“Here, look at the greatest lighthouses in the world. See those two towers standing out of the foliage over there on the hill. The reflection of their lights can be seen seventy miles out at sea.”
After a search Jack found them. They appeared like the towers of some medieval castle connected by a long low brick structure.
“Are those the Sandy Hook Lights?” he queried.
“No,” said his companion, “they are officially known as the Navesink Lights. The Sandy Hook Light is that old octagonal white tower over yonder. That is one of the oldest, if not the oldest, lighthouse in America. It was built by the British Government in 1764 and during the Revolutionary War the King’s soldiers used it as a military prison. Not long ago when they were making some improvements in the foundation a dungeon was unearthed in which were found several human skeletons, evidently Colonial soldiers imprisoned there and not liberated when the lighthouse was abandoned. Now if you will turn your glasses off to the right you will be able to see the Sandy Hook Lightship. That little cockleshell of a craft is there winter and summer fighting every storm and fog that comes up. She’s in competent hands, however, for the captain is a master mariner.”
Jack was exceedingly interested. He wondered how his companion came to know so much about lighthouses and lightships and several times he was on the point of asking him. This, however, was not necessary, for a few moments later the information was furnished quite voluntarily.
“By the way,” said the stranger, after Jack had finished scrutinizing the tossing lightship, “I’ve neglected to introduce myself. My name is Warner, James Warner, I am supposed to be a marine engineer. You understand; a builder of lighthouses, concrete dykes and all that.”
“And I am John Strawbridge of Drueryville Academy, but since Strawbridge is a rather large mouthful I suggest you call me Jack Straw. It’s handier, you know.”
“Jack Straw, eh? Well, that’s corking,” said Mr. Warner heartily, clapping the boy on the back. “Where are you bound for, Jack? I’m on my way to Tampico. President Huerta, of Mexico, has just given me a contract to rebuild the foundation of the Lobo’s Island Light. That is one of the most important coast markings in Mexico.”
“I’m bound for Necaxa, by way of Vera Cruz and Mexico City,” said Jack, who had already begun to feel like a seasoned traveler.
“Necaxa,” exclaimed his companion; “why that’s where the big hydro-electric power plant is located. That’s where Mexico City gets its light from. Harry Ryder, the engineer in charge of the plant, is an old chum of mine. In fact, we were classmates at Sheffield Scientific School.”