on an official basis. It certainly supplements the government'slife-saving work very well. I've wondered, sometimes, whether itoughtn't to be taken hold of by the nation."

  "I don't think it's necessary, Father," Eric replied. "You see, if itwas a government station, the regular crew would have to be on duty allthe time. There's no need for that. There aren't any accidents there,except when the beach is crowded, and that's just for Saturdays andSundays, mainly, and a couple of months in the summer."

  "That may all be true, but when an accident does occur, experts areneeded in a hurry. Amateur work doesn't amount to much as a rule."

  "This isn't amateur!" protested the boy. "Why, Father, do you know whata chap has to do before he can even enlist?"

  "No," the other replied. "I never heard the requirements, or if I did,I've forgotten them. What are they?"

  "A fellow who applies has got to show that he can swim at least ahundred yards in good style, and twenty yards of that must be in coat,trousers, and shoes. He's got to be able to dive and bring up somethingfrom the bottom, at a depth of ten feet. He's got to swim twenty yardscarrying a person his own weight and show that he knows three differentways of carrying a drowning person in deep water. He's got to show thathe can do at least three of the ways to 'break' death-grips made by adrowning person. And besides that, he's got to know all about first aid,especially resuscitation."

  "You mean that an applicant has to pass that test before entering thevolunteers at all?"

  "He sure has, and he's got to show that he can do it easily, too!"

  "That's good and stiff," said the old inspector. "You can do all that,Eric, eh?"

  The boy smiled.

  "I've got a Proficiency Medal, Father," he said, not a little proudly.

  "What's that for?"

  "That's the test to show you're really A 1. To get that medal you've gotto swim under water for over thirty-five feet, you've got to know allthe 'breaks,' and you've got to show a 'break' to be made by a thirdparty if you're rescuing a rescuer who has got into the clutch of adrowning man in any way that he can't shake loose. Besides that, you'vegot to swim back-stroke sixty feet with the hands clear out of water,and sixty feet side, using one arm only. Then, just to show that itisn't exhibition stuff but the real goods in training for life-saving,you're made to swim sixty feet fully dressed and back forty feet, on thereturn carrying a man your own weight; dropping him, you have to startright off for another sixty feet out and forty feet back, this timecarrying the man back by a different method."

  "It's real swimming!" exclaimed the veteran of the sea.

  "You bet," said Eric, "and I'm not nearly through. There's anothersixty-foot swim, and at the end of it you've got to dive at least twelvefeet and bring up from the bottom a dead weight of not less than tenpounds and swim ten feet carrying that weight. I tell you, Father,that's quite a stunt! And then, besides all the swimming stuff, you'vegot to show that you're Johnny-on-the-spot in throwing a life-buoy, tosay nothing of a barrel of tests in first aid, and in splicing andknot-tying of nearly every sort and shape. You don't get any chance torest, either. All that swimming business has to be done on the same day.It's a good test of endurance, all right."

  "And you passed it, son?"

  "I got ninety per cent.," Eric answered. "I thought I'd told you allabout it. No, I guess it came off when you were on one of your trips. Idon't go much on boasting, Father, but I really can swim."

  "Well, my boy," the other said, "I'll take a little credit for that.Don't forget I was your first swimming teacher! But I couldn't do allthose things you've been telling me about, now. I'm glad to know they'vegot as high a standard as that in the Volunteer Corps. I shouldn'twonder if the Coast Guard would be able to get some of its best men fromthe volunteer ranks. Take yourself, for example."

  "It's done me a lot of good," said the boy.

  "Of course it has. It would do anybody good. But I've been wanting toask you, Eric, what effect the formation of this new Coast Guard willhave on your plans?"

  "It won't hurt them a bit," the boy answered. "I wrote to the CaptainCommandant about it and he sent me the dandiest letter! I'll show it toyou when my trunk gets home. You see, Father, when the Life-SavingService and the Revenue Cutter Service joined together under the name ofthe Coast Guard, it was arranged that every member of both servicesmight reenlist without examination. And my application was in last year.So that there's nothing special, I'm just going through the regularorder of things. That is, if I can make the Coast Guard Academy."

  "You ought to manage it, I think," said his father. "I'm really glad youhave made up your mind to it, Eric," he continued; "it's a goodfull-size man's job. And you have quite a bit of the salt in your veins,my lad, for, after all, most of your kin are seafaring folk."

  "You never had anything to do with the old Revenue Cutter Service, hadyou, Father?"

  "I was never a member of it," the other replied, "but I've seen it atwork, many times these forty years. No, I got into the LighthouseService when I was about your age and I've given every bit of myself toit ever since. I'm glad I did. I think the last fifty years has shownthe greatest development of safety at sea since the days of thediscovery of the compass."

  "Yet you didn't want me to join!"

  "Not now," the old inspector answered. "Conditions have changed. TheLighthouse Service o
f to-day is a complete and perfected organization.Every mile of United States territory is covered by a beacon light. Wewere pioneers."

  "I see," said the boy thoughtfully.

  "It's a good deal the same sort of development that's struck the cattlecountry," the Westerner said, meditatively. "When I was a youngster, acattle-puncher was really the wild and woolly broncho-buster that youread about in books. In the days of the old Jones and Plummer trail,when there wasn't a foot of barbed wire west of the Mississippi, acowboy's life was adventurous enough. A round-up gang might meet a bunchof hostile Indians 'most any time, and a man had to ride hard and shootstraight. But now the ranges are all divided up and fenced in. Therange-runner has given way to the stock-raiser. It's like comparingDan'l Boone to a commercial traveler!"

  "I don't quite see how that fits the Lighthouse Service," said Eric,smiling at the Daniel Boone comparison.

  "Well, it does to a certain extent. When I first went into the Service,half the coast wasn't protected at all. And even the important lights wehad were weak, compared with what we have now. Why, Eric, we've gotlights so powerful now that we can't even tell how strong they are!"

  The boy looked up incredulously.

  "It's an absolute fact," the old inspector continued. "The most powerfullight we have is on Navesink Highlands, near the entrance of New YorkHarbor. It's reckoned at between two million and ten millioncandle-power. Nobody's been able to measure it. The United States Bureauof Standards was going to do it, but so far, they've left it severelyalone."

  "How far can that be seen, Father?"

  "All depends on the height of the ship's deck from the water," was thereply. "The curvature of the earth determines that. Say, thirty miles ona vessel of moderate size. But the reflection of the Navesink Light onthe sky has been seen as far away as eighty miles."

  "White light?"

  "Yes, white flashing," was the reply.

  "I've noticed," the boy said thoughtfully, "that red is only used forthe smaller lights. I wanted to ask you about that the other day. Nowthere's Point Adams Light," he continued, pointing off the starboard bowas the lighthouse-tender steamed out of the mouth of the Columbia River,"it looks just as big as this light on the other side, on CapeDisappointment, but it's a lot harder to see. When I've been headed forhome, on a misty night, after a day's fishing, I've missed Point Adamswhen Cape Disappointment was as clear as could be."

  "But you could see other lights?"

  "Oh, yes, there wasn't any difficulty in making the harbor, either in orout. I was just wondering whether the color of the light had anything todo with making it seem dim?"

  "Of course," his father answered; "a red glass cuts off sixty per cent,of the light. You can't see the Point Adams Light for more than abouteleven miles, but, in ordinarily clear weather, you can see the fixedwhite light of Cape Disappointment for all of twenty-two nauticalmiles."

  "I don't quite see why," said the boy, puzzled.

  "That's because you're not taking the trouble to think," was theimpatient reply. "You know that light is made up of all the colors ofthe rainbow?"

  "Of course."

  "And red is only a small part of that, isn't it?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, don't you see? Red glass only lets the red rays through and cutsoff all the rest. How could it help being a lot fainter? And, what'smore, red doesn't excite the nerves of the eye as much as white does, sothat if there were two lights of equal power, one red and one white, thered would be less easily seen."

  "Why do the railroads use red for danger signals, then?"

  "Habit, mainly. It's wrong, of course, and a good many of the railroadsare changing their danger signals from red to yellow. So far as we'reconcerned in the Lighthouse Service, however, we're getting rid of allthe fixed red lights wherever a long-range warning is needed."

  "How do you distinguish the different lights, then?"

  "Using flashing lights, with flashes of different duration."

  "Why didn't you always do that?" asked Eric.

  "Didn't know enough," was the simple reply. "It's only lately thatwe've found out how to work a flashing light without any loss of power.In the old days we used to depend on occulting lights, but now, flashinglights are much more powerful. You know the difference?"

  "Sure! An occulting light means that some of the time the light is shutoff, and at others it isn't. Wasn't it worked by a revolving shutterwith wide slits in it?"

  "That was the old idea. We use it still as a cheap way of changing afixed light to one with a definite character. It works all right, onlyit's a waste of power to have the light darkened part of the time. Then,too, if the shutter revolves too quickly, the light is like littleflashes of lightning, while, if it goes too slowly, a lookout mighthappen to scan that point on the horizon at the instant it was dark. Inthat way the value of the warning would be lessened."

  "I know the flashing light is quite different, Father, but just how isit worked?" asked the boy. "It's because of some arrangement of thelens, isn't it?"

  "Exactly. Light travels in straight lines in every direction. One of theproblems of illumination in lighthouse work is to make all these beamscome to one focus. We don't want to light the sky, nor the sea at thefoot of the lighthouse. So a first-order light is built up of rows onrows of prisms so arranged that the light will be refracted from everydirection to one point. An ordinary student's reading lamp, inside a biglighthouse lens, would give a light that could be seen a good manymiles!"

  REFILLING PINTSCH GAS BUOY.

  Courtesy of Safety Car Lighting Co.]

  LIGHTHOUSE TENDER APPROACHING BUOY.

  Courtesy of Safety Car Lighting Co.]

  "That is, if it were high enough up."

  "Of course."

  "Just how quickly does the earth's curve come into play, Father? I knowthe earth is round, of course, but, somehow, it seems so big that onenever thinks of taking it into any practical account."

  "It works mighty rapidly, my boy," said the old inspector. "You put alight right at sea level, on a day when there isn't a ripple on the sea,and five miles away, at sea level, you won't see a sign of it! Fifteenfeet is the unit. Fifteen feet above sea level, you can see a lightfifteen feet above sea level, seven miles away."

  "Then why not build lighthouses like the Eiffel Tower, a thousand feethigh!"

  "Once in a while, Eric," his father said, rebukingly, "you talkabsolutely without thinking. Didn't I just show you that the rays of alantern had to be sent out in a single beam?"

  "Yes, but what of that?"

  "Can't you see that if your light is too high, the beam will have tostrike the water at such an angle that its horizontal effect would belost? That would mean that a ship could see the light seventy milesaway, and lose it at fifty or forty miles from the lighthouse. No, boy,that wouldn't work. Tillamook Rock is quite high enough!"

  "It does look high," agreed the boy, following his father's gaze towhere, over the port bow, rose the menacing and forbidding reef on whichthe light stood.

  "It's the meanest bit on the coast," said the inspector. "Wouldn't yousay the sea was fairly smooth?"

  "Like a mill-pond," declared Eric. "Why?"

  "That just shows you," said his father. "You'd have to nail the waterdown to keep it from playing tricks around Tillamook. Look at it now!"

  The lad's glance followed the pointing finger. There was hardly a rippleon the sea, but a long slow lazy swell suggested a storm afar off.Slight as the swell was, it struck Tillamook Rock with a vengefulspirit. Long white claws of foam tore vainly at the grim reef's sidesand the roar of the surf filled the air.

  "Mill-pond, eh?" said the inspector. "Well, I can see where I get goodand wet in that same mill-pond."

  He slipped on a slicker and a sou'wester.

  "You'd better dig up some oilskins, Eric," he said. "Any of the men willlet you have them."

  The boy slipped off part of his clothes, standing up in undershirt andtrousers.

  "I like it better t
his way," he said.

  The old inspector looked at his son with approval and even admiration.Considering his years, the lad was wonderfully well developed, largelyas a result of swimming, and his summer with the Volunteer Corps hadsunburned him as brown as a piece of weathered oak.

  "I think I'd rather go in that kind of a costume myself," his fathersaid, with a chuckle, "but I'm afraid it would hardly do for my officialuniform on an inspection trip!"

  As he spoke, the rattle of the boat-davits was heard.

  "Come along then, lad," said the inspector. "Just a moment, though.Don't get any fool idea about showing off with any kind of a swimmingperformance. You just be good and thankful to be hauled up by a crane!"

  The boy took another look at Tillamook Rock, frowning above the surf.

  "I'm not hankering after a swim there," he said; "I don't claim to beamphibious, exactly. As you say, it's calm enough on the open water, butI don't think anything except a seal or a walrus or something of thatkind could land on that rock. Not for me, thank you. I'll take thecrane, and gladly."

  The ropes rattled through the davit blocks, and, as the _Manzanita_heeled over a little, the boat took water, the blocks were unhooked, herbows given a sharp shove and she was off.

  Down at water level, the slight swell seemed considerably larger.Indeed, it actually was increasing. And, as they pulled in toward theentrance of the reef, the boat met a rip in the current that seemed totry to twist the oars from the hands of the boat-pullers. Butlighthouse-tender sailors are picked men, and though the little boat wasthrown about like a cork, she fairly clawed her way through the rip. Asthey neared the entrance in the reef, the surf rushed between therocks, throwing up spume and spray as though a storm were raging. Erichad to look back out to sea to convince himself that the ocean was stillas calm as it had seemed a moment or two before. In among the crags towhich the boat was driving, there was a turmoil of seething waters,which came thundering in and which shrank away with a sucking sound, asthough disappointed of a long hoped-for vengeance.

  "It's like a witches' pot!" shouted Eric to his father.

  "This is about as calm as it ever gets," was the inspector's unmovedreply. "You ought to see Tillamook when it's rough weather! I've seen itwith a real gale blowing, when it seemed impossible that the rock couldstand up five minutes against the terrific battering. Yet it just standsthere and defies the Pacific at its worst, as it has, I suppose, for ahundred thousand years or more, and the light shines on serenely."

  With consummate steering and a finer handling of the oars than Eric hadever seen before--and he was something of an oarsman himself--the boatfrom the lighthouse-tender neared the Rock. It was held immediatelyunder the crane and a rope was lowered with a loop on the end of it. Theinspector swung himself into this and went shooting up in the air, likesome oilskin-covered sea-gull. He took it as a matter of course, all apart of the day's work, but, just the same, it gave Eric a queersensation. It was his turn next.

  In a moment the loop was down again for him. The rest of the boat's crewwere busy getting ready the mail bag, the provisions and the othersupplies that they had brought with them, so the boy steppedunhesitatingly into the loop.

  Swish! He was on his upward flight almost before he knew it. The backcurl of a breaker, baffled in its attack on the rock, drenched him tothe skin. He laughed, for this was just what he had bargained for.Beneath him, already but a small spot on the sea, was the boat he hadleft; above him the grim nakedness of the barren rock, and below,snarling with impotent fury, was the defeated surf.

  The crane above him creaked as it swung inboard. Drenched, cold, butthoroughly happy, Eric stood on Tillamook Rock. For the moment, atleast, he was one with that little band of men which is Uncle Sam'sfarthest outpost against the tempest-armies of the western seas.