Courtesy of U.S. Bureau of Lighthouses.
The "Eddystone" of America.
Minot's Ledge Light, off Boston, one of the most important lighthouses on the American coast, a triumph of engineering.
"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 Saturdays, 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 circumstances 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.
"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 my son."
"There were a few," the lad answered, with a quick flush of pride at his father's praise, "but at that I don't think I got my full share. We had a fellow there we called the 'Eel.' Nobody else had a chance to get anything when he was around."