by Landon Beach
“True,” Nate said.
“Back in those days, it was almost tradition for the keeper of a light to be passed down from generation to generation. Granted, it was a hard job to get, but if you did, and had children, then they took over the light when you died. Some lighthouse keepers were provided with an assistant. But when it became a family business, the wife served as the unpaid assistant. As I said before, Daniels worked the light alone and didn’t want an assistant. Since he was alone, some of his duties would have been more time consuming, like hauling the heavy barrels of fuel, probably still sperm whale oil at that time, up to the lantern room. Then one day he disappears.”
Nate looked back down at the paper with the sketch of the coin. “Looks like this was his last entry.”
“Read it,” Hutch said.
July 28, 1859
Followed daily routine. Rose before dawn and made coffee. Running low on sugar. Extinguished light at sunrise. Morning weather. Winds: NE 10kts. Sky: clear. Seas: calm. Temperature: 60. Barometer: 30.04 and steady. No ships in sight of the station. Morning hours dusted, swept. Rowed around the sisters. Took one of the chickens last night, grilled at mid-day. Should provide meals for this week. Afternoon weather. Winds: E-NE 15 kts. Sky: cumulonimbus/foreboding. Seas: 2-4 feet. Temperature: 75. Barometer: 29.96 and falling. No ships in sight of the station. Checked security anticipating coming storm. Painted for three hours in the afternoon, then carried two barrels of oil up to lantern room and filled. Lantern should be good for three nights. Trimmed wicks, oiled clockwork, and cleaned and polished glass and metal in lantern room. Finished just before dinner. Chicken for dinner with port. Stormed all afternoon. Checked fittings and security again. Read until 1 hour before sunset. Lit light. Evening weather. Winds: NE 15-20 kts. Sky: cumulonimbus, thunderstorms. Seas: 6-8 feet and heavy. Temperature: 55. Barometer: 29.94 and steady. 1 ship on horizon heading south. No contact made. Have found coins. Picture below.
-S.D.
16
Nate pulled out his coin. It glistened in the sunlight as he compared it to Daniels’s drawing below the July 28 entry. Water was lapping against Queen’s hull, and Hutch was now sitting in the fighting chair with his legs crossed, drinking another beer. “Why would he add the part about the coins in the lightkeeper’s log?” Nate said.
“Technically, he shouldn’t have. Lighthouse logs were official records. Lighthouse inspectors hated when lightkeepers added their personal junk to the logs,” Hutch said.
Nate flipped back through the other pages of the log. They all mirrored the last entry with respect to routine, weather, and shipping traffic. None of the others seemed to mention personal observations. “I don’t get it. You said he disappeared?”
“After I found that log, I looked at what little there was about Captain Stuart Daniels’s disappearance. A week after Daniels’s last entry, someone in Hampstead noticed that Sanisstey Light was not being lit. The local police took a boat out and Daniels was gone. They read his log, searched the lighthouse, keeper’s house, and both islands, but no Daniels.”
“Did they find any coins?” Nate said.
“There’s no record of it, and no documents ever mentioning a search for any coins on the islands. I’m sure after they didn’t find anything in their initial search it was forgotten about.”
“Could he have drowned?” Nate said.
“That’s what the authorities concluded, but it’s not likely. The rowboat that Daniels used for his daily exercise was gone, but it could have blown away in the storm. Plus, a body never washed up anywhere.”
“Could he have split and left on a ship that was passing by?”
“All of his personal effects were still at the lighthouse and nothing was missing except his nightgown, nightcap, and the lamp he would have used to move around the lighthouse at night. His working clothes were laid out on a chair next to his bed, which was made. That’s what’s got me stumped.”
“But why would he write down in the official lighthouse log that he had found coins?” Nate thought further, “Why not keep that in a personal diary?”
“Not sure,” said Hutch. “The only thing I can think of is that if he did find something then he was trying to lay claim to it in an official record.”
“Sounds more like a mystery than a haunted lighthouse,” Nate said.
“Call it what you want. I already told you I don’t believe it’s haunted, but it’s safe to say that anytime a person disappears from a place and is never found, someone’s gonna cook somethin’ up about it.”
Nate looked away from Hutch and toward the lighthouse. When they had rounded the two islands earlier, Nate noticed that there weren’t any docks or coves for a boat to put in at. “If Daniels found any coins like mine, where do you think they’d be?”
Hutch grunted, “Who knows? But it’s too much of a coincidence for us not to check out.”
“What do you mean?”
Hutch stood up and slipped below. He returned with two sets of fins, mask, and booties. He handed Nate a set and sat down on the opposite gunwale. “We’ll swim over and peek around a bit,” he said and pointed at the booties. “They’ve got hard rubber soles so we can walk around on the islands once we get there. Might be a bit snug, but I figured they’d work since we’re close to the same size.”
“Can’t we get closer?”
“This is as close as I like to get. There’s a series of sandbars, most with sharp rocks, that would slit Queen’s hull clean and then we’d be done.”
“Don’t you have a dinghy?”
“I do.”
“Why don’t we use it in case we find something?”
“It’s not here.”
Nate leaned over the gunwale to look forward where the dinghy had been secured when he first saw Queen. The place where it had been was empty. “Why don’t you have it out here?” Nate said.
“It’s in my storage cave behind the dock. I did some touch up work on her between looking through that mountain of papers in my closet yesterday and this morning. Don’t worry, if we do find something, she’ll be ready by tomorrow.”
The men began to put on their gear. The booties Hutch had given Nate were a little loose rather than tight.
“We don’t have much time,” Hutch said as he pushed his right bootie into the fin’s opening and then pulled the ankle strap around and snapped it in. His back was to the sea.
Nate looked past Hutch at the color of the sky further out to sea. A granite sheet was moving toward shore as if the sky was transposed into Microsoft Paintbrush and someone was dragging the line of gray across a light blue background. Nate snapped his fins into place and joined Hutch on the port gunwale. Both men sat with their masks strapped on but temporarily pulled up onto their foreheads. “How much time do you think we have?”
“Maybe an hour, maybe less,” Hutch said. “Follow me.”
Hutch pulled his mask down and performed a backward roll into the water. Nate did the same and was soon kicking toward Big Sanisstey. The water felt cold at first but Nate warmed as he kicked alongside Hutch. Nate came up for a breath after a moment and looked behind them. Queen had settled after rocking from the men going over the side and was resting at anchor. Hutch’s head broke the surface a few yards away.
“Did you think she was going to leave us?” Hutch said.
Nate was going to respond, but Hutch had already gone underwater. Nate took a deep breath and went under. Hutch kept their pace fast. They swam four or five feet beneath the surface, coming up only for short breaths. For as much as Nate ran—and prided himself on being in shape—he was struggling to keep up. How much did Hutch swim?
Nate couldn’t see the bottom at first, but after a few more breath stops, it came into view. It angled up sharply ahead, eventually ending in the first sandbar, which was only six feet below the surface.
The men swam over the sandbar and the depth below them dropped to around twenty feet. They came up for another breath and instead of resuming toward sh
ore, Hutch did a surface dive to the bottom. Nate did the same as if playing follow the leader. Hutch was looking at a glass bottle partially submerged in the sand. He pulled the bottle up. Miller Lite. He shook his head and then swam along the bottom with the bottle in his right hand. Nate’s lungs began to ache and he surfaced for a breath. When he submerged, Hutch was still swimming on the bottom and a few moments later, the men were at the second sandbar which was all jagged rocks. Hutch came up a few yards short of the bar and waited for Nate to join him.
“Go over this bitch carefully. It’s only two feet below the surface,” Hutch said.
Nate obeyed and they floated on the surface above the rocks, giving a few short kicks to put them past. The water deepened until the next bar, which was as rocky as the last, and after passing over it Hutch stood up and they were in water up to their chests about twenty yards from the shore. They removed their fins and waded the rest of the way.
The lighthouse was surrounded by rocks that sloped down into the surf. Hutch and Nate walked down the coast until the rocks ended and the ground became dirt with weeds popping up all over. They set their fins and masks down along with the bottle and started walking up the slope.
The brush was thick, obscuring their view of the small houses positioned around the tower. In fact, only the tower could be seen until they stepped out of the brush onto what was once a path from the tower through the rocks sloping away to the water.
“What do you plan to do, Hutch?”
“Let’s start with the tower.”
All that was left of the immense door that had once been at the entrance were two hinges. Nate and Hutch walked through the doorway. With the exception of a collapsed wooden table, they were greeted by a bare room. A stone staircase wound its way up along the wall.
“Looks like a solid job,” Nate said.
“Fifty-five feet tall and all made of limestone except for the lantern room, which is made out of granite to support the weight of the iron, copper, and glass,” said Hutch as they began to climb the steps. Hutch was in the lead.
“When was the lighthouse shut down again?” Nate said.
“When Shauna Shoal Light was built in 1930, they didn’t need this one anymore. We should be able to see Shauna Shoal from the lantern room.”
“Is it on an island like this one?” Nate said.
“No. It was made to be an automated remote station. It’s simply a seventy foot tower made of concrete reinforced by steel that sits on a concrete foundation,” Hutch said.
Nate could see light above as they neared the lantern room. He paused on the steps and looked down. The wooden table was a little more than a speck on the floor, and for a second it seemed to rise toward him and then shoot away—he felt like Jimmy Stewart looking down the bell tower staircase in Vertigo. The steps were at least four feet wide, but there was no railing anymore. Nate moved away from the edge and hugged the wall the rest of the way up.
17
There was still a wooden hatch at the top of the stairs that led up into the lantern room. Hutch pushed it open and they climbed up onto the granite floor. As Nate stood up, he felt the wind whip across his face. A ratty blanket was left in the corner with half-a-dozen rusted beer cans. There was no lens left in the center and the glass around the room had been shattered and swept away long ago. They had a 360-degree view. The seas were starting to churn below, and in the distance Queen was bobbing up and down while rocking side to side as each wave rolled against her hull. The storm would be on them soon. “Impressive view,” Nate said.
“Do you see Shauna Shoal Light?”
Nate looked to the north and then east. His eyes settled on a sliver of silver rising up from the blue water. He concentrated on it and then a green light flashed twice, went dark for six seconds, and then flashed twice again. He swiveled his head past Queen and located the rock formation of Diamond Crag offset against the shoreline of the mainland.
“How high is the peak on Diamond Crag?” Nate said and continued looking around.
“About fifty feet. Looks small from here doesn’t it?” Hutch said.
“Yeah,” said Nate. He glanced once more at the Crag, then began to study the terrain and vegetation on the islands below. Rock surrounded the lighthouse and other buildings. The whole settlement was on a plateau. The shoreline bent inward in one spot, a wedge of water that disappeared into the rock underneath one of the houses. The groves of towering trees inland thinned to bushes, then patches of weeds and dirt, eventually becoming bare rock at the coast. The Little Sister had the same inhospitable terrain.
“The lake level is down again this year. In fact, this is the lowest I’ve ever seen it. Even lower than it used to be before it rose over twenty years ago and caused everyone to spend a fortune in goddamn seawalls.”
Nate had been almost a teenager when two houses had caved into the lake because water had eroded the ground beneath them. His father and the rest of the beachfront owners in Hampstead had to put up seawalls to save their houses. Now, most of the seawalls were rotted and needed to be rebuilt or torn down.
Nate pointed down at the building where the water seemed to run underneath it. “What was that place used for?”
Hutch walked over by him. “That was the boathouse.”
“The place that was built over the old keeper’s house?”
“Right,” said Hutch. He looked out at the sea and then down at the boathouse. The roof sagged on both sides of the peak and the side closest to the lighthouse had a section missing. Hutch faced Nate. “It’s a safe bet that there’s nothing in the lighthouse. No real place for Daniels to stow anything. The masonry in this beast was solid; it would have taken him time to carve out space to hold anything.” He swiveled his head to the oncoming clouds and then back to Nate. “We can check out the boathouse quickly before we swim back out.”
They headed down the steps and made their way across the rocks. Like the lighthouse, there was no door to the boathouse. The room was dark and wind poured through the missing section of roof.
“There’s nothing in here,” Nate said and started walking into the room.
“Stop!” Hutch yelled and grabbed Nate’s arm.
Nate shot a look at his arm and felt Hutch squeeze harder, pulling him back. “What?”
“Look up.”
Nate did and saw a wheel at the end of a metal beam. An identical metal beam was positioned approximately six feet away and parallel to the first beam. A boat hoist. He looked down.
“Figure it out yet?” Hutch said.
Nate inched toward the opening in the floor. The iron gray water lay more than thirty feet below. “Thanks,” Nate said. “Where’s the boat?”
“Who knows? Somebody probably swiped it,” Hutch said.
“That water is at least thirty feet below us. A hoist doesn’t lower a boat that far.”
“Usually true, but see those chains?” Hutch pointed to two chains hanging from wire on the metal beams. “Since we’re only talking about lowering a dinghy—probably didn’t even have a motor—the wire was cut to around twenty feet. The chains could then be used to lower the beams according to the water level.”
Hutch walked over to the corner of the lift by the wheel where he pushed a toggle switch on a metal box. Nothing happened. He traced the box’s wiring back to a corner of the boathouse and dusted off the top of a gas generator. The gas can next to it was empty. He tipped the generator up and then let it back down. No gas in it either.
Nate walked along the wall until he was at the corner opposite of Hutch. Rain began to tap on the roof. He pulled back a wooden set of shutters exposing a window with glass still in it. His eyes followed the narrow waterway out to the lake. The sky was a mix of gray and violet. The whine of metal turned his attention back to the lift. Hutch was turning the wheel and the lift bars were lowering.
“Take the wheel for a sec,” Hutch said.
Nate walked to the wheel and Hutch approached the closest lift bar. Then he grabbed on and
pulled down on the bar, eventually hanging on it.
“What in the hell are you doing?” Nate said.
Hutch put his feet back on the ground and then peered down into the hole. He moved his head from one side to the other and then knelt down. “I wonder how far inland the water goes.” He checked the wire connection to the chain and the chain to the lift bar. Then he walked around the opening to the other side and did the same. Feeling satisfied, he walked back and hung from the lift bar. “Lower me.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Lower me, goddamnit.”
“Hutch, if this thing goes,” Nate said pointing at the lift, “you’ve got a big drop and who knows how deep that water is down there.”
“It’s deep enough. You don’t have to pull me back up. I’ll take a look and then swim out and meet you at the opening.”
Hutch’s eyes were firm.
“You sure?” Nate said.
“Do I look sure?”
Nate lowered the chain.
18
The lift jammed and Hutch hung fully extended from the lift bars.
“That’s as far as she’ll go,” Nate called down. “The wire is stuck. How much of a drop to the water do you have?”
Hutch looked down. The shaft was dark and it was difficult to judge how far away his feet were from the water. Hutch gathered a throat full of phlegm, and spit. The light splash echoed in the cave below. “Call it ten feet, maybe less,” Hutch yelled back up. He moved his hands so his body was facing into the cave. The light from the opening above cast a few shadows, but not enough to tell how deep the cave went.
“I can still raise you I think,” Nate said.
“Piece of shit lift,” Hutch said.
Nate moved away from the wheel and watched as Hutch held on to the beam far below. “Let me try to raise you,” Nate said.
“Forget it,” Hutch said. He kicked his legs, swinging the lift bars over the center of the water, and dropped.